#on who ill be creating a scene in my head for

[moominvalley-state-of-mind]

dose anyone else hate going to another fixation even though you know that you'll come back to it because you really like it and nurotypical people (and sometimes nurodivergent people) have drilled into your head that nurodivergent peoples need to have only one thing they like and obsess over throughout their life even though, like i said before, you know you'll go back to it bacause you always go back to it, no matter what it is.

anyways

[saintobio]

sincerely yours. (12)

↳ gojou satoru/reader

when a twist of fate led their marriage to the path of a quintessential tragic romance, two past lovers go through another series of experiences on love, heartbreak, identity, illness, and trauma along the road to a happily ever after. 

genre. heavy angst, amnesia, modern au, 18+ 

tags/warnings. depression, mentions of cheating, trauma, implied suicide attempt, toxic relationships, illnesses

notes. 11k wc. finally. i wrote this with only one eye open so please don't mind the inconsistencies, i'm trying my best to tie any loose ends before we reach the ending. if the writing feels rushed, it’s bcos i’m just ready to wrap up this series 😭

series masterlist -> episode thirteen

You thought everything that had happened last night was just a dream. 

Because you had gotten used to the constant disappointments and vicissitudes of your life, sharing such domestic bliss with the person you loved had started to feel far-fetched for you. It had become an unachievable fantasy, a colorful delusion created by your mind to conceal the actual darkness of pain that surrounded it. 

But as you opened your eyes that morning, the familiar warmth of a sleeping Satoru’s embrace was the reality you never saw coming. The steady rise and fall of his chest, the comfort of his arms around you, it all felt surreal—like a fragile dream teetering on the edge of shattering. You wondered if it would be okay to stay here for now. To forget about the rest of the damn world and remain in his arms, staring at his beautiful saintly face, listening to his slow and steady heartbeat.

When Satoru stirred from his sleep, you knew your daydream was over. But he was pulling you dangerously close with arms wrapped around your frame and his lips pressed against your forehead. He was only half-awake, it seemed. His long white lashes reminded you of Sachiro’s as you watched him mumble incoherent words from his sleep, something along the lines of, ‘I’m sorry’ and ‘Akemi’. 

That was your cue to pull yourself away from him. With guilt now coursing through your body, you sat up from bed and covered your naked body with the duvet. Akemi. You had completely abandoned the thought of Akemi last night, and now you were here in bed with ‘supposedly’ her man. As much as your heart was in bliss from last night’s events, the dark and cold reality was that you slept with a man who wasn’t yours. It was a principle you told yourself you would never cross, but everything concerning Satoru Gojou seemed to be bringing you to that. 

“Satoru, hey.” Your voice almost came out as a plea as you shook his arm, your guilt eating at you with every minute that passed. “Wake up.” 

His eyelashes fluttered as he struggled to open his eyes, blinded by the sunlight that gleamed through the window as he stretched his arms and looked at you. “Y/N?” he softly whispered, a hand tenderly placed on your back as he scooted closer. “What’s wrong?” 

Slight disbelief blanketed your gaze. “You think this isn’t wrong?” 

Satoru let out a sigh of exasperation, pulling his head back, and covering his eyes with a hand as if last night’s events played through his mind scene to scene. He was obviously caught in a mindwreck thinking about the girl he had just cheated on. “It shouldn’t be,” he mumbled, “But it feels like it.”

“So you do regret it,” you laughed at your own words, internally in pain. 

“I didn’t say that.” He finally pulled himself back up, sitting as he pulled you towards him. “Y/N, if we really thought last night was wrong, we would have stopped after the first time.” He shook his head at the irony. “Look, it’s on me, alright? I put you in this situation.” 

“And I allowed it,” you argued, “I allowed it, Satoru. It makes me feel dirty. I feel like, like I’m wrecking someone else’s home. It’s not me.” 

Satoru held his breath, a look of hesitation dawning on his face as he realized that this wasn’t just a dream of his. It was pure and raw reality that he had made a mistake that he could never undo. While thinking it through, he rubbed his eyes and sat up, leaning against the headboard as he assessed the situation. Then, he looked at you, his expression softening as he spoke, “No, not your fault. It’s just complicated,” he insisted, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I’m the one who owes ‘Kemi an apology.” 

Each time you heard her nickname from him was a punch to your gut. And each silent cuss that left his lips was an arrow to your heart. So you put it on yourself to accept his reaction. “It’s okay. You can be honest and say last night was a mistake.”

“No, no, no. I didn’t say that,” he replied quickly, reaching out to take your hand. 

But you already stood up from the bed, clutching the duvet around your body like a shield against the encroaching chill. Your throat felt tight, and tears threatened to spill, but you fought to keep them at bay. Satoru’s gaze followed you with an expression of helplessness, as if he was struggling to bridge the gap between his rights and wrongs.

As you turned to face him, a knot of frustration and heartache tangled within you. “So, what now?” you asked, trying your hardest to keep your composure. “How are we gonna fix this, Satoru? How?”

Before he could answer, the door to the cabin suddenly burst open, and Akemi stood in the doorway with her eyes wide with shock and fury. The confrontation followed as soon as she caught you in a compromising position with Satoru, and the words she uttered next were ones you least expected from her. 

“You’re a hypocrite! You’ve become the person you despised the most when you were married.” 

“You’re no better than Sera! And that’s why you’re miserable, and you’ll forever be miserable! If this is your way of getting back at me..” 

“Then jokes on you, because Satoru will never be faithful to you. He’ll keep cheating on you, just like he did now with me! You two belong in that cycle!”

You felt like an outsider in your own heartbreak, the confrontation intensifying as you tried to process the bitter truth in silence. All you could do was stand there and cry. Even Satoru’s attempts to placate Akemi were futile as her anger only seemed to grow. The more her eyes danced back and forth between you and her lover, the more she wanted to destroy everything in her path.

Satoru’s face was indiscernible from where you stood. “Akemi, please, just listen—”

Akemi, however, was already turning on her heel and storming back into her cabin while eliciting loud, muffled sobs. Your chest tightened with sorrow and shame. Complete, utter shame of doing this to another woman. How could you even correct a situation like this? How could you pick yourself back up after you just trampled on another woman’s feelings because of your actions?

Satoru, like you, hesitated on his next move, his eyes meeting yours with a look of anguish. “I need to talk to her, Y/N. I’ll be back.”

Without waiting for your response, he already bolted after her, leaving you alone in a quiet, pathetic state. The door slammed behind him, the sound reverberating through the cabin like thunder in a heavy storm.

You didn’t know what to do, didn’t know how to face everyone, didn’t have the guts to even talk to Shoko and Suguru who now both have to deal with such scandals. You were too ashamed of yourself, as if your femininity had been stripped off its rights after you slept with the man you swore you would never get back with. 

“I didn’t mean it,” you could only silently whisper your laments, pacing around your cabin while swallowing the weakness that tried to escape. “I hate this.” 

The minutes dragged on, and each second stretched into an eternity as you waited for Satoru’s return. For now, you sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, wondering what excuse he was telling Akemi, and what actions he would do to try and calm her down. Did he kiss her, perhaps? Did he cup her face and tell her that you were nothing but a mistake? What was taking him so long? Or were they doing things to try and erase the same deeds you two did last night? 

The cacophony of voices and commotion from outside the cabin grew louder, and your curiosity led you to open your door, meeting the eyes of one of the hotel staff who sent you a look full of judgment. 

“Where’s…” you hesitated if she was the right person to ask, “Where’s Satoru? Would you know?” 

“Oh, ma’am. He already left the hotel half an hour ago… with Miss Akemi.” 

Her answer hit you hard like a truck on a highway. And your heart dropped as you realized who became The Fool in these deck of cards. Satoru had not only run off after Akemi, but had also left you behind without a word. 

The room felt colder now, the once-intimate sanctuary you shared with your ex-husband now a prison of your own grief. Even the familiar warmth of the bed seemed like a distant memory as you approached it, your body trembling as you thought of how you were treated like a dirty rag, thrown away after being used over and over again. 

With a soft, choked sob, you collapsed onto the bed, the duvet still a tangled mess from earlier. And your emotions, so tightly restrained, finally broke free. You pulled the blanket around you as if it could shield you from the crushing pain. The betrayal, the sense of being discarded for another—it all converged into a torrent of anguish. All you could do was cling to the duvet as if it were the only anchor in a stormy sea. 

——

Returning home didn’t make the situation any better. 

Although you tried to tell yourself that you shouldn’t be waiting on Satoru to contact you, you still found yourself checking your phone multiple times a day. Each second that passed without hearing from him was another stab to your heart. But it shouldn’t feel like that. It shouldn’t, not when Satoru clearly made his choice of choosing yet another woman over you. 

Of course, you knew what you did was wrong. In everyone’s eyes, sleeping with someone else’s man was unforgivable. There was no excuse, no way to justify your actions. Even if some people might side with you, saying you owed no one loyalty, it didn’t change how you felt about the whole situation. And that was because you remembered all too well the pain of being cheated on, and letting another woman endure the same heartbreak and betrayal was a weight on your conscience that you couldn’t ignore.

Sighing, you turned to the left side of the bed and saw Sachiro sleeping peacefully, clutching his favorite starfish plushie in his tiny arms. The thought of losing your son was unbearable, especially when he was your only source of calm amid the chaos that surrounded you. Caring for him was your solace, and his innocent presence served as a band-aid for your wounded heart. The most heart-wrenching part of this was knowing you couldn’t even repay him for the stability he brought you. Sachiro deserved a complete family to enrich his life, yet you—as his own biological mother—were unable to give him that. 

“Sleep tight, Sachi.” You lightly stroked his white hair before planting a soft kiss on his cheek. “Don’t let the bed bugs bite.”

The past few weeks had been a blur of emotions, work, and parenting—with each day blending into the next like a tornado of dull colors. You still hadn’t heard from Satoru, but the days of waiting and checking your phone for any notification from him did gradually stop. The only thing that didn’t stop replaying in your head like a broken record was the cabin incident, the very night that drew all these overthinking in your mind and in your heart. 

Returning to work did provide some distraction, but it didn’t take away the sting. It also didn’t help that your staff noticed the change in your demeanor, and how distracted you often were during your meetings and warehouse visits. Even Nobara was worried about how absentminded you had become, but you brushed off all their concerns with a forced smile. After all, staying at home would do you worse than being at work. 

Now, you were back in your office, and the soft knock on the door cut you off from your trance. It was Yuki peeking through the small opening on your door, her usual professional demeanor softened by a concerned expression. “Hey, Y/N. Do you have a minute?” she asked, stepping inside and closing the door behind her with a quiet click. 

You nodded, trying to muster a smile. “Sure, Yuki. What’s up?”

“I wanted to check in on you,” she began, taking a seat opposite your desk, “If you need to extend your vacation, please, by all means, go ahead. It’s off-season, anyway. I’ll take care of everything here while you’re focusing on yourself.”

That wasn’t really a good idea. And you shouldn’t be slacking off work when this very fashion house you establish used to be your passion, not your job. Yet here you were, losing all the inspiration to even run a business. “I don’t know if I have the energy for anything else right now.”

“Well, if you’re too worried about leaving work,” Yuki continued, her tone shifting to a more business-like note, “the progress we’ve made with Hearte is looking really promising. The new collection is getting great feedback, and our upcoming showcase is shaping up well. We’re on track for a strong quarter.”

“All because of you, Yuki.” A spark of gratitude appeared on your face. “Thanks for the update. It’s good to know things are moving in the right direction.”

She then stood up and gave you a reassuring smile. “I’m here if you need anything, Y/N. But seriously, take some time for yourself. You deserve it.”

On that same evening, you came home to your father’s mansion, and the first thing that greeted you when you entered the foyer was Gen sitting by the living room. And needless to say, her expression was a mix of concern and frustration as if she had been waiting for you to return. You weren’t really in the mood to have some back-and-forths with her, but you also didn’t like how she dropped her phone on the table and crossed her arms, her eyes narrowing at you like she was a mother who could scold you like a child.

“I’m not even gonna say anything at this point, but did you really do it with him?” Gen’s voice was low, but the disappointment was palpable. You could feel it from a few meters away. 

“What are you talking about?” you bit back, your already-terrible mood swings shifting into an unhealthy direction. 

Gen responded by pointing at her phone, gesturing for you to take a look at whatever’s on it. Reluctantly, you grabbed the device, and as you were scrolling through the screen, you stumbled upon a blind item circulating on social media. The words were vague but pointed, hinting at a scandalous encounter between two ex-spouses, both of whom were well-known figures. Great. Your heart stopped as you realized that the article was very much about you and Gojou. 

The online comments were brutal, not like you weren’t used to anonymous harassment anyway, but these ones were full of speculating and judging without knowing the full story. Everyone also seemed to be siding with “Ms. A” instead of you as though the person behind the article was clearly trying to paint you as the villain. It was written for the purpose of destroying your reputation rather than any regular exposé, and whoever wrote it was definitely someone who disliked you. 

Your shoulders slumped as you scrolled through hate comment after hate comment, a seemingly endless vitriol for someone they didn’t even know, and avoided your sister’s gaze knowing full well that seeing her expression would only make you feel worse. 

“Is it true?” your sister asked like there was even an ounce of chance that it was simply a rumor. Unfortunately, it was anything but. 

Sliding her phone back on the coffee table, you drew in a deep breath. “I can’t undo it, Gen. It happened.” 

“So, you did sleep with him? Am I hearing this right?” Gen sighed, rubbing her temples. “Do you have any idea what this could do to you? To Sachiro? People are ruthless, and now this blind item is all over the place and they’re targeting you like a punching bag!”

Your mouth felt heavy, as if it was weighed down by an invisible burden, making it difficult to form words or speak. And before you could think of a response, Ian became your temporary savior as he walked in with a calm but serious mien. “I’ve seen the post,” he said, holding up his phone. “It’s clearly defamatory, and we can take legal action. I’ll handle it.”

Even though Ian was a man of remarkable phlegm, you remained abashed, knowing that everyone’s feasting at the juicy rumor that you slept with your ex-husband. Yet, the only thing you could do was to put on a front. To save face. To act like someone you’re not. “Thank you, Ian. I’d appreciate that.”

Anticipating another lecture from Gen about Satoru, you began retreating to your room with your footsteps bouncing desperately on the grand staircase. This conversation was done. You just weren’t there to hear it anymore. However, as you climbed the stairs with a vacant mind, you could still hear your sister calling out to you.

“Y/N!” she called, her voice now tinged with concern. “I’m not going to give you a hard time. We can sort this issue out. Maturely.”

“I’m good.” Sorry, Gen. It was the anxious-avoidant side of you speaking. You didn’t want to discuss such a sensitive situation to anyone, even with your sister, because you weren’t ready to face all the negativity it would put you through. You were already dealing with enough, and going through yet another emotional turmoil might actually put you to your deathbed at this point. 

So, for now, isolating yourself from the world was the best choice. 

And as soon as you entered your room, you saw Sachiro’s nanny tucking him into bed. All your worries and self-destructive thoughts vanished in an instant the moment you looked at your son. It was like the heavens gave you your personal angel, a cute little cherub who brought nothing but light and happiness to your life. He was your sunshine, your shooting star, your bundle of joy. Nothing in this world could erase the pessimist in you than little Sachiro. 

“I got it from here.” You thanked the nanny and asked her to close the door before quickly joining your son in bed, wrapping him in a warm, comforting hug—more for your own comfort than his.

“Mama?” he asked, his voice unusually raspy, and his chest rising and falling heavily. “I mwiss you, mama!”

You pressed your lips onto his forehead. “I miss you too, my baby. How was daycare today?”

He seemed to struggle to speak too, but Sachiro still did his best to recount his day while he was trying to catch air in between his sentences. “Teacher ask Sachi to go home, mama. Sachi is tired.”

“Baby, are you okay? Are you sick?” Now, your motherly instincts kicked in immediately. You could tell something was wrong, so you reached for a thermometer from the bedside drawer to check his temperature, and listened to his breathing at the same time. “What happened to Sachi? Do you want Mommy to take you to the hospital?”

Sachiro shook his head and gave you a sleepy smile. “No, mama. Sachi is just sweepy.”

When the thermometer beeped, you were relieved to see that his temperature was normal. “Are you having trouble breathing, my sweetheart?” You looked into his droopy eyes and gently placed your hand on his chest. 

Once again, Sachiro shook his head. Maybe you were just overthinking. He often ran around the house or played in the bathtub before bed, which could explain why he seemed out of breath. It wasn’t the first time it happened. 

“Okay, Sachi. Go to sleep now. Close your eyes, baby.”

“Night night, mama.”

For now, you turned off the night lamp, and headed to the bathroom in silent and careful steps. It was quiet enough indeed, but in your head was an awful noise you couldn’t escape. And stepping into the shower only increased the warfare in your mind, as it immediately brought images of Satoru and Akemi back in the cabin, the harsh comments from the article, and the lack of contact from your ex-husband which all overwhelmed you at once. By now, he would have already seen that article. Nanami or Miwa might have already alerted him about it. But the fact that he said nothing, the fact that he let the public scrutinize you, destroy you with such vile, hurtful words behind their screens brought you a kind of pain that you wouldn’t wish upon anyone else. 

Because if it was Akemi in that position, he would have defended her in a heartbeat. 

So in your silence, under the cascading water of the shower, you let the tears flow—its warmth distinguishable compared to the cold droplets falling on you. If only you had successfully drowned yourself that night at the lake. If only Satoru didn’t pull you back in, none of this would have happened. 

That moment was deeply poignant to you, and you saw him in a new light you thought you would never see again because of the darkness of your past. Yet, with the events that followed your special moment, memories eventually turned into spite. Your sweet exchange twisted into something bitter. Looking back at that time when he kissed you at the lake now made you feel nauseous and hollow inside, with bile forming on your throat and threatening to be retched. 

The most gut-wrenching part about this was the fact that there wasn’t anyone left who could rescue you from this abyss of heartache anymore. 

——

There had been a sense of detachment in your emotions in the following days that passed, almost as though they belonged to a stranger inhabiting your body. Toji, the only person who comforted you at times like these, was no longer by your side to fulfill the warmth you once desperately sought, and now you were alone to face this cruel, mind-numbing battle all by yourself. It was you against the world. You against the entire populace inhabiting this living hell. And with that many enemies against one, how could you win? 

It was quite funny, actually, that your humor took a surprising turn when you thought of how Sera must have felt when it was revealed to the public that she was Satoru’s mistress. The irony didn’t even stop at your thoughts alone, it manifested itself outside Hearte’s headquarters, wearing a pink puffer jacket and a white prairie skirt. 

“Sera?” you blurted out her name in wonder, nonplussed as you got out of the car to approach her.

“Hey, Y/N.” She offered a casual smile while carrying an air of sophistication around her. That wasn’t the only thing that changed about Sera. Her hair was also shorter than the last you saw her, her face now sporting a more natural makeup, and her outfit a more modest yet classy choice. It was no longer the Sera who tried hard to fit in amongst the upper echelon of society, but a Sera who seemed to be satisfied at her current standing in life. 

What an awkward encounter. Was her presence your hypocritical reminder for sleeping with Satoru behind Akemi’s back? 

“What are you doing here?” you asked. 

And she answered with, “I read about what happened. You know, the thing on the internet.” She took a moment to pause, probably trying to choose the right words to say to her previous adversary. Because in a way, you two weren’t exactly friends. And you were no longer rivals either. Satoru was the only common denominator here, and Sera proved her exact sentiments about him by saying, “I just wanted to let you know that I understand your side. It’s a tough situation.”

You looked at her, searching for any hint of insincerity, but found none. “You were once on my spot,” you pointed out and gauged whether or not she would take the bait. For all you know, she could be putting on an act. “I’m assuming you’re here to rub it in my face how much of a hypocrite I am.” 

“No, that’s not it.” Sera was vehemently denying any malice on her intentions, and was instead trying to show you the sympathy of a woman who was once caught in the same predicament. “Look, I know it’s weird that I’m here out of all people. But the truth is, I just had to let you know that someone’s on your side. I’ve met the girl, okay? That… whoever she is. I don’t remember her name, and I hate having to pit two women against each other, but I’m telling you it’s about time you cut Satoru off your life. Completely. She doesn’t look like someone who’d easily let go. You’re just gonna suffer, Y/N.” 

Perhaps three years was too far back in your life and that tables could turn in a direction that you didn’t expect, as you could recall fragments of memories from when your only dilemma was dealing with Satoru and Sera in your marriage. She used to be besotted with your ex-husband back then. But now, it wasn’t until you heard the way she spoke about him that you realized she must be harboring a grudge deeper than you had imagined. After all, he did ruin her life in ways you couldn’t imagine. And her advice, though unsolicited, made sense. Because you could understand where she was going with it. You could see the true intentions clearly conveyed by her face.

The only problem here was that you didn’t have it in your heart to agree with her. You were too much of an empathic person to be taking sides, even if the supposed villain in this painting was the ex-husband who, time and time again, hurt you. Your heart stubbornly cared for Satoru deep down, and your wifely instinct of defending him no matter how poorly he acted had always been there. No one could hate Satoru more than you did, that was true, but you also weren’t very accepting of hearing others describe him as this ruthless, cheating bastard. 

