#This is like typed out haphazardously

[prismaticutie]

Fnaf security breach ruin dlc spoilers ahead

The story Candy Cadet tells you is literally what's happening to Cassie. I mean this is kinda obvious. But the mimic is both the monster in the basement AND the mother of the story. Theoretically the mother's "lullaby" is Gregory (mimic) saying "Cassie! I'm ok. I found a spot to hide." Cassie first hears Gregory (mimic) say this while in Roxanne's Salon, when Roxanne supposedly goes to chase after Gregory. This obviously wasn't Gregory, it was the Mimic speaking in Gregory's voice to distract Roxy and protect Cassie (because Mimic needs Cassie's help to be free). Back to the Candy Cadet story, the monster learns the lullaby and sings it to the boy, luring him down into the basement. During the escape sequence, if you run to the Fredbear cutout and use the Vanni mask, you get the false ending of Gregory, Vanessa, and Helpi being totally safe, chilling on a hill eating ice cream. You hear Gregory say "Cassie! I'm ok. I found a spot to hide." Cassie is panicked, breathing, but doesn't die despite the Mimic chasing her. Gregory wouldn't say this obviously given the fact that he was literally trying to lead Cassie to the elevator. Cassie could just be imagining this, sure, but she doesn't die. I feel like once Cassie has the mask back on, the Mimic recognizes that she was the one who helped free it, and it stops trying to kill her and says this to comfort her. If we relate this back to the Candy Cadet story, the monster isn't just luring her down there, but trying to keep her there so she can continue to help it.

[formulakracing]

nothing else matters — m.v.

pairing: max verstappen x wag!reader

word count: (idek tbh)

warnings: mentions of menstrual cycle, reader is on her period, some cursing, max being tender, bf mode to the max (i think i’m hilarious), tooth-rotting fluff

a/n -> i’m on my period (for the second time this month!) and im miserable rn. (+ fried) so i apologize if this is terrible (i typed it on my phone) i just wanted to write something self-indulgent af.

euphoria radiates off of him, the energy so contagious it brings an entire crew to their feet.

his cheeks are flushed, tinged a rosy hue from the rush of it all. his eyes are bright, shining as the team surrounds him, jostling him back and forth. you can hear his laughter, the way it rings so wonderfully in your ears as they shout his name.

“max! max! max! max! max!”

“all right, all right,” he catches his breath, “let’s not get too excited. it’s only pole.”

“only pole?” you find yourself scoffing as another familiar voice fills the air, “max, this is huge for us!”

“well the race isn’t won yet,” the corners of your lips twitch, a smile forming as max clears his throat, “we can celebrate when we finally win a fucking race.”

christian horner exhales, the remark from max clearly striking a chord, “well, i can’t disagree with you there. all right everyone, let’s get to it. we have a lot to do before the race tomorrow if we want to remind everyone of who we are.”

you remain in the corner of the space, arms folded across your chest as the crew disperses. you take in the way max’s jaw clenches as people flurry around, his gaze brimmed with desperation.

he was looking for someone.

and that someone was you.

however, you don’t move a muscle, sitting as still as possible. another ripple of pain courses through you, yet you clamp down on your tongue. the cramping sensation originates from your lower abdomen, this wave far worse than the last.

hanging your head, tears well up in your eyes. the cramps started just this morning, right around nine. now, the austin sun was dipping below the horizon, promising of dusk.

your hands ball up, squeezing into fists as the pain intensifies. the adrenaline from qualifying was wearing off, and fuck, was it wearing off quicker than you expected.

“hey,” there’s a figure in front of you, his voice soft as he kneels, “baby, what’s going on? do i need to get a medi—“

“no,” you hiss, “i’m fine.”

“come on,” hands envelop yours, “follow me.”

you want to protest, yet he’s already helping you to your feet, wrapping an arm around your waist. you instinctively lean into him, grateful for his touch. a few members of the crew pause from their work, murmuring among themselves. you shrink a little, shame burning within as max practically allows you to lean against him.

fuck, was this utterly embarrassing.

oh, how the rumors were going to fly.

max verstappen’s girlfriend was so drunk at qualifying that he had to practically carry her out.

what. a. headline.

the walk from the garage to the motorhome is a blur.

before you know it, max has you in bed, prompting you to lay down. you obey, pulling the cover over you as he follows, bringing you in against his chest.

he hasn’t showered yet, and you pick up traces of his cologne mixed with perspiration. his hair is a haphazard mess, ruffled from the gear and his cap. his clothes cling to his body, more than likely from the sweat and heat of the suit.

lips graze your temple, fingers tenderly massaging your scalp.

“what’s going on?”

“nothing,” you shrug, “i’m okay.”

“bullshit,” he tuts. fingers grasp your chin, forcing you to look upward, “what. is. going. on?”

“i started my period,” your lower lip trembles, “and i’ve been dealing with cramps all day.”

“and you didn’t say anything?” concern dances in his intense gaze, “baby, there are medical staff on site who would be happy to provide you with anything you need. i’m sure asking for a couple of pain relievers wouldn’t have been an issue. you’ve been suffering like this all day?”

“it wasn’t a big deal,” you retort, warmth flooding your cheeks as tears overflow, “i wasn’t suffering. it’s just my period. i was fi—“

“don’t say that shit,” he cuts in, “when i saw you, you looked miserable. absolutely fucking miserable. you were nearly curled up in the fetal position in that chair.”

“maybe i just didn’t want to draw any attention to myself,” you mutter, burying your head into the crook of his neck, “i didn’t want to seem like i was high maintenance.”

“baby,” a chuckle rumbles in his chest, “asking someone for some medication or somewhere to lay down is not high maintenance.”

tears splatter against his shirt, your eyes squeezing shut, “now i just feel fucking worse because i took you away from you job. you’re going to get into some shit with the fia and it’s my fault.”

“listen to me,” his arms pull you in even tighter, his mouth planting gentle kisses along your forehead, “are you listening to me?”

“yes,” you nod, sniffling, “i’m listening.”

“when it comes to you, nothing else matters. you are my only priority. ensuring that you’re safe and sound comes first. taking care of you is what’s important to me. i would much rather make sure you’re feeling better than attend a press conference. i’ll deal with the repercussions in the morning.”

“are you sure?” your voice shakes, threatening to crescendo into a sob.

“yes,” he murmurs, “i’m sure. i love you.”

“i love you,” the words are a strangled cry, the fabric now soaked as the tears spill, “i love you so much, max.”

“i love you more,” heated hands find your back, kneading, “what do you need from me baby? say it and it’s yours.”

“i just want you.”

a laugh bubbles up in his throat, “you can have me, but you’re going to get a hot shower. then we’re going to go to hospitality to get you some food. after that, you can have me as much as you want. deal?”

“deal,” you shake your head, “can we get something sweet too?”

“we’ll get all the sweet things,” the words are tender, just what you needed to hear, “and we can pick you up a stuffy from the airport on our way home. we can even look for a trinket or two. the ones i know you like, the sonny angels or calico critters. how does that sound?”

“that sounds perfect,” the tears have ceased, a sense of relief rippling within max, “i would love that, max. thank you for being the best boyfriend ever.”

at that, he can’t help but melt a little at the sincerity laced within your tone, “of course, baby. anything for you. i can’t bear the thought of you in pain or uncomfortable. i’ll do anything to help you feel better.”

“even if it interferes with your job?”

“even if i have to pull out of the race tomorrow.”

“you’re ridiculous,” a light giggle fills the space, max’s lips forming a wide grin, “you wouldn’t do that.”

oh but for you, max verstappen would.

[prettycopperpennies]

Falling Walls | Kang Dae-ho (Player 388) x F!Reader Oneshot

Description: If Dae-ho thought you would be an easy ally he had another think coming. (golden retreiver x black cat type shit. Slow burn)

Warning: Cursing, Toxic Ex (not Dae-ho), no gore but the setting is squid games.

Dae-ho x Female Reader

Player 456 was telling the truth. You were in shock as you saw people falling to the ground out of the corner of your eyes. You listened much closer the second time Player 456 ran to the front of the group and yelled out instructions.

“Get behind someone bigger than you,” he said, his last command before the massive doll turned its back to the rest of you.

Suddenly you were being maneuvered. Player 388 had stuck out a strong arm and swooped you behind him. You were surprised by how quickly he jumped into action, but your incredulity only lasted a few moments. With a huff you stepped out of his shadow. You made it a few steps before you had to freeze again right beside Player 388.

“Didn’t you hear what he said? ‘Get behind someone bigger’,” he said, clearly surprised by you overtaking him. You glared ahead, not daring to move. 

Dae-ho was completely lost. He had moved out of his way to help you, and it’s not like he expected you to be worshiping the ground he walked on for it, but he definitely did not think you would be annoyed. 

As soon as the song began again you turned your head in his direction and said, “Didn’t you hear what he said? If you’re going to talk when we’re not supposed to move then you had better cover your mouth.”

Dae-ho’s mouth was agape, not sure how to respond. Lucky for him he didn’t have to think up something to say; you were already moving far past him. He could have easily kept up with you, but an older player had taken your place behind him. He couldn’t leave a defenseless old woman behind so his only option was to watch you as you made your way across the field.

You turned around when you crossed the finish line watching with bated breath as the other players tried to cross in time. You exhaled when Player 456 and Player 120 just barely dragged an injured man across the line, but as soon as they crossed over the hurt player was “eliminated”.

You jumped when you heard the gunshot ring out, and jumped a second time when you felt a hand on your shoulder.

“It’s because that player was supposed to be taken out of the game earlier. I don’t think they’re just attacking random players now, it’s okay,” a voice said.

You turned your head to see it was Player 388.

What is his deal? you asked yourself as you shrugged off his shoulder.

“I know that,” you said curtly, turning on your heel and walking towards the opening doors. You wanted to get away from the now blood soaked playing field, creepy doll, and the annoyingly friendly Player 388 as soon as possible.

What’s her deal? Dae-ho asked himself as he watched you walk away. He couldn't figure you out, but unfortunately for you he was determined to.

1 YEAR EARLIER

You were sitting on the couch, surrounded by tons of papers. Receipts, debt notices, loan statements, threatening letters, and an eviction notice. The lines of letters and numbers (way, way, way too many numbers) started to blur as you began to well up with tears. 

You heard the door open but never close, and you looked up to find your boyfriend frozen in the door frame. You grabbed fistfuls of paper; not even making a dent in the haphazard stacks around you. Your boyfriend flinched as you held them up for him to see.

“When were you going to tell me about… all this?” you asked.

He didn’t answer and instead took a few tentative steps towards you.

“Don’t,” you warned, trying to sound intimidated as your voice quivered.

He didn’t listen to your one word warning as he slowly closed the space between you with each step.

“I’m so serious. I’m not just going to forgive you,” you said.

He was close enough to reach out a hand, cupping your tear stained cheek with his palm before saying, “I don’t expect you to. I fucked up-”

“Yeah, you did,” you said. Your tone was stern and unforgiving, but you still hadn’t brushed away his hand.

“I know. I’m sorry,” he said.

“We’re getting evicted,” you said, tears now freely running down your face. He sat down next to you pulling you into a tight hug. You folded into it. Even though it was all his fault, he had always been the one to comfort you.

“I’m going to fix this, okay?” he said, “You don’t need to worry. It’s my fault. I’ll fix it.”

“No,” you said with a shake of your head, “This is a partnership. I don’t care who’s fault it is. We get through this together.”

“Really?” he said with relief as he pulled out of the hug to hold your cheek in his hand once again.

“You would do the same for me,” you said.

“Of course I would,” he said. 

You sighed, feeling a glimmer of hope. You could always count on him to help you feel better about anything, no matter how hopeless it seemed before.

PRESENT DAY

Everyone in your vicinity started to cheer, but you stayed stoic. Yes, you had just won the vote, but you weren’t elated. It was simply a pragmatic decision on your part. It was not like you wanted to stay. You simply had no other choice.

As you walked back towards your bunk you saw the player who kept trying to help you during the first game. You were surprised to see he had voted O. You figured he would want to end the games immediately before anyone else got hurt. His own eyes went over the crowd and landed on you. You quickly looked away, hoping against hope he hadn’t noticed your staring.

“There is no way we both showed up wearing the same thing,” a familiar voice said. You rolled your eyes before turning to face Player 388. He was sporting a sarcastically shocked expression, looking between your outfit and his.

He pointed to your blue O patch and his before saying, “I mean, it’s down to the accessories and everything. What are the chances?”

You bit the inside of your cheek. There was no way in hell you were about to crack a smile over such a cheesy joke. You scoffed before heading in the direction of your bed.

“What I was trying to point out was we both voted O. Let’s be allies,” he said, easily keeping up with your quick pace.

“I don’t need an ally,” you said curtly. You were suddenly stopped in your tracks as he stepped in front of you.

“Are you sure about that?” he asked before gesturing with a nod to the other players.

You looked around realizing a lot of people were already forming groups. This did not bode well for you. You had meant what you said: you didn’t need an ally… Or, maybe it was more like you didn’t want an ally.

As you looked around the room Dae-ho noticed your nervous expression. He felt guilty when he saw how his point had stressed you out. He mentally kicked himself for inadvertently freaking you out.

He leaned towards you, dipping down a little to bring you closer to eye level.

“I don’t think it’s actually a big deal,” he said in a much quieter tone, attempting to make up for his comment moments earlier, “It’s more like I need an ally, you know? I’m sure you’d be fine on your own.”

You were taken back by how gentle this seemingly boisterously energized player seemed. You turned back to face him only to realize how close the two of you were.

“I know I’ll be fine,” you said, but this time you couldn’t quite manage to sound as vexed as usual.

“No, I totally agree. You seem like a badass,” he said. If jokes didn’t work in breaking down your apathetic facade maybe compliments would.

Or maybe not, Dae-ho thought to himself as you openly rolled your eyes. You side stepped around him. This time Dae-ho stayed back as you stalked off to your bed.

“I’m around if you change your mind,” he called after you.

“I won’t,” you said over your shoulder, determined to figure out a way to make your way out of this on your own.

You ate by yourself. You were one of the few people who had not seemed to find their own group of people to buddy up with. Player 388 was talking across the room to a group of men that included Player 456. He seemed completely at ease, and you found yourself almost jealous of his outgoing personality. He caught your eye once again, giving you a small wave. You did not return the gesture instead moving your eyes off him as quickly as you could.

I’ll be fine, you said to yourself, repeating the phrase once again. This time though you struggled to believe it.

SEVENTH MONTHS AGO

You were packing as fast as you could trying your best to ignore the many excuses your boyfriend was telling you.

“She’s just a friend,” he insisted for the millionth time.

“Very good friends apparently,” you spat back, wrestling with yourself to keep your tears back. This asshole was not about to make you cry.

“Y/n, it didn’t mean anything,” he said.

“To you, maybe!” you said.

“I don’t care what it meant to her. Really, I don’t. You matter so much more tha-”

“Shut up! What do you think seeing her and you together meant to me? How it felt?” you asked.

“Babe, I’m so sorry,” he said.

“Don’t call me babe. And don’t apologize. I don’t want to hear it,” you said. It wasn’t exactly true though. You couldn't help it. You still found yourself caring about him a little, and hearing him say sorry sent a squeeze to your heart no matter how much you wished it didn’t.

“I really am sorry,” he said as he reached out his hand.

He used his classic move, gently cupping your cheek as he apologized for whatever new fuck up he did. You paused for a moment, shaken by how close it was to working, before you shoved his hand away.

“I’m leaving,” you said, grabbing your bag.

“Wait, don’t go. Let’s talk, please,” he said, the words coming out quickly as he followed down the hall. You quickened your pace knowing any second now he could break your resolve. It didn’t matter how bad he hurt you, you always seemed to forgive him. But not this time.

PRESENT DAY

Your mouth went dry as soon as the voice announced over the loudspeaker to form groups of five. It was as if the universe was hell bent on proving you wrong and Player 388 right. It seemed like everyone else was making groups with ease, basically already having a group already made thanks to the previously forged friendships.

Dae-ho was giving you the space you wanted, but he couldn’t help but notice the nervous expression you wore when he spotted you in the crowd. He wanted nothing more than to go over and offer you a place on his team, but he stopped himself from going over and giving you a helping hand. It didn’t matter how much he wanted to help you; it wasn’t what you wanted. His shoulder relaxed, which he hadn’t even realized he had been tensing, when you found a group just in the nick of time.

You ended up with a group of men led by Player 100. He was surly off the bat and not at all interested in making friends which was fine by you. It wasn’t a problem till it came to choosing who would play which game. 

“And you can play Jegi,” Player 100 said, assigning you a game.

“I’ve never played Jegi,” you told him.

“Then you had better find a way to practice! If you mess up, we’re all dead,” he said with a huff like it was somehow your fault for never playing.

“How would I practice?” you asked.

This is exactly why I don’t need an ally, you thought spitefully to yourself.

“There’s pebbles all over,” he said, pointing at the dirt ground you all stood at, “Pick some up. And. Practice.”

“Is everything okay over here?”

Player 388 was walking up to your team. His expression was one you hadn’t seen before, and it was surprisingly intimidating. But he wasn’t looking at you. Instead he was glaring down Player 100.

“Go back to your own team. We’re fine here,” Player 100, waving him off.

But Player 388 didn’t seem so easily scared off. He stepped between you and the old man, clearly not planning on leaving any time soon.

“Look, it’s not my fault she’s refusing to play Jegi,” Player 100 said, not backing down either.

“Are any of you good at Jegi?” Player 388 asked the rest of your group.

One member timidly raised their hand, trying their best to avoid the glares from Payer 100. Suddenly another member spoke up saying they much preferred Djaki over Spinning Top. That opened up the floodgates, and all three players on your team quickly started to admit they’d like to switch games. Player 388 looked at you with a much kinder expression (one you were used to seeing him sport).

“Which do you want to play?” he asked.

“I’m alright at Biseokchigi,” you admitted. You couldn’t tell if he was actually starting to wear you down or it was thanks to his earlier moment of intimidation, but your usual cold shouldering demeanor was momentarily dismantled.

 He nodded before looking over to your other group members, one of whom was happy to switch spots with you. Player 100 openly scoffed at his team's betrayal, but his attitude was somewhat quelled with Player 388 gave him another look.

“What game is left over?” he asked the team without ever taking his eyes off the old man.

“Spinning top,” you said.

“Alright, then you’ll have spinning top,” he said, assigning Player 100 a game in a very similar fashion the man had assigned your game to you. You waited a moment for Player 100 to disagree, but he knew when he was beat. Without argument he took a seat on the ground, and your other teammates followed suit.

Player 388 turned to you and asked, “Are you good? You know, maybe they’ll let you switch teams.”

“I’m good,” you said, moving towards the end of your team’s line to take a seat.

“Let me help you,” he asked. You were taken aback by the earnest desperation in his voice, but you managed to shake it off before responding.

“I don’t need your help,” you answered curtly.

He groaned in frustration, but left you to your own devices as he went back to his own team. You had gotten your way, and yet there was a part of you that was a little sad to see him go.

“Lucky you know Dae-ho. I would kill to have a marine as an ally,” your team member sitting next to you said.

“Who’s Dae-ho?” you asked.

“Player 388. I thought you two had formed a pact or something,” they said, their eyebrows raising with surprise.

“Oh. No, we haven’t,” you said.

Dae-ho managed to cheer louder than anyone else for your team, which wasn’t an easy feat considering how loudly everyone was yelling. As soon as you crossed that line relief flooded through you. Of course, there was one person in particular who caught your eye mid celebration.

When Dae-ho saw you smiling at him he felt his knees start to go weak. For the past few days he’d only been getting eye rolls and frowns, but he hadn’t expected you to look so beautiful when you smiled. As soon as you looked in his direction he started to whoop even louder, giving you a grin. He swore he could see your demeanour brighten even more as the two of you locked eyes. But, as much as he wished the moment would last, you and your team were soon swooped out of the room.

Your eyes shot to the doors every time you heard them open to let in a new celebrating group. A tinge of disappointment jabbed at you as each group passed and it was missing one familiar face. You tried to distract yourself, making and remaking your bed countless times.

Why is there literally nothing to do here, you thought to yourself.

You were trying to convince yourself you were bored, not worried for one very specific player who had somehow started to worm his way into your heart. Whether you were willing to admit it or not, the fact that he stood up for you meant something to you.

Your bed was in the midst of being made for the hundredth time when the doors opened once again. You had almost given up hope, but still you chanced a look. Against all odds you saw a familiar ponytailed tall frame. Without thinking you rushed down the steps with relief fueled adrenaline.

Dae-ho stopped mid conversation with his team as soon as he saw you standing just a few feet from him, breathing heavily. He bit back a smile at the uncharacteristic situation you were in. It wasn’t until you were face to face with him that you realized exactly what you were doing. You were so happy he had made it, fully terrified for the past half hour he wasn’t coming back through those doors, that the second you saw him your brain turned off. But now, with Dae-ho’s eyes looking into yours, the switch had been flipped and your mind was racing once again.

What am I doing? you internally screamed at yourself. You thought about just turning around and walking away, but he had already seen you (of course he did, you had ran directly up to him).

“Are you okay?” he asked.

“What? Yes,” you said, trying and failing to sound apathetic, “I ran down the steps just now.”

“Any reason why?” he asked.

“I… really have to go to the bathroom,” you said.

It was a shitty lie. You both knew it. You internally cringed, but Dae-ho was all grins. At a feeble attempt to prove your claim was true you started to head in the direction of the restrooms.

“I’m not letting you off that easy,” Dae-ho said.

“What are you even talking about?” you asked, feigning confusion.

“That’s actually so weird,” he said.

“What’s so weird? Me having to pee? I hate to break it to you Dae-ho, but everyone does it,” you said.

“Nah, I’m talking about you being a terrible liar. I wouldn’t have guessed that in a million years,” he said.

“I’m not lying,” you said, stopping to glare him down. Your attempt at intimidation was completely undermined by the “I’ve totally been caught” blush blooming on your cheeks.

“Relax. That just means you're a good person,” he said.

Somehow that comment had shot through a crack in your walls and hit your heart straight on. You didn’t want to admit how much it meant for this absolute golden retriever of a person to think of you as a good person.

