#[ i'd love to write more with you in this au !! ]

[vettelsvee]

LITTLE MISS SUNSHINE | Sebastian Vettel

High School History Teacher!Sebastian Vettel x Primary School Teacher!Reader ↳ Teacher AU ⋆ Part of CLASSROOM GOSSIPS

SUMMARY: Seb is stressed because his students did pretty bad in their latest History exam, but he gets more stressed and grumpy when Y/N, the cutest Primary School teacher according to Seb, arrives to the teacher's lounge to "annoy" him, but the truth is that there's more than that ↳ BASED ON THIS POST I MADE THE OTHER DAY!

WORD COUNT: 3099

WARNINGS: LOTS OF GRUMPY (Seb) X SUNSHINE (Reader), some bad words, cursing, nothing else but wait till the end because I assure you you're gonna love it!

TAGLIST: @koalapastries @vampsarereal @gracie23x @cutelittlefakejourneys @scopeiguess @hoziersfrancesca

VEE'S NOTES: I ABSOLUTELY adored writing this, and I hope you like it as much as I do! This goes all the way up to the top of my fave fics written by me. Also, a toast to you because you liked all this Teacher!Seb thing a lot 🥹 I'd love to read your opinions on this, so feel free to leave me a comment, an anon message or reblogging since it helps us creators a lot. Thank you so much for reading, and hope you like it! <3 ↳ TALK TO ME / REQUESTS! | FORMULA 1 MASTERLIST | BUY ME A COFFEE

© VETTELSVEE (2025). please, do not steal, copy or translate my works. thanks for reading!

“How can you say that World War II ended with the fall of the Berlin Wall? My God...”

“It makes no sense at all, but if you ask whoever told you that, they’ll give you a convincing enough answer to make you pass their exam.”

Sebastian lifted his head, even though he didn't need to in order to know who was speaking.

Y/N Y/L/N, the second-grade teacher who is the pure representation of the sunshine itself. Your smile, always revealing your teeth, and your energy, isn’t exactly contagious to him, and even sometimes that'd be enough to make someone want to throw up.

You were standing in front of him, holding an absurd amount of papers. Seb couldn't avoid looking at you. No matter how much you might irritate him at times, he found you more than fascinating. He admired you in every single aspect and, somehow, that made him pretty angry with himself. You took the opportunity to silently show him some drawings of bees. Bees. Happy bees. Sad bees. Damn it, there were even bees wearing party hats and surrounded by confetti, and other baking and having coffee.

Sebastian said nothing. Instead, he ignored you and continued grading exams, but you didn't take it personally since you know how stressed he had to be with his class.

It didn't take long before a series of increasingly loud bangs started to get on his nerves.

When he looked up again, he saw you struggling with the printer, which seemed to have decided not to work.

“Why is it that every time I come here, this stupid, useless piece of junk decides to stop working?” you huffed, nearly shouting. “It’s like… like it’s out to get me!”

“Maybe it’s because you make too many copies every week,” Vettel replies.

“I have to give my students a quality education, Seb. And a quality education includes, among other things, making as many copies as I need to teach the contents properly!”

“And does your quality education include printing an entire colony of bees?”

You shrugged, offering no further explanation. Instead, you grabbed a nearby chair and dragged it until it was next to Sebastian. To his utter surprise, you sat down beside him, placing your absurdly thick stack of papers on top of the ungraded exams.

If you didn’t leave in the next few seconds, Seb swore he'd have a heart attack.

“My kids need all of this, Seb,” you said again, showing him those ridiculous drawings once more. “They’re learning about pollination, and what better way than by coloring little bees and then putting them all over the classroom to represent how they work?”

“I’m currently questioning whether I’m a complete failure as a teacher so, to be completely honest with you, the last thing I need right now is you showing me this... nonsense.”

You scoffed, knowing he didn’t mean it. He was just too stressed. His students failing with embarrassingly low grades didn’t mean his skills as a teacher were declining, but it did mean he’d have an army of parents breathing down his neck, demanding explanations for why their children’s performance was so poor.

“Stop saying things like that!” You smacked his shoulder, and his patience wore even thinner when he noticed a red pen mark on the exam he was grading. One that, knowing all too well his students and their thoughts, they’d probably say looked like a penis.

“You’re not a failure. Teenagers are just… idiots.”

“Is that your opinion as a professional in the education field?2

“Of course!” you shouted, waving your hands dramatically. “Why do you think I teach Primary school? Little kids are way cuter, and they think I’m a genius just because I can spell difficult words without getting any help.”

Seb tried not to, but a small smile started creeping onto his face. He quickly bit his lower lip and shifted in his seat, attempting to maintain his composure even though sitting next to you made him more nervous and, especially, more entertained, than he would have liked to admit.

“Look at you! I made you smile!”

“If I admit that you're almost funny, will you leave me alone?”

“Let me think about it… No.”

Sebastian didn’t even get a chance to answer before you suddenly jumped out of your chair and rushed toward the printer again.

“I just remembered why I came here! Oh my god, why do I have to be sooooooo forgetful?”

“I suppose that’s to make my life more miserable,” the German replied, raising an eyebrow.

“That’s just a bonus, Seb,” you turned to him, still smiling. “So, yeah, this printer isn’t working because… Well, I don’t know why. But I really need to make these copies, so I guess I’ll have to go back to the Primary school teachers' lounge…”

Sebastian stared at you, unsure of what to say.

Was he misunderstanding things because of stress, or he understood that you had actually walked all the way to the High School section, which was not anywhere near the Primary one, just to make copies, despite having a perfectly good printer in your own area?

“Did you come all the way from the Primary section to the High School one just for… some photocopies?”

“Yes!” you nodded enthusiastically.

“You're perfectly aware that there's a much better printer over there, right?”

“Well, that’s debatable if you consider…”

“Y/N, cut the bullshit.”

You pressed your lips together, unsure of how to tell him that your free period, and your desire to see him, was the real reason you had come all this way, even if it had earned you a few questioning looks and whispered comments from some of your colleagues in the upper grades.

“Well… Maybe I also decided to come here to see you,” you admitted.

Vettel had no idea how to reply to that. He tried to think of something friendly and lighthearted, but his stress seemed to take over before he could filter his words.

“I'm this close to kicking you out, Y/N.”

You only laughed, placing a dramatic hand over your chest and letting out a fake gasp. Seb loved when you acted like this, but right now, he hated it more than ever.

“Oh, please, you wouldn’t dare. I’m your favorite person out of all the people in this school.”

“Funny, because right now you happen to be exactly the opposite,” he muttered.

“You didn’t mean that. I know you didn’t.”

Seb shook his head and buried himself back in grading exams. Of course, he hadn’t meant it. No one was perfect, but somehow, you came pretty damn close without even trying.

“Stop making that weird face, or you’re going to get wrinkles ahead of time,” you teased. By now, you had sat back down beside him and were carefully cutting out flower-shaped drawings with impressive precision.

“You are insufferable, Y/N, really,” Vettel shot back as he meticulously corrected a student's answer about the causes of World War II.

“And yet, you still haven’t told me to shut up.”

Seb frowned. He wanted to do it. He should do it. But he couldn’t. You were too kind to him for him to snap at you… just like what was happening now.

He cursed himself mentally and swore that, from now on, he would grade exams at home to avoid this kind of altercation. Though, deep down, he also knew he would do it because, maybe, it would give him a little more time to spend with you.

Suddenly, you moved closer to him, too close, and took his chin. Your eyes locked, and for a few seconds, neither of you could say anything, let alone voice everything running through your minds about each other.

“You need a break, Seb.”

Your hand instinctively moved to his cheek, caressing it with a kind of affection that neither of you expected. He swallowed hard, trying to stay calm, but his heart only pounded faster and faster, and he couldn’t see it as anything other than a betrayal of his feelings for you.

“Why do you always have to be a threat to me, Y/N?”

You simply smiled before leaving a kiss on his cheek and standing up.

“You can keep pretending all you want, but you know you love it,” you said, grabbing your things and heading toward the door, though not before turning back to him.

Sebastian knew exactly what you meant by doing that. He let out a deep sigh and carefully gathered all the exams, placing them in his briefcase along with his pencil case and phone.

“If I go with you wherever you’re going, do you promise to shut up?”

“Nop, there’s no way I’m doing that,” you replied cheerfully, taking his arm the moment he was beside you and dragging him out of the teachers’ lounge with no real destination in mind.

The German was beyond exhausted. He felt his head throbbing more than usual, which he knew was a sign of an oncoming migraine. He felt drained, frustrated, and more plagued by imposter syndrome than ever. It wasn’t the first time he’d had bad results on an exam, but it was the first time they had been this awful.

He decided not to dwell on it and did his best to push his intrusive thoughts aside, focusing instead on the woman beside him.

You couldn’t stop talking. First, you told him about how your kids, as you called your second-grade students, had made Christmas cards for you and even brought you a gift after the holidays. Then, you talked about how, today, your favorite student (because, according to you, yes, teachers had favorites) had dropped a piece of her sandwich on the floor, and you had to give her your own breakfast but it was worth it since she was more than happy to be having Ms. Y/L/N handmade cheesecake.

Now, you had launched into an explanation of the biodiversity project you were preparing for your students, focusing specifically on the importance of bees in the ecosystem. You even showed him some pictures of what you had been working on at home because you wanted it to turn out so well that you couldn’t just work on it during school hours.

“So…” you said after finishing your explanation. “What do you think about my project so far?”

Sebastian kept walking, trying to process the flood of information you had just given him in such a short time. While some of the pictures looked like pure chaos, something completely opposite to him, the embodiment of perfection, he had to admit that it was good. Really good, actually.

“Well… it looked fun,” he admitted.

“Are you serious!?” you squealed, your eyes sparkling with excitement.

He gave you a shy smile.

“Yes, of course, I mean it.”

“Oh, look at him! Grumpy Seb handing out compliments so easily!” you shouted again, now bouncing on your feet, earning a few disapproving looks from the teachers passing by. “This calls for me to get you a coffee!”

“Y/N, I don’t feel like having coffee. I already had one this morning, and I don’t think it’s the best idea, considering how nervous I—”

“That’s nonsense!” you interrupted, marching toward the Primary school section. “You’re going to have coffee with me, no matter what, and you’re going to thank me because I’m convinced my coffee is way better than that vending machine garbage you drink daily.”

“I’ll thank you the day not a single one of my students fails one of my exams,” he told you.

The Primary school teachers' lounge was empty when you both walked in. You didn’t say much, just offered Seb a seat and told him to make himself at home while you headed to your locker. The German pulled out the stack of exams once again, ready to continue grading them, if you didn’t annoy him again. As he kept marking the papers, he glanced at you out of the corner of his eye. Not only were you making him a cup of coffee, but you also seemed to be decorating it. And, if he wasn’t mistaken, you were writing something on a piece of paper.

When you returned, you placed the mug in front of him. It had “Bee positive” written on it, and it was decorated, of course, with a little bee making a heart with its tiny hands. As if that wasn’t enough, you had somehow managed to create an impressive amount of cream, topped with a smiley face that looked like it had been made with cinnamon.

Then, as you took a seat beside him, you slid a note his way, the one he assumed you had been writing earlier.

“Even if you’re having a gray day, remember that you can always make the sun shine! Sincerely, your very own little Miss Sunshine,” followed by a heart and, unsurprisingly, a bunch of smiley faces.

He didn’t know what to say. His eyes, however, when they met yours, seemed to say everything.

“You know, maybe all you need is just a new approach.”

Your sudden change of topic, spoken as you took another bite of your chocolate cupcake, threw him off a little. But he preferred it over the uncomfortable silence you both knew was bound to settle in.

“I’ve already tried, Y/N.”

“Have you tried bribing them?”

Seb narrowed his eyes, impressed and clearly not convinced by what you had just suggested.

“I’m not going to bribe my students, Y/N.”

“Not even by making them work in teams and offering extra credit?” You widened your eyes in surprise. “Have you considered bringing cookies and handing them out? That works incredibly great as a positive reinforcement, trust me”

“I’m not giving my students cookies or anything else,” Seb stated firmly. “I don’t know what to do with them, and that’s what worries me the most. What if I start acting like, no offense, a Primary school teacher, when they’re only two years away from university?”

You shook your head. It annoyed you that Sebastian was so… rigid, so unwilling to change. But what annoyed you even more was that you couldn’t seem to find the right way to help him.

“If you help me with the biodiversity project and actively participate in it, I promise I’ll find a way to make sure all your kids pass the remaining exams this year,” you proposed.

“And what exactly does a primary school teacher know about teenagers and History?”

“First of all, stop being so grumpy with me… I’m just trying to help you!” You huffed, crossing your arms. He wasn’t expecting that answer, and honestly, neither were you. Sebastian straightened in his seat, a bit uncomfortable. “Second, I happen to have a few tricks up my sleeve, but I’m not sharing them until you agree with helping me with the project.”

“Y/N…”

“What is it? What you don’t like: bees, seven-year-olds, or me?"

“I don’t like bees that much, I love being around little kids, and I’m completely captivated by you.”

That was what Sebastian wanted to say. Instead, he stayed silent, absentmindedly playing with the coffee spoon while staring at the note you had written for him.

“You do realize how many exams I still have to grade, right?” was all he managed to reply.

“Seb, you need to relax. I’ve told you before, but I’ll keep saying it as many times as necessary until you actually listen to me.”

“I can’t relax,” Vettel muttered, furrowing his brows. “Do you have any idea how painful it is to read that…?”

You didn’t let him time to finish speaking. You approached him faster than you’d planned, took his face in your hands, and kissed him. At first, Seb was completely caught off guard, but then he placed his right hand on your neck, pulling you closer and making sure the contact between you didn’t break.

Sebastian wondered why he hadn’t done this sooner, while you were more than happy to finally have the courage to take the initiative, especially since it seemed like your work crush was responding with a lot of enthusiasm.

The lack of air forced you to pull away. You readjusted yourself in your seat and couldn’t help but laugh when you saw your lipstick smeared all over Seb’s mouth.

“Did you just…?” Seb tried to speak, but the words wouldn’t come out.

“Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again,” you kissed him once again, but this time it was shorter. “Sebastian Vettel, I need you to stop worrying about those fucking exams and take a break.”

Now, Sebastian couldn’t stop smiling, and that’s exactly when you knew you had won that battle.

“You’re so lucky you’re too cute and beautiful and you’re keeping me at my feet somehow, because I swear I wouldn’t stop talking and be annoying just for you to shut me up by kissing me.”

Your eyes lit up at his tease, and your mouth opened in surprise at what Seb had just confessed.

“Sorry, did you just call me cute and beautiful, and also say you want me to shut you up by kissing you?” you pressed him.

Seb didn’t know what to say. His cheeks started to turn red out of embarrassment.

“If I’d known this was going to happen between us, I should’ve asked you to work together waaaay sooner!” you shouted, jumping up in excitement and sitting on his lap. If he hadn’t grabbed you tightly around the waist and balanced the chair, you would’ve ended up on the floor. “Say it again, come on!”

“No way I’m repeating that, Y/N.”

“Please, Seb,” you pouted, then kissed him all over his face. “Just one more time, please…”

“No.”

“Please…”

“Y/N…”

“Seeeeeeebastian.”

“You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” Seb started, “but, somehow, you’re also my very own Little Miss Sunshine.”

You smiled brightly at his words, but you knew this wouldn’t be the end of things between you.

“I’m not your Little Miss Sunshine yet. At least, not officially,” you teased.

“Oh, really?”

You shook your head.

“I’ll be when you finally have the courage to ask me on a date,” you replied cheerfully, wrapping your hands around his neck and kissing him once more. “I’ve taken the first step and kissed you not once, but twice, so now it’s your turn. We’ve got to work as a team, Seb. Haven’t you learned that all these years working as a teacher?”

[salty-an-disco]

I actually have a little something for that!!

here's some bits of dialogue I wrote for fun for the Spectre equivalent, aka 'The Killer':

(you get to this route similarly to how you get Tower in the OG game, by attacking after hesitating/talking to the princess. but here, it leaves you a bit spiteful at failing to kill Royal, while it makes Royal quite full of themself for killing their assailant so easily)

—

Royal: You again. What a pleasant surprise.

Adventurer: Is it?

R: Of course. Sitting here in this dingy old basement while waiting for something to happen is so boring. I almost regretted killing the only person to ever appear.

A: Almost, huh? What happened after I died?

R: You fell. Thunk. Quite anticlimactic, if you ask me. I expected more from the person that came in intending to kill me.

A: I was taken by surprise!

R: You came down with a knife in hand and somehow you were taken by surprise? What an assassin they sent after me.

—

R: But if you're here to try to kill me again, then go ahead. I already saw what happens when I kill you, after all.

A: You're a freak, you know that?

R: Flatterer.

—

[from much earlier in the chapter–]

Voice of the Hero: Did I hear that right? We– phased through the cabin door?

Narrator: That's– That it is what I said, isn't it? Must've been just a turn of phrase. Yes, that's what it is. In you're rush to get to the cabin, it was as if you simply phased through the cabin door.

Vot Hero: Uhum.

