#I don’t know what that means for the future

[reasonsforhope]

Climate change in 2025: So, what now?

Some real talk for the new year, about where we now stand, and what the next years are going to look like.

(Still ends on a “be hopeful!! or else” kind of note, but definitely gets into some heavy truths about the meaning of recent events.)

--

Obviously, between Trump's reelection at the Los Angeles fires, things are feeling a lot more precarious than they did just a few months ago. I know a lot of people are incredibly stressed. I know I'm certainly stressed.

But this isn't the end. This isn't the beginning of the end, either. We're not doomed.

Don't despair.

Yes, things are about to get harder. Yes, the effects of climate change are now becoming truly apparent.

But here's what you need to hold on to:

We have already cut expected warming in half.

More about that including sources here: (x) I'm not going to go into it again in detail, read the source for that. But it's true. In 2000, when I was a kid, they were predicting 4, 5, 6 degrees of warming, plus a runaway greenhouse effect that would boil the planet.

Now, scientists expect that global temperatures will likely land between 2 and 3 degrees.

Which is incredibly shitty, yes. But it's survivable.

And I have for a lot of reasons (check these masterposts on this) to believe with the confidence of knowing that we're going to get expected warming down even further.

And that's something to celebrate.

I’m not saying that the effects of warming aren’t already bad, or won’t get worse. I’m from California, I currently live in LA. My state’s been on fire for half my life. Natural disasters starting amping up early here (and we’re certainly in the middle of another historic number now). And yeah, it's fucking stressful right now.

But like I said, my state’s been breaking horrible disaster records constantly for the past ten years. I've done this before. And you know what? Natural disasters have been getting more and more survivable for years, largely thanks to faster warnings and better mass communication (x).

Does it suck how many natural disasters there are now? Yeah.

Does it suck how many more still there will be? Yeah.

Do we need to keep working our asses off to beat climate change? Yeah.

Are we going to need to organize and mobilize (both politically and especially community-wise) like never before to see as many people through these times as best as possible? Yeah.

But that doesn't mean we should despair. It absolutely does not mean that we've already lost.

An unknown number of the most optimistic futures were foreclosed when Trump won the US election. That’s painful but a reality.

But for twenty-ish of the past twenty-five years, the science said we weren’t going to survive climate change at all.

For most of my life, we were worried that we had set Earth on a course to become like fucking Venus (which is, on average, well over 800 degrees Farenheit). Even if it didn’t get that bad, we were so worried that global warming might wipe out all life on earth - except maybe the cockroaches.

(Literally, when I was a younger the kids at my church put on a play about that. It was like an adaptation of A Christmas Carol where the future only had talking cockroaches. I grew up so worried about this. (Not the cockroaches thing specifically. Mostly the general concept. Only a little about the cockroaches. Also yes my church was very granola why do you ask.))

But starting a few years ago, studies have shown that there wasn’t going to be a runaway greenhouse effect that could turn us into Venus; that earth is warming, yes, but we don’t seem to be in danger of that.

Between that and the fact that the adoption of renewables globally is too fast to be stopped, and we do have the technology and environmental science knowledge to eventually re-lower global temperatures by getting to net negative carbon emissions (x), and most countries and at least 73% of people in all countries for which there is data (x) actually care very much about the climate, yeah, we have closed the door on the lava planet future.

And yeah, I do think that’s worth celebrating.

That’s a massive fucking victory.

There's still more work to do, and I have every confidence that we're going to do it. I also think that, given the loss of the US election, there’s a really, really strong chance the developing world will be what saves us, and we’ll just be lucky to be along for the ride.

Most people have no idea of the kinds of amazing stories and statistics coming out of the developing world and Indigenous communities. The world is changing for the better on the environment, even as disasters (and the US) are getting worse. Solar power is going to revolutionize the fucking world, because it’s going to grant humanity universal access to electricity, and that’s going to revolutionize the world, especially the developing world (aka the global majority). And most people have no idea at all, much less how much it’s going to change.

So, yeah, natural disasters are going to keep getting worse.

But there’s a long, long long fucking way between “natural disasters are going to keep getting worse” and “the extinction of all of humanity and/or the vast majority of life on earth”

So, in the face of Trump, in the face of everything, I still choose to hope. I still choose to celebrate this as a true and profound accomplishment.

Because for over twenty years, I was afraid I’d never get to.

That difference is absolutely worth celebrating.

[gpcwsl]

Lia wälti x reader , arsenal won’t renew readers contract meaning she will play for a new club next season. Sad convo with Lia but they both promise it’s not the end of them

Warnings: short, kissing?

Lia Wälti x Reader:

Title: See You Later

MasterList

You always thought you’d stay at Arsenal forever. It had been your dream club since you were a kid, the badge on your shirt feeling like home no matter where you played. But football, as you had learned over the years, had a way of shattering even the strongest attachments.

The meeting had been brief, clinical. The club had decided not to renew your contract. Their reasoning was clear—financial constraints, a new direction, younger talent coming in. They thanked you for your service and wished you well for the future. But none of it softened the blow.

Now, you were sitting in your car outside the training ground, staring blankly at the steering wheel. The words from the meeting played on a loop in your head.

“We’re sorry, but…”

“This is a business decision…”

“We wish you the best…”

You didn’t cry—not yet. You were too stunned, too overwhelmed. Instead, you pulled out your phone and texted the one person you needed to see.

You: Can I come over?

My Love ❤️: Always xx 💋

When you arrived at Lia’s apartment, the second the door opened, her concern was immediate. Her arms wrapped around you tightly before you even said a word, her lips brushing softly against your temple in reassurance.

“What’s wrong?” she murmured, her voice filled with worry.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, burying your face in the crook of her neck. “They’re not renewing my contract,” you finally whispered, your voice trembling.

Lia froze for a moment, the words sinking in, before she tilted your chin up so she could look into your eyes. “They’re what?” she said, disbelief written all over her face.

You couldn’t speak, so you just nodded, the tears welling up again. Lia’s expression softened, and she cupped your face in her hands. “Oh, baby,” she whispered, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

The tenderness of her gesture made you break, a sob escaping your lips. She pulled you back into her arms, her hands running soothingly up and down your back. “I’m so sorry,” she murmured into your hair.

When you pulled back slightly, your faces were inches apart. Lia’s thumb wiped away a stray tear from your cheek, and her lips brushed yours in a soft, lingering kiss. It was sweet, comforting, and full of unspoken promises.

Later that evening, the two of you sat together on the couch, your legs tangled under a shared blanket. Lia had made you tea, though hers sat untouched on the table as she stared off into the distance, clearly still trying to process the news.

“Do you know where you’ll go?” she asked softly, finally breaking the silence.

You shook your head. “Not yet. I’ve had some offers, but nothing feels… right. Not yet.”

Lia nodded, her hand reaching out to take yours. “You don’t have to rush. We’ll figure this out together.”

Her words were comforting, but you couldn’t stop the tears that welled up again. “I just… I don’t want to leave you, Lia. I don’t know how to do this without you.”

Her heart broke at the sight of your tears. She shifted closer, cupping your face in her hands. “Look at me,” she said firmly, waiting until your gaze met hers. “You’re not losing me. No matter where you go, no matter how far away, I’m yours. Always.”

You let out a shaky breath, leaning into her touch. “How can you be so sure?”

“Because I love you,” she said simply, her voice steady and full of conviction.

Before you could respond, her lips found yours in a kiss that was slow and full of emotion. It wasn’t rushed or frantic—it was Lia grounding you, reminding you of the strength of your bond. Her hands slid into your hair as she deepened the kiss slightly, pouring all her love and reassurance into it.

When she finally pulled back, her forehead rested against yours. “We’ll make this work,” she whispered. “I promise.”

Your last day at Arsenal came far too quickly. After the farewell gathering, you and Lia stayed behind on the training pitch, the place where so many of your memories together had been made.

The sun had set, and the floodlights bathed the pitch in a soft glow. Lia stood in front of you, her hands resting on your waist as she studied your face.

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” she said softly. “It doesn’t feel real.”

You reached up to cup her cheek, your thumb brushing over her skin. “I don’t want to leave you,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion.

“You’re not leaving me,” Lia said, her voice breaking slightly. “Not really. We’ll still see each other. I’ll visit you, or you’ll visit me, and…” She trailed off, her tears finally spilling over.

“Hey,” you said gently, pulling her into a hug. Her arms wrapped around you tightly, and you could feel her tears soaking into your shoulder. “It’s not goodbye. It’s just… see you later.”

Lia pulled back just enough to look at you, her blue eyes glistening with tears. “Promise me,” she said, her voice trembling.

You nodded, leaning in to kiss her. It was soft at first, but the longer your lips stayed together, the more the emotion spilled over. The kiss was full of desperation, love, and the unspoken fear of the distance to come. Lia’s hands moved to your back, holding you as close as possible, as if she could imprint this moment into her memory.

When you finally broke apart, your foreheads pressed together, Lia’s breath mingling with yours. “I promise,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Her lips brushed yours again, a featherlight kiss this time. “So do I.”

[beckyninja]

Cleanse

Pairing: Demetrian Titus x FemReader

Warnings: Sexual content, MDNI

Description: In the baths, you contemplate both your present and future with Titus. Little do you know, unfriendly eyes are watching.

I'll say this once, if you're a fan of Leandros, this story arc may not be for you. 😈

(To read the rest of the fics in this series, check out my Masterlist.)

“You’re sure this is allowed?” 

You saw no one else in the vaulted chamber, yet still felt the need to whisper. Part of you felt like a misbehaving child. The rest of you shivered with barely disguised glee.

“Of course it is!” Vesta rolled her eyes. “I told you, my unc- I mean, Lord Callistus specifically gave me permission.”

“But he didn’t give me permission.”

“Worry wart.” Your friend giggled. “Just look at this place!”

You did. High ceilings adorned with blue and gold mosaics soared above you. Columns wider than the reach of your arms lined the walls. Every polished marble surface gleamed in the flickering candlelight.

But the thing that truly made you catch your breath was the great pool of steaming water stretching from one end of the room to the other. 

On your homeworld, you’d played in mountain streams. Since becoming a serf, you’d learned of lakes and oceans. But this was by far the most still water you’d ever seen in one place. The steam curling from its rippling surface moistened your skin and filled your lungs.

“What if one of the Marines comes in?”

Vesta was already laying out her bucket of supplies: soap, brushes, and washing cloths. She shook her head.

“Those that aren’t sleeping are preparing for our arrival at Demerium. Unc- Lord Callistus told me so. You, yourself, told me your Lord Titus was in strategy meetings with his squad.” She shot you a wry look. “I’m only glad you finally seem to have a free moment. I’ve barely seen you since we left Avarax!” 

You felt heat rush to your face and turned away, pretending to examine the carvings on a nearby pillar.

“De-Demetrian!”

“Yes. Cry my name.”

“Deme- ah!”

“Good girl. You can take more, can you not?”

“I-I….”

“Please, Little Healer. I need you.” 

Demetrian had been insatiable the last few days, pulling (or throwing) you into bed at every opportunity. Only a frustrated vox call from his squadmates finally dragged him from your side. You remembered the mournful look in his eyes as he left you. 

Warm liquid hit you in the back of the head, soaking your thin robe. You gasped and turned to find Vesta holding the dripping bucket. She giggled.

“Are you going to stare at that pillar all night? Or are you- eek!”

You cupped a handful of water and flung it back at your friend. She squealed and darted away. You forced yourself to relax.

“You go first, Vesta. I’ll watch in case any of the cleaning serfs try to come in.”

“Ah, good idea.” She slipped off her clothes and settled into the water with a sigh.

You tensed when she sank under. “Vesta!”

She surged up again, shaking her wet curls out of her eyes. “What are you worrying about now?”

“How deep is it?”

“It’s a bath for Astartes, how deep do you think it is?” With another giggle she pushed away from the wall and paddled farther into the pool.

You cocked your head to one side as you watched. “I didn’t know you could swim.”

“I learned when I was a little girl on Macragge. At my family’s seaside estate.”

“Your family had an estate?” 

“Mmmhmm.” She dove under again, reappearing in another part of the pool.

Nobility?! How in the Emperor’s Name…?

Vesta caught your eye and grinned, paddling back to the side. “You should see the look on your face!” The grin faded. “Fine. Fine. Hand me the soap and I’ll tell you the whole story.”

***

“...and so, after the plague took my parents and siblings, the inheritance came down to me, or an older cousin. I was little, so I don’t remember much. But apparently the arguments were fierce. Finally, my cousin decided to bring in the only other living member of our House to mediate.”

You sat at the edge of the pool, feet in the steaming water, as you watched Vesta rub the soap through her hair. 

“You don’t mean…?”

The medica nodded. “Lord Callistus’ portrait had hung in our grand hall for longer than I can remember. Father used to hold me up so I could see, telling me the story of how his great grandmother’s older brother had become an Ultramarine, bringing honor to our family. But, of course, he’d never met the man. None of us had.”

Vesta paused, eyes going distant. “Uncle tells me I looked like a scared rabbit when he first saw me. All alone and small and helpless. I reminded him of his little sister.” She smiled. “Anyway, my cousin had the stronger claim, so the estate went to him. And I went with Uncle Callistus.”

You looked at your friend with a clinical eye. Unscarred. Well-fed. With a lightness of manner lacking in many of the other serfs you’d encountered.

“He treats you well.”

“More like a daughter, or well, a niece, than a serf.” She nodded. “Oh, he’s a bit gruff and exacting. Not one to allow his medicae to slack off, that’s for sure!” She laughed. “But he’s kind for all that.”

She leaned back, rinsing the soap from her hair. “I’ve told him about you.”

You sat upright. “You have?”

“Mmmhmm. He says a serf with prior medical knowledge is wasted attending to just one Marine.”

A cold knot of dread formed in the pit of your stomach. “I’m content where I am, Vesta.”

“I know. You’ve told me how wonderful a lord Titus is. Over and over again.” She smirked.

You felt your face heating again, wondering just how effusive you’d been with your praise. 

Did she suspect…? No. No, surely not.

Vesta continued, her face going serious. “But, well, we’re about to go into battle. And I’ve heard what can happen to personal serfs left all alone.”

The cold knot hardened into a ball of ice. You remembered cowering in Demetrian’s locked quarters when you first arrived. You remembered the terror, the despair, of thinking he’d died.

You hadn’t cared what would happen to you.

“Have you,” your voice rasped, “have you heard anything about why we’re going to Demerium?”