That was the reason why talking to Gen had eventually exhausted you. Because no one knew the real Satoru Gojou behind his facade of an irresponsible and reckless husband. 

“Now that you’re here…” The idea to redirect the conversation to another topic struck you, unwilling to engage in a conversation that pushed Satoru in a bad light. “Would you be interested in being a model for our upcoming campaign? We’re launching a new collection, and I think you’d be perfect.”

Sera’s eyes were an amalgam of confusion and surprise. “Uh, I mean… I’d love to, but why so sudden?” 

“You have the face for it.” You shrugged, but still sent a smile her way. “Are you working right now? If not, this could open doors for you to be discovered by modeling agencies. I’m closely tied with them since I work in the fashion industry, so I can do a few calls if you want.” 

“Hold on, I’m—” Sera touched her head, laughing as if she were dreaming this conversation. “Y/N, you’re doing too much here. I mean, I’d obviously love that, but wouldn’t it be awkward? People know me as your ex-husband’s mistress, and if they recognize me in Hearte ads, I’m sure as hell those fuck ass netizens won’t stop talking about it.”

She had a point, a very good point, but then again, your suggestion was only brought up because you had to change the topic. “Well, it’s just an offer to consider in the future.” 

“And I appreciate you always extending a hand to help me even if I did you wrong in the past,” she said, feelings of shame lacing her voice. “I haven’t forgotten about what you did for my brother, that’s why I’m here. I’m not your enemy anymore, Y/N.”

Just then, the roaring engine of a classic red Ferrari pulled up to the curb, interrupting the unexpected conversation you were having with your ex-husband’s former mistress. The window rolled down to reveal a pink-haired man whom you recognized as Ryomen Sukuna, an up and coming tech mogul, that Toji had mentioned about many times before. His eyes were only on one woman alone, and it wasn’t you. “Ready to go, babe?”

Honestly, good for Sera. No wonder her aura had become different. They seemed to be in a stable committed relationship, something that you could only ever dream about. If karma was truly real, this was the perfect example for it. 

In the back seat, you spotted a younger boy who looked exactly like Sukuna and, surprisingly, Megumi, the son of your ex-fiancé. Really? How many more people were you going to ‘coincidentally’ run into today? 

“Hello, miss!” the other boy called out cheerfully, while Megumi offered a polite nod. You replied with a wave, feeling a small sense of normalcy in their innocent presence.

“I gotta get going, Y/N,” excused Sera, gesturing a civil goodbye. 

But as she moved to get into the car, your phone buzzed in your pocket. A single glance at the screen made your heart drop. It was a call from the hospital.

“Hello?” you answered almost immediately, pressing the phone on your ears with a tight push.

“Ms. Y/N, this is the hospital. Your son, Sachiro Gojou, is in the ICU. We need you to come as soon as possible.”

Your stomach contracted into a tight ball as you stood rigid with terror. Then and there, the world seemed to tilt on its axis. “Wh-What do you mean he’s in the hospital?!” you managed to shout, swept by horripilation from the sudden news. “What happened to my son?! What’s—!” 

Sera’s concerned gaze met yours as you desperately yelled into the phone, hyperventilating. Your trembling hand was threatening to drop the phone. “Y/N, is everything okay?”

“My son… I… he…,” you stammered, your voice shaky with fear and urgency. Your muscles locked in a momentary paralysis, eyes wide with astonishment, and surprise rendering you immobile. The thought of Sachiro in a critical state was about to make you faint, with the last bits of images you saw that afternoon were of Sera and her boyfriend rushing to catch you from completely falling to the ground. 

——

Megumi didn’t know how to deliver the bad news. 

He came home after Yuuji’s brother rushed you to the hospital, shocked by everything that happened in a span of a single day. His mind was aching from all the thinking he was doing; praying that little Sachiro will be fine, hoping that you would stay strong throughout, and lastly, wondering how he would break it to his dad that something terrible had happened. 

His father wasn’t exactly the greatest man to tread this Earth, especially not after the drunken words he had ‘mistakenly’ uttered to you that night in Miami that resulted in your separation. Yes, Megumi knew every word and detail. His father told him everything just as a sober man would. Did you really think that the Toji Zen’in you knew would sputter that utter nonsense to you? That you had an empty soul. That he couldn’t be with someone like you. That you would forever be a placeholder to Megumi’s mother. Bullshit. None of those were true. His father told him that the reason he had to say those words, as piercing and trenchant as they may be, was because it was the only way he could free you from being caged in a relationship your heart didn’t genuinely want. 

It was Toji’s last resort to hurt you with his words, hoping that you would wake up from your false fantasy and finally have a reason to leave a relationship with a man that wasn’t Satoru Gojou. If Megumi’s father wasn’t at the top of the list of Forbes’ richest men in Japan, he would have felt a great deal of inferiority complex over a younger man like Gojou. Not because of his looks and his riches, but because he had you. No matter what Satoru did, no matter how many times he hurt you, he was and would always be that man you wanted to be with. 

Sighing, Megumi’s first task upon coming home was to check on his father’s room, only to find the dark room void of its owner. When he made his way down the grand staircase, he met an ill-spirited Naoya who was ranting to Mai about Sera flaunting Sukuna in front of his face. Megumi’s sigh was then followed by another. The drama in this house was relentless. He felt like he was exhaling endlessly, like a malfunctioning appliance. 

“Where’s dad?” asked Megumi, directing her question to a more rational Maki. 

The tall, green-haired girl gave him a knowing shrug. “You already know,” she said, “Drowning himself in alcohol down at the bar.” 

As always. 

Megumi jogged around the estate to eventually find his father at one of the wet bars near his home office. He was there, seated on a stool, his head drooping low with a glass of premium scotch in hand. How many glasses he’d had, Megumi could only hope the numbers weren't that high. But upon approaching his father, his presence was barely acknowledged as he sat on the stool next to him, suggesting that the grown man might be more inebriated than his son had expected.

“Dad,” spoke the Zen’in heir, “Dad, you good?” 

Toji lifted his head up, three sheets to the wind, as a smile crept up on his scarred lips. “Son.” 

“Let me take that.” Megumi grabbed a hold of the glass of scotch, sliding the strong liquor away from his father. “There’s something I ought to tell you.” 

Toji stayed nonchalant, sitting upright and tapping his fingers on the counter. “What’s it about this time?” he asked. “I’ve told you, I can’t stop the elders from arranging your marriage unless you’re honest with me about someone you like. I know you have someone in mind, but you’re not saying who. Are you just shy?”

Megumi gave his father a look of exasperation. He’s rambling, he thought, frustrated with his father’s inebriated chattering. “It’s not about that. It’s about Y/N-san.”

The mention of your name was the only thing that made Toji's demeanor shift to one of genuine concern. “What happened?”

“Sachi’s in a critical condition,” the younger Zen’in went straight to the point, “Y/N-san went manic over it and fainted before we could get her to the hospital.”

Toji was quick to grab his coat and car keys, as if all the alcohol in his system had immediately evaporated. But before he could leave, Megumi caught his father’s arm and pulled him back. 

“What?” said Toji, concern and urgency blanketing his gaze. “I need to be with her.” 

“Do you really need to?” Megumi countered. “Dad, I know it’s not right for me to stop you in this crucial situation, but are you gonna do this every time she’s in trouble? Do you plan to do this forever? Do you plan to keep drowning yourself in alcohol thinking about her? We care for her like family, that’s true, but you and her aren’t a thing anymore. Your responsibilities in taking care of her should stop, too. You, yourself, said it’d be best if she stopped being reliant on you. Now, do yourself a favor and stop trying to be this pathetic superhero.” 

The concern etching on Tojis’s face softened into a sense of realization, a sense of candidness that only someone as straightforward as his own son could evoke. Megumi had to, not because he didn’t care for you anymore, but because he had to ensure he wouldn’t lose his father over a relationship that had already ended. Toji was the only real family Megumi had left. 

“Stay, dad,” he pleaded, “Please.”

Toji took a deep breath and released it in the same second. “Okay,” he softly said, ruffling his son’s hair. “I won’t leave.” 

——

Why is it that you keep attracting things, places, and people that you disliked the most? 

You hated hospitals, and you had spoken about it enough to make it clear how much you dreaded going to a place where your worst memories had taken root. Yet, the sterile environment seemed to beckon you, dragging you back with a new nightmare each time. It was beyond your worst fears that you would find yourself racing through the halls mere minutes after regaining consciousness, desperately trying to reach where your son was.

Please be okay. Please be okay. 

Frantically, you scanned the corridors, searching for the ICU and hoping that what you had just heard was nothing more than a cruel illusion, that this was all just a nightmare. You weren’t a deeply devout person, but you did send prayers to every saint you could think of, hoping that Sachiro’s current state wasn’t in the median between life and death. 

Because if you lost your son, then there was no point in living anymore. This life wouldn’t be worth enduring. 

“Y/N!”

You weren’t the first one to arrive outside the pediatric ICU, with Gen and your father already being there moments before you came. You were struggling to breathe by the time you reached them, feeling your heart race with a thunderous beat. “Gen… Dad, what h-happened to him?” You couldn’t stop the weakness in your voice. “Tell me he’s fine, please. Please. My baby. If anything h-happens to him, I’m g-gonna die, Gen! I c-can’t h-have that!”

Gen quickly enveloped you in a tight embrace, trying to offer any form of comfort she could. “I’m so sorry, Y/N. Dad and I are just as shocked.” She held you closer, her voice trembling as she, too, was just as anxious as you. “Sachi refused to eat and complained about having a hard time breathing. He was so pale and his lips were blue. We knew we had to rush him to the hospital immediately.”

“Oh my God.” Your hand flew to your mouth, trying to stifle the uncontrollable cries that were escaping. The news of Sachiro developing cyanosis shattered your heart, and the crushing reality that you weren’t there to take care of him tore you apart. “My baby, no. No, no. H-He—”

“Y/N!” 

Out of breath and also visibly shaken was the father of your son, Satoru, who came running to your side the moment his eyes landed on you. Behind him was his mother, clutching a rosary in her hand as both of them were seemingly shell-shocked in the same magnitude as you and your family were. Everyone cared for Sachiro’s well-being, everyone prayed for his safety, and the thought of losing an angel like your son was a soul-crushing thought that sent you slipping into a chasm of suffering.  

“Wh-What happened to Sachi?” Satoru asked in desperation, his question raised to everyone in the vicinity—you, your family, the nurses. But no one could give him a decent answer. “Please, tell me my son’s alright. Tell me.” 

You watched him walk in circles, raking his fingers through his hair as if he was seeking anything to hold onto. And you, feeling that magnet that pulled you closer to him, broke away from Gen’s embrace to look at your son’s father. “Satoru…” 

“Y/N,” his voice cracked as he met your gaze, “Our son.” He stopped, ready to wrap you in a hug—a moment of solace you both desperately needed in this critical time. But just as he pulled you close in a fragile attempt to find comfort together, the door to the ICU swung open, abruptly ending the brief respite.

All of you immediately rushed over to the doctor, the sterile white walls and the distant hum of hospital machinery did nothing to calm the turmoil inside you. 

“Doctor, how’s he?” 

“How’s my grandson, doc?”

“Doc, my son, is he okay?” 

“Is he stable, doc?” 

“Doctor, how’s my son, please?” you asked, your body growing tense to the point of shaking.

The doctor took a deep breath, his expression serious amidst the fusillade of questions thrown at him. “We’re currently running a series of tests on the patient. We suspect Sachiro may have congenital heart disease, specifically a ventricular septal defect with associated pulmonary hypertension.”

No, it can’t be. It’s not possible! The words hit you like a punch to the gut. You struggled to process the information, your vision blurring with tears and your heart drumming a rapid staccato inside. You didn’t need to look at everyone to know that they all, for a moment, looked at you. “Heart disease? But… how? I didn’t think—”

“Can you explain more, doc? Please.” Gojou was desperate, his bright blue eyes now dull and severely clouded with a brewing storm. It was as if he was keeping himself from crying.

The doctor continued gently, “VSD is a condition where there’s a hole in the heart’s ventricular septum. It can lead to pulmonary hypertension, which means the blood pressure in the lungs is elevated. It’s a serious condition, but we’re doing everything we can to assess the extent and provide the best treatment.”

“N-No, oh God. My baby.” You felt your knees go weak, and you sank down against the wall, with more tears cascading down your cheeks like waterfall. The weight of the diagnosis was crushing, but the hardest part was realizing that this was something you had unknowingly passed on to Sachiro. The heart disease was inherited from you and had now manifested in your beloved son.

It’s my fault. It’s my fault! 

The doctor placed a reassuring hand on your shoulder. “We’ll keep you updated as soon as we have more information. Please, try to stay calm, Y/N. It’s not best for your heart to panic right now. Sachiro is in good hands.”

You were unable to speak through the sobs that wracked your body. The hospital corridor felt endless, and you couldn’t shake the feeling of guilt and helplessness that consumed you. You could feel all eyes on you, judging, harboring hatred, carrying deep-rooted resentment. You were torn apart by the knowledge that the very thing you had feared most was now a reality for your son.

“It’s… It’s my fault,” you sobbed, covering your face with your quivering hands, “This is all my fault. I gave it to Sachiro, I… I’m a terrible mother!” 

Gen knelt beside you, her hands gripping your shoulders with a firm yet gentle touch. “Y/N, stop it. This is not your fault. You didn’t choose this for Sachiro.”

Your father, who had been pacing anxiously nearby, joined in. “Your sister’s right. You’re blaming yourself for something beyond your control. We’re all here for you. We’ll figure this out.”

But amidst your familial exchange, Satoru stood nearby, frozen and listless. His silence only added to the overwhelming distress. Was he also blaming you for what Sachiro was going through right now? Was he also angry at you for putting his son into this critical situation? 

Suddenly, a familiar voice cut through the commotion—voice that was equally harsh and spiteful. It was Satoru’s mother, boring her fiery eyes into your skull as she opened her mouth. “That’s right! You’re self-aware, aren’t you?” she spat and stood rigidly, arms crossed defensively over her chest. “This is all your fault. You’re such an irresponsible mother! You can’t even take care of my grandson properly, and now you’ve passed your disease onto him!”

You looked up in shock, seeing Satoru’s mother standing there with a disdainful expression. The sting of her words felt like a knife twisting in your heart, because they were true. They were painful, yes, but they were true. And all you could do was lower yourself until you were sitting on your haunches, trying to make yourself as small as possible. 

“Excuse me?!” Gen stood up, her eyes blazing with anger that came from the deepest pits of hell. “You’re unbelievable, Auntie. How dare you speak to my sister like that! You have no right to blame her for this. I hope to God it was you in the ICU right now instead of Sachiro!”

“You…!” 

Satoru’s mother raised a hand to slap Gen, but your father stepped forward, his face a mix of disbelief and indignation. “This is despicable. How can you stand here and say such things to someone who’s already suffering? Weren’t you friends with my wife once?”

Satoru, who had been standing still, suddenly moved with a menacing calm. His face was hard as stone, and his eyes narrowed in anger. What was scarier was him approaching his mother with a threatening stance. “Are you really this pathetic, mother?” Satoru questioned with a cold, cutting tone. “Do you get off on making Y/N suffer? Do you think you’ve gotten away with slapping her behind my back? You don’t get to blame Y/N for anything. Any fucking thing!”

His mother’s eyes widened in shock, but she tried to defend herself at the ruthless stance her son was carrying. All of you were stunned at the realization of how Satoru resembled his cruel father at that moment. “B-But Satoru, my son—”

“Shut up!” Satoru cut her off, his voice harsh and unforgiving, before he threw his cold knuckles against the hard surface of the concrete wall. “I don’t want to see your face ever again! Don’t consider yourself my mother any longer, you witch. You’ve lost that privilege.”

This took a wild turn, and hearing the brutality of Satoru’s words was like a thunderclap in the tense atmosphere. His mother’s face turned pale, her mouth opening and closing in shock as she struggled to respond.

“Get out of here,” Satoru commanded, his voice uncaring towards her. “Leave, and don’t ever come back. You’re nobody to me now.”

With that, Satoru’s mother turned and fled, stumbling down the corridor as if she was the victim in this situation. However, the tension in the air began to dissipate as soon as she left, leaving you, Satoru, Gen, and your father in a heavy silence. Only your sniffles could be heard. 

Even Gen, who was often hostile around your ex-husband, had remained quiet and composed after she watched him take such drastic measures to keep his mother away.

Everyone was silent. Pure, unbothered silence until Satoru’s phone began to buzz loudly, cutting through the stillness of the hallway. For a moment, he closed his eyes, then he fished his phone out of his pocket where you caught a glimpse of the caller ID. 

Akemi. 

——

The ICU only allowed short visits and one person at a time, so there was no need for everyone to stay the night. You were the parent, you were the one responsible for your son’s situation, so you insisted it was best for your dad and Gen to go home and get some rest. You didn’t mind watching over your son for the whole night, because coming home without him was the last thing you would do right now.

My precious angel.

Sachiro lay in the hospital bed, his small chest rising and falling in a steady rhythm. The doctors had managed to stabilize him for now, and the sight of his heart monitor showing a stable rhythm was a small comfort amidst the chaos.

Still, you sat by his bedside, mindful of your timed visit as your hands gently held his tiny ones, feeling the warmth of his small fingers. You glanced down at the medical report on your other hand, trying to make sense of the complex terms and figures.

The words blurred together as your tears fell silently onto the paper. “I’m sorry, baby.” He didn’t deserve this. He’s just a baby. “Mommy’s very sorry.”

You tried to stay strong, putting on a brave face for your son, but inside, you were falling apart. It was impossible not to blame yourself over this, wishing you could do more than just be present around him. This was the comeuppance of your own actions after you focused on your own emotions for the past few weeks to the point of neglecting your son’s wellbeing. If you had been more present in his life, if you had been more observant, you would have easily noticed the signs. Now, you allowed Satoru to find a flaw in your duty as a mother, and he could cite this very event as evidence to get full custody of him. That is, if he were to ever consider taking your son away from you. 

But in the first place, he should be the last person to do that, because where exactly was he now? 

Your thoughts kept drifting back to the earlier scene, where he excused to answer Akemi’s call, and later that night told you he had to leave and “check something” urgently. He promised he’d be back before midnight, but where was he? 

Resentment began to fester within you.

You had been very perceptive of Akemi’s feelings, apologetic in the way you supposedly betrayed her, but the fact that she was still scrambling for Satoru’s attention in the midst of your son’s hospitalization was something you could never forgive her for. 

And as for Sachiro’s father, how could he prioritize another woman when his own son was in such a critical state? The confusion of his actions was overwhelming. It felt like a cruel deja vu that, at a time when you needed him the most, he was choosing to be elsewhere. You could accept it if it was a choice between you and another woman, but between his son and her? His behavior was unacceptable, disgusting even, and it only served to deepen your grudge against him.

You clenched your fists, trying to push away the surge of anger that threatened to consume you after seeing that the disparity in his actions felt like both a betrayal and a slap to the face. Your poor son. You stared at Sachiro’s peaceful face and stroked his cheek. How could Satoru be so indifferent to his own flesh and blood?

The room was silent except for the soft beeping of the heart monitor and your quiet sobs. The situation was almost too much to bear, and your resentment towards Gojou grew heavier by the second. Each minute felt like a lifetime, and the emptiness left by his absence was a constant reminder that yet again he chose another woman over his own family.

It’s okay. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. I won’t leave you, Sachi. For Sachiro’s sake, you needed to find the strength to carry on, to be the mother he needed in this moment of crisis and never again failing to be there for your only child. 

At exactly 10:30 pm, the nurse came in and told you visiting hours were over. You complied. 

At 11:00 pm, Ian paid you a quick visit and talked to the nurses, perhaps giving them reminders to look after you. 

At 12:00 am, you were alone again. Seated at one of the benches outside the ICU—sleepless, starving, and nauseous. 

At 2:00 am, you remained in your seat despite the sterile smell of antiseptic mingling with your own discomfort. The flickering fluorescent lights above did little to help you get some proper sleep. The cold air-conditioning alao made you shiver slightly, hugging your own body to try and give yourself some warmth. 

At 4:00 am, you awakened from the noise of the movements beside you. Realizing you had fallen asleep, you looked up and saw Satoru taking a seat to your left. His coat was draped over his arm, and he offered it to you.

“Are you cold?” he asked, his voice softer than usual, but you could see the bags under his eyes suggesting the sleepless nights he’d had for the past few days. “You can use my coat.”

You took the coat, but as you caught a whiff of it, a familiar scent of Akemi’s perfume lingered. Rose Prick by Tom Ford. It was a scent you’d come to recognize after your years of being her best friend, and it made your stomach turn slightly. Without any hesitation, you handed the coat back to him. “No, thank you. I’m fine,” you replied, avoiding his gaze. Looking into his eyes was the last thing you would do. 

And you knew Satoru was sighing, but didn’t press the issue. “The nurse mentioned you haven’t eaten today.” He pulled out a small bag of assorted fruits, placing it gently on the seat between you. You eyed the offerings, feeling a pang of hunger but also a strange aversion. “I bought some fruit. Is there anything you like?”

You took a deep breath and broke the silence with a hint of sarcasm. “You’re really good at this, huh?”

“At what?” was his immediate question, puzzled.

“Hitting two birds with one stone.”

