#sigh. Whatever. Explodes them with My Mind

[kenzan-brainrot-mp4]

Rahhhh I think the Ishin bit with Ryoma telling Okita that he sees him as his kyoudai was really cool but now it also just makes me wish Musashi and Majima (Gorohachi) had something like that in Kenzan because they definitely had a sort of "kyoudai"ship going on with everything that happened to them imo

It's very interesting to me how Kiryu/Majima seem to cooperate more actively/directly (if that makes sense?) in the spin-offs. Not to say that they don't work together/do things for each other decently often in canon, but it's either usually a) more one-sided (glances at Majima) or through b) more grandiose/overarching gestures that still allow for distance (see: "go back to the tojo clan to do x and y for z goal"). Meanwhile, you have Ryoma/Okita and Musashi/Majima actively risking their lives Together (changing literal history together </3), which requires them to cooperate actively with one another and work to protect the other in equal amounts.

Idk I think that difference between those games and canon make it make sense why Ryoma would see Okita as a "kyoudai" as opposed to canon Kiryu who doesn't say anything like that, and that's a pretty cool distinction (but also I just wish it was in Kenzan too rahhhhhhh)

[qardenofeden]

ushijima wakatoshi wasn’t a man of pda, you knew that much. it’s not that he shied away from it per se, he just... was taught to value modesty.

and that’s exactly how you got here, sitting across from him as dishes upon dishes were served on your table. steamers of xiao long bao were placed before you as he paused from eating his hot garlic ribs to thank your server.

“wakatoshi, you ordered too much... it’s only our first date as a couple,” you say, concern furrowing your brows as you looked at the table.

“that is precisely why i ordered a lot. plus, i just finished a match and i’m quite hungry. i hope you don’t mind,” he deadpans before adding a meek, “is it not to your liking?”

...well, as meek as one ushijima wakatoshi can be, anyway.

you two had just come from one of his matches and to no one’s surprise, shiratorizawa won yet again. as a reward, you offered to grab dinner with him at his favorite foreign restaurant, but you seemed to have forgotten a major key detail— wakatoshi was used to living in luxury. you’ve never even heard of this place before, that’s how fancy and niche it was.

“no, no. it’s fine! it’s your celebration, after all,” you reassure him, hoping he doesn’t take notice of your... mood.

“our celebration,” he corrects. brown eyes hold your gaze, and if you didn’t know any better, you’d think you were in trouble. “you finally said yes to me after months of courtship. i apologize if my schedule has not allowed me to take you out on a proper date prior to this.”

was it getting hot in here? you feel like melting under his stare. why is he so naturally intimidating?

“it’s okay. i’ve been a little busy too with requirements and whatnot,” you shy away from his eyes and begin eating.

except... oh, you don’t like that.

the flavors are too much, and your mouth feels like it’s going to explode with how powerful the taste is. did you accidentally order from the spicy section?!

ushijima must have detected your slight internal panic, because he immediately asks, “is everything okay?”

you cough out, putting on a fake smile as you nod. “mhm, all good!”

“are you certain..? you look... flustered.”

god, there he was again. wakatoshi, you’re scaring me!! you mentally yell.

“...okay, i’ve never... been here before so i just ordered whatever i thought was the most basic option on the menu.” your eyes avoid his, feeling small before him. “sorry,” you feel like a loser. hopefully he doesn’t break up with you for this.

“ah. i wish you had said that sooner. i would have explained their food and helped you choose.”

wakatoshi eyes the table before wordlessly rearranging the sequence of the dishes. he takes your plate and moves the steamer of the xiao long baos in front of you, then gently places your original dish to the xlb’s previous spot. he takes off the lid and takes one dumpling for himself.

“these are soup dumplings. i picked your favorite meat, so you should have no problem eating them,” he bites his dumpling into half as the soup leaks out from the center and into his spoon. “see?”

you look at him, then down at the dumplings before taking one for yourself and mimicking his actions. “mmh...” you nod, “that’s actually pretty good.”

“do you mind if i eat your...”

you nod enthusiastically before he can even finish. “take it, take it. i love the dumplings. woah. can i have more?”

ushijima chuckles, his chest letting out guttural breaths as his lips curved into a smile. “of course. eat as much as you’d like.”

needless to say, you and wakatoshi will definitely be coming back. who knows, maybe it could even be the start of a tradition.

atsumu post-match &&& bokuto post-match

a/n: this is still post-match right... just not courtside-immediately-after-game post match. sry lol sigh ushijima what am i supposed to do w u my nonchalant king

[lqveharrington]

hii, i would love for you to do ‘the prophecy’ with fred weasley and ravenclaw reader!! thank you so much 💓

The Prophecy | F.W.

summary: fred’s starting to feel insecure in your relationship, and trelawney’s reading doesn’t make it any better.

pairing: fred weasley x ravenclaw!reader

includes: use of Y/N, insecure fred, a lot of overthinking, angst, fluff at the end

a/n: for some reason, this prompt stumped me so bad. so sorry if it’s not up to the usual standards 😭

One, two. One, two, three, four.

You impatiently counted how many times the alarm on Trelawney’s stupid clock would go off until she realized it wasn’t a crystal ball predicting a Hufflepuff's future. All you wanted was class to be over and be in the arms of your loving boyfriend, but they changed the house pairings for electives. Instead of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw, it was Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Luckily, you still had all your core classes with Gryffindor.

As you lazily blew on the small braid you gave yourself in your boredom, a crack of lightning struck right outside, causing Trelawney to jerk in surprise with horror etched into her face. It looked like she had just seen the grim itself.

She whipped her head around and looked directly at you, taking your hands in her shaky ones. She read your palm like the lines had magically changed since last class, muttering quietly to herself until cleared your throat in confusion.

“My dear, you will receive ill-advised news by the end of the week.” She whispered and pulled your hand closer to her buggy eyes, furrowing her brows when she saw your life line. “Expect your spirit to be broken and rebuilt by the one you trust the most.”

Your lips kissed you teeth in an unsettling manner. Was this your punishment for not listening to her and sometimes making fun of her? Did she want to make you feel bad about your life choices? Sure you bored out of your mind in class but that didn't mean you wanted a horrid reading.

Your eyes flickered toward the dark sky outside again, watching as the lightening struck louder than the last. Trelawney sighed and patted your hand shut, dismissing everyone with a quiet wave. Everyone looked at her in bewilderment before slowly leaving the tower, murmuring amongst themselves.

Furrowing your brows and flexing your hand, you took your things and hastily made your way down the ladder, narrowly avoiding your face splattering on the stone floor. You always believed in everything factual — Ravenclaw, through and through — and you weren't actually sure why you chose Divination as your elective. The crystal balls and tea leaf readings never seemed credible, always predicting the same things over and over again.

However, the Weasley Twins loved Divination. They often made up their readings and passed with Outstandings. George believed he had a natural aptitude for the class whilst Fred said he had unlocked his inner eye. But what they both heavily believed in was Trelawney's words — which you thought was utter rubbish.

When you had Divination with them in sixth year, she told them that they would encounter a horrible noise, sending someone they love plummeting. That same week, Harry retreived his golden egg from the first task and revealed it to be screeching merpeople in the common room, causing the twins to drop him from their shoulders to cover their ears. From that day onward, they clung onto her every word like it was the sacred truth.

Which it wasn't.

Shaking all thoughts of Divination out of your mind, you made your down to the Great Hall. It was your potions study hall with the rest of the sixth years, and you needed time to decompress after whatever stupid prophecy Trelawney read off you.

You scanned the hall and smiled when you saw the twins, Lee, Alicia, and Angelina already working on their forty-inch essay for potions. Well, the girls were working on their essays. The twins and Lee were playing Exploding Snap — although they weren't very subtle with it.

The look on your face meant nothing but trouble. You shook your head and messed with them, putting your hands on the twins' shoulders and holding back a laugh when you saw them jump and pretend to work on their essays. Lee looked up at you and shook his head in amusement, nudging the two Weasleys to look behind them.

George was the first to turn and rolled his eyes when he saw you, scooting over so you could sit in between him and Fred. He took your bag and put it beside his on the ground, still grumbling under his breath.

"Blimey, Y/N. I thought Snape was going to take points off and give us detention again." George nudged your side with his elbow, ruffling your hair in the process.

"Again? What did you lot do in the few minutes it took for me to get here?" You tease and tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear, grabbing your own parchment out with only ten-inches left for your essay.

You quietly worked on your essay while ensuring the mischievous trio stayed on task, every so often glancing up to make sure they were doing anything stupid. As you wrapped up your essay, you looked up to your right and met Fred's eyes. You gave him a soft smile but only earned a half-hearted, tight-lipped nod back.

Parchment crinkled under your hold before you released a breath. You pursed your lips and went back to your essay, forcing back the tears of frustration from spilling out. For the past two weeks, Fred began to grow more and more distant from you. You weren't sure what exactly prompted him to do so, but he wouldn't give you an answer and the rest of your friends... Well, they didn't know if you wanted to know from them.

You felt like you were slowly sinking further away from him and you couldn't do anything. Biting your tongue to stop anymore thoughts, you turned in your essay to Snape and swiftly left the Great Hall with no spare glances toward the Gryffindors.

The states of pity from your friends only made you feel like you were crumbling into forever broken pieces.

You sat with your back against a great oak, throwing another stone into the Black Lake. The ripples echoed and repeated until they settled, the small bubbles diminished.

The rays of the sun hit your eyes, causing you to wince softly. You turned to the side and fully expected Fred to be sitting next to you, a small frown etching its way to your lips when you saw nothing but the Hogwarts castle.

Fred usually came with you whenever you needed to relax, but thinking about the past few weeks only hurt your heart.

As the whispers from the Forbidden forest grew stronger and the sun slowly descended behind the trees, you shut your eyes and leaned your head against the tree. You wished you didn’t have to leave your spot; you were only just beginning to clear your mind.

Frustratedly, you rub your closed eyes with the palms of your hands, freezing when someone spoke from behind you. That someone having an all too familiar voice.

"Love, you're going to irritate your eyes."

Your head whipped around to stare at the boy you fell deeply in love with last year at the Yule Ball. The glare you threw at him could’ve petrified him. "You have no right to call me love after ignoring me for two — almost three — weeks.”

Fred swallowed thickly and sat on a boulder beside you. He knew he was in the wrong for avoiding you for so long without telling you the truth. He believed that it was better for you not to know, but what good was it in the long run?

"I know, I'm sorry." He mumbled and bit his lip, looking down at his tattered shoes rather than meeting your eyes. "It's okay if you never want to see me ever again or choose to hate me, but I avoided you because — " He paused and squeezed his eyes shut. Godric, he was going to sound like such a stupid prick. "Because of a prophecy Trelawney gave me."

Your mouth parted ever so slightly before you threw a small rocks at his legs. Your voice rang out clear and loud, reminding him of his own mother. "Are you kidding me? Frederick Gideon Weasley! You've been avoiding me because of a stupid reading?”

"I'm sorry! But what she said about me made it seem like you needed someone better!" He let your rocks hit him and huffed, frustration bubbling within himself. He took in a breath before looking back over at you. "She told me that the something I love will succeed but only if a great weight of unstableness no longer burdened it."

You crease your brows in confusion and drop the rest of your rocks onto the ground, shaking your head as he clenched and unclenched his fist. "What are you talking about?"

"Love, you're bloody brilliant." Fred met your eyes for the first time in days. All he wanted to do was have you in his arms again and press kisses everywhere he could, but he still owed an explanation to you. "You've passed all your OWLs with flying colors and you've studied so hard for you NEWTs." He buried his face in his hands and sighed. "I'm the burden that will hold you back if you choose to stay with me."

Your initial annoyance and anger melted away at his words, eyes softening at the sight of his dejected state. "Freddie, you're not a burden to me or anyone — “

He let out a laugh that sounded more like a scoff. "I have no money. When you need support, you wouldn't get any from me. I'm not good enough for you."

Five seconds of utter silence took over. The fluttering of the owls delivering mail overhead and the sounds of the curfew bell were the only things that were heard.

Before Fred could even register what was happening, you flung yourself into his arms and rested your head on his. He froze before wrapping his arms around your midsection, burying himself into your chest. He breathed in your scent, body releasing all the tension he had stored inside.

This wasn’t the first time Fred has ever felt insecure about your relationship. There had been other times where he felt like he wasn’t good enough for you, but you were always there to reassure him whenever he voiced them to you. It was horrible to see him act like someone other than his usual self. You loved who he was and you wouldn’t change it for the world.

“Freddie…” You rub his back gently and feel him melt into you. “I don't need any money. Your words are enough support for me.”

He only nodded in response, missing your touch after days of avoidance. Fred felt your move around so you were sitting beside him, your hands moving to turn his head toward you.

You smiled at him and thumbed his cheeks. "And didn't I tell you not to believe everything Trelawney says? I doubt she was taking about our relationship." You pressed a light kiss to his lips before pulling him into another hug, "I love you, Freddie. Don't ever forget that."

When he didn’t say anything, you pulled away and looked over his features, brows furrowing as you saw his teary eyes.

"Fred —?”

"I love you so much, woman." He murmured before capturing your lips in a mind-searing manner, feeling you smile into the kiss. Fred pulled away for a breath before placing another tender kiss to your lips, thumbing the bottom lip when you pulled away in a daze. "You're my soulmate."

You grin shyly and lean your head on his shoulder, looking up at him. "No more overthinking, okay?" You watched as he nodded at you, his face flushing a deep shade of red when you began to pepper kisses on his neck. Each kiss meaning the same thing.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Fred took your hand in his and kissed your knuckles, chuckling when you got flustered over a simply gesture. "You might make me fall even deeper in love with you."

You hummed and pressed one last kiss to his lips, both of you grinning like idiots in love. "Have I changed the prophecy yet?"

"Hm, you'll have to let me check again." He said softly and gave you one final breathtaking kiss, squeezing your hip. "I think so."

"I love you, Fred Weasley." You sigh happily and kiss his cheek. “Don’t you ever forget that.”

©lqveharrington - all rights reserved. do not copy, translate or share my work on other media platforms

[pucksandpower]

Too Sweet

Toto Wolff x Reader

Max Verstappen x ex!Reader

Summary: Max used to think that you’re too sweet for him … now he has to learn to live with the fact that Toto has quite a sweet tooth (inspired by the song that I’ve had on repeat)

I take my whiskеy neat

The doors to the upscale restaurant swing open and Max strides through, his fingers lightly grazing the small of your back as he guides you inside. The dimly lit interior is bustling with the chatter of well-heeled patrons enjoying their evening repasts. A sharply dressed hostess greets you with a polite smile.

“Good evening, sir. Welcome to The Sazerac Room. Do you have a reservation?”

“Verstappen,” Max replies curtly.

The hostess consults her tablet, then nods. “Right this way please.”

She leads the two of you through the elegant dining room, weaving between tables topped with crisp white linens and elaborate floral centerpieces. Max keeps his hand at your back, his thumb idly stroking in a soothing pattern as you take in the opulent surroundings with wide eyes.

“This place is incredible,” you murmur, craning your neck to admire the ornate chandeliers glittering overhead. “Thank you for bringing me here.”

He simply grunts in acknowledgment as the hostess stops before an intimate table tucked discreetly in the corner. After pulling out your chair for you with a flourish, she sets two leather-bound menus on the table.

“Your server will be right with you,” she informs them before departing with a polite nod.

You waste no time in opening your menu, hungrily perusing the offerings. “Oh Max, look at all these amazing cocktails! The La Vie en Rose sounds divine — rose liqueur, raspberries, lemon ...” You glance up at him hopefully. “We should get a couple of those to start.”

Max barely glances at his own menu before shaking his head. “I’ll just have a whiskey neat.”

Your face falls slightly at his brusque response. “Are you sure? These all look so good! We should live a little and try something fun for once.”

He fixes you with a stern look from across the table. “You know I don’t like frilly drinks. Now stop pestering me about it.”

Chastened by his harsh tone, you lapse into a wounded silence and continue reading the menu with diminished enthusiasm. A few moments later, a dapper middle-aged gentleman in a crisp suit appears at your table.

“Good evening, and welcome to The Sazerac Room. My name is William and I’ll be your server this evening.” With a polite smile, he produces a notepad from his breast pocket. “May I start you off with something to drink?”

You glance back at Max, giving him one last chance to change his mind. When he simply gazes back at you impassively, you sigh. “I’ll have the La Vie en Rose cocktail, please.”

William jots down your order before turning to Max expectantly.

“Whiskey neat,” Max says flatly. “Redbreast 27 Year, if you have it.”

“An excellent choice, sir.” William makes a note. “And may I bring you both some bread from our bakery while you decide on your meals?”

“That would be wonderful, thank you,” you reply gratefully.

William departs to place the drink orders, leaving you and Max alone once more. An awkward silence stretches between you, filled only by the tinkle of silverware and murmurs of conversation from surrounding tables.

Finally, you try again. “Max, are you sure I can’t tempt you with one little sip? This La Vie en Rose cocktail sounds absolutely divine. You might lov-”

“For fuck’s sake!” Max suddenly explodes, slamming his menu down on the table hard enough to rattle the cutlery. “How many times do I have to tell you I don’t want any of your ridiculous fruity bullshit? I’m a fucking race car driver, not some ridiculous Instagram model trying to look pretty with my drink.”

His nostrils flare as he leans across the table, eyes flashing with irritation that you would dare continue to push the issue. “I’ve had a long fucking day and I am going to drink whatever the fuck I want. So order your stupid fucking girly cocktail if you must, but don’t act so goddamn disappointed and keep shoving it in my face when I say no.”

You shrink back in your chair, eyes widening with hurt at his enraged outburst. The crestfallen look on your face is enough to douse Max’s fury like a bucket of ice water. He slumps back, remorse already stirring as he witnesses the light dimming in your eyes, lips trembling ever so slightly as you blink back sudden tears.