Dae-ho noticed your silence and it stung. He didn’t like how simply telling you you were a good person totally knocked you off your feet. He knew what he said was true, and it hurt him to think hearing it was something special. He didn’t think a compliment like that should be something foreign to someone like you.

“You really are a good person, you know,” he said, repeating what he had said before.

You were surprised to feel a burning behind your eyes. The earnest tone in his voice, what he was telling you, it was all about to bring you to tears. The walls you so carefully crafted weren’t cracking, they were crashing down. You couldn’t stand feeling so vulnerable and instead of shooting back some quippy comment you took off before he could see a single tear slide down your cheek.

Dae-ho watched you rush off to the bathroom, leaving him feeling heartbroken for the distant girl he had undeniably fallen for.

3 MONTHS AGO

You rubbed your forehead in frustration as the elevator music played from your phone. You had been on hold for three hours and were about to lose your mind.

“Hello Miss y/n,” a voice said, finally bringing an end to that cursed generic tune.

Your fist clenched tightly around the phone, more than a little relieved to finally hear a human voice, “Yes, hello! I’m here!”

“So we looked through your records, and it seems like the best course of action for now is to suspend your account and get a new card,” the voice said.

“But I’ve already done that,” you said with a sinking feeling.

“Oh… Ah, yes I see that,” they said.

“So, you see why, right?” you checked, hoping for some sort of solution in the midst of the worst storm you had ever found yourself in.

“Um…” the voice trailed off, clearly trying to find what you were alluding to in some sort of file.

“It’s my ex. He had my credit card info and used it to pay off his loans, but I can’t pay any of it back. I’ll be put into debt,” you explained, running a hand through your hair in stress.

“I see. Well, perhaps we can cover some of that. I believe if you report him-”

“I tried, but that…” you bit your tongue, stopping the “asshole” just on the tip of it from falling out, “He’s currently seeing someone pretty high up the ladder in the force, so...”

“Oh.”

“Yeah, it really didn’t seem like a productive phone call,” you admitted.

You quickly brushed away the frustrated tears falling down your face as if this person was standing in front of you. Of course, they had no idea, but even now you couldn't even stand the thought of someone simply being on the phone with you while you were like this.

“Listen, he stole my identity, took out credit cards in my name, paid off loans with my money, took out more loans in my name, and I need to figure out a way to fix this,” you said, praying they couldn’t notice the quivering in your voice.

PRESENT DAY

You were standing on the raised circular level a little nauseated by the hypocritically cheerful carousel motif. You tried to focus your head, but it was admittedly hazy. You had spent the last twenty four hours trying desperately to tamp down thoughts of two men in your life. Once from the past and one you were all too aware was very much in your present. You were completely unsuccessful in your attempts, and instead you had been tossing and turning all night and completely unable to eat at mealtimes.

Dae-ho glanced in your direction, knowing he wouldn’t catch your eyes no matter how much he hoped. He hated seeing you the other day leave the bathroom with red rimmed eyes. Clearly you had been crying. All he wanted to do was give you a hug and tell you it was okay. It was okay to cry, to be sad, or mad, any of it was okay. But if he thought you were distant before then this was a whole other level. Ever since your conversation after the last game you were avoiding him even more than before, which was saying something. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from watching out for you as the horribly familiar voice echoed across the room as it explained the rules.

You had managed to stumble across some much deserved luck. You choosing to stay ally-less seemed to be an advantage for Mingle. Everyone had their previously forged groups, but as the numbers called out by the voice fluctuated there was always people needing just one more person to join their group.

You and Dae-ho seemed to be playing your own separate game: how to look at each other without the other person noticing. Despite your resolve to completely forget him you could not stop yourself from scanning the crowd after every round. You would always feel relieved every time you saw his tall figure among the crowd. Dae-ho was doing the same, making sure you always had a group before he went into his own room. He was starting to worry as the game went on. You had seemed tired before the game even started, and as it continued he could see the exhaustion start to set in.

As soon as the voice said “Two” you tried to keep your head in the game, but the rush of bodies around you already had you stumbling. You couldn't even find someone to pair up with, and the rooms were quickly filling up. With a deep breath you accepted the failure that was approaching. But then a hand grabbed your own and pulled you towards one of the few empty rooms. You saw the number 388 on the back of your savior’s shirt.

Of course, you thought to yourself. Despite being so sure of your fate just moments ago you were hardly surprised Dae-ho saved you just in time.

He closed the door behind the two of you, and suddenly the hectic world was shut out. You both stood, frozen, looking at the other. You couldn’t find what to say. You had kept yourself closed off for so long, and so severely, opening up was suddenly an impossible task. Dae-ho was of course the first one to break the silence.

“Sorry. I know you’ve been keeping your distance for a reason, but-”

“Did you just apologize for saving my life? God, that is so…you,” you said, and despite everything you felt an exasperated smile pulling at the corner of your lips.

He paused for a moment before giving you a feeble laugh. You bit at your lip in nervousness, knowing what you were about to ask and it terrified you. Dae-ho noticed your stress and assumed the game, and how close you both just came to losing, had really shaken you up. He wanted desperately to offer you some sort of comfort; to say something or just hold you. But before he could do anything you were speaking up once again.

“Want to be allies?” you asked.

He gave you a soft smile as he took a step towards you with a nod, “Of course.”

“Okay,” you said, trying not to sound so overly relieved.

“I mean, I had never even thought about it before, but it seems great for a totally random idea,” he said, and you let yourself laugh at his little joke.

Dae-ho’s chest puffed up a little as you giggled, practically on cloud nine to not only get you to smile but actually laugh. He wanted to do it over and over again for as long as you would let him.

1 WEEK AGO

You turned the card over and over again in your hand. Your cheek was still stinging from the odd interaction in the subway. But at the end of it all you were given the very card you were holding now. You hadn’t been able to crawl out of the hole your ex made for you. You had no other answers.

With a deep breath you dialed the number on the back of the card.

PRESENT DAY

You waited nervously on your bed as gunshots rang out from floors above you. You thought about going too and helping them, but when you admitted you didn’t know how to use a gun they told you it might be best for you to stay behind. You still felt bad. Dae-ho and you were officially allies now, and you couldn’t help but feel you were letting that partnership down.

When Dae-ho stumbled into the room, you sat straight up. Something about him didn’t seem right. He seemed totally out of it as he rifled through pockets of jumpsuits. You quickly crossed over to him, kneeling down next to him.

“Dae-ho, is everything okay? Are you okay?” you asked.

Your voice pulled him out of the barrage of intense thoughts and images flashing through his mind. He was shutting down, but hearing you suddenly brought him back. He looked at you; a buoy in the storm.

Your heart broke for him as you saw his eyes start to well with tears. Instinctually you reached out and pulled him into a hug. He buried his head into the crook of your neck, and you could feel his shoulders start to relax. Neither of you had been that physically close till this point, but even in this heightened situation it seemed so natural.

“I… I can’t go back. It’s too much like…” he couldn’t finish his train of thought, but you recalled what another player had told you during the second game about Dae-ho being a marine.

“It’s okay,” you said, rubbing calming circles on his back before helping him get on his feet. He grabbed your hand in his, interlacing your fingers with his, needing to stay close to you in this moment. You let him pull you to sit next to him as he sat on his bed, and you wrapped a protective arm around him.

“I don’t know what to do, y/n. They need help, but I…” he started, struggling to finish his sentence once again.

“You stay here, okay?” you told him. You moved to get up, but he wouldn't drop your hand from his. Instead, he looked at you with wide-worrying eyes.

“What are you doing?” he asked.

“It’ll be alright. I’ll take them the ammunition,” you assured him, once again attempting to get up. He stopped you once again, pulling you close. Your breath hitched in your throat as he brought his hand to your cheek. It was a feeling that should seem so familiar, but somehow as Dae-ho gently held your cheek in his hand it couldn't feel further from your ex. Just like everything else Dae-ho did, this was real and not some “move” to get you to do something for him.

“I can’t be the reason you are put in danger, y/n,” he said, proving you right. He was not trying to make you forget any mistakes or to fix anything for him. He just wanted to hold you close.

You subconsciously leaned in, and it only took a half of a moment for Dae-ho to meet you in the middle. The kiss was gentle and full of care. You naturally leaned into his palm as he cupped your cheek.

“I’ll be alright,” you said, breaking the kiss.

He moved his hand from your cheek to the nape of your neck, guiding you so your forehead rested against his.

“I’m not going to let you risk everything for me, okay?,” he assured you.

Player 120 entered the room, and the both of you moved away from each other. He tried over and over again to apologize while she grabbed the ammunition he had gathered, but then she was stopped by one of her own allies. All of you snapped your heads to the sliding doors as guards entered the room. Player 120 and her friend quickly and quietly hid the ammunition she was currently holding.

Dae-ho grabbed your hand and gave it a squeeze. Neither of you knew what was coming, but it seemed like it would be alright as long as you had each other.

[charliemwrites]

Part 2!

Finally finished moving house so hopefully I’ll be updating semi-regularly again.

Content: brief and non-descriptive explanation of Rasputin’s backstory (injury and illness)

Agatha is over again.

You don’t know why. She doesn’t like you, your cats, or anything as far as you can tell. It seems her primary motivation for talking to you at all is to exercise her role as neighborhood matriarch. She “keeps tabs” on everyone, but especially you - the unmarried woman living alone that keeps odd hours.

A rebellious part of you wants to roll your eyes and make snarky comments whenever she sniffs at your life choices. The same part of you that would make scenes at holiday dinners or slam doors when you were a teenager. That girl has long been smoothed and polished - or maybe just worn down. It’s so much effort to make rude, nosy, traditionalists clutch their pearls. Much easier to smile in their face and do what you want anyway.

Still, that part of you itches at the surface sometimes. Makes your eye twitch.

“I know your generation is different but that’s just not the type of neighborhood we live in,” she’s saying.

You’re a bit foggy from a late night patching plotholes and haven’t registered much of anything she’s said. You really just want to go inside and stare at the TV until words make sense again.

“What do you mean?” you ask, for once not feigning your confusion. But of course this is the one time she doesn’t buy it.

She looks down her frail little nose at you, cornflower blue eyes baleful. You don’t feel scolded, but you sense that you’re supposed to.

“Now you know just what I mean. People will talk.”

People always talk, it’s an unfortunate byproduct of the human condition. Like a deaf bird, you’ve never understood all the chatter.

“Talk about… the buttercups?” you wonder, pointing at the blossoms. You’re quite proud of them actually.

Agatha puffs up and hisses out a breath. “You ought to keep to this side of the street. Away from those men.”

You blink. Men…?

A bang comes from across the street, followed by rough German cursing. (At least you think it’s cursing.)

Ah. Those men.

“I was just welcoming them to the neighborhood.”

It comes out of your mouth automatically, innocent excuses for something you remind yourself you don’t need to justify.

“I’d rather they didn’t feel welcome,” she snips. “Better they sell that awful house and go somewhere else.”

You flick your eyes over her bony shoulder. Konig passes by a window, massive biceps on display as he lifts something outside of view.

“They’re nice,” you say. Nice to look at. Krueger’s face alone quite makes up for his conversational shortcomings.

“The only reason men like that act nice is because they want something,” Agatha snaps. “This is a respectable neighborhood.”

Yeah, soooo respectable when Bertram rifles through your mail or Lisa looks into your backyard.

“Well,” you muse, “better to be on good terms with them, I think. They're not the type you want to piss off.”

That defiant streak lights up at the way her face sours. If only she knew what sort of words you use when it’s just you and the cats.

“You’ve just proven my point. Those are not the type of men young ladies should associating themselves with.”

You have to try very hard not to scrunch up your face. One blessed day, people will stop referring to you as “young lady” in that insufferably condescending tone. You can’t wait for that day.

Some of your mounting irritation must show on your face because she takes on a sickly sweet “teaching” tone.

“Neighborhoods are like gardens. Everything grows best when the rows are kept separate. That’s why the farmers plant them that way.”

You glance pointedly at your own yard, where the flowers are blooming in haphazard sprigs wherever you tossed the seeds. Agatha’s lips get thin.

“Best that you stay on this side of the street, missy. That’s the last I’ll hear of it.”

She spins on her heel and stalks off like a particularly drab bird. You stand on your porch for a second longer, face contorted in annoyed confusion. You don’t even have strong feelings about the three men; the simple act of someone - Agatha of all people - labeling them as “Off Limits” makes them instantly more appealing.

Maybe you should see someone about that or something. Then the pathetic cries of Guy through the window lure you back inside.

It’s nearly sundown when there’s a knock at your door. Still agitated from your talk with Agatha, you puff up like Shithead when Rasputin sits on her favorite toy. March up to the door, fling it open - and come up short when you see the three men looming on your doorstep.

Before you can recover, a little gray blob scrambles past your ankles, crying like the sky is falling.

“Oh!” Konig gasps in pleasant surprise. “Hallo, Bubchen!”

And all 6-foot-plus of Austrian instantly folds to scoop Guy up. You’ve barely managed a now-useless shout of alarm when Shithead wedges her fat head between your calves. Behind you, Rasputin politely screeches his little chainsmoker call.

And somehow, in the chaos of fumbling for furballs, you end up with all three men in your foyer.

Guy is purring away in Konig’s thick arms. Shithead is attempting to scale Krueger’s tight cargo pants. And Rasputin is pawing the air at Nikto, visibly calculating the jump to his wide shoulders.

Which leaves you with the clean serving platter you dropped off just yesterday. You blink at it for a moment, then glance at them.

“So… the cookies were good then?”

“Very good!” Konig rushes to say. Krueger and Nikto each nod, almost comically solemn.

“We have no baking or cooking skills,” Krueger continues, “so tell us what needs fixing.”

It takes you a moment to understand what he means. The house. He wants to fix your house. It’s surprisingly sweet, and you laugh a bit, shaking your head. “You don’t need to do that, I was just-“

“Is custom,” Nikto interrupts.

Konig nods with all the enthusiasm of a bobblehead as Krueger crosses his arms. (Whatever effect he’s going for is ruined by Shithead clinging to his pocket and screaming.)

“In our country, we bring gifts as guests. Our gift is repairs,” he explains.

You arch your brows playfully. “I don’t remember inviting you to be guests.”

He arches his brows right back. “We did not invite you either.”

Well shit.

“Okay, okay. I guess there’s a couple things…”

Konig perks up. “We would be happy to help, Biene!”

It’s strange having men in the house. You think you should be more nervous about it, can’t remember the last non-family man allowed into your space. Especially alone.

There’s a sharp awareness, of course. Hard not to be aware of them. It’s not just that they’re big, dwarfing all of your you-sized furniture. There’s a presence to them, something felt but not seen by your untrained eye. Maybe it’s in the set of their shoulders, the way they stand with both boots firmly planted. Maybe it’s the precise way they speak and move, not just separately but as a unit. Acting more like a collective consciousness than as individuals.

Whatever it is, you couldn’t ignore them if you tried. And you’re definitely not trying.

You set Krueger to work on the kitchen cabinet you’ve been meaning to replace. He clicks his tongue at the tape-and-lean method you’ve been using to keep the old one in place. Shithead immediately sets to work helping by gnawing at his shoelaces.

Konig is stationed in the guest bathroom, where the sink doesn’t run right. Guy comes mewing into your arms when he’s set down, effectively tattling that his new friend is mean and awful for withholding affection for even a moment.

You try not to visibly hesitate when you corner yourself in your own laundry room. Nikto has followed you right in, seemingly unaware that he’s invading your personal space. He’s not even looking at you though, eyes zeroed in on the dryer you point to.

“It’s not heating up, so the clothes stay wet or take forever to dry,” you explain.

He grunts in acknowledgement, then nods to Rasputin, who has taken up residence on the washer. His one golden eye blinks slow and serene at the two of you.

“What happened?” he asks.

You hum, softening in pleasant surprise at the question.

“I’m not sure how he lost his eye. It was infected when I found him. But I know for sure the tail and leg are from getting hit by a car.”

You sigh, scratching at Rasputin’s chin. A rusty purr starts up as he tilts his head, revealing some nasty scars around his throat.

“The vet said that that’s probably from a fight with another cat,” you add.

Guy steps from your arms to cuddle up to Rasputin, shoving his face into his ragged ear. Grooming time, then. That’s as good an indication as any that Nikto’s probably safe enough.

“I ran down from an office building to save him.” You blink hard, eyes stinging just from the memory. “But anyway, he gets to rest and be pampered now.”

When you glance up from Rasputin’s happy little face, you almost startle at the sharp blue eyes pinning you in place. Your face feels warm, even though you’re not embarrassed.

“I’ll, um, get out of the way,” you say, clearing your throat. “Keep an eye on things, Ras.”

With the men occupied, you find yourself once again at loose ends. You drift towards the den, but it feels awkward to sit on your ass watching TV while your neighbors fix your house.

You check the time on your phone - ignoring the text from your mother - and figure it’s not too early to start dinner.

“Will I be in the way if I start cooking?” you ask Krueger.

He flicks you a dimissive glance. “A little thing like you?”

You scoff and cross to the fridge. “You could have just said no.”

“Nein,” he snorts.

Rude bastard, you think - though not without fondness, unfortunately. The surly attitude is already growing on you.

There’s meat and spare boxes of pasta and veggies - that’ll work. You start tugging out ingredients, mentally doubling portions for your guests. They look like they work out even beyond the construction labor, hopefully you’ll have enough to satisfy their appetites.

“So what’s the plan with the house?” you ask as you get to work. “Just fixing it up to sell or…?”

“We will live there, the three of us,” Krueger answers. He swipes a screwdriver from Shithead’s batting paws. “Somewhere to stay when we are not working.”

You hum, biting back the next obvious question, loathe to become as nosy as the rest of your neighbors. Still… getting to know people, right?

It sounds like they expect to travel a lot. You can’t imagine them as business types - not in the traditional sense anyway. Though the image of Konig sitting in a tiny cubicle does make you smile a bit. Between their statures, their clothes, their shoes, and the occasional nasty scar, you take a guess.

“Are you guys military?”

“Contractor,” Krueger corrects.

You perk up. “Wait, really?”

He scowls. “Does it sound like a joke?”

You huff and turn back to the veggies you’re cutting. “No, no. I just - you know about guns and knives and things, then?”

He pauses. You shoot him a curious glance, only to quickly look away at the intense scrutiny directed your way.

“Yes,” he answers slowly.

“Then… could you maybe answer some questions…?”

His eyes narrow. “Questions?”

You keep your gaze on the cutting board. “Okay, wait, it's not suspicious. I’m a writer and it’s hard to google very specific questions sometimes. It’s just easier to ask an expert in person.”

Never mind that majority of your readers would never know the difference. It bothers you when things aren’t accurate.

He makes a considering noise. “A writer?”

You flush. “That’s what I do. Why I’m always home? I publish fiction.”

He stands, brushing his hands off on his pants. You peek his way, shocked to see a task you’ve been putting off for weeks already done. Hell, it looks sturdier than the rest of the cabinet doors, too.

“And your fiction requires knowledge of guns and knives and ‘things’?” he asks.

Your face feels like it’s on fire. “Sometimes…”

“Fine. I will answer your questions,” he allows.

You beam. “Thank you!”

He grunts, snatches a slice of pepper and pops it into his mouth.

“What else needs doing?”

Dinner ends up much more pleasant than expected. Nikto abstains from eating, you assume because he doesn’t feel comfortable removing his ever-present mask, but he sits at the table with Rasputin in his lap. He speaks little, and has that intense gaze that prickles at your freeze instinct, but you grow used to it as the meal progresses.

Konig, however, becomes chattier with food in his belly. He’s much more forthcoming when he answers your polite and totally casual questions - though you notice Krueger kick him under the table once or twice.

You suppose he gets you back by effectively announcing to the others what your career is. Which just kicks off the usual line of questioning about how and why you got into writing. Still, there’s no judgment from these men that make their living in labors of blood and sacrifice, where you expected censure. You only find genuine curiosity and intrigue, good-natured questions. Not even Krueger makes backhanded comments about it not being a “real” job.

Before you know it, the moon is high and you’re sending the three of them off, bellies full and a little friendlier than before. Nikto nods to you (and Rasputin) as he leaves, a big Tupperware of his dinner portion in hand.

You tell yourself it’s not anticipation that goes through you, knowing they’ll be back with it soon.

Previous | Next

Masterlist

[biolumien]

heya!! Saw you had open requests. And I was wondering if you could do something with Hoshina with the trope of Opposites attract?

Like maybe reader could be shy and quiet type. Who is strangely not a fighter like he is. Reader could be a sweet civilian or something and it'd be nice to see how the rest of the characters react to their relationship. Though of course, feel free to change it as you wish. Whatever you write I'm sure it'll turn out amazing.

Feel free to ignore this if it isn't your fancy :DD

notes: ahh repeat it with me now the fic got away from me and took on a life of its own... i hope this is okay ;-;!!

cafe latte

soshiro hoshina x gn!reader no content warnings necessary. i think word count: 1752

the first time you were saved by soshiro hoshina was in front of the wreckage surrounding your cafe. 

the smell of blood was overwhelming as you stepped out warily, wincing as a drop of the kaiju carcass’s acidic blood dripped onto the pavement in front of you, carving out a hole in the concrete. 

“careful!” a voice called out from somewhere above you. “it’s still not safe for civilians.” 

you watch as the vice captain of the third division, soshiro hoshina, lands deftly on the ground, sheathing his twin katanas at his back. his closed, smiling eyes crack open just a tad, and he hums, his voice muffled by his respirator. 

your eyes go wide. 

the third division was legendary among the defense force, after all, and it was soshiro hoshina in the flesh in front of you! your body seemed to move of its own accord, and--

“um–can i,” you stammer out, pulling out your notepad for taking cafe orders. “can i get your autograph?”

“huh?” hoshina wipes a bit of blood from his suit. “i mean, sure, but wouldn’t you rather get an autograph from captain ashiro? i’m sure the resell value on that is far better.” even as he said this, though, he’d reached out to sign your notepad, scribbling a haphazard signature.

“i mean–everyone likes captain ashiro,” you say nervously as hoshina hands the notepad back to you. “but—you kept the kaiju from wrecking my—my shop.” you shift your eyes to the front of your cafe, and then back to hoshina, covered in blood and still wearing his respirator mask. “so i wanted your signature specifically.” 

“oh, i see,” hoshina says. he sounds teasing. “business will be slow for a bit, though, with the cleanup. are you going to be okay?” 