“Y/N…”

“Stop trying to take care of me,” you interrupted, your tone sharper than intended. “ I don’t need it.”

“But—”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “You can’t even be here for Sachi. You can’t even choose your son. He’s in a life and death situation and we’re still only receiving scraps of your attention.” It was the deep-seated grudge spilling out of you. “You’re so good at abandoning people, huh? Even though that’s what you hate the most. You’re so good at disappearing without even a text or call to check on me and our son. After that night at the cabin, you just…” you paused, realizing that you were opening too much of your heart to a man who didn’t deserve it. “Forget it. Just go home to Akemi. Live a happy life, build a family with her. Forget us. I don’t care. I’ll take care of Sachiro myself. I’ve done it for three years!”

“Y/N, I’m not trying to hurt you. I just…” Satoru fumbled for words, his somber blue eyes bearing the history of your shared heartbreak. It was as though the painful memories of your past were flooding his thoughts, seeking justification as to why he couldn’t pick you again this time. “I had to be there for her. She’s…”

You turned away before he could see your expression, because your heart was splintering at the thought of Satoru Gojou shattering it once more. As he always did. There seemed to be no end to this relentless heartbreak, as if any hope of a happy ever after with the man you loved would only return a pain that was a hundred times worse. Perhaps, this was destiny’s way of telling you that you and him weren’t meant to be. That any wishful thinking of being with Satoru again was only something that you could expect in another universe.

So, in your defense, you had to pull on a facade. A mask that you had to wear in the face of being the target of never-ending despair. “Satoru, I don’t want to talk about it,” you said firmly, concealing the raw ache in your voice with a smile. “And I don’t expect you to choose me every time. It’s okay. It’s happened before.”

“Can’t you see I’m hurting, too?” he asked, his voice breaking. Though you couldn’t see his face, the tremor in his voice revealed his struggle to hold back tears. 

You couldn’t understand why he would be hurting with his decision. When faced with two crossroads, he always seemed to pick the path that led away from you. So instead of trying to comprehend his pain, you decided it was time to honor your own. For your sake. For Sachiro’s. 

“Let’s just forget about that night,” you declared, wiping your eyes as you got up from your seat and prepared to walk away. “From this day forward, let’s pretend it never happened.”

——

Akemi’s apartment was dark when Satoru stepped inside. 

And to be honest, the darkness was a relief. At least, she wouldn’t be able to see the lassitude etched on his face, not just from juggling his time between his son and her, but from the constant ache of hurting the person he loved.

Miscommunication is a couple’s greatest enemy, and the persistent disconnect between you two, coupled with the reluctance to clear things up, had worn Satoru down. He wanted to end this—the feeling of helplessness and the torment of seeing the woman he cared for caught in a labyrinth of despair.

The hospital visits to Sachiro alone had been a whirlwind of emotions and responsibilities, and this brief visit to Akemi felt like an unwelcome detour, but one he couldn’t avoid. Satoru knew his heart wanted to stay in the hospital with you, to wait for any updates on his son, to hold your hand and care for you, yet here he was, dragging his feet across the carpeted floors to approach Akemi. 

“Hey.” She was sitting on the couch, looking frail but alert as if she had been desperately waiting on his arrival. She had recently started treatment for her stage 3 endometrial cancer, and Satoru could see the toll it was taking on her, physically and emotionally. He would be cruel to leave her hanging like this, to neglect her at her worst when she had been there by his side at his. Satoru had an unspoken accountability on her, because it wouldn’t be fair for him to just abandon her after she poured all her heart and soul into helping Gojou get back onto his own feet.  

“Hey, ‘Kemi,” he said, his tone soft but distant. “Did you take your meds today?”

Akemi looked up at him, her eyes tired and heavy. “I did. I took them just like the doctor said. How’s Sachiro?”

Gojou’s expression tightened. “He’s holding steady at the moment.”

A heavy silence settled between them before Akemi broke the tension. “I’m glad he’s stable,” she said, quietly. “Are you okay?”

He nodded once, his mind already drifting back to the hospital. “Yeah. Listen, I need to head back soon. Nanami and Miwa will be alternating in looking after you from now on. They’ll make sure you’re okay while I’m dealing with Sachiro. I have to focus on my son.”

Akemi’s frail hand reached out to gently grip his arm, the other held her lower abdomen in pain. “Satoru, please don’t go just yet. Can’t you stay a little longer?”

Now’s not the time to feel guilty. It was either her or Sachiro. Her or his son. Gojou decided to pull his arm away gently, his gaze distant. “Sachiro needs me, Akemi. You know that.”

Akemi’s face fell, but she knew it would be ridiculous to argue over that. “No, I understand. I get that. I want you to focus on Sachi, too. I just wish—” Before she could finish, her voice faltered, and she looked up at him with a hesitant gaze. “Satoru, do you regret that I took you back even if you cheated on me?”

The question caught him off guard, and Satoru’s blue eyes narrowed as he processed her words. He had been so focused on his responsibilities and the immediate crisis that he hadn’t given much thought to their ‘relationship’. All he knew was when he showed up at her doorstep back at the cabin, he was only going to try and end things with her. He was only going to clarify the longstanding feelings you and him poured out to each other that night, which was why he ended up sleeping with his ex-wife. But because Akemi suffered at the time, because her pelvic pain worsened to the point of an emergency, he had to hold back and just take care of her in the weeks that passed. He was caged in this situation like a prisoner who was found guilty for the crimes he had committed.

Just be honest, Satoru. Disregard everything else and just be honest. Satoru believed it was about time he stood his ground no matter the consequences. “You can’t take me back if we’re not together, ‘Kemi,” he breathed out those words, reticent on hurting her with the truth. If she would lash out on him, throw a vase on his head, slam a book on his face—he wouldn’t mind. He was ready to accept all the violence he deserved from being an asshole. “You knew from the start that this, us, was only temporary. It was never supposed to be serious.” 

Her expressions turned doleful. “Then, in that case, did you at least…” Tears welled up in her eyes as she she paused, “Did you at least love me?”

“I just… I never saw it that way, Akemi.” Satoru’s honesty would destroy her, but he didn’t want to keep on sending out false hopes. He had to be firm, and while he was grateful for everything she did for him, that doesn’t mean he owed her his life and loyalty. In the first place, he warned her that he wasn’t ready to be in a relationship. And God, he was far from ready to even settle down, yet Akemi constantly hinted at wanting to tie the knot with him. Again and again did she mention the thought of a wedding and a child and her own family. 

Satoru wanted all those things too, but with another person in mind. He was only set on having those things with one woman.

Akemi’s face paled upon hearing his answer and the fact that he didn’t even bother to explain himself. “I see. I guess I needed to hear that.”

Gojou looked at her with a mix of regret and sympathy. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for hurting you like this, I really do.”

“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

It definitely wasn’t fine, but Satoru had to take her word for it as he got out from the couch and gave her a gentle pat on the head. “I have to go. Nanami will be here soon. Please make sure to follow the treatment plan and take care of yourself.”

Akemi nodded, though her gaze remained fixed on the floor, unable to meet his eyes. “Alright. I’ll see him when he gets here.”

As Gojou turned to leave, he felt a pang of guilt twisting deep in his gut but pushed it aside. He was a father first before anything else. Sachiro would always be his first and foremost priority amongst everything else. 

——

After leaving Akemi’s place, Satoru was driving his car into the evening air beyond the speed limit. And his mind was racing together with him as he thought of you, your son, and the myriad of emotions he was struggling to manage. He couldn’t wait to be home, not literally at his own place, but anywhere with you and his son was his definition of home. 

It would be diabolical for him to run into your arms and yell, ‘I’m free! We can be together again!’ No, that would be cruel and disgusting. He respected Akemi just as he respected you. It was himself that he couldn’t respect, because he was the one responsible for the mess that he created. And adding Sachiro’s critical condition on top of the already festering wounds in your relationship? It truly was the manifestation of karma in his actions. 

His footsteps bounced through the hospital corridors the moment he arrived, each impatient step was ready to see your face and tell you he would never leave you and Sachiro now. But as he neared the pediatric ICU, his eyes darted around, the sight of his ex-wife was nowhere to be found. And instinctively, his heart pounded in his chest, and a drum of panic seemed to warn him of a storm that was about to come. Something was off, and it scared him. 

“Nurse,” he called out, his voice edged with urgency as he approached their station. “Where’s my wife? The boy’s mother?”

The nurse looked up, recognizing the infamous CEO’s face. “Uh, Mr. Gojou, she was heading to the rooftop, I think.”

“What?!” he unintentionally yelled at her face, “Why didn’t you guys keep an eye on her?” 

“Sir, calm down. She’s probably going to get some fresh air.”

A cold chill ran down his spine. You were definitely not there for that. 

Without another word, he sprinted towards the stairs, taking them two at a time instead of waiting at an elevator together with a group of people. He had to get to you as soon and as fast as he could without another second to waste. Although the climb felt endless, his mind racing with fear and dread was the push he needed to finally reach you. 

And upon bursting through the door to the rooftop, he was met with the soft whisper of the evening wind and the heart-stopping sight of you standing perilously close to the edge.

“Y/N!” he called out, his voice breaking with desperation. “Don’t do this. Please, step back.”

You stood motionless, eyes fixed on the distant horizon, the city lights blurring into a kaleidoscope of sorrow. “The world hates me, Satoru,” you whispered, the mellow tone of your voice carried away by the wind. “I’m a burden to everyone, even my own child. I-I just… I want to end it all.”

“No!” Satoru’s heart shattered at your words while he moved closer, his hands outstretched and careful not to startle or provoke you. He was dying to have you in his arms and keep you safe. “Y/N, please. Come back. What about Sachi? What about me? We need you. Sachiro needs you. I need you.”

What exactly made you go here? How did thoughts of ending yourself suddenly come into fruition? Was there something you discovered that brought you to this ultimatum? Gojou was desperate, utterly desperate, to hear what was running through your mind so that he could at least ease the burden that you were carrying all by yourself. He was once in the position where he wanted to commit too, and he knew the temptation that came with permanently escaping the cruelty of the world in just a single action. 

“Y/N, please. Please, I’m begging. Come to me,” he rattled on in a suffocating whisper, the pleading in his voice was heavy, “Please. I love you. Only you.”  

It was when you turned around that Gojou’s world collapsed, and the words you said after had shattered his entire universe. 

They were still. 

You. 

And the wind. 

“I’m pregnant,” you finally confessed, voice cracking as you looked at the faint tears that fell from Satoru’s eyes. “I don’t wanna have this baby.” 

[teine-mallaichte]

Let's talk hallucinations in whump/general fiction.

So first off full disclosure, I have schizoaffective disorder - think some bits of bipolar and some bits of schizophrenia kind of squished together, and as such hallucinations are a BIG part of my general existence.

Definition: A hallucination is a perception of a sensory experience—such as sight, sound, smell, taste, or touch—that appears real but is created by the mind and lacks an external stimulus.

Now, I see a fair few "hallucinations" type prompts in whump events, and just generally within the whump community, and I see a LOT of auditory hallucinations type prompt fills - mainly in the form of malevolent whispers - and ye that's a thing, but there are so many other hallucinations.

The thing is hallucinations can effect literally any sense, not just hearing - though I will add that auditory is usually regarded as the most common.

this is a long post so I am going to put a cut here... below the cut is exploration of the tyoes of hallucination, the causes and a bit about insight.

So, I thought it could be "fun" to explore a few in a post. Lets explore the 5 "main" senses first:

Auditory Hallucinations

Description: These are the most common type of hallucinations. They involve hearing sounds that are not present. The sounds are hear as if they are coming from somewhere external to the body. So in my case I have a few of these, but my main one is a voice who is with me even when I am in meds (another good point there for anyone who wants to use mental illness in their fics even in meds we can do have symptoms). This voice has a name and most of the time he just sorts off passes comments about things and people around me, like a sarcastic narrator and it sounds like he is standing just behind me.

Common Examples:

Malevolent Whispers: Insidious voices that might threaten, taunt, or belittle you.

Hearing Music: Melodies or songs playing that no one else can hear. For me this kind of sounds like someone is playing a radio in a different room.

Environmental Sounds: Hearing footsteps, doors creaking, or other sounds suggesting someone else is present.

Command Hallucinations: Voices that instruct or suggest (its not always ademand, sometimes more subtle and manipulative) you to do certain things, often with a compelling and distressing sense of urgency.

Less used examples:

Kind/supportive hallucinations: Voices that are encouraging, reassuring and supportive.

Distortion: Rather than sounds with no origin hallucinations that disort or warp actual sounds/voices changing the meaning, making it as if the TV or Radio is addressing you personally, making it sound as if a friend is threatening you.

Fun fact: it actually is possible to have a two way (sort of) conversation with a hallucination - I know I do it relatively often. It will be different for everyone, but fo me its a bit like having a conversation on a bad phoneline, yes the voice will respond but often its almost as if he hasn't fully heard what I said - or is ignoring key points. I can do this both outloud and "in my head".

Visual Hallucinations

Description: Visual hallucinations involve seeing things that are not present. These can range from simple shapes and flashes of light to detailed images or scenes. They often appear as if they are in the physical world and can be very convincing.

Common Examples:

Shadowy Figures: Seeing indistinct, shadowy forms that may move or appear to watch the character.

Distorted Faces: Perceiving familiar faces as grotesque or altered in frightening ways.

Apparitions: Full-bodied figures that may interact with the character or appear menacing.

Lights/sparkles: The whump community seems to very much enjoy lights and sparkles, especially in drugging.

Less Used Examples:

Intrusive Visuals: Images of disturbing or graphic nature that suddenly appear in your line of sight.

Perceptual Distortions: Objects appearing to warp, change shape, or color in unnatural ways.

Double Vision: Seeing multiples of objects or people, creating a confusing and disorienting experience.

Scenery Shifts: The entire environment changes, making you believe they are in a completely different place.

Fun fact: Sleep deprivation can cause some wild visual hallucinations, even relatively "mild" sleep deprivation can start to effect a persons perceptions.

Gustatory Hallucinations

Description: Gustatory hallucinations involve tasting things that are not actually present in the mouth. These can range from pleasant to extremely unpleasant tastes and can be triggered without any external food or drink.

Officially these are considered "rare", but personally (as someone who has done a lot of peer support work in the psychosis/voice hearing community I think they are simply under reported.)

Common Examples:

Bitter or Metallic Taste: A persistent bitter or metallic taste in the mouth, often leading to a sense of unease or concern about poisoning.

Sweet or Sour Taste: Tasting something sweet or sour unexpectedly, which can be confusing if it doesn’t match the current context.

Less Used Examples:

Spoiled Food: Tasting something rancid or spoiled, causing nausea and distress.

Unfamiliar Tastes: Tasting something completely unfamiliar and hard to describe, adding to the character's sense of disorientation.

Mimicking Actual Foods: Tasting specific foods that trigger cravings or aversions, despite not eating anything.

Transforming food: Food tasting like other food - I know someone for whom everything tasted like strawberries for days.

Common Causes: Neurological conditions or can be a side effect of medications.

Olfactory Hallucinations

Description: Olfactory hallucinations involve smelling odors that are not actually present. These can be pleasant or unpleasant and occur without any corresponding external stimulus. They can be particularly disorienting because they may trigger memories or emotions associated with certain scents - extremely complex if the person also has PTSD.

Common Examples:

Burning Smell: Wood, rubber, or food, which can lead to panic and fear of a fire.

Rotting Flesh: An overpowering smell of decay or rotting flesh, causing distress and nausea.

Perfume or Flowers: Smelling strong scents like flowers or perfume - hallucinations don't have to be inherently unpleasant sensations.

Less Used Examples:

Chemical Smells: Smelling chemicals like bleach or petrol.

Unfamiliar Scents: Smelling odors that you cannot identify.

Food Smells: Smelling specific foods that trigger hunger or nausea, despite the absence of any actual food.

Tactile Hallucinations

Description: Tactile hallucinations involve feeling sensations on or under the skin that are not actually there. These can range from mild tingling to severe pain and can be extremely distressing.

Common Examples:

Crawling Sensation: Feeling as though insects or bugs are crawling on or under the skin - often leading to frantic scratching or picking.

Electric Shocks: Experiencing sudden, sharp, electric-like jolts.

Pressure: Feeling pressure or tightness around certain body parts, such as a hand gripping the arm or something heavy on the chest.

Less Used Examples:

Temperature Changes: Feeling extreme cold or heat on the skin without any external cause.

Wetness or Dripping: Feeling as though liquid is dripping or running down the skin, even when dry.

Phantom Touches: Sensations of being touched or grabbed, often when alone. Sometimes its an almost feather like touch, other times its more akin to a grab that if reak would leave a bruise.

Right now let's expand - because there are more than 5 senses.

Proprioceptive Hallucinations

Description: Proprioception is the sense of the relative positioning of one's body parts. Proprioceptive hallucinations involve distorted perceptions of where your body is in space or how it is moving.

Common Examples:

Floating Sensation: Feeling as if the body is levitating or moving without control.

Distorted Body Size: Perceiving limbs or the entire body as being unnaturally large or small.

Less Used Examples:

Misaligned Limbs: Feeling as though limbs are twisted or out of place.

Movement Hallucinations: Sensing movements that aren't occurring, like swaying or rotating.

Common causes: Neurological disorders or the effects of certain drugs, but can by caused by a huge array of things.

Vestibular Hallucinations

Description: Vestibular sensations involve balance and spatial orientation. Vestibular hallucinations affect your sense of balance, making you feel dizzy or as though you're moving when you're stationary.

Common Examples:

Vertigo: A spinning sensation, as if the environment or oneself is rotating.

Imbalance: Feeling as though you're about to fall over or can't maintain your balance.

Less Used Examples:

Motion Sensation: Sensing movement, like rocking or swaying, when you're still.

Gravity Distortions: Feeling as if gravity is stronger or weaker than it actually is.

Common caused: Inner ear issues, migraines, or anxiety.

Temporal Hallucinations

Description: Temporal hallucinations involve distorted perceptions of time. They can make time feel like it's speeding up, slowing down, or standing still.

Common Examples:

Time Dilation: Feeling as though time is passing much slower than it actually is.

Time Compression: Perceiving time as moving rapidly, making events feel like they're passing in a blur.

Less Used Examples:

Frozen Moments: Experiencing time as if it's stopped, with everything around you appearing frozen.

Temporal Displacement: Feeling as though you're living in a different time period.

Temporal Dissonance: Feeling as if time is moving differently for you in comparison to those around you.

Common caused: Extreme fatigue, high stress, or under the influence of certain drugs.

Interoceptive Hallucinations

Description: Interoception refers to the perception of sensations from within the body, such as hunger, thirst, or the feeling of a heartbeat. Hallucinations in this realm involve feeling internal sensations that aren't actually occurring.

Common Examples:

False Hunger: Feeling extremely hungry despite having eaten recently.

Nonexistent Thirst: An intense sense of thirst even when well-hydrated - I have had this one a few times and given myself electrolyte imbalances due tot he amount of water I ended up drinking (not fun).

Less Used Examples:

Phantom Heartbeats: Feeling the heart racing or skipping beats without any physical basis.

Digestive Sensations: Sensations of digestion, such as gurgling or bloating, without any real cause.

Common causes: Panic disorder or certain types of seizures.

Right, now lets quickly review the main "causes" of hallucinations

Mental Illness:

Schizophrenia: Can involve basically anything from this list, but anecdotally auditory and visual appear to be the most common.

Bipolar Disorder: Can include hallucinations, especially during manic or depressive episodes.

Schizoaffective Disorder: A combination of symptoms from both schizophrenia and mood disorders, often leading to a variety of hallucinations.

EUPD/BPD: Auditory hallucinations are relatively common.

In all of these the hallucinations will rarely (if ever) exist in isolation. If you do not have primary or secondary experience of mental illness then I would recommend doing a LOT of research - and talking to people who do (on this note my asks are open if anyone has any schizoaffective based questions).

Neurological Conditions:

Epilepsy: Particularly temporal lobe epilepsy, can cause a range of sensory hallucinations.

Parkinson's Disease: Can lead to visual and auditory hallucinations.

Migraine: Migraine auras can include visual and auditory hallucinations.

Once again the hallucinations will not be in isolatation so same advice as with mental illness.

Substance Use and Withdrawal:

Psychedelics: Drugs like LSD, psilocybin, and mescaline are known for causing vivid visual and auditory hallucinations.

Stimulants: Methamphetamine and cocaine can cause tactile and visual hallucinations.

Alcohol Withdrawal: Can lead to visual, auditory, and tactile hallucinations.

You know what I am going to say that my "if you do not have experience of this then go talk to someone who does" advice may just stand for every potential cause.

Sleep Disorders:

Sleep Deprivation: Can cause a variety of hallucinations across different senses.

Narcolepsy: Often includes hypnagogic (while falling asleep) and hypnopompic (while waking up) hallucinations.

Medical Conditions:

Delirium: Acute confusion and hallucinations often seen in severe infections, fever, or after surgery.

Dementia: Especially Lewy body dementia and Alzheimer's disease, can cause hallucinations.

Medications:

Anticholinergics: Can cause hallucinations as a side effect.

Steroids: High doses can sometimes lead to hallucinations.

Certain Antidepressants and Antipsychotics: Occasionally, these medications can cause hallucinations.