“I … I was just excited to try something new together,” you whisper shakily. “But never mind. You’re right, I’m sorry.”

The arrival of William with a basket of assorted breads and your glittering pink cocktail garnished with raspberries provides a merciful distraction from the tension.

You immediately reach for the drink, wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and taking a large gulp — both to avoid making eye contact with Max and to sample your coveted libation.

A look of bliss softens your features as the tart, sugary concoction bursts across your taste buds. “Mmm, this is incredible!”

For a beat, Max can’t help but drink in your look of pure enjoyment — the way your eyes flutter closed in delight, pink lips quirking into a contented smile as you savor each sip. It simultaneously tugs at his heartstrings and fills him with an irrational stab of resentment.

Here you are, sweet and radiant, able to find joy in the simplest of things … while he is just a miserable bastard who can’t let himself enjoy anything without getting irrationally angry.

You deserve so much better than him.

The thought is sobering and he feels shame burn hot in his gut. Unconsciously, his shoulders slump as he watches you take another euphoric sip of your cocktail.

“I knew it, this is amazing,” you sigh happily, seemingly recovered from his earlier tantrum as you bask in the deliciousness of your drink. “Max, you have to try just one little-”

“No.” The refusal is automatic, the word slicing through your offer before he can think better of it.

Your face shutters once more, the bright light in your eyes dimming as your smile fades into resignation. With a soft exhale, you set your glass down and reach for the bread basket instead.

“Suit yourself, then.”

As you silently butter a roll, Max finds himself at a rare loss, anger dissipating into regret as the knot in his stomach tightens painfully. Tonight was supposed to be a celebration after his impressive win on the track, a chance for the two of you to enjoy each other’s company and make more happy memories together.

Instead, he’s gone and ruined the mood … again … just like he always does.

***

“Another round?” Checo’s voice cuts through the sound of laughter and chatter around the table.

Max glances up distractedly from pushing the remaining bits of food around his plate. He, Checo, and a few other members of the Red Bull team are celebrating a successful Monaco Grand Prix. Despite making the podium, Max’s mind hasn’t really been on the festivities.

“I’m all set, thanks,” he mutters, raising his glass of whiskey with a tight smile before taking a sip. His gaze drifts across the opulent dining room of Cipriani Monte Carlo, idly scanning the crowd of wealthy patrons enjoying their evening meals.

That’s when his eyes catch on a shockingly familiar figure.

You.

Sitting at an intimate corner table, bathed in the soft glow of a candle’s flickering flame. For a moment, Max’s breath catches in his throat as a thousand bittersweet memories assault him all at once.

The hurt look on your face that night at The Sazerac Room … the resignation in your eyes as you accepted, yet again, that he would never be able to appreciate the sweet, simple pleasures that brought you such joy ...

The cold, empty silence that descended over your apartment when he finally left for good, stuffing his belongings into a duffel bag as you watched with trembling lips from across the room ...

Max blinks, and the moment passes — but his gaze remains riveted to your table. Because there, sitting across from you with adoration written across his insufferable face … is Toto Wolff.

Max feels his lips curl into an unconscious sneer as the Mercedes team principal murmurs something to you with a gentle smile, reaching across to delicately brush a lock of hair behind your ear. You catch Toto’s hand as it falls, pressing a tender kiss into his palm that makes the older man’s expression soften even further.

Your waiter arrives then, providing a momentary distraction as he lays out a couple of fresh cocktails on crisp white linen — a bright purple concoction garnished with a sugared rim and a plump cherry for you and an amber-hued old fashioned for Toto.

Your eyes light up as you take in the colorful beverage, immediately wrapping your hands around the delicate stemmed glass and bringing it to your lips to sample. A look of pure delight crosses your features as the no doubt sugary drink bursts across your taste buds.

“Mmm ...” you hum in pleasure, causing Toto to chuckle affectionately as he watches you enjoy the first reveling sips.

Setting your glass down, you gesture enthusiastically toward it as you address Toto. “This is incredible! You have to try it.”

Without hesitation, the Mercedes team boss dutifully leans across the table to take a long pull from your straw. Max watches with a mixture of disgust and morbid fascination as Toto’s expression morphs into one of surprised enjoyment.

“Wow, that is quite good, isn’t it?” Toto remarks with an indulgent grin, licking a telltale dab of purple syrup from the corner of his mouth.

“I told you!” You crow in delight, eyes sparkling with unrestrained glee.

The pure joy radiating from you in that moment is enough to make Max’s heart clench in his chest. He has seen that look before, so many times — whenever he deigned to let go of his surly demeanor for even a moment and actually indulge whatever fleeting whim or simple pleasure you desired to share with him.

But it was always so short-lived with him, stamped out by his own stubborn refusal to truly embrace anything resembling happiness or frivolity. You deserved so much more than his constant scowling and gruff rebuffs.

As if reading his thoughts, Toto then leans across the table to tenderly capture your lips in a soft, lingering kiss. The gentle intimacy of it makes Max’s gut churn as a feeling too complicated to fully unpack blossoms in his chest.

When you finally part, both of you are smiling at each other with such open, unguarded adoration that it’s almost obscene to witness. Toto reaches out to cradle your face in his palm as your lips find his once more in another chaste, loving caress.

This time, when you pull away, you let your head loll back with a look of pure bliss. Something deep within Max cracks and splinters at the sight. In a haze, he finds himself drifting back through the churning currents of memory ...

… that last, fateful shouting match in your living room, both of you red-faced and furious as the dam holding back all the anger and resentment and accusations that had been building for months finally burst ...

… you weeping silently as you clutched a meager trash bag containing what little remained of his belongings, not even able to look at him for fear of collapsing completely ...

… “I’m too sweet for you, Max. You’ve made that perfectly clear.”

The acid words burn in his mind even now, feeling as fresh and raw as that night they were spat out like venom between you. His chest constricts as his gaze falls guiltily back to the present day scene in front of him.

Toto and you, basking in the warm, rosy glow of new love — careless and unrestrained in your public affection. Delighting in each other’s company and simple pleasures … just as you always desired for Max to do, yet he could never fully surrender to.

The display is like a twisted mirror, taunting him with the vibrant reflection of what he threw away. What he was too foolish, too emotionally stunted and uncaring to fully appreciate at the time.

Stumbling from his chair in a daze, Max barely registers the questioning looks and concerned murmurs from his team as he staggers from the dining room. He hardly makes it to the privacy of the restroom before bending at the waist, hefting the contents of his stomach into the thankfully pristine porcelain basin.

The whiskey burns on the way back up.

Max grips the edges of the counter, face contorted in anguish as a realization washes over him in searing waves.

You were the real prize all along … and now, he’s lost you for good.

My coffee black

The drone of announcements over the PA system and the dull roar of hundreds of people bustling to and fro mingles into an ever-present white noise hum. Max trudges ahead, the brim of his ball cap tugged low as he weaves through the teeming crowds filing through the airports’ terminals.

It’s just after 5 am, the start of another grueling race week. This time the travel will take you from the Middle Eastern leg of the circuit to the other side of the world in Australia. Twenty-plus hours of planes, layovers, and jet lag beckon — a prospect that grows less and less appealing with each passing season.

A warm weight presses against his side as you shuffle along beside him, head lolling adorably as you struggle to keep your eyes open. One slender hand is looped through the crook of his elbow, gripping the strap of your carry-on bag with the other. You let out a jaw-cracking yawn, leaning into Max’s solid bulk.

“I need coffee,” you mumble groggily. “I’m barely conscious.”

He shoots you a sidelong glance, mouth quirking ever-so-slightly at your dramatics. As grating as your tendency for excessive cheerfulness can be at times, he does admire your ability to shake off the fatigue and stress that plagues him more and more these days.

“There’s one of those chains up ahead,” he grunts, nodding toward the familiar logo peeking through from around the corner.

You light up immediately, straightening and quickening your shuffling steps in anticipation of the caffeinated boost soon to come. By the time you reach the counter, there’s a bright spark back in your eyes that makes the exhaustion plaguing Max’s own limbs feel slightly more bearable.

The barista, a pimple-faced youth who can’t be any older than 18, greets you with a too-wide smile. “Welcome to Daily Grind! What can I get started for you?”

You lean in eagerly, surveying the massive display of chalkboard signs advertising the latest sugar bombs and “coffee” concoctions designed to appease the basic palates of everyday people who wouldn’t know a good cup of joe if it slapped them across the face. Max scowls, already anticipating some ridiculously saccharine order.

“I’ll have a large cinnamon honey oat milk latte, please,” you chirp, as expected.

The barista marks down your request with a perky nod. “Excellent! And for you, sir?”

“Black coffee,” Max replies flatly. “Medium.”

Your brow furrows as you shoot him a quizzical look. “Just black coffee? Not even a splash of cream or anything?”

He shakes his head tersely, one hand already rummaging in his pocket for his wallet as the barista rattles off the total. “We’re in a rush as it is, and that sugary nonsense you ordered takes forever to make with all the fussy bullshit they do to it.”

You wince at his blunt assessment, shoulders slumping a bit in a way that makes a pang of guilt flicker through Max’s chest. He doesn’t mean to be so harsh … but sometimes it’s like the more considerate side of his nature has been ground away by years of constant training and calculating every single variable down to the most minute detail.

The poor kid working the register seems to shrink under the intensity of Max’s gruff demeanor. With shaky hands, he quickly processes the payment before stammering out your total. As you shuffle off to the side to wait for your orders, Max can’t help but keep picking.

“Honestly, I don’t know why you insist on ordering those stupid drinks that are 90% milk and trash,” he mutters, shooting you a disapproving look. “Barely any actual coffee at all.”

You frown, immediately hunching into yourself a bit as you cradle a handful of napkins against your chest. “It’s not like that coffee flavor isn’t there at all,” you argue meekly. “And I have to get some kind of caffeine boost to stay awake during all these flights and race weekends. I just … I don’t really like the taste of black coffee.”

Max scoffs loudly at that, shaking his head in open derision. “Sure, because drinking just regular black coffee like an adult would be too difficult. Instead you have to get your ‘caffeine boost’ from some tooth-rottingly sweet concoction that looks like something a child would order.”

The barista shifts uncomfortably behind the counter, clearly flustered by Max’s abrasive tone. Not that he cares — he’s been dealing with people gawking at him in public for years now. What does rub him the wrong way is the wounded look spreading across your delicate features, eyes dropping to stare dejectedly at the floor.

He opens his mouth to continue chiding you, but at that moment the barista appears with your drinks. The sweet, cinnamony aroma of your order hits Max’s nostrils like a slap in the face, making his nose wrinkle on instinct. You accept your oversized paper cup gratefully, hands automatically curling around the comforting warmth.

With visible enthusiasm, you bring the drink to your lips, unable to resist taking a sip despite the scalding temperature. Max tracks the minute changes in your expression — the slight widening of your eyes, the upward quirk of your lips into a smile of unalloyed contentment. Your lashes flutter closed on a quiet hum of blissful appreciation.

“Mmm … heaven,” you practically moan, hunching over your cup as though to better inhale the revitalizing notes of sugar and spice.

It makes Max want to retch, watching you so unashamedly indulging in such vapid, artificial flavors. How can you find such simple-minded pleasure in that, when you could be savoring the bold, robust notes of a proper cup of black coffee? One meant to awaken the senses and caress the taste buds with its smoky aroma and rich, nuanced flavor notes.

“You can’t honestly get any enjoyment from basically drinking hot milk and flavored syrups,” he mutters, sneering at the offensive beverage in your grasp.

In response, you simply shift closer to him until you’re pressed alongside his body. Your free hand snakes around his bicep, squeezing gently as you tilt your head back to gaze up at him imploringly. Exhaustion and hurt war openly with the angelic softness of your delicate features.

“Max … can’t you just let me enjoy this?” You plead in a low murmur. “It’s early, and we’ve got a long flight ahead.”

His jaw clenches stubbornly, unwilling to back down so easily. Caffeine and sleep deprivation have eroded his already thin sense of decorum.

“I’m just saying, drinking a syrupy dessert drink loaded with sugar and god knows what else isn’t doing you any favors. You might as well just stick to black coffee like a normal adult if you want to be awake and energized.”

The wounded look in your eyes deepens into something more somber and resigned. Slowly, you pull away from Max’s side until a noticeable distance stretches between your bodies. Something inside him shrivels at the loss of contact. Your slender fingers work feverishly at the cup’s lid until it pops off with a dull thunk.

Max stares blankly as you march over to the nearest trash can and upend the contents of your cup into the receptacle. You don’t even seem to hesitate — simply turn on your heel and hurl the now-empty cup in after the wasted drink. It clatters hollowly against the canister, mocking and empty.

When you turn back to face Max, the sight makes the now-lukewarm coffee sitting neglected in his own cup feels like a lead weight in his gut. Your arms are wrapped protectively around yourself, hunched against some unseen foe. Head bowed, you refuse to meet his gaze as you slowly make your way back over to where he stands rooted to the spot in stunned silence.

It’s only as you draw up beside him that Max notices the twin tear tracks striping your cheeks. Your chin remains stubbornly trembling, but you make no move to wipe at the tears now falling freely. Max’s chest constricts almost painfully at the sight of your misery, the guilt gnawing at him as the reality sets in.

He is the reason for it. His harsh, uncompromising tongue has wounded you in one of the cruelest ways once again. Too strict, too unyielding, too incapable of allowing even the smallest indulgences that bring you simple joy without sneering dismissal.

For several agonizing moments, the two of you stand in silence amid the milling crowds of travelers streaming past. Max can’t bring himself to meet your gaze, knowing he’ll only find the depths of his own callous thoughtlessness reflected back at him in your swimming eyes.

Finally, you release a shuddering sigh that sounds far too weighted for someone of your sweetness and light. When you speak, your voice is little more than a tremulous murmur laced with dejection.

“Let’s just go to the gate, Max.”

You brush past him without another word, leaving him to trail numbly in your wake as shame burns a hole through his gut. He watches as your form disappears into the throngs, shoulders already beginning to hunch inward as that spark of happiness in you gutters and fades.

Lingering behind, Max’s gaze falls to the empty cup lying crumpled and discarded in the trash. A reminder of yet another instance where his unchecked tongue and inability to empathize has spoiled an innocent attempt at simple pleasure.

His coffee suddenly tastes like ash on his tongue.

As he moves to dump the neglected drink into the nearby basin, Max wonders with a sinking feeling just how many more times he’ll be able to snuff out your light before it dwindles to nothing.

***

The late morning sun bears down with oppressive force, causing a mirage-like haze to shimmer over the sweltering asphalt of the paddock. Despite being early summer, the Spanish air is already thick and heavy enough to bathe Max’s skin in a sheen of perspiration as he trudges toward the Red Bull Energy Station.

Ahead, he spots a cluster of people milling aimlessly near the entrance to the Mercedes motorhome. At the center appears to be you, head tilted back in unrestrained laughter at something George Russell is regaling you with. The British driver is equally animated, pale features scrunched up in exaggerated motions as he relays what is no doubt an amusing tale.

Max feels his steps gradually slow of their own accord as he takes you in from a distance. You seem utterly at ease and in your element — cheeky grin splitting your face, one hand toying idly with the ends of your hair as your eyes crinkle with unbridled mirth.

A pure vision of effortless contentment.

His gut clenches unexpectedly, unbidden memories of how he methodically chipped away at that very lightness in you until it was all but extinguished washing over him in a nauseating wave. How quickly he took such simple joys for granted ...

So transfixed is he by the sight of your open, honest amusement that Max barely notices the figure slipping up behind you. Not until Toto Wolff raises a conspiratorial finger to his lips, eyes twinkling impishly as he pantomimes for silence at a sputtering George.

You remain oblivious even as the Mercedes team principal slides flush against your back, looping one arm around your waist to tug you snug against his chest. With his free hand, Toto cups it teasingly over your eyes — to which you release a tinkling peal of laughter.

“Guess who?” The playful lilt of the older man’s Austrian lilt is unmistakable, dripping with honeyed warmth.

“Hmm … I wonder,” you murmur coyly, making a show of tapping your chin in feigned confusion. “Is it a dashing gentleman caller here to sweep me off my feet?”

Toto chuckles deeply in your ear, the sound positively dripping with unguarded affection. “Only if you’ll have me, liebling.”

Craning your head back with a cheeky grin, your arms instinctively wind around his neck as you stretch up on your tiptoes to greet him properly. Toto meets your lips in a lingering, languid kiss that has George hastily clearing his throat and looking resolutely anywhere but at the affectionate display before him.

When you finally part, all radiant smiles and flushed cheeks, it’s like the rest of the world has completely fallen away. Toto gazes down at you with such pure adoration that Max feels his throat constrict as though a belt is suddenly cinched tight around it.

“I have a surprise for you, schnucki,” Toto murmurs huskily, lips brushing your temple as he speaks.

You light up like a kid on Christmas morning, practically vibrating with excitement at his words. “Oh? Do tell!”

With a wink and roguish smile, Toto brandishes his other hand from behind his back — in it, clutched protectively, is a large cup topped with whipped cream and what looks like edible flower petals sprinkled over the top. The light purple hue of the iced contents catches in the bright sun, refracting a prism of soft, delicate colors.

“I had the barista in our hospitality whip this up for you,” Toto explains fondly. “After I mentioned how much you enjoy trying unique coffee flavors. It’s a lavender vanilla iced latte.”

Your mouth drops open in a perfect ‘o’ of delight as you instinctively make grabby motions toward the tantalizing beverage. Max recognizes that earnest enthusiasm all too well. It’s the same look you used to get whenever presented with any unique taste or experience to appreciate.

A look he always met with disdain and scorn.

Toto doesn’t hesitate for a second before depositing the cup into your greedy hands. You immediately cradle it reverently, as though it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held. Ducking your head, you take a long pull through the striped paper straw.