“oh? i—yes, i… it’ll be fine. the cleaners usually take… two weeks, i think. so… it might be a bit slower.” 

“hmm.” hoshina hums, removing his mask. you’d seen hoshina’s face on the news, largely in the background as mina ashiro spoke on eliminating the kaiju threat—so you’d known he was handsome, but something about seeing his face in person was different. he felt more—tangible. real. 

“i’ll have to stop by some time,” hoshina says with a smile. 

“i…” you lift up your notepad to hide your face. “i-i mean… sure. i… i don’t know why you would… but—”

“think of it like me paying you back for the slow business,” hoshina says. 

“okay,” you say, your voice hitching slightly. 

[…]

business was slow the next week, as you’d told hoshina. the kaiju carcass outside was pretty bad for business, really–something about the bad vibes, or something like that. so you go through the motions, cleaning up tables, ordering new coffee beans and stock for the next few weeks when business would pick up again. it was hard work, but it was made a little easier based on the fact that there was hardly anyone in the cafe right now. 

you look outside the window, resting your elbows on the counter, sighing. looks like it’d be another slow day after all. 

you raise your head as the cafe door jingles.

“welcome to the—it’s you,” you stammer out as hoshina walks through the door. off-duty he wears fairly loose clothes, a sharp contrast to how sharply dressed he looks during press conferences. he’s dressed in a loose black jacket with a tight turtleneck, and loose pants with a pair of reasonably-fashionable looking sneakers, with a black mask over his mouth. “you really didn’t have to—”

“not like i had much better to do,” hoshina says easily, waving a hand, pulling down his mask now that he was inside. “it’s not often i get time off. and i gave you my word, so i might as well make good on it.” he walks forward, examining the cafe menu. “what’s good here?” 

“umm—the… americano, is… okay,” you say. “i… think.” “you think?” hoshina blinks at you, his eyes narrowing slightly, teasingly. “does that mean you don’t know?”

“i–no, it’s–it’s good,” you say more assertively now. hoshina laughs, and your heart skips a strange beat. 

“hm… i’ll admit i don’t really drink that much coffee, so i’ll give you free reign to do whatever you think i’d like.” hoshina smiles. 

“i–that’s too much freedom,” you protest. “what if you hate it–” “i’m not gonna hate it,” hoshina says. “i came here out of my own free will after all! just go with the flow.”

so you end up making him a latte, doing a bit of latte art on the top using some cream. it’s a small fox with closed eyes and a sharp smile, and you slide it across the counter for his approval. he picks up the cup, spinning it gently–and you try not to look too hard at his hands. he hums.

“looks almost too cute to drink,” he says. “cheers, though.” he takes a long, slow sip, and you feel your heart pound in your throat as he lowers the cup. 

“is—”

“it’s good,” hoshina says with a smile. “i’ll have to keep coming back here. i can’t believe i’ve missed out on this place.” 

[…]

he just… keeps coming back during his off duty hours, dressed sharply and plainly each time. you make him new animals in his lattes—cats, dogs, bunnies, mostly cats and foxes. 

a few times you attempt a very crazy looking kaiju, but by the time you hand over the cup it’s deflated already, and you slide over the drink with shame on your face and he just laughs, and you try not to think about the fact that his fingers brushed against yours as he takes the cup each time. 

you learn a bit more about him each time, but it’s mostly surface level things. how his day’s going, what’s annoying him—mostly what’s annoying him, but said in a conversationally light way. 

but he asks a lot of questions about you. favorite color, animal, food—innocuous at first, down to grittier questions about good memories, lasting regrets and the like. 

you answer to the best of your ability, hesitantly and nervously each time. 

“not that i don’t… appreciate the conversation, but…” you say one day as you’re scrubbing down a particularly messy table, “why do you ask all these questions anyway? i-i doubt my answers are… anything interesting, so—”

hoshina takes a sip from his coffee. 

you made him a penguin today. 

“i’m just curious,” hoshina says, in a tone that almost sounds apologetic. “work habit. gotta know everything about everyone. your coworkers, the officers, kaiju…” 

he watches out the window for a moment, and you think about the large gap between the two of you—two completely separate worlds as he fights to defend the world from a threat so foreign and massive that it seemed utterly inconceivable—and here you were, wondering about how you might sell enough cafe lattes to make ends meet and pay rent. 

“but more than anything,” hoshina says after a long moment, and you nearly startle hearing his voice again, “i just want to get to know you because you’re interesting.”

and in his eyes is a weighted, assured sincerity that makes your heart flip nervously. 

[…]

the second time you were saved by soshiro hoshina, it was a smaller, less dramatic affair. 

you’re carrying out trays to some other customers while hoshina sits at one of the tables, his laptop open as he’s working on some paperwork. 

and then suddenly you trip on one of the floorboards, falling forward with a yelp, and you brace yourself for the utter worst—spilled glassware and maybe a really bad fall—but then you gasp out as hoshina pulls an arm around your waist, keeping you from completely planting on your face. 

he lets go soon after, his eyes scanning yours for a moment. you wonder why your side feels a little bit colder, why you wished for the pressure of his hand against your side to stay for a little longer. surely it was nothing. 

“careful now,” hoshina says, a teasing lilt to his voice, but then he seems a little more contemplative, slightly more concerned. “nothing spilled too bad, right?” 

“no,” you say, a little dazed as you check the trays to find that thankfully, everything seemed in place. “thank you, hoshina.”

“mhm,” hoshina says, his eyes flitting back to his work. a smirk crosses his lips for a moment as his eyes flit back up to meet yours. “can’t save you all the time, can i?”

you sputter for a moment, and he laughs, and it’s not long before you’re laughing too. 

[…]

there are people huddled outside the street as hoshina enters into the cafe today. he seems a little weary, running a hand through his hair. 

“you look out of it,” you comment. 

“i… the…” hoshina glances back at the people outside. your eyes widen when you notice the telltale ponytail of—

“is that mina ashiro?” you exclaim, slamming your hands against the counter. “seriously? out here?” 

hoshina looks wearier at the excitement in your voice. 

“sorry,” you say. “but why is she here?” 

“i…” hoshina looks up at the ceiling, exhaling for a second. “do you want to go out with me?” 

you think your heart stops beating. 

hoshina’s watching you, and his eyes flit to yours, before trying to look at anything else. 

“where—where did this come from?” you ask. you want to hide behind something. your ears feel hot, and he coughs. 

“it comes from… ah, i’m not good at metaphor,” hoshina says, spreading his hands. “it’s so much worse than being straightforward—so i’ll just put it plainly. i like you. i come to the cafe a lot because i like you. i want to go out with you. and some of my… coworkers,” 

hoshina turns to glare at some of the people outside, who seem to scatter at his stare. 

“…were interested in seeing the person that has captured my attention. so… i hope that’s clear.”

does he seem ever-so-slightly nervous?

your face feels hot.

“yes,” you say, reaching out to clasp his hand. “of course.”

hoshina exhales, loud.

“okay. good. not that i was nervous or anything, but i’ve got a reputation to uphold out there, with those clowns,” hoshina says, squeezing your hand back, cool as ever. you smile, leaning up to kiss hoshina quickly, and he laughs, brushing his nose against yours.

and out of the corner of your eye, you see mina ashiro taking a picture with her phone. 

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,” almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[lady-raziel]

It's time...we're edging the sleep

Link to the full pdf document HERE (includes links)

What This Is:

A collaborative, grassroots initiative for fans of Markiplier and The Edge of Sleep to promote the newly released TV show on Amazon Prime Video to raise awareness and generate attention that will drive supporters and casual viewers alike to watch the show.

Why This Exists:

Fans of the hit podcast and followers of Markiplier (Mark Fischbach) have been anticipating the TV adaptation for years since it was announced in 2021 and have been waiting to watch the show since then. However, after radio silence since nearly after filming completed, the long-awaited show is now being dropped on Amazon Prime early—before any official promotion starts.

Many fans disagree with the confusing treatment of an adaptation they have been wanting to watch for years, the haphazard amount of pre-release promotion for the show, and the increasingly high benchmarks of instant success placed on creative material, regardless of origin, that challenges the ability of new ideas and stories to thrive and grow.

This collection of suggested guiding materials is intended to serve as a starting point for fans and advocates in taking matters into our own hands and promoting the show we want to succeed, to open doors for future creative projects for all sorts of innovators, and to bring attention to the current challenging creative environment that stifles new projects before they have a chance to shine.

CRITICAL TAKEAWAY (if you read nothing else):

Stream The Edge of Sleep on Amazon Prime Video if you can and TALK ABOUT THE SHOW. Talk about it and anything else covered in this guide as much as you can, because every bit of chatter matters in allowing this project to succeed.

(More info on steps you can take to help under the page break, or check out the full doc linked above for everything!)

Most Important Steps To Take:

Stream The Edge of Sleep on Amazon Prime Video, as well as add it to your watchlist and like the show on the platform to enhance performance metrics.

The full pdf document has information later on detailing how to access Amazon Prime Video as well as information on low-cost pricing and deals for gaining access to Prime Video, and how to use “Watch Party” mode to stream with others.

You can “like” the show even if you don’t have Prime Video and just have a basic Amazon account! Even small metrics like this impact both the front and backend impressions viewed by corporate employees.

Use the hashtags #TheEdgeofSleep and #TheEdgeofSleeponPrime on social media sites where hashtags are applicable in sharing material about the show. Share or make anything you can—memes, art, discussions of the story, pictures, edits, or even just posts saying you’re watching the show. Truly, it all matters and helps!

It’s important to use both tags or at the very least, the second one indicating the streaming platform. It identifies WHAT the show is and WHERE to find it, which is helpful information for those stumbling across The Edge of Sleep for the first time. Additionally, using the name of the platform frequently attracts attention for Prime Video, which can reflect back positively on the show in the eyes of the company if The Edge of Sleep is the source of the discussion.

Although it can be laborious to type out “The Edge of Sleep” every time and thus impulse says to abbreviate in both discussion and hashtags to “TEOS/teos,” this can hinder effectiveness as it is not a recognizable acronym to non-fans and might impact the potential of the full “The Edge of Sleep” title to trend on any social platform.

Share the show with anyone and everyone you think would like it, offline and in person. A personal recommendation will always be more impactful than any ad—everyone is an “influencer” to someone! Also, be sure to rate the show or add it to your watchlist anywhere you can—including on Amazon Prime Video itself through the like function on the show page, as well as on third-party sites like IMDB or TV Guide.

Not sure how to recommend the show to someone? The brief synopsis, “fast facts,” and “pitch” suggestions in the HELPFUL REFERENCE section of the full pdf document might help, along with thoughts of enthusiasm for the show, original podcast, or any of Mark’s other projects mixed in!

Sites like IMDB allow you to rate shows and films for free, even if you haven’t gotten the chance to watch them yet.

Most Important Thing To Remember:

JUST HAVE FUN!!! This is about promoting the show we’ve waited for and want to succeed, opening the door for more projects we want to see, but also just about getting together as a community and making cool stuff!

Again, you can find all this info and more resources in the full Strategy doc linked here. Go forth and sleedge △

[w1w2]

A Contract of Silence

Previous part | Part 4 | Next part

Giselle x Fem!Reader

Word Count: ca. 10k

Synopsis: Quiet but meaningful interactions between Giselle and Y/N bring subtle shifts in their relationship. Y/N’s vibrant energy and creativity soften Giselle’s guarded demeanor, while Giselle’s small gestures of care hint at cracks in her icy exterior.

English isn’t my first language so I apologize in advance for any mistakes.

♡ Enjoy! ♡

The morning sunlight poured through the penthouse’s windows, painting the pristine surfaces of the living room in golden hues. The soft warmth of the light contrasted with the penthouse’s otherwise cold, modern elegance, casting fleeting moments of life into the stillness.

Y/N sat cross legged on the plush rug, a makeshift workspace sprawling around her. Papers, sketches, and a notebook were scattered in a carefully organized chaos, each item forming part of her preparation. Her brow furrowed in concentration as she scribbled a note, her head tilting slightly as if the motion could help her thoughts flow more easily.

The room was silent except for the faint scratching of her pencil against paper and the occasional rustle as she shuffled through her notes. Her hair, tied up in a loose bun, was beginning to unravel, with stray locks falling across her face.

She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice the quiet, deliberate sound of Giselle’s steps approaching until a shadow fell across her workspace.

“Taking over the living room?”

The voice, cool and familiar, broke through Y/N’s concentration. She startled slightly, her gaze snapping upward to meet Giselle’s.

Giselle stood a few feet away, dressed in a black pantsuit that seemed to sharpen her already commanding presence. Her arms were crossed loosely, and one perfectly arched brow lifted in mild amusement.

Y/N blinked, her cheeks warming as she registered how her impromptu setup must look, a sea of paper invading the otherwise immaculate space. Quickly, she reached for her phone, typing a response with practiced speed.

“It’s the best light in the house. I’ll clean up before I’m done.”

She held up the screen, her sheepish smile softening the apology.

Giselle’s sharp eyes flicked to the message, then to the array of papers scattered on the floor. She studied the scene for a moment longer than necessary, noting the precision in the chaos. Every sketch, every note seemed to have a purpose, arranged with care despite their haphazard appearance.

For all its messiness, the setup felt... alive.

Giselle’s gaze lingered on Y/N’s face. The younger woman’s expression was open, unguarded, so starkly different from the polished walls Giselle had spent years building around herself.

“Don’t let it become a habit,” Giselle said finally, her tone cool but lacking its usual edge.

Y/N nodded, flashing a quick thumbs up before returning to her work. Her fingers danced over the papers with a confidence that caught Giselle’s attention. She had a way of immersing herself fully, of bringing an unspoken energy to everything she touched.

As Giselle turned to leave, she caught herself glancing back. Her lips curved into the faintest of smiles before she disappeared down the hallway.

Over the next hour, Y/N remained entirely focused on her work, oblivious to the way the light shifted around her as the sun climbed higher in the sky. Her phone buzzed occasionally with reminders and updates from Giselle’s assistant, but she barely acknowledged them, too engrossed in perfecting the details of her notes.

At one point, Y/N leaned back, stretching her arms above her head as she let out a silent yawn. The movement caused several papers to slide off her lap and scatter onto the floor. With a small huff, she began gathering them, only for the pencil tucked behind her ear to tumble free and roll across the rug.

She scrambled to grab it, her movements uncoordinated but determined. It was mid-retrieval when a familiar voice startled her again.

“Do you always work like this?”

Y/N turned sharply, finding Giselle standing in the doorway with a mug in hand. The CEO’s expression was a mixture of amusement and disbelief as her eyes swept over the scene.

Y/N grinned, shrugging as she picked up the last of the fallen papers. She reached for her phone and typed quickly.

“Organized chaos. It works for me.”

Giselle’s lips twitched as she set the mug down on the counter. “If you say so,” she replied, her tone dry.

For a moment, Giselle lingered, her gaze wandering to the sketches and notes scattered across the rug. One page caught her attention, a rough design.

Curiosity piqued, she stepped closer, her feet sinking slightly into the soft rug. She reached down and picked up the sketch, holding it delicately between her fingers.

“This is yours?” she asked, glancing at Y/N.

Y/N nodded, her expression suddenly shy.

Giselle studied the drawing, her brow furrowing slightly. “It’s good,” she said, almost reluctantly. “You have an eye for detail.”

The unexpected compliment made Y/N’s cheeks flush. She typed quickly.

“Thank you. I didn’t think you noticed.”

“I notice everything,” Giselle replied simply, setting the sketch back down.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile at the comment, though she kept her gaze fixed on her notes.

As the day stretched on, Y/N’s workspace remained untouched. Giselle, true to her word, didn’t interfere, though she passed by several times. Each time, her gaze lingered a little longer, her curiosity growing despite herself.

By late afternoon, Y/N had completed most of her work. She leaned back, stretching her arms again, and let out a long exhale. Her stomach growled softly, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten since breakfast.

She stood, brushing the wrinkles from her jeans before gathering her papers into a neat stack. Just as she was about to carry them to her room, Giselle appeared again, this time with a plate in hand.

“Eat,” Giselle said simply, setting the plate on the coffee table.

Y/N stared at it, startled. The plate held a neatly arranged sandwich and a small side of fruit, as perfectly presented as everything else in the penthouse. She glanced at Giselle, who was already turning away.

Y/N quickly typed a message.

“Did you make this?”

Y/N tapped Giselle's arm making her pause. After a moment, she looked over her shoulder and after glancing at the screen, she said, “No. But I told the housekeeper to.”

Y/N’s lips twitched into a smile as she typed another message.

“Still thoughtful. Thank you.”

Giselle didn’t respond, but her stride seemed a little slower as she walked away.

As the night approached, Y/N found herself reflecting on the day’s small but significant interactions. Giselle’s presence had felt... different. The usual distance between them seemed to have softened, replaced by fleeting moments of connection that Y/N couldn’t quite name.

She thought about the way Giselle had lingered over her sketch, the subtle hint of approval in her voice. And the sandwich, while small, the gesture had carried a care that Giselle rarely showed.

Y/N didn’t know what to make of it. Giselle was still as guarded as ever, but something was changing.

The penthouse was silent, the kind of stillness that only came in the dead of night. The city beyond the windows glittered like a thousand tiny stars, but inside, the space felt heavy, as though the weight of the day had seeped into its very walls.

It was well past midnight when Giselle finally emerged from her office. The door opened with a soft click, and she stepped into the dimly lit hallway, her usually impeccable appearance showing rare signs of wear.

Her blazer was unbuttoned, and a few strands of hair had escaped the tight ponytail. There was a faint smudge of mascara beneath one eye, a subtle testament to the hours she’d spent staring at screens and pouring over documents.

Her steps were soft but deliberate as she walked into the living room, the sound of her bare feet barely audible against the smooth hardwood floor.

Y/N was curled up on the oversized couch, her legs tucked beneath her as she balanced a well-worn book on her knees. The soft glow of a lamp bathed her in a golden light, casting long shadows across the room’s sleek, minimalist decor. In contrast to the penthouse’s cold, sharp lines, Y/N’s presence brought a quiet warmth, her relaxed posture and the slow rhythm of her turning pages filling the space with a sense of calm.

Her fingers lightly traced the edges of the book’s pages, pausing occasionally as she absorbed the words in front of her. The faint rustle of paper was the only sound in the room, blending seamlessly with the distant hum of the city outside.

The soft padding of footsteps drew her attention. Y/N’s head lifted instinctively, her eyes finding Giselle as she stepped into the room.

The sight made Y/N’s brows knit together in concern. Giselle, who always seemed so meticulously put together, looked... different. Her usual confident posture was off, her shoulders slumped ever so slightly under the weight of an invisible burden.

But it wasn’t just her appearance. There was a heaviness in Giselle’s expression, a kind of weariness that Y/N hadn’t seen before. The tired lines etched into her features betrayed hours, maybe even days, of stress.

Y/N closed her book without a second thought, setting it carefully on the cushion beside her. Her feet uncurling from beneath her, she sat up straighter, her focus entirely on Giselle.

Tilting her head slightly, Y/N studied her for a moment, her lips pressing together as she tried to interpret the tension in Giselle’s demeanor. Finally, she gestured toward the kitchen with a small, questioning movement of her hand.

The gesture was simple, but it carried more weight than words ever could. Do you need anything?

Giselle stopped in her tracks, her bare feet resting soundlessly against the polished hardwood floor. Her almond eyes met Y/N’s, and for a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between them.

Y/N’s expression was open, her concern written plainly across her features. There was no pity in her gaze, only quiet understanding, a calm, steady presence that felt both comforting and disarming.

Giselle hesitated.

She wasn’t used to this, to someone noticing when she was worn thin, to someone asking if she needed anything without expecting something in return. Vulnerability wasn’t a part of her carefully curated life, and letting someone see beyond the surface felt dangerous, like exposing a chink in her armor.

Her instinct was to brush off the gesture, to mutter a clipped “I’m fine” and retreat to the safety of her room. But something about Y/N’s quiet sincerity made her pause.

The tension in her posture softened, if only slightly, as she gave a small nod.

Y/N’s lips curved into a faint, reassuring smile. She stood and moved toward the kitchen, her steps light and deliberate. She didn’t ask any questions or offer unsolicited advice, instead, she let her actions speak for her.

She reached for the cupboard, pulling out a mug with practiced ease. The quiet sounds of her movements, water filling the kettle, the soft clink of ceramic, filled the space, breaking the silence without shattering it.

As the water began to boil, Y/N selected a sachet of chamomile tea, her hands working with steady precision. She added just a touch of honey, stirring it gently until the steam curled in soft spirals from the cup.

The scent of chamomile filled the air as she carried the mug to the kitchen island, setting it down carefully in front of Giselle.

Her eyes met Giselle’s briefly, and she gestured toward the tea with a small nod, as if to say, This is for you.

For a moment, Giselle didn’t move. Her gaze flicked from the mug to Y/N, lingering on the younger woman’s quiet determination. There was no pressure in her actions, no expectation for Giselle to respond or reciprocate. It was simply... care.

Slowly, Giselle stepped forward, wrapping her hands around the warm mug. The heat seeped into her palms, grounding her in a way she hadn’t realized she needed.

Y/N offered another small smile before retreating to the couch, giving Giselle the space she needed.

“Do you ever feel like no matter how much you do, it’s never enough?”

Giselle’s voice broke the silence, the low, hesitant tone jarring against the usually confident cadence that defined her. Her gaze remained fixed on the tea in her hands, the swirling liquid giving her something to focus on, anything other than the weight of the words she had just spoken.

Her fingers tightened around the mug as she continued, her tone edged with exhaustion.

“Like everyone’s watching, waiting for you to make a mistake?”

Each word carried the weight of years of unrelenting pressure, the invisible but crushing burden of always being the best, of always being in control. Giselle’s usual armor, the polished, impenetrable mask she wore so well, felt cracked, the vulnerability seeping through despite her best efforts to keep it contained.

For a moment, she was simply human. Not the CEO of Uchinaga Couture, not the untouchable tycoon. Just a woman who was tired, who had carried far too much for far too long.

Y/N’s chest tightened at the rawness in Giselle’s voice. She had seen glimpses of the weight Giselle carried, the long hours, the unyielding standards she held herself to, but hearing it spoken aloud was something else entirely.