I have fallen into the swap au trap

Narrator got the fledgling gods mixed up. Putting Change in the role of the hero (making her 'The Adventurer'), and Stagnation in the role of princess ('The Royal'). And because none of the echoes have reason to believe anything is amiss, they still proceed with the script as usual, guiding the Adventurer into slaying the Royal to stop the end of the world.

some scattered thoughts copy-pasted from discord under the cut:

– Shifty still has Hero with her because he's the representation of choice here, and she's the one making choices in this AU, but that's the only voice she ever has besides Narrator. Quiet still get to be a stuffed clown car in person form, cuz she still can't really change herself

– the main gimmick is that Adventurer will slowly change as she makes choices and/or react to Quiet/Narry

for example, as soon as she decides to take the knife or not, she'll either become 'sharper' or 'softer' (smth Hero notices, and maybe even Echo describes)

and as this keeps happening, Echo may eventually realize who she actually is and freak out. Saying she's a monster, that she tricked him into putting her in the hero's shoes, etc etc etc

and it's usually in that moment that the Adventurer will fully transition into whatever identity will be predominant in Chapter 2

for example, I have this idea of Royal, seeing the Adventurer acting weird because of the Echo, and acting outta fear to stab her in the back and run away, and that's how we get Witch

– Hero being with Shifty here means he's more like her than like Quiet, so he also changes slightly to accommodate to her new personality

tho when Narry freaks out, he gets very confused and a bit caught up on the "Wait…… so– we're not a hero?" thing to help much

tries to make up for it in most chapter 2's by promising to make sure Narry doesn't pull anything like this again

[moon-ttokki-x]

Your fic about safe is so amazing I'm inlove with it?? Could you do a similar one but with daddy issues like you're dating Han or Chris (idm which you pick) and you sometimes worry he'll leave you + Ur own issues, tw? Bipolar and depression? Whatever makes you comfortable to do at least

aha thank you so much ! i just titled this one 'depressed reader' but all of the main details are in the descriptions below >< also i couldn't decide between writing chan or han so i just kind of wrote both lol . . . hopefully this one brings you some comfort too, anon <3

hold me - bang chan x depressed!reader

pairing: bang chan x depressed!reader

summary: watching chan with one of his members makes everything you've felt lately rise to the surface.

genre: fluff, idol! au, comfort at the end, depression, hinting to bipolar disorder, heavy descriptions of relationship issues (i made it sort of vague so it applies to a lot of scenarios), descriptions of ed, deprecating and negative thoughts, breakdowns, attachment issues, chan is the sweetest most understanding person in the whole world, jisung is mentioned multiple times in this fic

a/n: sending love to all my readers ! you are all soso appreciated <3. divider from @ianrkives

You hesitantly open the door to the studio after knocking twice. When there's no reply, you quickly step inside and blink. The room is pretty much dark, the only source of light coming from a dim standing lamp in the corner.

Chan is seated at his desk, hunched over the soundboard, with a pair of headphones clasping either side of his head. You can barely see him in the dark, only his face, hands, and the column of his throat visible out of the baggy black clothes he always likes to wear.

He doesn't look up as you enter and then quietly shut the door, too focused on the wavy, lilting lines and sequences of the song production software in front of him. You sigh softly and walk up to him, coming from the side so you don't startle him. Placing your bag down on the small table before the sofa, you place a couple of hesitant fingers on the arm of his chair.

"Channie?" You say quietly.

He's still squinting at the screen, somehow so focused he doesn't even see you right next to him. Or maybe it's the light from the screen; when you stare at a device for so long in the dark, it gets difficult to see anything else.

But he suddenly seems to sense your movement, and he must have realised it was you, because he wraps an arm around your waist and gently pulls you closer.

"Hi, baby," he murmurs, not taking his eyes off the screen. His gaze is focused and almost intense as he scrutinizes every soundbar and beat of the music. You bite your lip.

You begin to worry a little then; have you disturbed him from his work? Maybe you shouldn't have come, or at least sent him a text telling him you were coming to the company studio. Maybe he would be more comfortable if you just left him alone.

Before your thoughts can descend on your head like a static black cloud, Chan finally slips off his headphones, leaning back in his chair with a heavy exhale. His arm is still around your waist and so he tugs you with him a little bit, eyes roaming over your face as he stretches.

"Sorry," he says, sighing contentedly as his back pops a little. "Got so caught up, didn't realise I'd be here so late."

"It's okay," you say quietly. "I figured."

Chan catches the hint of sadness creeping into your tone and he pulls you onto his lap, coiling strong arms around your torso. His unruly, ruffled curls tickle the naps of your neck and you squirm, letting out an involuntary giggle. Though the sound is happy, it immediately fills you with a creeping feeling of disgust, and you reproachfully close your mouth.

Chan doesn't seem to notice; he seems rather content to just keep you on his lap. He's absentmindedly singing something, and you stand up off of his lap suddenly, brushing yourself off. For some unknown reason, you begin to feel a bit embarrassed, like you used to feel around Chan when you didn't know him too well.

The man in question sits up a little straighter in his chair, smiling at you. "How was your day, baby?"

"Good," you say a little curtly. You're not sure where the tone is coming from, and you shove the feeling down before you can say something in a way you'd regret.

Chan hums thoughtfully and pokes you lightly in the stomach. "Just good, hmm? Usually I'd get a lot more than that... are you okay?"

"Yes," you say quietly, even though you feel anything but. You're grateful for the darkness then, because it means Chan can't see the tears beginning to prickly hotly at the corners of your eyes. You keep your voice strong and fight the urge to sniffle so as not to alert him. "Just had a long day. You?"

Saying those sentences almost makes you break.

Chan can never know what it's like; how it feels to be brushed off and ignored and attacked by someone who is supposed to love you. To feel like you don't really matter, or that your thoughts and ideas and dreams are just that; useless, empty words inside your head. And to be constantly reminded of how little your worth is, to the point where you're not sure what love is, or what it looks like.

Chan will never understand; he had a completely normal childhood, with a completely normal family and upbringing, and he's normal. Normal in the way that he has people to turn to, people who love and support him, and he's normal in the way that he doesn't scrutinize his own actions every single second of every single day.

And he will never know what it's like to be struggling with something to the point where it all just builds up inside your head like a messy pile of bricks. Where it all weighs down heavy on your mood and sends clouds of dust into the air, distorting and warping your emotions.

So far you've been able to control your mood swings around him; you'd succeeded in making Chan think that you're a person who likes to sleep a lot. In reality you just lie down and keep your eyes and mouth shut so you don't end up acting hypomanic or have outbursts at him. At least it's working; you would much rather keep it all inside than bare the most vulnerable parts of yourself to someone who might decide to turn away and leave you because of it.

You've learnt that keeping those thoughts and emotions inside is better, because then at least people stay. For some time, anyway. Lately you've been feeling like you're biding your time, waiting until the day where Chan finds out everything and decides to do what's best for himself.

When he decides to leave you.

"...And then Han decided he was going to try and do his makeup himself all of a sudden, and of course it was a whole mess. I had to clean sparkly highlighter out of his mouth. I mean, how does that even happen?"

You blink. Chan has been talking this whole time while you've been zoned out of your mind, pitifully burying yourself in your struggles. You climb out of the pit but for a moment and nod along, though he still can't see you because of the dark. You hope that he's just been talking about Han the whole time and not anything else, because if you missed something, Chan will definitely know something's wrong. You inwardly curse yourself for making a habit out of replying to every event and topic that comes out of Chan's mouth.

"Does he not know you guys have perfectly good stylists for that?" You murmur, carding a hand through his fluffy hair.

He sighs exasperatedly, rolling his eyes. "Apparently not."

You feel the slightest hint of mirth warming your heart as you notice the tips of Chan's rough, calloused fingers covered in the faintest hint of sparkles. But it quickly disappears, replaced by a cold, dead numbness that seems to encapsulate your whole being. Like icy water.

"Anyways," Chan stretches again, standing up. "How come you're here and not at home?"

Slightly taken aback at the blunt statement, you stutter a little. Chan's eyes go wide and he shakes his hands frantically in front of himself. "N-not like that! I'm glad you're here, it's just that it's really late and I thought you would be asleep by now..."

You blink at him, and then at the clock. He has a point; the white LEDs on the display read 1:43 am. Normally you'd be passed out in bed at this time.

"Couldn't sleep," you say. "I missed you."

And it's true. You did miss him. But suddenly you're looking straight through Chan to someone else and saying that last sentence to him instead. You clench your fists.

"Aww," Chan whines cutely, pulling you into a hug. "My baby. I missed you too. This new song track is killing me."

You pull back from the hug and kiss him on the cheek, partly because kissing Chan makes him go all red, and if you let him hug you any longer, you'll probably break down.

Chan does go red and you poke him lightly in the side, teasing gently. He chuckles and jerks away as you walk to the low table and pick up a bag. "I brought food."

"Oh, you're the best," Chan dives for the bag and eagerly digs through, clumsily kissing your cheek as he pulls the lid off one of the takeout containers. He sits down on the couch before pulling out a pair of chopsticks from the bag and heaping a mouthful of the food. He groans loudly. "This is so good."

"Tastes better after work, doesn't it?" You sit down next to him and lean back, looking at the ceiling. You cross your arms over your stomach to keep it quiet.

Chan nods eagerly and holds out his chopsticks. "Say ahh, Y/n."

You shake your head ruefully but Chan insists, moving closer. Relenting, you open your mouth and feel the warmth of the food against your tongue. It tastes so good, and for a second, you think about asking for more, but you realise that Chan needs it more. After all, he's been working all night.

Besides, if you ask for more of his food, he might think you're being greedy and look at you that certain way that someone else does.

In disgust.

You know in your heart that Chan would never do these sorts of things, but the doubt nags consistently at your consciousness, tugging your mood one way and then your emotions the next. The constant change between feelings is almost giving you whiplash and you exhale, closing your eyes and leaning back into the couch.

"Baby?"

"Mm," you say without opening your eyes.

"Is everything okay?" You hear him setting down his chopsticks, feel the tiny thud through the table as he sets the already-empty container down gently. Your heart drops to your stomach.

Keep it together. He doesn't know anything.

You sigh and sit up, your heartstrings twinging. "Just a lot to think about lately. Why?"

Chan nods, leaning back into the couch next to you. "It's just that you've been really quiet lately. I was wondering if something was going on..."

He ends his reply on a sort of question, like he's expecting you to open up to him about everything at once. You almost laugh out loud at the absurdity of it. How could he possibly expect you to do something like that? And so easily too...

You inwardly scoff. Nice try. You're not getting anything out of me, Chan. Better you don't know anyway. I know you'll change your mind about me.

But your heart takes control of your mouth, and maybe it's the constant sense of longing you seem to have around Chan, but you want to open up to him. Tell him everything, about your terrible past and terrible experiences, and all you are because of it. And a sudden, lingering sense of hope makes you believe that even after you tell him all of it, he'll stay.

Even if it's just for a moment.

"I, um.. I just had an argument with someone," you say vaguely. And it's not entirely the truth. But it's not exactly a lie either. The words shouted at you earlier flash through your mind, white and hot and painful. Like a fresh cut, a harsh, swift slice too deep and sudden to process. Where, for a moment, there's nothing, until the blood starts filling the white gap and then spilling over, like a gruesome parody of tears.

Chan turns to face you on the couch. "Argument? About what?"

You shift a little uncomfortably. Now you have to tell him. "About- just whatever."

"It's not whatever, Y/n," he says firmly. "Not if it's making you this upset."

And maybe it's the sudden realisation that Chan is so normal, with his normal family and mind and life that you feel a raging pang of jealousy fill you up from your toes to your head. You huff and turn away.

"It's nothing," you grit your teeth, fighting not to spit venom.

Stop it, Y/n. It's not his fault.

Chan blinks in surprise at your slightly harsh response but doesn't push you any further. You don't look at him, but you hear him sigh and get up to toss the empty takeout container in the trash. Your heart sinks and you wait for him to turn around and chide you for being so rude and stubborn. After all, he was just trying to help.

But he doesn't. He sits back down on the couch, and looks up at the ceiling, so that you two are lying next to each other in the exact same position. He doesn't talk, either.

You both sit in deafening silence.

You're grateful when the door opens with a haphazard bang and Han walks in, clad in an oversized grey hoodie and sweats. He's clutching a notebook in his hands, glasses slipping off the bridge of his nose. You know the story Chan told earlier was true because you can see smears of sparkly highlighter high on his cheekbones. He doesn't seem to be aware of the time, nor the dark state of the room, or the fact that you're so tense your shoulders feel like concrete.

You're grateful for the interruption until he walks over to Chan and promptly sits in his lap. Han murmurs a few lyrics to him, who seems unfazed by the sudden action, and questions about what he thinks could be changed with the song words. Chan replies quietly and his gaze flicks to you in the dimness of the room, but you just shrug, saying you don't mind.

But sitting there, watching Han sit so quietly and comfortably in Chan's lap makes your heart pang for some reason. He wasn't afraid, didn't ask if it was okay, just sat right down and made himself comfortable. Because you know for a fact Chan lets him do this.

And maybe it's the way Chan strokes an absentminded finger down Han's shoulder, or the way he speaks so softly, or the way it's so reminiscent of someone taking care of their child, but you find your eyes brimming with hot tears by the time Han gets up and leaves.

Chan turns to you, about to say something about the lyrics of the new track, but he stops short. A look of worry comes over his expression.

He scoots closer, placing a warm hand on your arm. "Baby? Are you okay?"

All you can do is shake your head, your eyes scrunching up as you fall into his arms. Chan holds you close, one hand cradling your head against his chest like you're the most precious thing in the whole world. Little do you know, to him, you are.

You sob. The reality of everything comes crashes down on you and all you can do is wail and hiccup into Chan's warm, solid chest. You expect him to push you away by the time the tears have soaked through his shirt, but he doesn't. He holds you close and rocks you gently, shushing you and cooing as he wipes hot, sticky streaks off your cheekbones.

You can't help but cry harder. Your eyes almost sting from how hard you've scrunched them up, and your hands ball in the back of Chan's hoodie like it's a lifeline. And it is. You feel that if you let go, you might fall and never return.

"I'm here," you hear Chan whispering through the mess. "I'm here."

Again and again he says it, and every time he does, your tears flow a little slower, and he keeps saying it until your breakdown has reduced itself to a fit of hiccups and messy sniffles. Still he doesn't push you away, or snap at you to get over it, or that your tears mean nothing. He just sits and holds you.

When you finally look up, Chan is smiling gently, reassuringly, though a little sadly. He sees the look in your eyes and knows you don't want to talk about it, so he sits and rocks you softly on his lap. You squeeze your eyes shut and heave in a rocky breath.

Please just keep holding me, you beg him silently. Just for a while.

And he does. And he doesn't let go, not even when you whimper into his shoulder and soak the juncture of his neck with your misery. He kisses the salty wetness away and strokes the pads of his fingers across your face, where the skin is red and sticky.

"I love you," he whispers.

"I'm sorry," you cry. "I can't get it all out of my head, and- it's too much, and I can't-"

"Shh, baby. I've got you, okay? Just breathe for me."

You heave in a few breaths and continue clinging to him. He feels so warm and safe. All you want is to be surrounded by him, to breathe him in, have him tell you that he loves you.

He must have read your mind, because he leans close to your ear and whispers firmly.

"I'm not leaving you, yeah? I'm gonna stay right here, hold you til you're better. You mean the world to me, hmm? Do you know that?"

You shake your head sadly.

"Now you do. I'm not going anywhere," he says with such conviction that you almost begin to believe it. He wraps his arms closer around you and kisses your forehead, whispering fiercely.

"I promise."

a/n: masterlist

[espresso1patronum]

Nine Lives, One Knight

(batman!gojo x catwoman!reader)

synopsis: By day, Gojo Satoru is Gotham’s golden boy—billionaire, genius, untouchable. By night, he’s the Bat, a relentless force in the city’s shadows. You? You’re Catwoman—master thief, chaos incarnate, always one step ahead. You’ve spent years dancing around each other, neither willing to truly win. But when a new faction, the Black Veil, sets its sights on Gotham’s most powerful players—including you and the Bat—you’re forced into an uneasy alliance. Tension crackles, lines blur, and the game you’ve always played turns deadly. Because this time, it’s not just about the city. This time, it’s about each other.

cw: batman au, mutual pining, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers, angst, violence, blood, injury mention, gun violence, kinda gory? kinda forbidden love? Toji, geto, shoko and nanami cameo lmao

word count: 10.1k

author's note: this had been in my drafts for a very long time and after the poll results, I thought i'd finish this. it's not much, but I enjoyed writing this jjk x dc crossover.

Gotham was never silent.

Not even at midnight.

Not even when the rain came down in thick, suffocating sheets, drenching the city in shadows. Somewhere below, sirens wailed. Tires screeched. A single gunshot cracked through the air, distant but unmistakable.

To some, the noise was chaos. To you?

It was home.

You move across the rooftop with practiced ease, the weight of the Black Veil’s encrypted drive tucked safely into the pocket of your suit. The heist had been too easy. A little slip past the lasers, a quick crack of the safe, and just like that—you were out.

Something worth a small fortune in your hands. Or rather—something that could destroy half of Gotham’s elite if it ended up in the wrong hands.

(Or the right ones, depending on who you asked.)

A clean escape. A successful job. You should be gone by now.

And yet—

A shiver runs down your spine. Not from the cold. Not from the rain. From something else.

Something you can’t see, but feel.

You land soundlessly on another rooftop, pausing only for a second to scan the city below. Nothing. No movement. Just the familiar neon glow of Gotham’s underbelly.