Psychological Stress and Trauma:

PTSD: Flashbacks and hallucinations related to traumatic events.

Extreme Stress: Can sometimes trigger hallucinations.

Metabolic and Endocrine Disorders:

Thyroid Disorders: Hyperthyroidism or hypothyroidism can sometimes cause hallucinations.

Electrolyte Imbalances: Severe imbalances can lead to hallucinations.

Deprivation:

Sensory Deprivation: Go google the ganzfeld effect, it's facinating.

Isolation: Extended periods of isolation can lead to hallucinations, known as sensory deprivation hallucinations.

Autoimmune Disorders:

Lupus: Can cause neurological symptoms including hallucinations.

Tumors:

Brain Tumors: Depending on their location, they can cause hallucinations affecting different senses.

Ok, finally point for this post. Let's discuss insight, because it is not as black/white or binary as people seem to assume.

Definition: Insight, in this context, refers to the awareness and understanding that one's hallucinations are not real but are a product of their mind. Insight can be partial or complete, and it often fluctuates.

Complete Insight:

Description: The individual fully understands that their hallucinations are not real and are caused by an underlying condition.

Impact: This can help the person manage their symptoms more effectively and seek appropriate treatment. However, it doesn't necessarily lessen the distress caused by the hallucinations.

Partial Insight:

Description: The individual has some awareness that their hallucinations might not be real but can still struggle with differentiating them from reality.

Impact: This can lead to confusion and anxiety, as the person oscillates between believing and doubting their experiences.

Lack of Insight:

Description: The individual firmly believes that their hallucinations are real and external.

Impact: This can lead to significant distress and functional impairment, as the person might respond to these hallucinations as if they were real.

Now imagine these three points on a scale from 0 (complete insight) to 10 (lack of insight) a person can be anywhere on this scale, and can slide back and fourth along it.

Factors such as stress, fatigue, medication changes, or daily fluctuations in mental state can cause insight to vary. A person might have high insight at one moment and low insight the next.

Basically Insight Is Not Static.

Also sometimes insight is just FREAKING RANDOM fluctuation for no discernible reason - honestly at times there is zero logic.

so ye, halluncinations… the brain is freaking wild.

Disclaimer - this is by no means an exhaustive list and like with many things every individual will experience these things slightly differently.

A similar post about delirium A similar post about fever

[pascaloverx]

SHAMELESS

Summary: You are moving into the Leister mansion after tragically losing your father in a plane crash. He worked for William Leister, who immediately offered to take you in. The problem? His son, Nick Leister, who is far from pleased about having a stranger living under his roof.

Author's Note: My slight fixation on Matthew Broome led me to create this fanfic, but I can’t guarantee it will be good. So, dear reader, if you enjoy it, please interact and comment. The fanfic will likely contain strong language, violence, and adult content. Minors should not engage with it.

one three

TWO

You tried to explore the Leister mansion but ended up completely lost. So, you decided that going with Nick might be the better option, even if he had hinted that accompanying him would be dangerous. But really, what kind of trouble could a spoiled rich boy possibly get into?

Another challenge was figuring out what to wear. Certainly, you couldn’t just pick any outfit, but you didn’t have many elegant options. There was one dress—years ago, your father had bought it so you could accompany him to a Leister party, but you had fallen ill and couldn’t attend. Now, you had no other choice but to wear it.

The dress fit your body perfectly, though it was somewhat eye-catching. After taking a shower and getting ready, you kept an eye out for any sign that Nick was about to leave. One of the maids kindly informed you that he was heading out soon. Slipping on a pair of high heels—ones you rarely wore—you hurried down the stairs, nearly stumbling in the process. The moment you spotted Nick at the foot of the staircase, you called out his name.

He turned to you as if you were in a movie, one of those scenes where the heroine descends the stairs in slow motion toward the hero. Your face burned when you realized he was scanning your body from head to toe.

"What are you doing?" Nick asked as you carefully made your way down—not to captivate him, but because with every step, you felt like you were about to fall.

"I'm trying not to smash my face on the floor," you exclaimed, losing focus on your steps and nearly tumbling. You only avoided disaster by throwing yourself into Nick’s arms as he stepped forward to catch you.

"A desperate attempt to get my attention?" he teased, a smug smile curling on his lips.

"In reality, a desperate attempt to feel your muscles holding me tight, or perhaps just to see what it’s like to have your handsome face this close to mine," you countered provocatively, dragging your fingers over his biceps.

For a moment, your lips curled at the thought of where else you might touch him. Giving in to the temptation, you trailed your hand up to the nape of his neck, gently threading your fingers through his hair and tugging—just enough to test his reaction.

"If you keep doing that, we won’t be going anywhere tonight," he murmured, his voice low, the tension between you thick and charged.

"I can't stop, even if it feels wrong," you whispered, your gaze dropping to his lips before locking onto his with a hunger for something more.

"Wrong? Or just daring, little miss perfect?" he mused, closing the space between you, his fingers brushing over your lips as if studying your face.

"I suppose we shall find out in due time. For now, you—" you say, pointing at him before letting your hand glide down his back, slipping into his back pocket to retrieve his car keys.

Nick wets his lips slightly before tilting his head. "We’ll return to this matter later, but for now, we really need to go." With a swift motion, he plucks the keys from your grasp, then takes your hand, leading you toward the garage.

The sight of his car leaves you momentarily speechless. Sleek, polished, and undoubtedly worth more money than you could ever dream of having, it feels almost surreal. You stand frozen, unable to move.

"Did you short-circuit?" Nick teases, holding the door open for you.

"This car looks ridiculously expensive. Are you sure we can’t take something a little less… extravagant?" you ask, still hesitant to step inside.

"Trust me, this is the perfect car for where we’re going. Now get in, or do I have to carry you inside myself?"

He extends his hand toward you, and with his assistance, you step into the car. He follows swiftly, sliding into the driver’s seat with practiced ease before starting the engine. Without hesitation, he speeds off, navigating the streets with the precision of a professional racer. The way he handles the car, smooth yet reckless, leaves you stunned.

"Would you mind telling me where exactly we’re going, Fast and Furious?" you ask, your tone caught somewhere between criticism and surprise.

Nick chuckles but keeps his focus on the road. "A place for street races and some… unconventional fights. Nothing too extreme." Your eyebrows furrow as he turns into a dimly lit area, the atmosphere shifting into something almost electric.

"Should I be worried?" you ask, already sensing that trouble is imminent. Your gaze locks onto Nick's, your concern unmistakable.

"Just stay behind me. I'll protect you," he assures, finally pulling into the crowded lot and parking the car.

The place is buzzing with energy—people gathered in tight clusters, anticipation thick in the air, as if they’ve been waiting for Nick’s arrival.

"I don’t need your protection, pretty boy. I need your common sense," you retort with confidence. And it’s true. You know how to defend yourself. Your father had wanted a son, so instead, he had trained you in combat techniques and self-defense.

"If I lack common sense, you can have it for the both of us," he quips, pressing a quick kiss to your cheek before stepping out of the car.

Moments later, he circles around to open your door. "Do you always treat the women you bring here this well?" you ask, convinced that he’s putting in extra effort with you. Perhaps desire is the best motivation for good manners.

"You’re the first person I’ve ever brought here," he admits as you both step into the throng of people.

The revelation catches you off guard, leaving you pleasantly surprised, but before you can respond, a man approaches and, without warning, drags Nick onto the hood of a parked car.

He punches Nick in the face and is about to land another blow when you jump onto his back, wrapping your arm tightly around his neck. You feel his breath hitch as he thrashes wildly, trying to throw you off. It’s only when Nick approaches, blood trickling down his face, that you finally release the man.

"Hey, Y/N, look at me…" Nick says, crouching in front of you as you collapse onto the ground after letting go.

"Your face is a mess," you murmur, almost feeling sorry for him as the blood continues to drip.

"Thanks for the brutal honesty," he says, running a hand over his face, watching the blood drip down.

"I need you to stay out of what's about to happen," Nick says as he pushes himself up from the ground and pulls off his shirt. His body is undeniably toned, momentarily distracting you.

"What are you going to do?" you ask, just as the man from before suddenly charges at Nick, knocking him to the ground.

The two of them trade blows while the crowd roars, chanting Nick’s name along with someone called Ronnie—who must be the guy fighting him. You consider stepping in, but a couple nearby blocks your path.

"Hey, troublemaker, hold on. If you step in now, you'll only make things worse," the guy from the couple says, holding you back.

The girl, however, interjects, "Lion, stop blaming her. Let’s be honest—Ronnie attacked Nick like a coward, she was just trying to defend him." She then turns to you. "I think it was brave of you to stand up for Nick. He usually doesn’t have girlfriends willing to risk that much for him. By the way, I’m Jenna," she introduces herself as you glance at Lion, feeling slightly calmer.

"I’ll let you go, but you can’t attack Ronnie from behind, or Nick won’t make it out of this alive," Lion warns, finally releasing you.

"But we need to put an end to this damn fight," you say, your voice edged with desperation. Through the gathered crowd, you catch glimpses of Nick and Ronnie exchanging brutal blows. Then, in a decisive moment, Ronnie knocks Nick to the ground. His expression is fierce, sending a shiver of fear through you.

"Which one of these cars belongs to Ronnie?" you ask urgently, as if your life depends on your speed.

"The flashy blue one over there," Jenna answers, despite Lion’s clear reluctance. He seems wary of whatever you’re about to do.

"What exactly are you planning, girl?" Lion questions, following you toward Ronnie’s car.

"Turning up the heat a little," you reply, pulling out your lucky lighter.

"Do either of you have any alcohol on you?" you ask, and after a brief pause, both pull out what appear to be hip flasks. You pour the alcohol over the cars, then flick open your lighter, setting the liquid ablaze.

You instruct Lion and Jenna to use your pocketknife to slash the tires of other cars nearby, making sure they remain unnoticed. Soon, the scent of smoke grows stronger, and you step back, watching as the commotion begins. Shouts erupt as people call for Ronnie. The moment he turns toward his car, you seize the opportunity, sprinting toward Nick to get him out of there.

Jenna and Lion help you lift Nick, who is conscious but badly injured. As he leans partially against you for support, he turns to you and says, "You look stunning in the role of a savior, kitten," flashing a brief smile before letting out a pained groan.

"Wow, Leister’s really smitten with her," Lion remarks to Jenna, who smacks his arm in disapproval.

"Where are your car keys?" you ask as you help ease Nick into the passenger seat.

"In my pocket," he replies, causing Lion and Jenna to chuckle. You silently pray it’s not his back pocket, but after searching through the pockets of his jacket, you realize the keys aren’t there. You glance up at him, now so close that you’re practically in his lap.

"Is it okay if I…?" you ask, locking eyes with him. Your proximity borders on dangerously intimate, his slightly parted lips tempting you. He smirks, and despite his pain, he reaches into his own pocket and hands you the keys.

Immediately, you snap back to focus and slide into the driver’s seat. There’s no time to say goodbye to Jenna or Lion—you have to get out of there before anyone catches on. You seize the moment to do something you’ve always wanted—drive a car in the middle of an escape, just like in the movies. The best part? Watching Ronnie’s crew desperately try to follow you, only to fail miserably.

[nab1wuzhere]

Magnetic

“You wouldn’t look at me.”

“I saw plenty.”

“In my eyes.”

“…Does it matter?”

~

summary:

Bakugo Katsuki, No. 3 Hero in the charts, massive amounts of fan girls, always invited to galas, events, and even award shows along side his peers, but he has never once gotten a dating scandal in his whole career. Has never even looked in a woman’s direction. So you can be certain he won’t change his actions when artist Y/N is invited to sing at a private Christmas Gala hosted for hero’s to celebrate the season and a year well done of duties…right?

Singer, artist, model Y/N, has it all. Looks, wealth, awards, friends, family, and boyfriends.. her music revolves around her relationships and past relationships along with her mental health that she speaks about through her music. She gets asked to gigs almost every day but few are lucky to book her, when her team gets a request for the Christmas Hero Gala which is highly exclusive, she immediately agrees to entertaining the hero’s, excited for the night she doesn’t realize she caught a certain man’s attention in the back of the crowd..

• slow burn - secret pining - romance - bold Y/N, shy Katsuki - vice versa - celebrity!y/n x aged up!katsuki

• following contains, eventual smut, mentions of suicide, alcohol, mental illness, heavy party scenes and probably more !

• 18+ only!! this is your warning

• the rest of the celebrities mentioned in this series i do not take credit for, and the songs mentioned all writing ownership belongs to them! i do not take credit except for this fan fiction!

!! just a friendly reminder this is all fake, simply my imagination placed into writing !!

intro

chapter one

furious knocking is heard on bakugo katsuki’s hotel door, with shouts of “katsuki!! katsuki!!” being heard on the other side of the door.

katsuki groaned furiously as he got up and headed for the door, opening it loudly

“what the hell?!”

katsuki opened it to see his best friend, eijiro kirishima standing before him with a star eyed look on him. katsuki sighed and opened the door wider for his red headed friend to walk in.

“this better be good shitty hair, i was about to eat my fuckin’ breakfast.” katsuki spoke with a grumble

“katsuki! you’ll never believe it, guess who’s the performer for the gala?!” eijiro said practically shouting the walls away, his hands in tight fists, barely holding himself together.

a massive sigh was heard from katsuki, “will you PLEASE, for the love of god stop the fuckin’ shoutin’?!” he practically raised his hands in the air with annoyance

eijiro nodded happily, no sign of embarrassment or fear covered his body, his hands just moved in a “guess” motion

katsuki gave him a blank stare before running a hand through his spiky blonde hair. “who is preform—” before he could finish his sentence eijiro already announced the performer,

“Y/N! THE Y/N! like global sensation Y/N?! SHE of all people will be preforming FOR US katsuki!!! can you believe it?! oh my god!!”

katsuki gave him a look of “who the fuck are you talking about” before realization dawned on him, on his face, “oh, the chick who sings ‘NDA’?”

eijiro nodded excitedly, “and therefore i am, your power, when the party’s over-”

“oh yeah, i like when the party’s over”

“male fantasy, i love you- OH my gosh what if she sings i love you? oh ill sob. oh not to mention, illicit affairs, my tears ricochet—”

“eijiro.” katsuki spoke in a harsh tone “we get it, she sings a lot of songs you know.”

eijiro walked towards him and sat down, “see that’s just the thing katsuki, she doesn’t just sing. she’s- hah! she’s an idol, she- she literally defines music, she’s a poet and composer and creates masterpieces using something that comes naturally to her- she- she creates art out of instruments and makes millions out of it-” eijiro reaches for the tv remote. “i mean look she even-”

“oh i’d rather you not go down this rabbit hole of obsession”

“yeah well i’m going to so shut up and eat your pancakes”

katsuki stared down at his plate of buttermilk pancakes and looked offended as eijiro flipped to ‘youtube’ on the hotels tv, seconds later there’s a video playing of Y/N preforming at coachella a year ago, singing her song, ‘idontwannabeyouanymore’ her voice soft and smooth as she sang the words with ease.

“i mean you see how natural it is for her? there are so and i mean so so many singers out there but jesus.. there’s only one of her.” he pointed to the screen and katsuki’s eyes followed to it, the camera panning on her face, her eyes shut, lashes brushing her under eye, her lips close to the microphone, there had to be a fan right above her, her hair flowing around, but yet somehow it didn’t look messy.. like it did but it was a good messy, her eyes opened and a glint of happiness shined in them, her lips curved up into a smile as she harmonized the end, and the whole crowd screamed and emerged into clapping, she looked down at her feet, the air blowing her hair, she looked up and her eyes shined from the blue spotlight creating a glow over her. she mouthed “thank you” before shouting, “THANK YOU COACHELLA!!! I LOVE YOU ALL SO SO MUCH” and the video ended.

“i mean come on!! she’s a fucking legend and in her fucking prime right now, and to even think she’s gonna perform for US?! oh god man i could pass away” ejiro says as he fake swoons and falls onto the hotel couch, his hand on his forehead.

katsuki scoffs as he takes a bite of his pancakes, “yeah, i mean she is good, she’s got a voice that’s for sure-”

ejiro interrupts katsuki immediately, “it’s not just the voice man!! it’s her, she’s from a whole other world! and she’s like the nicest person you’ll ever meet-”

“and have you? have you met her?” katsuki gives him a sarcastic look, ejiro presses his lips met with silence, katsuki sighs as sets his fork down and crosses his arms, “don’t believe everything you see on the internet ejiro.” he said with a serious tone, “not everyone is who they seem to be, i can sniff out who’s a fucking fake from a mile away, i would know” he gives an annoyed look.

ejiro sighs as he gets up and pops a blueberry in his mouth that had been sitting on katsuki’s breakfast plate, “yeah well we will have to wait to meet her so you can “sniff her out” yourself..” ejiro scoffs, “trust me katsuki, she’s the real deal.” he ended with pointing at the tv who had Y/N smiling out into the crowd at coachella, her eyes like glitter.

ejiro said his goodbyes and walked out leaving katsuki by himself and just him staring at the tv screen, his arms still crossed, he mentally slapped himself before pressing the video that would come up next, another performance at coachella from the same year, her hit song, “when the party’s over”. now this one katsuki was familiar with, it was one he found himself listening to a lot in his car, the lyrics were raw he would give her that, and her voice- god if katsuki knew it was something sent out of a dream to become katsuki’s worst nightmare he would have never clicked play.

[cake-emu]

Swarla scene visual language analysis pt.2

I know some of you were interested in my last post on this topic, and I thought we might as well take a look at this scene from Monday while it's still fresh. I haven't made gifs as movement is minimal here, so we're just using screenshots this time.

It's a shorter scene than the one I previously dissected but like the other, it presents the characters at odds with one another, though at a very different stage in their relationship. Visually, the narrative of the respective scenes is presented differently but what they have in common is how both characters' respective strong personalities/temperaments flavour how the scenes unfold - as you'd hope and expect.

So, 26th May 2025 - here in Carla's kitchen (episode directed by Tim Royle) is the first time we see Carla and Lisa after the latter sprung a spur-of-the-moment and badly timed marriage proposal on Carla in the previous episode - which we left on a cliffhanger, Carla's expression one of shock.

We open now with a medium-wide shot to give us plenty of information about body language and who is standing where in the room. The camera pans across the kitchen as Lisa walks through the frame, and then settles in place as she comes to a stop on the opposite side of the breakfast bar to where Carla is situated. From this point on, the camera remains static through the rest of the scene - no more pans, and certainly no slow zooms to create intimacy. Everything unfolds through editing as we cut between different coverage set-ups.

Look at how much distance there is between them:

Due to the angle that the camera is facing them from, the kitchen counter and built-in bar appear even wider than it actually is, elongating that space between them. This combined with Carla asking "Are we just not gonna mention it?" tells us all we need to know about how the surprise of the proposal has been resolved... i.e. it hasn't! There's a disconnect between the two women.

The one other time we've opened their scenes with them positioned across the counter from each other like this was in the episode from 17th March 2025:

In that scene, they're at odds about how to handle Betsy's refusal to go into college, after she's had a frightening experience. They amicably discuss and temporarily resolve the issue, but later in the episode Lisa is upset with Carla dropping the ball on keeping Betsy company - their positioning in this opening scene hints at the ensuing dissonance that unfolds later in the episode. (So, we have a visual cheat code: it seems fair to conclude that if an episode opens with them on opposite sides of the kitchen counter, they are probably going to spend the episode in disagreement over something, and trying to reach a consensus/find common ground).

In this May episode, the body language is different. Lisa is fidgeting, and delaying making eye contact for as long as possible; Carla has a very relaxed posture as she leans on the counter and sips her drink - by bringing herself down to a lower height, Carla is presenting herself as non-threatening to Lisa, who she knows is prone to running away but - perhaps counter-intuitively given the height differential - she has control in this moment, and it's Lisa who's on the back foot.

We cut to coverage from behind Lisa - it's still a medium-wide shot as we see her gathering her belongings, readying for her day. The camera angle still presents a sizable gap between the two women. Through dialogue, we learn that Carla didn't say yes to the proposal - hardly a surprise to us given all the visual information we've been presented with so far - and that her immediate response to it had been to point out how ill-timed it was.

Lisa, feeling the sting of embarassment at the perceived rejection is trying to downplay her emotions and brush the whole incident under the carpet; Carla wants to face the issue head-on and actually talk about it - not all that dissimilar to her approach in the October scene we previously analysed.

Pleading her case, Carla points out how emotionally devastated she was by Craig's death at the time of the proposal. As she speaks, we cut to a new coverage angle, this time facing Lisa with an over-the-shoulder, a shot type most commonly used to create a sense of intimacy or understanding between characters as they talk - we're now closer to them but it's a medium shot so it doesn't feel truly intimate. They're still not yet on an even level of understanding with one another:

"I knew that young man ... I watched him grow up around here," Carla says as Lisa nods subtly. Deep down, she knows Carla is right (but she's hurting, so she's in deflect, deny, and avoid mode).

Then we cut again to another over-the-shoulder as Carla comes to rest her case.

Lisa concedes that her timing was poor, and tries to make a quick exit but Carla - well used to her avoidant behaviour, and determined for them to address the situation - won't let her get away without agreeing that they'll meet again at lunch, planning to return to the discussion then.