Vesta folded her arms on the edge of the pool. A rare frown creased her face.

The words kept coming. “Surely it isn’t so bad. Not worse than Tyranids. And Deme- Lord Titus has conquered the vile insects before.”

Barely.

Your mind flashed to the reason for his conversion to Primaris. The new scars, ragged and red. The haggard look in his eye when he returned from each battle. The way he clung to you these past few days.

Vesta remained silent for a long while. “Usually I can discern something, just from what the Apothecaries are doing. The tools and medicines they prepare. But this time…?” She shook her head. “Not even Uncle has said anything. But it’s going to be bad, my friend, I can tell.”

“The Emperor protects.” You whispered.

“The Emperor protects.” Vesta heaved herself up out of the pool and reached for a towel. “I didn’t mean to scare you. I’m sure Lord Titus will be fine!”

You saw straight through her false cheer.

She noticed, and came to stand next to you, wrapping a damp arm about your shoulders. “I just want you to know if, Emperor forbid, the worst should happen, you’ll have a place in the Apothecarion. I swear it!”

Leaning into her, you tried to smile. “You’re a true friend, Vesta.”

For once, she seemed at a loss for words, hugging you tight. Then, a look of alarm came over her freckled features.

“Throne damn it! I lost all sense of time!” She began frantically pulling on her underclothes and robe. “I promised Uncle I’d be back within two hours to finish the requisition reports!”

A real smile crept across your face at your friend’s antics. 

She flung her bathing supplies into their bucket. “He’ll tan my hide if I turn in late paperwork…again. Well, not really. But I’d rather not be on the receiving end of one of his lectures!” She hesitated, looking toward you.

You waved her away. “Go on. I’ll be fine. Like you said, no one should come in at this time of night. And I just wanted to wash my hair, anyway.”

“If you’re sure. Thanks!” She skidded out of the chamber.

Like the sun going behind a cloud, your brief mirth faded. Vesta’s words echoed in your mind. Old fears reared their ugly heads.

You bent and splashed some of the warm water on your face. “I can’t think like this. I can’t.”

The steaming pool called your name, promising a brief moment of comfort. 

You carefully removed your robe and underclothes. At least with Vesta gone, you no longer had to hide your winces. The flesh between your legs still ached. And when you bent over the water and saw your reflection….

“Throne of Terra….”

Bruises dotted your skin. Your neck, your breasts, your thighs. Many in the shape of large hands.

You gingerly touched the teeth marks in your shoulder. “How in the Warp would I have explained this to you, Vesta?”

Demetrian had never been so rough with you before. You should be annoyed, frightened, even.

Instead….

You ran your hands over each mark, remembering his touch, the rasp of calluses against your skin. When you reached your breasts, you remembered the heat of his mouth. Your nipples hardened beneath your fingers.

“Oh Throne….”

Desire pulsed in your core.

You tried to ignore it as you slipped into the pool. But the enveloping touch of the warm water drew a sharp gasp from your lips. After a year of cold showers and hurried sponge baths, it felt divine.

As your body relaxed, your mind wandered.

Blue eyes. Looking at you with a wonder-filled intensity. Like you provided something he could not believe he had and could not live without. He could steal your breath with a glance.

A strong body. Massive and scarred and so much more than any baseline man. Those arms had torn xenos in two with little effort. You were helpless in their embrace. 

And that voice….

“Little Healer.”

Emperor forgive you, you loved it all. You loved him.

A moan burst from your lips as your hand ventured between your legs, sheer need overriding any lingering soreness.

I shouldn’t be doing this. Especially not here!

But you couldn’t control your fingers, or the memories that raced through your mind. His hands. His tongue. The great weight of him above you. The burning stretch of his length within you.

What if he doesn’t return from this battle? What if these memories are all I will ever have?

You worked yourself faster. Pleasure rising…rising…rising….

Until it crested.

“Demetrian!”

***

Eyes watched the serf girl from the far corner of the room, shrouded in shadow. She hadn’t noticed his entrance. Too lost in her shameful indulgence.

The eyes glinted with outrage. 

“Demetrian!”

Lips curled into a snarl. He recognized this girl. He’d seen her sneaking away from what he now realized was a clandestine liaison with the disgraced Capt- Lieutenant. He cursed himself for his mental slip.

Not a Captain! No longer deserving of that rank, if he ever was to begin with.

His fists clenched. A soft splash returned his attention to the girl.

She climbed out of the water and paused on her knees. He saw the tremble in her limbs. He saw the water drip off her flushed skin, off the pointed tips of her bare, full breasts. 

He saw the bruises, the bite marks. Outrage swelled within him once more.

He could destroy the Lieutenant with this. What the Inquisition had failed to do, he could finally accomplish.

Corruption! Heresy!

Yet he didn’t move as the girl stood, drying herself. His eyes remained locked on her unmarred skin. Her rounded curves. 

Over and over again he replayed her impassioned cry. His outrage changed, tainted by a new, bitter emotion.

Why Titus? What right did Titus have to…this? To her?

As the girl dressed, a mad impulse came into his head. He imagined himself charging across the baths and tearing away the girl’s clothes. He imagined pinning her to the wall and looking…touching….  

He felt himself thickening. Panicked by the unfamiliar sensation, he reached down and grasped his member. 

The jolt of pleasure ripped a guttural snarl from his throat.

The girl froze. He saw her head jerk back and forth, yet knew her weak baseline eyes could not pierce the darkened corners.

He watched her gather her things and flee like a frightened prey animal.

Did that make him the predator? 

No! The guilty often flee from those who would save their souls.  

As he continued running his hand along his stiffened shaft, he found he enjoyed that idea. 

So, Titus thought he deserved pleasure. A fallen soul dared to reach for the blessings reserved for the righteous.

Leandros would cleanse him of such filthy perversions. In time, he would cleanse you both.

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[dosesofcommonsense]

Don’t believe me?

I challenge you to watch this short video.

**I couldn’t watch it all the way through. It breaks my heart and repulses me that the “abortion is healthcare” motto is used in society.

Abortions have happened for centuries. It’s not like they’re a new thing. However, thanks to Margaret Sanger (Nazi) and her work in eugenics to sterilize the human race through the targeting of black communities AND Hillary Clinton championing and mainstreaming her work, the present abortion culture and satanic sacrificial system is accepted as a form of healthcare when it’s far from it.

Baby pictured at 14-22 weeks. Looks like a tiny human.

Link: https://www.abortionprocedures.com/

Can you stomach the video?

So, out of 1200 abortions, none of the pregnancies endangered the mom’s life - though the abortion endangers the mom’s life and future ability to have kids. Hmm.

Mom’s host babies. Give the baby any name you want, it’s still a baby inside the mom.

And while we’re here. Implanting a baby inside a man’s rectum “so he can give birth” is evil, is sick, and doesn’t make him a mom.

Stop affirming mental illness and let women shine as women. Men and women are different AND that’s a great thing. We complement each other. Men provide and lead; women nurture and raise kids. They are the roles we are designed for. Masculinity isn’t toxic; the absence of men is toxic.

Or there’s the damning study that found the direct correlation between a mom’s mental illness and the kid’s desire to be trans.

Of course, some people are just crazy. Look. Clinton pitched this same sad story when Roe was returned to the states where it belongs. If your state doesn’t allow abortions, you’re able to find a state that does and have the abortion there. Much like getting a tattoo from any studio you want, you can cut that kid up wherever you like. Do I agree with it? Fuck no. Can you do it? Yeah. Is it wise? No. But that’s the ruthlessness of personal choices.

Maybe this mom sounds like someone you know…an activist mom fighting for “the right to kill a baby” that you - didn’t - have - wait a minute…that sure sounds like that proud mom is subtly saying she couldn’t kill her kid…mental illness comes in all forms.

It’s certainly not like Hillary is the only one to blame, but she’s definitely near the top of the pyramid. If she hadn’t championed Sanger and abortions and helped Planned Parenthood get taxpayer money, we wouldn’t be facing the same battle or same level of sin.

Make no mistake. This is a spiritual battle with an ugly dark web of deceit surrounding abortion and what it actually means to all involved for that abortion to happen.

If you want to fund this stuff, set up a GoFundMe. As for our tax dollars, our tax money belongs nowhere near this evil system.

Joe Biden was pro abortion until after the day the kid was born. Kamala was pro-after birth abortions. Your kid was just born; Kamala was ok killing that kid and calling it an abortion.

Is Trump a solid no abortion guy? No. On that topic we differ. However, he like me says it’s a state’s rights issue and not a federal issue. SCOTUS agreed with that.

[bunsiesblog]

My Promise to You

s!1 Viktor x Showgirl!reader

A letter Viktor writes to his childhood friend and first love. A reminder that he has not forgotten his promise to save you. It sits unopened in your Madame’s safe, along with the other dozens of letters he sent to you these past seven years.

tags: childhood friends to lovers, love letter, minimal use of Y/N, affectionate czech name, ‘letters? what letters?’ trope, inspired by the Notebook, yearning, Viktor is actually king of yearning,

468 words

A/N: I am currently drafting up a fanfic that is written as letters between you and Viktor. The premise is that he moved to Piltover and you stayed in Zaun as a showgirl at a less than reputable establishment. He promised to take you away and everything he has done has been to come through on that promise. The gag is that the Madame of your club has been withholding the letters you guys write to each other.

I’m just such a big fan of a man who does literally the most for his girl, except you aren’t really his girl you’re his best friend which makes it all 10x more romantic to me. Anyways, here is one of the letters below that I just wanted to share with you all

➽───────────────❥

My dearest Y/N,

It feels strange to write to you again, knowing I might not receive a reply. And yet, I can’t stop myself. Writing to you feels like the only way to keep you close, even when the distance between us seems unbearable. I don’t know if these letters are reaching you, or if you’re reading them, but I hope, somehow, that you can feel the words I send.

It’s been years since I left Zaun, and I can’t help but wonder how much you’ve changed. I imagine you’re as radiant as ever, your spirit as unyielding as the city that raised us. Do you still find the hidden corners of the world to call your own? Do you still climb rooftops to breathe above the chaos below? I often find myself thinking of those times—how simple it all felt, even though it was anything but.

I want you to know that I’ve never stopped working to keep my promise to you. Everything I’ve done, everything I’ve built here in Piltover, has been with that promise in mind. I graduated, Lásko. Top of my class. I’ve even taken a position at the Academy, assisting the Dean. And now… now there’s something new.

It’s called Hextech. A project I’ve been working on with my colleague, Jayce. We’ve discovered a way to harness the arcane and shape it into something tangible—something that can help people. I believe this could be my breakthrough. Our breakthrough. With Hextech, I’ll finally have the means to do what I’ve always wanted: to build a life, a future, where you don’t have to endure the chains that bind you.

I know it’s taken too long. I know I’ve failed you in so many ways. But I need you to know that I haven’t forgotten. I think about you every day, wonder if you’re okay, if you’re happy—or at least as happy as one can be in a place like Kitty’s. I still remember the look in your eyes the last time I saw you, the way you told me not to worry about you.

But I can’t help it, Lásko. I can’t stop worrying.

I hope you’re safe. I hope you’re surrounded by people who remind you of your worth, who see you for who you are—brilliant, kind, and stronger than anyone I’ve ever known. But if you’re not, then please, just hold on a little longer. I’m getting closer. I can feel it.

When the time comes, when I have everything I need, I’ll come back for you. I don’t care how long it takes or what I have to do. You once told me that I was meant for something greater, but you’ve always been my reason for striving.

You once saved me. Now it’s my turn.

Yours always,

Viktor

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Not a Word 3

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, age gap, violence, parental abuse, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: You live a life in hiding, away from your father and the world, until a man decides to drag you into the light. (non-verbal reader)

Characters: Captain Syverson

Note:😻.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

The smell of the roast fills the house as you focus on small tasks, things that aren’t urgent but keep you busy. Sy’s footfalls creak in the floorboard as he looms in the front room. You’re thankful to have him away from you for the time being. You’re confused and concerned about his unannounced arrival. 

You’re not sure what he means. Blessing. You look at the flowers. You’re not stupid. That’s a clear gesture and yet why would he do that for you? Why would he have an interest in you? 

The bigger question, one you can’t answer, how do you feel? Sy is nice enough but he’s scary all the same. Big and boisterous. He’s never done anything to you but you don’t really know him, do you? He doesn’t really know you. Well, this must be his way of getting to know you. 

It’s all a mystery to you. Relationships and all. Even familial one. You know from the movies that what you have with your dad isn’t normal. You can feel that he only really resents you. 

“Smells good,” Sy startles you. 

You peek over your shoulder and close the fridge. You go to the sink to rinse the cloth of the crumbs you wiped off the shelves. You wring it out and hang it to dry over the edge of dish rack. 

“Daddy’s late,” he clucks. “Ain’t he?” 

You look at the clock then him and shrug. He circles the table, pacing as his thick fingers twiddle. As he prowls, you’re reminded of a coyote. They always get into the shed in the hotter months, tearing at the rubbish stored there before truck day. 

“Anything I can help with, sugar? I don’t wanna be in your way,” he offers. 

You shake your head. You turn to the stove and open it slightly to check the roast. Still a bit to go. The potatoes need some softening. You shut it as the floor groans. You peek back and catch only Sy’s back as he disappears down the hall. He must need the bathroom. 

You continue your meandering cleaning. It’s not really messy at all but the place is old and everything’s a bit worn out, including you. As you adjust a canister in the spice rack, a noise catches your ear. Something familiar. 

You tiptoe to the hall and peer down it. You frown. Your bedroom is open. You go down and peek inside. Sy stands facing the wall, staring at the diamond art you did of finches in a nest. It’s one of your favourites so you hung it. 

He leans in as you tap on the door frame. He flinches and looks at you. He gives a sheepish expression and runs his hand over his beard. 

“Sorry, wasn’t meanin’ to intrude but the door was open so I... I was just lookin’ at this. You made it?” 

You nod. How can you tell him to get out? You have no way of making him. The door doesn’t always catch, he might not be lying. 

“Real pretty,” he praises and approaches you, “like you.” 

You blink and back up. You point back down the hall. You scurry away before he reaches you. You enter the kitchen and pull out a small saucepan. You’ll need it to make the gravy even if you won’t have the drippings to do so for some time. 

The puffing putter of your father’s truck underlines the tension as Sy lurks in behind you. You stay facing the stove, stilling your hands as you keep them on the hot edge of the stove. The warmth is just short of unbearable. 