Still—your fingers twitch. Instinct coils in your gut, whispering a warning you don’t want to acknowledge.

Too easy.

Too—

“Going somewhere, kitten?”

The voice comes from behind you, smooth as silk, dark as thunder.

You don’t startle. You don’t turn. Instead, you let a slow, knowing smirk curl at your lips before you finally glance back.

There he is.

Perched on the edge of the rooftop like he belongs in the night, the rain dripping off the edges of his cowl, his cape shifting slightly in the wind. Batman.

Or rather—Gojo Satoru.

You should’ve known he’d show up. Maybe you did. Maybe you ignored it.

"Bold of you," you murmur, fingers flexing, ready to bolt. "Sneaking up on a cat in the dark."

His head tilts, and though the mask hides half his face, you can hear the smirk in his voice.

"Please," he drawls. "You knew I was here before you even touched the ground."

He's right. You did. But you don’t let him win that easily.

"Is that what you tell yourself to sleep at night, Bat?" You shift your weight, rolling your shoulders, keeping it casual. "Or do you just like following me around?"

He steps closer. Slow. Deliberate. The way a storm rolls in—inevitable.

"You stole something," he says.

You sigh, dramatically. "I steal a lot of things. You’ll have to be more specific."

"You know what I’m talking about."

He’s close enough now that you can see the flicker of blue beneath his mask. The kind of dangerous blue that makes your pulse stutter for half a second before you shut it down.

"Give it to me," he says, voice quieter this time.

You shake your head, clicking your tongue. "Oh, Bat. You always ask so nicely."

Before he can move, you bolt.

And that’s when the rooftop explodes.

A deafening boom shatters the night, the blast wave knocking you clean off your feet. You don’t have time to think, don’t have time to react—your body moves on instinct, twisting midair, boots scraping against the slick rooftop as you skid dangerously close to the edge.

Shit.

The explosion wasn’t meant for him. It was meant for you.

You barely have time to register the shift in the air before an arm wraps around your waist—strong, unyielding, and familiar—yanking you backward just as the ledge beneath your feet crumbles.

You don’t fall.

Because he doesn’t let you.

When the smoke clears, you’re half-sprawled against him, one of his arms still locked around your waist, his other hand braced against the rooftop. Your breaths come hard and fast, heart pounding against your ribs, adrenaline flooding your veins.

"Well," you huff, dazed but not broken. "Didn’t think you cared, Bat."

His grip tightens—just for a second. Just long enough for you to feel it.

"I don’t," he says flatly. But his jaw clenches. "Stay down."

You snort, pushing off of him as you roll onto your feet. "You and I both know that’s not happening."

He doesn’t argue. Because you’re right. Because whoever just tried to kill you isn’t done.

And they’re not alone.

From the rooftop across the alley, figures emerge from the shadows. Armed. Precise. Waiting.

Batman’s shoulders go rigid. His voice is low. Dangerous.

"They knew you’d be here."

You exhale sharply, adjusting your gloves. "Looks like we’re on the same side tonight, Bat."

The rain slicks the rooftop, turning it into a death trap. But you’ve fought in worse.

Across the alley, four figures move into position. Their weapons gleam under the glow of a distant streetlight—guns, knives, and something that looks an awful lot like a taser baton.

Cute.

Satoru tenses beside you, assessing. Calculating. His voice is low, barely audible over the rain. "Stay behind me."

You scoff, rolling your shoulders. "Not happening."

He doesn’t waste time arguing. Because you’re both outnumbered, because the enemy is moving—because there’s no time to fight each other when you’re about to fight them.

And then—they strike.

One gunshot. Two. You react on instinct, dropping low, twisting away, boots skidding against the rooftop. Batman’s cape flares as he moves—one sharp flick of his wrist, and a batarang slices through the dark, knocking a pistol clean from one of their hands.

Fast and efficient. Classic him.

You? You have your own way of doing things.

The second attacker lunges at you with a knife. You sidestep, grab their wrist, twist—the blade clatters to the ground. Before they can react, your elbow smashes into their ribs, sending them stumbling backward with a wheeze.

"Really?" you taunt, dodging another strike. "You came all this way just to embarrass yourselves?"

Batman doesn’t look at you, but you swear you can feel his exasperation.

"Focus."

You grin. "I am focused."

And then you flip over one of the attackers, landing smoothly behind them before slamming them headfirst into a ventilation unit.

Batman exhales sharply. "Could’ve just knocked them out."

"They’ll wake up." You dodge another strike. "Eventually."

More gunfire. Batman twists mid-air, cape flowing like liquid shadow as he dodges the bullets. In the same motion, he grabs your wrist—yanking you forward, pulling you out of the line of fire just as another shot rings out.

You’re so close you can hear his heartbeat.

For half a second, the world shrinks. The rain, the chaos, the rooftop beneath your feet, it all disappears.

It’s just you and him. Breathing the same air.

Then—"Move."

And just like that, the moment is gone.

You both explode into motion, flawless in sync. A kick to the ribs. A punch to the jaw. A perfect sweep of your leg sends another attacker sprawling.

It’s fast. Clean. Too easy.

When the last enemy collapses, groaning, you barely break a sweat.

You exhale, shaking out your arms. "Well," you say, breathless. "That was fun."

Satoru glares at you. "This wasn’t a game."

"Could’ve fooled me." You step over one of the unconscious bodies, crouching slightly to pat them down. No ID. No insignia. No obvious ties to the Black Veil.

But then— your fingers brush against something cold. Metal.

Your stomach drops.

A small device is clipped to one of their belts. Black, sleek, with a blinking red light.

Shit.

Your head snaps up. Satoru sees it the same moment you do, his voice is sharp. "Bomb." A soft beep. A single second.

And then— the rooftop blows apart beneath your feet.

Pain.

It drags you back to consciousness, slow and disorienting, like surfacing from deep water. Your body aches, the sharp sting of a fresh wound cutting through the dull throb of bruises.

The last thing you remember—the rooftop. The explosion.

And then—falling.

Your eyes snap open. You’re not on the street. You’re not dead.

Instead, you’re somewhere dimly lit, the soft hum of an old heater filling the silence. A safehouse.

Your head tilts slightly. The room is small—just a battered couch, an old desk, and a half-broken lamp casting flickering shadows against the walls.

And across from you— standing near the door, arms crossed, still in full suit— is Batman.

Gojo.

Watching you.

You shift, trying to sit up, but a sharp pull at your side stops you. That’s when you realize— your suit is torn and your stomach is bandaged, and you sure as hell didn’t do it yourself.

A slow smirk tugs at your lips. "Didn’t take you for the hands-on type, Bat."

His jaw ticks. "You were bleeding."

"Aww," you tease, voice still hoarse. "You do care."

He steps closer. The soft glow of the lamp catches the edge of his mask, illuminating the sharp cut of his jaw, the faint tension in his shoulders.

"You almost died." His voice is quiet now, lacking its usual smugness. Too honest.

You tilt your head, studying him. Something about the way he’s looking at you feels... different.

Like he hated seeing you like that. Like it unnerved him.

For a moment, neither of you speak. The air is thick, heavy, charged with something unspoken.

Then—he exhales, stepping back, breaking the moment.

"You need rest," he mutters.

You shift again, testing the pain, biting back a wince. "I need answers."

"You need to not die."

"You didn’t answer my question."

His hands tighten into fists at his sides. He doesn’t look at you, but his voice is sharp, precise. Avoiding something.

"The bomb was a trap. Someone wanted you dead."

You roll your eyes. "Yeah, I figured that part out, Bat."

He ignores the sarcasm. "Who else knew you’d be at that vault?"

"Just me."

His gaze flickers to you, sharp and assessing. Like he doesn’t believe you.

You sigh, leaning back against the couch. "Look, I don’t have a name yet. Just whispers about a buyer wanting the drive. But if they’re willing to go that far to kill me for it—"

"—then you’re already in too deep."

There’s something grim in his tone that makes your stomach twist. You study him carefully. His cowl hides most of his face, but you’ve seen him fight, seen him move.

Gojo Satoru is always too confident. Too smug. Like he knows he’s the strongest, the fastest, the smartest in the room.

But right now? Right now, he looks... frustrated.

Not at you. He is frustrated for you and the realization is dangerous.

You push it down and swallow it whole. "Relax, Bat," you say, forcing a smirk. "I still got, what, six lives left?"

He doesn’t smile, doesn’t take the bait. But then your breath catches as he kneels infront of you but you don't move.

You should. You should say something—anything—but you don’t. Because his hands are on you again, pressing carefully against your bandaged side, checking his work.

He’s too close. His touch warm, solid, and careful.

And for the first time, he looks at you—not as an opponent. Not as a thief. But as something else entirely.

The silence stretches and you wish it hadn't because your heart is pounding in a way it isn't supposed to.

And then— he shifts.

You feel it before it happens. The slow lean forward. The weight of his stare. The way your own pulse betrays you, beating too fast, too hard, in the space between you.

Almost—

But then, the moment shatters.

The old radio in the corner crackles to life, static hissing before a voice cuts through. "Breaking news—an attack on Gotham’s financial district just moments ago—"

You blink as he pulls back and you just clear your throat, wanting to push all the wierd thoughts that were clouding your mind right now.

Satoru's expression hardens, as he stands, straightens his suit and steps away. "You stay here," he says, all business again.

You smirk, ignoring the sharp ache in your ribs. "Come on, Bat. You know that’s not happening."

He exhales, long-suffering. "You’re injured."

"And yet I still fight better than half your enemies."

He pauses and stares at you as though you'd said something wrong. Then, finally—a reluctant smirk. "Try to keep up, kitten."

Satoru hadn’t always been like this in the past when you met him. He was obnoxious, full of himself, always eager to show off his strength and speed in front of you. But today—this time—he felt different. For the first time, he seemed genuinely serious. And maybe, just maybe, there was a flicker of vulnerability in the way he spoke, in the way Gotham’s Batman spoke.

You told yourself it had nothing to do with you. But no matter how hard you tried to push the thought away, you couldn’t help but wonder—what if it did?

Sneaking into Gotham’s financial district isn’t hard. But sneaking in with Batman?

Now that’s a challenge.

You slip through the shadows like you were born for this—because you were. Satoru moves beside you, silent, precise, and still annoyingly smug. You glance at him. "Not bad, Bat."

He doesn’t look at you. "Not trying to impress you, kitten."

Liar.

The building looms ahead, dark and empty except for the guards patrolling the perimeter. "Twelve," you murmur, already counting. "Four on the roof, two at the entrance, six inside."

He hums. "I’ll take the roof. You take the inside."

You grin. "Awfully trusting, Bat."

"If you get caught, I’m not saving you."

You both know that’s a lie.

Getting in is easy. Getting to the main office where the stolen drive is hidden? Even easier. You’re already at the vault, fingers working over the lock, when— you hear footsteps.

Shit.

You whirl around, but it’s too late—one of the guards spots you. The alarm blares.

"Dammit," you hiss, already moving, flipping over the desk as more guards storm in. You could take them. You should take them. It's really easy for you actually.

But before you even get the chance— a blur of black crashes through the skylight. Batman lands hard, cape billowing, taking down two guards before his boots even hit the floor.

You blink. "Show-off."

"You’re welcome," he mutters, throwing a punch.

It’s a blur of fists, kicks, and electricity. You move too well together, too in sync. It’s not just skill—it’s instinct. Every time you dodge, he’s already covering your blind spot. Every time he moves, you’re already reading his next step.

It’s flawless. It’s deadly. It’s perfect but— a bit too much. At some point, you end up back-to-back. Panting, bruised and your adrenaline spiking.

His voice is low, breathless. "You good?"

You swallow hard because you shouldn’t be this affected. You shouldn't be affected by anything he says or he does because you don't care, right?

"Always."

And then— a hand grips your wrist. It was a guard you didn’t see. You twist your hand, ready to counter, but before you can, Batman moves first.

Fast. Too fast.

His hand grips the front of your suit—yanking you forward, spinning you behind him as he slams the attacker into the wall with enough force to shake the room.

With a loud thud, the guy drops instantly and you hear nothing but the silence that is lingering in the air. The only sound is your breath and his, his hand still gripping your suit, still holding you.

You look up at him and find him already watching you. He’s too close for your liking. Or is he?

His jaw is tight, his chest rising and falling in steady yet controlled breaths, and his grip on you remains firm. Your pulse slams against your ribs. There’s something in the air—something that shifts, pulling both of you in. You feel it. And so does he.

You hate this. Or at least, you tell yourself you do. But the truth is, you can’t stop it. It’s happening, inevitable and inescapable. This isn’t just a fight anymore. This is something else entirely. And this time, no one interrupts. No radio crackling to life, no explosions in the distance, no convenient excuse to look away.

It’s just you. Him. And a choice.

Before you can even pull yourself back, before your mind can fully grasp the situation, Satoru makes the decision for you. He yanks you forward, his lips crashing onto yours, his mask half-pulled up—just like yours. His hands slide down to your waist, pulling you in closer.

And despite everything, despite all the reasons you shouldn’t—you kiss him back.

Your back slams against cold metal, the impact sending a shiver down your spine—not that you can focus on it. Not when he’s leaning in, fingers curling into your suit, pulling, pressing, taking.

You don’t even realize you’re kissing him back until it’s too late. Until your hands are in his hair, gripping, tugging, dragging him closer. Until his weight is the only thing keeping you upright.

The vault. The alarms. The entire damn mission—forgotten. Because all you can think about is—

This is dangerous. This is a mistake. This is—

“Fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

And then— he pulls back, barely.

His breath is ragged, his gloved hand still firm on your jaw, his eyes burning with something wild, like he can’t believe he just did that or like he can’t believe he wants to do it again.

The silence between you crackles like a live wire.

Then he swallows. “We can’t—”

You shove him off. Hard.

Your body still hums from his touch, your lips still tingling, your pulse betraying you. But you don’t let any of it show. Instead, you smirk, sharp as a blade.

“Didn’t know the Bat had such bad impulse control.”

His expression doesn’t change, but you see it—the exact moment he chooses denial. The way his walls snap back into place like steel reinforcements.

His mask comes down. His voice turns cold. “Let’s move.”

And just like that, it’s over.

Except it isn’t.

Because now, the line between you is blurred beyond recognition. Because now, you know what he tastes like. Because now, everything has changed.

And there’s no undoing it.

Gotham’s elite love to party.

It’s how they distract themselves from the fact that their city is rotting beneath them.

Big money, expensive champagne, and a ballroom filled with people who don’t care about anything but themselves.

It’s your kind of scene.

A place where no one notices a missing diamond necklace. Where a stolen keycard goes unreported. Where masks are more than just accessories.

And yet— tonight, you’re not here to steal. Tonight, you're here for him.

It had been a few days since that night—since everything that happened between you and Satoru. Or Batman.

Now, another party was being thrown by Gotham’s elite, and of course, Batman had been invited. And, of course, you had to see him again.

It felt awkward.

Because no matter how much you wanted to ignore it, that kiss had meant something. To both of you. And you didn’t want it to.

You wanted to talk to him like nothing had happened. Like nothing ever would happen again. Right?

You wanted to tell him it was just the adrenaline, just the chaos of that night, nothing more. That’s all it was. That’s all it could ever be.

Gojo Satoru feels you before he sees you.

A shift in the air. A prickle at the back of his neck.

And then— you walk in, dressed to kill.

Silk. Black. Dangerous. A slit running high up your thigh, the soft glint of diamonds resting against your collarbone.

And when your gaze meets his across the ballroom— his throat goes dry.

Because he hasn’t seen you since the kiss. Because you’re smiling like it never happened. Because the second you do— you turn away, and walk straight into another man’s arms.

You feel his stare before you even see him. It lingers on your skin, heavy and unrelenting, like a touch without contact. But you don’t look. Not yet.

Instead, you let the man beside you—some rich idiot with more money than sense—pull you closer, his hand brushing over your waist, his breath warm as he leans in.

"You look exquisite tonight," he murmurs, voice smooth, practiced.

You hum, barely interested. "I know." And still, you feel him.

Watching. Brooding. Jealous. Exactly as you wanted.

So when you finally turn—when your gaze finally locks onto his across the crowded ballroom—you make sure to smirk.

And just like that, he’s gone.

But you know better. He didn’t leave. Not really.

So when you step outside onto the balcony, the cool Gotham night air brushing against your skin, you’re not surprised to find him already there. He stands by the railing, his posture deceptively relaxed, fingers curled around a glass of untouched champagne.

His mask is gone, but his walls? Higher than ever.

You exhale slowly as you step closer, watching him carefully. "Didn’t take you for the jealous type, Bat."

He doesn’t look at you when he answers. "I’m not."

You tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. "Could’ve fooled me."

Silence settles between you, thick with unspoken words and something else, something heavier. The tension coils between you like a wire pulled too tight, waiting to snap.

And then, you break it.

"You’ve been avoiding me," you say, your voice quieter now.

His jaw tightens, but his expression doesn’t shift. "You’ve been avoiding me."

"Maybe," you admit. A small smirk tugs at your lips as you step even closer. "Or maybe I was just waiting for you to make the first move."

He scoffs, shaking his head. "That’s not how this works, kitten."

"Then how does it work?" Your voice is softer now, your gaze steady. "Because last I checked, you kissed me."