The room seemed to shift, the air growing heavier with the unspoken truths Giselle had finally allowed to surface.

Slowly, Y/N stepped closer, her bare feet making no sound against the cool hardwood floor. She didn’t reach for her phone to type a response. Words, she knew, weren’t what Giselle needed right now.

Instead, she placed a hand over her heart, holding it there for a moment before extending it toward Giselle in a simple but powerful gesture.

I understand.

Giselle’s lips parted slightly, her sharp features softening as her eyes lifted to meet Y/N’s. There was surprise in her gaze, as though she hadn’t expected such a quiet but profound expression of empathy.

For someone like Giselle, who had spent so many years locked behind walls of her own making, the gesture was disarming. It wasn’t a pity, and it wasn’t a solution, it was understanding, offered without conditions or expectations.

The tension in her shoulders eased just a fraction, the invisible weight she carried feeling momentarily lighter.

“You make it seem... easier,” Giselle murmured, almost to herself. Her voice lacked its usual sharpness, carrying a quiet honesty that made the words feel heavier.

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her eyes searching Giselle’s face. She didn’t type anything in response, instead, she offered a gentle smile, one that spoke of understanding and acceptance.

The warmth of Y/N’s expression was steady and unwavering, a quiet reminder that even in moments of vulnerability, Giselle wasn’t as alone as she thought.

Giselle’s gaze drifted back to the mug in her hands, her throat tightening as she took a small sip of the tea. The chamomile was soothing, the honey lending it just enough sweetness to take the edge off its earthiness. The warmth spread through her, a balm to the tension that had knotted itself into her chest.

It wasn’t often that she allowed herself to be seen like this, not without the armor of confidence and control she wore so well. But in this moment, under Y/N’s compassionate gaze, she felt... safe.

The silence between them shifted, softening into something warmer. The usual distance that defined their interactions seemed to fade, replaced by a quiet connection that neither of them could fully explain.

Giselle set the mug down on the counter with deliberate care, her fingers lingering on the ceramic as though reluctant to let go. “I’m not good at this,” she said finally, her voice low.

Y/N raised her brows slightly, tilting her head in a silent question.

“This,” Giselle gestured vaguely, her hands almost hesitant. “Letting people see... too much.”

Y/N offered another gentle smile, her hands moving fluidly to sign a response. You’re doing fine.

It was easy enough for Giselle to understand, her lips twitched, the faintest shadow of a smile crossing her face. “Fine, huh?” she murmured, shaking her head lightly. “High praise coming from you.”

The soft humor in her voice was unexpected, but Y/N’s smile grew at the sound of it.

Giselle straightened after a few moments, her shoulders lifting as she pulled herself back into the carefully curated persona she wore like armor. The vulnerability that had seeped through moments ago was quickly tucked away, hidden beneath the layers of poise and control she had spent years perfecting.

She set the mug down on the counter with deliberate precision, her fingers brushing against the ceramic one last time before letting it go. The tea had helped, its warmth soothing her frayed nerves, but it wasn’t the drink itself that lingered in her mind.

“Thank you,” Giselle said quietly, the words leaving her lips slower than she intended. They felt strange, foreign, as though she hadn’t spoken them in far too long.

Y/N nodded in response, her soft smile never faltering. She lifted a hand in a small, encouraging gesture toward the mug, silently urging Giselle to finish it. There was no pressure in the motion, just a quiet reminder that the care extended to her was genuine, without expectation.

Giselle lingered for a moment longer, her gaze flicking briefly to Y/N before she turned and began walking toward her room. Her steps were slower than usual, the quiet of the penthouse amplifying each movement.

When she reached her door, she pushed it open and stepped inside, the familiar minimalism of her bedroom greeting her. She closed the door behind her with a soft click, then paused, leaning her back against it.

The tension she had been carrying all day seemed to press harder against her in the solitude of the room. Her fingers brushed against her forehead, her hand lingering there as though she could physically will away the weight that settled over her.

But it wasn’t the day’s work or the pressures of running a company that filled her mind at that moment. It was Y/N.

The memory of Y/N’s silent gesture stayed with her, the simplicity of it more powerful than anything she could have anticipated. Giselle wasn’t used to being understood, not like that, not without words. It had been... unsettling. Comforting, but unsettling.

With a quiet sigh, she pushed off the door and crossed the room. She stood at the window for a long time, staring out at the city lights below. The view, usually so grounding, felt distant tonight.

For the first time in a long while, Giselle allowed herself to admit that perhaps she didn’t have to carry everything alone.

In the living room, Y/N remained on the couch, her book resting on her lap. She picked it up but didn’t reopen it, her eyes instead drifting toward the kitchen.

The faint steam from the tea still rose in lazy spirals, curling upward into the soft glow of the overhead lights. It was a small reminder of the brief but meaningful exchange she had shared with Giselle, a moment that felt both fragile and monumental.

Y/N’s thoughts lingered on Giselle’s words, the quiet vulnerability in her tone as she had admitted to the relentless pressure she faced. The woman who seemed so untouchable, so perfectly composed, had revealed a sliver of the weight she carried. It had been fleeting, but it was enough to stir something in Y/N’s chest, an ache of understanding and quiet admiration.

She leaned back against the cushions, her fingers brushing absently over the book’s cover. She couldn’t help but feel honored that Giselle had let her see that side of her, even if only for a moment. It wasn’t something she imagined Giselle offered to many people.

Her eyes drifted to the kitchen again, where the mug sat on the counter, the faintest trace of tea still visible at its rim. The sight was simple but grounding, a small reminder of the care she had been able to offer.

Perhaps, Y/N thought, the ice around Giselle’s heart wasn’t as impenetrable as it seemed.

The thought brought a small smile to her lips. It wasn’t a certainty, but it was enough to spark hope.

Y/N tilted her head back, her gaze drifting to the ceiling as she let the silence of the penthouse envelop her. The city’s faint hum echoed in the distance, blending with the warmth of the moment.

It wasn’t much, but it was something. And for now, that was enough.

A few days had passed since the quiet exchange in the kitchen, where Y/N’s silent gesture of understanding had lingered in Giselle’s mind longer than she cared to admit. The days that followed were routine but subtly different.

Giselle’s usual briskness softened around the edges, her tone less clipped, her gaze lingering just a fraction longer when Y/N was near. She still carried herself with her signature precision, her presence commanding in every room, but there was a quiet undercurrent of something warmer in her interactions with Y/N.

Y/N noticed the shift but chose not to comment. Instead, she filled the penthouse with her quiet touches, a neatly folded blanket here, the soft hum of music as she worked there. She found comfort in the small routine they’d carved out, even as the outside world continued its relentless demands.

It was during one of these tranquil mornings that the world outside crept back in.

Y/N had been sketching at the dining table, her pencil moving lightly over the paper, when her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, her heart skipping a beat when she saw the name. Mom.

The call was unexpected. Y/N stared at the screen for a moment, debating whether to answer. The weight of their strained relationship hung over her, a reminder of all the conversations she’d avoided.

Finally, with a steadying breath, she swiped to answer.

“Y/N, why didn’t you tell me?” her mother’s voice came through the speaker, tight and edged with both hurt and surprise.

Y/N’s fingers tightened around her phone, her chest constricting. She didn’t need to ask what her mother meant, the answer was already clear.

“I had to find out from the news that you’re engaged? To someone so... high-profile?”

The words were a sharp rebuke, but beneath them was a thread of genuine confusion and pain.

Y/N closed her eyes, exhaling slowly through her nose. Her thumb hovered over her phone’s screen before she opened her messages app, her fingers moving quickly as she typed.

“It’s complicated, Mom. I wasn’t sure how to bring it up.”

As fast as the text was delivered, her mother’s sigh on the other end of the line was heavy, carrying the weight of everything left unsaid.

“You’ve been distant ever since...” Her mother trailed off, the silence that followed thick with emotion. Y/N knew what she meant. She didn’t have to say it, their family’s downfall, her father’s death, the years of struggle that had followed. They were scars neither of them had truly healed from.

“But you’re still my daughter,” her mother continued, her voice softer now. “I want to meet this person who makes you so happy.”

Y/N’s chest tightened further. The guilt she’d been pushing down rose to the surface, threatening to spill over. She opened the app again, her fingers hesitating before typing a response.

“I’ll arrange something. Soon.”

The evening sunlight poured into the penthouse, painting the polished floors in a warm, golden hue. Giselle sat in the living room, a half-full glass of wine resting on the sleek side table beside her. Her blazer had been discarded, draped neatly over the back of the chair, and the top button of her blouse was undone, a rare concession to the day’s exhaustion.

Despite her more relaxed appearance, her focus was sharp as ever, her fingers gliding over the screen of her tablet. The faint glow illuminated her face, and Y/N could see the tension lingering in the subtle tightness of her jaw and the faint crease between her brows.

Y/N lingered at the edge of the room, clutching her phone tightly as she watched Giselle work. She shifted her weight nervously, debating whether to bring up the subject now or wait for another time. But she knew Giselle’s schedule was relentless, and opportunities for personal discussions were few and far between.

Taking a steadying breath, Y/N stepped forward, her footsteps light but enough to draw Giselle’s attention.

“What is it?” Giselle asked without looking up, her voice calm but edged with fatigue.

Y/N hesitated, then began typing quickly on her phone. She took a few extra moments to choose her words carefully before holding the screen out for Giselle to read.

“My mother wants to meet you. She found out about the engagement.”

Giselle’s gaze flicked to the phone, her brow arching slightly. Setting the tablet down, she reached for her wine glass, taking a measured sip before responding.

“I suppose that was inevitable,” she said evenly, though there was a flicker of something in her tone, annoyance, perhaps, or resignation.

Y/N nodded, her fingers already moving over the screen again. “She wants to have dinner with us. I didn’t know how to say no.”

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes studying Y/N for a moment. “Dinner,” she repeated, as though weighing the practicality of it.

“Can we keep it casual?” Y/N typed quickly, her expression earnest as she held up the phone again. “I don’t want them to feel overwhelmed.”

Giselle’s lips twitched slightly, not quite a smirk but something close to amusement. “Casual,” she echoed, the word sounding foreign on her tongue. She set the glass down, exhaling quietly as she rested her hand against her temple.

“Fine,” she said after a moment, her tone resigned but not unkind. “I’ll arrange something... appropriate.”

The tension in Y/N’s shoulders eased, and a flicker of gratitude lit her expression. She typed one last message, holding it up with a small smile “Thank you.”

Giselle gave a slight nod, her gaze lingering on Y/N for a beat longer than necessary before she returned to her tablet. But even as she resumed her work, she couldn’t quite shake the thought of the upcoming dinner and the unexpected turn her carefully curated life had taken.

The rest of the evening passed uneventfully, though the weight of the impending meeting lingered in the background. By the next days, the usual rhythm of their interactions had resumed, but there was an air of quiet anticipation that neither of them addressed directly.

When the evening of the dinner finally arrived, Giselle emerged from her room impeccably dressed, her tailored outfit exuding understated elegance. Y/N, already waiting by the door, glanced at her and typed on her phone “Thank you for keeping it casual.”

Giselle arched a brow, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at her lips. “Casual is a relative term,” she said smoothly, reaching for her coat.

The car ride to the restaurant was quiet but not uncomfortable. Y/N stared out the window as the city blurred past, her fingers resting lightly on her lap. Giselle sat beside her, her posture relaxed but composed. Though she’d opted for a less formal look tonight, it didn’t diminish the aura of authority she carried everywhere.

When the car pulled up to the restaurant, Y/N exhaled softly. The building was unassuming but charming, its glowing sign casting a warm light over the cobblestone street. Inside, the cozy atmosphere was immediately welcoming. The air was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread and roasted herbs, and soft chatter filled the space.

Y/N’s eyes scanned the room as they entered, spotting her family near the back. Her mother was seated at a wooden table, her back straight and her hands folded neatly in front of her. Beside her, two small figures fidgeted in their seats, their wide eyes darting around the room with excitement.

Y/N’s heart twisted at the sight. It had been too long since she’d seen them.

Her mother spotted her first, her expression shifting from surprise to something softer, warmer. She rose from her seat as Y/N approached, her arms opening.

“Y/N,” her mother said, her voice trembling just slightly.

Y/N stepped into her embrace, her arms wrapping tightly around her mother. She couldn’t say anything, but the hug spoke for her. It was an unspoken apology for the distance she’d put between them, for the silence that had grown too loud.

When they pulled back, her mother smiled at her, though her eyes glistened with unshed tears. “You look wonderful.”

Y/N nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile as she stepped back to greet her siblings.

The twins, bright-eyed and curious, grinned up at her. They were identical, with round faces and matching mischievous expressions. “Y/N!” they chorused, their excitement contagious.

One of them tugged at her hand, their voice filled with curiosity. “Did you bring your fiancée?”

Before Y/N could answer, the restaurant door opened, and the atmosphere seemed to shift. Giselle entered, her presence commanding without being overbearing. Heads turned briefly before returning to their conversations, the quiet hum of the room undisturbed.

Y/N’s siblings stared in wide-eyed awe as Giselle approached, their chatter momentarily silenced.

“Mrs. L/N,” Giselle said smoothly, extending a hand toward Y/N’s mother. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Y/N’s mother hesitated for only a moment before accepting the handshake, her expression polite but guarded. “And you must be Giselle. Thank you for joining us tonight.”

“Of course,” Giselle replied, her tone even but with a hint of warmth. Her gaze flicked to the twins, who were still staring up at her in awe. She crouched slightly, her posture unusually relaxed. “And who might these two be?”

“I’m Hyunwoo,” one of them piped up immediately, puffing out their chest.

The other nudged them playfully. “And I’m Hyewon.”

Giselle’s lips twitched into a faint smile. “It’s nice to meet you both.”

Y/N’s siblings grinned, their initial shyness melting away as they peppered her with questions. “Do you really own a fashion company? Is it true you met Y/N at a ball? Are you a princess?”

Y/N’s mother stepped in with a gentle laugh, her hand resting lightly on Anna’s shoulder. “All right, give her some space. We’ll have plenty of time to talk over dinner.”

The group moved to their table, the soft clinking of silverware and low hum of conversation around them creating a cozy backdrop. The restaurant’s warm lighting cast a gentle glow over the polished wood table, and the faint scent of rosemary and garlic lingered in the air.

As they approached their seats, Giselle moved ahead of Y/N, pulling out her chair with a natural grace that seemed effortless. Y/N’s mother raised a brow, her lips twitching into a curious smile as she observed the gesture.

“Thank you,” Y/N typed on her phone, holding it up briefly for Giselle before taking her seat.

Giselle nodded in acknowledgment, sliding into the chair beside her. As the server approached with menus, Giselle handed one to Y/N’s mother first before taking one herself, a subtle but deliberate show of courtesy that didn’t escape notice.

The tension Y/N had been carrying all day began to ease as the group settled into the rhythm of conversation. Her mother commented on the rustic charm of the restaurant, her tone light and conversational. Hyunwoo and Hyewon, meanwhile, were already fidgeting with the silverware, their energy bubbling under the surface despite their mother’s quiet attempts to keep them still.

“Do you come to places like this often?” Y/N’s mother asked Giselle, her voice polite but tinged with curiosity.

“Not as often as I’d like,” Giselle admitted, her tone measured but surprisingly sincere. “Work keeps me busy, but tonight felt worth making time for.”

Her words, though simple, seemed to disarm Y/N’s mother slightly. She smiled, nodding in approval as the conversation shifted to lighter topics.

It wasn’t long before Hyunwoo and Hyewon zeroed in on Giselle, their curiosity about her impossible to contain.

“Do you really run a whole company?” Hyunwoo asked, his voice filled with wonder.

“Do you have a lot of dresses?” Hyewon chimed in, her hands propping up her chin as she leaned forward eagerly.

Y/N’s cheeks warmed as she glanced at Giselle, worried the twins’ questions might be too forward. But to her surprise, Giselle answered them with patience, her sharp demeanor softening.

“I do run a company,” Giselle replied with a small smile. “And yes, there are quite a few dresses involved.”

Hyunwoo’s eyes widened. “Like a whole closet full?”

“More like several closets,” Giselle said lightly, taking a sip of water.

The twins exchanged looks of wide-eyed amazement before Hyunwoo straightened in his chair, mimicking Giselle’s posture. He clasped his hands in front of him, tilting his chin slightly upward in a clear attempt to mimic her composed authority.

“I’m Giselle,” he declared in an exaggeratedly formal tone, causing Hyewon to dissolve into giggles.

Giselle arched a brow, her lips twitching as though suppressing a laugh. “Is that so?” she asked, leaning back slightly as if appraising him.

“You have to call me ‘Ms. Giselle,’” Hyunwoo corrected, holding up a finger as if giving instructions.

That was enough to send Hyewon into another fit of laughter, and even Y/N couldn’t suppress the silent shake of her shoulders as she covered her mouth.

For a moment, Giselle looked genuinely amused. A quiet chuckle escaped her, soft and brief but unmistakably genuine. It was a sound Y/N wasn’t sure she’d ever heard before, and it made her chest tighten in a way she didn’t fully understand.

As the evening wore on, the conversation flowed more easily. Y/N’s mother shared lighthearted stories from the twins’ antics at school, and even Giselle offered a few dry comments that earned quiet laughs around the table.

Halfway through the meal, as laughter filled the table and Y/N’s siblings, Hyunwoo and Hyewon, attempted to outdo each other with exaggerated impressions of Giselle’s composed demeanor, the sound of a familiar voice cut through the warm chatter.

“Y/N?”

Y/N’s head snapped up, her breath catching as her eyes locked onto a figure standing a few feet away.

The woman was striking, her sharp features softened by a warm smile. Her dark hair was swept into a sleek ponytail, and her dress, understated yet elegant, spoke of the effortless sophistication Y/N remembered so well.

“Irene?” Y/N’s hands moved instinctively, signing the name as her mind raced to process the unexpected sight.

The woman’s smile widened. “It’s been too long,” she said aloud, though her hands lifted to respond in slow, deliberate sign language.

Y/N rose from her seat, her excitement palpable as she signed rapidly, her gestures filled with energy. “What are you doing here? I thought you were abroad!”

Irene laughed softly, shaking her head. Her hands moved again, the signs a little rusty but still recognizable. “Back for business. I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

The rest of the table looked on in surprise. Y/N’s mother’s eyes lit up with recognition, and her lips curved into a warm smile. “Irene! It’s been ages. Join us, please.”

Irene hesitated briefly but relented with a gracious nod, pulling up a chair beside Y/N. Hyunwoo and Hyewon watched the exchange with wide-eyed curiosity, their gazes darting between the newcomer and their sister.

Giselle, seated on the other side of Y/N, raised a single brow as she observed the interaction. Her expression remained neutral, but her fingers tightened slightly around the stem of her glass as Irene settled into the seat beside Y/N.

The moment Irene sat down, she and Y/N fell into an easy rhythm, their hands moving in synchronized conversation. Irene’s signs were slower, her movements less fluid than Y/N’s, but there was no mistaking the warmth in their exchange.

“How long has it been?” Y/N signed, her lips curving into an unguarded smile.

“Too long,” Irene replied aloud, her tone teasing. “You’ve grown up.”

Y/N’s silent laugh was bright, her shoulders shaking as she gestured back. “I could say the same about you. You’re still elegant as ever.”

Hyewon leaned closer to her mother, whispering loudly enough for the table to hear, “Is she like Y/N? With her hands?”

Y/N’s mother patted Hyewon’s shoulder, her expression affectionate. “Irene started learning sign language with your sister years ago. They’ve known each other since Y/N was little.”

Hyunwoo tilted his head, his brow furrowed in thought. “Did she always look like she came out of a magazine?”

Irene laughed at that, glancing at Hyunwoo with a warm smile. “Only when your sister dragged me to those galas. She used to steal all the attention.”

Y/N shook her head vehemently, signing quickly, “Not true! You were the one everyone admired. I was just a kid.”

Giselle’s gaze remained fixed on the pair, her sharp eyes catching the unspoken connection between them. Y/N’s face lit up in a way Giselle hadn’t seen before, her usual soft demeanor transformed into something vibrant, almost radiant.

The conversation flowed easily, the rest of the table watching with interest as Irene and Y/N caught up. Irene shared snippets about her business ventures and her travels abroad, her tone warm and engaging. Y/N signed back eagerly, her hands moving with a fluency and energy that made her expressions even more animated.

Partway through their conversation, Irene’s gaze flicked toward Giselle, curiosity evident in her eyes. “And who’s this?” she asked, her tone light but intrigued.

Y/N’s movements slowed for a moment before she turned toward Giselle. She hesitated briefly, then raised her hands to sign before remembering. Picking up her phone instead, she typed quickly and showed it to Irene “This is Giselle. My fiancée.”

The word hung in the air as Irene’s brows lifted in pleasant surprise. “Fiancée? That’s unexpected… but congratulations,” she said with genuine warmth, extending a hand toward Giselle.

Giselle accepted the handshake, her grip firm but polite. “Irene, I presume?” she said, her tone perfectly composed.

“That’s right,” Irene replied with a smile, though her sharp eyes lingered on Giselle for a beat, as though assessing her. “It’s nice to meet you. Y/N and I go way back.”

“So I’ve gathered,” Giselle replied smoothly, her voice even but carrying a subtle edge that only Y/N seemed to notice.

The exchange passed quickly, but as Irene turned her attention back to Y/N, Giselle found herself retreating into silence.

Irene’s voice softened as she leaned in slightly, her body language open and familiar. She recounted a humorous story from one of their shared childhood galas, her hands occasionally moving in slow, deliberate signs to ensure Y/N caught every word.

Giselle sipped her wine, her posture as poised as ever, but her thoughts were far from calm. The way Irene leaned closer to Y/N, her gaze focused and attentive, the soft curve of her lips as she smiled, it all stirred something sharp and unwelcome in Giselle’s chest.

Y/N’s laughter, though silent, was bright and infectious, her shoulders shaking as she signed something back to Irene. Giselle’s grip on her glass tightened slightly as she watched Irene reach out to touch Y/N’s hand, a small, familiar gesture that spoke of years of friendship.

The touch was brief, fleeting, but it set off a flicker of irritation in Giselle’s mind. She told herself it was nothing. Irene was just an old friend, after all.

But the feeling that prickled at the edges of her thoughts felt uncomfortably close to jealousy.