Sy exhales and you brace yourself. Your heart beats furiously in anticipation. What will your dad think? How will he react? Usually, the large man cozens him with beer but today he’s only brought flowers. You can’t help but think of those floral curtains your dad tore down because they were too girly. 

Your dad clamours loudly up the steps. The door opens and snaps shut behind his stomping. He keeps his boots on as he enters the kitchen and scuffs short. 

Sy clears his throat, “hey, Don, how’s it goin’?” 

“Mmph, what’re ya doin’ here?” Your dad grumbles. You watch over your shoulder as he brushes past the large man and slams his lunch pail on the table. “Damn shit show down at the shop.” 

“Every day, isn’t it?” Sy chuckles. 

“Why’re you dressed like a funeral?” Your dad sniffs as he goes to the fridge. He snorts as he takes out the last beer. “Runnin’ low on Miller, too.” 

You wince and turn back to the stove. You do your best not to draw any attention. The awkwardness is as stolid as the heat radiating from the metal. 

“Well, ya know, I was comin’ to ask ya something important,” Sy explains. “About your daughter.” 

Your dad cracks the can open and slurps, nearly choking at the end, “her? What’d’ya want with that deaf rat?” 

Sy inhales audibly, “now, that ain’t no way to talk about a lady, is it?” 

“Lady?” Your dad chortles, “sure, Syverson, whatever you wanna call the appliance.” 

“I’m gonna say it one more time, you don’t talk about a lady that way,” Sy warns, the nervousness fading from his tone. “I came to ask for your blessing as I do have intentions with her. I’d like to... to build something with her. I’m a good man, Don, I think--” 

“Fucking shit,” your dad guffaws. “You ain’t serious? Her?” 

“She’s a nice lady. She keeps a good house, don’t she?” 

“She’s no use to you,” he retorts. “Got no more personality than a lamp. She can turn the stove on and wipe a dish clean but nothing else goin’ on there.” 

The oven buzzes and you quickly silence the timer. You take the oven mitts as the men behind you shift. You step back to open the door and carefully balance the roast pan as you bring it up onto the burners. Your dad makes another throaty noise. 

“Sure smells like a good dinner,” Sy says. “How about we enjoy it together--” 

“You’re fucking laughin’.” Your dad accuses. “Makin’ a joke of me ‘cause I’m stuck with the moron.” 

“Don,” Sy grits. 

“Nah, she’s a doornail, I know it. I don’t need ya pullin’ my leg about it.” 

“I’m not,” Sy insists. 

“Look at her. Like a goddamn robot. All she know how to do is cook and clean. Empty inside, ya know? It’s why she don’t talk. Nothin’ goin’ on, nothin’ to say.” 

“That ain’t true, and ya know it. You got no right mistreating your own daughter. I don’t like it.” 

“She’s my daughter, so why don’t ya take that ugly tie and get outta my house?” Your father snarls. 

“I came here honestly, Don. I’m not here to argue. I asked ya a question--” 

“No, you ain’t got my blessing. I told ya, she’s a fucking invalid--” 

“Don’t--” 

“You big lumphead, why don’t you ask her and see what she says?” Your dad interrupts. “Huh, see what you hear...” he pauses and you don’t move. You’re terrified. “See? She’s wacky--” 

“Don, you have some respect for her--” 

“Don’t tell me how to treat my own kin.” 

“Well, I’m tellin’ ya,” Sy sneers as his shadow moves. 

“You threatening me right now, boy?” Your dad puffs. 

“Only if you’re not gonna show her some decency--” 

“Get out of my house. You’re just as screwy as her. Two of ya together, fucked--” 

“Stop.” 

“Well, it’s true. Fucking mad for even thinkin’ of it--” 

“You don’t treat her right--” 

“And what would ya do with her? Big fucking ox like you. I seen the way you handle an engine. You’d break her.” 

“I didn’t call you any names, you don’t needa be rude.” 

“Rude? Aw, baby boy--” 

“I been nice, Don--” 

“Boo fucking h--” 

The crack of bone on bone makes you flinch. Then the loud crash and clatter draws you around. Your head is thrumming as your father’s body sprawls across the floor, the table scraping away from him. You only see his feet poking out from the other side.  

Sy stands over him, squared up, fists clenched, panting heavily. He’s a terrifying sight as he glares down at your father. You clasp your hands over your chest and sway. He doesn’t move. 

Slowly, you come around to look at your dad. He’s unconscious. His head lolls to one side as trickle of blood appears at the corner of his mouth. He’s not moving. You stare at his chest in search of his breath. One hit... no, that couldn’t be. 

The flowers lay across the floor, the canister overturned as water pools on the tile.  

“Told him not to insult ya,” Sy growls. 

Your eyes round and lower yourself to look over your dad. He can’t be gone. That doesn’t make any sense. There’s no way one punch could kill him. Is there? 

“Don’t touch him, sugar,” Sy commands as he bends to catch your wrist before you can check for a pulse. “I’ll take care of it.” 

You look at him and your mouth falls open. What does he mean? You fidget in his grasp and shake your other hand. What do you mean? 

“I didn’t mean to...” he drags you up and away from your dad.  

You let him, quaking and afraid. If he can do that to your dad, what could he do to you? He puts you by the stove. 

He turns and strides around the table. He doesn’t hesitate as he lifts up your dad and carries out his limp body. You watch after him until you hear the garage door. What is he doing? 

You cling to the stove and listen. You hear metals and scraping, the grind of the rusted old hood opening in that old broken Bronco truck. A cantankerous cacophony. Then a deafening crash. 

The garage door opens and Sy’s footsteps come down the hall. He walks in calmly and pulls the table back into place. He fixes the chair and gathers up the stems, putting them all back into the canister. He hands the bunch to you. 

“Needs more water.” He says plainly. “I’ll get the mop.” You stare at him as you hold the canister in your hands.  

He backs away and leaves you without another word. You look at the flower then fill the canister again. You put it back on the table as he comes back. He hands you the mop. 

“You mind? I gotta call the medics for your daddy,” he drawls. “You know, I told him not to yank that chain. Whole engine just came down on him...” 

Your lashes flutter in confusion. You take the mop and he steps away. He takes out his cell phone and pauses, inhaling deeply. You sop up the water cautiously. 

He dials out and lifts the phone to his ear. You take the mop to wring out in the tub. You go down the hall and peek through the open garage door. You stop short as you come upon the scene. 

Your dad is bent under the open hood, his shoulders contorted grossly. The hoist is overturned, the chains twisted as the engine sandwiches your dad’s head beneath it. A tragic scene of carelessness. Staged perfectly. 

Your stomach churns as Sy’s voice drowns under the tempo of your fear. You grip the mop and twitch as your insides spasm. You think you’re going to be sick. 

Dead. He's dead. Sy killed him. It was an accident. He said so. He didn't mean to, right? He couldn't have meant to. They were friends. He always came over with beer. For your dad, not you.

“Aw, honey, don’t look at all that,” Sy comes down the hall towards you and you shy away.  

You bring the mop close to you and stumble away from him. You hold it up then quickly flee. You scurry down the bathroom as the garage door clicks shut. Sy tuts as he lingers. 

“Gotta wait for the cops to show,” he calls after you. “They on their way.” 

[evermoreness]

quidditch | regulus black

pairing: regulus black x ravenclaw!reader

summary: you borrow your best friend's quidditch jumper, and he is thrilled to see you wear it in his game

obs: reader is james potter's sister!

The day of the Quidditch match dawned crisp and clear, with a faint breeze sweeping across the Hogwarts grounds. The chatter of excited students filled the air as they made their way to the stands. Slytherin versus Hufflepuff was always an entertaining game, but one thing was out of the ordinary: y/n Potter, a proud Ravenclaw, was decked out in green and silver.

Specifically, you were wearing a well-worn Slytherin Quidditch jumper with the name "R. Black" and the number "7" embroidered on the back.

“Merlin’s beard!” James groaned, spotting his sister as he climbed into the stands with Sirius and Remus. “What are you wearing?”

You smirked, twirling in the jumper dramatically. “Oh, this old thing? Just a little something Reggie lent me.”

“You mean the thing you stole from him after pestering him for a week,” Sirius interjected, grinning. “Nice move, by the way.”

“I did not steal it,” you retorted, crossing your arms. “He gave it to me willingly.”

“After you badgered him into it,” James snapped, his face turning red. “y/n, you’re a Ravenclaw! You can’t just go around wearing Slytherin gear! Do you have any idea what people will say?”

You rolled your eyes. “Oh, stop being so dramatic, James. I’m supporting my friend. Is that a crime?”

“Friend,” James muttered under his breath, glaring at the pitch where Regulus was warming up on his broom. “That’s what we’re calling it now, is it?”

Sirius burst out laughing, clapping James on the back. “Relax, mate. It’s just a jumper.” He leaned closer, his grin turning mischievous. “Besides, you might want to get used to it. Never know—she might be wearing Slytherin colors at her wedding one day.”

James turned on Sirius, his eyes wide with horror. “Don’t. Even. Joke about that.”

Remus, who had been watching the exchange with quiet amusement, finally chimed in. “You’re going to pop a vein, Prongs. Let her enjoy the game. It’s not like she’s waving a Dark Mark banner.”

You snorted, trying to hide your laughter. “Exactly. Listen to Remus. He’s the sensible one.”

James groaned, running a hand through his hair. “I’m going to hex Regulus if he so much as looks at you during this game.”

“Good luck with that,” you said smugly, turning your attention back to the field.

---

On the pitch

Regulus Black was used to being alone. Even in the middle of a roaring crowd, he never felt like anyone was truly there for him. But today was different.

As he circled the pitch, his sharp eyes scanning for the Snitch, he couldn’t help but glance at the stands. And there she was—y/n Potter, wearing his jumper, waving at him with a grin that made his heart stutter.

“What are you looking at, Black?” sneered one of the Hufflepuff Chasers as they zoomed past him.

“None of your business,” Regulus muttered, refocusing on the game. But the warmth spreading through his chest was impossible to ignore.

---

In the stands

James was practically vibrating with tension, his eyes glued to the field. “Did you see that? He looked at her. He looked at her!”

“Maybe because she’s literally wearing his name on her back,” Remus deadpanned, not looking up from the book he had brought to the game.

“Calm down, Prongs,” Sirius said, leaning back in his seat with an easy grin. “This is hilarious. I’ve never seen you this worked up about anything.”

“It’s not funny, Padfoot!” James snapped. “That’s my sister! And he’s—he’s him!”

“You mean your future brother-in-law?” Sirius teased, winking at you, who was doing your best to ignore them.

“You’re all insufferable,” James muttered, slumping back in his seat.

---

Post-Match Celebration

Slytherin won the match by a narrow margin, thanks to Regulus’s impeccable Snitch-catching skills. The team celebrated as they landed, but Regulus’s eyes were already searching for her.

You were waiting for him just outside the stands, your cheeks pink from the chilly air. When he approached, you grinned and held your arms out, showing off the jumper. “Looks good on me, doesn’t it?”

Regulus rolled his eyes, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And yet, here you are,” you teased, stepping closer.

He glanced around, making sure no one was paying attention before leaning in slightly. “You really wore it to the game?”

“Of course I did,” you said, your voice soft. “I’m your biggest fan, Reggie.”

His heart skipped a beat at the way you said his name. “You’re probably making your whole house mad right now”

“It's worth it.” you said cheekily, giving him a playful nudge. "Let's have a huge celebration! You won!"

"You know i hate those, right?" He said with his brows furrowed

"You're boring" you rolled your eyes but smiled, tugging on his arm as you both walked back to the castle.

He didn’t reply, but the way he seemed to relax and pull you close was answer enough. He loved having you around, even if he didn't admit it. You were like a shining star in his dark sky.

---

Meanwhile

James, watching from a distance with Sirius and Remus, groaned loudly. “I can’t take this. Someone stop them. Remus, you’re responsible. Do something!”

Remus raised an eyebrow. “What exactly do you want me to do, James? Tell your sister she’s not allowed to have friends?”

“Yes!” James said, throwing his hands in the air.

Sirius laughed so hard he almost fell over. “You’re ridiculous, Prongs. You’d better get used to it. She’s not a little kid anymore.”

“She’s sixteen!” James hissed.

“Exactly,” Sirius said with a smirk. “Old enough to make her own choices. And, hey, at least it’s my brother. Imagine if it were Snape.”

James looked horrified at the thought, and Sirius burst out laughing again.

As the group eventually walked back to the castle together, you and Regulus fell a few steps behind. James kept glancing over his shoulder, his protective instincts on high alert, but Sirius’s teasing and Remus’s calm reasoning kept him in check.

For Regulus and you, the world seemed a little brighter, even under the watchful gaze of your overprotective brother.

[arabella0001]

it took me like two weeks to write this

nowhere to hide

anime: attack on titan

pairing: eren yeager x reader

synopsis: there’s a fine line between guilt and obsession—and he’s already crossed it

warnings: slow burn(10k words), possesive/obssesive eren, manipulation, consensual sex, overstimulation, edging, fingering, praise/degrading kink, rough sex, biting, oral sex (both receiving), penetrative vaginal sex, dirty talk, breeding kink, after care, comfort

After Eren fully accesses his ability to see the future, he discovers something unexpected after touching Historia’s hand—the subconscious projections of those around him when he makes contact. Fleeting, abstract, easy to ignore.

Until he touches you.

The hall buzzes with conversation, clinking dishes, and the scrape of chairs against wood. Eren barely registers any of it.

He’s moving through the crowd, brushing past shoulders and hands, when his fingers accidentally graze yours. It’s nothing—a fleeting touch—but the moment it happens, his breath catches.

It slams into him—sharp, foreign. You

Calm as ever, outwardly composed, but beneath it—a tremor. Desire, raw and untempered, seeping through the cracks of a mind that shouldn’t be this exposed.

Eren freezes mid-step, gaze snapping toward you.

You notice. Your eyes meet his, brows lifting slightly. “Eren?”

He realizes he’s staring. His hand falls back to his side, and for a moment, he forgets how to respond. His mouth opens, but no sound comes out. He clears his throat, dragging his hand away as if the touch had burned him.

“I—I thought…” he starts, but the words tumble out awkwardly, and he shuts his mouth. His gaze flickers to yours again, searching, unsure if he imagined it. “It’s nothing. Sorry.”

You tilt your head, unconvinced, but let it go.