We end with a final medium shot of Carla. It actually took me a few looks to notice that the set-up of this shot is just a fraction different to the previous: look at where the photos on the wall are cut off at the top of the frame, and at the diagonal line of the kitchen counter-top at the bottom of the frame. The camera has been lowered just slightly. Assuming this is an intentional choice, it subtly brings us down to Carla's level a little more as we sit with her for a second - after all, as audience members, we relate to her desire for clarity and resolution in this matter.

So, we see through dialogue married (pun intended) with visuals - presenting the scene's narrative - that things are unresolved as of yet, but the characters are a little bit closer to achieving that! We can reasonably assume that by episode end, they will reach that goal - despite Lisa's resistance.

The following bistro scene would be a good one to analyse too, so I'll try to do that somepoint soon. For now, here's a tease - look how much more intimate they appear in the final shots of that scene, despite still having a wide barrier (the table) between them:

Cosy!

Hope you found this interesting - let me know your thoughts :)

[demonslayerunhinged]

Unhinged analysis

Why is Sanemi so aggro? (Part 2)

This section is mostly from a class/economic standpoint and doesn't really focus on the demon attack on his family. It is also not only based on my little understanding based on the research I did about poverty and class in Edo/Late Meiji Japan but also based on my experiences as someone who grew up poverty-er-adjacent.

This blog here has an article that does a deep dive into Sanemi based on Japanese culture and history. Their work was what inspired me to do a deeper dive into Sanemi's poor backgoround. It's in Japanese but the translations are so worth it, and they have writeups on other characters!

Now lets get to it, this is post is going to be very long and very sappy, be warned.

His Background

We all know that Sanemi grew up poor, but it's poor in a way that's different from the other characters. We can attribute Gyomei's poverty to his religious faith in a way, Tanjiro and Muichiro are more modest than actually poor - at least they own their houses. The Shinazugawas had a shitty landlord whose son made fun of them for being 'the poor people with too many kids', they lived in these rundown, face-to-face, the-neighbors-know-all-your-business row houses.

Sanemi grew up in the slums with a population of citizens who were essentially 'left behind' during the rise of urbanization and industrialization. These citizens not only had to deal with characterizations that portray them as being ignorant, uneducated, boorish, dirty, aggressive, mannerless and ignorant, but also with being preyed upon by greedy landlords, merchants and businessmen. The government weren't of much help either because they would rather put in efforts into removing them as far as possible from the modern cities, away from the eyes of foreigners.

In my experience, slum dwellers rarely if ever rise above their station in life. Their lack of education and exposure prevents them from making a better life for themselves and even if they do move to the city, they are stuck doing menial or manual labor jobs with shitty pay. They spend their entire lives in perpetual poverty no matter how hard they work and how many jobs they take because they're ultimately fighting a system that has not only abandoned them but also creates policies that prevent them from moving higher in life.

Due to these frustrations, a lot of them take up gambling and drinking alcohol to cope with their sorrows. Frustrations with the system and with their situations lead to a lot of them taking up gambling and developing alcoholism to cope. There is also high rate of violence among them, especially domestic violence as heads of households who were usually the ones to go out into the world and deal with the discrimination and struggles while trying to pursue low class jobs would take out their anger on their wives and ultimately children. The children who grow up in this environment, where violence is all they know would eventually go on to become abusers themselves when they start families of their own, that is, if they don't die of illness or are killed before that.

You can read more about it here, here, here, here and here.

We can see that with Sanemi's dad, the piece of shit who took out all his anger and frustrations on his wife and children before ultimately becoming a victim of violence himself.

After his death, we see Sanemi having to take up the responsibility of taking care of the family as was culturally expected of the firstborn and the oldest boy - similar to Tanjiro. When Sanemi's dad died, he had to take up a job to take care of the family. In the scene where he talks with Genya about their dad's death and their promise to take care of their mother and siblings, we can see that Sanemi is pulling a rickshaw.

Rickshaw pullers were among the lowest classes of manual labor, they were referred to sometimes as 'Human horses' and while they were mostly known for transporting people, they were also hired by merchants and regular people to transport goods as well. We're not told of the work his mother did before she turned into a demon, but she might have been a domestic worker or a waitress of some sort. It's not hard to imagine that there were times when the kids had to go hungry.

So what's the point of all this story? Well because children who come from these backgrounds are not only often violent and aggressive in their language, conduct and personality but even if they do manage to make it to adulthood and by some miracle manage to break through the class barrier they often come out of the other side with a MASSIVE inferiority complex.

And our dear boy Sanemi has one, big time.

Now that we've talked about his background, let's talk about how all this contributes to his....

Relationships

In the fandom, the main complaints about Sanemi is his behavior towards Giyuu, Tanjiro, the demon slayer trainees and Genya, so I'm going to focus on just these.

Giyuu

Like I've mentioned before @roseameilatempest already posted a great write-up about Sanemi and his complicated relationship with Giyuu, so I'm just adding to it.

The two main things that create friction in their relationship, aside from Giyuu's inability to communicate are Sanemi's low self-esteem and his aggressive personality. The low self-esteem really showed itself when he questioned Giyuu at the Hashira meeting about his 'I'm not like you guys attitude'.

In this scene he asks

Which is a really interesting question because of all the Hashiras he's the only one who voices this sentiment. Obanai just talks about Giyuu wanting to get ahead, Shinobu just asks him to explain himself, Muichiro doesn't really care, but there's the thing about being the baby of the group so he may not want to butt-in to the 'adult' matters. Gyomei is praying.

Sanemi's the only one who stands up and confronts Giyuu about the matter but given his background as previously discussed it's almost as if he's asking "Are you looking down on me?".

From the little we know of Giyuu's backstory, he didn't grow up in poverty. After his family died, he went to go live with relatives before making the decision to leave and join the corps. He has fair skin and soft looking features in contrast to Sanemi's rough, scarred ones. He has slim, delicate-looking hands with piano-playing fingers compared to Sanemi large, knobby, rough-looking hands with early-onset-arthritis-ass fingers.

Even his conduct has a certain air of class to it. So when Giyuu says stuff like 'I'm not like other girls-I mean Hashira', the inferiority complex part of Sanemi is triggered, and he takes it as an attack on him thinking that Giyuu is looking down on him because of his poor background and his class.

But Sanemi deep down cares, even if he doesn't realize it. Instead of dismissing Giyuu as just being a dick, he tries to get an answer, an explanation, but because of his rough way of speaking and his aggressive personality it comes out confrontational. He doesn't know how to express himself in a non-aggressive way because nobody ever taught him how.

Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤)

Ah yes, Sanemi's BFF. I'm honestly surprised that some people don't understand why Sanemi does not vibe with Tanjiro. Tanjiro embarrassed him in their first meeting, only to escape the consequences for his actions because of the Master's benevolence. He questioned his worth as a Hashira which, as mentioned in the previous post, is the core of Sanemi's identity.

In their second encounter, Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) talked back to him. Now, despite all the wacky and interesting characters, the fancy mods to their uniform with the haoris and stuff, the Demon Slayers Corps are still a military organization. They have a hierarchy, they have rules and punishments for those who break them and within the context of the military and cultural values: You don't talk back to your superiors, you don't disrespect them and you most certainly don't embarrass them no matter how in the right you feel you are. It's not fair, it just is. Some superiors may tolerate it like Tengen, Giyuu, Mitsuri and Shinobu but others, like Sanemi, Gyomei, Obanai and even Muichiro will not.

I mean, even Mitsuri complained about Genya's behavior when she first met him, even though his actions were because of him being shy.

The first time Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) disrespected Sanemi, he was on neutral ground, the Master's mansion. Kagaya is a saint, so he understood Tanjiro's actions, but remember he also chided Tanjiro a bit, even if it was in a soft manner. Now in this second encounter, He's in Sanemi's house, in his domain, and you can't come about here disrespecting your senior in their own house. And If you do, be prepared to face the consequences.

Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) then embarrassed Sanemi again by (rightfully) calling him out on his shitty behavior towards Genya, in public, in front of his other subordinates. He then proceeds to not only block Sanemi's punch but to counter it with an embarrassing kick to the neck, RIGHT IN FRONT OF THE SCRUBS! Like what? In some organizations, you could be penalized and immediately kicked out, but like I said, Kagaya is a saint.

That's why Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) was given the reprimand and Sanemi wasn't. Because he was in the wrong.

The concept may seem foreign to people who grew up in the west, but for those of us from home countries that have rigid power and class structures, we know this pain all too well.

That's why you talk and complain about your superiors BEHIND their backs, like Zenitsu does.

I swear, Zenitsu is probably the realest character in the series, I love him so much 😂.

Then in the last encounter they had, Tanjiro embarrassed Sanemi again, but this time it's worse because he did it RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS CRUSH!

Your senior's business is not your business, if you see them fighting, it's best just to leave them alone and pray it's the one you hate that gets his ass kicked.

So here's Sanemi trying to communicate with his crush, and he's about to get to the part where they get to put their hands on each other ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°). Then Tanjiro comes up and gets between them, ignoring the restraining order and then asking if they were fighting over ohagi.

He then reveals Sanemi's biggest secret: That he's gay-I-mean-er likes ohagi. Neither Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) nor Giyuu see any problem with this because soft boys but for a tough, scary man like Sanemi this is a problem. He's a man, he shouldn't be taking sweets! (which is like a real thing in Japan, so i learned. You can read about it here, here, here and here), also Sanemi loves ohagi becuase his mom used to make it; men shouldn't be thinking about their mommies! Men should be tough and only eat manly things like raw bull testicles and cement!

Then Tanjiro(bestest boy ❤) drives the knife even further by asking him about his ohagi preferences, while Giyuu (who unknown to Sanemi is glad to have found an opportunity to rizz him up) asks him to confirm but in Sanemi's mind he thinks Giyuu is making fun of him too.

So Tanjiro has, so far, called him a shitty Hashira, a shitty brother, and now a shitty man. All he wanted to do was smash and now he's getting pressed by a 16 year old. So yea, our boy is going to react in the only way he knows how - by giving Tanjiro a swift clock to the jaw.

At this point, you've gotta pity Sanemi, he's the real victim in this relationship. But let's move on.

The Trainees

This is another complaint that also confuses me because the answer is so obvious. Why is Sanemi hard on the trainees?

Because Sanemi's training is Infinite Strikes! Because his training is supposed to be hard! Because they're at war! Because Muzan might be coming soon! Because this is a military training! Because the Hashiras are basically Drill Sergeants! Because Sanemi says fuck you!

But seriously, I don't understand why Sanemi and Obanai are getting hate for their training methods when Tengen's was just as harsh, Mitsuri was basically ending family bloodlines, Muichiro deadass was about to sashimi someone's child.

And Gyomei? Gyomei's training basically qualifies as torture by the Geneva convention laws. You see these guys below? These boys are all dead! Dead, i tell you! You can't convince me otherwise!

Even Inosuke died!

The training is meant to be harsh because it's not just the trainees lives at stake, it's the people of Japan, it's the lives of their friends, families and loved ones. The Hashiras know this and Sanemi whose whole life revolves around being a demon slayer and killer, especially knows this.

He and Obanai don't have the luxury of sending the junior slayers back for their protection like they did in the mansion. Like we saw in the last episode of the season, Muzan came after everyone not just the Hashira. Despite his rough and harsh exterior, Sanemi actually cares about his colleagues and his subordinates and he doesn't want them to die needlessly. If that means he has to be the 'bad' Hashira, then that's fine with him.

Genya

There's no justification for the shit he pulled trying to poke Genya's eyes out. I've made like two posts regarding this before about how his actions were not only stupid but will ultimately be pointless because Genya is amazing!

Aside from wanting to keep Genya safe (whatever that means), I think one of the reasons Sanemi doesn't want to come in contact with Genya is because when he's around Genya he's reminded of the past and trauma that he's trying to repress. I don't think it was a random choice that older Genya is dressed in a way almost similar to baby Genya. So everytime Sanemi sees him, despite Genya's size and the awesome things he's done, all he can see is that little boy that he almost failed to protect, that called him a monster, that rejected him and seeing that reopens that old core wound. That he's a monster.

Sanemi isn't ready to face all that, so with the little understanding of his own emotions and the trappings of toxic masculinity, he pushes Genya away becuase doing so is way, way, way easier than talking to his brother. It's easier than revealing to Genya that Genya's words did hurt him, that he failed to protect their mom and siblings and that maybe Genya is right, he is a monster, that even though he saved Genya it doesn't change the fact that he used his very hands to kill the only person that loved and protected them in this world.

I think a lot of people really underestimate the gravity of what baby Sanemi did. Tanjiro couldn't kill Nezuko and I'm sure he himself would've rather died than raise a hand to his loved ones but Tanjiro was lucky in a sick way because Nezuko was not only the only survivor but encountered Giyuu who who gave him the opportunity to save Nezuko, essentially giving her a second life. Sanemi never had that chance. In order to protect his brother, he had to kill his beloved mother, and you can just imagine the amount of damage that can do to a child's psyche.

I read a comment on Youtube that said this was probably the reason why Sanemi was so feverently against the Master's defence of Nezuko and that when Nezuko rejected his blood, his whole worldview must have shattered because if Nezuko was able to overcome her demonic urges and still maintain her sanity, why couldn't his beloved mother?

But you might ask, how come Genya seems fine? Well, he wasn't at first, he was basically Sanemi 2.0 but he was able to make peace with himself, escape the trappings of toxic masculinity and the violence that they were raised in. Instead of bottling up his emotions, he wants to reach out, to apologize for his behavior, to mend their brotherhood because no matter how Sanemi is now, no matter how many times he tells him to get lost, no matter the harsh words he throws at him, to Genya he'll always be his Aniki.

The same Aniki who's been looking out for him, the same Aniki that sought him out and comforted him after he punched the landlord's shitty son, the same Aniki who gave him a piggyback ride despite them practically being the same height just to make Genya feel happy and loved, the same Aniki who let out that brilliant laugh after they made the promise to protect their family as he pulled the Rickshaw to make some money for the family, the same Aniki who is the sweetest, kindest person in the whole world.

While we see the rough, scarred, aggressive and scary Sanemi, Genya only sees this:

I'm sure a lot of us know what it's like to be angry, to lash out, to push people away and how difficult it is go through life in a world that doesn't care about you or your trauma. We know what it's like to be left behind and forgotten. We wander aimlessly through life hurting with a feeling of emptiness and we don't even know why. Some of us overcome, some of us don't. We just make do with the tools and little resources we have and Sanemi is a painful reminder of that.

In Conclusion, Sanemi is a complex character. He's not all star good, he's a dick, some of his actions are straightup unhinged, but that's what makes him human. He's not perfect, and for us to appreciate this character we have to accept him in all his wild, raging, scarred, petty-ass, little-brother-eye-poking, women's-size-7-feet-having, ohagi-loving glory.

[wheeboo]

wilted | kim mingyu

SYNOPSIS. in which you've contracted hanahaki despite being in a relationship, and it makes you question everything. PAIRING. kim mingyu x gn!reader (ft. jeonghan) GENRE. angst, established relationship, hanahaki au WARNINGS. descriptions of illness (hanahaki disease), mentions of coughing and blood, mention of death, cursing, terms of endearment, miscommunication or honestly lack of communication, depictions of an argument, gyu is a little bit of an ass in this and i'm very sorry about that but it's for the plot, description of hospitals and surgery, unrequited love WORD COUNT. 6.1k

hanahaki disease ( 花吐き病 ) 𑁋 a disease in which the infected coughs up flowers due to unrequited love.

notes: this entire story was inspired from this post which i hoped i was able to stick to :)

A shift has never been this relaxing before.

Normally, you're used to the hectic hustle of weary students aiming to acquire their morning coffees before running to class and impatient corporate workers racing against the clock in the bustling jungle of the city. But today, the scene was drastically different.

The clear blue skies outside were barren of any existence of clouds, the sun rays pouring in through the café windows like warm honey and casting ornate patterns of light and shadow on the rustic wooden tables that filled the vast space. In the midst of this fresh and sunny afternoon, you find yourself standing idly behind the counter, fingers rhythmically tapping on your phone as you shoot a text message to your boyfriend.

[ 04:39pm | y/n ] gyu ! should i bring home something for us to eat tonight? been craving that gimbap from a while ago 💕

The message sends before your attention would be halted by the chime of the doors opening.

You've worked as a barista in this café for the past year while searching (or struggling, to be honest) to get a job in the field you sought for. It's easy to give yourself credit when it comes to plastering on the brightest smile on your face every time the bell above the doors would ring. You can be having the worst day of your life, yet you've mastered the skill of hiding your worries beneath that obnoxious apron and sage green logo-emblazoned hat sat on your head.

It's a bit different this time when the customer who walks in is someone you're beginning to consider a regular at your café.

"Ah, Mr. Yoon," You greet him with a shake of your head and a wide grin. "The usual today, I'm presuming?"

"That is, if you can stop putting down 'Mr. Yoon' on my cup than my first name," he responds teasingly, and it makes you lightly chuckle as you lower your gaze to start tapping in his order on the screen.

Mr. Yoon, as he preferred to be called initially as a running gag, had become a latest fixture in the café, like a light-hearted charm that captures the attention of both you and your co-workers. It's rare to see people like him walk in. His visits were characterised not just by his liking for the café's signature caramel macchiato, but also by the easy banter and warm camaraderie he shared each time he visited that makes your busy shifts a little more bearable.

"Okay, Jeonghan," You reply playfully, reading out his order even though you know it's correct. "One caramel macchiato with a pinch of wit, coming right up."

He lets out a chuckle as he hands you his card with a wink. "You're the best, you know that?"

You flash him one last smile before facing your back towards him to prepare his order. "Flattery will get you anywhere, Mr. Yoon."

You take your time in creating his order, looking up briefly to notice he had sat himself down at one of the tables in the corner of the café. You carefully pour the steamed milk over the espresso and caramel, and when you finish, you place the perfectly crafted caramel macchiato on a tray and carry it over to Jeonghan's table.

"Here you go, Mr. Yoon," You say with a smile, bringing the tray down and placing the cup in front of him. "One caramel macchiato, just the way you like it."

Jeonghan takes a moment to properly observe it, as if examining the crevices of each layer in the cup, before leaning back in chis hair and crossing his arms together. He lets out a relaxing sigh.

"Congratulations, you've earned yourself a perfect score this time." He turns the cup just slightly to show off that you've indeed put the order down under his first name.

You roll your eyes. "Well, I'm glad to have gotten it right."

"It's about time, don't you think?" Jeonghan queries, before taking a sip of the drink, eliciting a satisfied hum. "Mmh, but it was definitely worth the wait. Thank you, Y/N."

You grab the empty tray back in your hands. "If you need me, you know where to find me."

Jeonghan just shoots you one last playful smirk in your direction before you turn away to head back around the counter, pushing yourself through your next set of customers.

However, as time continues to pass so torturously slow, an unusual sensation begins to creep into the core of your chest.

It's like a subtle tickle, a slight tightness to your trachea that you merely dismiss just as fatigue from the dry air as you strap the lid on the order of a cup you're preparing. You take a moment to rub your chest absently, hoping the discomfort will pass, but it lingers.

Yet once you set the order down on the customer's table and dismiss yourself back behind the counter, you let out a small, involuntary cough into the palm of your hand. It's nothing, you tell yourself. You're probably just coming down with a minor cold.

But then, you see it𑁋a very small delicate, pale pink petal resting on your hand where you had covered your mouth, and that's when you feel your heart drop down to your feet.

This can't be happening, You think frantically. Not now. Not like this. You glance around nervously, hoping no one else was watching or waiting for you at the front. The café is still bustling with customers, and the regular chatter continues, completely oblivious to your growing panic.

As you stare at the petal, it begins to crumble, disintegrating into tiny flecks that drift away like dust in the wind down to the floor below. The feeling in your chest, however, remains, and it intensifies. It's like a weight, an ache that refuses to dissipate, and sets the adrenaline to your limbs as you dash towards the employee's only restroom, locking the door behind you.

You place your hands on either side of the sink, the coughs leaving your mouth now bouncing off the walls of the restroom. The coughs wrack your body. Each one doesn't bloom out a petal, but as you release one last cough, you watch as another petal slowly floats down in the sink below your gaze.

Then you look at your reflection in the mirror, and it reveals nothing out of the ordinary. No flowers sprouting from your mouth or bloodstained petals; it was purely only just... fresh petals.

Your mind runs circles. It physically hurts to even think, like twist and turns on an abandoned dirt road. If what you're suffering from is really what you think it is, then your thoughts dash back to him. To Mingyu, whom you've been with for the past two years, and the thought of him makes your heart race. Thinking about him helps just slightly, but not entirely, yet... what is causing this?

You're still in love with Mingyu𑁋you know you are.

You splash cold water on your face, trying to collect your thoughts and the pain wracking your chest. This can't be happening. It's impossible that you'd suddenly develop Hanahaki for someone else.

You quickly take out your phone from your back pocket, punching in your passcode and sliding to your text messages. Your fingers instinctively land on Mingyu's text thread, punching in words in a panic for some help. But when your eyes trail to the last message you sent to him, you notice that it was simply left on... seen.

That's when another cough racks your body, and you can't help but watch in horror as more petals, delicate and pink, fall into the sink, before wilting and crumbling down the drain. It felt like they were mocking you in shame.