The expression that blossoms across your features as that first taste bursts over your tongue is one of pure, unadulterated bliss. Your eyes flutter closed on a muffled moan of sinful enjoyment, lips pursing as though savoring each individual note of flavor. Max hasn’t seen you look that unguardedly delighted by anything in … well, he can’t actually recall the last time.

“Oh Toto, this is heavenly!” You gush, swiping your tongue across your lower lip to catch a stray drop of condensation. “The lavender is subtle, but gives it such a uniquely fresh and floral twist. And the vanilla adds this creamy sweetness that keeps it from being overwhelming.”

You open your eyes to beam radiantly up at the older man, who returns your luminous smile with equal warmth. “It’s perfect, thank you! You have to try it.”

Without prompting, you eagerly offer the cup up to Toto. He accepts it with an indulgent chuckle, locking eyes with you as he takes a contemplative sip — no doubt eager to share in whatever fleeting moment of bliss the simple drink has brought you.

Unlike Max, who would have turned up his nose and likely received it with derision, Toto seems to savor the complex blend of flavors. Humming thoughtfully, he swipes his tongue across his upper lip as though committing each separate note to memory.

“You’re quite right, liebling,” he agrees readily, “this is delightful. So refreshing for this heat. I may have to acquire a taste for these iced coffees myself.”

You positively glow at his assessment, lighting up from within like a joyful little sun. Max is helpless before the storm of emotions suddenly ripping through him at the sight.

“Oh! That reminds me,” you chirp giddily, bouncing on the balls of your feet, “I was talking to the barista about maybe incorporating some other floral syrups for iced coffees too. Like rose or hibiscus! And maybe we could get her to try making those fun layered drinks with the espresso on the bottom-”

Toto’s deep belly laugh cuts off your stream of eager rambling. Without warning, he snakes an arm around your waist and tugs you flush against him once more. You let out a startled giggle as he buries his nose in the crook of your neck, lips brushing the feverish pulse point just beneath your jaw.

“You adorable thing,” he rumbles warmly, words slightly muffled against your skin as he presses a languid line of kisses along the sharp line of your jaw. “So enthusiastic about the simplest pleasures in life ...”

Pulling back, Toto lifts one hand to tenderly cradle the side of your face. You automatically nuzzle into his palm with a look of such smitten devotion that it makes Max’s heart stutter behind his ribcage. When Toto leans in to seal his lips over yours once more, the kiss is deep and thoroughly unhurried — as though the two of you have all the time in the world to savor this intimate little moment.

Max’s hands clench into white-knuckled fists, blunt nails biting crescent moons into his clammy palms. He should turn away, leave you to your blissful display with someone who so clearly appreciates you. Yet he remains rooted in place, unable to tear his eyes from the scene unfolding before him.

It’s like witnessing an alternate universe version of your shared lives play out in vivid, scorching detail.

In this reality, Toto is the one tenderly stroking the pad of his thumb over the elegant arch of your cheekbone as the two of you part, drinking in the sight of your passion-addled features hungrily. He is the one basking in the radiance of your bright and unrestrained joy. Celebrating each of your simple thrills, from the most frivolous of flavored coffees to the sensual graze of skin on skin.

And where does that leave Max? An outsider peering in at paradise with his face smeared against the glass, watching the warmth and affection he could never fully embrace slowly slip through his calloused fingers.

And my bed at three

The mattress shifts, the subtle movement rousing Max from his slumber. He cracks one eye open to find the space next to him empty, the sheets disheveled where you had lain.

A glance at the digital clock on the nightstand tells him it’s not yet 5 am. Where are you going at this hour?

He hears faint rustling from the living area of the hotel suite, followed by the soft click of the door. Groaning, he kicks off the covers and pads out of the bedroom, the plush carpet warm beneath his bare feet.

You’re sitting on the couch, slipping into a pair of flats. “What are you doing up so early?” He asks, his voice still husky from sleep.

You look up, startled. “Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you.” A soft smile plays on your lips. “I was going to watch the sunrise.”

Max rakes a hand through his tousled hair. “Why would you want to do that?”

“Because it’s beautiful.” Your eyes sparkle with an excitement he can’t comprehend this early in the morning. “The colors, the way the light slowly creeps over the horizon — it’s just magical.”

He snorts. “It happens every day. Nothing magical about it.”

Your face falls ever so slightly, and it tugs at something in his chest. But the feeling is fleeting, replaced by annoyance at having his sleep disturbed for something so trivial. “So you didn’t want to join me, then?” You ask, almost timidly.

“And wake up before the ass-crack of dawn? No thanks.” He flops onto the couch beside you with a huff. “I was up until 3 am sim racing. Not all of us find staring at the sky such riveting entertainment.”

You say nothing, simply nodding as you avert your gaze. The light in your eyes has dimmed, and he feels a pang of guilt. But he shakes it off — it’s far too early for this kind of whimsical nonsense.

“Suit yourself,” he mutters. “I’m going back to bed.”

He doesn’t see the way your shoulders droop as he turns and trudges back towards the bedroom. Doesn’t see the tears that prick at the corners of your eyes before you blink them away and readjust the set of your jaw with determination.

Max burrows under the covers, fully intent on drifting back into oblivion. But sleep evades him, his mind buzzing with a peculiar restlessness. He punches his pillow into a more suitable shape, flips it over to the cool side, but still he lies awake, listening to the silence that fills the suite.

After what feels like an eternity, curiosity gets the better of him. He kicks off the covers once more and pads over to the floor-to-ceiling windows that overlook the city street below. Sure enough, there you are, a tiny figure perched on a bench across the way, your face tipped up towards the slowly lightening sky.

Max leans his forehead against the cool glass, watching as the inky blackness of night gives way to soft shades of periwinkle and lilac. Slowly, the colors deepen into blazing pinks and vibrant oranges that streak across the heavens. The sky ignites in a brilliant blaze of crimson and gold, the clouds set afire by the rising sun.

And there you sit, bathed in the dawn’s ethereal glow, utterly transfixed. In this light, your features seem softer, more at peace than he’s seen you in a long while. A smile plays on your lips, genuine and unguarded, as you take in the spectacle unfolding before you.

Max finds himself holding his breath, as if the slightest movement might shatter the magic of this moment. He’s never seen you look more beautiful, more alive than in these fleeting minutes as day breaks over the city.

A rare pang of tenderness blooms in his chest, quickly overshadowed by a creeping sense of unease. He isn’t certain how much time has passed before the brilliant hues fade into the pale blue of morning, but eventually you rise from the bench, taking one last, lingering look at the sky before turning and disappearing from view.

Max exhales slowly, his breath fogging up the glass. He isn’t proud of how he dismissed your simple joy, that spark of wonderment at the little things that he so often takes for granted.

An emptiness settles in the pit of his stomach, the guilt heavier than before. How many other moments has he trampled on in his relentless pursuit of success?

He thinks of your radiant smile, how it lit up the pre-dawn gloom more vibrantly than the sunrise itself. With a sigh, Max turns away from the window, already dreading the apology he knows he owes you.

Because in that single, breathtaking moment, he realizes just how lucky he is to have someone like you in his life. Someone who can find magic in the mundane, beauty in the simple things he’s become blind to along the way.

Someone, Max fears, who may be too sweet for him.

***

Max gives up on sleep around 4:30 am, as he has for the past several weeks. Insomnia has become his constant, unwanted companion, leaving him tossing and turning until the first hints of dawn creep through the curtains. On nights like this, slumber remains persistently out of reach no matter how exhausted he feels.

He lies in bed, staring at the ceiling as the brightening sky slowly illuminates the room. It wasn’t always this way — he used to be able to sleep like the dead after a race weekend, knocked out by the physical and mental exertion. But lately, his mind refuses to shut off, thoughts swirling endlessly until his head pounds.

With a groan, Max kicks off the tangled sheets and drags himself out of bed. Maybe going for a run will quiet the racket in his brain, at least for a little while. He dresses quickly, lacing up his trainers and grabbing his earbuds before heading out into the semi-darkness.

The pre-dawn streets are blissfully empty as he starts off at an easy jog. He despises becoming one of those obnoxious morning people, but exhaustion has a way of stripping away one’s self-respect. If pounding the pavement before the rest of the world awakes is what it takes to catch a few hours of sleep, so be it.

His route takes him along the harbor, the gentle lapping of the waves against the seawall providing a soothing soundtrack. The first rays of sunlight glint off the glassy surface, and he finds himself averting his gaze, oddly resentful of the impending sunrise.

It wasn’t so long ago that he scoffed at your eagerness to greet each new day. But ever since you’ve been gone from his life, those brilliant, fleeting moments of beauty have begun to mock him at every turn.

He picks up his pace, as if he can outrun the rising sun and the flood of memories it brings. But there’s no escaping the vivid flashes of you, smiling radiantly as the world awakes in a blaze of fiery hues. Or the hollow ache that twinges somewhere beneath his rib cage whenever he’s reminded of just how little he appreciated you.

So lost is he in his circling thoughts that he nearly runs right into you, appearing abruptly on the path ahead. His trainers skid against the pavement as he grinds to a halt, his heart stammering in his chest.

“Max?” You blink up at him, clearly startled by his sudden presence.

He opens his mouth, an automatic apology rising to his lips — until his eyes zero in on the camera clutched in your hands. Of course. Still chasing sunrises after all these years.

A wry grin tugs at the corner of your mouth as you take in his rumpled running attire. “Fancy meeting you here.”

Max says nothing, his gaze flickering briefly towards the brightening horizon before fixing on you once more. You look … well, radiant as ever, lit by the soft morning glow. A small pang of something — longing, maybe — twists in his gut.

“Out enjoying another sunrise, I see,” he says at last, nodding towards the camera.

You glance down at it fondly. “Well, you know how it is. I have to capture them while I can.” A teasing lilt edges into your voice. “Not all of us are night owls.”

He huffs out a humorless laugh. “I’ll never understand what’s so fascinating about watching the same thing happen day after day.”

“But that’s just it — each one is different. Unique and fleeting and … breathtaking.” Your eyes spark with that gentle wonderment he remembers so well, the sight sending a tremor through his chest. ���Like getting a front row seat to the greatest show on Earth, but it’s one you’ll never see again.”

You trail off with a small shake of your head, seemingly at a loss to put the feeling into words. Max doesn’t need the explanation — he’s seen that look of childlike awe on your face more times than he can count.

An awkward silence stretches between you, laden with the weight of history and unspoken apologies. You shift your stance, mouth opening as if to say something more.

But Max cuts you off before you can get the words out, unable to bear whatever sentiments might cross those sweet lips of yours. “Toto not joining you this time?” He asks gruffly.

Your expression softens into a fond smile, and it’s like a physical blow to Max’s sternum. He knows that look, has been on the receiving end of it more times than he cares to remember. The way your entire being seems to brighten when you so much as think about someone you love.

“Ah, you know Toto — he’s more of a sunset person,” you say with a light laugh. “I’ve never been able to drag his grumpy butt out of bed for a sunrise.”

Even as his insides curdle with jealousy, Max can’t help the quirk of his lips at the mental image. He could all too easily picture Toto swatting irritably at you, burrowing deeper under the covers to escape the blasted sun.

“But we make it work,” you continue, that loving glow refusing to dim from your eyes. “I take photos of the sunrise to share with him later. And he does the same with the sunsets for me. That way, we both get to experience it in a way.”

The gentle sound of your voice washes over Max like a salve, momentarily easing the tangled knot of regret and longing that’s taken up permanent residence inside him. He watches, transfixed, as the early morning light bathes you in ethereal radiance.

In that moment, he sees it so clearly — the depth of give and take in your relationship with Toto. The effort, large and small, that you both put into nurturing one another’s happiness.

Even when your desires don’t perfectly align. Even when compromise is required.

It’s such a simple gesture, capturing those magical moments to share with your loved one. But it’s one Max was never willing to make when you were with him.

A lump forms in his throat as realization washes over him with unforgiving clarity. You weren’t too sweet for him, as he had so arrogantly assumed time and again. No — the truth, much harder to swallow, is that he was simply too sour for you.

Too selfish, too wrapped up in his own ambitions to make even the smallest concession. Too blind to recognize the magic in the simple things that brought you unbridled joy. Too bitter and jaded to embrace and nurture the beautiful nature that made you … well, you.

And now, after all his careless cruelties and wasted chances, he can only stand idly by and watch as someone else basks in the sweetness of your affection. As someone else goes out of their way, day after day, to put that blinding smile on your face and those stars in your eyes.

Something in Max’s chest cracks and crumbles at the injustice of it all. At the agonizing truth that he let the best thing in his life slip through his fingers, all because he couldn’t be bothered to change his sullen ways.

Because you were never too sweet for him … he was too sour for you.

[hy6erion]

viktor and jayce fighting over you??

𝐔𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐑𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐥𝐫𝐲 - 𝐕𝐢𝐤𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐱 𝐉𝐚𝐲𝐜𝐞

⇢ 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐲/𝐧, 𝐠𝐧! 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟐

𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐚 𝐟𝐮𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐜 𝐣𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐬𝐨𝐦𝐞 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐛𝐚𝐛𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐥𝐦𝐚𝐨

1. The Scientific Method (or How to Win You Over)

It starts subtly—at least, as subtle as Jayce can manage.

“You know,” he says, leaning against your desk, broad shoulders blocking your view of the latest schematics, “I was thinking—you and I should go out sometime. Just the two of us. For research purposes.”

You don’t even have time to process before Viktor, seated across from you, speaks without looking up from his own work.

“Research into what? The effects of secondhand embarrassment?”

Jayce shoots him a glare. “Into team bonding, Viktor.”

“Mm. And what hypothesis are you testing? That you can single-handedly drive them to madness?” Viktor hums, scratching something in his notes. “A bold assumption, but I suppose it is not entirely unfounded.”

Jayce turns back to you, ignoring him. “Dinner. Drinks. Maybe some—”

“A headache,” Viktor mutters.

Jayce groans, running a hand down his face before pointing at you. “You. Pick a side here.”

You exhale, setting down your pen. “I don’t even know what we’re arguing about.”

“We aren’t arguing,” Viktor says at the same time Jayce huffs, “We are arguing.”

You stare at them both. They stare at each other.

This has been happening for weeks.

It’s not always this obvious—sometimes it’s in the little things, the way Viktor always ensures your coffee is warm but lets Jayce suffer with whatever’s left in the pot. Or how Jayce somehow always has an extra set of tools whenever you’re missing yours, grinning like he wasn’t just waiting for the opportunity.

And the way they bicker—gods, it never ends.

“Fine,” you say, leaning back in your chair. “Jayce, we can do dinner. And Viktor, you can join.”

Jayce groans, throwing his head back. “Not the third-wheel invitation—”

“I accept,” Viktor interrupts smoothly.

Jayce turns to him, expression wounded. “Dude.”

“You do not own them, Jayce.”

“Neither do you!”

Viktor just smiles.

You take another sip of your coffee. This is going to be a long night.

2. The Art of Winning (or Just Being Petty)

“Y/n, my dearest, most trusted lab partner,” Viktor says, sidling up next to you while you’re examining some blueprints. “You are an artist of unparalleled skill. Would you mind assisting me with some designs?”

You raise an eyebrow, but before you can answer, Jayce materializes from across the room.

“Woah, woah, hold on, I was just about to ask them for help.”

Viktor tilts his head, feigning confusion. “Just about to? How convenient.”

Jayce narrows his eyes. “You knew I was gonna ask them—”

“Mm. And yet, I asked first.”

“That doesn’t—”

“Time is linear, Jayce. Surely you understand this.”

Jayce looks ready to explode.

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “You both know I have other work to do, right?”

They don’t. They definitely don’t.

But Jayce recovers first, flashing you his most charming smile. “C’mon, you know I have the bigger project right now—”

“Size does not determine quality, Jayce,” Viktor interrupts. “By that logic, your brain should be much more effective.”

Jayce’s jaw drops. “Did you just—?”

“Mm?” Viktor takes a slow sip of his tea.

You sigh, turning away before you witness a murder. “I’m flipping a coin. Heads, I help Jayce. Tails, I help Viktor.”

Jayce’s shoulders relax. “That seems fair.”

Viktor hums, noncommittal.

You flip. The coin lands. You glance at it.

Then, you slap it onto your palm before either of them can see and say, “I’m helping myself today.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, and Jayce groans, dropping his head onto the nearest surface.

“Brilliant,” Viktor murmurs. “I am rubbing off on you.”

Jayce mumbles something into the desk. You pat his shoulder in consolation before walking away, leaving them to their stalemate.

3. The Heart of the Matter (Or: Maybe They’re Not as Subtle as They Think)

At some point, you begin to wonder if they even know what they’re fighting over.

Because it’s not just lab work. It’s not just projects, or coffee, or who gets to sit next to you during meetings.

It’s you.

And they’re both smart enough to know it, even if neither of them says it outright.

It’s in the way Jayce’s gaze lingers whenever you laugh, like he’s memorizing the sound. The way Viktor’s voice softens when he murmurs your name, careful, like he knows the weight it holds.

It’s in how they both wait for you at the end of the day, pretending it’s just coincidence.

It’s in the way Viktor watches Jayce’s arm brush against yours and says nothing, but his fingers tighten around his cane. In how Jayce watches Viktor pull you in to murmur something close and he says nothing, but his jaw tenses.

It’s in the way neither of them will ever say it—but neither of them will yield, either.

And you?Well.

You just let them fight.

[mindless-existence1]

Summery: Bakugo x Support Group Reader. Basically you leave some hickeys on Bakugo, your secret boyfriend, and tease him about it.

Also I made this while thinking of reader having a teleportstion quirk or smth that makes it easy to sneak into Bakugos dorm.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Bright light shown through the large balcony doors, illuminating the small dorm. Your eyes fluttered open and in your sleepy state you see your boyfriend rummaging around in his closet.