Eren forces himself to keep walking, but his heart pounds harder than it should. The echo of that feeling—your feelings—lingers longer than he’s ready to admit.

The rest of the day drags on, but Eren feels a step behind it.

His hands move on instinct—gripping equipment, adjusting gear, going through the motions of training—but his mind loops back. Back to that moment. That flicker of something he wasn’t supposed to see.

He hadn’t expected that from you.

It wasn’t like you ever acted that way around him. In fact, you barely spoke outside of mission necessities. But now that he’d seen it—felt it—it was impossible to unsee.

Now, without meaning to, his eyes find you across the training field.

You’re focused, laughing lightly at something Jean says. Ordinary. You don’t seem any different. Eren watches too long, searching for cracks—proof that the need he felt wasn’t imagined or just his mind playing tricks.

At one point, you glance up, meeting his gaze by chance.

He watched you, waiting for the crack to show, for the evidence to spill out across your expression.

You tried to hold his gaze, to keep that mask of indifference firmly in place.

Your thoughts don’t align with how you act—not with him.

Your eyes narrow, just slightly, questioning “What?”

But Eren felt it, deep in his gut.

You want him.

Badly.

It burned into him—glimpses of thoughts he wasn’t meant to witness. Slow, dirty, and unfiltered, lingering in ways that didn’t belong to the person standing in front of him now.

Not that he ever really believed you were innocent but that pulse of need wasn’t supposed to come from you.

Not you, the one who barely glances his way, who speaks to him only in clipped, formal exchanges. And yet, now he knows.

Eren doesn’t answer. His eyes shift away, jaw tightening.

He doesn’t understand it. And he’s not sure if it’s worse that now he wants to.

Eren tells himself it’s nothing. His power misfiring. A stray, meaningless thought. But the rationalizations don’t stick. The weight of your desire—for him—coils around his ribs like a vice. He shouldn’t want to chase it.

But it happens again—during drills, during meals—his gaze flickering to you when no one’s looking. And every damn time, he knows exactly what’s running through your head—how much you want him, how you imagine his hands, his mouth.

Your thoughts aren’t just dirty. They’re filthy.

The days blur together—long hours of drills and meetings. Eren buries himself in work, letting responsibility drag his mind elsewhere.

Whatever he thought he saw—or felt—that day, he brushes it off. There are more important things to worry about.

Or at least, that’s what he tells himself.

But one night, long after the camp has gone quiet, his thoughts drift back to you.

It isn’t intentional—at least, that’s what he convinces himself. A flicker of curiosity, lingering a second too long, and suddenly he’s reaching for that connection again.

He shouldn’t. It’s been days. He hasn’t needed to.

But when he finds you this time, the weight of it knocks the air from his lungs.

Warm. Unrestrained.

These aren’t idle fantasies. The images flooding his mind are sharper, soaked in something deeper—like you aren’t just thinking about him, but acting on it.

Eren sits at the edge of his bed, pulse slow but heavy, dragging a hand down his face as the realization sets in.

Are you…?

His throat tightens, the realization sinking deep into his stomach. You are.

And you’re thinking of him.

It’s a dangerous thing, to linger like this.  He shouldn’t pry. He knows that. This isn’t just a stray glimpse. This is intimate—something you probably believe belongs to you alone.

He should pull away—should sever the thread between your thoughts and his before it twists into something darker. But he doesn’t. Instead, he sinks into it, lets it unravel inside him, heavy and possessive. The deeper he leans, the more he wants—until the guilt dulls into hunger, and even that feels too easy to ignore.

Eren exhales through his nose, knuckles pressing into the mattress as he leans forward.

He should stop.

Instead, he lets the connection stretch thin, sinks into that space between thought and sensation, testing the edges.

And this time, the fantasy unfolds slower.

Late. Quiet. Just the two of you.

Your arm stretches, the hem of your shirt lifting just enough to reveal a sliver of skin. Eren’s eyes track the movement, slow and heavy-lidded, drawn to the slight shift of your hips as you try to balance. Eren stands nearby, leaning against the wall, watching.

“Need help?”

His voice—heavier than usual.

You nod, not bothering to look at him. His chest brushing against your back as he reaches over. His hand ghosts over yours, dragging deliberately down the length of your arm. And he doesn’t move away.

Eren feels the way your body tightens under him, the slight shift of your hips against his. Subtle, but intentional.

You want him to press closer, slide his hands down your waist, pin you against the shelves.

His tongue flicks over his bottom lip as the fantasy darkens.

You—beneath him. Breathless.

Skin damp, thighs trembling, legs locking around his waist as he thrust into you.

Eren’s grip tightens on the sheets. His head drops, teeth sinking into his cheek.

The way you whisper his name—soft, pleading—twists something sharp inside him. Like you already know who you belong to. It isn’t just the fantasy. It’s the way you let him in. The way you want him to take control.

And the worst part? It feels like you’ve thought about this before.

Eren’s breath drags out, uneven. The ache in his cock grows harder to ignore.

How many times have you thought about this?

The idea hums in his veins. You never show it. Barely sparing him a glance during the day. But somewhere behind that careful exterior, you’re imagining his hands. His mouth. And the way he’ll break you apart.

Eren leaned back, letting his head fall against the cold wall of the barracks. Eren shifted where he sat, jaw clenching as his pulse picked up. 

Tomorrow, he’d test it. Just to know if it was real. Just for that.

The next day felt ordinary—training, drills, the same tired routines—but Eren’s mind wasn’t on any of it. He hadn’t forgotten.

So when the day slowed, he waited.

You were alone in the supply room, restocking gear. Outside, the others finished up drills, their voices faint beyond the walls. The scrape of crates echoed softly in the stillness.

Too easy.

Eren stepped inside without a word, letting the door close behind him. His eyes lingered as you stretched to reach a box overhead, balancing on the tips of your toes. You didn’t notice him at first.

But he noticed everything—the way your shirt lifted slightly, the curve of your waist, the subtle strain in your arms, your slighty open mouth. His gaze dipped lower at your ass, your thights rubbing together.

Then his voice cut through the quiet

“Need help?”

You glanced over your shoulder, barely sparing him a look.

“I’m fine,” you replied, fingertips grazing the box’s edge. It shifted slightly, heavier than expected, but you didn’t stop trying.

Eren didn’t care. He stepped forward—closer than necessary. Before you could protest, his hand covered yours, gripping the box effortlessly. His chest brushed against your back, solid and warm, the weight of him impossible to ignore.

Your breath hitched. It wasn’t the closeness that caught you off guard, it was how familiar it felt.

His hand innocently settled on your tensed shoulders, appearing unintentional, dragged softly down your forearm in a fleeting moment as he lowered the box—tracing the exact path you’d imagined the night before.

Your heart pounded in your chest, loud enough that you wondered if he could hear it. The box landed on the table, but Eren didn’t move away too soon. He was enough that the space between breaths felt too thin.

The warmth blooming under your skin betrayed you, creeping up your neck faster than you could push it down.

“Thanks,” you muttered, but even you could hear the slight tremor in your voice.

When your eyes met his, his gaze was already waiting—steady, dark, unflinching.

Eren didn’t speak. He didn’t need to, he just nod. You swallowed hard, turning back to the table, pretending the way your skin prickled under his stare wasn’t real.

But Eren wasn’t pretending. Eren eased against the table’s edge, the casual slope of his body betraying nothing—but the air around him shifted. Arms crossed over his chest, his gaze lingered, just shy of predatory, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.

“You alright?” His voice was smooth—too smooth. There was something coiled beneath it, something darker. Your fingers twitched against the box.

“Yeah. Just… surprised me.”

Eren didn’t blink. His smirk deepened just enough to make your stomach twist.

“Sorry, just wanted to help” he says softly with a fake gentleness.

And then he was gone, footsteps quiet and unhurried as he slipped down the hall.

You lingered, fingers tightening against the table’s edge as if the solid wood beneath your hands could anchor you. But it didn’t. The ghost of his touch lingered—like he’d left a mark only you could feel. Your heart pounded in uneven beats, echoing the space he’d filled just moments before.

By the third day, it wasn’t curiosity anymore. It was possession.

Eren didn’t expect this to stay with him but etting go didn’t feel like an option—it felt like losing. Curiosity should have faded—fleeting, harmless. But now, it was something else.

You were dangerous in ways he hadn’t anticipated.

Beneath all of that, there was more and it wasn’t leaving his head anytime soon.

It started small.

Eren standing too close, his presence stretching into your space while you adjusted your gear.

There was no reason to linger. No reason for his gaze to slip down the curve of your back—or for him to lean in so close the heat of his breath skimmed your skin.

“Your strap’s loose.”

His voice ghosted along the curve of your ear, threading low and smooth beneath your skin like silk catching on raw edges. You froze, just for a moment. The faintest catch in your breath—barely there—but Eren noticed.

“I’ve got it,” you replied quickly, hands moving to fix it yourself.

But your fingers trembled, betraying you.

Eren stepped back, but his eyes dragged lower before he turned, smirking to himself. He saw it—the soft flush creeping up your neck. You felt it too, the heat crawling higher, betraying you in ways you couldn’t control. It wasn’t fair how easily he unraveled you, how his gaze alone seemed to strip away the armor you wore so carefully around everyone else, especially him. You wanted to brush it off, to laugh, to make it seem like nothing—like it wasn’t happening. You don’t understand what’s different now. But deep down, the weight of his stare didn’t feel like nothing. And that terrified you.

The next time, subtlety wasn’t part of the plan.

It caught you off guard when Levi matched you and Eren for sparring, but you weren’t about to question his decision. You shifted stances, attention locked ahead, until Eren’s shadow stretched beside you—too close.

“Here.”

His hands found your waist, adjusting the tilt of your hips with slow, easy pressure as if molding you beneath his touch.

It wasn’t necessary, he could have told you to move, but he didn’t. Because the second his fingers grazed your skin, he felt the way your muscles tensed involuntarily. Your pulse jumped—small, but enough.

He let his hands linger. Long enough to feel the discomfort settle between you, long enough to make sure you felt it too.

“Better,” he murmured.

Even he wasn’t sure what he was correcting anymore.

When you finally turned toward him, lips parting as if to speak, Eren had already stepped back, returning to his initial stance.

Leaving you standing there, breath uneven, heart racing beneath your ribs. But he noticed the way you held yourself—the way your hands flexed faintly at your sides like your body hadn’t fully come down from his touch.

He was testing the waters the next day.

The sun dipped low while you sat near the barracks. You know he was here, he was caught in the distance, deep in conversation with his friends. But you brush it off, brows furrowed as you skimmed on a map, completely unaware of the weight of Eren’s gaze. He leaned against the wall beside you, arms folded lazily across his chest.

“You look tired.” You didn’t look up, your pulse jumped.

“Nothing to worry about” You tried to joke.

 He crouched down beside you, close enough that his elbow brushed yours as he leaned in.

“You always this tense?” The words hung heavy, spoken just above a whisper. Your eyes flicked toward him—hesitant, uncertain—but you didn’t pull away.

That was all the answer he needed. Eren let the silence stretch, watching the flicker of confusion cross your face. The faintest pink crept into your cheeks.

You were trying to figure him out. Trying to decide if this was nothing—or something more.

But Eren wasn’t guessing anymore. He could feel it—the hesitation in your breath, the way your body betrayed the thoughts you wouldn’t say aloud and he wanted to see how far he could push it.

It wasn’t just the fantasies anymore, it was you.

You, standing there with that same stoic expression during the day—pretending nothing sat beneath the surface. And the more you tried to hide it, the more it twisted in his chest, refusing to settle.

The glimpses came easier now—too easy. Even when he wasn’t searching for them, you were already there, your eyes met his across the field more often and every time—it lingered.

You didn’t avoid him anymore, you were searching for answears.

The last traces of sunlight bled across the trees as drills ended and most of the others had filtered out.

Eren stayed, so did you.

Eren wasn’t subtle. His movements were sharp today—faster, harder. Every block, every shift seemed designed to drag your attention back to him until he caught your wrist.

A sharp twist, your balance slipping bu before you could stumble, his hand settled at your back, steadying you effortlessly. The grip was light, pressing like a brand through your shirt, grounding you more than necessary.

“You’re distracted.” His words brushed against your ear, quiet but heavy.

The heat of his breath sank low, curling beneath your skin, and you hated the way your body responded to it. You swallowed hard, lips parting slightly, but no words came.

‘I thought you wanted this.’ His words fell quiet but sharp. He said it like fact—like something he’d already decided for you, leaving little room for denial.

You stepped back instinctively, confusion flickering across your face as your breath faltered.

Eren let you go, but the look in his eyes stayed with you long after he was gone.

It was late—the kind of late where silence pressed heavy against the walls, where even the wind outside felt distant. You shouldn’t have been awake. Neither should he.

You felt it before you saw him, that familiar weight pressing against your senses, the one you’d grown hyperaware of over the past few days and then—you heard a soft knock.

Eren stood near your door, leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flickered toward you, unreadable in the dim light.

“Eren?”

Your voice dipped into confusion as you opened the door, hesitating with one hand on the frame. He didn’t answer, not at first. Instead, his eyes dragged over you slowly, as if he was considering something—measuring.

“Let me in.” his voice lowm carring no edge, but the weight behind it left no room for argument. It wasn’t a request—it was inevitable, like gravity pulling you closer the longer he stood there.

The door clicked softly behind him, louder than it should have in the quiet and you shifted, crossing your arms tightly, a surprise expression on your face as Eren’s gaze swept the room—or maybe just you.

He leaned against your desk, gaze steady, unmoving. The silence between you stretched thin. Nothing about the way he watched you felt passive—he was dissecting you, stripping every layer down without lifting a finger.

“Is something wrong?”

The words came out clipped, your tone thin, and you hated how obvious it sounded—how tense the air had become.

Eren’s head tilted slightly, his stare catching yours and holding it in place.

You opened your mouth, searching for something else to say—anything to break the silence. You try to dechiper his unusual behaviour in the past weeks, like you did every night until now.

The way he was looking at you now...like he knew something you don’t. But soon the realization twisted low in your stomach.

Armin’s voice echoed faintly in the back of your mind in a class you didn’t really pay attention, from months ago. “Eren’s abilities might evolve. If he can see the future after touching Historia’s hand, who’s to say he can’t see more?”

You remembered—his hand brushing yours across the dining table.

The subtle shift afterward, his sudden attention fot you, the way his eyes always finding you, how he stood too close during training, how he touched you accidentally too more to seem a coincidence.