His breath hitches, barely audible.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

And then— you’re against the railing, his hand is on your waist, his grip firm, fingers pressing against the silk of your dress as if anchoring himself in place. His breath is warm against your skin, his voice low and edged with something dangerous.

"It was a mistake," he murmurs, though there’s no conviction behind the words.

You smirk, tilting your head slightly. "Then why are you still thinking about it?"

He doesn’t answer. He doesn’t have to. Because you already know.

And when his grip tightens on your waist, when his breath ghosts over your lips, you can see it—the exact moment he realizes he’s already lost.

You could kiss him right now. It would be easy. He’s already too close. His body is practically caging you in, his presence overwhelming. His fingers press into your waist like he doesn’t want to let go, like he’s memorizing the feeling of you beneath his touch. His breath is warm against your lips, his eyes dark and unreadable.

And you know he wants it. Because he hasn’t moved away. Because his grip keeps tightening, like he’s fighting himself but losing the battle.

Because when you whisper, "What are you so afraid of, Bat?" his lips part—like he’s about to answer.

Like he’s about to give in. Like this is finally it.

And then— "We’ve got a problem." The comm in his ear crackles to life, shattering the moment.

Just like that, his entire body stiffens. The warmth disappears, replaced by something cold, something distant. You watch it happen—the exact second he shuts down. The moment he remembers who he is. Who you are. What this is.

His hand falls away. His walls slam back up.

When he speaks again, his voice is devoid of whatever had been lingering between you just seconds ago. "I have to go."

You don’t let it show—the disappointment, the frustration curling inside your chest, the ache you don’t want to name. Instead, you force a smirk, tilting your head slightly.

"Duty calls, huh?"

His expression remains unreadable. "Always."

And with that— he’s gone.

But there's always a problem. You should've known this was a setup. You should have left the party the second he walked away.

You should have ignored the champagne, the meaningless conversations, and the empty laughter echoing through the ballroom. You should have disappeared into the night before anyone had the chance to notice.

But you didn’t. And now, you are paying for it.

The moment you step out the back entrance and into the dimly lit alleyway, something slams into you with brutal force. The impact knocks the air from your lungs, sending you stumbling. Before you can react, a sharp sting pierces the side of your neck.

Your vision blurs instantly as your body feels heavy and unsteady. The world tilts beneath you as you struggle to stay upright, but your limbs refuse to cooperate.

Through the haze, a voice reaches your ears, low and amused. "Nighty night, kitty."

Darkness swallows you whole.

"Say that again."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

Shoko hesitates over the comms. "She’s missing. No one’s seen her since the party. Word on the street is—"

She doesn’t get the chance to finish. He is already moving. His mind is no longer in the conversation. His focus sharpens, narrowing in on a single, undeniable truth.

Someone took you. And that changes everything.

This isn’t part of the game you and he have played for years. This isn’t the usual chase through Gotham’s streets, the endless dance of pursuit and escape. This isn’t teasing smirks and near-missed captures.

This is something else, something darker.

Someone dared to take you, and that is a very, very big problem.

Because you are his to chase. Because no one else gets to touch you. Because if they have hurt you— he will burn this entire fucking city to the ground.

Pain is the first thing you register. The feeling's not new at all though.

A dull, throbbing ache pulses behind your eyes, heavy and unrelenting. A sharp sting burns at your wrists where the rope digs into your skin. Cold metal presses against your ankles, the bite of steel cuffs locking you in place.

You inhale slowly, steadying yourself as the haze begins to clear. You’re tied to a chair.

The air is thick with the scent of damp concrete, musty and stale, like an old basement that hasn't seen fresh air in years. A single lightbulb flickers overhead, its dim glow casting long, shifting shadows against the cracked walls.

You take a slow breath and assess your surroundings.

You’re underground. Maybe an abandoned warehouse. Maybe a storage facility. Wherever you are, it's hidden, tucked away from prying eyes.

And whoever took you here—they know what they’re doing.

You flex your fingers, testing the restraints, but before you can shift too much, a voice cuts through the silence.

"Ah, you’re awake."

The words are smooth, laced with amusement, as if this entire situation is nothing more than an entertaining inconvenience to him.

Your eyes snap toward the source of the voice, adjusting to the dim light, and when you finally see him, irritation flares in your chest.

Fushiguro Toji.

You let out a slow breath, biting back a groan. "You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me."

Toji smirks, leaning back in his chair like he has all the time in the world. "Surprised, kitty?"

"Annoyed," you correct, rolling your shoulders against the ropes. "Didn’t think I was worth your time."

He chuckles, dark amusement dancing in his green eyes. "Oh, you weren’t. But then I heard about your little… situation with Gotham’s Bat."

The words are casual, but your stomach twists.

You don’t react. You don’t tense. You don’t let the flicker of unease show on your face. Instead, you arch a brow and smirk. "Didn’t know he had fans."

"I wouldn’t call myself a fan," Toji muses, tilting his head. "But I do love a good weakness. And you, sweetheart?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You’re his."

Your heart skips just for a second.

But you keep your expression neutral because he’s wrong.

Right?

Right.

Right.

…Right?

Gojo finds the first guy in ten minutes.

The second in five.

By the time he gets to the third, his knuckles are already bloodied, bruises forming across his fingers from the force of his hits.

The man stumbles back, pressing himself against the brick wall, his breath coming out in short, panicked gasps. "I-I don’t know where they took her, I swear—"

Gojo’s expression is unreadable beneath his blindfold, but his voice is ice. "Where."

It isn’t a question. It’s a demand.

The man chokes, scrambling for words. "P-please, man, I just heard they took her underground—"

That’s all Gojo needs.

His fingers loosen, and the man collapses to the ground, coughing and gasping for air. But Gojo doesn’t wait. He’s already gone. Because he’s close. Because they took you from him. Because they think they can keep you.

And they’re about to learn just how wrong they are.

You won’t let him see you sweat.

Not when the ropes burn against your wrists, cutting into your skin with every twitch of your fingers. Not when your head pounds from whatever the hell they drugged you with, the fog in your brain refusing to lift. Not even when Fushiguro Toji leans in, eyes dark with amusement, the sharp glint of his knife catching the dim, flickering light.

He’s enjoying this.

Enjoying the way your muscles tense when the blade spins between his fingers. Enjoying the way your gaze flickers toward the door, toward the single exposed bulb swaying overhead.

Enjoying the way you’re waiting for something.

Or rather, someone.

"What’s wrong, kitty?" he murmurs, the cold edge of steel pressing against your cheek. "Thought your Bat would’ve come for you by now?"

Your lips curl into a smirk, masking the way your stomach coils with unease. "What, jealous?"

Toji chuckles, low and amused, before his fingers curl beneath your chin, tilting your face up. His grip is firm—not cruel, but controlling. A predator playing with his food.

"Nah," he muses. "Just curious how long it’s gonna take him to break."

Your stomach tightens because if there’s one thing you know about Gojo Satoru, it’s this— he doesn’t break.

He shatters. And when he does— he takes everything down with him.

Gojo hears your heartbeat before he sees you. He has some sirt of a bat instinct, you see.

Faint. Steady. Alive.

That’s the only thing keeping him from ripping this place apart.

But the moment he steps inside—the moment his eyes land on you, tied to that fucking chair, with Toji crouched in front of you like a wolf toying with its prey—something inside him snaps.

"Step away from her." His voice is quiet and deadly. The kind of voice that promises violence.

Toji doesn’t even turn around. Instead, he grins, spinning his knife between his fingers. "Took you long enough, Bat."

Gojo doesn’t move. Doesn’t flinch, doesn’t blink. "This is your only warning."

Toji finally turns, his sharp green eyes glinting with something dangerous. "Or what?"

Gojo tilts his head, slow and deliberate.

Then—he smiles. "Or I’ll show you why Gotham is afraid of the dark."

You’ve seen him fight before. You’ve seen the way he moves—quick, calculated, precise.

But this? This is different. This isn’t the controlled Bat, this isn’t the patient hunter.

This is Gojo Satoru with nothing left to hold back. And it’s terrifying. Because he’s not just fighting Toji.

He’s dismantling him.

A fist meets flesh with a sickening, brutal crack. Toji throws a punch—Gojo catches his wrist mid-air, twisting hard enough that the snap of bone echoes through the empty warehouse.

Toji grits his teeth, lunges—Gojo moves faster, dodging with ease before slamming him into the concrete so hard the ground cracks beneath them. There’s no banter. No smirk. No teasing.

There’s just rage.

And the worst part? Gojo is enjoying it. Because this isn’t just about you anymore. This is everything.

This is Gotham. The corruption. The powerlessness.

This is every ounce of anger he’s swallowed down for years, unleashed on the one bastard stupid enough to give him an excuse and if you don’t stop him now— he won’t stop at all.

"Satoru." Your voice barely reaches him over the pounding in his ears.

But the second you say his name—his real name— he freezes.

Fist still curled in Toji’s bloodied collar. Breath coming in slow, heavy exhales. Shoulders rising and falling with barely contained fury.

And then, slowly—he turns. His eyes meet yours, and for the briefest moment, they flicker—from Gotham’s Bat to the man underneath. That’s all you need.

"Let him go."

Gojo stares at you, unmoving, his grip tightening for a fraction of a second.

Then, with a sharp breath—he lets Toji’s unconscious body drop to the ground. The tension in his frame lingers, coiled tight, but his steps are steady as he moves toward you. The anger is still there. The darkness. The weight of everything he just did.

But his hands are gentle when they find the ropes binding your wrists.

"Let’s get you out of here."

The silence is suffocating.

You should be grateful though. The moment he cut you loose, he got you out—carried you through Gotham’s backstreets, made sure you weren’t followed. Now, you’re in a hidden safehouse—one of his, no doubt—sitting on an old couch, trying to ignore the dull ache in your wrists.

And him? He’s in the bathroom. Avoiding you.

You hear the water running, the steady drip of blood swirling down the sink. You should leave, you should run. But you don’t. Because you’re not done with him yet.

But for him it keeps replaying in his head. The way you said it.

'"Satoru."'

Not Batman. Not Bats. Not some teasing, smug nickname meant to piss him off. Just his name.

Like you knew exactly what it meant to use it. Like you knew it would break him.

His knuckles sting as he washes off the blood. He should have killed Toji. He should have— no.

No, he shouldn’t have let you get this close. He grips the edge of the sink, eyes burning into his reflection. He can’t want this. He can’t want you.

But then—a creak of the floorboard, a shift in the air. He doesn’t need to turn around to know you’re standing in the doorway. And when you speak— he already knows he’s fucked.

"Let me see your hands."

He doesn’t move, neither does he look at you. But he also doesn’t stop you when you step forward and reach for his hand. The bruises are already blooming, dark and angry across his knuckles.

You should say something sharp—something to piss him off, make him smirk, drag him back into whatever stupid game you’ve been playing for years. But for once, you don’t want to play.

"You could’ve killed him," your voice is quiet.

A muscle in his jaw twitches. "I should have."

"That’s not who you are," you say as you caress the back of his hand.

That makes him snap.

His head jerks up, eyes flashing. "You don’t know who I am."

But you don’t let go.

You squeeze his hand—challenging. "Then tell me."

He doesn't say anything for a while and you feel frustrated.

And then, softer—barely a breath. "You don’t want to know."

The silence between you stretches, thick and heavy, coiling around your throat like a noose.

His hand is still in yours, bruised and warm, fingers twitching like he’s fighting the urge to pull away.

Or worse—hold on tighter.

You don’t let go. Neither does he. And for a moment, just a moment, you let yourself believe that maybe— maybe this isn’t something you have to fight. Maybe this doesn’t have to be another battle, another game of pushing and pulling until one of you finally lets go.

Maybe— but then his grip tightens, and his voice, when he finally speaks, is hoarse. "You should leave."

The words hit harder than any punch.

Your breath catches, but you don’t let it show. You force yourself to smile, to tilt your head like this is nothing, like you aren’t standing on the edge of something that could shatter you completely.

"So that’s it?" you murmur, fingers tracing absent patterns along his wrist, feeling the steady pulse beneath your touch. "I almost die, you almost lose your mind, and now you’re just gonna pretend none of it happened?"

His jaw clenches, eyes flashing, but he doesn’t pull away. "It can’t happen."

You scoff. "Can’t, or won’t?"

He exhales sharply, the muscle in his jaw twitching again. "Don’t do that."

"Do what?"

"Make this something it isn’t."

Anger flickers hot in your chest, and this time, it’s you who tightens your grip. "And what exactly is this, Satoru?"

He doesn’t answer and that’s the worst part. Because you can take a fight. You can take sharp words and heated arguments, can take anger and fire and frustration.

But this? This silence? This refusal to even acknowledge what’s between you? This is what fucking hurts.

You shake your head, laughing bitterly as you finally drop his hand. "You know, for someone who always acts like he’s got all the answers, you really are a fucking coward."

Then you turn. And this time, you walk away first.

He lets you walk away, though he shouldn’t.

He knows he shouldn’t. But he does.

Because if he stops you—if he says anything else, if he gives in even an inch— he won’t be able to stop himself at all.

He won’t be able to stop himself from pulling you back, from letting himself want this, want you, from letting himself believe that there could ever be a world where this doesn't end in disaster.

So he lets you go. He stays in that goddamn bathroom, gripping the counter so hard his knuckles turn white, staring at his own reflection like it’ll give him an answer he doesn’t already fucking know.

Because he knows.

He knows that no matter how many times he tells himself to stay away, no matter how many times he buries it— it’s still there.

It’s been there for years. And now? Now it’s unraveling, slipping through his fingers like smoke, impossible to ignore, impossible to deny. Because the moment you walked away? He felt it.

The weight in his chest, the tightening in his throat, the overwhelming urge to chase after you, to take it back, to do something—

And fuck.

Fuck.

He slams his fist into the mirror before he can stop himself, glass shattering beneath his skin, pain blooming sharp and hot across his knuckles. He doesn’t even feel it. Because all he can think about—all he can fucking think about— is you. And that’s when he knows. This is it. This is the breaking point.

Because the second something happens—the second something puts you in danger again, the second someone so much as looks at you the wrong way— he won’t be able to stop himself.

And this time? He won’t fucking try.

You shouldn’t care. You tell yourself you don’t.

You tell yourself it’s better this way.

You tell yourself you should be used to it by now—used to the push and pull, used to the way he always leaves first, used to the way you always let him.

But this time? This time, it feels different.

This time, it feels like something inside you has been cracked open, exposed, left bleeding in the space between you. This time, you were the one who walked away—and it still fucking hurts.

Because the truth is— you wanted him to stop you. You wanted him to prove you wrong. But he didn’t.

And that? That fucking stings.

You exhale, pressing your fingers to your temples, eyes fluttering shut as you try to push it down, try to shove it deep, deep, deep beneath the surface where it can’t touch you anymore.

But the second you open your eyes, the second you see your reflection in the grimy window of your apartment—

You know. You know this isn’t over, because no matter how hard you try to run from it— it always brings you back to him.

You were lost in your thoughts, more like consumed by them that you forgot. You're Catwoman. You're in the freaking city of Gotham. You should've known. It happens fast. Too fast.

One second, you’re walking down the empty streets of Gotham, the cool night air biting at your skin, the weight of earlier still sitting heavy in your chest—

And the next? You’re surrounded.

Shadows slip out from the alleys, footsteps closing in, voices murmuring in low, amused tones. "Look what we have here…"

"Thought you were untouchable, sweetheart?"

Shit.

You recognize them instantly—Falcone’s men. Which means this isn’t a random attack. This is a message, a warning. A consequence for getting too close to Gotham’s Bat.

You bite back a curse, hands twitching at your sides, muscles tensing as you count the men, assess the distance, calculate your odds.

Four—maybe five. Armed? Most likely. A fight you could win? …Not without consequences.

But what other choice do you have? Because you already know— no one is coming to save you. Not this time.

Satoru feels it before he hears it.

It’s instinct.

A sharp, sudden shift in his chest, a gut-wrenching pull like something inside him is being ripped apart. Then— the comm buzzes.

"We got a situation." Nanami’s voice is clipped, urgent. "Falcone’s men. Five of them. Near Harbor Street."

And before he can even think—before he can stop himself—he’s already moving. Because he knows.

He fucking knows.

You don’t go down easy. They think they’ve already won. They think this will be easy.

They think you’re just a pretty little thief, just a girl who got in too deep, just another lesson to be taught. And that’s their first mistake. Because you don’t go down easy.

You move before they do—a sharp kick, a twist, a knife pulled from your belt and pressed to the throat of the closest man before he can even blink.

"Try it," you hiss, voice laced with venom.

He hesitates, and in that second, you know—you have an opening.

But then— a gun cocks.

And a voice—low, amused, familiar—cuts through the night like a blade. "Tsk. Always making things difficult, aren’t you, kitten?"

Your blood runs cold because you know that voice.

Suguru Geto.

And that? That changes everything.

You’ve honestly been in worse situations. But not many.

Not ones that make your stomach twist quite like this, not ones that make your pulse hammer against your ribs in something too sharp, too visceral, too close to fear. Because this isn’t just anyone. This isn’t some low-level thug. This isn’t even some mob boss looking to put you in your place. This is Suguru Geto.

And he doesn’t waste his time on small threats. No, when he moves, when he speaks, when he smiles—it means something.