When he emerged a black shirt was in hand, which you recognized as his classic skull tee he sported regularly. As he changed you propped yourself onto your elbow, "Goodmorning my handsome and amazing boyfriend." You cheerfully greet the blond, though you cut yourself off with a long yawn.

Bakugo responds with a soft grunt as he throws his dirty pajama pants and shit in a laundry bin.

When you fully got a look at the teen across the room you notice the red and light purple spots coating his neck. You chuckle to yourself replaying last night activities in your mind. When Bakugo looks your way he has a puzzled look on his face.

"What's so funny?" Though his voice lacked the same fire as normal the question was still pointed. Your teeth dig into your bottom lip in an attempt to stifle the laugh bubbling in your throat.

It fails when you seem him scratch at the back of his neck obliviously. "You should see yourself." You let out in between fits of laughter.

Bakugo rolls his eyes but walks over to his full length mirror, curtesy of you, and looks at the reflection. You know the exact moment he realizes the marks on his neck won't be easy to cover up.

"What the hell?" The blond shouts, you see him pull at the neck of his shirt to see the full extent if the hickeys. "Whatever do you mean Kats?" You innocently ask.

Bakugo glares at you before going to his closet trying to find a jacket or sweatshirt to wear in hopes to cover up. "I swear to God I hate you." You just laugh at his remark, "You didn't hate me last night."

You don't need to see his face to know he gets flustered, him throwing a crumpled shirt at you confirms it. "Don't you have class to get ready for?" He asks after a moment, his voice rough.

"Nope! Unlike the Hero Course, Support Course doesn't have early morning training." You sigh happily and cuddle up in the blanket. From your spot on the bed you hear Bakugo mumble a "Shit."

"What?" You ask, looking over at him as he runs a hand through his blond spikey hair. He just shakes his head. "Can't find a clean sweatshirt to cover up with." You roll your eyes playfully at his words.

"Don't worry about babe, people were going to find out eventually." The look of disgust that crosses you boyfriends face make soup chuckle. "I'm not having those extras in my class harass me all day about this."

You shrug your shoulders, "I'm sorry babe but I don't know what to tell you." It takes a lot out of your to bite back the smile tugging at your lips while you look at the defeated blond.

"Kats everyone in your class is scared of you, just threaten to explode them or something if they mention it." Your boyfriend thinks for a moment, considering your words before surging his shoulders.

"I guess your right." You giggle, beckoning Bakugo over to you. Whe he makes his way back to the bed you gently grab his face and give him a kiss. "I'm always right. That's why I'm in the smart people class."

Bakugo elts out a breathy chuckle and shakes his head. "Your lucky I love you or I would have kicked you out a long time ago." You put a hand to your chest in mock suprise. "Kats that's the nicest thing you've ever said to me."

He rolls his eyes and walks away from the bed where you lay. "Don't push it."

[noobsoconfusing]

‘heartworm’_hamzahthefantastic

tired and sleepy conversations with your boyfriend who doesn’t shut the fuck up .

fluff, suggestive talk about martin, family ideas, cuddling in bed, established relationship.

>_<

one thing you noticed about your boyfriend is that he has many things inside his head, a raging –almost painful– need to tell you everything he is thinking about, and while you thank him for the trust, you can’t help but wonder if he analyses the things he says out loud before verbally vomiting them.

“y/n, are you awake?” hamzah’s voice came out soft and groggy, his low tone dragging in a whisper made you open your eyes almost so quick that it hurt.

“hmm, yes.” you replied, adjusting your sight to the dark room.

“do you…wanna talk?” he shifted on the bed, turning his body to face yours. he had a small smile as he looked at you. you felt warm.

the way his hair was messy, and his face so naturally familiar to you felt almost dreamy.

hamzah’s big sleepy eyes made your heart feel like a cooker bomb. weird comparison but to be honest you could almost feel the way it was going to explode anytime.

and god, you love him so much. unexplainably so damn much. he thought the same of you.

“cant sleep, huh?” you asked, getting closer to his body under the covers, but then you felt how one of your cats, probably blue, squealed. he was probably sound asleep between hamzah’s body and yourself, always looking for warmth. the protection of his cat parents

“mmm, nope, not really.” he sighed. “have so much stuff going on, you know? inside my mind, i mean.” he admitted, one of his hands travelled to your face, and he stroked your cheek only to feel some sort of contact. “so fuckin’ pretty, huh, you’re my pretty girl..”

you leaned into the touch like a needy pet, and he couldn’t help but smile, heart feeling full.

“whats inside your mind, hamzah?” you asked curiously.

although you were extremely tired and sleepy, hamzah always came first to you. soul intimacy was important, not only sex, and you wanted to know what was bothering him or keeping him awake at such indecent hours.

“you. always.” oh. “like, for real, y/n, and i don’t wanna sound obsessed, even though yeah, i am pretty much obsessed with you–,” he paused to swallow. your heart felt so heavy with a feeling you couldn’t quite describe, but only hamzah made you feel. “i am always thinking about you.”

to be reciprocated, to be seen. hamzah made you feel seen, as he pretty much matched your deep feelings for him. –oh, y/n, you match my freak!– his voice filled your head. so nice.

“i feel the same way” you bluntly said. “each day i feel like we have been dating for my whole life, because this crazy funny feeling never really goes away.” by that you meant, the exciting feeling of expectation and young love.

first love.

he giggled, low tone. “right! i know, it’s like, okay, like i feel like i am a kid in love, you know? all silly and nervous around you, but at the same time i feel like we have been married for ages!”

to be reciprocated, to be seen. to be in love.

“i love you, hamzah.” you admitted, your voice suddenly softer.

and he didn’t reply, instead, he lifted the covers all the way up till they were engulfing your bodies, the closeness was comforting, and his arms moved around your frame until a hug was crafted. so perfect and tender. his body was like a boiler, providing you of heat, almost like a heat pad for cramps… but man sized.

he looked at you, big round eyes silently speaking, hoping you hear them, –god i love you, i love you so much you’re my fucking world, i wanna spend my whole damn life by your side.– silent confession.

instead, he says;

“have you ever had tapeworms?” hamzah asks out of the blue.

you blink. blink twice. then three times. and then you sigh, remembering your boyfriend was just, well, just like that. it didn’t ruin the atmosphere though, you enjoyed… whatever the fuck he was trying to say.

“hmmm, i don’t think i have had tapeworms, no” you answer snuggling up to his bare chest.

hamzah hums. “it’s fine, me neither by the way, i just asked ‘cause whenever i think of you my heart feels like it’s got a tapeworm inside of it…”

silly, you thought. lovely.

“yeah. i think i know what you mean.”

“i think it’s in the way we match each other so fucking well, yeah? i never thought i could find a person that just… loves me… for what i am…” he said and you felt your heart skip a beat.

your eyebrows furrowed. “elaborate.”

“for instance, you’re my friend, but also my girlfriend, but also my wife, but also my best friend, and not only that, you’re also like, my life partner, you know?”

ugh, stupid fucking feelings. you felt so deeply about hamzah that your heart felt like it could burst out anytime.

“hey, i love you so much it’s almost overwhelming.” you admitted, melting into his touch. “for so long i thought nobody would ever notice me or listen to me or even just, be my friend. or try to take the time to understand me…” your voice lowered at the end of your sentence.

he groaned at how close you were. satisfaction, of course.

“you’re so beautiful, y/n.” he kissed the top of your head. “like, i also thought that martin would be my only friend forever, as scary as it sounds.” he laughed and you did too.

“hey! martin’s nice!” you defended your friend.

“i mean yeah, i love him too, but it’s different. not in the way i love you, and i know he doesn’t love me in the way he loves mandy.” he explained.

“yeah, i know.” you laughed sleepily, as you leaned onto hamzah’s body. it helped a ton that he slept shirtless because you liked the raw closeness.

“martin is cool, but if i had never met you, i would have blue balls and an empty heart!”

“and gay allegations, still.” you added, laughing.

“but most importantly blue balls..” hamzah said serious, with a sigh.

“huh?!”

“i can’t fuck martin. i can’t make love to martin, though, just think about it.”

“dude…” you said, trying not to burst out laughing out loud.

“i have thought about it, but only before meeting you, it’s just weird!” hamzah explained, with a nervous smile on his face.

“you don’t have to think about that, hamzah!” a smile creeped up on your lips. an awkward one.

“right, i know.” he defended himself-, “i don’t think about it anymore, i was just a lonely man before you, though.” ah, you knew that.

every time they could, mandy and martin made sure to tell you how much of a loner miserable man hamzah was. a painfully single dude. even the slushies would be constantly commenting jokes about it.

“because you’re weird that’s why…” you joked and he clicked his tongue. “that’s why i love you”

“you know, before you; it was my hand, lotion, tissues and me against the world.” he listed as if it was a great accomplishment.

as if it was something super fucking serious. to be fair, it was very serious to him.

“no video?” you joked. it felt so nice and genuine to talk about silly stuff like this with your man.

he stopped to think for a second. “nah, just my imagination. always imagined you though, even before meeting you i always imagined someone like you.” he kissed your forehead.

“wow, how romantic, it’s almost as if you’re not talking about beating your meat.”

as you both comfortably joked and laughed, a nice silence filled the room.

hamzah pulled you closer, which you thought was physically impossible, but still, your body thanked his devotion for physical affection.

his low voice broke the silence.

“y/n…”

“yes, hamzah?”

he sighed, holding your waist close to his own. you could feel him, feel him merging with your body, but it was nice, not really anything more than intimacy.

“i can’t wait to have a family with you.” he said, the weight of the confession leaving his chest felt so good.

your eyes opened wide. and you stuttered to reply.

“we are a family.” you said.

the cats, him, you. yeah, a family as god intended, right? but still, you knew what he meant. and you wanted it too.

“do you think we’ll be good parents?” he asked, the tone in his voice indicating he was being honest, being hopeful. he hoped for you to say yes so badly.

you thought for a moment…

“i think we’ll be okay, hamzah.” yeah.

“we’ll be okay, love.” he said, but it was almost as if he was trying to reassure himself.

hamzah wanted a big family, and he liked thinking about caring for the little humans you’d create together.

and the room filled with silence yet again, as you heard his calm breathing, you realised he had fallen asleep. the comfort of his embrace made you fall asleep as well.

hamzah felt so safe with you, so understood. never judged at all. he said weird stuff, but you always had a smile on your face. never grossed out by him, never angry, always loving.

it was nice. to be reciprocated, to be seen.

the heartworm inside his heart wiggled happy, eating his flesh and leaving a trace of only you.

>_<

hope u liked this. i did. heh.

[phyrestartr]

Divine Favour | Sukuna x Kitsune!Reader (Pt.1)

W/C: 3.5k #full is NSFW, mild yuuji/reader, yuuji and gang are v early 20s, heian sukuna, male reader, typical kitsune shapeshifting, mentions of abuse, canon typical violence, morally grey reader, sukuna has FEELINGS but is BAD AT FEELINGS, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, dubcon elements, soz if anything is clunky asdkjf; i can only reread the same fic so many times for editing sadge

A/N: Decided to separate this into parts since I'm dying to post some of it lol I've held it in a chokehold in the shadows of my WIPs for too long, some of it has to come out before I explode o(--( there is more to come!

tag: @nyanwko @kamote-kuneho @better-imagination-9

The scripture was incomplete, worn away by age.

…herein lays the God...imprisoned...by...Disgraced One…

Yet the society felt this, the coffin uncovered decades ago, could be an invaluable asset. The vessel was decrepit and ancient, yet still stood strong against the test of time and the wear of nature. Seal papers, no doubt left by a monk of sorts, covered the entirety of its surface, hiding away rotting wood and rusted bands of metal from modern sorcerer's curious eyes.

Few knew why the higher ups kept the vessel under lock and key. Fewer knew why they kept it at all; however, those few understood the importance of such a relic. They'd been the ones to seek it out, to steal it away before malicious forces took it for themselves, warping the supposed deity inside for their own, malevolent purpose, whatever that may be.

And with Ryoumen Sukuna's fingers being found one by one, they could not allow anyone to possess humanity's failsafe: you. A great being imprisoned by the devil.

“Anything?” Gojo trilled, patting Yuuji’s shoulders frantically as he stood behind him and beheld the wooden tub covered in sigils. 

“Uh…” Yuuji tried to focus on Sukuna’s presence inside of him. He didn’t seem intrigued or frightened, nor did he seem too bothered with the idea of them trying to smite him down with a sealed god��he was, however, annoyed that Yuuji continued to poke and prod at him. 

Piss off, runt. 

“Yep. Nope. Sukuna doesn't care,” Yuuji sighed. “He's getting all pissy now that I'm bothering him, though.” 

Gojo laughed and patted Yuuji's shoulders a few more times before all but twirling towards the bound box. “Well, that's a pretty good sign that he's not the one that did this, then! In that case,” he started, walking up to the seal papers keeping everything locked down, “let's pop ‘er open.” 

Before Yuuji could even wonder if that was a good idea, the white-haired witch used an overzealous amount of cursed energy and disintegrated every scrap of seal paper. 

Yuuji braced for impact. Surely something terrible like a bankai or a spirit bomb would send them flying once the coffin came undone. Surely they'd pay for this, for unleashing whatever godly spirit laid locked up for far too long, only to release it back into the modern age and–

“Huh. Weird.”

Yuuji cracked open an eye and saw the dull shine of tattered onyx fur, and his control slipped with a blitz of vertigo. 

Markings flared across his skin as he stormed toward the coffin, heart howling with thoughts and memories crashing through a shared mind; a face he didn't know but knew so well bloomed at the forefront of it all, eyes framed in pointed scarlet, skin bathed in ancient, dappled sunlight.

They reached the edge of the coffin and gripped the edges, splintering the wood as they took in the sight; crimson and curse decay pooled around a figure, curled up and half-submerged. Several black, tattered tails spilled free from the tub, no longer crushed from the force of the lid sealing them inside, but they were bent awkwardly and matted with whatever tincture lay at the bottom.

Then there was the so-called god in the middle of it all–you. Still. Quiet. Curled up in a haori far too big for you. Eyes closed. Almost peaceful.

Confusion tore at Sukuna while nausea ripped through Yuuji; he couldn't bear to look at such a morose scene.

So, Sukuna pushed him aside.

[Heian Era]

You were never supposed to be anything more than a trinket. 

You were a gift from some family trying to show off for Sukuna, so much so that they offered him a delicacy, something he surely didn't have yet–a yokai. A kitsune, to be more exact. One with peculiar black tails. 

Sukuna found it interesting, and similarly desperate, to be brought such a creature as tribute. Certainly, it was meant to be seen as a high honour, yet somehow it felt…off. Why would humans give up something so powerful? 

Unexpectedly, it'd be you who told him. 

They submit me for the sake of convenience and mockery, your withering voice whispered where no one else could hear. You sounded weak. Tired. Maybe afraid, yet brave enough to reach towards the king and unveil the intentions of the men who brought you before him. 

Sukuna's eyes flicked to you, his feigned interest in what the sorcerers said falling straight into dismissal. You were much more intriguing. 

“Oh?” Sukuna asked, a smile creeping onto his face. The speakers ceased their jabbering and stared at your back with fierce intensity. Sukuna grinned wider. Oh, how he loved the way fear twisted mortal faces. 

You didn't shift or crumple into yourself under the eyes of so many, however. You pushed on with what little energy and life you had, so intent on dragging that clan through the mud. 

What I say is true, you assured simply. I expect to die today–

“Speak so everyone hears you, fox,” Sukuna commanded.

“--so I–I–” you coughed and cleared your throat, trying to rid your voice of the scratchy, weakness it struggled through. “I wish to not die with regrets.

"They have rendered me ill and unable to produce children, they see the black of my tails and regard me as an ill omen; yet they bring me to you, daring to spin sweet tales about the value of such an offering. But they lie,” You hissed. Your eyes glinted with molten malice, and Sukuna fell captivated.

“They throw me to you as they would diseased meat to dogs.” 

The courtyard fell silent, and Sukuna basked in it. You really were such a little troublemaker. A quietly chaotic force of nature. 

The king stood, rolling his shoulders as he did, and his pride flared as you dropped to your knees before him in respect. He walked to you and patted your head as one might a child's before appraising the sorcerers stood before him. 

“What a disappointment,” Sukuna sighed, raising another hand. The couple took up position, pooling their cursed energy in hopes of fending off the monster standing before them. The effort was quite cute. “Here I thought your clan might actually earn my mercy.” His hand dropped as the two lunged. Then, the two clansmen fell, too, both in neat, vertical halves. Quite overkill, yes, but he had a point to make. 

Where he expected a reaction from you, he got nothing. Only panting and poorly-stifled coughs came from you, racking through the entirety of your skin and bones frame. Sukuna could see it up close now, the way your body trembled from fatigue, the sickly greying of your skin, the scent of disease clinging to you. 

That wouldn't do. Sukuna liked his things to be in good shape. 

“Uraume,” Sukuna droned as he stared down at you, “fix this.”

It took some time, but you managed to recover. It was an unnerving experience, with the way Uraume tended to you with sincerity. Perhaps it was genuinity born from their devotion to Ryoumen Sukuna, but you greedily soaked it in, filling your stomach with the care they offered you. 

Sukuna didn't bother much with you, not that you really minded; you were much more content to be fed and forgotten than hunted down by the creature that supposedly took ownership of you without enforcing it. If he didn't cause harm or good, if he simply existed somewhere else and forgot you breathed the same air as him, you'd still be at peace. 

But he was more intrigued than you gave him credit for. 

“Ho? So this is where you scamper off to,” Sukuna hummed, leaning over you as you dozed in the nice little spot you'd made for yourself in the garden, right under the crimson cover of a maple tree. You jumped the slightest bit, your daydreams and sunbathing interrupted by the brute’s silhouette eclipsing the sun, but you settled again quickly. The beast of a man wasn't a cause for panic in your little world, after all. 