Hanahaki disease. An illness described to be acquired from unrequited love.

The doctor explained the options to you: surgery to remove the flowers with the risk of losing your feelings for the person you love, medication to suppress the symptoms with the risk of some side effects, or the most common method𑁋reciprocated love. If the person you love returns your feelings, the disease will fade away on its own. However, if those feelings remain unrequited, the flowers will continue to grow, ultimately suffocating you.

And you would die.

Because that's exactly the kind of news you wanted to torment your life with. It's like a fucking parasite, a cruel insidious joke taking root in your chest. A fucking plant is growing in your fucking chest. Hanahaki disease was rare, but it had chosen you, and it had chosen to do so at the most inconvenient time.

You've heard the stories of the disease from the countless articles you searched on your phone the moment you got back into your car. You've also heard these stories growing up like an urban legend, even in its rarity, at some point becoming deathly afraid of it when you were younger, yet your own family had reassured you that no other person even down to your ancestors had ever been affected with the disease.

You're the first person. How fucking lucky are you.

You were lucky enough to catch it in its early stages, explaining to the doctor that you had never once had any other signs show other than today.

"It doesn't mean you have a lot of time to pick a treatment option," the doctor had said to you as you blankly listened. "I recommend getting it treated as soon as possible, no matter how early it may be, because waiting it out could be detrimental to your state. I'm going to prescribe you some medication to help reduce your symptoms. You can pick up at the pharmacy after this."

But you just... don't understand. None of this has been making sense in your head; it's just been buzzing painfully with confusion, and if anything, making you feel even worser than the actual disease plaguing your body itself. You've always been faithful to Mingyu; you've never harboured romantic feelings for anyone else other than him. You tell him that you love him, and he tells you that he loves you too.

Yet here you are, coughing up petals that seem to defy logic and the rules of this damn disease, trying to think of someone, anyone, who may have slipped past a crack in your heart somewhere.

But it all draws a blank, yet it's the only thing in mind that can be causing all this.

The doctor's words echo in your mind. Surgery came with the risk of losing your feelings for Mingyu, something that you couldn't bear to imagine. Medication can help suppress the symptoms temporarily, but it wouldn't cure the underlying cause. That left you with the most daunting option𑁋reciprocated love.

But how could you possibly explain this to Mingyu? How could you tell him that you were coughing up petals because of some inexplicable turmoil in your heart that had nothing to do with him?

You can't do this. Not right now. God, you need sleep.

"Gyu?" You call out, your voice echoing within the quietness of your shared apartment.

Stepping into your apartment, you're initially met with silence, but it wasn't until you hear a door shut that awakens your senses, and you see Mingyu stepping out of your shared bedroom. For a few moments, you let your eyes trail over him, seemingly dressed up like he was going to an outing, and you feel your lips twitch unconsciously.

"Babe?" You call out again, a bit louder this time, and it catches Mingyu's attention.

A faint smile crosses his face as he makes his way toward you, and for a second you can feel something catch in your throat once you can feel his warmth touch your skin.

"Hey," he greets you calmly, pushing away a strand of hair behind your ear. "How was work?"

"It was..." Tell him, Your mind urges. Tell him right now. "...fine. Nothing much today."

"That's good," he responds, locking the watch on his wrist in place.

"Are you going somewhere?" You ask him quickly, shifting your eyes up and down and over his form.

Mingyu's expression changes slightly, becoming almost tense, a flicker of hesitation in his eyes before it changes back to that lazy smile he had on before. You swear that if you weren't so hyperfocused with every fibre of your being pulling you back, you wouldn't have noticed.

"Just some dinner with the guys. Haven't seen them in a while," he responds coolly, brushing past you for a moment to grab the keys hanging next to the door. "Do you want me to bring you something back?"

You watch Mingyu's every move, the unease and some discomfort from the disease in your chest growing by the unbearable minute, even with the increasing tension in the room that's absolutely suffocating you at the same time. This isn't the time to let your guard down, but you're torn between the fear of losing him and the need to protect him from this awful reality.

But... he's going out? And he didn't tell you? Nor even bother responding to the text you sent him earlier? He was probably just busy, You think. Like he always is.

"No, it's alright." You take a chance and step up to him, planting a brief kiss to his cheek. You feel a little bit better doing that. "I'll just heat up something from the fridge. Have a good time with your friends, okay? I love you."

Mingyu smiles softly at your gesture, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. And you swear you notice a distant look in his gaze, or maybe you were just imagining things and it's just another symptom of this stupid disease and your fervent overthinking. The dimness of your apartment didn't help either𑁋his eyes just looked drained of any colour. Maybe he was just tired.

"Thanks, Y/N." He offers one last smile, but there's something lacking in his tone that you can't quite place, and it's anything but comforting you at the moment. "Love you too."

Your heart quickens just a bit at that, the corners of your lips edging up just slightly as you watch him. He grabs his jacket and heads for the door, and you're left behind in nothing but the silence of your place.

And all at once, you feel all the discomfort you were trying to hide finally spill out from your lips, coughs leaving your mouth like a downpour, each one a bit more painful than the last. You double over with one of your arms wrapped around you and the other clutching at your chest as if trying to physically grasp the pain and pull it out of you.

"Shit, dammit," You murmur weakly, bringing your hand down from your mouth to see a few petals fluttering to the floor, feeling the tears brimming at the corner of your eyes.

You bring yourself back up, opening up your bag and taking out the medication you picked up from the pharmacy earlier. Trailing down to the bathroom, the medication bottle rattles loudly in your shaky hand as you fumble to open the cap. The pills inside are small and white, and the label on the bottle provides instructions for dosage. With shaking fingers, you fish out one pill and place it on your palm.

Then you take a deep breath, attempting to steady your nerves, and then swallow it down with a gulp of water from the bathroom sink.

You hope that it will provide some relief, even if it's just temporary.

You don't know what time Mingyu comes home that night. You heard him come in, but don't have the energy to properly acknowledge him. So you stay low to your sheets, feeling some residual discomfort crawl back into your throat when you hear him open the bedroom door.

You wish he can hold you𑁋it's all you want right now. His comfort, his large arms wrapping around you like how he used to do so before, how he would kiss the top of your head and your shoulder before holding you close in his embrace, the way it felt so right and safe being in his hold because you know it's enough to make all your worries disappear in an instant.

But he doesn't, only sliding into the empty space next to you, and you're afraid that if he does it just might make you feel even worse. You barely feel his warmth on you. Yet you miss him; you miss everything about him. And you still love him. You always have.

You always will.

...right?

It's not right to tell him right now.

You certainly wouldn't like it if someone was staring at you, but you can't help it, not when Mingyu is the only other thing in the room you could possibly look at.

It's been more than a week since you found out you have Hanahaki. Each day you would wake up in an absolute coughing fit, the petals coming in more frequent amounts than before. The medication has helped to lessen the symptoms, yet the side effects are taking a toll on your body. You're constantly fatigued, and your appetite has declined just slightly. You feel like a prisoner in your own body, all because something beautiful and deadly is growing within you.

Mingyu still doesn't know about it. And deep down, you can't shake the feeling that something is... different.

He used to be so attentive with you. Now, he often seems preoccupied, lost in his own thoughts. He no longer surprises you with sweet gestures or random acts of affection, and the warm, lingering kisses that he would leave to your lips have turned into quick pecks on the cheek, or simply, just nothing at all. You hardly wake up with him right next to you because of his work, and the shared laughter and late night conversations have nearly ceased to exist.

You remember the days when Mingyu used to look at you with such warmth, love, and adoration, but the spark that used to light up his eyes has dimmed. You barely feel it anymore. His replies to your questions asking about his day are kept brief. You would excuse it as him simply being exhausted, but there's a persistent feeling in your chest, and it's not just from your illness.

"Gyu?" You call out for him meekly from the kitchen, watching as he doesn't peel his eyes away from his laptop screen, only lifting a brow up slightly. "Are you busy later?"

"Yeah, I am. I got invited to a company dinner later this evening."

There's a visible downturn to your lips at his words, but he doesn't see it𑁋doesn't bother to see it, anyway.

"Oh." You feel it crawling up your throat again. "Okay. How about tomorrow?"

Mingyu finally looks away from his laptop, his gaze lingering on you for a moment before he sighs. "Tomorrow's not good either. I have a meeting with a client, and it might go late."

"Maybe the day after tomorrow?" You suggest, some desperation creeping into your voice.

Mingyu seems to hesitate for a moment, and you hold your breath, hoping for a glimmer of hope, something. But then he shakes his head. "I can't promise anything, Y/N. I'm sorry. I'll be sure to make up to you, okay?"

That's what you always say.

Will you ever make time for me again someday?

You swallow hard, feeling a lump in your throat. The realisation stings, more painful than the illness taking form in your lungs.

"Okay," You mumble, your voice barely above a whisper. "I understand. It's okay. I love you."

A brief, long, pause. "Love you too."

But it's okay, because you still love me.

Then you find yourself swiftly retreating into your bathroom, heart heavy as you grab a tissue and let out a few coughs into the tissue. More petals fall from your mouth, before you crumple the tissue and toss it into the bin next to the sink, then splash some water on your face to hide the tears that threaten to escape.

You don't know what to do.

You can't even bother to see how much pills you have left because you feel like you're taking ten of them every damn day. You have yet to tell a soul, and you know that you should before it's too late, but who you can turn to? You have no one𑁋you can't even figure out yourself why this is even happening to you without feeling like you're going absolutely manic.

It's been hard trying to hide the fallen petals away from Mingyu, or away from anyone, in fact, and you find yourself coughing up more petals even when you're just in the same room as him. You always have to discreetly spit them into a tissue or rush to the bathroom to dispose of them, hoping he doesn't notice.

You hardly even see Mingyu anymore. It's either he's always called into work, has something important to do with the guys, or you feel it snaking up your throat painful enough for you to not make a move. The words stick in your throat, and the fear of losing him freezes you up. You can't help but blame yourself for being so distant around him.

If you've really fallen out of love out of him, if you did supposedly fall for someone else, wouldn't that mean that... you're leading him on? It's a thought at the back of your mind, but the guilt gnaws at you day by day like the ever-growing branches piercing through your lungs.

It's frustrating. All of this frustrating, and it's obviously spilled into your work performance as well. You can hardly perfect orders without making mistakes, and your once bright smile has faded into a forced, weary expression. Your manager and co-workers have given you concerned looks, but you've brushed them off, simply claiming it as stress or lack of sleep.

But it doesn't hit hard until today, because it happens so fast𑁋the metal tray you're holding loudly suddenly crashing down to the floor. One moment you can't breathe, and the next you're letting out hacking coughs into your hands, knees dropped to the floor with the spilled coffee staining your pants and shoes.

The café erupts into chaos as some customers quickly rush to your side, a hand still covering your face. You can hardly respond to anyone from the intense heaviness to your chest and dry pain to your throat.

You feel the petals tickling the skin of your hand, quickly crumpling them up in a fist and stuffing them inside the pocket of your apron.

"Y/N, are you okay?" a familiar voice asks worriedly, Jeonghan's voice, who you served earlier, and you catch a glimpse of him kneeling down beside you.

You can't look at him. Tears well up in your eyes, but you blink them back, doing your best to keep whatever you had left of your composure. You force a weak smile as you bring your hand down to the side.

"Yeah," You croak out, voice raspy and barely audible. "I'm fine, just a little dizzy."

Jeonghan doesn't seem convinced, his eyes trailing over you carefully. You only look past him and keep your gaze low, but it wasn't until you catch sight of a fallen petal resting by your shoes.

And he also sees it as well. Jeonghan's gaze flickers downward, his eyes narrowing as he spots the pale pink petal, and something in his expression changes.

Then he looks back up at you, giving a faint smile, yet serious look.

"Let me take you to the doctor," he urges.

"What? Jeonghan, I can't𑁋"

"I'm taking them to the doctor," he tells one of your co-workers passing by with a broom to clean up the mess you brought to the floor, completely cutting off your words.

You can hardly believe your eyes and ears right now. Your co-worker only nods and quickly takes over your duties while Jeonghan helps you to your feet. Despite your protests, he guides you outside the café, keeping a loose grip on your arm before you get yourself to separate from him in a brief panic.

"Jeonghan, you can't just𑁋just take me out of work like this."

He shoots you a bewildered look. "You're sick, Y/N. It's obvious."

"I know, and I'm fine. It's just stress and bad sleep. Please, just take me back to the café𑁋"

"You have Hanahaki," he says flatly and outright. "I've seen you cough them up. You don't have to hide it from me."

Jeonghan's words hang in the air like an anchor sinking in the ocean. You freeze, your heart pounding in your chest, and your mind races to find some way to deny it, to deflect the truth. But deep down, you know he's right.

Jeonghan, however, doesn't press you for an explanation. Instead, he takes you by the wrist gently and drags you to his car parked nearby.

"Jeonghan𑁋"

"I've had it, Y/N. I've had Hanahaki before," he confesses, a solemn look to his face as his words sink inside you.

You're quiet for a few moments as his words hang suspended in the air, a heavy silence between you two. Hearing that kind of news is from him is oddly... both surprising and comforting, knowing how how rare the illness is. But maybe just maybe, he might understand what you're going through, even if you can't seem to understand yourself.

Once you finally slide into the passenger seat of his car, you manage to get your voice back.

"You've... had it? I mean, just... what happened... how did you get rid of it?"

Once the car engine roars to life, Jeonghan just releases a small chuckle.

"It's the usual story: you fall in love with someone who doesn't love you back. It was terrifying, you know, seeing bits of your feelings turn into something physical like that. I waited too long, so I ended up getting the surgery." There's a shadow of some passing tree branches that cast on his face for a moment. "They never told me the surgery would also mean that my feelings would completely disappear, but it was the only way to save my life."

His face remains calm as he continues to drive, keeping his eyes on the road while your own thoughts were juggling together like a tangled mess of strings.

For a moment, Mingyu's face flashes in your mind, and you wish he were here with you. But you're torn. You don't want to burden him with this.

"I'm so sorry you had to go through that," You finally say, keeping your voice low. It was all you can say at the moment.

Once the car stops at a red light, he turns to you with a small, sad smile. "Don't be. It was a long time ago, and it taught me a lot of lessons, you could say. I survived, and you will too."

Another round of silence passes through the car, but this one feels less heavy, more contemplative. You watch the passing scenery outside the window as your thoughts continue to whirl like a storm within your mind. Knowing that Jeonghan survived offers a glimmer of hope, but it also deepens your sense of isolation𑁋that you can't lean on Mingyu for support in the same way.

You don't want to lose your feelings for him. You've already built this start of a future with him, and you can't bear the thought of basically removing him from your life for no solid reason.

"I-I have a boyfriend, you know," You blurt out, interrupting the silence, hearing Jeonghan let out an acknowledging hum for you to go on. "We've been together for the past two years, and whenever the... coughing, petals, all this started happening, it confused me."

"The heart is a complicated place," Jeonghan assures you.

You faintly smile at that. "I still love him, I'm sure of that. I know I do. I've never had feelings for anyone else. I just... I can't figure out why this is happening, why I'm coughing up these stupid petals in the first place, and it's been eating me up inside. It hurts."

Jeonghan listens intently as you pour your heart out, his eyes fixed on the road ahead but his attention fully on you. When you finish speaking, he clears his throat.

"You haven't... told him yet, haven't you?" he asks softly, breaking the silence.

You shake your head. "No, I haven't. I-I've just been... scared that I've been pushing him away, leading him on and I don't know about it. What if... if my heart is just betraying me? And now, with this... I don't know what to do."

Jeonghan's lips purse together thoughtfully.

"I think... If you know you love someone, you do," he says. "But... what makes you certain that he loves you back in the same way?"

Jeonghan's question hits you like a ton of bricks. It's a question you've been dying to avoid for this entire time, a fear that's been lurking in the shadows of your heart and the deepest corners of your mind.

What if... Mingyu didn't love you back?

The thought startles a cough out of you and you hastily bring your hand to your mouth, suppressing it as much as you can, the fragile petals fluttering out and settling on your lap. Squinting your eyes just slightly, you notice how they appear more redder than the usual pink you were used to seeing. You clench your hand around them, knuckles white from the tension, and swallow hard. Jeonghan shoots a quick glance of worry in your direction.

"I... I don't know," You utter out shakily. And what if I don't want to know?

The rest of the car ride is relatively quiet with the occasional taps of Jeonghan's fingers on the steering wheel, but not uncomfortably so. You can sense the concern radiating off Jeonghan, but he doesn't push you to talk further.

"You need to talk to him, Y/N," is all he says after turning into the parking lot of the doctor's office.

Once you get out of his car, you turn back to Jeonghan and give him a light wave.

I know, You tell yourself in your head. I know I do.

You stare blankly at the dark red petal in your hand, its edges slightly crumpled from where it had been caught between your trembling fingers. You can hear the faint ticking of the clock on the wall itching at your skin, a constant reminder that time is passing, and you're running out of it.

Balling the petal in your hand, you stand up from where you sat on the bed and march out the bedroom. For a second, you felt like you weren't in control of your legs, yet you know you have to take advantage of the chance to muster up the courage to finally tell Mingyu everything.

Not just about the Hanahaki, but about... everything that has been suffocating you inside. It's all you've been thinking about for the past few weeks. When you step into the living room, you spot him sitting at your small dining set, focused on his work as ever with the laptop screen in front of him casting a glow to his face. He doesn't even look up when you announce your presence near him, and your heart clenches at that.

Taking a deep breath, you speak up, "Mingyu, we need to talk."

Mingyu doesn't look up, his focus still on his work, brows furrowing together. "Can it wait, Y/N? I'm in the middle of something important."

You hesitate for a moment, feeling something inside you wince at his words. "No, it can't wait. It's about us."

"Y/N, it's one in the morning right now𑁋"

"Do you even still love me anymore?" The question leaves your mouth all at once, and you swear it even freezes this exact moment that you are in.

The room falls into a suffocating silence. Mingyu finally tears his gaze away from the laptop, his eyes meeting yours. In that moment, you see a complex mix of emotions in his eyes: surprise, guilt, and something else you can't quite place.

"I..." he starts, voice shaky. "Y/N, you can't just𑁋"

"Just answer the fucking question, Kim Mingyu." You clench the petal in your hand, feeling its dry, sharp edges dig into your skin. Then you realise the harshness to your words, softening your eyes and lowering your voice. "Please."

The room seems to close in around you as you wait for Mingyu's response. His hesitation hangs in the air, and you see the way his shoulders slump and the way his face contorts as he struggles to find the right words to say to just a simple question.

"I... I don't know, Y/N."

His words stab your heart. It's getting hard to breathe, but you can't let yourself cough now. Not in this moment. The petal in your hand crumples into dust as you clench it tighter.

"What the hell do you mean, you don't know?" Your voice trembles as you ask, searching his eyes for any sign of reassurance. "You either love me or you don't, just tell me, for God's sake."

Your frustration is evident, tone catching him off-guard. Mingyu's gaze drops to the table, and he lets out a heavy sigh.

"...I'm sorry, Y/N. I-I'm so so sorry."

His words hit you like a punch to the gut, and you can feel the tears welling up in your eyes. This is what you've been afraid of, what you've been trying to avoid. But now that it's out in the open, it feels like a heavy weight has been lifted, even if it's crushing you at the same time.

And then, you feel it𑁋a sharp pain to your lungs that makes you gasp as if you've been stabbed by a searing blade. The room spins as you struggle to catch your breath, your hands trembling as you clutch your chest, letting out harrowing coughs after coughs. Mingyu jumps up from his seat, immediately racing to your side.

"Y/N?! Shit, Y/N, you're bleeding𑁋"

You can't respond, the pain in your chest and the taste of blood in your mouth overwhelming your senses. You hold onto him for support as another bout of coughing consumes you. This isn't how you wanted to reveal your condition to him, but there's no hiding it now.

You feel the way Mingyu scoops you into his arms, the blood from your mouth and the petals staining his shirt as he reaches for his phone to dial emergency services. His voice is helpless and frantic, and within seconds, minutes, maybe even whole hour, you hear the distant wail of approaching sirens.

The soft hum of machines echo through the air as you stir awake, eyes fluttering open and the blinding white lights above blurring your vision. The first sensation that you register was the overwhelming scent of disinfectant filling your nose, sharp and pungent. Then came the dull ache in your chest that makes your breath quietly hitch.

Blinking your eyes open, you realise you're in a hospital room, the pale morning light filtering through the curtains. The sight of white walls and strange medical equipment, an IV line running into your arm, makes your heart race anxiously. You try to take a deep breath, but then you feel that ache in your chest again, and it makes you groan.

Just then at that moment, a young looking nurse enters the room, her eyes widening when she catches sight of you awake and distressed.

"Easy now," she says, rushing to your side and gently pushing you back down onto the bed. "You've just had surgery. You need to rest."

Surgery...?

You could only nod weakly, your throat too dry to speak. You watch as the nurse adjusts some of the monitors and checks your vitals, making sure everything was in place.

"Everything went well during the surgery," she reassures you. "But the hanahaki flowers had grown more aggressively than expected and showed signs of piercing through your lungs. It's a good thing we performed the emergency surgery when we did."