As the dinner wound down, Irene turned to Y/N with a gentle smile. “We can’t lose touch again. Give me your number so we can catch up properly.”

Y/N nodded eagerly, pulling out her phone and handing it out to Irene. Irene’s phone buzzed a moment later, and she smiled down at the screen.

“I’ll message you soon,” she promised, standing as the group began to rise from their seats.

Hyunwoo and Hyewon waved enthusiastically as Irene left, their voices chiming in unison. “Bye, Irene!”

Giselle offered a polite nod as Irene said her goodbyes, her expression unreadable. But as the group made their way toward the exit, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the slight stiffness in Giselle’s posture, the way her gaze seemed to linger on the door long after Irene had gone.

The drive back to the penthouse was quieter than usual. Giselle’s driver had taken Y/N’s family home, leaving the two women to share a comfortable silence as the city lights blurred past the tinted windows.

Y/N stared out of the window, her thoughts still lingering on the evening, the warmth of her mother’s embrace, the lively chatter of Hyunwoo and Hyewon, and the unexpected reunion with Irene. She glanced briefly at Giselle, who sat beside her with her usual demeanor. Despite the calm exterior, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling that the evening had affected her more than she let on.

When they arrived back at the penthouse, the faint hum of the city outside provided a soothing backdrop as they stepped into the warm glow of the living space. Giselle removed her jacket, draping it over the back of a chair before heading to the kitchen.

“Wine?” she asked over her shoulder, her tone casual but offering a rare gesture of inclusion.

Y/N nodded with a small smile, her shoulders relaxing as she set her bag down and joined Giselle in the kitchen.

They shared the quiet task of pouring the wine, the clink of glasses against the counter filling the silence. When Giselle handed Y/N her glass, their fingers brushed briefly, a fleeting touch that neither acknowledged aloud.

The penthouse was bathed in the soft, golden glow of its recessed lighting. Outside, the city pulsed with distant energy, the faint hum of traffic and the occasional gust of wind brushing against the towering glass windows.

Y/N sat on the couch, a notebook resting on her lap. Her pen moved in quick, deliberate strokes, her focus unwavering. Every so often, she paused, her brow furrowing in thought as the tip of her pen tapped lightly against the paper.

Across the room, Giselle sat in one of the sleek armchairs, a glass of wine balanced gracefully in her hand. It was a rare moment when she wasn’t working, her tablet and phone conspicuously absent. Instead, her gaze was drawn to Y/N, who seemed blissfully unaware of the attention.

Giselle studied her more closely than she intended, her sharp eyes tracing the gentle movements of Y/N’s hand as it glided across the page. There was something captivating about her focus, the way her fingers danced over the paper, the faint curve of her lips when she seemed pleased with her work, the way her hair fell slightly out of place, catching the light as she shifted.

Y/N had an effortless charm about her, a natural warmth that seemed to fill the space without trying.

Giselle tilted her head slightly, her wine swirling in the glass as she took a slow sip. It wasn’t like her to indulge in moments like this, to let her thoughts wander, to notice the way the golden light illuminated the strands of Y/N’s hair or the way her calm determination seemed to radiate outward.

“Grounding,” she thought. That was the word for it.

Giselle couldn’t recall the last time she had felt this... steady. It wasn’t something she was used to, this quiet presence that didn’t demand or expect anything from her. Y/N simply was, and in her unassuming way, she had begun to make the penthouse feel a little less cold.

Y/N shifted slightly, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear as she turned the page in her notebook. The motion was small, almost absentminded, but Giselle found her eyes lingering on the curve of Y/N’s hand, the delicate precision of her fingers as they moved.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, the glass of wine resting lightly between her fingers. She exhaled softly, the tension she hadn’t realized she was holding in her shoulders easing.

For the first time in a long while, Giselle allowed herself to simply be.

The soft hum of the city outside the windows blended with the faint clink of Giselle’s glass as she set it down momentarily, her fingers absently tracing its rim.

Giselle’s gaze remained on Y/N, though her expression had shifted into something softer, something contemplative. She leaned back in her chair, her posture unusually relaxed, as though the weight she carried so often had momentarily eased.

“Why don’t you call me Aeri?”

Her voice broke the stillness, quieter than usual, almost tentative.

Y/N’s pen froze mid-stroke, the sound of its tip scratching against the page coming to an abrupt halt. Her head snapped up, her wide eyes locking onto Giselle in surprise.

The question felt almost unreal coming from her, Giselle, the icy CEO, who rarely invited anything personal into their interactions. Y/N blinked, her lips parting slightly in silent surprise.

The warmth of Giselle’s gaze was disarming, and though her sharp edges were still present, there was something unmistakably sincere in the way she looked at Y/N, waiting for a response.

Y/N quickly reached for her phone, her fingers moving hesitantly over the screen as she typed.

“You’ve never asked me to.”

She held up the phone, her expression cautious, as though testing the waters.

Giselle’s lips curved into a faint smirk, her eyes flicking briefly to the screen before returning to Y/N. She picked up her glass, taking a small sip of wine before setting it down again, this time on the side table beside her chair.

“I’m asking now,” she said, her tone carrying a rare softness that dulled the sharp precision usually present in her words.

Y/N hesitated, her phone resting lightly in her hands as her thoughts swirled. She knew Giselle wasn’t someone who let others in easily. Every interaction they’d shared, every carefully measured word Giselle had spoken, had reinforced the walls she kept firmly in place.

But this? This felt... significant.

Her fingers hovered over the screen as she considered the weight of the request. The name felt almost sacred, a glimpse into the woman behind the cold, polished exterior.

Finally, she typed carefully, the words forming slowly as though she were afraid of breaking the fragile moment.

“Are you sure? It feels... personal.”

“That’s the point,” Giselle replied, her voice steady but carrying an unmistakable sincerity. “I think we’ve earned that much.”

The simple statement sent a ripple of warmth through Y/N’s chest. She nodded slowly, her lips curving into a small, hesitant smile as she typed a single word.

“Okay, Aeri.”

She held up the phone, her heart fluttering slightly as she watched Giselle’s reaction.

The name felt strange on the screen, as though it didn’t belong there, but there was a warmth to it that made her pulse quicken. It wasn’t just a name, it was an invitation, a signal that the carefully defined boundaries between them were beginning to blur.

Giselle’s smirk softened into something closer to a smile, though it didn’t fully reach her lips. Still, her gaze lingered on Y/N, her sharp eyes betraying a flicker of something deeper, something unspoken but unmistakable.

“Good,” Giselle said simply, reaching for her glass again. The moment was brief, but it felt monumental.

As Y/N lowered her phone, her fingers brushed absently against its edges. Her thoughts raced, replaying the sound of Giselle’s—Aeri’s voice, the weight of her words, the way the name felt simultaneously foreign and familiar.

The simplicity of the exchange belied its significance. It wasn’t just a shift in how she addressed Giselle, it was a shift in their dynamic.

Y/N felt her chest tighten slightly, warmth spreading through her like the glow of the city lights outside. It was a small step, but it felt like the beginning of something larger, something she wasn’t sure she was ready to name but couldn’t help wanting to explore.

Giselle took another sip of her wine, the rich, dry flavor grounding her as she leaned back in her chair. It had been years since anyone outside of her family had used that name, and even longer since she’d wanted to hear it. But somehow, hearing it from Y/N didn’t feel like a breach of the carefully constructed walls she had built around herself. It felt... right.

She glanced at Y/N again, watching the way the younger woman’s fingers traced idle patterns on her notebook, her expression thoughtful but soft.

The tension in the room began to dissolve like morning fog under the warmth of the sun as the conversation drifted into lighter topics. Giselle, who rarely indulged in casual banter, found herself speaking more freely, her sharp edges softened by the unexpected calm of the evening.

They exchanged light conversation, Y/N typing on her phone to share details about an upcoming event and even summarizing a story she had read earlier that day. Giselle leaned back in her chair, her sharp eyes flicking between Y/N’s phone screen and her expressions. Her responses were dry but laced with a quiet amusement that felt almost intimate, her usual reserve softened in the warmth of the moment.

At one point, Y/N typed something on her phone and held it up.

“How do you keep a straight face when investors say the most absurd things?”

Giselle smirked, setting her wine glass down. “Years of practice,” she said, her tone light but her eyes betraying a flicker of humor. “You’d be surprised how often ‘serious’ people suggest ideas that belong in cartoons.”

Y/N grinned, her laughter silent but bright as her shoulders shook. She raised her hands to sign a response, her movements fluid and instinctive as she explained something.

Giselle tilted her head slightly, her gaze narrowing as she watched Y/N’s hands move. Her fingers created shapes with such grace and ease, each motion purposeful yet effortless. There was something mesmerizing about the way Y/N communicated, her entire body subtly involved in the language, her expressions, the tilt of her head, the softness of her movements.

“Teach me,” Giselle said suddenly, breaking the silence.

Y/N froze mid-gesture, her hands hovering in the air as she turned to look at Giselle, her brows lifting in surprise.

She hesitated for a second before gesturing with her hands to ask, What?

“Sign language,” Giselle clarified, her tone firm but curious. Her sharp almond eyes softened just enough to reveal a flicker of sincerity beneath her composed exterior. “If we’re going to keep doing this, I should at least understand you better.”

Y/N stared at her, the request catching her completely off guard. Giselle, the guarded, composed CEO who rarely invited vulnerability, wanted to learn her language?

For a moment, Giselle’s own thoughts betrayed her. She remembered how effortlessly Irene had understood Y/N at dinner, the way their hands moved in seamless conversation. It had stirred something, an irritation she didn’t want to name, and a quiet determination she now couldn’t ignore. “To understand you like Irene does,” she thought, her chest tightening with something unfamiliar.

Y/N’s lips parted slightly, and for a moment, she didn’t know how to respond. The request felt significant, a quiet acknowledgment of the growing connection between them. Slowly, the surprise melted from her expression, replaced by a bright, genuine smile.

She nodded enthusiastically, her movements filled with excitement as she reached for her notebook, flipping to a blank page and sliding it across the table toward Giselle, her intent clear: Write down the phrases you want to learn.

Giselle hesitated for a moment, then picked up the pen resting nearby. She tapped it against the edge of the notebook, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “You’re really putting me to work,” she said dryly, though her tone carried a rare note of warmth.

Y/N’s energy was infectious, her eyes lighting up as she leaned forward, eager to begin. The light in her expression seemed to brighten the entire room as she raised her hands, ready to teach.

“Hello. My name is Aeri,” she signed, her motions deliberate and graceful.

Giselle’s lips twitched upward, the faintest hint of a smile breaking through her usual stoicism. “Show me again,” she said, leaning forward slightly in her chair.

Y/N obliged, repeating the phrase more slowly this time. Her hands moved with precise, exaggerated care, making it easy for Giselle to follow. Giselle watched intently, her sharp gaze fixated on Y/N’s fingers as she mimicked the motions.

Her movements were stiff and awkward at first, her fingers struggling to find the fluidity that Y/N made look effortless.

“You’re overthinking it,” Y/N signed playfully, her hands moving in a teasing rhythm. Her expression was warm, her smile laced with quiet humor.

Giselle rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress the small laugh that escaped her. “I don’t overthink,” she muttered, though the amusement in her tone betrayed her.

Y/N’s laughter was silent but contagious, her shoulders shaking as she gestured again. This time, she showed Giselle how to sign a simple “thank you.”

Giselle hesitated, her brow furrowing in concentration as she tried to replicate the movement. Her fingers fumbled slightly, the gesture coming out awkward and disjointed.

“Like this,” Y/N signed again, exaggerating the motion for emphasis.

With a quiet sigh, Giselle tried once more, her hands stiff but determined. This time, the gesture was smoother, her fingers finding their rhythm.

Y/N clapped, her grin wide and bright as she gave Giselle an approving nod.

“Good student,” Y/N signed, her hands moving quickly as she teased Giselle.

Giselle arched a brow, her smirk returning. “Don’t push it,” she replied, shaking her head lightly.

For the first time in weeks, the penthouse felt alive with laughter. It was soft and unguarded, carrying with it the promise of something new.

As the evening continued, Y/N taught Giselle a few more basic phrases. They started with simple words, hello, thank you, please, before moving on to short sentences. The phrases themselves were unremarkable, but the act of teaching and learning together carried a quiet intimacy that neither of them openly acknowledged.

For Y/N, it was surreal to see Giselle sitting across from her, hands fumbling as she tried to replicate each motion. Her sharp, confident demeanor had softened, replaced by something more hesitant and human.

“Slower,” Giselle muttered after stumbling over a particularly fluid gesture, her brow furrowed in concentration.

Y/N grinned, her fingers moving deliberately as she repeated the phrase. Her hands spoke with grace and precision, each motion clear and intentional.

Giselle followed, her movements stiff but determined. She glanced up at Y/N after completing the sign, her sharp eyes searching for approval.

Y/N clapped silently, her smile wide and encouraging. Y/N reached for her phone.

“You’re getting it.”

Giselle’s lips twitched upward into a faint smirk. “Not fast enough,” she muttered, shaking her head lightly. But there was no frustration in her tone, only a quiet determination that had become oddly endearing.

The minutes stretched into an hour, and neither of them seemed eager to stop.

By the time they finished, the atmosphere in the room had shifted. The usual tension that lingered between them, the unspoken distance born of their differences had melted away, replaced by a quiet warmth.

Giselle leaned back in her chair, her hands resting loosely in her lap. Her fingers felt clumsy, awkward even, but for the first time in years, she didn’t care about being perfect. There was something deeply grounding about sitting across from Y/N, watching her movements, feeling the unspoken connection that seemed to grow with each gesture.

Y/N gathered her notebook, her hands lingering over the cover as she prepared to leave. She paused, glancing up at Giselle with a thoughtful expression before raising her hands to sign one last phrase for the night.

“Good night, Aeri.”

The name felt natural now, as though it had always been hers to use. Y/N’s movements were slow and deliberate, her expression soft as she signed the words.

Giselle’s lips curved into a faint smile. She straightened slightly, mimicking the motion with a level of care that felt almost out of character. Her hands moved hesitantly but earnestly as she repeated the phrase.

“Good night,” she echoed aloud, her voice quieter than usual.

For a moment, she watched Y/N, unsure of what to say next. The younger woman’s presence had always been calming, but tonight, it felt like more than that. There was something about the way Y/N had patiently guided her, encouraging her without judgment, that made Giselle feel... seen.

And that was rare.

For years, Giselle had locked herself away, relying on her ambition and cold precision to navigate the world. Vulnerability had been a weakness she couldn’t afford. But tonight, as Y/N smiled at her, bright and genuine, she felt the faintest crack in the walls she had built so carefully.

The realization unsettled her, but it also stirred something else. A quiet hope she hadn’t felt in a long time.

As Y/N made her way toward her room, her heart felt light, almost buoyant. She had grown so accustomed to navigating the world in silence, to being overlooked or misunderstood, that Giselle’s effort tonight felt monumental.

She glanced back as she walked away, her steps slow and deliberate. Giselle was still seated, her gaze distant as though lost in thought.

Y/N couldn’t help but smile to herself. For all of Giselle’s sharpness, there was a softness beneath the surface, a humanity she rarely let anyone see. Tonight, Y/N had glimpsed it, and it felt like the start of something important.

For Giselle, who had spent years locked in her own solitude, the gesture of learning Y/N’s language felt like the first step in opening a door she hadn’t realized she had closed.

And for Y/N, who had long since learned to accept the quiet isolation of her world, the effort Giselle had shown felt like more than just kindness. It was a bridge, a glimpse of something real, something meaningful.

Neither of them spoke the words aloud, but the moment hung between them, heavy with unspoken meaning.

As Y/N slipped into her room, and Giselle remained seated at the table, both women felt the same quiet thought echoing in their minds.

What is this feeling?

[zeroseuniverse]

Her Name

Word Count: 553 Summary:“Because, Yujin, you don’t put effort into anything unless it really matters to you.” Pairing: Yujin X Fem Reader

Navigation

Yujin wasn’t exactly known for his attention to detail. He was the type to scribble notes that only he could decipher, forget to dot his i’s, and rush through assignments with messy handwriting that left his teachers groaning. Spelling? Barely on his radar. He wasn’t trying to be careless—he just didn’t see the point of perfecting tiny details when the big picture was what mattered.

That’s why the moment his friend Hanbin leaned over his shoulder and started laughing, Yujin shot him a confused look.

“What?” Yujin asked, lowering his pen.

Hanbin pointed at Yujin’s paper, where a list of names was hastily scrawled. It was for a group project—dividing roles and tasks among their classmates.

“You really like her, don’t you?” Hanbin teased, a smirk tugging at his lips.

Yujin blinked. “What are you talking about?”

Hanbin gestured at the list again. “Her name. It’s the only one you bothered to spell correctly.”

Yujin’s eyes flicked down to the list, and his chest tightened when he saw it.

There it was—her  name. Perfectly written. Each letter is neat and deliberate, unlike the rest of the page, which was littered with crossed-out words and haphazard spellings of everyone else’s names.

“Oh,” Yujin muttered, ears turning red.

Hanbin chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “Don’t ‘oh’ me. Come on, admit it. You like her.”

“I don’t—” Yujin started to protest but faltered when he caught Hanbin’s knowing look. He sighed, slumping in his chair. “How can you tell just from that?”

“Because, Yujin, you don’t put effort into anything unless it really matters to you.”

Yujin groaned, burying his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

“Not doomed,” Hanbin said, clapping him on the shoulder. “You’ve got a chance. You just have to, you know, actually talk to her instead of obsessing over how to write her name perfectly.”

---

Later that day, Yujin found himself standing by her desk, awkwardly shifting from foot to foot. She looked up, surprised.

“Hey, Yujin. What’s up?”

He swallowed, suddenly very aware of the paper in his hands—the one with her name written so neatly it could’ve been on a wedding invitation.

“I, uh, wanted to double-check the roles for the project,” he said, holding out the paper.

She took it, her eyes scanning the page. When she saw her name, a soft smile tugged at her lips.

“You spelled my name right,” she said, looking up at him with a mix of surprise and amusement. “No one ever gets it right on the first try.”

Yujin scratched the back of his neck, feeling like his face was on fire. “Well, it’s… important to get it right.”

Her smile widened, and Yujin felt his heart skip a beat. “Thanks, Yujin. That’s really thoughtful of you.”

As she handed the paper back, her fingers brushed his, and Yujin swore he’d never been so hyper-aware of anything in his life.

“Let me know if you need help with the project,” she added. “I’m happy to work on it together.”

Yujin nodded, a little too eagerly. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

As he walked back to his desk, Hanbin raised an eyebrow at him. “So?”

“She smiled at me,” Yujin whispered, a grin spreading across his face.

Hanbin smirked. “Told you. You’re not doomed—you’re just whipped.”

And for once, Yujin didn’t even argue.

[uhhlifeig]

Paper - May 22 - word count: 555 - @wolfstarmicrofic - tw: blood, violence

Harry giggled as Sirius conjured rainbow colored bubbles with his wand, blowing raspberries at them. Remus sat nearby, sheets of paper with haphazard drawings on them next to him.

“Aw, Harry,” Sirius cooed. “You like the bubbles, huh?”

Harry gurled happily, flailing his arms around.

“You should tell Lily and James that when they get back from their night out,” Remus said, smiling. “Harry likes bubbles. What else do you like, Harry?”

“Pa’foo!” Harry shouted excitedly. “Pa’foo!” he clapped his little hands.

Sirius stood up, eyes crinkling. “Moons, when d’you think he’ll be old enough to take trick-or-treating?”

“Next year, probably, seren.”

No response- Sirius had turned into a black mass of fur. Harry was busy burying his face in Padfoot’s fur.

The doorbell rang.

“Coming,” Sirius called, turning back in an instant. Harry frowned at the loss of his favorite dog, but lit back up as Remus handed him a crayon.

Suddenly, a scream came from the doorway.

“Moons, take Harry and run! Get away, he’s here-”

There were only two people who could elicit this type of fear from Sirius- Walburga, or He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.

And since Walburga Black was obviously not a man…

Shit. Voldemort had found them.

Remus heard the sound of curses being exchanged (Sirius hadn’t left his wand, thank goodness), and a yelp followed by “Run, Moons!”

Remus raced upstairs to the bedroom, knowing that Sirius hadn’t bought him much time. He had to go as far as he could.

A thud from downstairs.

There was something sickly rising in his chest- a strange amalgamation of fear and grief.

He knew that his fiancé had fallen. He’d felt it deep down, felt their bond snap into pieces and disappear like dust in the wind.

“Shh, Harry,” Remus whispered, stacking boxes against the door carelessly. 

There was no point anymore, so why should he try, anyways? The whole reason he wanted to make it through in the first place was because Sirius had promised him a wedding after the war ended.

Harry still deserved a fighting chance, though.

Mouth set in grim determination, Remus cut his arm just enough to make it bleed. He drew a few runes around the toddler with his blood, and prayed that it would work.

The door burst open, boxes and dust flying everywhere.

“Give me the boy, Lupin,” Voldemort hissed. 

“No.”

Slitted red eyes bore into his soul. “No, Lupin? You dare to disobey your lord? Think of what your pack-father would say.”

“You are not my lord, nor is Greyback my pack-father,” Remus stated coldly. “My loyalty is to my friends and my family.”

“But am I not family, half-breed?” Voldemort smiled, a grotesque pull of bloodless lips and pearlescent teeth. “We share the same roots… we were both laughed at for our interests, our fears and our choices.”

Remus tilted his chin up defiantly. “I am nothing like you.”

“Murderers,” Voldemort hissed. “We have both killed. If your precious Order found out… No. That wouldn’t do. Join me, Lupin, and we can enact our revenge.”

“Over my dead body,” Remus said fiercely, wand held loosely by his side. He knew what was coming next, and he didn’t have the energy to fight it.

“If that is your wish, then let it be so. Avada Kedavra.” 

A flash of green light-  then nothing but darkness.