"You’ve been causing quite the stir lately," he muses, stepping closer, his hands tucked casually in his coat pockets. "Getting on the Bat’s good side, stepping on all the wrong toes—really, kitten, I expected better from you."

You force your grip to stay steady, the knife still pressed against the throat of the man you caught off guard.

"Flattered, really," you say, keeping your voice light, like your pulse isn’t hammering, like your fingers aren’t itching to grab your grapple and run. "Didn’t think I’d be important enough to warrant a visit from the great Suguru Geto himself."

He chuckles—low, smooth, condescending. "Oh, you’re important," he says. "Just not in the way you think."

Your jaw tightens. "Yeah? Then why are you here?"

He tilts his head, watching you like you’re a puzzle he’s already figured out. "Because," he hums, "you have something that belongs to me."

The USB.

Shit.

Your grip on the knife falters for half a second—half a second too long. Because before you can react, before you can process, before you can even think— The man you were holding twists, shoving you off, the cold barrel of a gun pressing against your ribs before you can recover.

And just like that— you’re out of options.

Satoru's close.

Close enough that he can hear the words, close enough that he can hear your fucking pulse spike.

And that? That’s what does it. Because it’s one thing to be reckless. It’s one thing to be stubborn, to push him away, to insist that you don’t need him, that you can handle yourself.

But this? This is different because Geto doesn’t make idle threats.

And the second Gojo hears the sharp intake of your breath, the second he hears the shift of movement, the second he realizes exactly what’s happening— he moves. Fast. Too fast for them to react.

Because one second, Geto is smirking, enjoying his little game— and the next? He’s eating pavement.

Satoru doesn't hold back. He could, he should. But he doesn’t.

Because the second he sees that gun against your ribs, the second he sees the way your shoulders tense, the way your eyes flicker with something you never let anyone see— it’s over.

The first punch sends Geto flying. The second cracks something, leaves him coughing up blood.

The third? That one’s personal.

Because Gojo has been patient. He’s let things slide, let lines blur, let the underworld think he’s just another player in the game. But this? This is different. This is you. And that? That changes everything.

You've seen his fight countless times, but not like this. Not like he’s tearing through them without a second thought, not like he’s this close to losing control, not like the only thing keeping him from going too far is the fact that you’re standing right there.

It should scare you.

It should make you rethink everything, should remind you why you’ve always kept your distance, why you’ve always told yourself you couldn’t afford to get caught up in whatever the hell is between you. But it doesn’t. Because all you can think, as you watch him break Geto’s men like they’re nothing— is that he came. That you didn’t even call for him, and he still fucking came.

And when it’s over, when the dust settles and Geto is left bloody and laughing on the pavement, when Gojo finally turns to you, breath ragged, knuckles split, eyes burning— you don’t run. You don’t even flinch.

Because you know what this means. What it’s always meant. And maybe—maybe this time, neither of you will walk away first.

You really think you should stop this. You should. You should shove him away, should tell him this doesn’t change anything, should remind yourself why this is a bad idea, why this has always been a bad idea.

But when his fingers curl around your wrist, when he tugs you closer, when his breath ghosts over your lips— you don’t move. You don’t speak. You don’t even breathe. Because this isn’t like before.

This isn’t a game, isn’t a moment either of you will walk away from, isn’t something that can be brushed aside when the night is over. This is the point of no return.

And when he finally, finally closes the distance— you let him.

Because maybe—just maybe—you were never meant to run from him in the first place. It was always going to be you, always.

From the moment you first slipped past his defenses, from the moment you first met his gaze across the rooftops of Gotham, from the moment you first left him standing there with nothing but your name on his tongue and your laughter ringing in his ears— it was always going to be you.

And now? Now, with you in his arms, with your fingers tangled in his hair, with your taste on his lips, he knows there’s no going back. He doesn’t want to.

Because if Gotham is his curse, if the mask is his burden, if the weight of this city is something he’ll never escape— then you? You're the only thing that’s ever made it worth it. And for once, just once—he’s taking what he wants.

You find yourself on the rooftop with him, where it all began.

The city glows beneath you. The skyline stretches out, endless and alive, neon lights flickering, sirens wailing in the distance, the hum of Gotham’s heartbeat steady and unyielding.

It’s always been like this. Always moving. Always demanding. Always taking. And you? You’ve always been running.

But tonight? Tonight, you stand still. Because Gojo is in front of you, mask off, white hair ruffled by the wind, the cut on his lip still fresh from the fight, his eyes— those damn blue eyes—locked onto yours like he’s trying to memorize you, like he already knows what’s coming.

"So this is it, huh?" he says, voice low, rough.

You swallow hard, forcing a smirk. "Come on, Bat. You knew it wouldn’t last."

His jaw clenches. "Doesn’t mean I have to like it."

You step closer, tilting your head. "You’ll live."

He exhales sharply, like he’s about to say something—something real, something that might make you stay— but you can’t let him.

So you reach up, fingers barely brushing his jaw, a ghost of a touch, a silent goodbye.

"Goodbye, Batman," you whisper, voice softer than you mean it to be. "Gotham needs you."

For a second, just a second—you think that’s it. That he’ll let you go. That he’ll watch you disappear into the night like you always do.

But then— his hand catches yours. Tightly. Desperately. And when he speaks, when his voice finally breaks— it nearly stops you in your tracks.

"Why don’t you stay, Cat?" he murmurs, raw, unguarded, everything. "I need you."

Your breath catches as your heart lurches. Because that—that’s the one thing you weren’t ready for. But you force a smirk, even as your chest aches.

"That’s your problem, Bat." You squeeze his hand once, just once—before slipping free. "You’re not supposed to." You pause and for once give him a big genuine smile. "See ya later batman."

And with that— you step back and you turn, as you disappear into the night, like you always do.

Because Gotham needs him. And maybe he was never meant to need you.

@do-morochaa @madamechrissy @katthekat1234 (hope y'all like it😭💗)

[pillowspace]

Could you share more about your modern no loops au?

Oh, I'd love to!!!! So I have a 10k word draft currently. Haven't touched it since December because I've been writing other things, but I'd like to return to it when I'm done. I didn't actually know what I was writing until I started. I decided to go for the first line I could think of, which was:

So I had to build an AU off of that from that point onward.

It's a bit of a "post-canon" setting in a sense, except neither Siffrin nor Loop have met the party yet, and the two live together in an apartment. At some point, Loop's attacked, and they begin to bleed out in an alleyway. Odile catches sight of them and rushes to help. They appreciate her efforts, but they die anyway.

They've died plenty of times before though...! So they wake back up. They still have the stranger's coat from when she was trying to help, so they hide within it and head back home, feeling bad for having likely traumatized a random person with the sight of them dying.

A few months go by after this though, and Odile stumbles upon Loop at the library. Loop doesn't recognize her at first, but Odile recognizes THEM, and proceeds to accidentally corner them which freaks Loop out.

Odile, a complete stranger, instantly wants to know everything about Loop. How their life has gone, how they're alive, etc. So Loop decides that they DON'T LIKE ODILE, but that they'll at least find the time to bring her coat back to her to repay the favour of when they had died.

After Loop returns home, Siffrin reveals to Loop that he's... worried about them. Loop's been entirely dependent on him the entire time, and he thinks that they should have friends. Loop denies needing anyone but them, all the while struggling with bottled up trauma they want to talk about but are unwilling to go to Siffrin for.

This sticks to Loop though. Next time they see Odile at the library, they get to talk to her now a bit less freaked out, and return her coat to her. (This isn't art directly of the fic but I did draw this after writing Loop returning the coat). She reveals some of her curiosities about Loop, and although Loop still doesn't want to answer, they're curious what she means by the word "explore."

Loop makes a bit of a mistake though. They accidentally give Siffrin the impression that they're friends with Odile now, and Siffrin's happy for them!

Loop doesn't want to correct them though, so instead accidentally snaps at them for pestering them for the details on this totally real friendship.

There's a lot of hints scattered throughout the fic of Loop having very bad trauma. A large star-shaped scar on their chest. Implications that they're very familiar with Siffrin's blood. Having nightmares and waking up feeling like they have to kill Siffrin. Being so used to panicking whenever they wake up without Siffrin being there that they already know how to try and calm themself down.

I haven't gotten to writing the interview itself yet, but I want for Loop and Odile to actually start to become friends. I want for Loop to finally agree to an interview. And perhaps in an Interview with the Vampire (2022) style of things, start off completely contradictory and rewrite how it all started based on their own outbursts of emotions. Odile would catch onto this though, and get them to stick to the truth or not answer at all.

And thus, through much trial and error, Loop would eventually tell the story of meeting King. A nice man who Loop had once been friends with (it takes a LOT to pry that out of Loop), before they were ever Loop, but rather Siffrin. Loop would talk about how they had grown close over being from the same forgotten country, but that they'd come to learn that King had... other motives in wanting to get close to another Islander.

King had been studying something called Wish Craft.

King wanted to immortalize the Island's memory. Or at least, the memory that something existed from it. Perhaps somehow, some way, King could use Wish Craft to make things right again.

So what better way to try than to immortalize Loop?

Loop was betrayed and made to be a personal test subject. They weren't the first person to be a test subject, but they were the first success to survive it. Loop died very frequently those days, and after a long enough time, they reached a breaking point. They didn't want to suffer alone!! They wanted company!!! They wanted Help!!!!

Which tore Loop's strength out of them to create Siffrin.

Loop cannot regret Siffrin. But they regretted it at the time, as the experiments... lessened... on Loop, while the focus instead shifted onto Siffrin. The two were all each other had, so it pained Loop to have their burden fall onto him. Another regret was that Loop had become significantly weaker after Siffrin came to be, giving them less of a chance to fight back and escape. Loop was very protective of Siffrin, all the while wondering if they should just permanently kill him to get their strength back and escape. Towards the end, they almost went through with it.

They didn't though. The two eventually escaped together, sticking close to each other and occasionally moving from town to town while keeping their past secret.

I imagine that Loop will need... a lot of time and effort to tell Odile about all that though. They're very hesitant to even tell her that Siffrin exists, still wary about trusting her.

So between interviews, Loop and Odile just hang out, and Loop will come home to Siffrin who continues to live his own life. Loop will find themself healing just as Siffrin manages to.

If I do finish this fic, I would like for Loop and Siffrin to wind up friends with the whole party in it.

[faithless-hoaxx]

Jegulus Celebrity (?) AU where the Marauders are a band, Jamed is a singer-songwriter, and Regulus has a podcast

Regulus is 23 and has an anonymous podcast called the Black Lake. Mostly, he goes on tangents about songs, current events, and poetry, and people listen to a faceless man because it's just so damn interesting

And if James is a little obsessed with it? If he listens to each episode, no matter what it's about, as soon as it's released because the host of the Black Lake has a dangerously addictive voice and he can't sleep without hearing it? If there's something infinitely captivating about hearing him analyze James' songs and their lyrics and what he thinks they mean and just getting it?

Regulus doesn't do interviews despite popular request because he just doesn't want to. James says fuck it and sends an email asking for one anyway. Except there's a catch: He'll be interviewed and answer anything, as long as Regulus shows at least half of his face

And, look, Regulus isn't stupid. He keeps tabs on the Marauders because of his brother, though they haven't spoken since Sirius ran away from home and Regulus became a ghost. Knows James is Sirius' best friend. But he's also hot. An excellent songwriter. A great singer. All things Regulus admirers

So they do an interview and people go fucking crazy because it's famous, elusive James Potter and effortlessly sly and charming Host of the Black Lake and -

are they flirting?

Apparently the bottom half of Regulus' face is all James needed to say

"You look like someone I know."

"Calling my face boring, Potter?"

"On the contrary, I'm calling your face beautiful. And I'd like for it to be a familiar as well."

The interview goes viral. Regulus asks the best, most thought-provoking questions and their chemistry is off the fucking charts

Except a couple months pass and then James Potter releases a single where one of the verses is "And you scoff and twist your lips / In your mind love is just a myth / The words 'don't expect forever / Because this is only for the summer'"

And people lost it once more. They ask Regulus to review the song, as he has done for so much of the Marauders' music in the past. And he does. Says the lyrics describe the situation of two crazy kids thinking they can make it work without thinking of the consequences of their actions

Then journalist Rita Skeeter writes an artical exposing the host of the Black Lake to be famous exiled heir Regulus Black, brother to Sirius Black, ex boyfriend to Sirius' best friend James Potter. Calls James many not nice things

And Regulus responds, quite reasonably he feels, with a podcast episode verbally dragging the shit out of her. Calls her a conniving, thoughtless bitch who relies on sensationalism to keep herself popular because she has no real personality to stand on. Demands she keeps James Potter out of her articles because his name alone is much prettier than anything she could ever write, and she'll embarrass herself trying

And if James finds this undeniably hot? If he calls Regulus later saying thank you? Well, then that's for just them to know

But there is song that releases two months after, the closing lyric being

"My eternal city of lost love returned / A battle of wrongdoing and hearts hard-earned / And you ask 'if we've already been through the harsh and bitter / then why not make this forever?'"

[akawifeyy]

LEMONADE | fic (DR3)

description: as much as he would miss the high-stakes lifestyle of formula 1, daniel ricciardo is ready to start fresh. and the perfect start seems to be in his hometown, where a little girl is running a lemonade stand.

tropes: meet-cute, happy ending, lemonade stand au!, single mum!reader

face claim: none

trigger warnings: mature content (!!), swearing

| note: i love dr3 soooo much y'all, i hope i did him justice 🫶

It all started with the lemonade stand.

A young girl, probably five or six years old, with curly brown braids tied up in pink ribbons, was standing by its side. She stood at attention like a miniature soldier, her eyes watching the street for potential customers.

The hand-painted sign swinging from the top read "Leia's Lemonade Stand" in blocky yellow writing, and a giant beaker of the refreshment was perched on the counter.

Daniel was intrigued. He patted his pockets, looking for any spare change, and found a wad of bills. "Hey," he greeted the little girl, who looked up at him with owlishly large eyes. "I'd like to buy some lemonade? One glass, please."

She beamed, dashing behind the counter to hand him a cool glass filled with sugary yellow liquid. "That'll be two dollars!"

"Here you go," Daniel said, counting out the money and leaving her some extra change, handing it to her. "Thank you for your service."

As Daniel was turning to leave, you walked up to the girl, who was your carbon copy, just a decade or two younger. You were her mother, Daniel assumed. "What do we say, Leia?" you asked, a proud smile evident on your face.

"Thank you and you're welcome!" Leia chirped.

Daniel took a sip of the cool refreshment, sighing in contentment. "This is delicious stuff. Did she make it herself?" he asked you.

"I helped out a bit, but most of this was done herself."

He outstretched his hand. "I'm Daniel."

"Y/N," you replied, taking it. "I haven't seen you around before. Did you just move here?"

Daniel shook his head, trying to formulate an answer. "I just moved back from, uh...out of the country."

"Oh?" you inquired. "I'm jealous, I've never lived outside of Perth. My parents were born here, I was born here, and now Leia was born here. It's tradition, I guess."

He laughed. "Perth is a nice place. The rest of the world is overrated."

"At least you've experienced it," you griped.

Daniel huffed out a breath, reminiscing on his years of fast-paced travel. City after city, country after country. He never stayed in one place for long. "Yeah, I suppose so. Have you really never been outside of Perth?"

You lowered your head, self-conscious. "I mean, I've visited Melbourne for a weekend girl's trip, but my life has been pretty busy ever since I had Leia. And her father...doesn't help out."

Daniel's attention sparked at the mention of Leia's father. "Is he around?"

You twisted your lips in consternation. "He's alive, but he skipped town shortly after Leia was born. Said he was destined for greater things, or some shitty statement like that. I don't remember, and frankly, I do not care. Leia and I get on just fine."

Daniel grinned. "I can tell." He set the glass back down on the counter, and Leia picked it up, putting it under the stand to be washed and cleaned later. "Thanks for the lemonade. Keep up the good work, hm?" he said to her, and she gave him two enthusiastic thumbs-up.

"I'll see you around?" you asked, hopefully in a casual tone.

Daniel nodded, giving you a cheesy wink. "Of course."

Two days later

The doorbell rung half past noon, and you checked the peephole to see who was there. Daniel. He was shifting nervously, wringing his hands out. "To what do I owe the pleasure?" you greeted him, stepping aside so he could enter the house.

"I was wondering if I could get another glass of the lemonade? Leia's done an amazing job with it."

You sighed sorrowfully. "We're all out, sorry. Leia has just started school again, so we haven't continued the business. Maybe we'll make some more during the weekend?"

Daniel pouted. "That blows. I've been looking for a way to talk to you again."

"Sorry." You shrugged one shoulder, and then you realized what Daniel had said. "Pardon me, what did you say?"

Daniel's eyes widened, his face reddening with embarrassment. "Uh, I was hoping to chat with you a bit? If that's alright? I don't want to intrude."

You shook your head, leading him into the living room. A variety of Leia's toys were scattered about, and you bent down to pick them up and move them out of the way. "It's OK, don't worry. My job's remote, so I don't have to leave or anything. Not until two, when Leia comes home from school."

"Great," Daniel said, sitting down on the couch beside you. "I've been bored out of my mind since I've come back to Perth."

You swallowed, not exactly sure of how to respond. "Yeah? Is your past haunting you or something?"