Hanahaki... The word lingers in your mind as you try to make sense of it all. Memories began to resurface: the petals mixing with your blood, the coughing fits, and... Mingyu. It all seemed so distant now, as if it had happened to someone else.

"You were lucky that we caught in time before the growth would have overtaken your lungs," the nurse says sympathetically while writing down your vitals on a chart.

Lucky. How ironic. You were alive, yes, but at what cost? You couldn't help but wonder if the surgery had taken more from you than just the hanahaki flowers.

And then it hits you.

There's no trace of the pain that had clawed at your chest for so long, except for the skin atop your heart where you can feel the incisions. The hanahaki flowers are gone, removed during the emergency surgery, but there's something else missing too𑁋your feelings, your love, for Mingyu.

You feel nothing. No pining, no longing, no aching heart. It's as if a weight has been lifted from your chest, but the emptiness is... disquieting, unnerving, just a void, a hole in place of where your warmth resided in.

You're no longer in love with Mingyu, just like he is for you.

taglist (open) ʚɞ @enhazen @haowrld @ylliris-hanniehae @icyminghao @slytherinshua @jeonride @lockburn-castle @vrnism @weird-bookworm @mhlsymlysn @ryuwonieebae @yeonjuns-redhair

[mewnewew]

Sir Crocodile x Chronically Ill!Reader pt.11

ANOTHER ONE

Tagged accounts: @tsumu-senpai @joyfulllittlething again, lemme know if any of yall wants to be tagged

pt.10

You grinned through the proceedings, feeling joyous at the ceremonies. Your cousin had gotten married and everything was going as it should have. Now was the time for the dancing and eating where some could go to the front and dance or stay and eat in peace. You were walking back to the hall, having finished arranging details with the driver when a hand caught yours, yanking you back.

"Wh- oh, Paul!" You groaned, midway between yelp.

"Yep, hello there. Didn't think I would forget would you?" He grinned back, wearing a suit.

Biting back a comment you gave him an exasperated smile. "Riiiiight, why don't you er....go to the hall? There's food set up and-" 

"Oh no, no, no! With all due respect to your family, I'm not here for them." With a deep breath, he got closer to you. "I'm here for you."

Ohhhh, you didn't like this. You did not like this situation. This was bad. Very very bad. You needed to get out here stat. Not because you couldn't handle him, but because you had a feeling. This would not end well if this continued. There would be a lot more drama which would occur if this continued.

"Paul, listen to me. I'm....pleased to see you here but you need to leave okay? Like right now" 

"What? No! I wanted to spend some time with you!"

You wrinkled your nose in disgust. "Why?"

He sighed and gave you a look. "I know that the last time we met, all those years ago, I screwed things up"

You paused. Oh no, please no, he was not going to-

"So, to make up for that" He leaned forward taking your hand in his. "I would like to start dating you again. I promise that this time will be perfect"

You opened your mouth, ready to yank your hand away when you saw it. The sand surrounding you both. Creating a small bubble moving to create a form behind you. A tiny wisp of soft sand caressed your cheek as it passed and joined the forming sand, revealing your unamused husband, Sir Crocodile. Who looked disgusted, and unhappy at the scene in front of him. A grin grew on your face. "I'm afraid that they're taken."

Paul dropped your hand, mouth dropping in shock as he scooted backwards. "C-Crocodile?! What- hey come away from him!" He beckoned to you looking absolutely petrified. 

You looked at him, taking a step backwards, closer to the comforting warmth of your husband. "Why? Last I checked, I'm married to him after all"

"You weren't joking?!" He screeched.

"I'm afraid not" confirmed your husband. His hook came forwards, placing the side of it against your hip, tip pointed upwards. You sighed, feeling slightly more relaxed.

"Now, could you leave my husband and I alone? We've got some private matters to discuss" You purred, loving the way that your ex tensed. However, he truly started to run when a cloud of sand engulfed him, lifting him, just to launch him into the pushed a little distance off.

You turned to him fully, then. "What are you doing here?" As far as you were aware, none of your family friends had sent an invitation to him owing to his absence due to work.

He cupped your cheek "I....missed you"

You groan, leaning into his hand. "I missed you too, but I did not miss our last conversation."

He laughed and you smiled more, leaning more toward him. "Ah yes, our last conversation. That was new, hmm?"

You close your eyes, sighing. "I'm sorry. Shouldn't have said those things to you. Not so suddenly. Not at all"

You feel his hand travel to your nape before pushing you into his torso ".....hm"

You tilt your head up "Wanna continue this conversation somewhere else?"

An amused huff leaves him. "Yes. I've gotten some luggage delivered to your house but no one was home." 

You blink up at him "Oh. That's, cause of the wedding."

He raises an eyebrow. "Right, aren't you needed?"

You pause, looking down at your shoes "Not for an hour or two no"

"Well then" 

You look up, confused "......Well?"

"I'm your husband and a guest" He exhales. "I'm quite positive that you're supposed to give me a room for the night"

You laugh, maybe you were falling in love.

[accio-victuuri]

Wang Yibo’s May 2025 issue cover story 📝🪴

The stars in the night sky and the plants in the garden flourish and flicker, or wither and die, just like the cycle of life. A young man stands at the junction of day and night. In the space-time dimension he created, everything is given new meaning. The grand and the small, the reality and the imagination, the conventions and the meaning... collide and reconstruct in his inner sea. Just like the stars and the plants, he feels the deep blue wind and feels alive.

disclaimer: this a short story and not an interview.

At this moment, the protagonist created by the writer Ban Yu and Wang Yibo under the lens of VOGUE quietly reunited in a chapter of imagination.

THE PROMISED LAND

Like all people who have thrown all the good times in their lives on the surface of the sea, I learned the ability to arbitrarily divide the day and night early on. I lay on my back, toothpick on my mouth, slightly raising my head. If the storm bred by the ocean current and the subtropical high pressure has not yet been born, and the deck still retains its horizon attribute, I can order the sun to rise from any end of it, or translate it down, so that I can hide safely in the shadow and get a moment of longer sleep; like all people who waste all the good weather in their lives on love events that will sooner or later disappoint people.

I have never encountered any clear days on the sea. Gray fog floats, waves are fierce, and our ship is like being chased by a team of rats, always getting narrower and narrower, with strong winds and reefs everywhere. The Germans, wrapped in the hurricane, stood like solidified black shadows, circling around, chanting low spells, much like some hypnotic rituals I encountered in South America.

They taught everyone devoutly and lovingly: sleep is almost equivalent to death, but being awake does not mean being alive. For a moment, facing this scene, I thought of the wolves that lingered in the wilderness, patrolling all night without forming a team. A blue jack who lost everything in the tavern encountered these red-eyed beasts on his way home.

When the strong wind flattened everything, the two sides met each other in sincerity. How should we deal with it? Why did he have to cross the wilderness? Often before we could come up with an answer, the sound of a sinking net would reverberate from the inside of the ship, as if something had entered our internal organs, making us not know whether to scream or vomit first. In short, it only takes one lightning-like collision, our boat shakes a few times, as if swallowing up a gust of hot sea breeze, and then it is like an old man with a violent illness, rushing to the shore to rest, so that he can listen to his heartbeat quietly and make sure that his limited life will continue. The generally damaged fetus longs to see the shore, just like a strong man longs for his regrets.

During those days when I was stranded, I lived a dark life. I went to many places and made many friends. Of course, I also had enemies. Sometimes the difference between the two was not so obvious, depending on the situation.

Once, in a tavern on the island, a long-haired Indian told me the origin of the word hurricane. The pronunciation was a bit strange and ambiguous, and it was difficult to imitate. It turned out that it belonged to their language, and they were the first to return this name to this constantly flowing world.

Another wanderer singer who was born in the Caribbean region immediately objected. He said that this word clearly came from his hometown. It refers to one of the gods of creation and can also be extended to a metaphor for an invisible demon. The former was very disdainful of this. He raised half an eyebrow, patted the singer on the shoulder, and told him that the last time he talked about this allusion, one of the listeners around was Christopher Columbus, which was probably a few hundred years ago. I hope you can also become such a great conductor of ocean currents. The singer was silent for a while, drank a glass of wine, and then he sensed the irony in the words. He tapped the table with his fingers, took out the short knife he carried with him, turned around and rushed towards the Indian. His movements were so fast that the afterimage on the ground looked like a hungry leopard. I saw that the situation was not good, so I jumped up and hugged him tightly from behind.

The singer couldn't break free from me, and he shouted and cursed loudly, refusing to give up. The speed of waving the knife in the air reminded me of how sailors waved the white flag when they met a strong opponent. Although the Indian had experienced many storms, he was also shocked. The afterimage of cold sweat dripping on the ground flashed with a faint light, resembling the stripes of a leopard. Afterwards, he lowered his head, showed a cunning smile, apologized to the singer, and said, yes, you may have encountered the hurricane earlier, the words belong to you, but the last time I talked about it, the great Columbus was indeed present, there is no doubt about that.

Perhaps out of respect for this pioneer explorer, the singer's breathing gradually calmed down, and he took the embroidered short knife into his arms. In just a moment, the sun set. The Indian bought three glasses of good wine. After we toasted, we drank it all.

The singer walked to the center of the tavern, shook the bell on his wrist, and sang a sad ballad that none of us had heard before. It tells the story of a young gardener who worked hard in the flowers, waiting for dawn and sunset, and many flowers bloomed gorgeously, but his lover never appeared.

The flowers talked to him every day, but he always said nothing, neither comforted nor sad. Little gardener, little gardener, can you also listen to my dream. It's a good song, but it's a pity that I only remember this sentence now. After the song, the singer retreated to the door, bowed and greeted, and then left.

When I saw him again, it was another story many years later. But before singing, he gave me the short knife and told me that we would meet again. If you recognize me and no longer need it, please return it to me. Of course, as the price of keeping it, I will also keep something for you at that time, in this long world, in our long and humble life. Then, he went to hug the Indian tightly, like a pair of close old friends who were about to part, and it was completely unimaginable that they had drawn their knives against each other before. While the two whispered, I put the short knife between my boots.

The winter chill rushed from bottom to top towards my head. I suddenly felt that I had become a brave person, wanting to defend something, for the song, or a word, a person, for the great direction, or a basket of flowers.

The tavern closed, and the Indian took me to the garden on the island. On the way, he told me that the singer had just told him quietly that he let him go not because of an apology or an obstruction, but because he saw the yellow flower pinned on his chest. The singer recognized it at a glance and said that it was planted by his friend and there would be no other origin. The Indian was very excited. The gardener was also his close friend and might become yours, he said to me.

Let me put it this way, he said again, if there really is the ship you mentioned, and it was indeed hit by something, then, I think it could only be this night that may not exist. I was puzzled by this, and he didn't say anything more. What I didn't tell him was that this night was fleeting, and there would be no other one.

My ship and I have rested. At sunrise, I will set sail again, for the song, the great direction, or a good person who makes me sad, and also towards the next round of stranding. But at this time, I just said to him, the night has one advantage, which means we always have the same amount of time. The Indian laughed and laughed until midnight.

Then, like a magic trick, the ruins of a large ship appeared beside him, which was very inconsistent with the color of this quiet and monotonous night. I stopped and looked for a long time. How to describe such a small and rich plant paradise? It seems to be parasitic in the body: all the branches are trembling, as if writing stories in the air; all the leaves extend to different directions, sparse and dense, like frozen ancient ice, and all the flower keys fully display complex patterns under the moonlight, which reminds me of the deep whirlpool in the sea or the sky in the evening always opposes the moment when the universe keeps blinking with root red or dark blue.

Perhaps I have been at sea for too long. Before this, I had never thought that plants were such vivid beings. I could even sense their breathing, appearing and disappearing. Under the denser night, the plants were whispering, forming waves of gentle noises like waves, transmitting to the distance. When I was shocked, the Indian rang the door knocker and called the owner's name.

Now I think his name does not seem to belong to this century, and has a similar origin to words such as hurricane, comet, and continent. Not long after, an elegant figure stood up from among the plants, responded to the Indian's call with a sharp whistle, then shook his shoulders and walked towards us. I looked over and saw that many flowers made way for it, like the desert rising and the sea water pouring in, and a proud swimmer with a slender figure floating on the waves.

I think the Indian was really tired after such an incident and talking for almost an entire night. Soon, he fell asleep on the grass, and a handful of banana leaves automatically covered him like a swaddling cloth, trying to protect his sweet dreams.

Next to the honeysuckle, our gardener friend, yes, at this moment, looking at our common sleeping Indian friend, I think we are close friends, and a natural trust has enveloped our hearts - like talking to ourselves, we began to talk about the names and habits of the plants. The starry garden, he said to me. Every plant is equivalent to a star in the sky, flourishing and shining, or withering and extinguishing, all like the cycle of life. You know, I have spent too much time at sea and read a lot of books, from ancient times to the present, so this argument does not seem special to me.

After that, he continued to talk about the origins of these plants. For example, the bunch of white geraniums did not come from South Asia, but from West Africa. There was only one piece of land there that produced flowers of this color. They covered the tropical back like snow and never melted.

A friend brought them back for him from afar. The red and yellow Lantana grew on the beach by the sea and was moved here. It is poisonous and has a well-developed root system. It must be carefully cleaned to prevent invasion and expansion. As for the half-human-high thorns on the side of the column, they are named because the leaf gum has thorns. They stand upright like swords. They are the loyal guards and brave warriors here, guarding all the noise and silence. No one can easily bypass them. The more he talked, the more confused I became, because here I could not feel the time and season at all.

The plants that are usually seen always show different appearances: the flowers that overwinter bloom on the same branch with the fruits of midsummer, and the leaves that stretch towards the day are curling up at night.

It covered the back of the tropics like snow, and it never melted. A friend brought it back from afar. The red and yellow Lantana grew on the beach by the sea. It was moved here. It is poisonous and has a well-developed root system. It must be carefully cleaned to prevent invasion and expansion.

As for the half-man-high thorns on the side of the porch, they are named because of the thorns in the leaf axils. They stand upright like swords. They are the loyal guards and brave warriors here, guarding all the noise and silence. No one can easily bypass them. The more he talked, the more confused I became, because here I could not feel the time and season at all.

Those plants that are usually seen always show different appearances: the flowers that overwinter bloom on the same branch with the fruits of midsummer, and the leaves that stretch towards the day are spending the time curling up at night. After I asked my question, the gardener did not answer, but fetched a bucket of water, bent down to water, and stared at the watch.

He turned the wheel repeatedly to calibrate it, then another plant, and repeated the process. I bent down with him and thought for a long time before I realized that it was like a secret hint of magic or hypnosis. He used this method to make the plants recognize the era and time they were in. The banana leaves covering the Indians belonged to the Age of Exploration, representing a new and strange distant place.

The people sleeping on the ground seemed to be resting on the seashore. The trees with new leaves belonged to the 19th century, like solemn saints, giving great comfort to the suffering people after the wind and snow. The Scutellaria baicalensis at my feet belonged to my hometown. In the meadows and swamps, every July and August, it would bloom with crystal purple flowers, like gems or fireflies. Even at night, it would point out the direction of the water for the lost stars.

I missed everything there. It was also my only dream. As I was thinking, the gardener gestured to me, and I followed him.

When we reached the empty land, I found that during the long period of stranding, the ship had obviously outperformed the mud and sandbanks. At this time, most of the water had penetrated, making the whole ship look like it had grown out of the soil, similar to some ancient plant, huge and silent, with a strong and sturdy root system and lush branches and leaves that covered the sky.

When the few moonlights shone down from above our heads, I finally saw the gardener's clothes and appearance. He looked like someone I knew, but because I drank too much or too many years had passed, I couldn't remember it for a while.

The gardener looked at me, his expression as if he had seen through some mystery. Well, well, I thought at that time, he knew it a long time ago, and he knew that I would always carry some private seeds and leaves with me. Every time I reach land after a sad moment, I will talk to a plant about my worries for half a day, and then I will take its leaves, or sometimes its fruits, and carefully place them on my body, close to my heart.

This is the method a South Asian wandering poet told me - tell your story to those flourishing unknown things, and it will keep it for you for a long time, until some end. Now, they seem to have arrived at their promised land. The gardener, my friend and my guide at this time, has been cleaning the dirt and debris on the ground for me. Of course, the short knife on my boot also came in handy. I used it to dig down and split the warm soil.

After the work, I left it to the gardener, and he didn't thank me. The posture of putting away the knife was like putting away an object that belonged to him. In short, with his help, almost all the memories that were retrieved were distributed here in sequence.

I leaned down, whispered to the plants, and turned the wheel on the watch, with a serious and meticulous expression, as if checking every tiny vibration.

The sky became brighter, my eyes gradually moistened, and everything became almost transparent. At this time, at the bottom of the cabin, I heard some sounds of sea water, which I was very familiar with. Every time we left the shore, the waves always made such a beautiful invitation to us travelers.

Looking at the busy gardener, I thought to myself, so time passed like this, and at the same time, it also went backwards, the shuttle wheel went forward and backward, towards the four seasons, and towards the century that had just passed and had not yet come.

The gardener and the plants stayed in the same moment, forever here and there. Just like the prophecy that has not yet disappeared, a precise collision at night; just like the oath that was made, as a price, it will always keep something for us, such as those people and things that have been forgotten now.

Anyway, before I had time to say goodbye to this mysterious gardener, the long whistle sounded, getting closer and closer, the compass and the ocean were calling me. This gardener friend was still listening to other people's dreams, selflessly calibrating the seasons, memories and essence of life.

I thought, maybe I should leave quietly, without blessing or saying goodbye, there will always be a part of me that stays here, stranded, decaying, born, wandering, rotating back and forth between flowers and leaves, and our big ship has already set sail.

source

[kyokutsu-sama]

omg, this was a random thought that popped into my head😭william with an s/o, who during her period, gets the WORST anger issues? im talking she gets annoyed if someone breathes wrong😭how would he react to her random sobbing and extreme clinginess during all that? thank you!!!

A/n: Hi!!! When I read the request I just find it funny cause this is so me when I'm on my period😭🤭 I hope you like it.

I really felt sorry for William after writing this one😭

_____________________________

As we all know, William is a very kind and very patient man. It's almost impossible to get this man out of his peaceful state (unless it's something really bad). He begins to notice that for a few days now, she has been acting strangely towards him and everyone in the room. She who used to be as respected as the captain and so nice to everyone, was now shouting at everyone and without any patience. William already suspected that she was going through that typical monthly phase where she just wanted everyone to disappear but at the same time would cry if that happened. He decided not to confront her with that, out of fear, since she was looking like a wild animal on the loose. He couldn't help but stare at her when she was acting like that, towards someone from Golden Dawn. He even tried to get closer to her to interfere but when he saw her looking at him with that dark look, he hesitated. "WHAT'S WRONG WILLIAM? WHY ARE YOU LOOKING AT ME? DO YOU HAVE SOMETHING TO TELL ME?!" She shouted at him The captain just stood there, with wide eyes and an expression like "Honey... I was just passing by... I didn't do anything wrong🥲" It was then that some of the members reported situations like this to him. "Captain, with all due respect but she's going crazy! Everyone in the division is shaking because of the way she's yelling at everyone and looking like she's going to kill someone!!"Klaus said, completely terrified, to the captain who assured him that he would solve everything She spent the whole day walking here and there, hurriedly, while doing her duties within the division, keeping an ill-tempered look on her face, which made the members of the division afraid to approach her, since even breathing seemed like a problem for her. That attitudes, created small murmurs among the members in the corridors of the HQ, wondering what could have made her like that. At the end of the day, she used to go to William to see each other, as they rarely saw each other during the day because of work, but that day it was he who went to see her, especially after she shouted at him and avoided him when he tried to interfere when he saw her scolding another member when he dropped some papers on the floor that were for the captain. William slowly opened the bedroom door, peeking inside and saw her sitting on the bed, with her knees to her chest and crying. A scene that broke his heart. William approached and she quickly threw herself at him, hugging him tightly and he held her, caressing her back with his hands, while she sobbed. He sat with her on his lap, listening to her lament for being so mean to him and others. "I'm sorry for yelling at you William, I'm really an idiot, I'm horrible and I don't deserve you..." She sobbed, clutching the fabric of his uniform "Don't say those things, my love. You're important and I really like you and so does everyone here, do you hear? I love you so much." He whispered, wiping her tears while she was still there, clinging to him and apologizing He always stayed by her side while she calmed down, he couldn't help but smile when she gave him a load of kisses and hugs. He thought she was cute even when she was mad, although the sudden change in mood was still leaving him a little confused. "William, will you forgive me?" She asked for the thousandth time "Yes, I forgive you," He sighed. "I know this time of the month makes you more sensitive and ...a little angrier but it's normal and I'm always here, whenever you need me, okay?" He moved her hair away from her face, kissing her forehead "Oh Will, you're so cute I think I'm going to cry again..." She said in a tearful voice and he chuckled "You don't need to cry anymore. I'm always here." He gave her a peck and hugged her This man is a sweetheart❤️

[silenttrxxs]

Winter Wonderland ot8 x reader

fluff!

you clutched your scarf and coat together, shivering as the cold air nipped at your skin, a red flush across your nose and cheeks as you walked towards the subway. Sighing as you scanned into the station and aboarded the train, the warmth of the heating becoming more pleasent as the journey went on, you grabbed your phone from your pocket.

you grabbed the headphones from you pocket and slid them into your ears, enjoying the music, the snow falling outside casting a beautiful sight, you took some time to enjoy the warmth before having to brave the cold again. You noticed the destination coming up and sighed clutching your coat again and walking out of the subway. You tapped out of the station and made your way to the exit. You stood at the taxi rank pulling out your phone again as it vibrated aggressivaly in your pocket. You let out a sigh trying to text back as the bombard of texts come through.

you stuffed your phone back into your pocket and looked up, you saw the familiar van pulling up and rushed forward, the door opening quickly and a frenzy of hands pulling you into the vehicle. "whoa whoa whoa calm down guys... whats with all the fuss" you asked as you looked around. A blanket was thrown your way and tucked over your legs as the van pulled away taking you all to the destination. "thanks hwa, did you knit this?" you joked sending a smile and giggle his way. Seonghwa looked up and giggled from his phone. "very funny y/n, but ill have you know... i did actually" he mumbled the last part, his gaze falling to his phone again. You sat back and leant your head on wooyoungs shoulder as you looked out the window. "so why hasnt anyone told me where the hell were even going and why it took me an entire hour to get here in the first place" you asked. Wooyoung looked down at you and pursed his lips together as he tried not to say anything. "dont you fucking dare jung wooyoung" hongjoong hissed sending a death glare his way and giggling as he watched the blush creep along his members face.