@percabeth-trash

[seeingivy]

meet and greet

ryomen sukuna x f!reader

**part of my best friends older brother fic

previous part linked here

--

sukuna often comes home to you.

it’s never without warning - a text from you, begging to be freed from your roommates who apparently can’t keep their hands off of each other - and then you’re settled onto his couch, into one of his blankets, when he comes home.

sukuna would never be one to deny you. and on the third week, sukuna reasons that it’s practical. giving you a key to his apartment. one for you to keep, so you didn’t have to bend over and snag the spare from underneath his rug everyday. 

so he sets it down -  right in the middle of your book - before pressing a kiss to your cheek and letting you stew in your own feelings while he showers. and when he opens the door to the bathroom, he can hear your pounding feet right before you appear before him. 

“hey.” 

he smiles. 

“someone’s eager. can you let me put some clothes on, pretty girl?” 

you look down, at the fact that sukuna’s wrapping the towel around his bare waist, and pale. 

“no! no, sorry. i mean yes. sorry. i’ll come back.” 

sukuna relishes in the look on your face, that you’ve scrunched up your nose and forehead at how awkward you were being, as he places a hand on your shoulder, squeezing ever so slightly. he watches as your eyes slowly open, as you empathetically mouth the word sorry again, before he shrugs. 

it was a habit the two of you had fallen into, rather fast. sukuna was quick to realize that your head tended to run in ten places at once, that your mouth could barely keep up with whatever was going on in your head. and you were quick to stop - coaxed by a gentle squeeze of the shoulder - when you realized that you were going too fast and he couldn’t keep up. 

“you can stay. just promise not to look.” he mumbles, grinning to himself at the pink flush that goes down your neck as he gestures for you to follow. 

sukuna watches as you sit pretty on his bed, fists curled up in your lap, and your eyes dutifully shut as he quickly throws on a pair of clothes. he stops himself from talking too fast, taking the second to watch you, observe you like this. 

at you listening to him. so obediently. 

“are you decent?” you ask, eyes still pinched shut. 

“almost never.” 

“you know what i meant.” you deadpan. 

“yes, y/n. i’m wearing clothes.” he murmurs. 

sukuna brings his hands around your cheeks, slowly pulling you up into his embrace as he feels you slowly settle against him, your hands warm on his biceps. 

“had something you wanted to say?” he murmurs, lips warm on your forehead as you shudder. 

you focus in on his tattoo, curling down the length of his shoulder, tracing the inked skin with your fingertips. you swallow down the retort that you have, that he wasn’t wearing a shirt and therefore wasn’t fully clothed or decent, and decide to save it for another time.

and try to figure out the best way, the most appropriate way, to broach what sukuna had just given you. 

“sukuna.” 

“hm?” 

“a key to your apartment?” you whisper. 

“that’s right.” he murmurs. 

you press yourself flesh to him, arms wrapped underneath his, as you feel the warmth run to your face. it’s moments like these that you can barely even look at him, because talking and maintaining contact with his eyes simultaneously had proven to be a difficult feat. 

he made you nervous. you know that he uses it to his advantage. 

like he was right now. purposely dropping the key on you, only to fully talk when he wasn’t wearing a shirt. you knew that sukuna had to be aware. of how he made you feel. you’ knew he was the observant type. and that he was perceptive too.

it’s almost too precise. too intentional, the way he touches you. like you're glass in his hands, only touching you where you touch him first.

in almost two weeks, his lingering brushes haven’t gone past your hips or your thighs, his warm kisses stopping right at your neck. it was entirely different to the haphazard, almost callous hands that you were used to, in your granted very limited experience. 

it made your entire body twitch. though you suppose that’s the effect that sukuna just has on people. 

“you ever think we’re going a little too fast?” you ask. 

“did i ask you to move in with me?” 

“no.” 

“did i propose marriage?” 

you scoff. 

“no.” 

“put a kid in you?” 

“obviously not.” 

sukuna laughs, right before pushing you back on the bed, ignoring your yelps as he all but crawls on top of you, his necklace hovering right above your lips as he smiles down at you. 

“then how are we moving too fast?” he asks. 

“you can’t just give me a key to your apartment. what if i’m a serial killer?” 

“right. i’m going to get stabbed by a knife wrapped in a sparkly pink bow.” 

“you could! have you never watched criminal minds? people will do anything these days.” you defend. 

sukuna pauses, before he slowly dips down, lips warm on your cheek. 

“are you planning on murdering me anytime soon?” he whispers. 

“no.” 

he responds with a kiss, before latching his lips straight to your neck. 

“are you going to secretly plot to poach the apartment from me?” 

“no.” 

this time his lips linger for too long in that spot, the pressure increasing so fast that it makes you can’t even stop the yelp from coming out of your mouth even if you wanted to. 

“are you going to steal from me?” 

“maybe your shirts.” you murmur. 

“maybe my shirts.” he repeats, resembling an affirmation. like he’s giving approval.

sukuna finally releases the spot on your neck, which you’re sure will purple over by tomorrow, as he brings his left hand down into your hair. 

“you have weird fucking roommates. don’t think i haven’t noticed that you keep coming back here to study. to have some peace and quiet. just take the key and use the space. what’s mine is yours.” 

you wrap your hand around the silver chain, pulling him closer to you as you muster your best, more intense stare for him. but sukuna just thinks that you oddly resemble a kitten when you do it and swallows down his laugh. 

“promise i won’t disturb you?” 

“disturb? no. distract, however? i imagine that’s nearly impossible for you to do.” 

“hey. i would leave you alone if you asked me to.” 

“why would i ever ask you to do that?” he responds, pushing off the bed and holding his hand out to you as you both pad out of his bedroom and back out to the kitchen. 

--

on friday, sukuna sends you a message from his work email. 

Dear Y/N,  Are you free tonight?  Best,  Sukuna 

you snicker, as you open up the email chain and type your reply. 

dear king of my ass,  i knew the age gap was going to bite us in the butt. did you just send me an EMAIL? are you about to invite me to a NURSING HOME?  your friendly neighborhood spiderman,  y/n 

the response comes back extremely fast. 

dear queen of my dick,  did you learn how to write emails from a cereal box? have some decorum. and i’m only two years older than you, for your information.  my colleagues have decided to take my phone for the day in their very futile efforts at stopping me from arguing with our boss. and naturally, the group of them have decided to look through my phone and now have every intention to meet you. can you meet us for drinks at six?  the green goblin,  sukuna 

you respond back just as fast. 

dear prince of cooties,  interesting. who are these clowns? and why do they know your phone passcode when you won’t even tell me? >:(  (your response is contingent on my arrival, traitor)  member of the order of the phoenix,  y/n 

you step off the train, nervously waiting for a response, as you sprint up to your apartment to find a for a good outfit to wear. that would impress sukuna and his friends. 

the mere thought of it fills you with anxiety when you think about it. that sukuna’s friends would be domineering, as intense, if not even more than he was. and that it would be very easy for you to embarrass him. 

your royal stinkiness,  do i need to come over and shut you up? you’re yapping an awful lot. and our resident pain in the ass only noticed - and badgered me to invite you to our plans - when he saw my lock screen. i’ll meet you at yours at five thirty.  your most beloved death eater,  sukuna 

there’s a very simple solution to your problem. the only person who can help you with your outfit is your roommate, mai. 

--

sukuna never found it in himself to police what a woman wears. mainly because it never did him any good in the past. a high heel to the foot, getting yanked out of the bar by his hair, and worst of all, losing the hair cells in his ear from the screaming. 

but you can’t be serious. there’s no way he’s going to let you wear that. 

“uh, you can come in. just be quiet. mai has one of her guys over. i just need to finish my makeup.” 

and change your outfit. 

the retort dies on his tongue as follows you through your dorm, only now acutely aware of the age difference between the two of you, as the smell of sex reeks in the foyer, reminding him too vividly of when he was in college four years ago. 

you drag him straight into your room by the wrist, sitting down at your vanity, as sukuna lingers around your room - his hands on all of your little trinkets - as you brush the last of the powders on your cheeks. 

“this is perverted.” he states. 

you turn around to find your sonny angel in his hand, as you stand up and snatch it back from his hands before glaring at him. 

“don’t talk about her like that. it’s a special edition.” 

“it isn’t wearing any clothes.” 

“i could throw you out for the same reason but you don't see me doing that. put her back. "

you settle back into your vanity as he comes up behind you, smiling at you from the mirror before resting his arms right at your sides. he bends down and presses a kiss into your bare shoulder, his eyes quickly wavering down before meeting yours again. 

thank god for mai. 

“are you going to wear that?” sukuna asks, carefully picking his words. 

he watches as you turn back and look at him, eyes wide. 

“do you not like it?” you murmur. 

“do you like it, y/n?” he asks. 

you swallow hard. 

“what do you mean?” you ask. 

sukuna knows for a fact that he’s right. that in the three weeks that he’s been privy to be this close to you, what he’s gathered is correct. and he desperately hates that he has to wrestle you out of this outfit now, because there’s no way he was going to watch you twitch and shuffle in your seat the entire night. 

for reasons that are entirely lost to him, you’re not very comfortable with certain parts of your body. he can tell from the clothes you pick out, from the way you tend to shift nervously and yank your own shirts down when you feel something might be showing too much. 

he can gather as much. you’re not particularly fond of your chest. you tend to dress more modestly when it comes to the shirts you wear, always layered and hardly revealing. you’re not nervous when it comes to your legs. he's seen you sporting shorts and skirts, even going as far as letting him place his hands on your thighs. 

and he’s almost positive that there’s no way that you feel comfortable now. because your shoulders are tense and you keep pulling your top up, nervously readjusting your hair onto your shoulders to cover the most that he can. 

it’s only then that he notices it. 

“your hair.” he states. 

“what about it?” 

“fix it.” he demands. 

you turn back to look at him again, tilting your head to the side in confusion. and he’s not sure if you’re doing it on purpose, trying to get him to verbalize his embarrassing request or get on his nerves, but he’s intent on getting you back for it all the same. 

“the ribbon. put it on.” he responds, grating the words through his teeth. 

you feel the smile spread across your face - and immediately wipe it off when he glares at you - as you rummage through your drawer for one of your ribbons and quickly lace it in with the strands. and he gives you his approval - in the form of a kiss on the top of your head - before kneeling at your side. 

“are you trying to impress me? with the shirt?” he asks.

“yeah. but it’s not a bad thing! i….i just want to look nice for you. and your friends.” 

sukuna takes a deep breath. it seems that you were always deadset on testing his patience. 

“who put that thought into your head? and for your sake, i’ll pretend that i didn’t hear the end of that sentence.” he utters, wholly irritated. 

“about your friends-” 

sukuna leans closer to you, knocking over the tiny bottles of serums and makeup on your desk, as his breath fans onto your face.

“don’t repeat it again. you’re only supposed to dress like that for me.” 

you feel the embarrassment course through you. 

“sor-” 

“change.” he repeats, pushing off of the desk and knocking everything else off the stand. 

he finds himself in your closet, pushing your hangers on the rod before yanking out one of your dresses, as you nod and shoo him out of your room. and when you shimmy the dress on, discarding the old top onto your bed.

sukuna’s satisfied by the smile you give him, that you seem to release your breath as he all but pulls you out of your apartment by your wrists. 

--

sukuna stops you before you walk into the bar. and makes you repeat the promises he’s asked you to make. though, you really can’t understand half of them. 

“okay, repeat for me.” 

“i am under no circumstances allowed to divulge that we’ve known each other since we were kids. specifically to satoru. i’m not allowed to exchange social media with shoko. and i’m not going to interact with anyone at the other tables.” 

“good girl.” 

sukuna tucks you into his side, as he pushes open the door, and drags you to the table all the way in the back. there’s four people seated there, each clearly still in their work clothes of buttoned up shirts and blazers. 

sukuna reaches for the one closest to the edge, with white hair and blue eyes, before nearly yanking him out of the booth and instructing him to sit on the other side. 

“i was sitting there!” he pouts, wrapping his arm around the blonde at his side who recoils in response. 

“and now she’s sitting there.” sukuna states, pushing you into the middle seat of the booth.

sukuna places his hand flat on your knee before pushing down, in an effort to stop your nervous bouncing. 

“y/n. these are my coworkers, sa-” 

“friends! we’re his friends!” the white haired man states again, smacking his fist on the table. 

“coworkers. shoko, nanami, satoru, and suguru.” he clarifies. 

“it’s nice to meet you guys. my name is y/n!” 

“blink twice if you’re in danger. or if he’s holding you hostage.” shoko states, peering into your eyes. 

you laugh, pleasantly surprised and less nervous by the joking demeanor - and the fact that the four of them are actually smiling at you - as you slump down into the chair. you place your hand over sukuna’s under the table and squeeze. 

“how did you guys meet?” nanami asks. 

“we met when we were…at the grocery store.” you state. 

“meet cute!” satoru states, clapping his hands together as sukuna rolls his eyes. 

and it goes decently well. because sukuna’s friends, or coworkers, aren’t what you expected in the slightest. you find out very quickly that satoru likes to annoy sukuna like it’s his one job in life, which sukuna absolutely detests. and that suguru, whose increasingly soft smiles have been helping you all night, has been dating him for the past two years. 

“do you think we’re best friends in every universe, sukuna?” satoru asks. 

“we aren’t best friends.” 

“sukuna!” 

“i would kill you in another life. and this one too, given the chance.” 

and it all comes crashing down - the warm, gooey feeling you have from being liked by sukuna’s friends, that they remind you of your own - when someone pulls up a chair to the end of the booth, sitting on it backwards, slurring as they talk. 

“do i know you from somewhere?” 

you take in his appearance and immediately pale, realizing that you do in fact know him somewhere. and that it wasn't very pleasant. and that in the next few seconds, sukuna’s going to revert to his teenage rage when he finds out you lied about what happened at the bar a few weeks ago. 

“no! no, i don’t think so.” 

“do you think you would be able to quit being a nuisance for one night, zenin?” shoko asks, making it a point to light a cigarette right in his peripheral. 

“i swear i know you from somewhere. have we met before?” 

“i’m afraid not.” you respond. 

“i’m afraid not?” he repeats, squinting his eyes together before they go wide. 

wrong choice of words. because he catches on fast enough and responds by smacking his fist right on the table, before laughing. 

“this is our boss, naoya zenin. unfortunately, he’s always like this.” suguru murmurs, mustering a polite smile. 

“that’s what you said to me. i’m afraid not. before you bit me.” naoya clarifies. 

you pale and look over at sukuna, whose ears have perked up, as he leans over his forearm, his fists clenched on the table. 

“what did you just say?” sukuna asks. 

“this is the crazy bitch i told you about a few weeks ago. she fucking bit me when i tried to kiss her.” 

“it was an accident. you just caught me off guard!” you clarify. 

and within the blink of an eye, sukuna’s punched him straight in the nose, sending the poor guy to the ground. and you can tell he makes no move to stop when he holds him up by the collar of his shirt, as nanami and satoru stand at his sides, urging him to settle down.

you remember now from the email that sukuna had stated, rather explicitly, that it took the group of them to settle him down from his boss everyday. and now his hatred for him was certainly worse.

shoko and suguru are at your sides, hands on your shoulders, as they pinch their faces up. 

“c’mon, sukuna. not worth it.” nanami murmurs, trying to wrestle the poor guy out of his hands. 

“are you really going to do this in front of your girl?” satoru asks, eyes wide as he glances over at you. 

sukuna clears his throat, like he’s thinking, before he talks. 

“suguru.” 

he sighs at your side. 

“really, sukuna. it’s not a good look.” he responds. 

“exactly. so get her out of here.” he repeats, glaring at him, as suguru and shoko oblige start shuffling you out of the bar by your sides and taking you out into the cold of the bar. 

but the windows are clear. and the shades are pulled wide open. the fact that the two of them have escorted you out leaves little to the imagination. because sukuna swings the second your feet hit the pavement and the resounding cracks that follow could only meet one thing. 

“we’re sorry about him. he’s not always like this.” suguru states. 

“no, he is. he’s been like this since he was like thirteen.” you murmur. 

you feel your eyes widen, as suguru and shoko look over at you, confused. 

“ah. you know. he’s told me before. about how he was as a kid. real emotional guy.” 

“no he hasn’t.” shoko states. 

suguru breaks out into a smile. 

“have you known sukuna for a while? like…since you were kids?” suguru asks. 

“don’t tell satoru. he made me promise. but i’ve known him since i was four. he’s my best friend’s older brother.” 

and then shoko and suguru are barely able to contain their laughs, the latter nearly toppling onto the pavement as tears sprout out of his eyes. which is the exact sight that sukuna walks out to - seeing stars from his left eye as the skin swells up. he’s quick to stand at your side, as you reach out for his fists, eyeing the red smeared all over them. 

“not mine. most of it anyways.” 

“your eye. are you-” 

“i had to let him get one in. so i don’t get fired.” he shrugs, as he look over at suguru, who is now being pulled up by satoru. 

he glares. 

“what the fuck is so funny?” 

“y/n promised she wouldn’t let satoru find out. scouts honor.” 

you watch as sukuna’s cheeks turn pink, and as he quickly waves goodbye to everyone, before he’s dragging you down the block to the car and far away from them. 

--

“hold the ice pack there.” you scold, pushing the block back into his face as he rolls his eyes. 

you’re intent on disinfecting and wrapping both of sukuna’s knuckles, because save for what he said, there’s deep cuts along the length of both of his hands. 

“it’s fine.” he states. 

“you know. he was bleeding too. hiv can be passed through bodily fluids.” 

sukuna laughs, as you fight the urge to smile, and you carefully tie the white bandages around his wrist. his hands are calloused under yours, rough as you brush your fingers around his peeled skin and he lightly flinches. 

“relax.” you murmur. 

“you bit him?” he asks. 

you groan. 

“you’re in no position to be asking me questions right now. i’m mad at you.” 

“you’re mad at me? and what did i do to be so worthy of your wrath?” 

“i was having fun! i didn’t want to leave yet. and i didn’t realize you were still stupid enough to get into fights, sukuna.” 

“he called you a bitch. that warranted more than what i did.” 

"don't pretend that was you showing mercy, sukuna. he probably got dragged out on his feet."

"and if he didn't, i'll make sure of it on monday."

you sigh.

“now i’m never going to tell you what happened.” you state. 

sukuna rests one of his hands by your side, setting the icepack down and squeezing hard as you focus in on the bandage on the other side. 

“ice pack.” 

“don’t want it. i want to know what happened.” 

“well, i’m not going to tell you.” 

sukuna reaches his hands beneath the pleats of your dress, lifting you straight onto the counter, and pushing so close into your space that you’re lying down flat on the granite of his counter. and naturally, he’s hovering over you again, his pink hair tickling your forehead.

you find it annoying that he always talks to you like this. mostly because it sends your heart straight into your throat and you find it hard to talk. 

“you should really ice that. and do you always feel the need to be on top of me when you talk to me?” 

“only when you’re being bratty and won’t listen.” he states. 

“i wasn’t done with your hand.” 

“and i wasn’t done talking to you.” 

you pause.

“promise you won’t do anything.” 

“absolutely not.” 

“sukuna.” 

“fine.” 

“i was talking to him at the bar. he leaned into to kiss me. i didn’t want to, so i said i couldn’t. be asked why. if i liked him. i said “i’m afraid not” and then he leaned in again. fully this time. and i was so shocked that i accidentally bit his tongue before i could push him off. and then he called me an ugly bitch and walked away.” 

sukuna pushes off the counter, yanking you off of your back by your forearms before he holds his hand out to you again. and places the ice pack flat against his eye. you shoot him a grateful smile as you finish the other bandage and then press yourself flesh against him. 

“i made no promises. i’m going to punch him again on monday.” he states.

“had a feeling. you're going to get fired.” you state. 

"nope."

"he'll report you to hr."

"and i'll tell them that he tried to sexually assault my girlfriend."

you feel your cheeks burn, your heart thumping fast in your chest. at sukuna so freely giving you the label, like it was almost nothing to him.

"you're crazy."

“you’re fine with it? me beating it out of him?” 

“no. but that’s not going to stop you is it?” you ask. 

“absolutely not. he put his hands on you. I have every intent to break them.” 

always one for the dramatics.

you drag your hands down the length of his arms, before taking his hands in yours. sukuna’s never had someone look at him like this, so intently, so carefully at his injured flesh like they wanted to take the pain away away. and there’s a part of him, one that’s too proud, that won’t ask for what he wants. 

“that’s fine. it’ll be your fault when you get herpes.” you state. 

“herpes aren't passed by blood.” he responds.

“why do you know that? speaking from past experience?” 

“shut up.” 

“well, now i’m never having sex with you. you can say goodbye to that fantasy.” 

“you wound me.” 

you release his hands as you reach for your things by the door, slipping your shoes on as you shoot him a smile. and it’s your smile, so full and bright, that supersedes the pride. 

“y/n?”

“yeah?” 

“can you come here?” 

you nod, shuffling over as you tuck the purse into the crook of your arm, and look up at him. 

“you’re not going to kiss it better?” he states. 

it comes out as a demand, almost sarcastic. although he didn’t mean it that way. he silently hopes that you’re able to parse out the real meaning and that you’ll oblige his request. 

“needy.” 

you stand on your tip toes and press a kiss to the pink near his eye, before locking your hands in with his and placing a kiss softly on top of both of the bandages. 

and when sukuna leaves, he can’t wait to beat it out of naoya again on monday. just to have you tenderly wrap him back up and put him back together after. 

--

next part linked here

an: anyways. me and my ooc sukuna agains the world. and ofc, i will divulge why suguru laughed. and what the lockscreen is. let me cook guys 😞

taglist: @porridgesblog @k0z3me @kayleegomez @yihona-san06 @bsenpai @sweetenertea @skzismyhome @mykyoon @violetmatcha @rebeccawinters @shotenvinsoott @itzmeme @gojoswifeyyys-world @cutiejg @chilichopsticks @ghostreadersthings @charlie-xo @whoami-72 @heijihattorisgf @megu-meow @complexivelovely @multiplefandomthings @hoebuns @lzaj19 @glossygreene @ramluvr @sureconfused @najaemism

lmk if you would liked to be added to the taglist <3

[gaysindistress]

Imagine Bucky with a partner who isn’t quite….right (pt. 2)

part one

“The Death will mark the end of Angelic peace within and thus will begin the reign of Chaos.”

A prophecy that has haunted me since she uttered the words.

A yellow eyed, wide mouthed demon with razor sharp claws and a sickening sweet voice relied it to me in a dream when i was only a few years old. I’d kept the words to myself in fear that i would be made into an example for consorting with demons. I’d swore to never tell another soul in fear that my life would be made into a mockery and i would wish for death to come. I’d condemned myself to a life of isolation and confinement so that no one would find out what the demon told me.