“Does it displease you?” You inquired, fixing your hair and straightening out your robes. 

Sukuna held onto an overhead branch of the tree as he looked down at you. “Pets are supposed to play in the yard, aren't they?” He smirked as you pursed your lips and flicked your tail before calming it with hasty pets. “What, you don't like being my pet?” 

“I would not refer to myself as a pet,” you countered as the man sat down with you and leaned against the tree. The king's presence calmed you. With him, you knew you were invincible. 

“Pft. Then pray tell what your damn role is around here.” One set of arms folded behind his head while the other set crossed over his chest. “Pets are freeloaders. Pretty sure that's exactly what you are.”

You huffed. “Freeloader. Tch. How rude.” 

“Lookit that. You're copping an attitude now that you're fat and fed. Used to be so much more polite.” 

“Fat and–I am not fat.” You headbutted his side lightly, something that would make more sense had you been in your fox form. You grinding your forehead against him suggested this was more of a human move, however. “I am perfectly normal now. I was brittle and nonexistent prior to now. This is a grand improvement.”

Sukuna scoffed a laugh and looked down at your head pressed up against his side. “Thanks to me,” he boasted. 

“Yes,” you agreed. You held onto his haori and looked up at him, placid and intense. “It is thanks to you. I would not be here if not for your mercy and intervention.” 

Sukuna raised a brow as he regarded you. “Hm. And what will you do to repay me?” 

“My very presence grants you luck, good fortune and fertility.” You tilted your head. “I already repay you by being here.”

Tch. But the gardens and surrounding lands did look more lush and lively since your arrival, he couldn't deny that fact. But he was a king; he could always ask for more and expect to get it. 

“What more?” He prodded.

Your tail flicked as you thought. “What would you ask of me?” 

“Something you haven't given another,” Sukuna replied. Ugh, your flowery, poetry-y, bullshit speak was rubbing off on him. 

You stared at him, gemstone eyes glinting with earthen hues and shards of gold in the yawning afternoon sun. The leaves bristled just perfectly, letting in dapples of citrus sunlight as if trying to make this moment something special, as if to burn your ethereal presence into history for all eternity. All this, just while you thought of what to give him. Perhaps a riddle is what you wanted. Perhaps purple prose suited your fancy. Perhaps it was something else. 

You sat up, carefully raising yourself onto your knees before leaning up towards the hulking king. He turned his face to you in interest, feeling a sort of natural energy begin to pool around the both of you, reaching from the far depths of the earth and the wide stretch of the sky to converge on your existence as you framed his face with gentle hands, and placed a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth. 

It lasted only a second. But a second was long enough to catch the scent of petrichor and petals on your skin, to indulge in the heat of wildfires raging in your soul, to feel the blasphemy of you against him; then, you parted. 

“For now,” you murmured, and Sukuna swore he saw your single tail fan out into nine, “I give you my divine favor, Ryoumen Sukuna.”

You wondered if your favor was enough. He'd been gone some time, off to accept a duel from the snotty shitheads Sukuna had received you from. Apparently, having two of the eldest boys murdered rubbed them the wrong way. Sukuna was glad for it, you knew–the man lived and breathed for a fight. 

Of course, you stayed put. Uraume assured you'd be fine on your own, and Sukuna reminded his staff they'd all be eaten alive by the king himself if anything uncouth were to take place in his absence. It was more so that Sukuna didn't like the idea of idiots touching his stuff than it was the notion you were important to him, from your understanding. 

Regardless, the time alone left you restless. That king made you invincible. Without him, you were nothing more than the scared kit locked away in darkness, never to emerge lest your stubbornness trick them. But things were different here. Everyday was filled with unknowns and uncertainties when the two you'd forged fragile bonds with fell absent. 

So, you thought of how to repay Sukuna. Your divine favor would only do so much, after all–you didn't think a man like that really needed the extra luck, but he seemed more than intrigued by the manner of delivering the blessing; you remembered how he looked at you, eyes half-lidded, shielding you from the inferno burning out of control. He grumbled something low in his chest, just loud enough that you heard: 

You better be here when I get back.

“Ah–” The thrill those catastrophic words gave you nearly led to stabbing yourself with the needle. You tutted and regained focus, continuing to carefully embroider the sleeves of one of Sukuna's many plain black haori.

You learned how to sew and embroider from watching an elder from that clan work her magic on old, tattered clothes. She never spoke to you nor regarded you, but she never turned you away the rare times you watched her fix garments; you thought it was beautiful–the art of turning something mundane into something meaningful.

Though you wondered if Ryoumen Sukuna, the most powerful sorcerer, the most feared man alive, had a desire for anything useless and meaningful. 

The answer came quickly. You'd found yourself void of confidence when the monarch returned to his palace after (obviously) winning whatever duel he'd agreed to; you weren't sure if you were to congratulate him, celebrate him or something more. On top of that, he'd eventually find that haori you'd slaved over for days, and you weren't sure you could take the heartbreak of dismissal. 

However, those fears were quashed when, from a new little secret garden hovel, you spied the man donning the very haori you slaved over; it wasn't a flashy piece, you didn't want to subtract from the marvel that was the king of curses, so you opted for using black, shimmery thread to weave intricate twisting trees and blackened blooms along the sleeve. Only if the design caught the light would one be able to notice it. 

But that was enough for you. Knowing he accepted such a meaningless gift was reassuring of your place in his world. 

So, you finally let Uraume convince you to stay in the room they'd prepared for you. 

“No need to be nervous,” you hummed, that undying urge inside you to take care of something helping you soothe the young woman's nerves. You fixed her hair, your deft fingers carefully slipping strands into place before sliding a decorative pin in to hold it all together. You took a step back to appraise her, Sukuna's latest concubine. 

“I–thank you.” Sachiko blushed fiercely and bowed the slightest bit, not risking a deep bow for the fear of her hair falling loose. “I can see why all the girls love you.” 

You laughed, low and warm. “Well, it's hard not to love someone who takes care of you, no?” Gently, you tilted her chin up and leaned in, carefully examining the red lacquer staining her lips. The colour matched her kimono and the gems in that exquisite hairpin keeping dark locks at bay. “But I'm glad. I know it's difficult to find respite in these times.” 

Sachiko held her breath as she looked over the natural paint of crimson adorning your eyes. “I-I, um–yes, I do agree.” 

You hummed and carefully fixed the smallest smudge on the corner of her mouth. “Mh. So I hope you do your best to please him.” 

“I will!” Sachiko promised. “But–I wish to–may I give you something?” 

“Of course.” 

She gathered her kimono up in her hands and leaned up toward you. You leaned down, expecting a secret or hushed words, but perfect red lips pressed against your skin instead. And you were dumbfounded; you'd never been kissed before. You'd never had a lady show that interest in you. 

Sachiko got down from her tiptoes and hid her mouth with her sleeve. “Just for good luck!” She squeaked before bowing and hastily running through the doors where Sukuna would no doubt be waiting for his woman for the evening’s events. 

You looked at the doors sliding closed and caught a glimpse of Sukuna stood before the young woman, his frame swallowing hers as you looked on. And you caught a glimpse of his eyes, his stare of shock and utter vexation–clearly, he'd seen the short woman give you a kiss for good luck. 

You turned away, choosing to abandon the girl to her demise as your fingers ghosted against your lips in wonder. 

He showed up in your chambers later that night. You were still awake, quietly embroidering another haori; this time, it was for Uraume. They insisted they didn't want to burden you, but they crumbled under your more insistent insistence, and accepted the offer on the condition it looked subtle and muted. 

Sukuna padded toward you, hardly bothering to announce himself or ask to join you (ugh, how annoying) before plopping himself onto the futon beside you, sighing as he laid down. 

“I see you finished early,” you commented, jumping the littlest bit when large hands caught your flickering tails. He didn't hurt you, no; he was simply an overgrown toddler with a penchant for examining whatever wiggled before him. 

“That woman kissed you,” Sukuna answered, unhelpful. “Ruined it.” 

“Ah. Well. I didn't expect it either.” You cleared your throat, feeling an unexpected bubble of embarrassment rise in your chest. “I have…I've never been given a kiss before. Not from what I can recall, at the very least.” 

“The hell are you talking about?” Sukuna grouched. “You planted one on me in the gardens.” 

“Giving is not receiving,” you corrected, flicking your tail so as to hit his face. “I've never given a kiss on another's lips, regardless. Though I find myself wondering why I–” 

You yowled when he yanked your tail like he meant to rip the thing off, and you whirled on him, eyes drawn into slits and chunky fangs bared as you dug your nails into his wrist in an effort to make him let go.

Yet the king looked unfazed. He sat up and  tugged you closer by your tail, yank after yank, ripping an impressive collection of vexed noises from you until his broad hand caught you by the throat. You clawed at his wrist and forearm, scrambling to find purchase, idly wondering if he'd finally had enough of you and sought to put you down after dirtying one of his concubines–

But he kissed you instead. His lips were warm and dry, not quite soft yet not unwelcoming. Sukuna knew what he was doing, too; his tongue licked at your bottom lip before pushing inside to finally taste you and taint you from within just a little bit. 

Your grip on him laxed the slightest bit, and you even eased into his hold as he, too, refused to harm you further. If you weren't aware of his malevolent spirit, you might've thought him gentle in that long, simple moment–a special brand of “gentle” that was wholly Sukuna's. Kind, but jagged around the edges. 

He started pulling back, though, and you followed after his touch like a bewitched maiden chasing after the lips of a lover. You nipped at the air like that'd do something for you, but soon settled on leaning into the hand holding you still, even if your throat scratched and ached because of it. 

You found Sukuna's calm stare watching you when you opened your eyes a crack. For once, you thought he looked content; the cruel, mocking lines of his face had smoothed and relaxed, and that annoying, cocky smirk he'd been born sporting had been replaced with a placid, normal lilt. Even the inferno blazing in crimson depths eased into pools of yawning embers–warm and spirited, yet contained. 

The sight relaxed you despite the confusion it brought to your rationale. 

“That,” Sukuna said, so odd and quiet, but powerful and judicial. “Is your first.” His thumb stroked against the side of your neck, pausing to feel the pitter patter of your heart thrumming under his mercy. “It'd serve you to remember that.” 

You nodded shallowly. “Of course.” 

Pleased, he let go of your quite breakable neck and moved like he was about to get up. You grabbed at his hand and pressed his palm to the side of your face like he was cupping your cheek. Your insistence on touching gave the beast pause, but he settled again, content to let you keep him hostage for as long as you wanted.

And you indulged in the simple favour. You nuzzled into his palm with a very fox-like chitter as a bassy, quiet trill of a purr lazily rolled through your chest, eventually reaching Sukuna himself. It somehow had him feeling content. Relaxed. Like he was basking in the warmth of the sun. 

“I request another,” you chirped, and Sukuna quirked a brow. 

“Another?” 

“Kiss.” 

Sukuna twitched a smirk. “It'll cost ya.” 

“Oh?” 

“Give me another blessing.”

And you agreed.

[c0n-fus3d]

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝙰 𝙱𝚘𝚢.

(Older!Powder x fem!reader)

I'm sorry but I finished ep 1 of act 3 and had to write this to get my emotions out about ekko and powder being a thing in an alternative reality bcz just RAHHHFHSHEHSHHS my gay ass is crying (no offense to the timebomb shippers, you do you!! If you like this that's cool💪💪) ENGLISH ISN'T MY NATIVE LANGUAGE, IF I MADE SOME SPELLING MISTAKES I'M SORRY ALSO SPOILERS FOR ACT 3!!

Warnings: uhhh just angst, mostly angst, this is for my girlies who might be feeling the same

༺ღ༒ ༺ღ༒ ༺ღ༒ ༒ღ༻

You've always liked Powder, every since you were kids, and still when you are teenagers.

Their was always something about her. The way she made the most creative inventions, the way she always seemed to have some sort of spark in her eyes. Her laugh, her hair, her eyes, it's hard for you to explain the feelings you have towards her.

You knew the way Vi's death was heavy on her, you could see that with the days, and soon years that came after. You we're always trying to be there to support her, make her feel a little better. You gave her space when she needed it, and we're there for her when she needed you the most.

And then there was Ekko.

You never hated Ekko, you 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 hate Ekko. he was a good guy, you got along with him. He was around Powder nearly just as much as you we're, maybe even a little more. When you were around Powder, he wouldn't take long to show up as well. You didn't mind.

But you couldn't deny that you we're jealous of him, of Ekko. The way he charmed his way into Powder's heart over the years. With his sketches, ideas, personality, kindness and understanding. You wanted what him and Powder had as if what you already had wasn't enough for you. You could see the way she looked at him, how 𝙝𝙚 looked at her the same way.

You often wished it was you instead of him. You try to forget about your jealousy, push it asside. You try to push your jealousy and selfishness asside, keep everything natural between you three. But it got harder and harder the more time went on.

Ekko has been acting strange recently, or at least that's what Powder told you. How he 'seems not to remember anything' and how he says these things about how in a dream her and Vi we're completely different. You noticed yourself too, how he was more around then usual. You assumed it was because of his project or whatever.

Now you find yourself here, on the dance floor in the last drop. Inventions around you everywhere as music and colorful lights fill the bar. You look into the crowd, trying to spot Powder. It took you a whole 5 minutes to finally spot her, but to no suprise, Ekko was there. On the dance floor, with her. Dancing together to the beat of the music like it was just the two of them. You tried to move your eyes away from the sight, let them be happy and together. But the jealousy ate you from the inside out, this all just left a bitter taste on your tongue. It all got so overwhelming so quickly, so you decide to leave the place before you explode and do something stupid.

So you decide to go out to Powder's little Hideout for now and go back once you've cooled down. You look at the massive invention across the room, stunned as fuck how they made this. You don't want to pay too much attention to it though, so you continue walking through the massive space before sitting down in front of the small memorial that Powder made for Vi.

You lighten the place up before just.. Sitting there. You sigh, looking at the picture sat on the desk. Vi always knew you had a thing for Powder, she always encouraged you to tell her how you felt. Whenever the situation was on your mind, you'd go here. You'd talk, like she was still there. Because to you, she was. To everyone, she still was. Now wasn't any different, you talked about what has been going on recently. With Ekko, Powder, and everything else.

"I just.. Don't know what to do, I know I'm supposed to be happy for them.. Ekko is a great guy, a-and if they become a thing, I'll be fine with it but.. Theirs this voice in the back of my mind that just doesn't seem to go away.." You groan, your head in your hands as you thought for a moment.

You knew you couldn't hide your feelings forever. If Powder wasn't going to feel the same way towards you, you might as well tell her what you've been feeling all this time. Just for an answer, a yes or a no. Anything. If she didn't feel anything as well then at least she'd know.

"I'll tell her, tonight. Like you always wanted me to do.. I'll.. I'll get this over with, okay? For you."

You found yourself walking back towards the last drop, but then you see Powder, going in the direction of what you knew to be the place where Vi always took her to. So you decided to follow.

If only you weren't blind enough to see Ekko walking along with her.

You climbed up to the place, heart racing in your chest as you tried to think about the things you could say. Your mind was running a million miles and you tried desperately to calm your nerves.

You we're finally gonna do it, you we're gonna tell her how you feel.

But just as you nearly reach the top, you see her. And Ekko.

Their kissing.

In front of your eyes.

Your heart dropped, hope that you knew was useless in the end shattered as you saw the image.

Wrong fucking timing. You stood there, frozen in time before quickly getting out of there. Trying to hold back the tears that we're threatening to fall.

She likes Ekko. She only likes Ekko. It was never you. Not in childhood, not in teenage years.

She likes a boy. That boy.

Your not that boy, and for now, you had to live with that.

You we're never going to being the one kissing her. It was always going to be him in the end.

[bontentrio]

ATEEZ GETTING OUT OF THE FRIENDZONE

hongjoong x gn reader + seonghwa x gn reader (separated)

this is a continuation of ateez stuck in the friendzone, read that part first so it makes sense!

tw: tooth rotting fluff (+ keep in mind that english is not my first language)

a/n: originally i was gonna make the 8 different scenarios in one single post but then i got reaaaaally carried away (friends to lovers IS my favorite trope after all), and realized it’s probably gonna happen with the rest of the members as well. so be patient please!

masterlist

HONGJOONG

hongjoong was sure he was going to explode if you didn’t stop your actions in the next following minutes. it started casual, occasionally patting his shoulder in agreement with whatever he was saying at the moment. then, he started short circuiting when you scooted closer to his chair in order to see his screen as he helped you out with new stickers for your laptop. the new distance you established was a bit closer than normal: he believed that he could pull you on his lap with a single movement if he was brave enough.

yet he couldn’t cross that boundary, reason why he was feeling like a ticking time bomb.

“do you think i’m printing too many?” you asked, as you downloaded another sticker from pinterest. hongjoong smiled, finding the amount of fairy cat stickers you downloaded endearing. “knowing you, you’ll end up sticking the rest anywhere plain, or on my laptop” he said in response, earning a chuckle from you.

“you know me too well hongjoong” you said in between giggles, before throwing your hand behind the back of his head as you played with strands of his hair. your attention went back to the screen though, but in contrast he could only think about the way your fingers felt against his scalp. unconsciously, his eyes turned to you: he always knew you were beautiful, he didn’t just fall for your personality. but sometimes he couldn’t help but notice small aspects that normally would go unnoticed by the rest: how you would play with your lips whenever you’re focused on something, the way you would squint adorably as you tried to read small phrases on the screen. also your eyes, he could get lost on them forever and wouldn’t even care. in moments like this, he would also focus on your lips, mind wandering about how they would feel against his or-

“joong, is everything okay?” you asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. he blinked rapidly, regaining his composure and fake coughing. “what’s going on in that pretty genius head of yours?” you taunted, getting closer to his face.