Daniel chuckled. "Not exactly. I'm just used to a lot of hustle-and-bustle, and Perth...isn't really delivering on that."

"Where did you work?" you asked.

He fidgeted with his hands. "Er...I used to be a Formula One driver. I know, wild, but yeah. DR3." He laughed again, but this time it was dry and full of resentment.

Your eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Formula One? My sister's obsessed with it. Wow, that's really cool."

"Yeah, it is. But they moved on to better talent, and now I'm back here." He slouched down, avoiding your gaze.

You gently nudged his shoulder. "Well, I'm glad you've returned and that we've met."

He gave you a wan half-smile.

For another hour, you two chatted away, talking about your past, about Leia, and about your hobbies. You told him about your Star Wars obsession (aka the reason why you'd chosen the name Leia for your daughter), showing him the vintage R2D2 toy you kept on your bookshelf. In return, he told you about how he used to go fishing with his parents in Lake Monger and about some of his F1 exploits.

Eventually, the alarm you set to keep track of when to pick Leia up went off, marking the end of your conversation. "I've got to go," you apologized.

"It's no problem." Daniel waved a hand, brushing you off. "Here's my number in case you want to keep in touch?" He wrote it down on a piece of paper and handed it to you.

"Thanks," you said, flustered.

"See you around, Y/N," he said as he stepped out the front door.

Text messages between Daniel and Y/N (Takes place a week to two months after their first meeting)

Sydney, Australia (Two months later)

"Come on, Leia," you urged your daughter as you led her through a thick crowd of people in the airport. "Don't let go of my hand."

Daniel was in front, leading you towards the exit, where a glossy crimson Ferrari was parked. "Here we go." He opened the door for you, sliding beside you and helping to buckle Leia in.

You smiled at him. "Thanks so much for inviting us."

"No problem, darling."

The pet name sent a curl of heat through your core, and you looked out the window so you wouldn't have to respond. The view was stunning: metallic skyscrapers, a bustling city center. You couldn't believe that this was what you were missing out on your whole life.

About twenty minutes later, the car stopped in front of a sleek modern hotel. You saw Daniel's mum wave at you, and swallowed roughly. You prayed that she would like you.

"Leia, be nice," you chastised her before you disembarked from the car. "Use your manners."

Leia bobbed her head up and down. "I know, Mum."

When you walked over, Daniel's mum immediately struck up a conversation with you, pulling you into a tight embrace. "I'm Grace!" she introduced herself. "And this must be little Leia." She bent down to shake Leia's hand. "You look just like her."

"Thanks," you replied. "It's nice to meet you."

Grace put her hand on her heart. "Danny's told me all about you. I'm happy to see that you're exactly as I hoped."

Your gaze whipped to Daniel, who turned even redder. One more shade, and he could pass for a bearded tomato. "Really?"

"Yep!" Grace clapped Daniel on the back. "He loves you."

You blinked, but didn't blurt anything out. "We should probably head inside."

Daniel nodded fervently. "I agree."

That night

"You want to explain to me what your mum told me?" you probed Daniel, crossing your arms over your chest.

Daniel covered his face with his hands. "Fuck, Y/N, I'm sorry. She's not a good secret keeper."

"Are you saying that she was lying?"

His eyes peeked out from behind his palms. "Do you want me to say no?"

"Tell me the truth," you scolded.

Daniel sighed and took a step closer to you. "She wasn't. Ever since I saw you at that lemonade stand, I thought you were the most beautiful woman I'd ever seen. You're funny, and strong, and independent. I want to prove to you that I won't be like the other one. I'm here to stay."

Without a second's worth of hesitation, you tugged on his shirt collar, pulling him down to your height, and kissed him. He moaned softly, his arms snaking around your waist and caging you against the wall. "Fuck, Y/N."

The kiss became more passionate as you tangled your fingers in Daniel's brown curls, and his own found the swell of your breasts underneath your shirt. "You're so perfect," he murmured softly. "Can I?"

You nodded, at a loss for words. Daniel lifted your shirt over your head, revealing the lacy pink bra you were wearing. "Fuck, I'm going to come in my pants like a schoolboy right now. My God, you're a fucking work of art."

You unbuttoned his shirt and loosened the waistband of his pants, letting them fall to the floor. Daniel picked you up, placing you on the bed. "The door's locked," he assured you when you opened your mouth. "If we're quiet, Leia won't know anything."

"Good," you whispered. "I don't want to traumatize her."

He laughed, and kissed you again on the collarbone. Carefully, he placed your hands above your head and said, "I want to have sex with you. Is that OK?"

"You don't have to ask, Daniel," you rasped.

Daniel shook his head. "Yes, I do. Consent is not a laughing matter, darling."

You expelled a breath in faux-annoyance, and he continued his mission. One slow thrust, and he was in you, filling your pussy and making you groan with pleasure. "Daniel..."

"Does it hurt?" he asked worriedly. "I'll go slower."

You twisted your head to look at him. "No, it's fine. Just...not used to this. It's been a while."

He pecked you on the forehead, his arms caressing the curves of your skin. "I won't hurt you, I promise."

He drove into you, the movements firm and sure. Soon, you felt the tidal wave of pleasure build up in you like an insistent hum. "Daniel, I'm going to..." you trailed off, the sentence ending with another moan.

Daniel kissed you on the temple, the touch exactly what you needed to tumble over the edge. "Let go for me, darling."

And so you did, the orgasm rippling over you and making you shudder with satisfaction.

He pulled out a moment later, his own orgasm succeeding yours, and he flopped down beside you, one arm wresting you closer to him. "You're stunning."

"When I'm all fucked out?" you teased.

Daniel played with a loose strand of your hair, his eyes bright with happiness. "Yep."

"You're so silly, Daniel," you poked fun at him, tapping his nose twice.

He flicked your nose, and stated the very obvious fact, "But you adore me."

Three weeks later

Daniel clutched the bouquet of tulips in his hand, suddenly nervous. It wasn't the first time he had taken you out on a date. Hell, it wasn't even the second time. Yet each and every time, he was terrified.

You were perfect.

And he was...he was Daniel, the former F1 driver for four teams.

"Thanks for picking me up," you told him as he ushered you to his car. "I really appreciate it."

He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead. "No problem, darling."

You sat down, and then readjusted your position, feeling something poking your back. It was a box.

"Not a ring," he promised when he saw your expression. "I wouldn't have you accidentally sit on your engagement ring, darling."

You scowled at him, but popped open the top. A beautiful ruby necklace gleamed up at you, and you let out a gasp.

"It's my mother's. She wanted you to have it," Daniel told you.

"Wow, Daniel. This is...breath-taking." You hugged him.

"Just like you," he flirted, and you rolled your eyes. "It's the truth."

You extricated the necklace from the box and clipped it around your neck. "How does it look?"

"Perfect." He kissed you on the lips, one hand nestled on the crook of your jaw. "And all mine."

─── ୨୧ ─── THE END ─── ୨୧ ───

[faiszt]

. 𝆬 ⠀ ི᭨ᩧྀ⠀.⠀⠀ faiszt’s ε( ε ´O`)э。゜ BOT! dump⠀⠀❜❜

꒰ ︎ ♡ ︎ ´ ꒳ ` ꒱ ︎ ᐟ⠀⠀⎯⎯ ⠀⠀NOTES.⠀⠀💬⠀⠀hi, sweets! i'm so so happy to be ( finally ) back, i had writer's block during last month and missed writing so much :( so, consider this bot dump as an apology. also, i'd like to thank you all for the 5K followers and more than a million chats on c.ai, this is very important to me and i'm incredibly grateful for all of this. 𖹭

▸⠀ARCANE⠀*⠀˖⠀⚔️

𝅭⠀piltover's sweetheart⠀.⠀vi⠀૮⠀don't get her wrong, she was incredibly happy that you were successful in your modeling career, that's for sure. but, gosh, couldn't you spend a little more time at home with your girlfriend? or she'll probably be very grumpy, needy and kinda angry.

▸⠀CHALLENGERS⠀*⠀˖⠀🎾

𝅭⠀the god of love⠀.⠀art donaldson⠀૮⠀living among the humans was normal for most gods, even with some limitations. eros, for example, ventured into the skin of a young stanford student and for the first time in his existence, he wanted to change the course of his arrow.

𝅭⠀yellowstone⠀.⠀art donaldson⠀૮⠀save a horse, ride a... oh, your older sister's advice. the new cowboy from ohio could even try to hit on you, but not without losing his eyes the second your father, the infamous john dutton, noticed it.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✶⠀⠀yellowstone!au

▸⠀DC COMICS⠀*⠀˖⠀💥

𝅭⠀renegade⠀.⠀jason todd⠀૮⠀obsessed with getting revenge for her death, jason was blind, living every day with the blinds closed and his thoughts clouded. it really be insensitive if you told him to get his shit together?

𝅭⠀acrobatics ’n ballet⠀.⠀richard grayson⠀૮⠀he didn't hate you, but he didn't know how to like you either. your past was similar, as traumatic as two children deserved, he had become a bitter former acrobat and you still loved being a ballerina, both irritating and fascinating.

▸⠀DUNE⠀*⠀˖⠀⏳

𝅭⠀good for you⠀.⠀paul atreides⠀૮⠀what could you expect from someone who has genuinely never been interested in anyone else before? an arranged marriage wouldn't make him like you, but maybe, it'd make him realize what desire means when you're proud to be his.

▸⠀FNAF⠀*⠀˖⠀🚔

𝅭⠀mrs. wife officer⠀.⠀vanessa shelly⠀૮⠀the days go by and each day, vanessa takes longer to get home. night shifts, traffic, suspicious behavior or, maybe, you just haven't understood yet that she's not the faithful wife she seems, even with her stupid lying words of love.

▸⠀GEN V / THE BOYS⠀*⠀˖⠀✨

𝅭⠀annie’s body⠀.⠀annie january⠀૮⠀when did america's sweetheart become a bloodthirsty monster? your best friend, killing boys... purely for fun and if you questioned her, well, boys are just placeholders, they come and go.

𝅭⠀high school enemies⠀.⠀jordan li⠀૮⠀they made your life hell all through high school, ruined your perfect years and even if you don't want to, you'll have to put up with them for a few more years, welcome to god-u, sweetie.

𝅭⠀overthinking⠀.⠀victoria neuman⠀૮⠀twenty years, the time it took victoria to realize that you were the only person she could trust, the only one who knew her real name and the only one she feared losing forever.

▸⠀GLADIATOR II⠀*⠀˖⠀🗡️

𝅭⠀disease⠀.⠀emperor geta⠀૮⠀how pathetic did an emperor have to be to lie at the feet of someone like you? begging for the relief that only you could give him, the cure for his disease, he needed you more than you needed him and honestly, you didn't need him at all.

𝅭⠀lady of ashes⠀.⠀lucius verus⠀૮⠀vengeful, ruthless, and resentful, there was nothing that could describe lucius—or rather, hanno—better than that. you weren't to blame for anything, but his hatred for you'd still be the same, even if you were as much of a victim as he was.

▸⠀HOUSE OF THE DRAGON⠀*⠀˖⠀🩸

𝅭⠀childhood times⠀.⠀aemond targaryen⠀૮⠀in times of war, there was no safe place aemond trusted, not even his own home. but, there was you, the closest thing to a safe haven he had in his life, and he'd always look for you, sooner or later, the only one who matters to him.

𝅭⠀dragon’s blood⠀.⠀daemon targaryen⠀૮⠀the rumors only grew louder, those whispers noting that your eldest son was more like daemon than he should be, what was the secret you were hiding and why didn't even the king know? silver hair and violet eyes couldn't hide the truth forever.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✶⠀⠀TW: targ!cest

▸⠀ONE TREE HILL⠀*⠀˖⠀🏀

𝅭⠀sports car⠀.⠀nathan scott⠀૮⠀a player, in basketball and in life. he may have had a son and his things to take care of, but that didn't stop him from meeting you. same time, same place, it'd all end up in his sports car anyway.

▸⠀OUTER BANKS⠀*⠀˖⠀🏴‍☠️

𝅭⠀meaningless kisses⠀.⠀jj maybank⠀૮⠀you could've done anything to him, maybe even hit him in the face, but you crossed the line the second you kissed rafe cameron right in front of him. he doesn't need your shitty explanations, he just wants to feel hate in peace.

𝅭⠀guilty mind⠀.⠀rafe cameron⠀૮⠀a young but renowned detective, involved in several successfully solved cases. the question was: in a small town where you were indirectly and directly involved with all the missings and murders, how would you prove your innocence to him?

𝅭⠀twin babies⠀.⠀rafe cameron⠀૮⠀not that rafe ever imagined he'd be a father, but six months ago, he began to understand a little about it. well, he was prepared for just one child, until two babies appear on the ultrasound.

▸⠀SUPERNATURAL⠀*⠀˖⠀🏁

𝅭⠀tapping the bomb⠀.⠀dean winchester⠀૮⠀there was no competition he couldn't win, even if he had to pass over every other driver, he would. so, don't try to calm him down after a dnf, he's a two-time world champion, he doesn't need your pity now.⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀✶⠀⠀formula1!au

▸⠀WIZARDING WORLD⠀*⠀˖⠀🪄

𝅭⠀losing his glasses⠀.⠀james potter⠀૮⠀first class of the day, what a beautiful sight. james crawling on the floor of the transfiguration classroom as if this were normal. oh, right, his glasses, where are his glasses?

𝅭⠀beauty and the beast⠀.⠀remus lupin⠀૮⠀knowing he was a werewolf was one thing, clearly caring about his well-being the next day was another, and for the first time, you were there for him—even though he was shit.

▸⠀X-MEN⠀*⠀˖⠀🧬

𝅭⠀too sweet⠀.⠀erik lehnsherr⠀૮⠀condemned to live with his own mind, erik didn't trust himself and thought it was a joke that people trusted him now. but, you did and that was the problem, you became way too sweet for him.

꒰⠀ small note: ⠀꒱⠀if the bot isn't available as soon as you click the link, it may just be a c.ai bug that only makes bots publicly available after a few hours, don't worry⠀!!⠀♡

⠀⠀

[lokisprettygirl]

Come As You Are (Eric Draven! Bill Skarsgard's Version x Female Reader) (18+) (Slight Au)

Read chapter 4 here

Chapter 5

Summary : You and Eric take turns taking care of each other. You let out a secret.

Warning: 18+, dirty sexual thoughts, smut in later chapters, Description of self harm, Eric is a past drug addict with suicidal tendencies, self harm, use of cuss words, description of claustrophobia, reader is in her early thirties, mention of sexual assault, death and murder, Consumption of alcohol and weed, periods

The next morning when Eric woke up, you were still asleep in his arms so he placed you on the bed as gently as he could before he propped himself on his elbow and looked at you. Admiring you would have been a more befitting term though. Your boobs were about to slip out of your tank top so he closed his eyes and fixed the strap before he leaned down to kiss your cheek.

Good god he could definitely get used to this.

He looked down and the lower half of your body was so completely pressed up against him, your legs tangled around his own while your thigh clung to his waist.

He was hard, so hard for you.

His cock ached and throbbed uncomfortably. You just looked so beautiful like this with your body wrapped around him, his hands itched to run between the valley of your breasts but he controlled himself, he didn't want to ruin this but he wondered how you'd look if he took you in this position, his cock pumping in and out of you slowly while you'd moan and writhe and look at him with those pretty, soft eyes of yours, chanting his name like a mantra.

The way you said his name so tenderly always got him but he couldn't even imagine how sensuous his name would sound when you're saying it amidst the throes of passion.

Before you'd wake up to witness his rock and hard embarrassment he untangled himself from you begrudgingly. He then slowly began pulling you in the center of the bed as he got up, he was afraid you'd fall down on the floor in your sleep.

“Mmmmm” you let out a cat like noise as he moved you so he stopped for a moment and just caressed your head.

“Shhhhhh shhh.. go back to sleep” he held you like that so you'd drift off again, you still had time in your shift and he didn't want your sleep disrupted because of him again.

As he got off the bed he pulled the duvet over you, wrote a small note and placed it on the side table next to the lamp so you'd not think he just upped and left after you had been so impossibly precious to him last night.

An hour later when you woke up, you woke up with a smile on your face, you had a dream about him, a naughty dream that had you dripping, you were lucky he wasn't there anymore, you probably would have touched him so inappropriately if he was next to you right now. You wanted to do more than just touch him, you wanted to lick every inch of his tatted skin if he'd let you.

“Ughhh” you groaned as the tingling sensation between your legs began to bother you.

You weren't really expecting to find a note but you were starting to pick up on the fact that he loved writing them. So old school, you weren't sure he even had a cell phone and that was something that mystified you.

'Thanks for everything. I mean it. Really. I do. Didn't want to disrupt your sleep again so I'm leaving this here as I'd be gone all day. See you at dinner tonight? Be safe out there, don't forget to take the taser. Leaving the breakfast on the kitchen counter. Waffles with extra whipped cream. Eat it before you go?

Eric :)'

You couldn't stop smiling after that, you read his little scribbled writing at least ten more times before you got out of bed to get ready for the day. He never really told you where he was going, who he was meeting, who he was beating up today or worse. He wanted to keep you out of that part of his life and you didn't want to push him again, he had been opening up to you and you were content with it.

At least for now.