Your pulse betrayed you, hammering beneath your skin, echoing louder than the faint creak of the floorboards. Heat licked at the base of your neck, but you couldn’t tell if it was from embarrassment—or the way his stare coiled low in your stomach, twisting too tight to ignore.

Memories surfaced that you hadn’t meant to recall—things he couldn’t possibly know.

“Eren,” your voice faltered, soft but uncertain. “How long have you—”

“Weeks.” His answer cut clean through the air, sharp and unapologetic, stepping away from the desk, the quiet thud of his boots heavy on the floor.

“Yeah. Since that day at the table.” Your pulse spiked violently.

“You—” you stutter, trying to collect yourself.

“I felt it the moment I touched you.” His voice dipped lower, rougher. “After that, I couldn’t stop.”

Heat flooded your chest, burning its way to your face.

“That’s not p—” you stumbled over the words, stepping back.

You took a hesitant step back, the space between you feeling fragile. You wanted to pull away, but the weight of his stare pinned you in place, unraveling the walls you thought you’d built too carefully. The shame felt distant—overshadowed by the quiet, breathless part of you that wanted him to stay. Before you could retreat any further, his hand caught yours.

His fingers curled around your wrist, firm enough to keep you still, soft enough to make you feel the pulse in his thumb against your skin.

“Isn’t it?” His grip lingered, thumb brushing faintly against the inside of your wrist, and your breath caught in your throat.

“You’re thinking about how close I am,” he murmured, his gaze never wavering. Your chest tightened, eyes widening slightly.

“And now you’re wondering if I’m going to kiss you.” His head dipped, lips barely grazing the edge of your jaw, close enough to feel the warmth but not enough to touch.

The tension in your stomach coiled tighter, unbearable. “I—”

“You’re trying to convince yourself you wouldn’t let me.” His lips twitched faintly at the corner—just enough to make it clear he wasn’t guessing.  “But we both know that’s not true.”

Your heart slammed against your ribs. Eren’s fingers tightened ever so slightly around your wrist, his other hand rising, knuckles skimming just beneath the hem of your shirt, dragging along the bare skin at your waist.

“Eren—” you blurt you, panic in your voice.

“You think this is easy for me?” His voice sharpened, but it wasn’t anger. His palm pressed lower, fingertips skating across the dip of your spine, spreading warmth where they trailed.

“Do you know what it’s like?” His forehead brushed against yours, breath fanning over your lips as he spoke.

“Hearing everything you think about me… feeling it almost every time I’m near you?”

You can’t move, pulse thrumming beneath his touch. Your lips parted, but no sound escaped.

Eren’s hand slipped further down, settling over your hip, fingers flexing slightly against the fabric.

“I know you try to hide it,” he murmured, voice soft but weighted. His eyes searched yours, hovering inches away.“But I feel it. Every time.” The space between you dissolved, his mouth hovering over yours—close enough to take, but waiting. “Just like now.”

Your body betrayed you, pulse racing hard enough to make you dizzy.

“You’re an asshole,” you whispered, but it came out too soft. Because even as you said it, your hands found his chest, pressing into him but not pushing him away. Eren’s smirk deepened, the hand on your waist sliding further, dragging you closer until not a breath of space remained between you.

“I know,” he murmured, lips brushing faintly over yours.

Your breath hitched as his lips hovered a breath away, close enough to taste but just out of reach. The faintest brush, featherlight, like he was daring you to close the distance yourself.

“But you’re not pulling away either.”

His lips finally met yours, slow at first—purposeful—before deepening. The restraint cracked, and Eren’s fingers twisted into your hair, tugging gently as his other hand pressed harder into the curve of your spine. Your body arched into him, warmth pooling low in your stomach as his mouth dragged along your jaw, teeth grazing skin with just enough force to leave you breathless.

“I’m not stopping this time,” he murmurs against your neck, his voice low and thick with certainty. The weight behind his words shatters whatever fragile thread of control was left between you

His hand curls beneath your thigh, lifting it against his hip as he backs you into the wall. You should stop this. You tell yourself that, over and over, even as your breath quickens and your head grows light from the closeness. But every press of his body into yours unravels the reasoning in your head, slipping further away with each second.

It’s not just the way he touches you—it’s the way your body melts under him, the way your pulse races in response, as if it had been waiting for this longer than you’d ever admit. There’s no turning back now, and maybe… maybe you don’t want to.

The kiss turned hungrier—rougher—his hips pressing flush into yours, making your breath falter as you clung to him.

Eren groans softly into your mouth, the sound vibrating against your lips  and you gasp at the deliberate slowness of it. His hand drifted lower, fingers toying at the waistband of your pants.

“I know exactly how far you want me to go.” his voice dropped lower, roughened with the weight of restraint slipping through his fingers

Your breath trembles, lips parting as if to deny it, but nothing comes out. You can’t lie to him—he already knows. His hand dips lower, teasing the border of your pants and skin, and your hips shift forward almost involuntarily, chasing the contact you’ve been too proud to ask for.

“Eren...” you whisper barely audible. His name escapes as little more than a breath, but the way he reacts—his grip tightening at your waist—makes you regret letting it slip.

“Say it again.”  His voice drips with something taut, electric, the weight of his demand sinking deep into your stomach.

“I... I shouldn’t”. your words falter. You know how close you are to losing the last bit of restraint you have, but the heat of his breath against your throat dissolves the fragile thread you're clinging to.

 “But you will.”he whisper teasingly. His thumb pressing lightly over the ridge of your hip bone in no rush to be kind.

His forehead presses against yours, and his mouth hovers almost shy of meeting your lips again,but not enough to be innocent. You can feel him waiting, giving you the chance to pull away.

"You’re thinking about how easy it’d be to let this happen." His hand slides up your waist, skin on skin, slow and steady. "How much you want me to just…" his hand tightens suddenly, pulling you flush against him, lips brushing your ear as he finishes, "…take what’s already mine."

A gasp escapes you, fingers curling against his chest, his words hit harder than they should, the ache pooling between your thighs makes denial impossible.

“I shouldn’t want this.” you say softly, but the conviction doesn’t stick. Your head tilts back, surrendering as his mouth drags along your jawline.

“Oh, but you do.”

His free hand catches your wrist, lifting it gently to pin it beside your head. The action isn’t rough, but it leaves no question of who’s in control.

You bite your lip, hips shifting slightly against him despite the war raging in your head. His hand dips lower again, teasing but holding back, waiting. You feel the hesitation in his touch—giving you the final say, despite how much you can tell he wants this.

"Tell me to stop," he breathes against your throat. "Say it, and I will."

You swallow hard, chest rising and falling with every shaky breath, but you don’t say it. Your thighs press tighter around his, and your nails grip faintly into his shirt, dragging him closer.

“Don’t stop.”

Eren groans, low and satisfied, before his lips crash into yours again, deeper and hungrier than before. His grip on your waist tightens as his body presses fully into you, letting you feel just how much restraint he’s been holding back.

“Good girl.”

The words leave his mouth against yours, and heat pools fast at the praise, twisting something tight in your stomach. There’s no time to feel embarrassed, his hand is already slipping beneath the fabric of your clothes, dragging along the bare skin beneath.

“Eren—” you gasp, but doesn’t let you finish.

His fingers flex at your waist, pulling you closer until there’s nothing, his eyes searching yours as if daring you to take it back.

 “You’re sure?”his voice low, almost dangerous.

“I’ve been sure.”There’s no hesitation after that.

His mouth finds yours, claiming, while his hand drags higher beneath your shirt, tracing the muscles beneath your ribs. His touch maps paths across your skin, leaving nothing untouched.

“You don’t know what you do to me.” he moans into your mouth.

He feels every subtle tremble beneath his hands as they ghost over your ribs, teasing closer to the edge of reason. His lips drift lower, tracing the length of your throat, and your hips grind back instinctively, chasing the pressure you’re no longer ashamed to crave.

“Mmm.” His forehead pressing against yours for just a second—like he needs that brief pause to keep from losing himself completely.

"I know, baby. I can feel it."

 His lips drift lower, tracing the length of your throat, and your hips grind back instinctively, chasing the pressure you’re no longer ashamed to crave. A low curse spills from him, his palm dragging down your side, slipping beneath the waistband of your pants, heat following every inch he claims.

His hand clamps at your thigh, dragging you closer as his hips bear down with purpose. His mouth lingers at your jaw, teasing without touching, while his thumb sketches slow, lazy lines over the sensitive skin at the edge of your thigh. Your fingers twitch against his chest, curling into the fabric of his shirt as you suck in a shaky breath.

“You’re not playing fair.”you’re struggling to keep steady.

“I never said I would.” his breath hums against your skin, the sound curling at the edges like he knows exactly what he's doing to you.

His hand shifts higher, fingertips skimming the waistband again, not pushing further. Your hips grinding again more insistently, the ache pooling low in your stomach becoming too much to bare.

Eren pauses, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze, he watches through half-lidded eyes, smirk tugging slow and knowing as his thumb brushing over your lower stomach.

“If you want something, you need to say it.” His teeth grazing the soft skin just below your ear before catching lightly on your earlobe, tugging slow enough to make you moan.

“Eren… just—” you swallow hard, whispering.

“Just what?” his voice cutting you off. He presses forward, pinning you harder against the wall as his knee slips between your legs, the friction enough to make your thighs tense around him.

“You want me to touch you here?”

His palm drags lower, just brushing over the damp heat between your legs, but he doesn’t cross that last inch.

“Or here?”

His lips brush over your collarbone, trailing down the center of your breast, with deliberate slowness, pulling your peaks with a teasing drag that leaves your skin burning for more .

“Eren, please.” your voice desperate, voice shaking

The plea slips out before you can stop it, and you feel the way his body stiffens against you, his breath hitching slightly in response.

“You sound so pretty when you beg.”

His mouth crashes into yours, all heat and teeth, his tongue pressing past your lips—demanding, possessive, like he’s been waiting for you to break just like this. His hand slides under the fabric of your pants, fingers brushing teasingly and you arch into him, biting your lip as frustration pools thick in your stomach.

“I need you… I need you to touch me.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard.” His hand finally dips lower, fingers sliding beneath your underwear, your head falls back against the wall with a sharp inhale, thighs squeezing tighter around him. His finger moving over your clit, slow and purposeful, dragging a long moan from your lips before he continues.

You part your lips, breath shaky as his thumb presses faintly against your tongue.

"Suck." And you do, eyes flicking up to meet his—half-lidded, almost innocent, your lips stretched around him just enough to make his jaw tense. His gaze locks onto yours, dark and unblinking, and the weight of it alone leaves you pulsing, dripping with need.

He pulls his thumb from your mouth, dragging it slowly down your bottom lip as his hand returns to your breast, gripping tighter this time. His lips trail down your neck, nipping and sucking faint marks into the skin—just enough to leave reminders that won’t fade easily.

His fingers move faster, thrusting deeper, stretching you open until you’re gasping against his shoulder, eyes squeezing shut as the pressure builds unbearably fast, he slips another one inside you

“Fuck…so wet.” He exhales sharply, his body tensing against you as if the realization alone might break his restraint. “I should make you wait longer... just to see how far I can push you.” His hand tightens at your hip, holding you still as his mouth brushes against your ear. “But I don’t think you’d last.” You let out a loud moan, and his hand clamps tighter against your thigh, pulling you closer as he works you open faster, deeper.

His teeth sink into the sensitive skin around your breast, sucking hard enough to leave another mark. He groans again, eyes flicking up to watch your expression, catching the way your mouth falls open, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“Such a dirty girl, squeezing me so tight.” His words push you closer to the edge, and his pace never falter, stretching you open. “Look at me”

Your breath shudders, and his free hand wraps around your throat—not to squeeze, just enough to keep you there, to make sure you don’t look away. “I said, look at me.” His lips hover an inch from yours, and when you finally meet his gaze, the intensity in his eyes alone is enough to undo you.

 “Come for me, baby. Let me feel it” As you ride out the waves of pleasure, Eren presses his lips into yours, possessive and unrelenting, like he’s trying to drag every last bit of your high out of you.

But the heat in his gaze doesn’t fade. He grins faintly, his fingers still moving inside your pussy, teasing even as you whimper beneath him. Eren shifts, hands sliding beneath your thighs as he lifts you, carrying you toward the bed.

“Eren…wha--.”

As your back meets the mattress, his body presses into yours, kisses along your jaw, nipping lightly everywhere he can. His hands slip down your sides as he moves lower, settling between your legs without breaking eye contact.

You feel the faint scrape of his teeth against your hipbone as he presses a lingering kiss there, trailing heat over your skin as his lips move lower. His breath fans against your inner thigh, and when his mouth finally hovers over the spot that aches for him most, you can’t stop the way your hips shift toward him.

"So needy…" he murmurs, the faintest trace of amusement curling his lips as he holds you down with ease. His thumbs press into the sensitive skin just above your knees, pushing them further apart.

“Don’t hide from me.”  His breath is hot against you, lips ghosting just above where you ache for him, but he stays right there—his forehead pressing to your inner thigh briefly“You smell so good… fuck.”  His mouth hovers just over your center, teasing faint breaths over the spot that aches for him most.

“Say it”  Your cheeks burn under the intensity of his stare and his proximity making you dizzy, makes it impossible to resist him

 “I want… I want your mouth.”

 His eyes flash with satisfaction, lips curving into a slow, dangerous smile. “That’s my girl.” Without breaking eye contact, his mouth lowers, tongue flicking over your cunt in one slow, deliberate stroke. You gasp, back arching slightly from the sensitivy as his grip tightens on your thighs, holding you in place.

“Stay still..” His mouth works you open, hot and unrelenting, and even when your hips buck involuntarily, he holds you still. The edge of his teeth grazes faintly over your clit, enough to make you gasp but not enough to hurt. “You wanted this, remember?” Your hands fly to his hair, fingers tangling as you tug, chasing the pressure that builds higher with every flick of his tongue.

"That’s it. Keep grinding on my tongue." He mutter between licking

His pace shifts, tongue pressing deeper, and the coil in your stomach twists tighter, leaving you panting as you arch against him. His grip on your thighs bruises, but the slight pain only makes the pleasure sharper. His tongue  dragging out each flick until the pleasure feels unbearable. Your hips buck slightly, and he groans, pressing you down harder with his forearm.

"Eren—fuck, I’m—"

His grip on your thighs tightens as he presses deeper, his tongue working you over relentlessly until he feels you tighten beneath him. His tongue flicks with more purpose, faster, rougher now, until your body starts to shake beneath him.