“trust me, you wouldn’t want to know” he muttered in a low voice, but you heard him anyways. “i’m asking because i want to know, you can tell me anything, i’m your best friend”

“that’s exactly the problem y/n” he sighed, turning his gaze back on the screen, finding the satoru gojo cat suddenly super interesting.

what you did next set the timer in him though: you grabbed his chin and turned his face back to you, staring curiously. “i want to know, joong” you said in a firm voice. your eyes remained interlocked for a few moments, but hongjoong’s patience started running extremely thin. “i can show you” he whspered back, gaze going back to your lips. your hand left the back of his head and went down to his neck, pulling his face even closer as you nodded in response.

hongjoong closed the distance between you, finally pressing his lips against yours softly. you tasted the way he imagined: faint traces of strawberry from the chapstick he once gifted you, the one you refused to change despite the years. his lips moved against yours in sync, as his hands cupped your face, angling it to a degree so he could taste you better.

he thought he could kiss you forever and never get tired or bored, reason why he also felt disappointed when you pulled away. he chased you lips, so you pecked him as you tried to suppress a smirk from creeping on your face.

“finally” you admitted, causing him to look at you questioningly. “i wanted to do that for a while, joong”

“you literally friendzoned me more times than i can remember” he pointed out, shock evident on his face. “i don’t get touchy with just anyone! i had to camouflage it somehow” you said in response, blushing. “plus i also thought that’s how you viewed me, just a friend”.

“hell no, y/n never say that word around me again” he said, finally giving in to his initial thought as he pulled you on his lap in one smooth movement, making you laugh. you cupped his face, looking at him intently. “i like you, joong” you whispered. “you have absolutely no idea how much i adore you” he answered, before crashing his lips against yours again.

now that he knew how you tasted, he was never going to let you go again. you’re his new addiction, just like he always imagined.

SEONGHWA

“i still can’t believe my friend is getting married to him” you said, as you finished applying your lipstick before turning back to seonghwa. he was standing next to the window, admiring the view from the luxurious hotel while you finished preparing for the wedding reception. he was already dressed in a gorgeous wine colored suit, which was a bit oversized yet still looked formal on him.

your friend had announced a few months ago that she forgave her boyfriend for cheating, claiming that it was just a “drunken mistake”. she also informed you that she was getting married too, having already set the date and venue, and telling you that you could bring a plus one. of course, you immediately dialed seonghwa, not just to spill the hot gossip but also to invite him. he immediately agreed.

“that marriage is already doomed” he said, turning his gaze back on you, chuckling. “but at least we get an opportunity to stay at a fancy hotel, get all dolled up and then party” you pointed out, carefully pulling out your outfit from your suitcase. you had picked a dark blue long dress, that had the back open. you had picked it because it reminded you of the yellow dress from “how to lose a guy in 10 days”, which, by the way, seonghwa found absolutely gorgeous. in fact, he chose the color of his outfit to match yours.

“very true, the hotel is amazing” he said, turning back to the window “i didn’t know what to expect when you told me it was in the middle of literally nowhere”. you laughed in response as you exclaimed ‘right?!’, before entering the bathroom to get dressed.

a few moments later, seonghwa found himself having difficulty to breathe due to how gorgeous and breathtaking you looked. the dress fit your body like a glove, and when you did a little turn to show it from the back, he had to literally control himself from crossing the friendship boundary. “so? how do i look hwa?” you asked him, a little nervous. seonghwa walked towards you, holding your hand as he twirled you around, before setting both of his hands on your waist. his eyes, unbeknownst to you, were holding so much love and devotion, yet you failed to realize it. “if i was the bride i’d kick you out for stealing my spotlight” he said, earning a chuckle as you cupped his cheek. he unconsciously leaned in to the palm of your hand, wanting more of your touch. “thank you hwa, you look mesmerizing too” you said. you both stared at each other, too lost on the small intimate moment you were having.

in seonghwa’s opinion, it ended too soon, as you broke away the moment you started blushing intensely. “come, i’ll do your hair” you said, fake coughing as you led him to your shared bed for the night. you climbed on the bed and sat behind him, and seonghwa was sure he died and went to heaven. he unconsciously closed his eyes, enjoying the feeling of your fingers combing his long hair into a half ponytail. once you were done, you straightened your dress and grabbed his hand.

“ready to go?” you asked, smiling. he nodded.

———

the ceremony was beautiful, and even the vows you and seonghwa swore would be questionable ended up being terribly adorable. once the groom finished what he had to say, seonghwa whispered in your ear “cute, but i still think this is doomed”, making you laugh silently in your place while simultaneously getting side eyed by other guests.

as the night went by, you found yourself in the need of fresh air from all the intense partying inside the venue. as if seonghwa read your mind, he pulled you from the dancing crowd and led you to the garden with your hands intertwined.

“thank you, i was starting to feel overwhelmed” you thanked him once outside. he nodded, smiling “i could see it on your face”.

“you always seem to know what i’m thinking about, hwa. you’re amazing” you said, in a low voice that only he could hear from his place next to you. “of course, i’m the only exception, right?” he said. you nodded “you’re also my only exception, y/n” he added, now turning his body to face you entirely.

the garden was lit with tiny lights and candles all over the place, and thankfully the sky was clear enough you could see the stars. you could hear a slow dance playing in the background, belonging to the main venue where everyone watched the newlyweds waltz.

“wanna dance?” seonghwa asked, taking notice of the way your gaze switched from him to the main couple. you looked at him once again and smiled “i don’t feel like going back so soon, can we dance here?” you asked. “of course” he answered, taking a better hold of your hand as his other wrapped around your waist, bringing you closer. funny, you didn’t even realize you were still holding hands. it almost felt natural to you.

you slow danced to the faint music, and you could feel your heart beat louder and louder with each step. a strange feeling bubbled up on your chest, before lifting up your head from his chest to face him. he was already looking at you, making the feeling more intense. “hwa, can i ask you something?” you asked, earning a hum from him. “anything”.

“why am i your only exception?” you asked in a whisper. you saw the faint blush creeping on his cheeks as he sighed, thinking of different ways to approach the topic. “i think you’re the only one who has ever made me feel the way i feel” he answered, deciding to just spill the truth he was yearning to say. “you’re the only exception because you are the only one for me”.

as soon as he finished saying that, his hands dropped to his sides, as he took a few steps back, giving you space. “i’m sorry i can’t continue being your best friend, not when i feel the way i feel every time i see you”, he said, loud enough for you to hear while averting his gaze.

yet you always managed to surprise him. he was sure you would feel disgusted, betrayed that your best friend of years suddenly viewed you in a different light. but instead, you approached him again, hugging him close and shaking your head. “i don’t want to lose you” you started saying, feeling the way he slowly and cautiously wrapped his arms around your waist. “but also i would be a fool to ignore the butterflies in my stomach when you say such beautiful things. can you, i mean, can we give each other a chance?” you asked, voice trembling in fear of ruining it.

he cupped your face, thumb smoothing your right cheek. you realized that his stare held a lot more than you initially noticed, for how long did he look at you light that? for how long have you been dismissing his feelings? your questions subdued as he leaned closer, lips now only inches apart. he looked straight to your eyes, as if asking for your permission. you nodded, closing your eyes before his soft lips touched yours.

as cliche as it sounds, you felt like fireworks erupted inside of you. it just felt so right, so genuine and like nothing you experienced before. it felt like the first time you ever experienced love as a teenager, but now you were older and wiser. seonghwa wasn’t just your best friend, he was also your only exception, the only one for you.

on seonghwa’s side, he further proved his point of being meant for each other.

[eclipsedechoesofmywords]

Joaquín Torres w magic healer reader that can't heal her own injuries AND has to feel the pain of whatever injuries she does heal🙏

"Watching"

[Joaquin Torres x fem!reader]

Masterlist

Summary: You’re the team’s magic-wielding medic, stitching everyone else back together while your own wounds fester. Joaquín Torres is done letting you suffer in silence.

Warnings: Descriptions of pain/injuries, blood, angst with comfort, chronic self-sacrifice, mutual pining.

Word Count: 1k words

A/N: fun fact! one of my marvel ocs is a healer, so I wrote this with her in mind!

The art of swallowing screams, of steadying your voice when your bones felt like they'd been run through a grinder was something you had gotten too good at.

Sam's latest mission had left him worse for wear. A bullet grazed across his ribs, a dislocated shoulder, and a deep cut along his thigh from shrapnel. You knelt beside him in the quinjet, pressing your hands to his side.

"You good, kid?" Sam asked, voice strained but still annoyingly calm.

"Peachy," you lied, forcing a smirk. The second your magic surged into him, the phantom bullet tore through your ribs. You sucked in a sharp breath.

Joaquin hovered nearby, watching you work. He had medical supplies on hand just in case.

"There," you pulled away as you finished up, swallowing, "Next time, try not to get beaten up so much. You aren't a super soldier."

"Yeah I know, I know," he sighed, shrugging on his jacket. "Thanks again."

"Always." Sam's wounds were closed, but your vision swam, sweat dripping down your temples. You stood too fast, the quinjet lurching beneath you.

"Whoa—" Joaquin's hand shot out to steady your elbow. "You look like you're gonna pass out."

"I'm fine. Just...it took a lot out of me, that's all," you said, standing up properly this time.

"Are you sure?"

You waved him off. "Yes."

He didn't seem convinced but dropped it, letting go of you.

You sit down. "Just need some sleep," you murmured, trying to ignore the pain. it'll be a while till that goes away.

Sam chuckled. "Get some rest. We'll wake you up when we land."

You nodded, closing your eyes.

You didn't sleep.

The quinjet's hum faded into the background as you curled in your seat, jaw clenched against the aftershocks of Sam's injuries. You dug your nails into your palm, focusing on the sharp sting to stay grounded.

"You're a terrible liar."

Joaquin's voice cut through the haze. You opened an eye to find him watching you, arms crossed. 

"Like you’re any better," you shot back.

He sank into the seat beside you, dropping his voice. "You flinch every time someone coughs. Your hands haven't stopped shaking since we took off. You're not fine."

You stiffened. "it's part of the job. I can handle it."

"Handle it? You look like you were two seconds from collapsing the entire time."

"Then stop watching me, Torres."

He huffed, frustrated, but didn't push. Not yet.

---

The pattern held for weeks. Missions bled into each other—gashes, fractures, burns. You mended them all, swallowing screams until your throat felt raw. Only Joaquin lingered after debriefs, watching you limp to your quarters.

it came to a head in a few weeks.

The op was supposed to be simple: retrieve intel, no engagement. But alarms blared, bullets flew, and Bucky took a hit to the leg. You dragged him behind cover, hands already glowing as you knit his artery back together.

Pain exploded in your calf. You choked back a cry, vision graying at the edges.

"Go!" Bucky barked at the others, covering fire. "I'm good—move!"

Sam and Joaquin surged forward. You tried to follow, but your leg buckled.

"Shit—" Joaquin skidded to a halt, hauling you up. His grip tightened when he saw the blood soaking through your pant leg. "You're hit."

"I'm fine," you lied.

"Bullshit. You're pale as a ghost."

"Just go!" You shoved him toward the fray. "I'll catch up!"

He hesitated, conflict blazing in his eyes, but Sam's shout decided it. He ran, glancing back once.

You made it three steps before collapsing.

---

The extraction was chaos. Joaquin carried you to the quinjet. Sam hovered, guilt-stricken. "Why didn't you say something?!"

"Had…to finish the job," you slurred, fading in and out.

Joaquin said nothing. He tore open your pant leg, jaw ticking at the bullet wound. "This isn't from Bucky."

"S'from…last week." You tried to laugh. "Forgot to…dodge."

"You've been walking around with this?!"

"Can't…heal it. You know that."

His hands shook as he bandaged the injury, gentler than anyone had ever been with you. "You're insane."

"Takes one…to know one."

He didn't smile.

---

Back at the compound, Joaquin cornered you in the med bay. You sat on an exam table, staring at the fresh stitches he'd insisted on giving you.

"We need ground rules," he said, arms crossed.

You raised a brow. "You're giving me rules?"

"Rule one: No more hiding injuries. if you're hurt, you say it."

"Torres—"

"Rule two: You take a damn break when you need it. No arguing."

"You don’t have to take care of me."

"Someone's gotta!" He stepped closer, voice cracking. "You think we don't notice? That we don't care? You're killing yourself to save us, and it's—"

"Stop." You stood, wincing. "This is who I am. I don't get to clock out when it's hard."

"Then let me help! He caught your hands, thumbs brushing your knuckles. "Let me be there. Let me…try."

Your breath hitched. He was too close, too warm, too everything.

"Why?" you whispered.

His gaze dropped to your lips. "Because I'm tired of watching you hurt alone."

---

it started small.

He brought you coffee after missions, lingering until you drank it. He learned to read your tells—the way you'd bite your cheek to stifle a scream, the way your left hand twitched when pain spiked.

One night, he found you in the gym, fists raw from pounding a punching bag.

"Can't sleep?" he asked.

"The burn from the shrapnel won't…quiet down." You flexed your blistered palm.

He wordlessly fetched a first-aid kit, guiding you to sit. You watched, silent, as he cleaned your wounds.

"You don't have to do this," you said.

"I know," he said, "But I want to."

Your throat tightened. No one had wanted to before.

You sat there silently, watching him. "Thank you," you said carefully.

He shrugged, continuing to fix you up. "You can always count on me, you know that."

Maybe. Maybe you could, maybe you couldn't. Maybe it would all go downhill one day, but you couldn't bring yourself to care. Not now. So you just watched him.

[kinichval]

all at once, everything is different

he finds no meaning in celebrating the day of his birth (or creation), yet this year he finds himself whispering a wish — please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh he can recognize anywhere.

content. wanderer x rtawahist!fem!reader, wanderer is addressed as hat guy, reader can see aranara, not dating but clearly in love ykwim, one (1) kiss, hat guy hates his birthday, not-so-mean because his soft spot is showing lol, mediocre writing, slight angst if u squint. | 3.5k words

“hat guy, you have a visitor!”

the said man groans and shuts his eyes, displeased with the interruption. if ignoring the knocks were not enough to convey the message, then he will not be liable for his harsh tone over the unwanted company.

except, well, the visitor on the other side of the door happened to be his new friend — durin.

wait, what the fuck is he doing with nahida?

“hat guy!” the little dragon's enthusiasm explodes across the room. he quickly flies over to the indigo-haired scholar, taking a peek at the paperwork on his desk. “what are you doing?” his curiosity is rather adorable, though hat guy would not let that thought slip out his lips (and hopefully the dendro archon wouldn't attempt to read his mind).

“i'm working on a new thesis.” he simply responds, durin lets out an innocent ‘woah’ although he knows he doesn't fully grasp the concept. nahida giggles; the thesis proponent has been cooped up in this room for days, it's a given that scholarly papers and academic writing generally takes months before completion, but it's also clear to her that his response was merely an excuse.

“let's go out, hat guy!” durin initiates, flipping in the air as excitement rushes through his little body as he expects his first friend to agree — only to frown when hat guy scoffs, “i'm busy right now. let's plan another time.” hat guy hopes the compromise would convince his dragon friend to leave him alone and so will the dendro archon.

but no, both of them are determined to reign victorious against his convictions.

hat guy knew what day is it today, he sighs heavily, eager to stay put in his lair doing whatever academic duty there is just to avoid the light of day and utmostly reject the idea of celebration.

it's as if a simple greeting of ‘happy birthday’ bears no sense of something, it feels awkward to receive such words when he feels nothing about the beginning of his existence. was he supposed to say ‘thank you’ when in the first place it's an unsolicited message?

one of these days, he's sure to receive a smack on the back of his head if this attitude continues.

(he'll just protect his head then.)

(unless the prevailing lord of sumeru casts a more perilous punishment when he wears her patience thin.)

durin's crimson eyes dulls, the drop in his float and lowered head presents his broken heart, “allow me to go through your progress and i'll leave my own criticisms, take it as a partial checking. we wouldn't want to finish a thesis then realize the whole paper is wrong, would we?” nahida suggests, her eyes round and pleading. hat guy stares down at his desk, almost praying to some other god — probably the anemo one, though he doesn't have much faith in the freedom archon — to make nahida and durin realize that he is unavailable at the moment.

“come on, hat guy, today looks like a good—” nahida's words are immediately cut off when hat guy finally looks at their gazes, “fine!” he abruptly stands up with his palms on the desk, the split second of his widened eyes being enough evidence for nahida to see his true feelings without needing to use her mind-reading prowess.

“really?!” durin's eyes sparkle and wings flap in triumph, hat guy groans in defeat, and nahida smiles brightly. “but i'll decide when the day is over.” his tone is as cold as his color palette, but durin does not complain about his condition, his little cheers soften hat guy's bleak exterior.

hat guy detests walking around the heart of sumeru during this time of the year, he remembers in the previous year when akademiya students ambushed him just to get him to blow a sickeningly sweet birthday cake. he lowers his head, until now he can't fully comprehend the nature of birthdays and its significance — for mortals, it may be because their lifespans are merely a flick of a finger compared to non-human races.

he has already lived for so long and will continue to do so, but what part of birthdays satisfy fulfillment if he rejects it himself? it's even so absurd that he is expected to extend gestures to others on his own day.

“hey, hat guy, do you know those tiny things with hats and a smiley face?” the little dragon's query snaps hat guy out of his zoned out state, he momentarily pauses to think what creatures he is referring to before furrowing his brows at the unsure conclusion in his mind, “what things?” the boy envisions the forest spirits around sumeru, the aranara. he doubts durin means the smiles as they do not have a smile, still he remarks those elemental clusters as cute.

“those little things! with hats like yours!” durin tries his best at composing his description, “wait, they have pointy hats, yours is flat.” his voice is small at the realization of the difference in design, “you should know what i mean, right?” he flies right in front of hat guy's face, hoping that his thoughts will get through to his friend.