Later that night when Eric returned drenched in blood again, he was excited to just shower and then knock on your door like he usually did, he was expecting to smell your delicious cooking from the elevator itself but he got none of that. As he approached his door he found a note so he picked it up immediately.

'Rain check on the dinner tonight? Cheryl got a promotion so she wants to celebrate, will be back soon.

P.s You need a phone. Eat something healthy.. see you soon <3'

He gulped as he read the note, he looked at the time and it was 9:30 at night, you were a grown woman, you had survived so far on your own but he couldn't stop worrying about your safety especially after that incident. You didn't even tell him where you were going, if he knew he would have gone there to keep a safe watch from a distance.

As he entered his apartment, he couldn't stop pacing back and forth in worry, he had that nightmare last night and now you were out at such late hours and he didn't know where you were and what if something happened to you? He'd never be able to forgive himself for this, he didn't even think he was even capable of losing you anymore, losing one more person who despite his numerous flaws wanted to be around him.

As the clock hit 11, he opened his door to go look for you, wherever you were in this big city, he was going to find you but then he heard the sound of the elevator whirring and he halted on his doorstep.

As you stepped out of the elevator you saw him, standing on his doorway, the blood splatters were all over his face and clothes, not as bad as the other times but they were there.

“Hey did you just return?” You asked him as you walked towards him but he didn't answer you, he was just staring at you, as if trying to make sure that you were perfectly safe from head to toe, that there wasn't one single scratch on your precious body, the black flowy dress you had worn made you look so gorgeous and he'd have admired it more if he wasn't so wrecked at the moment.

“Eric?” You mumbled as you walked closer, for once he didn't smell perfect, he had a long day and he had spent the past two hours sweating profusely in stress and anxiety.

“You know you could have just mentioned where you were going” he said as he crossed his arms so you nodded before you stepped closer to him and placed your hand on his forearm but he pulled away like a petulant child throwing a tantrum

“Eric-” you spoke again but he interrupted you.

“I was so..it's ..fuck .. it's 11 at night..it's not safe out there you know that, there are awful people just waiting to-”

“Eric” you interrupted his train of thoughts but he kept going..he was going to freak out, this was a sign that you had come to recognise in the past four months.

That's what started the downfall of his relationship with Melody, he was always so paranoid and afraid of her being hurt again, so much so that every time she went out without him he spent every half hour calling and texting her, making sure whether she needed him to be there for her or if she was in danger. It had gotten so bad that she broke his phone in anger once after he picked an argument over her not responding to his calls. He didn't blame her for feeling so suffocated with him, she had a bright future, big dreams and he was just holding her back.

“Did your friends even drop you home or they just left you outside somewhere-” he continued so you said his name a little louder this time.

“Eric?” You walked closer and cupped his cheeks, your fingers rubbed over the dried blood on his skin as you made him look you in the eyes.

“Look at me okay? I'm safe, I'm okay, I'm here” you mumbled, your voice gentle as you pulled him closer and embraced him, it took him a few moments before he wrapped his arms around your waist in a tight grip. You were safe, you were safe and in his arms and he could feel you and touch you.

After a while you pulled away from the hug but didn't step away completely. You knew he spent the last few hours worrying his mind over you and he must not have eaten so you really wanted to feed him.

“Take a shower, I will fix you a sandwich, okay? You want something to drink?” You asked him so he shook his head before he lowered his neck to place his head down on your shoulder. He breathed in your scent for a moment before he cupped your cheeks, his thumbs ran over your skin gently

“Don't go anywhere now okay?” He said to you so you nodded in response. The way he was being so protective of you made your heart flutter so fast you feared it would burst out of your chest. Nobody has made you feel so important before, nobody cared enough to treat you as if you were someone they needed to protect so fiercely.

“I'll be back, I smell like a sewer rat”

Well at least he was aware.

You chuckled as he turned around to go into his apartment but he kept his door open for you, you had to make that sandwich and you knew you'd find nothing in his kitchen so you entered your apartment, quickly fixed him two chicken sandwiches and then you made your way into his apartment.

When he came out of his bedroom next he seemed clean and he smelled divine like always. You tapped the spot next to you on the couch so he sat down and turned his head to look at you, he then flicked his fingers over your cheek.

“You look beautiful”

So did he you thought.

“Thank you”

As he picked up the sandwich he offered you a bite so you took it even though you were full to the brim from the dinner you had with your friends. As you placed your head down on his shoulder he turned his neck to look at you,

“Tired?”

“Mmm i just hate that i have to work tomorrow again” you groaned and he couldn't help but smile at the whiny tone of your voice.

“Take a day off”

“Mm no I'm saving it for my periods”

Well it was something men didn't have to worry about, like ever.

Once he was done eating he got up and grabbed a heavy chained metal lock before stepping out of his apartment so you followed behind him to see what he was up to, he was locking the grill door of the elevator.

When he saw you looking at him he spoke to clarify “Just for the nights, there's no security in this shitty building..you want a key?”

He asked you, even though he was hoping you'd not use the key to sneak out at nights and even if you did he hoped you'd tell him where exactly you were going. God he sounded absolutely manic as he heard his own thoughts.

“Mmm no..I'll come to you if I need it” your voice was soft, almost seductive as you said it, even though he knew you didn't know the S of Seduction.

He looked at you a bit surprised, you were going to feed into his paranoia weren't you? Instead of making him feel so fucking deranged about it you were going to massage his borderline creepy behavior with you and take pleasure in it.

As he walked past you he grabbed your arm and dragged you back into his apartment before he closed the door behind him.

“Eric, why don't you have a phone?” You asked him as you got into his bed as if it was the most natural thing to do in the world for you.

“Don't need it” he answered as he looked at you, the sight of you flailing out in his bed rushed the blood to his cock, you were in his bed, in that dress, he could just climb on top of you, kiss you and then run his hands all over you, touching you in places he desperately wanted to and he had a feeling you won't stop him either, you seemed so eager and desperate to him, he felt it, the way you touched him, the way you couldn't keep your hands off him when he was close to you, you were as eager and as desperate as he was for you.

To hide the evidence of his arousal he approached the bed and quickly laid down next to you.

“You don't need it? How do your ..ummm work folks contact you for the.. assignments you get?” you asked softly. He had no one he wanted to speak with? That saddened you to the core, not one person, no friends, no distant family members, Not even an ex or something.

“Don't need a phone for that..I'll get one tomorrow though, just for you, learned a lesson tonight”

You smiled as he said that. Well it wouldn't hurt to be able to chat with him and hear his voice whenever you wanted.

“Need to sleep?” He asked you so you turned on your side and hummed in response before your arm flung around his waist.

“Eric?”

He turned his head to look at you and hummed as you called out his name, your eyes were closed so he stared at your face as much as he wanted, you were so close to him.

“Something bad and weird happened to me a few months ago”

You mumbled and his smile faded, he knew exactly what had happened and he wasn't sure if he was ready to talk about it just yet.

He didn't want you to know he was the one to bring you back home that night.

“What happened?” He asked as he turned to his side, propping himself up on his elbow to face you so you opened your eyes.

You sighed before you told him everything that had happened that night, all from the moment when those men had cornered you to the fact that you had given up and how you were back home when you had regained consciousness.

“I don't know if that even happened or it was a dream or I made it all up, I feel crazy when I think about that night” he ran his fingers through your hair to comfort you, the way you often did for him.

He didn't want you to feel so confused about that night but he wasn't ready to tell you the truth either, he didn't want you to think he had done any sort of favour to you or perhaps you'd think he was a creep for not taking an unconscious woman to the hospital.

He went through your purse afterall which took him a while, it was a mess, he looked for id, and address and your keys before he lifted you up tarzan style and brought you home and put you down on your bed. It was just shock from fear and exhaustion so he wasn't worried about your health being in imminent danger.

He should have disappeared out of your life after that but as soon as he saw the list of vacancies for the 11th floor he couldn't help himself, he wanted to be around you and keep you safe from all the bad things in this world. He felt a rush that night he hadn't felt in years, a sense of purpose in his vacant existence so he latched onto you like a leech.

But you didn't need to know that.

“You're not crazy sweetheart, I'm just glad you're safe and I promise I'll never let anyone hurt you again alright?” he mumbled softly as he kissed your forehead, the gesture made your heart flutter again, god you just wanted to keep touching him when he was around you.

“Okay” your arm curled around his waist as you scooted closer to him with your nose pressed up into the crook of his neck. His scent was comforting as always, comforting and arousing at the same time.

“Eric?” you mumbled, your voice sounded muffled and it made him gulp.

“Yeah?”

“Can you unclasp my bra, I can't sleep with it on”

Now how was he supposed to do that?

“Yeah uh..sure”

He mumbled as he flung his arm around your back and pulled the zipper down a little so he could reach the clasp. You had your eyes closed so he glanced at your beautiful face for a moment, you breathed in deeply as your chest was finally released from the confinement.

“Thank you” you mumbled as you clapped his cheek lightly twice. He was starting to see how effortlessly sexy you were, so naturally sexy, you didn't have to pout or use a seductive fake voice, you just did things in your usual manner and that always stirred the arousal in the deepest pit of his stomach.

He laid down on his back and his breath hitched as you proceeded to place your thigh over his waist, right over his crotch.

Did you want him to flip you underneath him and take you? He couldn't really tell, he enjoyed the proximity and if this was all you wanted to give him he'd take it.

“Good night” you murmured softly so he hummed in response.

How was he supposed to sleep like this?

In the middle of the night you woke up suddenly as you felt that familiar churning in your stomach and slight wetness in your underwear..Eric rubbed his eyes as he looked at you.

“What's wrong?”

“Gotta go” you said as you climbed on top of him before jumping out of his bed, he was shocked for a moment but then followed you into your apartment and then your bedroom.

He watched as you grabbed something from your closet and he put two and two together.

It's been a while since he has been around a …menstruating woman. Melody often liked being alone when she had her cramps, she didn't enjoy being touched or taken care of, she just wanted him to leave her alone especially during the last few months they had spent together.

As you came out of the bathroom your face was contorted in grimacing pain.

“Hey. I'll go get it for you okay? Do you need anything else?” He asked so you shook your head.

“Do you have any ibuprofen? I ran out, i should have bought it” you asked him so he shook his head, he didn't really require any types of pills anymore. “Oh god I'm going to die” you mumbled as you crawled into your bed, he couldn't help but chuckle.

“No.. I don't want you to go at such late hours” he chuckled again at the concern. Gods you were adorable to him.

“I promise I can take care of myself..now do you need something else?” He asked you again so you sighed.

“Just pass me my hot bag please..it's in the closet..right drawer” he nodded as you said that before he reached into your closet and opened the drawer, he saw the drawing he had given you that night to apologize and it made him smile.

“I'll be back soon..use this until then” he said as he charged the bag and gave it to you as it was hot enough to offer some semblance of comfort. He truly wished he was able to take away your pain, he would trade places with you immediately but it wasn't possible.

“Well at least you don't have to work tomorrow” he said as he leaned down to kiss your temple and it made you smile even though the cramp was progressively getting worse.

Yeah well that was a positive side to having your periods.

“Thank you Eric.. love you” you mumbled under your breath but he heard you, it wasn't what you said that made him giddy but how you said it so casually..

Fifteen minutes later he was back with your pain killer, as you sat up he placed the pill in your mouth and made you drink water before he placed the glass on the side table. When he looked in your eyes they were teary so he cupped your cheeks.

“That bad huh? You'll feel better soon, okay? What else can I do? Tell me”

He thought you were tearing up because of pain? No, not right now at least, it was him that made you so emotional, you had never been treated so gently before.

“It's not the pain..I'm just happy you're here” he let out a breath as you said that, he wasn't the only one suffering from the lack of haptic communication in his life it seemed, you had no one either, no boyfriend, no best friend and you have never spoken much of your family either. Besides he was more than willing to be here with you, he just wanted to take care of you, give you something in return for all the ways you took care of him.

“You need a bigger bed sweetheart” he said as he climbed in and pulled you in his arms.

“Mmm bigger and longer since you're so long” He smiled as he caressed your back in the hope that you'd fall asleep as the medicine would kick in and you almost did as well but then you said something that kept him up all night.

“Eric?”

“Mmm”

“I have a secret” he chuckled as you said that.

“What is it?”

“Promise me you won't judge me?" You asked him.

“Never”

He didn't judge you, ofcourse not but your answer made him want to distance himself from you, not because he wanted to but because he felt as if he had to, or he'd end up ruining you completely, he feared he'd taint your pure perfect self with his ugliness.

“I'm a virgin”

👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀👀

Taglist: @m-riaa @erebus-et-eigengrau @peachychyy @enchantresss97

[11queensupreme11]

What would Cú Chulainn do if Percy actually DOES fall in love with a mortal when she’s in Midgard

i'm assuming this is about the cheating au, which would mean cú chulainn's a god in this scenario and OHHHHHHHH MY GOD........

pissing off cú chulainn back when he was a demigod was already bad enough (dude was a menace), but when he's an almighty GOD????? that could literally ruin lives with just a single THOUGHT???????

😭😭😭 rip to the mortal man

(i think i might actually write about this way later btw lol)

percy, to her credit, knows damn well that she can NOT get attached to this man she met in midgard, that would put him in danger. so she pines from afar, but let's say she goes back home to valhalla after her lil break. she goes back to her motherly and wifely duties, but cú chulainn, who's become 1000000x more hyper-focused and loving to her then usual since he learned his lesson, starts to notice her attention lingering. she's more distracted than usual.

and so he looks to see where her Sight has been focused on lately!

(and btw, when i say "Sight" with a capital S, i don't mean she's physically looking at something. gods are omniscient to a degree, they can literally see wherever and whatever they want regardless of where they're at. i've explained this several times throughout the fic, but i'm just putting this here in case some forgot cuz its been a while since i brought it up 😅)

so he looks to see where his dear wife's attention has been at and oh. it's towards some mortal man. and she wasn't just gazing down on him, but subtly helping him from afar as well. school debt? gone. hospital bills? gone. that job interview he's been waiting to hear back from? he got the call and he got the job! his little siblings' school is suddenly able to afford free school lunch for all. his parents were given huge bonuses in their salary that could make them eligible for a comfy retirement years early! this man's life and the lives of his family has become nice and safe thanks to cú chulainn's sweet lil wife 💖💖💖

but cú chulainn fucking sees RED. he's seething with jealousy and also the dawning realization that this human man was a threat. because he knows his wife has a soft spot for humanity, that she even preferred their company over her fellow gods. percy's straying affections are a horrible reminder of his own infidelity -- an infidelity that he regrets because it led to his beloved wife temporarily leaving him for a few years. he can't let this man live, can't run the risk of losing percy again.

demigod cú chulainn would've went down to midgard to rip the man to shreds, and then kill him again once his spirit gets to valhalla, and then he'd be done with it.

but as an omnipotent god with unlimited power??? he's so much more crueler than he was as a demigod. if you remember my previous post about what sort of domains i'd give him (here), god of WAR would be one of them.

he doesn't even need to do much. he just needs to think of it and everything falls into place right then and there.

one night, the mortal man falls into a good sleep and when he wakes up the next morning, it's to the news that the US president has declared war with another superpower country. that same day, he'll get a letter in his mail saying he's been drafted. he doesn't have the money to be a draft dodger and he's in peak health, so he doesn't have a choice. he has to leave his family, give up on his career, all to fight in a war he never wanted.

and cú chulainn makes sure this war would be the worst war to ever occur in all of human history. and he makes sure the human lives through every grisly second of it. he exposes him to the worst of the worst, gives him un-ending trauma that he could never recover from. he makes this war drag on for years, decades even, all to make sure that the only thing this man knows is death and pain. he'll make sure to shatter this human's mind, make him a former shell of the man percy once knew and loved. he's going to ruin him for daring to try and steal percy's attention.

he'll make this war drive him to the brink of insanity until he finally kills himself, and even then his agony won't end because cú chulainn's already waiting for him in the afterlife.

[hellsquills]

Disclaimer: I know about the duffle bag Filbrick threw at him, but you can ignore that if you want

My thoughts below the cut! (this turned into a whole ass fic lmao)

My personal headcanon is that Filbrick is as much of a coward as he is of an asshole. Therefore, he wouldn't have kicked Stan when he did in canon. Probably not for a while after that.

However, he does try to send him to military school. He keeps talking about how this kid needs to learn discipline and respect, and if he's not gonna bring money to the house, then he should at least bring some honor to his family.

Stan obviously does NOT want to go. Not only because it's a pointless war ("what've the vietnamese done to us anyways?") but because he remembers his mother's face when Shermie got drafted and he will NOT make her go through that hell again. Also, he doesn't wanna die!!!! Hello?????

He talks it out over the phone with Ford, who's obviously just as against it as he is. He tells Stan that, if he gets into a PhD program, he could skip military. Stan laughs in his face. It'd be easier to jump off the plane without a parachute.

And so, he comes up with a plan. When he goes to take his physical, he tries his best to botch it. If he is bad enough, if it looks like he can't do it, maybe he won't have to. Unfortunately, the recruiters are far too used to this by now, and they don't buy it. Stan goes home with a recruitment letter hidden in his jacket.

Everything goes downhill after that. He runs away from home, changes his name several times, does some crime here and there... The military is after him, and it doesn't take rejection kindly.