“Let go. Now.”

The orgasm tears through you, and he feels it, groaning deeply as he holds you down, tongue working you through every pulse. Your body trembles beneath him, legs tightening around his head, but he doesn’t let up until you’re gasping, the overstimulation leaving you squirming beneath his mouth. Only then does he pull back, lips glossy and swollen as he watches you with hooded eyes. His hands trail lazily along your thighs, grounding you with soft, slow circles.

"Look at you," he murmurs, wiping the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand. "So pretty when you fall apart for me." Your breath is uneven, chest heaving and he presses his forehead to yours, lips just brushing against your mouth, his finger start teasing your pussy again.

“Eren f-fuck, I can’t- anymore”

“No. You’re not going anywhere.” His tongue drags over your lower lip, his palm flattens against your lower stomach, holding you in place “You’re gonna take everything I give you.” His fingers move deeper inside your pussy “You can handle it. I know you can.” You whimper at the pressure, but it only seems to encourage him. His hips shift forward, pressing into yours with deliberate slowness, letting you feel exactly what he’s holding back.

“You like it when I ruin you, don’t you?”his voice ragged, playful. You’re barely breathing, moans spilling from your throat. His free hand dragging up your body to cup your breast, thumb brushing and pinching your buds hard. His voice drops lower, rough and hot against your ear. “You’re nothing but a filthy girl when I touch you like this, right baby?.” His eyes flick up, catching the way your body responds, and he grins against your neck. You try to suppress the effect his words have on you and his grip on you tightens, possessive.

His hand slips from your breast, fingers tracing down your stomach as his pace slows slightly—just enough to tease you, keeping you hovering on the edge. You squirm against him, the tension almost unbearable, but he doesn’t let up. The plea cracks something inside him, and his restraint slips further as his finger-fucking you harder. His lips brush yours, the kiss deep but fleeting, as if testing how long he can keep teasing you before you break.

“You’re gonna need to beg a little louder if you want more.”

Your nails dig into his shoulders, and he smirks into the next kiss, clearly satisfied with your frustration. “Say it.” Your breath hitches, lips parting slightly, but you hesitate just long enough for him to notice.  “I can keep this up all night if you want.” his nose brushes against yours, his lips barely touching but not fully kissing you, your hips shifting against his hand, silently chasing more, but he holds firm, not giving you the relief you need.

Your pride wars with your desperation, but the ache blooming between your thighs wins. “PIease, please more--i want you to fuck me.” voice shaking as the second the words leave your mouth, Eren lets out a low groan, his composure slipping further, taking his finger from you, leaving you empty.

“Mhm.” His hips press forward, grinding against yours with deliberate force, dragging another gasp  “I’m gonna give you exactly what you’ve been thinking about, baby.” His fingers tighten around your throat “And you’re gonna take all of it.” His lips graze over your collarbone.

Your gaze stays locked below his waist, eyes dark with hunger as his fingers work quickly, tugging your shirt over your head in one swift motion. The fabric barely hits the floor before his hands are at your hips, dragging down your underwear without hesitation—there’s no teasing now, just the sharp edge of need driving both of you forward.

He steps back just enough to strip himself down, and you can’t stop staring. The tension in his body is unmistakable, every movement deliberate yet rushed, like he’s barely holding himself together. When his waistband falls, your breath stutters, and he catches the way your eyes linger.

“Greedy girl.”

He releases his hold on you just enough to step back, guiding your trembling body down until your knees hit the floor willingly. His thumb brushes against your chin, tilting your head up as he stares down at you, his eyes flickering with something dangerous.

“You want this, don’t you?”

You nod faintly, but it’s not enough for him. Your breath trembles, lips parting as your eyes flicker up to his.

“Fuck my mouth, Eren.”

His eyes darken instantly and his hand tangles in your hair, gripping firmly, tilting your head back further. “Fuck… you really know how to get what you want, don’t you?” His thumb drags over your lower lip, pressing down just enough for you to part your mouth further. “Open up.”

You open, sucking his thumb slowly, and the low curse that escapes him only fuels the ache building between your thighs again. “You look so fucking perfect like this.”

His cock hard and heavy in his hand as he guides it toward your lips. His tip presses against your tongue, and the groan that spills from his throat when you take him in is raw, almost broken. He is panting softly, hand tightening in your hair “That’s it… deeper.” His hips push forward slowly, his other hand brushing the side of your face, thumb tracing your cheek as he watches himself disappear further past your lips.

“So obedient”.” Your hands grip his thighs, nails faintly dragging over his skin as you hollow your cheeks, pulling another groan from him that rattles through his chest. His hips buck involuntarily, and his eyes narrow faintly as he tugs at your hair, pulling you off him just enough for your lips to hover over his tip.

“Careful. Or I’ll fuck your throat until you’re begging for air.” His hand relaxes in your hair, guiding you back down slowly. “But you’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

You hum softly around him in response, and the vibrations make his head fall back briefly, jaw tightening as his grip on your hair tightens again.

“God… you are a perfect little slut, aren’t you?”

You sink lower, taking him deeper until your nose brushes his pelvis, and he lets out a rough, broken groan, his other hand pressing flat against the wall for support. His hips roll forward slowly, guiding the pace, and his eyes flick down to watch the way your lips stretch around him.

“Taking me so well.” His thumb brushes against your jaw, tracing faint circles as his voice softens—just enough to make you wet again. “You were made for this.” The rough edge returns as his hips snap forward slightly, pressing deeper into your throat, forcing tears to prick at the corners of your eyes.

“Crying already, baby?” His lips curl faintly, dark amusement flickering across his face. “I know you can take more.” He thrusts forward again, slower this time, letting you feel every inch as he sinks deeper. “Relax. Let me in.” You relax your jaw, letting him push deeper  and his voice drops lower, and his hand brushes down the side of your neck, squizing slightly, making you gag.

 “You feel that? How deep I am?” His head tilts, watching you carefully as you nod around him, your throat tightening.. “Fuck— I feel you tightening up around me.” His pace stutters briefly, hips jerking forward without warning as he lets out another rough sound.

“You want me to come down your throat, don’t you?” His words send another wave of heat crashing through you, your pussy dripping with want and the soft hum of your agreement sends him over the edge.  His grip tightens in your hair, and his body shudders as he thrusts forward one final time, groaning deeply as he spills into your mouth. His hips roll forward gently as he rides out the high, fingers brushing faintly over the side of your face.

Eren is panting, half-smirking as he watches you swallow. “You didn’t waste a drop. Such a good little slut.” He tilts your chin up, leaning down to press a slow, lingering kiss to your lips. His thumb brushes over your swollen lips, eyes darkening, looking at your ravished face, full blushing.

“You were so good to me, so sweet.”

Eren’s hands slide beneath your arms, lifting you from your knees with ease. His grip is firm but careful as he lays you back against the bed, settling between your legs without hesitation. His weight pins you down, the heat of his body pressing into yours in all the right ways.

His teeth graze over your collarbone, biting down just enough to make you gasp, his tongue follows, soothing the faint sting while his fingers keep working you, unrelenting. Your hips shift instinctively, but his grip tightens around your thigh.

“Don't be so eager, baby”

You squirm, a frustrated whimper escaping, and his smirk deepens, his hips grind down, firm and deliberate, dragging against you and drawing another soft, involuntary moan spills from your lips, your head tilting back against the pillow. His palm curling around your breast until he squeezes rough and needy, making your back arch into him. His teeth graze your nipple, tugging faintly before letting go.

Your fingers curl into his back, nails dragging faint scratches over his shirt, and the low groan he gives while his gaze trailing over every inch of exposed skin. His knee shifts between your legs, parting them just enough to remind you how close he is—how easily he could end the wait. But he doesn’t. Not yet. He takes his time, dragging it out in that torturous way that leaves you trembling beneath him.

“I could leave you like this, you know.” His lips brush the corner of your mouth, hovering just out of reach. “Make you sit with it—feel me between your legs every time you move.” His hand trails down your side, leaving goosebumps in its wake. “Would you like that?”

“No… I wouldn’t.” He hums softly, thumb tracing light circles along your cheek, but the glint in his eyes says he’s not done playing yet.

“I think you would.” His mouth drops to your neck again, tongue flicking over the faint mark left earlier. “I think you’d love walking around knowing you’re soaking for me, and no one else has a clue.” Your hips roll against him, desperate for friction, and the soft groan he lets out is pure satisfaction. His head dips lower and your breath stutters, but he waits—watching you carefully, expectantly.

“Eren, I can’t, i can’t anymore.” His laugh vibrates against your skin, dark and satisfied, his tongue tracing over the faint bruise beneath your jaw.

“Ask nicely.”

“Please… fuck me.”

Eren’s eyes darken, the sound of your voice unraveling whatever was left of his control

He shifts lower, settling between your legs, and his hand catches your thigh, guiding it higher around his waist as he presses closer, his mouth swallowing the soft, desperate sounds you can’t hold back.

“I’ll take such good care of you…,” he murmurs against your lips.  “I’m going to make sure you remember this.”, biting your lip with his teeth in that torturous way that leaves you trembling beneath him.

Your thighs squeeze tighter around his waist, pulling him in, and he groans softly, the sound vibrating against your mouth.

"You’re lucky I’ve lasted this long." he murmurs, the words slipping through gritted teeth as his jaw clenches,  He drags his length along your folds, the slow, movement making your breath catch as he watches every flicker of reaction on your face before, pushing in and out your pussy, the teasing beginning to slip away.

The last shred of restraint snaps. His hands slip beneath your knees, parting them wider as he sinks into you with a slow, steady push. His forehead presses to yours, breath shallow as he watches your expression shift, eyes darkening when the moan falls from your lips, your walls clenching around him already from his torturously edging. All this pent up tension between you two after so many months finally released.

"Fuck… so good." A groan catches in his throat as he starts to move, each thrust deep and precise, his body rocking against yours with growing intensity "I’m not stopping until I’ve filled you so deep you’ll still feel me tomorrow."

Your hips roll up to meet him, chasing every bit of friction, and he rewards you with a low curse and rougher movements.  His hand curls around the back of your thigh, pulling you higher as his pace grows more forceful, each snap of his hips drawing sounds from you that you can’t hold back. "That’s it, baby. So desperate for me."

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, clinging as he holds you down, his lips grazing over yours but not quite kissing—letting the tension hang between you. Your hips are struggling to match his thrusts, overwhelmed by the intensity of the movement, Eren can’t think only on how good and warm your pussy feels  "I could do anything I want, and you’d take it."

“Yes, yes yes-“ tears springing at your eyes, legs trembling as his free hand anchors you, holding you firmly.

 "I’ve got you." His forehead presses to yours, eyes flicking down as he watches the way your body moves beneath him—like he can’t look away. "Come for me."

His pace doesn’t falter, even as your body tightens around him, and the scream, that spills from your lips feels too loud in the room. He kisses you hard, swallowing the sound as your body trembles beneath him, the sharp snap of his hips growing erratic.

His head dips lower, lips pressing to the space just beneath your ear, voice shaking as he struggles to hold on. “I want to fill you up, to know your mine in every way, will you want that?”

His words alone make you shiver, nodding frantically, thighs trembling around him as he pushes deeper, dragging out each thrust like he’s chasing something just out of reach."Shit—" But instead of release, his movements falter, a frustrated groan vibrating low in his chest. His hands tighten at your hips, fingers digging in as his breath hitches against your neck.

Suddenly, he pulls out, the loss of contact making you whimper softly before he shifts, flipping you onto your stomach with ease.

“Turn around.”

His grip tightens at your waist, urging you to shift, but when you hesitate, his hands push firmer—more commanding. “Now.” The way his voice drops sends heat curling deep in your stomach, and you move instinctively, legs trembling from previous orgasm as you turn beneath him. His palm presses against your lower back, guiding you down as he shifts behind you.

He drags his fingers down the length of your spine, slow and deliberate, until they settle at your hips, squeezing tightly. “Stay like that.”the weight of his gaze burns into your back as he watches you—taking in the sight of you laid out for him. “You look so fucking good like this.”

He is guiding your head back down as his palm finds the back of your neck, pressing you gently into the mattress.

“Keep your head down. I want you to feel every inch of me.”

The weight of his body shifts, his chest pressing against your back as he leans over you, his breath hot against your shoulder. His hips roll forward, and the sharp friction sends a broken sound from your lips that he catches instantly, groaning into your ear. “That’s what I wanted to hear.” His hands slip to your hips, holding you firmly in place as he thrusts deeper, rougher this time, dragging a gasp from your throat as your fingers curl against the sheets beneath you.

His pace grows faster, sharper, each thrust forcing your body forward slightly until his hand presses flat between your shoulder blades, pinning you down completely. Your body trembles beneath him, and he feels it—the way you clench around him, the soft whimpers you try to swallow. But he doesn’t let you hide anything.

“You like it rough, don’t you?” His palm drags up your back, curling lightly into your hair. The hand in your hair tightens, tugging your head back gently, forcing you to arch as his hips snap forward, rougher this time.

“I want to hear how much you love it.”

“I—I love it...”

His hand tightens in your hair, dragging another gasp from you as he thrusts deeper, holding you there. Your body trembles as his grip on your hips tightens, pulling you back to meet every movement until the sound of skin meeting skin fills the room. “You’re mine. Say it.”

Your breath catches, head tilting back further, but he doesn’t let up—his hand sliding down to grip your throat from behind, pulling you up just enough to kiss the side of your jaw.

“I’m yours.” He groans, pace stuttering slightly as his forehead presses into the back of your shoulder. His hand slips lower, fingers working between your thighs as he thrusts harder, chasing both your release and his.

“You’re gonna come for me again.”

His voice is rough, breathless, but there’s no mistaking the command in it.

“Come while I’m inside you.” Your body tightens at his words, hips rocking instinctively as the pleasure builds too fast to stop.  “I want to feel it.” His teeth drag over your shoulder, sucking faint marks into your skin as your body tenses, finally falling apart around him. “Fuck— ”

His hips slam forward a final time, his body shuddering against yours and a low, drawn-out groan escapes him as he reaches his peak, burying himself as deep as possible while he spills into you. His breath comes in ragged, heavy bursts, but his arms stay locked around you, refusing to let go even as his body begins to relax.

The room lay shrouded in silence—thick and heavy, broken only by the faint rise and fall of your breath and the soft rustle of sheets shifting beneath Eren’s weight. His chest pressed against yours, the space between you felt too intimate, too fragile, like something that could shatter with the wrong movement.