“perhaps you mean the aranara? they're plant-like forest spirits in sumeru. where did you see one? they don't often show themselves as i've known.” hat guy explains, he sees the bright grin on durin's face, the sight melts him.

he knows the aranara only allows their presence to be known by children (adults can see them but terms and conditions must be met first, e.g. the traveler), and deep down he hopes for durin to take sight of those little things. he believes that durin is a child at heart, not only his small size and curious nature, but his core is akin to a little kid who dreams and hopes.

“they're called aranara? it sounds adorable!” durin giggles, “i saw a couple of them tailing behind the archon! do you think i can befriend them?” hat guy smiles, his sentiments mirroring durin's aspirations. “you can go find them and ask for a friendship contract.” he smirks, obviously teasing the little dragon, though his words carry genuine wishes for durin to create friendships.

“do we like call for them? i want to talk to one!” durin's eagerness at meeting the aranara spreads warmth in his chest, “you have to be patient. they'll appear whenever they deem right.” hat guy responds, he's not entirely knowledgeable about their decisions when or when not to appear, but he knows enough that the aranara values the people of sumeru — even if they're unseen, they're the nation's closest companion.

and he's assured enough that the aranara will welcome durin just as much as he was accepted as their friend.

“there you are!” a deep voice pipes up nearby, durin hastily flies behind hat guy to hide from the unknown voice. “who's there?” the little dragon closes his eyes, the fear of being judged is still within him, hence hat guy extends out both his arms as an act of protecting durin as his gaze seeking out who had spoken to them.

the general mahamatra comes to sight, albeit the most distinguishable factor for hat guy is the tall ears poking out from his hat. his right eyebrow is raised, posing a skeptical expression at the big-eared hat guy's presence and intentions with him.

“ah, the famous hat guy of the vahumana darshan. i believe you remember me from the interdarshan championship last year?” cyno utters, there's a prideful look on his face that makes hat guy even more wary of where this is going. “i recall our sparring moments during the competition, yes, you were the representative for spantamad.” hat guy responds, he knows this man is a big persona in the nation although he couldn't dig it in his memory what his name was.

“speak your intentions, i do not have the luxury of time right now.” hat guy asserts, he watches as cyno takes a deep inhale — and wonders what it's for — before he takes hat guy's hand and slaps down a stack of cards (dear archon, how did he manage to hide a tall stack?)

“do you know about genius invokation tcg? i've been meaning to find you and discuss the game. i have high hopes that you'll be a prodigy of a player, so please hear me out. i have read a few of your research, i applaud your intelligence and critical thinking for curating reasonable claims and powerful arguments. you know what else uses the same strategy? tcg! with your keen observation, wits, and quick analysis, i'm sure you'll be sumeru's second best player — i'm the first, of course — please accept my offer and play with me, i assure you that it is an efficient mental exercise outside of the akademiya. furthermore, playing with others allows a space for building relationships and strengthening bonds. what do you say, hat guy?”

oh, cyno definitely needed that deep inhale. hat guy, on the other hand, is bewildered.

“hat guy, what is he talking about?” durin whispers in his ears, still out of sight.

“you should take upon his offer, hat guy. not only will you gain friends in sumeru, but also acquire a reputable image across teyvat.” the green-eyed desert guy (who hat guy knows as the one who's oddly interested in his hat) shows up and backs up cyno's claim.

right now, he feels like nahida casted him in some weird dream spell because what the hell is going on?

hat guy scoffs, “only brains as small as a sweet flower seed would reckon that a measly card game is enough to be a backbone of life-and-death bonds.” still, the stack of cards remained in his hand.

as if cyno was about to take no for an answer, “keep the stack, hat guy. maybe one day you'll have a change of mind, come find me if you find it in yourself to admit that this game is—”

“hat guy!” another voice pops up in the scenario, but rather than having his guard up higher, hat guy's shoulders seem to relax upon hearing your voice.

as you enter the scene, you immediately realize the situation. there's a look of dread in hat guy's eyes that shows his disagreement towards card games. “general mahamatra, pardon for the intrusion, but please do excuse hat guy and his… displeasure with tcg. i'm sure there are other skilled scholars who are more interested in playing a match with you.” you intervene, a nervous laugh at the end because despite this silly interaction, cyno still holds a high position and you know the power this man has.

cyno was about to respond, but sethos — the green-eyed desert guy — beats him to it, “apologies, my lady. the general here just wants a formidable opponent because apparently i don't play enough tcg.” sethos explains as he casually points his thumb at cyno, “i'm not interested to be your opponent.” hat guy coldly rejects.

“no! you will play tcg with me one da—” sethos covers his mouth that he almost stumbled backwards, they bicker among themselves.

“hey, yn! long time, no see!” you hear durin's little whisper, you assume he's hiding behind hat guy, a giggle passes your lips and the endearing thought. “hey, durin. i missed you!” for a moment, you reminisce the first time durin visited the real world — you met him them as he and hat guy relayed to you the tales of simulanka and all the shenanigans that occurred.

“anyways! hat guy, you know you'd be so cute with your hair tied up.” sethos grinned, the change in topic also brightened up his aura however it only dimmed hat guy's. he takes off hat guy's hat, now he's just guy, and his fingers swiftly grabs a portion of his midnight-hued hair and ties a little bun.

and the cherry on top, a bow.

“...tch.”

hat guy never had his hair tied, you had played with a few strands whenever he lays down on your lap, but that's the closest his hair ever got touched. mini durin struggles to hide his laughter at the sight of his best friend's angered face being ten times more adorable with the new hairstyle.

he's extra convinced that this is just another dream simulated by nahida.

“i wonder what you would look like with your hair braided.” you giggle, envisioning different styles on his jellyfish-like haircut. “whatever it is, don't.” hat guy rolls his eyes.

you, hat guy, and mini durin continue to walk to whoever knows where, your path has strayed away from the city but it's no issue when hat guy finds relief in not having to be jumped on by scholars.

along the way, laughter and banter were thrown back and forth. “don't pretend it's erased in history that you broke my favorite pen!” you nag him, “it was already cracked, it just happened to break apart in my hand!” he defends himself, this argument has been going on for months now, it's your personal grudge against him that you bring up whenever he tries to drag you down.

“it's raining!” durin points out as the rain loudly splatters on the ground, “oi!” hat guy yelps as you take his hat and hovers it over your heads. “c'mon it's big enough.” you reason out, he sighs and rolls his eyes, durin is in between you two as you walk to find a better shelter.

until a small meow catches your attention, as if on instinct, your eyes darts toward the sound's origin. it didn't take long to find a small cat inside a pot, wet in the rain. the little guy seemed to be alone with no owner or parent cat around.

and it didn't take another thought for hat guy to grab his hat and cover the white cat's head, leaving you and durin exposed to the rain, “i'll take you to the shelter. follow me if you want.” he says, but instead picks up the cat in his arms — talk about personal autonomy, no?

shortly, he returns to you and durin, the hat barely covering your group but settles with whatever his hat can provide. it's a wondrous sight, no words were spoken at this moment, even durin who enjoyed conversing let the serene silence overpower the rainfall.

and hat guy realizes that not a word had fallen off your lips about his birthday. you certainly had not forgotten, right?

suddenly, his chest feels empty, which is weird enough for he doesn't even possess a heart. a human heart. his ribs feel tight, as if clenching on nothing; he doesn't understand the anomaly taking place within his core, the cat meows and snuggles against his chest, serving as a temporary remedy for the internal ache.

sometimes you were infuriating. not for reasons that are shallow and certainly he doesn't wish for your demise; he finds you the cause of the berserk inside him, for whenever you two are within each other's parameters, suddenly he's at ease and for some reason that he time and time again fails to provide an answer for, troubled.

dear archons, hat guy could almost solve all of sumeru's political issues — if he dared to — but this predicament that involves you bears no fruition to his efforts in understanding the effect you have on him. the lack of an emotional organ within him feels more and more apparent when there's a rampant of feelings flowing in his blood.

is this what a heart is for?

“the sky's clearing up!” durin beams, flying forward. “don't fly too far, you don't know where you're going.” hat guy scolds the little dragon who muttered an apology and returns close to him. 

you settled in an abandoned hut, based on the nearby surroundings, it's safe to assume you're around the region in between avidya forest and vanarana. “are you hungry little guy?” durin converses with the lone cat that chooses to stay on hat guy's lap, rendering him immobile until the cat is satisfied with its rest.

“say, durin, do you know what today is?” you ask the dragon, he tilts his head in response, “hat day, is today a special day?” you softly smile at how closely tied durin is to hat guy, you've known him since the day he started as an akademiya student, you were together at the same table in the library. he wasn't the sociable type, he made that clear, but you were persistent to break into his personal bubble until you finally claim a spot in his vicinity.

“it's just a normal day.” hat guy rolls his eyes, but the slight tint of pink on his cheeks doesn't go unnoticed. for hat guy, you were like a cat that demands to be paid attention to, a ginger-colored one that he can not seem to predict. 

“really? the sun seems to be too bright just for today to be normal.” he's confused, were you about to break open the forest and have the entirety of sumeru to sing him a happy birthday or there's something else up your sleeve that he can't guess.

“is that an aranara?!” durin squeals upon the sight of a blue aranara walking towards the group, hat guy follows durin's line of sight and spots not just one or two, but a small group of aranaras… and origamis?

his brows furrowed in disbelief, “what's going on?” hat guy looks at you with a puzzled face, you want to snort at his expression because clearly he's trying to avoid his birthday.

and you were not about to let him disregard his day like that.

the army of aranara and origami surrounds hat guy, the aranara orients a necklace of origami flowers around his neck. their little squeals speak of their joyous sentiment for this moment, a moment that belongs to hat guy.

“happy birthday.”

hat guy is stuck in a trance when he finally hears you say it.

“happy birthday, hat guy!” durin exclaims, he's flipping in circles, finally releasing the words he desperately tried to hide since he saw him.

“happy birthday, blue nara!”

“happy birthday, hero of simulanka!”

hat guy puts his hand on his chest as the greetings continue to echo in his ears, is this what happiness feels like?

“thank you.” he simply responds, clearing his throat to regain his usual composure. 

“we have gifts for you!” you crouch down in front of him, a big smile on your face. you gesture the aranaras and paper squirrels to come forth, they carry boxes filled with secret stories whose main character is hat guy.

“i got one too!” durin flies down to sit beside hat guy, his own little gift in his embrace.

“why would you celebrate my birthday?” his voice falters as he lets the question fly past his lips, “because i care for you, hat guy. you're special to me.” you simply reply, hoping that it delivers the deeper meaning of his existence to your life.

you love him, you will forever do so.

hat guy hums, unsure how to reply when he's fighting his innermost turmoil of crystalflies. he resorts to opening the gifts instead, one box containing a hand-crafted paper doll of himself, the enraged expression has him instinctively mirroring the same look, “is this how you see me?” he scoffs, but they let him tell his rough comments and cold feedback as he continues his unboxing spree.

“i've got plenty of unusual stuff from you and you still haven't run out of ideas? even durin has his own contribution.” he sighs, his indigo orbs lingering on the gifts you prepared. the stack of tcg cards from cyno still in his possession.

“because you deserve to be reminded that you're loved and wanted.”

loved and wanted, huh?

hat guy quietly apologizes as he moves the cat off his lap, he leans down to you and his hands cup your cheeks. “last time i checked, you're one of the top rtawahist students, but i must refute your claim on that one.”

“then i'll defend my argument, the absence of a physical heart does not restrict your emotional intelligence and morale. your ribs may not house an organ, but your embrace has proven otherwise.”

you may not know the burden that he hides underneath his facade or the weights that made him believe that love is an outerworldly entity, but one thing you will attest to is the hat guy who knows how to love.

even if it takes years for hat guy to realize and admit that he loves, you will continue to be the one to assure him that it's alright.

for the love he yearns and continues to long for is the birthday gift you promise to give him every year. for as long as you live, and in every reincarnation, you will love hat guy.

hat guy covers durin's eyes as he leans down to collide his lips on yours. the crystalflies in his stomach explode, but it's soon replaced with fulfillment. maybe, he doesn't need a heartbeat to tell him that he can love when he's capable of choosing to love.

there's light in his life when you arrived that one afternoon asking what thesis he was working on, there was you who appeared to hold him when the akademiya felt suffocating, and there will always be you beside him who loves and teaches him love.

if the dendro archon is reading his mind right, he would like to say that he doesn't feel lonely now. he has you now. and even without a birthday cake, he'd like to make a wish: please don't ever become a stranger whose laugh i can recognize anywhere.

“it seems like you're the one who's looking forward to my birthday.”

[themdera]

George Clarke replied to your story.

2,172 words. Green circle. Red Circle. what’s the difference?

It all started a few weeks ago when George had posted a random Instagram Story asking fans to add him to their close friends lists so he could rank them for a YouTube video—“best, funniest, cringiest, whatever,” he’d promised with that ridiculous smile. Your group chat had of course collectively lost their minds.

“Oh my God, we have to do this,” someone had declared, already tagging him in a story.

You’d rolled your eyes at first. Sure, George was funny, creative, and admittedly attractive, but you weren’t about to feed his ego by crafting some elaborate story just for his amusement. Still, in the chaos of everyone else freaking out, you’d ended up adding him anyway. Not to make the cut for his video—you didn’t post anything remotely funny or interesting enough—but just to shut the groupchat up. And honestly, you forgot to remove him after.

Then came the thirst trap.

It wasn’t even planned. You’d been bored, playing around with some poses, when your friends dared you to post something from the many photos you’d sent them, a simple selfie where the light hits your face and hair in the perfect way, just to mess with people. It had been a joke, like everything else on your close friends, and you’d captioned it, “This one’s for just you ;)” to really sell the bit.

No one actually expected him to see it.

But George Clarke, the man with an unbelievably high screen time, saw everything. The notification came in mere minutes after you posted it. GeorgeClarkeey replied to your story

“Me?” one word. That was all it took.

“Girls” You typed very quickly

Cue the group chat imploding.

“WHAT DID YOU DO?!” your friend types back know the message “Girls” meant something had happened.

“George replied to my story”

“HE WHAT?”

“He’s going to think it’s serious.”

“Can we talk about how he responded in record time???”

“He’s going to make this a thing. I feel it in my soul.”

The replies came in at record speed. Sure enough, George wasn’t done yet.

Another message popped up while you were still processing the first: “Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

You groaned, tossing your phone onto your bed. What the hell was going on? George Clarke had a talent for this shit, and now you were directly in the middle of it. Of course it wasn’t specifically for him. It was a joke, a dumb joke fueled by group chat dares and late-night boredom. But now George Clarke was in your DMs, actually engaging, and you had no idea how to navigate this.

You sat down on your bed , unlocking your phone to stare at his messages through your notifications like they might explode if you opened them. What the hell were you supposed to say to that?

“Me?”

“Wait. That was for me, right? Like… actually?”

It wasn’t for him. Not really. But at the same time, it wasn’t not for him, and there was no universe in which you could explain that without sounding ridiculous.

Your phone buzzed again.

“Take your time, I’ll just sit here wondering 😏.”

You groaned, throwing your head back. Why was he like this? Why couldn’t he just scroll past like a normal person? Better yet, why did you still have him on your close friends list in the first place?

The group chat, of course, was zero help.

“Just say it was for him. What’s the harm?”

“Tell him it’s a metaphor. Keep him guessing.”

“Confess your undying love and ask him to follow while you’re at it.”

You sighed, finally flopping onto your bed and opening the messages.

“What if it was?” you typed, hesitating for a moment before hitting send.

Immediately, your heart dropped into your stomach. What had you just done? Before you could spiral too deeply into regret over your reply, another notification popped up on your screen.

GeorgeClarkey started following you.

You froze. What the actual fuck was going on? Was this some elaborate joke for his video? Was he about to screenshot your profile and blast you to his friends and his followers as part of his next roast video?

Panic set in almost immediately. You scrambled to your profile, fingers flying as you opened your highlights. What did I even have on there? Your close friends was one thing, but your highlights were public.

The first highlight was fine. A sunset. Very normal. The second was a random dog you’d seen on a walk. Also fine. The third? Oh God, the third. A blurry photo of your face captioned, “Why am I like this?”

You cringed, hitting the delete button, but before you could delete anything else, another notification lit up your phone.

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story:

“Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Your group chat exploded before you could even blink.

“HE FOLLOWED YOU?!”

“Shut up. He did not.”

“Bestie, you’re famous now.”

“Oh my God he did! i checked his profile! Did he post anything? Has he said anything else?”

You ignored them, heart pounding as you stared at the notification. This couldn’t be real. George Clarke, internet golden boy who had every teenage girl in a chokehold, was actually engaging with you.

What the hell were you going to do?

You stared at George’s message, your mind racing: “Ok but…jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?”

Before you could fully process it, your fingers moved almost instinctively, opening the group chat. You switched to voice notes because typing just wasn’t fast enough to convey the absolute thoughts in your head.

“Guys,” you hissed into the mic, pacing your room. “What the actual fuck is going on? George Clarke just messaged me again. AGAIN. And he said—wait, no, let me read this. He said, ‘Ok but… jokes aside be honest. Is this about me?’”

You paused, pacing more furiously as all your friends started typing back.

“I don’t know what to say!” you continued in the next voice note, your voice slightly higher now. “Like, do I admit it? Do I deny it? Do I block him and change my name? HELP ME.”

The replies came in almost instantly:

“Post the screenshot right now.”

“Oh my God, you’re in a rom-com.”

“Say it was about him and see what happens. Do it for the plot.”

“Voice note us back with the drama or don’t bother replying at all.”

You rolled your eyes, even as you hit record again.

“Okay, fine. I’ll reply. But if this ends with me being clowned in one of his videos, you’re all accomplices.”

With one final deep breath, you typed out:

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. What’s it to you?”

Your thumb hovered for a second, but then you hit send, immediately regretting it as your phone buzzed with another notification.

“Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

You groaned, sending yet another voice note to the group chat.