However promises cannot be kept for long when innocence and manipulation are at play.

I should’ve known that telling that boy would wind up with the town turning against me. He smiled so prettily at me as he took my hand in his and led me away from town. He knew what to say as he stroked my cheek and pushed my hair behind my ear. He guessed my reaction to a perfectly timed kiss to the corner of my lips with the promise of more. He knew how to get me to confess the words carved into my heart by the demon without me even knowing.

As he laid me down in the grass meadow miles behind the church and slid between my legs, he asked me to tell him all of the secrets I’ve never told a soul. His lips blazed a path of holy redemption down my neck and across my chest as Hell touched words spilled from mine. Faintly I could hear the crunching of grass and mutters of angry townsfolk but nothing could tear me away from the false sense of safety he gave me. His warmth left me when my final sin was confessed.

Disgust filled eyes bore down into me.

Sharp nails dug into my jaw bone.

Acidic spit burned my skin as he spewed his God’s teachings and condemned me for my transgressions.

Ancestral screams shredded my soul and throat as I tried to beg him to stop.

No tears found their way down my face, possibly the thing that solidified my fate in these people’s eyes.

For a moment as he pushed away from me as if the mere touch of my skin would soil his purity, I caught a glimpse of her.

Standing in between two pine trees, the creature that was responsible for all of this lurked and did nothing.

Hair wet with a black substance that smelled of all that is foul and vile was piled on top of her head in a haphazard manner. A few clumps of it fell around her face in a way that might’ve been conveyed innocence if it were anyone other than this yellow eyed abomination.

Her smile, lined with rows of dagger like teeth, stretched from cheekbone to cheekbone as she observed the scene before her.

“The Death, my child. The Death is upon us.”

“Chaos. You have to be Chaos,” the pale Asgardian gasped in admiration and astonishment after several moments of contemplation.

The golden haired one I’d come to know as Thor visibly shrunk away from me. Steve shared a look with Anthony. Dr. Banner’s head dropped to his tablet and he began to ferociously type away. Sam pulled a bewildered face and looked to Bucky for clarification but received nothing.

A smile, well a predator’s grin more like it, pulled at my lips. The familiar motion released a burst of vile delight that began to flood my mind.

A sudden rush of such twisted energy at the idea that he knew who I was proved to be more than my resolve could handle in that moment.

My cheeks began to ache in an effort to prevent it from reaching cheekbone to cheekbone. The sickening sensation of sticky mist pricked at my skin. The eye that the boy had cut out blurred for half a second, indicating that the facade of normality there faltered as I regained control of myself.

All of this was well observed by the pale Asgardian as he kept his eyes trained on me and waited for my answer.

“Must I be?” Is what all I could manage in a moment where I knew much else would result in a complete loss of control.

“Hesiod wrote that you were an endless void of nothingness in which the universe sprang from.”

Steve cleared his throat, possibly in hopes to distract everyone from realization of what I truly am. Sam kept quiet with the two scientists muttered amongst themselves about what Loki meant.

From the corner of my eye, I could see Thor’s hand twitch, no doubt willing his prized hammer to his side should he need it.

Bucky, from where he had been reading on the couch, chuckled under his breath and nodded in agreement.

“If only you knew.”

Such simplicity to his words. To his appraisal of both the Asgardian’s knowledge and his understanding of me.

Such simplicity to his underlying notions of me. To his feelings regarding me. To the love that he feels for me.

“And what do you think, Asgardian? Do you believe Hesoid? Am I an endless void of nothingness in which the universe sprang from?” I posed with a twitch of that demonic smile gracing my face.

A cold hand touched my lower back.

My name was called once, twice. Perhaps a third them before I turned to find Bucky at my side. His hand moved from my lower back to grasp my hip and draw in. He pressed a kiss to my ear before whispering, “let’s get you out of here.”

I narrowed my eyes at him in confusion when he pulled away. I went to ask him what he meant but the look of concern in his eyes stopped me short.

I only nodded in agreement and allowed him to bid our joint farewells so I could regain my composure. I cared not for the social rules that I broke as I slipped away and found the stairs where I waited for bucky to join me. Tendrils from the shadows surrounding me stretched and reached out until they could touch me. If you listened carefully, more often than not their nearly silent song could be heard.

“The Death has marked the end of Angelic peace within and thus has begun the reign of Chaos.”

[aspenmissing]

hi im back 😻

would you be able to do arcane x reader who has trauma from being a car / road accident in the past ? yes it may be a deep topic but its just a suggestion :)

ʀᴏᴀᴅ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx || ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ/ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ-ɪꜱʜ || 5874 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ᴛʀᴀᴜᴍᴀ ʀᴇꜱᴘᴏɴꜱᴇ, ᴄᴀʀʀɪᴀɢᴇ ᴀᴄᴄɪᴅᴇɴᴛꜱ, ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ ᴏꜰ ᴄʜɪʟᴅʜᴏᴏᴅ ꜰʀɪᴇɴᴅ (ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ), ꜰᴇᴀʀ ᴏꜰ ᴄᴀʀꜱ,ʀᴏᴀᴅꜱ?

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ᴀʜʜʜ!! ᴍʏ ʙᴇʟᴏᴠᴇᴅ ᴍᴀʏ! ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ᴋᴇᴇᴘɪɴɢ ᴡᴇʟʟ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ <3 ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ!!! <3 <3

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴊɪɴx/ᴘᴏᴡᴅᴇʀ

JAYCE

The streets of Piltover were always bustling, alive with the hum of innovation and the energy of its citizens. Gears turned in high-rise factories, steam hissed from vents, and mechanical transports rumbled down cobblestone roads. For most, the city's rhythm was a testament to progress, to the ever-forward march of invention.

But for Y/N, it was suffocating.

The clatter of carriage wheels against stone, the sharp whir of Hextech engines, the sudden bark of a driver yelling for pedestrians to move—each sound sent a jolt through her nerves. It wasn’t logical, she knew that. She wasn’t in danger. But logic had little power over memory, and her body remembered what her mind tried to forget. The sensation of impact, the way the world had spun out of control, the suffocating weight of debris pressing down on her chest—sometimes, it felt like she was still there, pinned beneath metal and wreckage, waiting for someone to pull her free.

She walked close to Jayce, her fingers unconsciously gripping the sleeve of his coat, her breaths measured yet slightly uneven.

Jayce noticed. He always did.

He slowed his pace, his own steps turning deliberate and steady. “Hey,” he said softly, tilting his head toward her. “You okay?”

Y/N nodded a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just… a little on edge.”

She knew he didn’t believe her. Jayce wasn’t the type to push unless he had to, but he wasn’t one to ignore things either. The first time she had flinched at the sound of a passing transport, he had taken her hand and waited until she was ready to talk. It had taken a while, but eventually, the words had spilled out.

A road accident. Years ago.

One of Zaun’s many reckless, haphazard transports—rusted, unstable, held together by little more than scrap and wishful thinking—had lost control. The driver hadn’t been paying attention. By the time she realized what was happening, it was too late.

She remembered the brief moment of weightlessness before impact. The way the world had blurred into streaks of color and movement. Then pain—sharp, relentless pain. And after that, nothing. Just darkness.

When she woke up, her body had been broken, her sense of safety shattered beyond repair.

Even now, years later, with Piltover’s well-maintained roads and more controlled systems, she couldn’t shake the feeling of vulnerability when walking too close to the street.

Jayce didn’t press. Instead, he shifted closer, subtly positioning himself between her and the busy road. It was a small thing, but it helped. His warmth, his steady presence, the way he always seemed to know when she needed him—it was more comforting than she could ever put into words.

=

They walked in silence for a little while, the noise of the city drumming against her ears. She tried to focus on Jayce instead, on the solidness of him. The way his coat smelled faintly of metal and oil from the workshop. The warmth of his arm beneath her grip. The steady rise and fall of his breath.

“You wanna take a different route?” he offered after a moment, his voice calm, patient.

Y/N hesitated. She knew what he meant. If they took the longer way, they could avoid the main road—the carriages, the traffic, the unpredictable movements. It would be quieter, easier.

But it also meant giving in.

She hated the way fear still had its claws in her, how even after all these years, it still held power over her. She hated feeling weak.

Jayce must have sensed her struggle because he reached for her hand, squeezing it gently. “It’s not giving up if it helps you feel safe, Y/N.”

Her throat tightened.

He always knew what to say, didn’t he? Always knew how to balance between pushing her and giving her space. She glanced up at him, taking in the quiet sincerity in his eyes, the unspoken promise that he’d be here, no matter what.

After a long moment, she exhaled and gave a small nod. “Okay.”

His smile was soft, understanding. “Okay.”

Without letting go of her hand, he steered them toward a quieter street. Here, the sounds of the city were muffled, distant. The buildings stood taller, blocking out the rush of the main roads, and the only vehicles that passed were slow-moving, careful.

Jayce didn’t make a big deal out of it. He didn’t smother her with concern, didn’t ask if she was sure she was okay every few minutes. Instead, he kept things easy, light—talking about everything and nothing at all. He rambled about work at the Academy, about Viktor getting frustrated with a failed experiment and swearing in Czech under his breath. He brought up an argument he’d had with Councillor Salo about funding—nothing serious, just enough to pull her attention away from the thoughts circling in her mind.

And it worked.

Little by little, her grip on his arm loosened. Her shoulders, once tight with tension, relaxed. The pressure in her chest eased as she focused on the warmth of Jayce’s voice rather than the phantom echoes of memory.

=

By the time they reached their apartment, her heartbeat had steadied.

Jayce held the door open for her, stepping aside to let her in first. But before she could move past him, he gently brushed his fingers against her cheek, tilting her face up so he could meet her gaze.

“I’m proud of you,” he murmured.

Her breath caught.

She looked at him for a long moment, then huffed a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “For what? Taking the long way home?”

“For facing it,” he corrected. “For letting me help.”

Y/N swallowed past the lump in her throat.

She wasn’t used to leaning on people. Wasn’t used to having someone who cared so much, who noticed even the things she tried to hide.

But Jayce did. And he wasn’t going anywhere.

So she let herself lean into him, just for a moment, pressing her forehead against his chest. He wrapped his arms around her without hesitation, holding her close, steady.

VIKTOR

The streets of Piltover were always alive with movement—horses trotting, carriages clattering, the occasional hum of a hextech engine cutting through the noise. For most, it was the ordinary rhythm of the city. For you, it was something else entirely.

The sounds weren’t just sounds. They were echoes—memories buried beneath the surface, waiting for the right trigger to drag them back into the light. The rattling of wheels against cobblestone wasn’t just a passing carriage; it was the moment right before impact. The distant snap of reins wasn’t just some merchant hurrying along; it was a warning too late to stop what was coming. The sharp inhale that caught in your throat wasn’t just nerves; it was habit, muscle memory from a past you wished you could forget.

You never told Viktor much about it.

But he noticed. Of course, he did. He always noticed.

He noticed the way you tensed at the sound of wheels scraping against the cobblestone, how you froze at the sudden crack of a whip urging a horse forward. How your breath hitched when crossing the street, even when there was no immediate danger. You were careful—too careful, as if something unseen lingered at the edges of your vision, waiting.

He never pried. Never forced you to speak before you were ready. Viktor was patient that way. Gentle.

=

Like now.

You stood at the edge of a busy street, hands clenched at your sides, staring at the flow of movement ahead. The road stretched wide, a chaotic river of carriages, pedestrians, and hextech cycles. The crowd wove through it effortlessly, as if there were no risk at all.

But you knew better.

Your heartbeat picked up, drumming against your ribs in time with the clatter of hooves. You knew it was irrational—this fear, this hesitation—but knowing didn’t make it any easier. The instinct to move, to step forward, warred with the overwhelming need to stay rooted where you stood.

It was fine. You were fine. You could cross. It was just a road.

A touch at your elbow. Not firm, not urging. Just present.

"Take your time, miláčku," Viktor murmured beside you. His voice was quiet, steady, grounding. (Darling)

You turned slightly, catching his gaze—warm, patient, unwavering.

Your eyes flickered downward, to his cane, to the way he leaned into it with practiced ease. Viktor had his own struggles with movement, his own challenges. And yet, he never rushed. Never let the world dictate his pace.

You swallowed. "I'm okay," you murmured, though the words felt thin.

Viktor hummed softly, unconvinced, but he didn’t push. Instead, he simply stood there with you, waiting.

The city moved around you both, bustling, uncaring, but he made it feel like you had all the time in the world.

His hand hovered near yours—not grabbing, not insisting, just waiting. An invitation.

And you took it.

His fingers curled around yours, solid and warm, anchoring you to the present.

Together, step by step, you crossed.

Your breath came uneven at first, your fingers tightening around his, but Viktor’s pace never wavered. He walked as he always did—measured, deliberate, unbothered by the rush of the world around him. His cane tapped softly against the cobblestone, a steady rhythm amidst the chaos.

Halfway across, a carriage rolled past a little too close for comfort, the sound of its wheels grinding against the stone sending a sharp spike of fear through you. Your breath hitched, and you faltered, your grip on Viktor’s hand tightening.

He paused immediately, squeezing your fingers in return. “Just a little more, drahý.” His voice remained calm, a gentle reassurance. (Dear)

You nodded, inhaling shakily, forcing yourself to keep moving.

One step. Then another.

The curb was right there. You just had to reach it.

And then—solid ground.

=

Your foot hit the safety of the other side, and the tension in your body uncoiled, leaving you feeling almost lightheaded. You exhaled sharply, chest rising and falling as you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding.

Viktor didn’t let go of your hand right away. He gave you a moment, letting the world settle around you again.

“You did well,” he murmured, his thumb brushing softly over your knuckles.

You huffed out a quiet laugh, more out of relief than amusement. “I feel ridiculous.”

“No,” Viktor said simply. “You are brave.”

The sincerity in his voice made something tighten in your chest, something warm and fragile all at once.

You looked at him then, really looked at him—the quiet strength in the way he stood, the patience in his eyes, the unwavering steadiness he always offered without question.

You weren’t sure what you had done to deserve someone like him. But right now, in this moment, you were grateful beyond words.

“Thank you,” you whispered.

Viktor just smiled. “Always.”

JAYVIK

The rhythmic clatter of the carriage wheels against the cobbled streets of Piltover should have been soothing—steady, predictable, almost lulling. But for Y/N, it was anything but. Each jolt of the wooden frame sent a wave of tension rippling through her body. Each sudden turn had her heart seizing in her chest. The dim lantern light inside the carriage flickered slightly, casting long, shifting shadows against the plush velvet interior, but all she could focus on was the movement. The way the carriage swayed, the subtle lurch whenever it rolled over uneven stones—it felt too familiar.

She sat stiffly beside Viktor, her hands gripping the edge of her seat so tightly that her knuckles had turned white. Across from them, Jayce watched her with growing concern. Her breath came short, uneven, and no matter how hard she tried to ground herself, the memories came creeping in.

The crack of splintering wood. The sheer force of being thrown forward. Weightlessness before impact. The screech of twisting metal and the suffocating scent of burning oil. The sudden stop—too sudden. Then the silence, so thick it felt suffocating.

A sharp gasp left her lips before she could swallow it down.

=

“Miláčku?” Viktor’s voice was soft, careful. Gentle concern laced every syllable. He wasn’t looking at her face—his golden eyes had zeroed in on her hands, the way they trembled ever so slightly against her lap. His own hand, the one not gripping his cane, reached out and rested lightly over hers. The warmth was a stark contrast to the cold sweat prickling at the back of her neck. “Are you alright?” (Darling)

“I’m fine,” she lied, but her voice wavered.

Jayce, seated across from them, immediately caught it. His furrowed brows deepened, and he leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees as he studied her. “Y/N…” he said, his voice softer now, worried. Then, after a beat, his large, warm hand came to rest on her knee. He gave it a light squeeze. “You don’t look fine.”

She swallowed hard. Tried to breathe through it.

But her heart wouldn’t slow.

The sounds. The movement. The enclosed space.

Her stomach twisted painfully as the past clawed its way into the present.

Viktor’s grip on her hand tightened, drawing her back. “Hey,” he murmured, thumb tracing slow circles over her knuckles. “Stay with us.”

Jayce leaned in further, his hand never leaving her knee. “We’re here, Y/N,” he said, steady and firm. “You’re not alone.”

She clenched her jaw, trying to force her body to listen—to stop reacting as if she were still there, still trapped in the wreckage of her past. But it wasn’t so easy. The fear wasn’t rational, wasn’t something she could logic her way out of. Her fingers twitched under Viktor’s, and she suddenly realized how tightly she’d been gripping the edge of the seat.

Jayce noticed too. “Here,” he said, shifting in his seat. “Move over a little.”

She blinked at him, uncomprehending.

“I mean it,” Jayce said, voice warm but insistent. “I’m not gonna let you sit there shaking the whole damn ride. Move over.”

She hesitated for a fraction of a second before relenting, shifting slightly closer to Viktor. Jayce wasted no time—he moved to sit beside her on the other side, leaving her sandwiched between them.

The second she was nestled between their bodies, she felt it—the sheer, grounding presence of them both. Warm, steady, real. Viktor, ever patient, let his hand settle over hers again, while Jayce wrapped an arm around her shoulders, pulling her against his side.

“Close your eyes,” Jayce murmured, resting his chin lightly atop her head.

She hesitated, fingers twitching slightly, but then—slowly—she obeyed.

“Listen to my voice,” Jayce continued. “And Viktor’s. Just us. Just here.”

A shaky breath left her lips.

Viktor leaned in closer, his breath ghosting over her ear. “You are here, lásko.” His accent curled around the word, soft and tender. “You are not there anymore.” (Love)

Jayce’s arm around her shoulders tightened slightly. “You’re safe,” he murmured. “We’ve got you.”

Her body, still tense, remained rigid for several moments longer. But as their warmth sank into her, as the steady rhythm of Viktor’s fingers tracing against her wrist and Jayce’s thumb brushing slow circles against her arm took over, something inside her loosened.

=

The carriage still rocked. The sounds of the street still surrounded them. But they didn’t feel so overwhelming anymore.

Jayce let out a quiet sigh when he felt her relax slightly against him. “That’s it,” he murmured. “You’re okay.”

Viktor pressed a soft kiss to the side of her head. “I would never let anything happen to you,” he whispered.

Jayce hummed his agreement, squeezing her just a bit tighter. “Neither of us would.”

She believed them.

Slowly, she let her head tip against Viktor’s shoulder. Her free hand, the one that wasn’t in Viktor’s, came to rest over Jayce’s where it lay against her arm. The warmth of them—both of them—surrounded her, wrapping her in a cocoon of safety she hadn’t known she needed so desperately.

For the first time since stepping into the carriage, she felt like she could breathe again.

And this time, the road ahead didn’t feel quite so terrifying.

VANDER

Vander always knew you had your ghosts—everyone in Zaun did. But he never expected to see one grab hold of you in broad daylight, right in the middle of the Lanes.

It had been a simple outing. You had taken Vi, Powder, Mylo, and Claggor out to the marketplace, letting them stretch their legs while you ran errands. Powder had been clinging to your hand, her little fingers wrapped around yours as she hummed to herself, distracted by all the colors and sounds around her.

Then, out of nowhere, a carriage came barreling through the street.

Too fast.

Too close.

The thunder of hooves on cobblestone, the creak and rattle of wooden wheels—it hit you like a memory you couldn’t outrun.

The sound of a child’s scream. A body crumpling. The sickening thud as the carriage’s wheel spun just inches away from the broken, lifeless body of your childhood friend. It was like the world around you stilled in that moment, and you were back there, just as you had been when you were a child. When it was your fault that they died.

Before you could think, your body moved on its own.

You snatched Powder up, crushing her small frame against your chest as you stumbled back, your breath ragged, heart hammering against your ribs. Powder let out a muffled noise of surprise, but you didn’t let go. You couldn’t.

You couldn’t bear it. You couldn’t let Powder be taken from you, not like that. Not like your friend had been.

The world blurred around you—noise fading into a distant hum. You could still hear the scream of tires, the impact, the sheer, terrifying loss of control that had marked your past.

“Y/N?” Vi’s voice barely reached you. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Your grip on Powder only tightened. You could feel her little hands pushing against your arms, but you just held on. If you let go, something terrible would happen. If you let go—

"Y/N."

A familiar voice. Steady. Grounding.

Vander.

His hands found your shoulders, firm and warm. You flinched at the contact, but when you looked up, his face was calm. Concerned. He was crouching slightly, putting himself at your level, his blue eyes steady as they searched yours.

“She’s alright,” he murmured. “You’re alright. Let her breathe, love.”

You blinked, your vision swimming as Powder shifted in your grasp. Her small voice trembled. “I— I’m okay, Y/N. I promise.”

Your arms felt like lead, but slowly, painfully, you loosened your hold. Powder pulled back just enough to look up at you, her big eyes full of worry.

“I'm sorry…” you whispered, your voice cracked, the words barely leaving your mouth as you fought to calm the rising panic in your chest. “She nearly got hit, Vander. She nearly—”

The weight of the words hung in the air. Powder was okay now, but in your mind, it could have been another accident. Another loss. The fear that she would be taken from you too—like that—hit harder than you had expected. You swallowed hard, trying to push the memories back, but it was like an avalanche.

Vander gently peeled Powder from your grasp and passed her off to Vi, who held onto her protectively. Powder clung to her sister, her lips wobbly, but she nodded when Vi whispered something reassuring.

You let out a shaky breath and staggered back. Your legs didn’t feel steady.

Vander caught you before you could fall.

He didn’t say anything right away, just kept a firm arm around your back, his other hand coming up to cradle the side of your face. His thumb brushed against your cheek, grounding you.

“It’s okay,” he murmured again. “It’s over.”

But was it? It didn’t feel over. The panic still sat like a stone in your chest, the echoes of the past clawing at the edges of your mind. You couldn’t shake the image of your childhood friend’s limp body, crushed by a carriage’s wheel, too far gone to help. It had been too fast, too close. You hadn’t been able to save them. And now…

Vander didn’t rush you. He just stayed there, holding you steady while you fought to pull yourself back together.