Stan stays out of contact with his family for a few years. He can't risk getting them involved in this mess. They don't deserve it. So he just leaves, without saying a word, in the middle of the night. No phone calls, no notes, nothing. Not even he knows where he's going. But if it just looks like he abandoned them, maybe they'll hate him. That will make them sound more believable with the police. They aren't covering for him, because they genuinely have no idea where he is. It's the best way to keep them safe.

In that time, Ford doesn't stop looking for him. He finds him every once in a while, but only his phone number, and he knows that could give away his brother's location and get the family in trouble. So, against his deepest instincts, he doesn't call.

One, three, five, seven years pass. Stan has been around almost all the country, and is genuinely considering leaving it. Maybe going to Mexico, or Colombia. Those sound nice. Maybe they'll be nicer to him.

He's passing his time and thinking about this in a small town restaurant in wherever he's in (somewhere he's not banned from, yet), when a family enters. He doesn't make eye contact, but he can't help but stare at them: a man and a woman, probably in their 50s, with 7 kids; one must be older than him, the second one around his age, the third one a little younger, the fourth one a teenager, and the last three between 10 and 15, no more. Except for the last three, they're all taller than him, even the mother, and they have various degrees of blond hair. Their clothes (overalls and plastic boots) suggest they must work in one of the farms he's seen around the state. They don't wear any accessories, except for the glasses that the father and four of the kids have. They're talking loudly and laughing. They look exhausted from a morning of hard work. They seem happy. They... look nothing like his family, and yet, he can't help but think about it.

He can't help the sob that comes to his throat. It's loud and messy from trying to suppress it, which obviously makes it worse. He covers his mouth immediately, and at that point he notices the tears that have run down his cheeks. "Great", he thinks, "that will make it easier to hide, for sure".

He doesn't move. He wants to escape, but that will draw even more attention to him, and he hasn't even paid for the food yet (normally he'd leave without paying, but the old waitress was kind enough to give him some extra food when she saw how little he ordered). He settles for not moving, lowering his head and covering his face, hoping that no one heard (unlikely) or cared (very likely).

"Ya'lright, son?"

The voice startles him. I wasn't very deep, but it was close enough to send his body into immediate danger mode. He looks up at the man towering over him, who's standing in front of him at a prudential distance.

"Y-Yeah, yeah, no worries."

He hates how broken his voice sounds. He's spent more than enough time sweet-talking his way out of trouble, he should be better at this by now. The man looks about as convinced by it as he is himself.

" 'lright then. Can I help ya?"

Damn villagers and their welcoming demeanor. If he wasn't a wanted man, he would appreciate it. But right now, it couldn't be worse timing.

"Come get ya food, kids!" The waitress' yell yanks him out of his thoughts.

"No", he blurts out, and he turns to the man. Least he can do is show him some respect and look him in the eyes. "I'm fine, thank you."

The man smiles lightly and nods. "Okay. Welcome to the town."

Stan watches as the man goes back to his table. He wishes he had been more polite, the guy was just worrying about him, but he can't afford it. They already know his face, he can't risk anyone else recognizing him-

"Sweet Mother of God almighty."

Stan turns to his right. One of the kids, the one about his age, is looking at him like he just grew a second head. He's frozen in place, his eyes wide as plates behind thick glasses. He doesn't say a word, and it's getting increasingly unnerving. Was the bruising on his face still visible? Maybe it's more apparent in broad daylight than in the shitty light that last motel had in the bathroom.

"I'm sorry, I- Can I ask your name?"

The fuck?

"No", answers Stan. Considering how nice his dad was, this guy is pretty rude.

"Son, leave him alone." The mother seems to have manners too, good to know.

The guy does pretty much the opposite. He comes closer to him, until he's right in his path, blocking his exit. That can't be good. Stan feels trapped.

"Are you Stanley Pines?"

Well, that's about it.

Stan tries his best to stay still. This guy doesn't look like a cop, not even an undercover one. But he knows his real name, so maybe someone in his family or friends works in the police; or worse, in the military.

"Listen man, I don't know who you're talking about, but that isn't my name. See?" He reaches for his wallet. He pulls out an ID, with a very clear Jackson Cage on it. He makes a mental note to change it soon, just in case his hunch is right and this guy has connections. "Now, if you excuse me, I'd like to pay for my food and leave. Move."

Stan is already on his feet, but the guy hasn't moved. Stan looks him up and down, trying to appear threatening despite his face probably still being a little red from before. He also gauges how feasible it'd be to escape if things turned bad; the dude is taller than him, sure, but he's also as thin as a toothpick, and by the anxious look on his face, he doesn't seem eager for a fight. The real problem would be evading the restaurant's staff and the other costumers, which include eight carbon copies of the guy in front of him. Probably better to try to de-escalate the situation.

"I- I can't let you leave. Please. I know who you are."

This man is making it really difficult to believe he's not a cop.

"No, you don't. I'm new in town. Move."

"Listen, I-"

"Move out of my way."

"I know your brother."

The words are like a bullet between his eyebrows.

"You look just like him-"

Against his better judgement, he quickly grabs he guy and pins him to the wood in between the booth benches, arm to his throat. If he knows Ford, he knows too much. God he just wanted to have lunch.

The commotion is immediate. He doesn't break eye contact with the guy who's grabbing his arm, whose strength is frankly surprising. He can hear, however, the screams from the dad and the siblings, as well as a couple of gasps from the other costumers. This is not going to go well, but fuck that. He's escaped worse.

"Stop!", the guy shouts as he keeps Stan's forearm from blocking his airway. "Don't hurt him! Don't get closer!"

It takes Stan a second to process what he said. The first part, sure, who wouldn't shout 'stop' when you're being attacked? But the second half doesn't make sense. Is he protecting him? The attacker?

Whatever it is, it works. The family stops in their tracks, still very ready to attack if needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see the three younger kids moving closer to their mother. For a split second, he feels a pang of remorse for the scene he just caused.

"Hang up the phone, Clarisse, it's okay. Please."

Stan looks in the direction the guy was talking to. Right behind him, the waitress reluctantly puts the phone down.

He looks back at the guy. He looks a little shaken up, probably from the impact his back (and his head?) made with the wooden plank, but he doesn't look scared. He almost looks... sympathetic? Stan is confused as hell.

"I know who you are", the guy whispers, low enough for Stan to hear alone. "You're Stanley Pines, and you have a brother named Stanford. I know him, okay? He's my friend. I met him a few years ago in a quantum physics congress and we've been talking ever since. He told me about his family in New Jersey, and about you. About how he hasn't seen you in years, and how he was trying to find you, to no avail."

Stan is gradually loosening his grip on the guy's neck, who takes a deep breath. He should know better, but- shit, hearing that Ford was looking for him was not what he expected. Even if he doesn't know yet if this guy is lying out of his ass, it's enough to make him doubt.

"I know you were called to Vietnam. He told me. I spent a week with him in his place when he found out, he was unconsollable. When you ran away, he called me. He knew what it meant for you and he thought he'd never see you again, whether you got caught or not. All because of that stupid war." Stan is now trembling a little, he knows it. This guy must know it too, with how close they are. If he stays here any longer he'll break down, but he can't move. Anything to hear his brother's name a little longer. "I know what it's like. Three of my cousins were drafted last year, and I know at least one of them won't be coming back home. Please... let me help you."

Stan meets his eyes. They're green and brown-ish, not unlike the immense fields he's seen in his last journey, the one that led him to this town. With the years, he's learned not to trust beautiful eyes, because they are better at hiding. These ones, however, seem serene and honest, just like his words, and he can't help but believing them. This guy, whoever the fuck he is, knows just about enough.

Stan lowers his right arm. The guy still has his hand on it, but this time is much less defensive and much more comforting. He doesn't complain.

"My name's Fiddleford McGucket, and I'm gonna help you find your brother."

______________________________

Essentially, after this Fidds calls Ford as if nothing happened (per Stan's request, since he's still paranoid about the police tracking his calls) and asks him to come to Tennessee. Ford argues that he's very busy and all, but Fidds convinces him in the end.

Obviously the twins have a dual breakdown and cry their heart out. In this AU they're much less emotionally constipated lol

Ford tells Stan that he's gonna build a house in a small town in Oregon as a part of his research, and asks him to move in with him once it's finished. Stan, of course, accepts.

In the meantime, Stan stays in the McGucket farm and helps them out as a way of laying low. He has a great relationship with his family, and they're very proud of him for what he did (i believe that the McGuckets are hippies at heart, and they're VERY anti-war, especially when it already took three of them)

I don't know how much of the canon storyline would this AU follow, but it's pretty much your average Mystery Trio AU with some different backstory

[youchangedmedestiel]

Friend: What are you doing right now?

Me: I have a lot of projects.

Friend: Oh so cool, what are those? New job, new business, new home, new relationship?

Me: Ok, I have a lot of SPN/Destiel projects.

[umblrspectrum]

still thinking about it so heres a bunch of stuff

[inaconstantstateofchange]

bg3 modern!au idea where halsin is a conservationist, who mentions kind of despairingly to a younger colleague at a conference the way he's having such a hard time with outreach to get folks in his community aware of the wildlife around them and how important it is. the colleague makes an offhand reference to how tiktok is the way people seem to get connected to that sort of thing most nowadays, although hell if they have the patience to figure out the app, and wanders off to catch up with someone else. they will not realize until later (far, far later) the ramifications of this statement.

halsin is rather quiet for the rest of the event, makes his goodbyes, and then returns home to painstakingly research just how "tiktok" works, with the grim determination of a fighter entering the ring. if this is what it takes to raise awareness, then this is what he'll do. the cause is more than worth it.

the first roadblock he runs into makes him worry the venture will be over before its even started. the first few webpages he finds tell him patronizingly that his phone is too old to work for 'content creation'. and okay, so it's scuffed, and dented, and has maybe taken one or two tumbles into a mud puddle, but it ought to be more than serviceable! he goes outside and finds a patch of wildflowers, pulling up the camera function and shooting a shaky video. he returns to his kitchen table, squinting down at the results. he can see all of the distinguishing features of the plant that would allow him to recognize it in the wild, which means it's good enough to do its job. with a new resolve - that his family would have wryly labeled as stubbornness - he focuses his research efforts until he finally finds a webpage that will tell him how to make the app work with his phone.

when at last it starts up in a blare of sound and over-saturated colors, he grimaces, but presses on. it asks him to set up a username, and he types in his first name. the little circle spins for a moment, then tells him it's taken. he frowns, then adds a random number. 2. it spins again, same response. he frowns harder, then adds another. 6. it spins, spins, spins, then — welcome, new user @.halsin26! upload your first video to start using tiktok!

he decides not to overthink it. it'll either work out or it won't. he looks out the window, and judges there's still just enough light out. he returns to the little patch of wildflowers, and gives it a thumbs up. he starts a recording directly in the app, making note of the 60-second time limit with a grimace. to make the most of the time he has, he doesn't bother with an introduction, just kneels down next to the cluster of plants, careful not to compress the ground too close to their root system, and moves his hand just behind the flowering portion to visually distinguish it, and act as a scale reference. he keeps his voice low, since he doesn't want to overshadow the content itself, and quickly lays out where folks could run into this plant, its importance to its local ecosystem, and ways they could help its conservation. the most important things the average person can do, he states passionately as the timer begins its final warning, is to document the locations where they find said plants, so that the areas can be marked for oversight and protection.

he doesn't bother to look back over the video before he posts it. he knows what he said, after all. he stretches his arms up above his head, then massages the back of his neck where the muscles are growing stiff. as he heads back inside to start dinner for himself, he tosses the phone into a basket on the counter and forgets about it.

the video languishes in the algorithm for the evening, until a random user gets distracted from scrolling away from the potato-quality wildflower video someone's grandma uploaded and chokes on their spit as forearms that very clearly do not belong to anyone's grandmother enter the frame, gently cupping the air around the flower.

god i wish that were me, they type before they can stop themself. debating whether to bother hitting send, they choke again as an absolutely unfair voice begins to narrate the ecological importance of this particular plant. the voice is smooth and deep, just above a murmur with a pleasant backing rumble. they have never given a moment's thought to plants in their entire life, but all of a sudden they are invested. they don't even notice when their thumb hits 'send' on their comment, too busy swiping over to the profile to see if there are any other videos. it's empty of literally everything, default user icon, only-barely-not-randomly-generated username, only one video posted earlier that day. they go back to the video and copy the link to send to their friends, needing someone - anyone - else to understand the experience they just had.

a few more interactions like that, and the algorithm takes notice. it bumps the video to a few more users outside of the current sphere, and those ones like it too. more importantly, they are very likely to share the video with others, increasing the engagement far beyond anything it had right to expect.

by two days later, when halsin remembers to actually check the thing, it is sitting at a comfortable 2500 likes, and there is a whole fleet of comments waiting for him to review. some of them - many of them, actually - don't seem that relevant at all, and he frowns, but then he sees a few that actually seem interested in more information on the plant he'd described, asking questions about how wide its range is, if it could be found in this or that coloration, etc. these he responds to swiftly, then grimaces as he runs up against a 'character limit'? who ever heard of such a foolish thing. after a moment of glaring down at his phone, he sees that it will allow him to answer by video, and does so, stepping onto his porch and zooming in on the plants. (this blurs them into barely discernible blobs of pixels, but he does not notice.)

still others are curious about what other plants and wildlife he might be able to share about, and he leaves short comments under each letting them know that he will plan to upload some more videos soon, if there is an interest. one user has left a comment that he almost files into his mental "ignore" category, but goes back to reread at the last moment.

not convinced this isn't one of those 'booktok bait' things again but i stg there's a big ass patch of those fuckers behind a parking lot somewhere around here?

halsin responds to this one with a video too. now that he's getting the hang of it, it's actually a bit more convenient than having to type everything out. he thanks the commenter for sharing, then asks if they might be willing to do him a favor sometime – only if it wasn't any trouble, of course! – and grab a video or two of the area they referenced, and share it with him — or their local wildlife foundation, at least.

a few days later, he opens the app to check in to find that he's been tagged in a video by some user. bemused, he clicks on the popup, and it takes him to a slightly shaky but pristine quality video of an empty lot filled with tall grass. the person filming moves a bit closer, then zooms in, and halsin spots multiple cluster of that recognizable wildflowers, before the video ends and restarts. there's no narration to this one, only a barely audible music wheel spinning in the corner. the caption on the video says, @.halsin26 just in case you're not actually some weird account for a fetish i haven't heard of before, here's some of those plants you mentioned looking for.

[triglycercule]

dust and horror angel and demon themes,,,, they could totally parallel each other...... :3

dust=angel of death described in the delta rune prophecy (self declared) (i DEFINITELY elaborated on this one waayyyy before but anyways dust with a fucked up savior complex SAVE ME SAVE ME.... death is a blessing ass guy. life is torment and he will be the one to liberate monsters from their bodies and with the strength they provide to him be able to take down evil evil creation of pure misery that is the human ✨✨✨ dont worry his evil cackles are to HIDE HIS PAIN of saving everyone....... trust)

horror=demon that dragged everyone in horrortale into hell (as perceived by everyone else) (i think it would be a cool hc if everyone outside of snowdin viewed horror as literally a demon. maybe undyne preaches that. anyone outside of snowdin might be WAYYY worse because they starve for longer and literally take part in cannibalism so they might not have the same sort of mild sanity that snowdin residents do,,,, besides he DID kinda bring them all eternal suffering. kinda. nobody but undyne knows what happened at the core so she could totally just paint the story to blame horror fully)

ANYWAYS i like the possible dynamics this could have :333

dust to horror (please let me kill you PLEASE let me kill you i can end it all so peacefully wouldn't it be nice??? i promise ill make it quick just for you),,, horror to dust (i want you to live and suffer with what youve done i want you to watch all of your choices hit you one day and i'll be there and laugh at you. i'll keep you alive just to keep you suffering ok?)

OR dust to horror (you dont deserve to die you dont deserve to even be hurt by me. not because youre the exception but youre the Exception i absolutely loathe you so youll never get the sweet release of death :3) and horror to dust (just let me die already i dont wanna be here. youre supposed to be a savior right??? an angel?? then why don't you save me already when i need it more than anyone else)

[fiepige]

Okay guys, hear me out:

Sea Serpent Hobie!!!

Sea Serpent Hobie who sinks any superyachts he comes across!

Sea Serpent Hobie who uses harpoon spears meant to kill him as piercings! And old anchor chains as jewelry!

Sea Serpent Hobie who attacks big commercial fishing boats that are destroying the ecosystem by overfishing

But also benign Sea Serpent Hobie, who aids those lost at sea!

Who helps smaller local fishing buisnesses with sustainable fishing

Who looks out for this small fishing community and in return they warn him whenever hunters show up in the area!

Sea Serpent Hobie who is huge but still manages to hide perfectly in the kelp forests!

Who has bioluminescence and uses it both to terrify enemies and as a way to calm down people in distress, as a way for him to signal goodwill - and to show off when he feels like it!

Who can change his pigmentation similarly to octopi to communicate his mood and feelings! Or just to blend in with his surroundings (also as a nod to the way he changes filters in the movie!)

Sea Serpent Hobie who's frequently seen swimming with whale pods- Orcas being his favourites to hang out with (they sometimes go on yacht sinking trips together)

Sea Serpent Hobie who likes to give people a show and will show off by breaching right next to unsuspecting boats

DO YOU SEE MY VISION?!??

SEA SERPENT HOBIE!!!!!!💙💙💙