“I AM GOING TO SCREAM. He just said it’s ‘something to him.’ WHAT DOES THAT MEAN?!?”

Your friends weren’t helping, their replies now a chaotic mix of screaming voice notes and unhinged texts.

“He’s into you, bestie.”

“We’re living for this. Keep us updated.”

“I’m adding popcorn to my grocery list.”

Whatever George was playing at, it was… kind of fun.

You stared at his message: “Oh, it’s something to me. 😉”

Your heart thudded as you typed out a response, fingers moving on autopilot: “How come?”

For a second, you debated deleting it. Was that too straightforward? Too bold? But before you could overthink it, the message was already sent.

The group chat was on fire.

“WHAT DID YOU SAY???”

“Tell me you asked him why. PLEASE.”

“I’m pacing my room like it’s my drama, what is happening???”

You sent a quick voice note: “I asked him how come. Like, if he’s going to be cryptic, I’m making him work for it. I can’t just let him drop a winky face and get away with it.”

Your phone buzzed before the group could reply. Another message from George.

“Because now I’m curious. Was it really for me?”

You blinked at your screen. Curious? Curious?! Why did he have to phrase it like that? Like this wasn’t a throwaway Instagram post but some grand mystery he needed to solve.

You hit record on another voice note.

“GUYS. He said he’s curious. What the hell does that mean?!” you whispered furiously. “I’m spiraling. Do I double down? Do I back out? Help.”

The replies were just as unhinged as before.

“Double down. Always double down.”

“Tell him it’s his fault for making you curious too.”

“Can we just talk about how into this he clearly is? Like, bestie, he’s invested.”

You shook your head, biting your lip as you typed your next message.

“Maybe it was. Maybe it wasn’t. But now I’m curious—what if it was?”

Your thumb hovered for a moment before you hit send, already bracing for whatever chaos George Clarke was about to unleash next.

The notification popped up almost immediately:

GeorgeClarkey: “Well, if it wasn’t, how come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?”

Your jaw dropped. Oh, he was good. Too good. George Clarke wasn’t just playing along—he was winning.

You immediately switched to the group chat, hitting record on a voice note.

“Guys. He’s onto me. He said—and I quote—‘How come I’m on your close friends and none of my friends are?’” You paused, your voice rising in pitch. “WHAT DO I SAY TO THAT?”

The group chat blew up in record time.

“HE SAID WHAT?!”

“Oh my God, this man is flirting.”

“Deflect. Blame it on the algorithm. Lie if you have to.”

“No, no, you need to hit him back with something. Don’t let him win!”

You sent another voice note, pacing your room as you spoke.

“I don’t even know why he’s still on my close friends! It’s not like I planned this—he asked to be added for that stupid video, and I just forgot to take him off. But if I tell him that, he’s going to think I’m some kind of idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list!”

One of your friends sent a voice note back, barely able to contain their laughter.

“Bestie, you are an idiot who forgot George Clarke was on their list. But now you’ve got him interested, so lean in. Own it. Say something mysterious.”

You sighed, staring at George’s message for a long moment before typing:

“Guess you’ll have to stick around to find out.”

Your heart was racing as you hit send, half-expecting him to call your bluff immediately. Instead, the little typing bubble appeared almost instantly.

“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”

You practically screamed, sending another voice note to the group chat.

“Guys. GUYS. He’s not just flirting. He’s doubling down. What do I do now?!”

The replies came back rapid-fire:

“Marry him.”

“This is officially fanfiction territory.”

“No, seriously, keep him on the hook. This is your moment.”

You didn’t George’s last message—“Don’t mind if I do. 😏”—because honestly, you needed a minute to think. Or maybe several. So instead of spiraling over how to respond, you stuck to your plan.

Ignoring the little red dot on his message thread, you switched to Instagram stories and posted something casual to your story: a cozy shot of your coffee on the table, framed by the warm tones of a London café from last weekend. The kind of post you always shared on quiet afternoons. You added the café’s location tag for good measure, captioning it simply: Need this.

The group chat was, of course, waiting.

“Update: just posted,” you said in a voice note, trying to keep your voice steady. “It’s a café pic. Totally chill, very me. If he reacts to this, I’ll… I don’t know, scream.”

You barely had time to put your phone down before it buzzed with a new notification:

GeorgeClarkey replied to your story.

Your heart jumped as you opened it.

“Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?”

You sat there, staring at the message like it was in a foreign language. George wasn’t just reacting—he was flirting. Again.

“GUYS,” you hissed into a new voice note, pacing your room. “He replied. And get this—he said, ‘Good taste. But why didn’t you invite me?’ Like, is this man serious?!”

The chat erupted in chaos.

“Shut up, he did NOT.”

“He’s basically asking for a date. I’m calling it.”

“You better reply, right now.”

But you weren’t ready to give in that easily. Typing back too quickly would make it seem like you were waiting for him (which you definitely weren’t). So instead, you left his message on read, letting him sit with it while you debated your next move.

Another voice note: “I’m ignoring him for now. Let’s see if he doubles down.”

And honestly, you weren’t sure what thrilled you more: the fact that George Clarke had replied, or the fact that he was now waiting on you.

———————————————————————-

a/n my first george fic! there will be a part two! the formatting hasn’t worked the way it should have but i’ll work on it!

would like to thank George Clarke for seeing my close friends which then let to @pretendyoucantseeme who gave me the idea and @authortelevision for supporting the delusions. love you both😂

if you wanna be tagged in part 2 please let me know!

[m3chanical-s0ul]

TRIGGER WARNING MECHANICAL GORE!!!

@noti-mportant @lame-zany you two wanted to see the wip but...this is the full thing

Idk what to title it but yeah random fanfic based on my favorite mind headcanon

It was quiet. Too quiet. Soul narrowed his eyes as he paraded the halls, his boots thumping against the very stable wooden stairs. He was faced with three rooms. One to his left, untouched. The middle one was his, but he barely used it. The one on the right was plastered with stickers and signs, one he could make out reading "Hearts room! No Minds allowed!"

Soul shook his head. How childish, he scolded in his head. How unnecessary. He could hear a faint humming coming from Heart's room to his right. He wasn't surprised by this. What he was surprised by was the lack of fighting.

He gently knocked on Heart's door, careful not to knock any signs down. He knew Heart didn't like unexpected intruders. "Hold on-" he heard, muffled from inside the room.

He watched the door open to Heart's cozy room. He could barely see inside due to the dim lighting, the curtains blocking out the sun from outside and most of the lights turned off. "It's me," Soul announced, staring down at Heart. He watched a few emotions cross Hearts face- happiness (from the fact that it wasn't Mind), fear (from how scary Soul could be), before ending on a particularly blank face, not showing any emotion yet speaking a thousand words by masking.

"What do you want?" The bitterness in his voice didn't go unnoticed by Soul, who scoffed. "Just wanted to ask if you've seen Mind. It's quiet."

"No, I haven't seen him." Heart crossed his arms, looking to the side suspiciously. But Soul knew this was Heart's normal state. The suspicious tone of voice, the small guilt in his face. "He's probably in his room doing Harmonia-knows-what," He added, gesturing with his hands towards Mind's door...or at least the general direction of it.

"That's the place I was going to check next, yes," Soul murmured back, his head turning towards the eerily quiet hall. "Did he do anything before...presumably entering his room?"

"Why?"

"Just wanting to know what I'm dealing with here." Soul rolled his eyes at Heart's stubbornness. "Just a simple yes or no answer. I'm not going to punish you."

"Again," was muttered under the other's breath, but he sighed and gave in. "He seemed pretty...annoyed. Like any little thing could make him explode like a living bomb." He raised an eyebrow. "Can he explode? That would be nice."

How childish. "He's not gonna explode." Soul pushed himself off the doorframe, shaking his head. "Whatever. You can go back to whatever you were doing, I guess."

"Hmph."

I swear to Harmonia if it's this bullshit again...

He gently tapped his knuckles against Mind’s door. “Mind? Are you there?” There was no answer. He tried the pristine, golden colored handle- it was locked. It was only locked if Mind had something to hide, or if he was about to make a particularly dumb decision. “I know you’re in there, Apollo,” he scoffed. “Unlock the door.” Soul waited a few seconds before scoffing and digging out the barely touched keys in his pocket. Due to being, well, him...he had keys to every room in this house. Magically.

The keys were rusted and different colors. The three that stood out were gold, silver, and a dark metal he never identified. Each of them had unique engravings for the doors they unlocked. The first one had random perfectly straight lines that ran with a hint of blue across the shimmering surface, the second one had blotches of pure black that reflected his own eyes, and the third had carefully constructed curls that reminded him of vines, and shone a midnight purple. He plucked the golden one out, slowly jamming it into the keyhole in front of him and turning it quickly.

He had no patience left.

He pushed open the door with his foot, the black leather forcing it open once it was unlocked. The lights were blaringly light, the sun just outside the window parallel to the door. Mind’s room was neat, with a workshop desk pushed against the left wall, and his extravagant bed laid in the middle. Soul had no time to study his room as he noticed a lump of white and blue on the bed.

God damn it.

Soul let out a tired, long drawn out sigh as he approached the figure on the bed. He was met with leaden eyes staring back at him, the absence of pupils as chilling as ever. He was also met with quite the mess.

Mind was in a pool of oil, his chest piece ripped out forcefully. Screws and wires were all over the place, thrown about and mixed together. A lot of wires seemed to be hot red at the tip, as if somebody had tried melding them together, or melting them apart. The sheets underneath Mind were stained black by the oil. He glanced around for Mind’s chest piece, finding it on the floor a few feet away from the bed. He picked it up, inspecting a few of the dents.

He placed the sheet of metal down on the desk, walking up closer to Mind. Peering inside the open chest cavity, it was even more of a mess inside than outside. Wires were ripped apart from each other, in tangles or just outright missing. The faux heart that Mind had, the thing that kept him alive, had scratch marks and it looked as if someone was trying to rip it out forcefully.

He sat on the bed, careful to avoid the puddles of oil.

“Again, huh?”

Soul made a popping noise with his mouth to fill the silent response Mind gave him. That was all Mind could give right now. He messed with his gloves and sleeves, barely sparing the lump of a barely alive Mind a glance.

“I really thought you were better,” he added in a quiet murmur, shaking his head shamefully. “This has happened one too many times. Aren’t you supposed to be the smart one?” He leaned over, pressing a pale finger to Mind’s nose and clicking his tongue. “Mister ‘My logic is the absolute’.” He let Mind sit- or lay- with his words for a minute or so before reaching over. He knew those words would get into Mind’s head. He was predictable, after all.

“Alright. Let’s get you up and fixed, big guy.”

He lifted Mind with relative ease, carrying him to the workbench and laying him on it.

“I’m not cleaning up that mess,” He pointedly gestured towards Mind’s bed as if he could respond. “Just so you know.” He pulled the tools out of the drawer, feeling the weight of the metallic tools in his hands before putting them down slowly and carefully. It was now quiet with Soul focusing on working.

He ripped out some of the already damaged wires, causing the automaton to jolt. A thought crossed Soul’s mind at the first reaction. Maybe I should turn off his nervous system. He thought for a second, before shrugging physically. Nah. Teach him a little lesson. He grabbed the replacement wires, carefully inserting them.

Next, he worked on the lost oil. It was basically the substitute of blood in this case. He grabbed the can on the side of the desk. It was almost empty- he’d have to bug Mind to get some more, or else he would have to stay like this next time, if he did this again.

When he did this again.

It took Soul a good few hours, working until the sun went down to at least get Mind working again. He sat back, content but annoyed to be wasting time, the same time Mind sat up. He flexed his fingers, one of his hands going to clutch his chest. “Don’t do that-” Soul interjected, swatting Mind’s hand away from the open cavity. “It’s not finished yet, you’ll make it worse.”

Mind glared at him. “I know what I’m doing,” his deep, mechanical voice rang out. “I’m not an idiot.”

“You are sometimes.”

“Fuck off.”

Soul crossed his arms. He was expecting a different set of two words, preferably of gratitude. Mind mimicked him, crossing his arms as well. They were staring at each other, waiting for the other to either give in or give up.

“Fine,” Mind scoffed. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

[kaiser1ns]

#. THE RAIN THAT I WISHED UPON

featuring 𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗶𝗶𝘀𝗵𝗶 𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗸𝗮 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿 𝘅 𝗲𝗻𝗱𝗼 𝘆𝗮𝗺𝗮𝘁𝗼

fluff. sometimes when you want to surprise someone, they can surprise you instead.

SPOILERS FOR CHAPTER 158 !

No call, no message, no warning. You hated waiting, especially when it rained and you would get all wet... Just perfect. Those two hadn't told you anything, at least you expected Endo to tell you if something came up. Instead, you found out at the last minute that everyone from Noroshi will face Bofurin and guess who is responsible for everything.

"Stupid Endo ... Ruining my plans to surprise Takiishi." sitting under a parking lot canopy in the middle of the night alone, a large gift bag that was luckily untouched by the drops in one hand, while you kept texting and calling the tattooed idiot with the other, but he didn't answer. You will kill him. Maybe Takiishi too for doing this to you. Outfit and make-up were ruined, the night too and you decided to go somewhere else, there was no point sitting in the cold any longer. 

Putting the phone in your bag, you had planned everything perfectly for Takiishi's birthday—cake, gifts, a small celebration—yet here you were, soaked to the bone, no Endo, no Takiishi, and no explanation. How could they leave you in the dark like this?

Standing outside Endo’s apartment, you heard footsteps approaching. Turning, you saw Endo carrying Takiishi on his back, both covered in blood. Your anger disappeared as you ran toward them, dropping the gift bag because now you were worried about them. "Endo, what happened? Takiishi, are you—" He interrupted with a soft chuckle, despite the blood on his body and face. “Nothing, you are just cute,” he said. “We’ll explain inside.”

Once inside, you exploded. “YOU WHAT? Seriously, was this even necessary?” Takiishi hadn’t moved since being laid on the couch. “Necessary? Maybe not. But worth it? Absolutely,” Endo replied with a smirk. You grabbed first aid supplies and began cleaning Takiishi’s wounds. He hissed but let you work, too tired to resist. “Why didn’t you tell me? Why keep me out of this?”

The tattooed boy sighed. “Takiishi wanted to handle it alone. His fight with Umemiya wasn’t just about us. It was personal.” He sighed, leaning back against the couch and staring up at the ceiling. "Because this is something he wanted to handle on his own. I didn’t want you involved. He didn’t want you to see this side of things, especially not tonight." 

He said everything you wanted and needed to know, but that's who they were, and even though they made you angry most of the time, you'd always be there for them. So when you handed him the gift bag, of course you had to say “Happy Birthday, Takiishi!” expecting him not to respond, after all, he was tired and would take whatever you gave him, as usual, he would pay you no mind.

“L/N Y/N… thank you,” 

“D-did he–?” you turned to Endo, who nodded, giving you a soft smile, still sitting on the floor. “Yeah, he did,” he said, clearly finding your reaction adorable while Takiishi, still exhausted, gave a small, tired smile.

You froze. The words hit you harder than anything else that night. Takiishi never called you by your name. Are you dreaming? Never in a million years would you have expected it, especially not now. Tears welled up in your eyes, unbidden, and you blinked rapidly, trying to keep them from falling.

Happy birthday to me, huh?

taglist :: @kiurona @nyxypoo @stunies @ryescapades

©2024 kaiser1ns do not copy, repost or modify my work

[melonglossz]

“stop moving, toshi.”

“sorry, love.”

it has been a long week for both them and ushijima. him with his vigorous volleyball practices and them with all of their schoolwork and classes that felt never-ending. so, when the both of them had no plans this weekend, they decided it was the perfect time to do some self-care, watch crappy reality tv, and eat whatever they wanted (well, they would eat whatever they wanted, ushijima would stick to his diet).

it wasn’t often that they got to go all out with their skincare or ushijima’s, so that meant pulling out all the stops: face masks, expensive face creams, lip scrubs, and under-eye masks.

sighing, they couldn’t help but smile as the hands on their waist tightened. “alright, i think we are done.” they patted their boyfriend's cheek as they removed the eye mask from under his eye. they knew by the furrow of his brows and the fidgeting that they wouldn’t get the second one on (honestly, they was surprised they even got the first one on since ushijima has a thing with things being put in or around his eyes).

“hm,” ushijima’s eyes fluttered open as he stared at them with a pout on his lips, “if you’re sure.”

“what,” they giggled, “you want to keep going?”

“i don’t mind, as long as you don’t put those things under my eyes again.”

their smile widened. “well, i guess some chapstick wouldn’t hurt.” they tried to move towards the bathroom counter but was stopped by ushijima wrapping his arms around their waist and pulling them closer to where he sat on the toilet lid. before they could ask him what he was doing he pulled them in for a kiss. immediately their hands go to the nape of his neck and their fingers play with the hair there. the kiss in of itself wasn’t anything crazy, they didn’t feel butterflies in their stomach or exploding fireworks instead, they felt warm and safe and happy. the two of them kiss like they have all the time in the world, like nothing else mattered except the two of them in this bathroom. they eventually break from the kiss and rest their forehead against his. they gave him a couple more pecks before moving back so they could look at his face.

“not that i didn’t enjoy it, but what was that for?”

“chapstick,” he said with a cute smile and shrug.

they let out a surprised laugh as they smacked his shoulder “oh my god, wakatoshi!” sometimes they couldn’t believe that they got to be with this man. they placed their hands on his cheeks and just stared at him. god, they wished they could take a picture of ushijima like this, with his hair pushed up off his face with a my melody headband (they had a matching kuromi one), face clean and bright, a cute smile on his face, and most importantly eyes that were filled with so much love it hurt them sometimes. they were forever grateful that they were the only person in the world who got to see him like this.

“come on lover boy,” they reached for both his and theirs headbands and took them off, throwing them on the counter, “we have a show to get back to.”