You let out a ragged breath, blinking away tears that you hadn’t even noticed falling. Your voice trembled. “It could have been her, Vander… Powder, she—she could’ve…”

“She’s alright,” he interrupted softly, his hand brushing through your hair in a calming motion. “And you’re here. We’re not going to let anything happen to her.”

You nodded, but your eyes were still unfocused, lost in the rush of the past. “I thought I’d lost her.” You swallowed thickly, trying to speak through the weight in your chest. “Just like—” You cut yourself off before you could say it, choking on the painful memories that clung like shadows.

Vander didn’t force you to finish. Instead, he tightened his grip around you, bringing you close. You could hear his steady heartbeat beneath your ear, a constant rhythm that grounded you in the here and now.

“We’re not going anywhere, love,” he murmured. “None of us are.”

Only when your breathing slowed, when the shaking in your hands eased, did he finally guide you away from the middle of the street. The kids followed closely, Mylo and Claggor whispering between themselves while Vi kept a firm grip on Powder’s hand.

=

You didn’t realize you were clutching Vander’s coat until you were safely inside The Last Drop.

He sat you down, crouching in front of you as he let you catch your breath. His hands rested gently on your knees, his eyes filled with care as they studied your face. He waited, patient as ever, until you finally met his gaze.

“Talk to me,” he said softly, his voice low and understanding.

You swallowed hard, your throat still tight. “I—I was just thinking of the accident. The carriage. The way it—” You struggled for words, your mind pulling you back to that day. “It wasn’t just an accident, Vander. I could’ve saved them… my friend… But I couldn’t. I wasn’t fast enough.”

Vander’s jaw tightened, the weight of the past settling between you both. He knew about it. About the crash that had nearly taken you, about how it had left you raw and afraid of anything moving too quickly, too recklessly. He had held you through it before. He would do so again now.

“You’re here,” he reminded you, his voice steady and unwavering. “You’re safe, Y/N. And she’s safe. That’s all that matters.”

You let out a slow breath, your hands still shaking slightly as you gripped his. Your voice was barely a whisper. “But what if… What if I can’t stop it next time?”

Vander leaned in, pressing his forehead against yours in the way he always did when he wanted to reassure you.

“You don’t have to do it alone,” he whispered. “You’ll never be alone.”

You nodded, the weight in your chest starting to lighten just enough to breathe. His presence, solid and steady, was all you needed right now. And as the kids piled onto the seat beside you—Powder leaning against you, Vi watching carefully, Mylo and Claggor sticking close—you finally started to believe it. You weren’t alone anymore. And nothing could take that away from you.

SILCO

he air was cool and crisp as the evening sky bathed the streets of Zaun in a soft orange glow, a sight few truly appreciated. Y/N stood near the entrance of the luxurious carriage Silco had arranged for them, her hand hovering just above the door, anxiety tightening her chest. Silco, dressed in his usual crisp attire, stood by her side, his expression unreadable yet tinged with something softer—concern, perhaps.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice low and steady, though a hint of worry slipped through as his gaze lingered on her. He’d never seen her quite like this before. Usually, Y/N was calm, collected—resilient. But tonight... something was different.

Y/N's breath caught in her throat. The sound of horses shifting, the rattle of carriage wheels—they all seemed to echo louder than usual in her ears. She reached for the door, but her hand froze mid-air. Her grip tightened on the edge of the carriage. Her heart raced, and suddenly, she was back in that moment—trapped, confined, helpless. The memory of the accident, the screech of tires and the violent impact, flooded her mind like an unstoppable tide.

"I... I can't," she whispered, her voice barely audible, the words trembling on her lips.

Silco's eyes softened slightly, though his posture remained imposing. He stepped a little closer, his presence overwhelming yet somehow... calming. He could see it—the unease, the fear in her eyes. And though he was no stranger to intimidation or force, this was different. This was something personal, something he couldn't control through his usual methods.

"Y/N," he began, his voice still firm but gentler now, as if he knew exactly how to navigate this. "We’ve discussed this. The meeting is important. I need you there."

She shook her head, her body recoiling from the carriage. "I know, but—" Her words faltered as her breath quickened. She could feel the walls closing in. "I can't... not like this. Not in there."

For a moment, there was silence between them. The sounds of the city—the clang of metal, the distant hum of Zaun’s machinery—seemed to fade away, as though the world had held its breath. Silco studied her, his cold, calculating gaze softening just slightly, as if seeing her for the first time in a way that was less about her usefulness and more about her humanity.

His lips pressed into a thin line, and he exhaled slowly, the faintest flicker of emotion crossing his eyes before he turned his gaze toward the horizon. It was rare for Silco to reveal anything beyond his usual icy control, but in this moment, with Y/N standing before him, vulnerable in ways she hadn’t shown him before, he knew this wasn’t something he could force her through.

"You don’t have to go inside the carriage if you’re not ready," he said quietly, his voice no longer commanding, but calm—reassuring. "We can walk there instead. The night’s nice, don’t you think?"

Y/N looked up at him, her heart still racing, but something in his tone—something in the way he looked at her—began to ease the vice-like grip on her chest. He wasn’t dismissing her fear. He wasn’t telling her to ‘get over it.’ He was giving her control. Giving her space.

His hand moved toward her arm, a touch not forceful, but steady, like the anchor to her racing thoughts. "It’s a nice night for a walk," he repeated, a small glint of something like amusement in his eyes. "And I find these walks more tolerable when I have good company."

Her chest tightened at his words, but the warmth behind his voice made her stomach flutter—something she hadn’t felt in a long time. A small, hesitant smile tugged at her lips, and she slowly nodded, relieved to not have to make the decision alone. "I... I think I’d like that."

He gave a small nod in return, and without another word, Silco gestured for her to follow as he turned away from the carriage. His presence, as always, was commanding, but now it felt strangely protective, as though he wasn’t just leading her to a meeting but guiding her through a moment she needed to face.

=

As they walked, side by side, the hum of Zaun faded into the distance. The city was alive with noise, but with Silco by her side, it felt quieter. More peaceful. The familiar streets, dark and smog-filled as they were, now felt less oppressive. Each step they took together seemed to bring her a little further from the panic, a little closer to something she couldn’t quite name.

"Is it always this quiet when we walk?" Y/N asked, glancing up at him, her voice barely above a whisper.

Silco’s lips curled ever so slightly. "Only when I want it to be."

Y/N gave a small laugh, the sound of it easing the tension in her chest. "I think I understand why you like it now," she said, her voice still quiet but steadier than before.

They continued walking, not in a hurry, not with an agenda. Just two figures moving through the streets of Zaun, with nothing but the sound of their footsteps and the distant murmurs of the city around them. Silco kept pace with her, but he didn’t rush her. He didn’t need to. This was a different kind of power—one that didn’t rely on control or coercion, but understanding. The kind of power that came from simply being present for someone when they needed it most.

=

As they neared the location of the meeting, Y/N could feel her heart slowing, the panic receding into the background. The world didn’t feel as heavy now. She wasn’t sure if it was because of the walk or because of Silco's presence, but something about the moment had made her feel... a little lighter. A little more grounded.

"We're almost there," Silco said, his voice carrying a hint of finality.

Y/N looked up at him, her chest no longer tight, her thoughts clearer. "Thank you," she whispered, her voice softer than she had expected. "For not pushing me. I... I didn’t think I could do it, but you let me find my way."

Silco glanced at her, his usual cool mask in place, but there was a subtle shift in his expression—something softer, almost protective. He gave a small nod, his gaze unwavering. "You don’t need to thank me," he replied, his voice steady yet carrying an unspoken understanding. "But, for what it’s worth, you’re not alone in this."

They arrived at the meeting point, the familiar faces of their allies waiting, unaware of the quiet journey that had led them here. But as Y/N stepped forward, her mind was clearer than it had been in hours. She wasn’t completely free of the fear, but the weight on her chest had lifted. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she could face whatever came next—because for once, she wasn’t facing it alone.

JINX/POWDER

Y/N and Jinx had spent the day wandering through the twisted streets of Zaun, the thick air of the undercity filling their lungs as they moved between alleys and rickety bridges. The sounds of the city, a constant hum of machinery, and the chatter of locals echoed around them. Jinx, in her usual chaotic energy, had been bouncing between conversations, occasionally letting out a loud laugh or giggle. Y/N, though quieter, enjoyed the spontaneity that came with being around the unpredictable Jinx.

They had just turned the corner onto a narrow street when a carriage came barreling toward them, moving much too fast for the cramped space. It swerved dangerously close, the horses’ hooves pounding against the cobblestones, and for a moment, it seemed as if it might slam right into them.

Jinx didn’t miss a beat. She jumped out of the way and, without hesitation, shouted after the driver, “Hey! Watch where you’re going, you freakin’ idiot!” Her voice was full of fiery frustration, but the carriage was already speeding off, the rattle of the wheels fading into the distance.

Y/N stood frozen in place, the sudden adrenaline surge causing their breath to hitch. Their heart pounded in their chest, the familiar knot of panic tightening in their stomach. They didn’t hear Jinx’s taunting remarks; instead, all they could hear was the rush of wind, the screeching of the carriage wheels, and the all-too-real flashback of the accident that had haunted them for years.

=

The world felt like it was closing in. The ground seemed to tilt beneath them. The sounds of the street became muffled, and the air felt thick, suffocating. Y/N’s hands shook as they struggled to steady themselves. Every ounce of their body was on high alert, every nerve screaming to run, to escape, but their legs refused to move.

Jinx, noticing the sudden shift in Y/N's demeanor, turned around with a confused look on her face. "Y/N?" she called, her voice a little quieter now, sensing something wasn’t right.

Y/N tried to speak, but the words wouldn't come. They could feel the panic crawling up their throat, the weight of it pressing down on their chest like a hundred bricks. They staggered back, leaning against a nearby wall for support, their vision blurring. Their breathing became erratic as they clutched at their sides, desperate to calm themselves, but it was like trying to catch smoke with their bare hands.

"Y/N!" Jinx’s voice was sharp now, full of concern. She took a few quick steps forward, her earlier energy gone, replaced by something softer—something Y/N rarely saw from her. Jinx reached out hesitantly, her hand brushing against Y/N's arm. "Hey... it's okay. Just breathe. You’re safe, okay? No one’s gonna hurt you."

Y/N’s eyes snapped to her, but it took a few moments for their brain to process her words. Jinx wasn’t mocking them. She wasn’t laughing. She was genuinely worried. Slowly, almost mechanically, Y/N began to take shallow breaths, trying to steady themselves.

"You’re okay, you’re okay," Jinx repeated softly, her voice almost soothing despite the chaotic world around them. "I got you, alright? Just breathe with me, yeah? In... out..."

It took time, but gradually, Y/N's breaths slowed, their grip on the wall loosening. The panic faded, but the lingering aftershock of the trauma still held onto them tightly. They swallowed hard, their head still spinning.

"I... I just... it came out of nowhere," Y/N managed to say, their voice shaky. "The way it came out of nowhere. It’s like it happened again."

Jinx didn’t say anything for a long moment. She didn’t need to. The words hung between them, unspoken, and somehow that was enough.

"I get it," Jinx finally said, her voice softer than it had been before. "But you're not there anymore. You're with me, alright? And I'm not going anywhere."

Y/N nodded slowly, their breath still uneven, but the pressure in their chest had begun to ease. The world was still spinning, but the vertigo felt a little less suffocating.

Jinx gave a small, crooked smile, her usual chaotic grin returned, though with a softness to it. "You’re tough, Y/N. Tougher than you think."

"Yeah," Y/N whispered, feeling the words finally settle into place. "Maybe I am."

Jinx’s grin widened. "C’mon. Let’s keep walking. No freakin’ carriage is gonna ruin our day."

And with that, Jinx led the way down the street, her footsteps steady and sure, with Y/N following behind, still shaken but not alone.

[hellincarnation]

Hello! This is a message to the anon who has been sending very haphazard, messy and increasingly nonsensical hate. They are pretty ew.

Not sure if cringe anon is the same as this one, but if you are, here’s a quick thingy. Sure, I’ve played with your message, adding humour as a lovely way of mockery to you. But there is a line to be drawn, I’m fine with you making snarky comments. I make snarky comments, but I draw the line when you start insulting whole groups of race. And….insulting us with the most generic types of comments.

Seriously?

That is the most ridiculous pseudo hate ever.

I’ll remind you that the term “asians” include Chinese, Korean, Japanese, Thai, Viet, Malaysian, Singaporean, Filipino, Indonesian, Saudi Arabian, Indian, Bhutanese, Pakistani, Lebanese and so many more groups of people.

You’re gonna have to be the most dumb, blind and ignorant piece of filth if you think all of those groups of people look the same. If you really believe that, you’re bigoted and ill informed.

Also. OF COURSE SOME GROUPS OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE A COMMON ANCESTOR LOOK THE SAME, OH MY GOD THE STUPIDITY!

And if you are part of Asia and you’re gonna whine like “I was just making a joke!” This is not a joke if it hurts people, yes this is a popularised statement but to many people, it is not funny. It is only a joke when EVERYONE is laughing. So shut up about that.

And then here

….that’s just so wrong.

First of all, I’m ethnically Chinese, which means my great grandparents originally came from china. I was not born on the mainland, nor was my parents, nor was my grandparents. And where I am currently living, consumption of dog meat is illegal. Even in China, the amount of dog meat consumption is drastically decreasing.

That is an old, outdated, stereotypical, insulting way to refer to Chinese people. Not only that!

You also might refer to people from Cambodia, India, Indonesia, Ghana, Laos, Vietnam, Nigeria and Switzerland. Unless you’re saying I’m from all of those countries, your statements makes no fucking sense.

I’ll wrap it up, in the end, I may laugh, joke around, make fun of such comments, but I draw the line when it could potentially hurt bigger groups of people.

My blog is a place to talk to my friends, I’ve made many good ones here, Mireya, Zahrawr, Tanaka, Jeah, Riyana, God, Tamanna, Etc

To all of you, I’m very grateful for getting to meet you.

To this Anonymous person: if you come out and say “oh it’s just a joke” or reveal that you are Asian too, shame on you. Out of all people, you should know how bigoted and disgusting those statements are. If you aren’t asian, even worse. You’re a stupid, ignorant and pathetic piece of shit who thinks it’s okay to send these types of messages. You disgust me.

Moving on, I will not tolerate any more of these types of posts, I will be deleting them on sight. I won’t be turning off anon, since there are lovely anons who like to send nice messages. But I will not be posting anymore of these stupid, idiotic and hateful comments, especially that could potentially hurt a large number of people.

Fuck off, leave all these people alone, leave me alone, this is not a joke, it’s not okay to be spout this bullshit so freely.

Update: I’ve blocked anon ;)))

If this turns out to be anyone I’ve tagged, I will be very very disappointed in you.

@jeahreading @tamanna-and-her-struggles @shinchansbitch @im-on-crack-send-help @iamgayforyourmom1510 @mentallyunstablequeen101 @momhwa117 @zeherili-ankhein @your-dazzling-sun @schrodinger-ka-billa @abyssmita @cafffeineconnoisseur @byproduct-of-hades @lotuseaterwhowistlesthedark @mireyaaaaaaaaa @circe-butbetter @mi-stress-of-chaos @lyrebirb @depressed-bi-twerking @hershey-not-the-chocolate-maybe @lesbianpoetess @unhinged-as-hell @debacleofdaemons @sunshinerainbowsandlollipops @celesteablack @evry1h8s-me @transienctly-translucent @priimadonnna

[viasdreams]

🖌️🎨✧˖°❀˖°⋆｡˚꩜🖼️

museum date with johnny (turned criminal) !!

wc: 700

request: girl johnnys post got me thinking …. museum date with him 🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️🧎‍♀️

a/n: "via what is this???" SHHHHH dont ask questions

"why is it a triangle" you questioned, gazing at the peculiar museum entrance.

"it's a pyramid, and im not sure actually," johnny said, grabbing your hand as he led you through the crowd.

the louvre was packed. you're not too surprised though, you came on a saturday in the middle of fashion week. of course it's busy.

"do you want to do the guided tour or just wander around," johhny asked, looking at a map he grabbed as you walked in.

"um let's just wander around, those tours are boring anyway."

"but they give you cool a 3DS" johnny pointed toward a passing group who sure enough had Nintendo 3DSs hanging from their necks.

"okay you can grab one and just tell me any interesting information."

once johhny got his tour all set up, the two of you weaved your way through the sea of people, doing your best to look at the art as you passed.

"johhny look at that statue," you pointed at the back side of a marble carving across the room, "why he kinda caked up."

"oh my god he is," johhny gaped at the figure's butt, gabbing his own for comparison.

"wait can you take my picture with it please," he asked, not waiting for a response, shoving his phone into your hand and running over to the statue.

"whatever you want weirdo" you mumbled, taking a few pictures for your boyfriend.

"that guy's ass was almost as big as marks, im lowkey impressed", johnny mused.

"why do you know how big mark's ass is?"

"next time you see him, just look and you'll understand."

"you want me to look at your friend's ass?"

"hey not in a pervy way. his ass is just", johnny paused seemingly lost in the thought of marks butt, "special."

"damn, i gotta see this magical ass."

you continued the tour, stopping occasionally to gawk at the paintings, until you came up on a room filled with people.

"oh i think that's for the mona lisa. there's so many people in line, we won't be able to get a good look for hours." you had been really excited to see the famous painting, so the thought of not getting to really disappointed you.

"okay, crazy idea." johnny leaned close to your ear, his breath tickling you.

"let's steal it."

you gave him a confused look. what did he mean by "steal it"?

"look ill cause a commotion, and you go up and take it. then we'll run." he pulled back from you, an excited expression painting his face.

"why would we do that johnny?"

"to see if we can", he shrugged. "im going to post something real quick, we'll wait like thirty minutes, and then you should be good to take it."

you didn't get a chance to question him further before he was quickly typing on his phone.

"now we wait," he sighed, putting his arm around your shoulder.

sure enough, within half an hour, nctzens were pouring into the louvre. they circled around johnny, causing a major distrubance in the walkway.

johnny motioned with his eyes for you to enter the mona lisa exhibition room as he started signing albums and photocards. you slipped past the group, making your way towards the painting.

the room was relatively empty at this point, with the other patrons and security guards occupied investigating the ruckus outside.

you hesitantly stood in front of the smiling woman. were you actually about to steal the most nortious painting in the world?

"fuck it."

grabbing the frame on both sides, you pulled her off the wall, lowered her to the ground, unlatched the frame, rolled up the painting, and ran.

"JOHNNY I GOT IT!" you yelled as you ran to the exit.

"CEZENNIE WE'RE GONNA MOVE THIS OUTSIDE AND THE FIRST FIVE PEOPLE OUT THE DOOR GET A PIECE OF MY CLOTHING!"

the mob rushed outside, desperate to be one of the lucky few. you managed to get lost in the crowd, avoiding security.

once outside, johnny stripped down to his underwear, throwing them haphazardous to the wolves. in the issuing chaos, both of you were able to safely get the car undetected.

once you were at a safe distance, your boyfriend turned to you, "knew we could get it." he smiled, patting your thigh.

fake text m.list ☁︎⋅

[milkbreadandtadpoles]

stsg x angel

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

snippet: measly 0.5k of an insight into my poly!stsg brain. reader is neutral!

warnings: stsg it it's own warning. suggestive language, suggestive dom/sub behavior and dynamics. reader being a pouty angel ଘ(੭ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ✩‧₊ also, proabably poorly edited

author's note: dawg i just had some inspo and had to put thoughts to paper. and i must share! please enjoy my brain rot, my little clan of followers and those who will be searching in these tags.

˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒。⋆୨୧˚˚ ༘ ೀ⋆。˚⋆˚🐾˖°⋆。°🎧•‧.₊˚🐰‎₊˚⋆⭒

“Would you suck the strap?”

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru. Please don’t start right now.”

“But I’m serious!”

“Shut up, Suguru is still sleeping.”

“I’m not.”

You palm your face, glaring at Satoru through your fingers, “You woke him up.”

“I doubt me talking about your sexual tendencies woke up the household princess.”

“Can you just flip the pancakes?”

“Oh, you’re making pancakes?” Suguru murmurs, gruff and syrupy. His hair is haphazard, yet silky and smooth. The frizzled strands frame his angular, gaunt face. It’s too cold for there to be color in his face, kissed by late moonlight instead.

“Yes, like the mother hen I am.”

Suguru has a sleepy, languid smile on his face when he watches you roll your eyes. You’re in the prettiest pajama set- cozy and warm and accentuated, eyes still riddled with sleep, head of hair a little out of place. But the light flooding the kitchen makes your cheeks glow.

“We don’t need a mother hen in the house.”

“Oh, please,” Satoru snorts, waving around a spatula with chunks of gooey batter threatening to splash against the back of the kitchen wall, “‘Toru, please make me some breakfast. Toru, I’ll give you a kiss if you-“

“I didn’t say that.” You bark, brows furrowing. Placing your hands on your hips, you frown.

Satoru beams. “You might as well have- it was with your eyes.”

“My eyes?” There’s a pout on your face when Suguru has the audacity to smile. “They were half closed when I walked into the kitchen this morning-“

“They wouldn’t have been if you drank the tea I made you-“

“I did drink it.”

“Oh?” Satoru’s lips quirk, satisfaction apparent in his shrewd smile. “You’re such a good pet for listening.”

Your cheeks burst into flames, mortification further trailing into the deep lining of your gut when the little, white haired freak has the audacity to coo. Suguru holds a hand up, and both of you quiet. Submission is a small word compared to what authority he can pull from the two of you.

“It’s seven thirty in the morning, Satoru.”

And you smile, looking at the man who might as well have hung the moon and stars and sun himself. Shit, he might as well be the sun. The gravitational pull of the planet of you and Satoru that make it bearable living together.

That shatters briefly when he murmurs slyly to Satoru as he flips a partly burnt pancake, “Give it at least an hour or two before you start making her look like that.”

“Suguru.” You whine and he smiles the type of smile that melts your insides.

Huffing a breath, he tells you about going to get ready, to be good before he leaves the kitchen- abandoning you and Satoru in a vice like silence. There’s a pout on your face, laboriously crawling onto the kitchen counter to swing your sock-covered feet while the devious little shit continues to stack up pancakes as though there were four more of you in the house.

But they have an insatiable appetite, so it's a comment you hold with a bite of your tongue.