His forehead rested against your shoulder, hair damp against your skin, and though his hold on you was firm, you couldn’t help the uneasy twist in your stomach.  

Your fingers hovered lightly over his back, unsure if you should pull him closer or push him away — not because you didn’t want this, but because you weren’t sure what to do now. 

"You’re quiet," Eren murmured, his voice rough against your neck, but soft in a way that made your heart ache.  

"So are you," you replied, barely above a whisper.  

He didn’t answer immediately. His hand slid slowly along your waist, his thumb brushing faint circles over your hip, but the touch felt different now — like he was grounding you both, not just savoring the moment.  

The silence stretched a little too long.  

"You can hear me now, can’t you?" The words slipped out before you could stop them, and your pulse quickened as the weight of the question settled between you.  

Eren’s breath stilled, hesitation flickering behind the sharpness of his gaze. When he finally leaned back, the weight of his eyes on you felt different—less demanding, more searching.

"No Eren murmured, his fingers threading gently through the strands of your hair, tucking them behind your ear. His touch lingered just a second too long, as if reluctant to let go.  "Not right now."

You searched his expression, but there was no sign of deception, no hint that he was holding anything back.  

Still, doubt prickled at you, and your voice trembled slightly when you spoke. "But you did. For days. You heard everything."  

His gaze softened, but the intensity never faded.  

"I couldn’t control it," he admitted, thumb grazing along your cheek. "I didn’t mean to invade your head."

You wanted to believe him, but the memory of his voice—the way he had known exactly what you wanted—burned too vividly in the back of your mind. It wasn’t just that he’d heard you; it was that he had listened. He had memorized every unspoken need, every hidden desire you hadn’t even voiced aloud. That should have unsettled you. Maybe it did. But as his hand slid gently over your waist, thumb drawing soft circles against your skin, you felt something else. Something dangerously close to comfort

“‘I feel stupid,” you muttered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Shame curled hot beneath your skin, pooling low in your chest, and you stared hard at the sheets rather than risk meeting his gaze.

"I didn’t think you could actually hear—"

Before the weight of your words could settle, Eren’s lips brushed softly over yours—intentional, lingering, but careful. Like he could kiss the doubt away if he held you close enough.

His hand slid up to cup your jaw, tilting your face just enough to keep you there, as if to remind you that whatever you thought was too much, wasn’t.

“‘Don’t,” Eren whispered, his breath hot and close, the words pressing into you more firmly than his lips. He pulled back just enough for your eyes to meet, his thumb grazing slow circles against your waist. “Don’t start second-guessing this now.’”

His eyes met yours, dark and unwavering. "You’re not the only one who wanted this, you know."* 

Heat crept up your skin, but doubt still lingered in the back of your mind.  

"I just—" You swallowed, unsure how to explain the knot twisting in your chest. "It’s hard not to feel stupid, knowing you—"*  

"You think I wasn’t losing my mind hearing the things you thought about me?" Eren interrupted, his lips brushing along your jaw, trailing down the side of your neck slowly, deliberately. "I could barely focus half the time." 

Your breath hitched, nails lightly digging into his back as his mouth lingered just below your ear.  

"You hid it too well," you mumbled, heat burning at the edges of your voice.  

Eren huffed softly, the faintest smirk curling against your skin. "Yeah, well… I didn’t."  

His hand slipped beneath the sheets, dragging slowly along your thigh, and your heart stuttered beneath his touch.  

"I’m not going to pretend I didn’t want this just as much as you did." His voice dipped lower, rough and thick with something unspoken. "And I’m not letting you overthink it now."

Your breath trembled as his hand tilted your chin up, guiding your lips back to his in a kiss that left no room for doubt.  

Whatever insecurity lingered between you faded beneath the weight of his touch.

Eren's lips lingered on yours, soft and slow, but when he pulled away, the weight in his eyes hadn’t faded. His hand slipped from your waist to rest gently on the side of your neck, thumb brushing against the curve of your jaw.  

For a long moment, he just looked at you — like he was waiting for something.  

"I mean it,” he said finally, voice quiet but steady. *"I’ll find a way to stop hearing your thoughts." 

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone.  

"You don’t have to— 

"I do." His grip tightened just slightly, grounding you as his gaze softened. "It’s not fair to you. I shouldn’t know what you’re thinking all the time. It’s yours — it’s supposed to be private." 

Your breath hitched, eyes searching his, but all you saw was sincerity.  

"I… don’t blame you," you whispered, though even as you said it, doubt still curled in the back of your mind. "But it’s hard not to feel weird about it."  

Eren exhaled slowly, his forehead pressing gently against yours. His hand slid back down to your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.  

"I’ll fix it," he promised, his voice so quiet it almost got lost in the air between you. "I swear."

For a moment, you let yourself believe him, the steady rhythm of his breathing against you easing some of the tightness in your chest.  

But that didn’t answer the other question lingering at the back of your mind — the one you weren’t sure you were ready to ask.  

"And after that?" you murmured, fingers trailing lightly along the back of his neck. "When you can’t hear my thoughts anymore — what then?"

Even as you asked, you felt his grip tighten, as if the thought of distance unsettled him more than he’d admit, his eyes flicking over your face carefully, like he was weighing the right words.  

"That’s up to you," he said simply, but the roughness in his voice betrayed him. "But if you think I’m going to forget about this… about you—"  

His hand slipped beneath your jaw again, tilting your head up slightly, his thumb brushing over your lips.  

"You’re wrong.

Your stomach twisted, heat prickling at your skin beneath his touch.  

"So, what? We just—"

"We’ll figure it out." Eren’s lips twitched faintly, the corner of his mouth curling into something softer — something just for you. "Together, if you want that."  

You stared at him, heart pounding harder than it should, but the thought of pushing him away felt impossible now.  

"I do," you admitted quietly, and the tension that had been holding Eren back seemed to melt all at once.  

He kissed you again, deeper this time, like he needed to hear those words as much as you needed to say them. His arms wrapped around you, pulling you fully beneath him, and the weight of him pressed you into the mattress in a way that left no doubt —  

This wasn’t going to be the last time.

levi smut

[heathensimmer]

Hello Simmers! Do you play the Sims 2? Do you play with 3t2 traits by the legend Hexagonal Bipyramid themselves?

Good news!

I have been steadily working on learning how to modify BHAVS and it has resulted in several edits of Sims 3t2 trait mods and some of my own trait mods! They’re still in testing while I play through one of my hoods.

However, I’d like to share some of the mods/edits I have made that do seem function well in the game, and also ask for help/thoughts on where I fall short. I’d love to hear your thoughts on what you want to see in trait mods for the future.

—Cowards no longer autonomously stomp on roach infestations. Considering making two versions: one where Cowards don’t have the pie menu option at all, or where they still have the option but can’t do it autonomously.

—Edit of “MeanInteractionsToAnyAge” by Hexagonal Bipyramid plus compatibility with “fightwhilepregnant” by kestrellyn at MTS. Evil Sims always have the pie menu option to insult, attack, etc. regardless of fury or relationship level. Mean-Spirited have the same thing, except the option to always attack. Insane Sims I managed to add a 3% chance that they will randomly attack someone, given they are grouchy enough. Hotheads will autonomously argue if they’re furious. Other tiny tweaks. It tends to throw occasional errors because I believe it is conflicting with either Simler’s Fight Mod (which I am testing a patch for right now) or ShadowEFX’s Deadlier Werewolves.

—Adventurous, Eccentric, Gatherer, Genius, and Frugal Sims will autonomously dig for treasure if they’re bored plus they have creativity skill.

—Dramatic Sims can potentially “Fake Pass Out”, directly from the Sims 3, only problem I have is getting the emitter-energy failure to function properly.

—Absent-minded Sims have a chance of their actions dropping from their queue, simulating Sims 3’s feature where these Sims would walk into rooms and forget why they went in there.

—I have barely started an attempt to let technophobes sabotage electronics but it’s not at the top of my list.

Let me know what you think! Happy Simming!!

[mymoonisgrey]

you, my love, are All I Need.

synopsis: After the tragedy of the Star Plasma Vessel incident, Satoru Gojo loses more than just his closest friend, Suguru Geto—he loses the one person who made the chaos of his world feel bearable. She was his light, his tether to something more human, and just when he dared to imagine a future with her, fate cruelly severed their bond. With her sudden disappearance in his third year at Jujutsu High, Satoru is left reeling, torn between his duties as the strongest sorcerer and the ache of searching for someone he may never find.

pairings: gojo satoru x reader. (og jujutsu au.)

chapter warnings: profanities, mild violence, brief jealousy.

wc : 9k+

all i need's playlist!

series masterlist.

a/n: how’s everyone’s monday been? 😊

previously.

December 2007 

“You’re doing exceptionally well.” 

Sato’s voice is a low rumble that sends shivers crawling up your spine—ones you’d like to scrape off with a wire brush. He watches you with a strange intensity, his smile oily and unreadable. “Makes me wonder if we should start recruiting grade one sorcerers or higher for this program.” 

You scoff, crossing your arms. “Yeah, good luck with that. Everyone I’ve worked with so far fits your usual category: foreign, low cursed energy, expendable in your eyes.” 

His smile widens, smug and patronizing. “You’ve been paying attention. I like that. It means you’re learning.” He leans back in his chair, fingers steepled. “And I assume you’ve been keeping your profile low? No slip-ups about your affiliation, why you’re really here, or your... connections?” 

Your jaw tightens, but you nod. “Captain Shepherd’s the only one who knows the truth. He figured out I’m a special grade. He also knows I was pulled out of Jujutsu High too early.” 

Sato’s expression falters for just a moment, his eye twitching with irritation. “Didn’t I tell you to keep your goddamn mouth shut?” 

“He’s not an idiot!” you snap, unable to hold back your frustration. “He’s a thirty-five-year veteran! He’s seen enough soldiers to tell the difference between someone like me and your usual recruits.” 

Sato slams a hand on the table, making you flinch. “And what’s next? Are you going to tell me he knows the whole damn story? That the reason the higher-ups handed you over to me was because of him?” 

Your anger fizzles as his presence looms over you. His scarred face, hardened from years of battle, and his piercing gaze bore into your resolve. 

You manage to steady your voice, quiet but firm. “He’ll find me.” Your hands clench into fists under the table. “And when he does, I’ll tell him everything—what you did, what the higher-ups did. He’ll kill all of you.” 

Sato stares at you for a long moment before chuckling darkly. “Oh, is that what you think? Go ahead, tell him. Let him come. He’s as good as dead.” 

You recoil slightly, your confidence wavering under his mocking tone. 

“Don’t hit me with the ‘he’s the strongest’ crap,” Sato sneers. “We can kill him, and you damn well know it.” 

Silence stretches between you, heavy and oppressive. 

Then you shake your head, defiance sparking in your eyes. “The higher-ups would never let that happen. Gojo’s their golden child. Their prodigy.” 

“Not the higher-ups, sweet thing.” Sato’s voice drops, his tone condescending and venomous. He leans forward, his face mere inches from yours. “Us.” 

Your breath catches. 

“And the higher-ups would let you do that?” you ask, your voice edged with disbelief. 

“They need us more than they need him,” Sato spits, slamming his palm against the table again. “We clean up their messes. We do the dirty work. Without us, the whole system falls apart. So, if you love him, you’ll shut your goddamn mouth. Or things will get ugly.” 

It isn’t the threat to your life that makes your blood run cold. 

It’s the threat to his. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You don’t exactly acknowledge him trailing behind you, his presence hot and unyielding, because your focus is on the bodies of your fallen comrades—laid out in neat rows on stretchers, or worse, on tarps. Some were intact, but others... dismembered, unidentifiable. You swallow thickly, the bile rising in your throat. 

Satoru is silent. His usual easy charm is buried beneath the weight of what he’s seeing. This wasn’t the jujutsu world he knew—pristine, organized, full of promise. No, this was raw and ugly, guns and missiles replacing talismans and hand signs. The air was thick with the sharp smell of gunpowder and blood. He glances around, his blue eyes scanning the navy camo uniforms, the weary faces of foreign sorcerers—low-grade curse users drafted from all corners of the globe. They didn’t sign up for glory; they were cannon fodder, drafted to protect a system that didn’t want them. 

You stumble forward, weaving through the chaotic hangar. Aircraft sit proud and powerful—some parked, others taxiing, and a few roaring to life as they prepare for takeoff. Around you, the injured are escorted to the med bay, their groans and cries blending with the hum of engines. 

“Watcher!” Shepherd’s gruff voice cuts through the noise. You turn your head, dazed, your severed hand clutched protectively to your chest. Leslie walks toward you, her sharp eyes softened by relief, a tablet cradled in her hands. Shepherd claps a heavy hand on your shoulder, halting your shaky steps. 

The sudden stop makes Satoru bump into you from behind. His chest brushes your back, and he mutters a quick, “Sorry,” before stepping to the side, his eyes flickering to your hand. 

“Good to see you all alive,” Leslie says, tapping on her tablet. Her professional demeanor doesn’t hide the relief in her tone. “Team 2-11 was just sent off to China. A group of curse users unleashed a significant number of spirits—grades unknown.” 

Shepherd frowns, his jaw tightening. “They need backup?” 

Your head snaps toward him, disbelief etched on your face. Your exhaustion screams louder than your words ever could. Not now. Not again. 

“I recommend you stay on standby,” Leslie replies, her voice even. “You never know when things get ugly, Shep.” 

He laughs, shaking his head. “Appreciate it, Les. Yer free to go.” 

Leslie nods, casting you a brief, knowing glance before retreating. 

“Shep—my hand—” you start, but he interrupts with a pointed nod toward your chest. “Ye’ gotta get that checked out,” he says firmly. 

“No shit,” you mutter, glaring at your mangled hand as if it had betrayed you. 

Satoru’s gaze lingers on your injury. His sharp intake of breath doesn’t escape Shepherd’s notice. The older man steps between you two, his weathered hand reaching out to stop Satoru from following you further. 

His fingers meet resistance. 

Shepherd flinches slightly, his hand repelled by an invisible force—the faint shimmer of Satoru’s infinity. 

“What the hell was that?” Shepherd grunts, pulling his hand back. 

Satoru turns slowly, his expression calm but his eyes hard. “Need something, General?” His voice is polite, but the disdain is unmistakable. 