"b-but joong why not..." you whined and pouted. "no buts darling just know itll be fun okay, we all need this break after this year" he said looking around at everyone. You pulled your phone out and laughed, you decided to take some photos of the boys, wanting to commemorate this trip and create a entire scrapbook, after getting to know the boys you wanted to ensure that your friendship would be something that would be memorable and worthy to tell generations about for years to come. You smiled finding your first culprit.

You smiled and laughed, you felt a hand tickle your waist, the grip making you jump a little. "hey shh he doesnt know.. dont make it obvious you idiot" you hissed before glaring at wooyoung.

Wooyoung held his hands up in feigned surrender and laughed before going back to talking with san who sat next to him. You looked back at your phone and made sure to make a note to organise your gallery a little better.

You looked up as mingis voice bellowed through the van. "were here guys get out this fucking van now" he said before pushing his way through the van grabbing yunhos hand and dragging him out of the car. Yunho looked stunned as he felt himself getting dragged away, you shook your head and laughed. The others not even blinking an eye at the scene, everyone piled out the car, you saw a hand shooting your way to help you out of the car. "hey its okay i think i can get out on my own" you said batting the hand away and getting out the car. You looked up and gasped as you saw the sight before you, they had brought you to the most beautiful fun fair. You looked around trying to find the one that paid for it all. Scanning their faces. You pointed a finger and walked towards him when you noticed the bright red flush creeping across his face, and the nervous giggle leaving his lips. "Kim Hongjoong" you said your finger pointing right in his face as you stood in front of him. He looked up and shrugged as if it didn't bother him. "hey hey don't point that finger at me its fine, its my treat" he said before handing out the tickets to everyone. "do me a favour and go find yungi before we loose them forever, you know what theyre like when they see something shiny" he said sending a little smile and guiding everyone to the entrance.

You walked to the entrance shrugging and pulling out your phone. You wanted to get inside quickly, the smell of the food invading your nostrils as you got closer. "ill text them to hurry up and get their tickets at the entrance and come find us" you said as you typed.

you laughed and shoved your phone in your pocket, smiling when you heard the two sprinting behind you.. "mission accomplished cap" you said before pushing past everyone and beelining for the corndog stand. "9 corndogs please, thank you" you asked, waiting patiently as the worker prepared your order. You smiled as the boys come up behind you, all chatting amongst themselves as they took the corndogs from the worker, groaning and laughing as they eat. You paid the worker and walked away, taking a bite of your corndog as you made your way to the first ride. "right... what one of you pussies are gonna back out of the worlds babiest ride ever" you asked before ushering to the tea cups behind you. You laughed as everyone piled onto the ride, shoving against each other and waving from different carts. You giggled as you got squashed in between the eldest of the group. You laughed as the ride started and gripped the middle, spinning the cart around faster, you let out a manical laugh as you heard hongjoongs breath catching and his hands gripping onto the cart as it span faster. The lights and music making it more fun for you. "that was so much fun" you said, giggling as you looked at hongjoong wobbling a little as he walked off the ride. You walked to the next ride, jumping in the car and strapping the seat belt around you. "whos going to join me" you shouted out waiting for someone to join you in the car. Smiling when you saw yeosang walking over and getting into the car next to you. "hey lets get them" he said as he wrapped an arm around you and waited for the others to get paired up and get into their own cars. You gasped when it started and yeosang grabbed the wheel, your foot on the pedal as he steered bumping into san and wooyoung straight away. "need a learner plate do we" yeosang quipped laughing as he steered a sharp right and bumped you both into yunho and mingi. You both laughed and you helped steer the car as yeosang held onto you as the others bumped into your car.

You giggled and walked around, you pulled your phone out and took photos of the boys as you wandered the fun fair.

you smiled and slid your phone back into your pocket and jumped as you felt a hand tap your shoulder. "hey.." you turnt slowly and looked at him. "i think its time for the last ride now... shut your eyes" seonghwa laughed as san guided you to the ferris wheel. "open your eyes" he said making sure everyone was behind you. "no backing out if hwa has to do it so do you" everyone chimed, hwa looked up and nodded nervously. his fingers playing with the strings of his coat as he tried to not look around and focus on getting on the ride first.

Getting on the ride wasnt the worst part, but being stuck in a cart with san, hongjoong and hwa was the worst part, you stuck next to seonghwa like the pair of you was actually attached by some glue, clinging onto the cart and trying not to look at the sight around you all as you reached the top. "its so much fun look around guys, isnt korea beautiful from up here" san chimed taking photos of the view and giggling as he watched your guys reactions. Even hongjoong was scared, the height was terrifying and you didn't dare to look down. You laughed though as you watched hongjoongs inner termoil as he covered his face waiting for the ride to move and to take you all to ground.

you took the moment to snap a photo as the ride started moving again, you laughed and practically ran off the ride as it stopped. You spun around and bent down touching the ground. "what... ive never been more thankful for gravity before" you laughed as they guys all piled of the ride and looked at you with questionable glances. The majority of them shrugging as they looked around and went to different stalls. You sighed and saw a bench, taking a seat for a minute as you recoverd from fighting your worst fear. "hey.. so you good" you asked as you saw seonghwa sit down next to you. "yeah im okay just never ever doing that again" he laughed. "you having a good time" he asked looking at you with a shy smile. "yeah its nice to spend time with you all, its rare i get to see you guys without having to go to war" you laughed. "hey, you know you can just have free entry at any time but mrs stubborn there wont take it" hwa says, looking around. "hey but i agree its nice to see everyone finally taking time to be themselves, to rest and have fun" he said as he looked at his members. "its nice to see you like this hwa, you deserve to take time out like this..i owe you all big time" you said. You jumped as you felt arms around you. "hey sorry i just needed a hug its been a while" hwa said as he pulled you closer. You smiled and rested into his embrace and watched the world go by for a little while. This moment in time would be one that would be engraved into your mind forever, time with the most precious people you could ever want in your life. You smiled to yourself. "dont let this be a dream" you mumbled.

[enchantedsword]

au were mk is wukongs bio kid but its still similar to canon in that he wasnt supposed to be born for many many years. okay this is gonna be a shit explanation but ill do my best to make it make sense.

mk is supposed to be born with both wukong and macaque as his parents(macaque was always fated to come back) in the more traditional way. but nine headed demon who we'll say became "friends" with wukong during that five hundred years after sealing demon bull king, used some sort of spell/magic to basically have wukongs magic/life force/essence(whatever you want to call it) create a child on its own without another parent without wukong getting suspicious about it, since there are occasions a celestial pregnancy can occur like this.

however this is still not a good thing for wukong because even with all his strength and power a child(at least a celestial one) still needs two parents or at least another trusted person to help provide it energy/life force during pregnancy and for about 3 years after so the baby(mk) is only feeding from wukong, so much so that he's extremely weak by the time he gives birth and isnt even back to full power/health until mk would be unlocking his own powers. theres also the fact mk is still the harbinger of chaos and not just a normal celestial child so he would end taking more from wukong.

also playing with the idea that giving birth burned through the pills and wine of immortalities maybe even a third one or at least half of another one, thats how difficult/dangerous this pregnancy and birth was for him without a partner to help. i do think he would call a temporary truce with PIF at least towards the end of his pregnancy because he knows he wont be able to actually give birth alone, and shes been through this before and she'd be the only one he trust to help him even with all thats happened between them.

now this opens the opportunity for nine headed demon to steal mk, however im unsure if i want him take him when hes a newborn and have wukong think that his child is dead due to not being able to give him the power/energy he needed during pregnancy, or if he waits until mk is about 2 like in canon before he takes him, turns him human and erases wukongs memories of himself and mk. either way he does erase himself from wukongs memories.

i dont have a lot for this au but i do know season 4 and 5 would be one hell of an emotional roller coaster for everyone, the scroll giving hints that mk isnt human and somehow related to wukong but not clear on the how. im honestly leaning towards mk being taken as a baby and wukong believing he didnt survive childbirth and the scroll itself showing mk the wukong has a baby that "died", instead of being shown the rock. technically he could be shown that in either version i choose to use. but if i choose this option i feel like wukong would start piecing things together a lot quicker then in canon, cause an 18-20 year old kid shows up being able to use the staff and with all his powers 18-20 years after the baby he had "dies", i think that would raise a lot of flags for him and would have him talking to PIF(whos memories of the birth would have also been tampered with) to figure if they have any actaul inconsistencies in the memories of that day.

then theres the option of mk being taken when hes 2 and wukong having all memories of anything to do with him taken, and never questioning why this random kid has his powers, and then mk is shown the scene with wukong and a baby, a baby thats very clearly not a normal monkey(something the scroll doesnt show wukong himself) and when he brings it up wukong is confused because hes never interacted with babies that werent part of the troop. this one also has PIF helping wukong through the birth of his child. but since mk wasnt taken until he was 2, her memories wouldnt be tampered with so she would remember where wukong doesnt, and wukong knows himself well enough that if he ever had a child theres only one person that he would trust to help him, so he would go to her and explain what was seen and what he doesnt remember.

[th0rnback]

I really love your writing, could you share what is your process? Any tips for someone who is quite new at it? Has it always been so easy to write such long chapters?

HM? TIPS? MEEEE?!

I wish I could give you a clear process but my method of madness is probably something other folk go "OMG me too!!!!" Or "wtf are you doing?.?? Don't do that!"

Either way, all I can say is...

1. Write for yourself. Like, honestly, the support you gain and comment-folk who spur you on are honestly unsung hero's, but sit your ass down and write that tale for yourself. Idk why but if I think of pleasing others when writing my brain turns off so i'm all: don't like, don't read - fuck off.

[Then you find out people like what you like and wrote and suddenly those who are unknowingly encouraging you to write with their enthusiasm are e-v-e-r-y-t-h-i-n-g]

2. Word vomit - I think my chapters are long (but they dont feel long to me? Yet your not the first to say that to me haha) because I literally spew on a word doc everything that I've day dreamed or written briefly on my phones note app when something hit me, including alternative routes/plots or scenes. This means I have A LOT of things that don't get used or I think doesnt "fit right" for the focus and this probably is time wasteful and messy but it works for me because I got the ✨️Meat Grinder✨️ meets ✨️Shou Tucker Method. ✨️

[Note: all those scenes, dialogue lines, unused or ill-fitting things created from word vomit get shoved aside into a doc called the Meat Grinder aka they are there for other fics or later chapters. It is there they get minced up and, like a certain FMA bad daddy with a dog a kiddo, I'll splice them together into another chapter/fic aka The Shou Tucker Method.

3. Drip drip drip, embrace senses, and screw expectation - don't stress about feeding everyone information at once, give enough to set scenes or help readers see what that dorky fellow your wtiting about is doing or wearing, but everything else can be drip fed because life likes to lure us down alleyways as opposed to give us a intruction manual.

I think my chapters are long because I'm an oddball who gets a bit hyper focused on senses beyond sight - touch/texture, smell, taste - and even how your body responds to certain things. Then again I'm a sensory weirdo who spends too much time in my head and makes Anakin Skywalker's hatred of sand look mild. I get this can be overkill though? So... eh.

Thats why you screw expectation. Write with your voice (or get into the charscters dummy head), format how you wish (unless you want feedback and someone goes wtf this formatting is killing me mate stahhhhp!) And let yourself allow others to be immersed into the rambles you create.

💖my tips are shit and you are gonna be grand but you got this. 💖

[grapejuicestyless]

The Tide Always Goes Out

Conrad Fisher x fem!reader

ANGST

Summery: You were sick. You had always been sick. But you looked so healthy, so it couldn’t be true. Conrad could live in denial of his best friend’s inevitable death but there was nothing he could do to stop it and he has to accept it.(Inspired by the book Little Women specifically the scene in the 2019 film between Beth and Jo.) Mentions of illness and death.

We sat on the beach squished on a small blanket. wrinkles from our shifting and creases beneath us from where we sat. We talk about everything and anything all morning, not minding the grey overcast of the clouds covering the usually very blue sky, or how the waves are more violent than they usually are. I know this because I remember it vividly. It wasn’t that long ago I was really here. Making sure it would last forever. Only now I wish I hadn’t because it haunts me more than it comforts me. And the entire way it played out still makes my heart ache with regret.

Somehow I end up with her lying over me. She lays her head in my lap, the thin blanket woven together with faint reds and oranges creating a little hammock for her to rest on. I can feel the way her heartbeats erratically over my thigh. The way her lip’s curl into a soft smile. The ocean reflected in her eyes. If it weren’t for the heavy eye bags and the slight tremble in her bones, she’d be normal. A normal girl with no issues. You wouldn’t even know how deeply her suffering ran. Sometimes, on the better days, I let myself become fooled as well. Playing dumb hurts less than facing the truth.

“Con.” Her eyes flick up to mine, and I can’t help the way my own avert her gaze. I am too afraid to face her. Even now. The girl who I worship day and night. I never did pray before her, but now I pray that when I wake up, she’ll still be beside me. And we can enjoy the company the other has to offer just one last time. I can’t look down and see how much she’s changed. It scares me, because the traces of the illness torturing her is evidence to how real it is. And I would rather live in oblivious bliss.

“I want you to know I’m not really scared anymore.” It’s not what I expected to come from her lips, but it’s what she lands on. Theres no room in her wording for me to deny what she’s trying to say. My eyes flicker down to hers, and my hands move the hair blowing in the wind messily across her face behind her ears. It blows back almost immediately, so I push it back again. I feel some hair gather in my palm. I close my fist.

“Y/n, come on. Don’t say shit like that.” I smile, but I don’t really mean in. I don’t find her words funny, and I don’t like that my best friend is sick.

“No, Conrad. I’m serious.” She breathes out, hands pressing against my skin to lift herself up. I feel a chill run through my body without her warmth to ease the morning nip. More than that, I can feel the coolness in my heart when she separates from me, and I long for the next moment I’ll feel her gentle touch.

“I’ve had a lot of time to think about this and I’m certain that I’ll be okay.” I continue to look at her, but only this time, she is the one looking at the sand, tracing her fingers in it as they stretch past her ankles to the ground.

“And I’m only so sure because I know you’ll be there.” Her eyes flicker up to the sky and I swear I see the sky brighten for just a moment. The blue underneath all the grey breaking free for a split second. “I’ve known you my whole life, and I’ve felt things for you that I have felt with no one else. I know you, and I trust that you’ll come find me in the next life.” Pulling at her lip, she waits for a response.

“But I want to keep you in this one.” My hand finds hers and all I can do is squeeze hers desperately. Wanting nothing more but to keep her close. So I can watch her, make sure shes okay. She’s lost all of her fight, her will to stay. And I know it’s because of the pain. I’ve heard her sobs just down the halls and the hushed whispers of my mother and her’s. But part of me wonders if it’s simply because I did not do enough. If I wasn’t enough reason for her to stay.

“It’s like the tide going out. It goes out slowly, but it can’t be stopped.” And we both know it. Theres no stopping what will happen to her. Theres no wish or medicine or fight that could keep her here beside me. It makes me want to cry, but I don’t. It would be selfish of me to get so upset when I am still here, well and alive, promised many years to age and achieve things she never was given the chance to.

“I’ll stop it.” I don’t look down at her, but I can feel how she shifts. The way her frown only deepens and the bags in her eyes get heavier. She sighs heavily into the silence, shaking her head slowly. She refuses to cry though. Partly because I know she knows she’ll have plenty of time to cry in the darkness of her room, when the ache in her bones is too much and theres no way of stopping it. And the other part of me recognizes that it’s because there’s no reason to in her eyes.

Y/n knew it better than all of us. She had lived a good life. She could do things and want things some children could never even dream of. She had a warm home with a glowing fireplace that her family often gathered around. A loving sister and a great brother. Her mother and father were healthy and she had the best friends she could have ever asked for. Her only regret is that she had to make her own mother pick out the details for her headstone.

When I pull her into my body, I have no idea it will be for the last time. I have no clue that her sobs won’t part from her lips. Because when she closes her eyes, she doesn’t drift into her usual place of rest. Her eyes don’t flutter open at the soft creak of the stairs when Jeremiah decides he wants a late night snack, nor does she stir when Steven laughs, following behind him not as skillfully.

Not even when her mother screams early in the morning, hands clinging to her limp wrists, cold and lifeless. The tears from my mother mixing with her younger sisters don’t even make her flinch. And it’s chilling because it almost looks like she was smiling, the lift of her lips is barely there, but it makes me feel better knowing she went in peace.

I remember that day more clearly than ever. How the grey sky will always haunt me and the way she spoke so surely about her death still sends chills through my veins. I could have only wished to have looked at her a little closer that day. So that even in her darkest moments, I could be as certain as she was that the image of her would never fade, and I would always be able to memorize each wrinkle in her skin.

So I tell myself that when it’s my time, I’ll do what she said I would. I’ll find her in the next life. And I’ll look a little harder at her, and I’ll admire her for longer.

[notbecauseofvictories]

I'm still thinking about it, so---if you're a local, I highly encourage Rough House Theater's "House of the Exquisite Corpse". It's lovely, arresting, from the performances down to the smallest touches. I still can't get over the ripped umbrellas hanging upside down in dreamlike suspension from the ceiling; the way each "station" is wrapped in plywood and decorated in its own meaningful pattern and design.

But first, let me step back. "House of the Exquisite Corpse" takes its name from the old Surrealist parlor game, at the heart of which is the idea that you can collect a disparate group, then smash their ideas together and create something from the smithereens. This is something like what Rough House has done, which is pick a theme ("Superstition") and then let the artistic groups loose to create short scenes built around that theme.

(I want to call them tableaux, because watching the performances I was struck by how it felt like something out of time---as though we were 17th century courtiers in Paris ushered into a candlelit ballroom, or early 20th century farmers in Minnesota, paying our penny to see what the circus brought to town.)

The set-up itself does a wonderful job ushering you into a time-outside-of-time---you step into a space divided from the rest of the space by black sheets, chunky headsets dangling from wooden ladders suspended just over your head. The emcee is carrying a clipboard and speaks into an old-school broadcasting mic---which you can only hear if you're wearing the headsets.

It is, you'll discover, the central conceit of the performance. From there, you're directed from station to station by silent ushers, carrying flashlights so they can point you forward. Unless you are wearing the headphones at each station, you can only listen to the absent, ambient music echoing around the room.

Not only are the stations set up to wrap you in a specific soundscape, but they play with your vision too---most stations have you peer through holes or cracks in the wall, though one station had us line up in front of mirrors and watch the reflection of the performance, while another station placed shards of glass at every peephole, so you watched the scene and the character's experience of the scene in a strange double-vision. A couple of the stations used tricks of the light---strobe effects that made the puppets' movements seem even more uncanny or imply violence; a haze of smoke or fabric to disguise the human "prowling" in the puppet-shape of a tiger.

(I always like when I can tell an artist is reacting to something I've seen before, and the Rousseau "The Dream" vibes in that scene were exquisite.)

I will say that “A White Bird in the House is an Omen of Death” was my favorite, not in the least because it featured a whole choreographed song (feat. a lovely articulated owl puppet, plus some very effective shadowplay work). However, “Through the Looking Glass” was beautifully up my alley, from the unique staging---this was the station where you watched the performance in a mirror---to the creative puppetry, and a meditation on loveliness that had some bite to it. “Broken Mirror” was more traditional in its puppet work, but it also had the most elaborate staging, a fully-realized world in miniature.

I keep going back to how enormously creative so many of these artists were, in ways I simply can't ignore. “Step on a Crack” didn't necessarily work for me, but I can't stop thinking about it---its trippy setup, the inhuman knit masks the creator used; the spines dangling, neon-colored, from the nearest tree as the protagonist recited lines about loving his mother with increasing, feverish and horrible energy. The glimpses I got during “An ill fate befalls those who pluck from fruit in their dreams” of the puppeteer's face---how she shut her eyes and turned away, as though she too was affected by the puppet's horror.