“It’s Captain,” Shepherd corrects, his tone measured and steady. “And you’re not supposed to be here.” 

The words hang heavy in the air, a quiet warning. This wasn’t a place for outsiders. No students, no high-grade sorcerers—no one who might challenge the facade of order and control. 

Satoru feels it too. The weight of trespass. But he’s not leaving. Not yet. 

“I understand,” he replies smoothly. “I won’t overstay.” 

“Y’know, kid,” Shepherd begins, his sharp gaze assessing. “We can arrange a helo to take ye back to Tokyo or Kyoto—whichever school yer from.” 

Satoru tilts his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Appreciate the offer, but I can teleport.” 

He doesn’t wait for Shepherd’s response, slipping past the man and continuing after you. His eyes take in everything—the chaos, the desperation, the quiet resignation of those around him. This wasn’t a battlefield; it was a meat grinder. 

But his gaze always comes back to you. 

You haven’t stopped moving, your steps unsteady but purposeful. He quickens his pace to catch up, falling in step beside you, his voice soft. “Let me see your hand.” 

“Stay out of it,” you snap, your tone sharper than intended. 

Satoru doesn’t flinch, doesn’t waver. His voice drops to a whisper, carrying an edge of quiet intensity. “Not happening.” 

You don’t understand why you’re being mean, why your tone is sharp and your words laced with coldness. Your love—your Satoru—was standing right in front of you. 

Maybe it was Sato’s threats echoing in your mind. His warnings of what would happen if you let Satoru get too close. Wasn’t it better to push him away, to pretend you didn’t care, than to sign his name on a death sentence? 

Your combat boots strike against the metal flooring as you continue walking, and Satoru, undeterred, stays on your trail. 

“Why are you still here?” you ask, glancing back at him with a hint of malice in your voice. 

“I came with you on the plane?” he replies, like it’s obvious. 

“Teleport away.” 

“No.” 

“Stop following me, then.” 

“You’re the only one I know here.” 

“Do you?” you snap, your voice low and biting as you push open the door to a sterile room. The sharp chemical scent reminds him of the infirmary back at Jujutsu High, a place he’d visited far too often. 

“The fuck does that mean?” Satoru frowns, stepping into the room after you as the automatic door slides shut with a quiet hiss. 

You ignore him and start unbuttoning your uniform, struggling with the motion since your injured hand makes the task painstakingly slow. You need to check your body for bruises, the aftermath of your fall from the crashing plane still fresh in your mind and aching in your muscles. 

Satoru watches in silence, his throat tightening as his six eyes take in the sight of you. The struggle in your movements, the injury you cradled protectively, the exhaustion etched into your expression—it all unsettles him. 

Without thinking, he steps forward, his hands lifting instinctively to help. 

“Let me—” 

“Don’t,” you snap, flinching back at his sudden closeness. The recoil stings him more than he expects, but he doesn’t retreat. 

“You’re hurt. Let me help,” he insists, his voice softer but still firm. 

“I don’t need your help,” you bite back, gripping the fabric of your uniform and turning away from him, willing your fingers to cooperate despite the tremor of pain. 

“You do,” Satoru counters, his tone growing more intense, a desperation laced beneath the words. “You can’t even unbutton a damn shirt right now, and you’re acting like I’m the enemy.” 

Your breath hitches as his words strike a nerve. 

“You don’t get it!” you snap, finally turning to face him, your eyes blazing with frustration. “You don’t understand what this place is, what it does to people! You shouldn’t even be here!” 

“I don’t care about this place,” he says firmly, stepping closer. “I care about you.” 

You flinch again, your resolve wavering under the weight of his words. Satoru notices, but he doesn’t stop. 

“I’ve been looking for you for two years,” he continues, his voice quieter now, raw with emotion. “Years, and I never stopped. Don’t tell me to walk away now that I’ve found you.” 

You want to argue, to push him away again, but the sincerity in his eyes holds you captive. 

Still, you turn your back to him, resuming your struggle with the uniform. “You should have left me lost,” you mutter under your breath. 

Satoru doesn’t let the comment slide. “Lost? Is that what you think? That I could just give up on you?” 

He steps closer again, his breath catching as his six eyes absorb the details he hadn’t fully seen before—the changes in you. The soft curve of your waist, the toned strength in your arms, the way your figure had grown more feminine, more breathtaking. Despite the exhaustion that clung to you, despite the pain you clearly felt, you were beautiful in a way that made his chest ache. 

“Stop staring,” you mutter, your tone defensive, but there’s a tremble beneath it. 

“I can’t,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. 

You freeze at the confession, your hands stilling. 

“I can’t because I’m trying to figure out how to keep you from slipping away again,” he says. “How to make sure you don’t shut me out.” 

Your throat tightens, and for a moment, silence fills the room, heavy and suffocating. 

“Let me help,” he pleads again, softer this time, almost a whisper. “Please.” 

This time, you don’t flinch when his hand hovers near yours, offering without demanding. His gaze is steady, unyielding, but so full of care that it makes your walls crack. 

Satoru doesn’t let go, even when your hand jerks in his hold, the motion sharp and defensive. His grip isn’t tight, but it’s firm enough to stop you from walking away again. 

“Let go,” you mutter through clenched teeth, your voice low and dangerous. 

He shakes his head, the stubborn tilt of his jaw igniting something volatile in you. “No. Not until you let me help.” 

“You don’t need to help,” you snap, yanking your hand free. “I’ve got this. I don’t need—” 

“Don’t finish that sentence.” His voice cuts through yours, sharp and unrelenting. “Because it’s not true, and we both know it.” 

You glare at him, the heat of his gaze locking with yours, but it only fuels the fire building in your chest. “You think you know me? You don’t know a damn thing.” 

“I know enough,” he replies, his tone steady but charged. “I know you’re hurting. I know you’re trying to carry this on your own. And I know that’s not you.” 

You scoff, shaking your head as you turn away from him. “You don’t know me anymore, Satoru. Things are different. I’m different.” 

He steps closer, and you hear the faint rustle of his uniform as he moves, his presence looming behind you like a shadow you can’t outrun. “You think I can’t see that? You think I can’t see how much you’ve been through?” 

“Then stop trying to fix it!” you snap, spinning to face him, your chest tight with frustration. “Stop acting like you can waltz in here and make it all better. You don’t belong in this world, Satoru. You don’t know what it’s like.” 

“And whose fault is that?” he shoots back, his voice rising. “You left. You disappeared, and I—I spent two years trying to find you. I’m here now, and you’re telling me to just walk away? That’s not happening.” 

His words hit harder than you want to admit, but you shove the feeling down, burying it beneath the ice you’ve built around yourself. 

“You don’t get it,” you say, quieter this time, but no less sharp. “You don’t belong here. You’re a sorcerer. You’re the strongest. You’re—” 

“Human,” he interrupts, his tone softer but no less determined. “I’m human, too, and I’m standing right here, trying to be here for you. You can hate me for that all you want, but I’m not going anywhere.” 

The silence that follows is heavy, your breath caught in your chest as you struggle to form words. 

“Fine,” you bite out finally, your voice low and controlled. “Stay. But don’t get in my way.” 

Satoru watches you, his jaw tightening, his gaze searching yours for something—anything—that might give him a clue to what you’re really thinking. But you don’t give him the satisfaction. You turn away, focusing on the task at hand, pretending he’s not standing there, his presence a constant weight on your already strained nerves. 

He doesn’t leave, though. Instead, he lingers, his eyes following your every move as you peel back the layers of your uniform with stiff, precise movements. When you struggle with a button, his hands twitch at his sides, itching to help, but he knows better than to reach out again. 

The fabric slides from your shoulders, revealing smooth, unmarred skin. Your cursed technique’s regenerative properties have left your body untouched by scars or bruises, a stark contrast to the destruction you’ve endured. But to him, it’s proof of your strength, a reminder of how untouchable you once seemed—and maybe still are. 

His breath catches, the sight of you momentarily stealing the air from his lungs. You’ve changed, matured. The lines of your body are more defined, your movements fluid yet restrained. You’re... breathtaking, and it’s not just the way you look. It’s the presence you command, even when you’re at your most vulnerable. 

You catch his gaze in the reflection of a nearby steel cabinet, and your eyes narrow. “What?” 

He swallows hard, his usual charm faltering as he scrambles for something to say. “Nothing,” he mutters, turning his head to give you some semblance of privacy. But the image of you, raw and unguarded, is seared into his mind. 

“Get used to it,” you say flatly, misinterpreting his silence. “This is the world you walked into. It’s ugly, it’s brutal, and it doesn’t have room for people like you.” 

He glances back at you, his expression unreadable. “Then I’ll make room,” he says simply. 

You scoff, grabbing a roll of bandages from a nearby tray. “Good luck with that.” 

As you wrap your hand with practiced efficiency, the faint glow of your cursed technique flickers around the wound, sealing it slowly but effectively. You feel his gaze on you again, unwavering and intense. His persistence grates on your nerves, but there’s a small, traitorous part of you that wants to believe him. 

But you don’t. You can’t. 

“You’ll leave,” you say quietly, not looking at him. “Eventually, you’ll realize you don’t belong here. And when you do, don’t come back.” 

His reply is immediate, his voice low and firm. “Not a chance.” 

You don’t respond. You can’t. Because if you do, you’ll crumble. 

And you can’t afford that. Not now. Not ever. 

You're quiet as you strip down, staying in your underwear—and he’s usually quiet, watching you like he’s been starved of sight, but this is different. He’s not seeing you with lust, not right now. His gaze isn’t hungry, it's desperate—yearning. There’s a raw intensity in the way he takes in your body, as though trying to reconcile the woman in front of him with the one from two years ago. He’s struggling, quietly, because you seem to deflect his attempts to reconnect, to bridge the gap between you two. 

But why? 

You know he can feel it. Both his heart and soul scream that something is wrong. He just doesn’t understand why. 

You feel shy under his gaze, the weight of it pressing into your skin like a brand, even though he has every inch of your body memorized. Every curve, every scar, every freckle. You know he does. Even two years apart, even with the pain of that time, you glance at him. Blink. The question hangs in your eyes—why are you looking at me? It’s the unspoken plea in your stare, but he doesn't look away. 

His voice breaks the silence, awkward and too loud. “You’ve grown.” 

“Excuse me?” you mutter, turning to face him, not fully aware of the way your breasts strain against that flimsy bra provided by the task force. It barely covers anything—half of it, at best. 

He gulps, his hands flexing at his sides before he rubs the back of his neck, his expression flustered and unsure. He doesn’t want to sound like a creep, but damn it, he’s just noticing what’s right in front of him. “Y-you’ve... grown?” he repeats, his voice cracking slightly, trying to sound casual. 

You almost want to laugh, but it comes out like a breath, empty. “Um... Thanks? You're... buffer?” You don't quite meet his eyes as you mumble the words, keeping your gaze fixed anywhere but on him. 

He blinks at you, taking in your awkward attempt at deflecting the situation. He looks down at himself—his uniform tight around his chest and arms, muscles straining at the seams from the training they’ve been putting him through. “Thank you—training.” 

“Must be vigorous,” you respond, distracted, but the words are clipped, your voice trailing off as your mind races with the real reason for your discomfort. 

“Yeah... well, they make it vigorous for me,” he chuckles darkly. It’s humorless, a low sound that hangs in the air between you two. You get the hint. They’re exploiting him, just like they did to you—taking away everything that made you both feel human. 

You want to tell him. You want to scream it all out, spill every secret. But the thought of him getting hurt, of the higher-ups turning their eyes on him, keeps your lips sealed. Sato’s words—those damn words—still echo in your mind, cutting deep. 

“And you accept?” you murmur, your voice quiet, strained, as you crack your fingers back in place and pour disinfectant over the raw wound in your hand. The sting is sharp, but not as sharp as the words you wish you could say. 

Satoru is quiet, taking a few slow steps toward you. He stands right behind you, his presence overwhelming. You can feel the heat radiating off him, the familiar warmth you once sought. His body language is tense, his eyes unwilling to leave the sight of you, but he tries to stay focused, not wanting to make you uncomfortable. But you know it’s no use. His eyes linger, and for a moment, it feels like nothing has changed. 

“I needed a distraction,” he says finally, his voice low as he takes the disinfectant from your hands, his touch soft but firm as he begins tending to your injury. 

“From what?” you whisper, your voice faltering slightly as you fight the tightness in your chest. 

He’s quiet for a moment, the words seemingly stuck in his throat. But then they come, gruff, low, raw. “You,” he mutters, his hand stilling over your wound for a second. He’s not even looking at it. He’s looking at you. “Your sudden disappearance... Thought you fucking died on that godforsaken mission you were sent to. Turns out they lied.” 

Your breath hitches, a quiet sting of guilt piercing you. You didn’t mean to hurt him like this. “I came here,” you say, your voice betraying you with its sharp edge. 

“Willingly?” he presses, his eyes piercing you with that intensity, like they always did when he was seeking the truth, seeking to understand you. 

“Yes,” you lie, barely believing the words as they leave your mouth. 

“Why?” he presses again, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s a quiet desperation behind the question, a longing for something—anything—that would make sense of this fractured puzzle you’ve become. 

“...I needed more money,” you say, and the words feel like ash on your tongue. 

He scoffs, disbelief flooding his face. “Girl, c’mon, I had money.” 

“The fuck does that have to do with anything?” you hiss, the frustration bubbling up, the walls closing in. 

“I’m sayin’ you didn’t need money. I took care of you, didn’t I?” 

“Yeah, well, I needed money, and—” You trail off, not wanting to finish the thought. Not wanting to voice the lies that have kept you alive all this time. 

Satoru stitches your hand up carefully, his touch surprisingly gentle for someone so strong. He could use reverse cursed technique on you, but he’s not Shoko, and she never trained him for this. Besides, he knows your cursed technique will regenerate in no time. The wound will heal, and there won’t be a trace of it. 

“You know your eyes twitch when you lie, sweetheart?” he mutters under his breath, his tone teasing, but his focus never wavers from the task at hand. 

Your heart skips a beat. “I’m not lying—” 

“I already know the specific way people get drafted here,” he continues, his voice low and knowing. “Foreign, low cursed energy, and it’s not voluntary. The higher-ups throw them here with no backtalk.” His eyes stay focused, but you feel the weight of his words like a crushing wave. “You’ve been through this before. You’re not stupid. You know how it works.” 

You wince when he pinches your skin to get the needle through. “How did you know I was in the fucking task force?” you snap, your voice trembling with the sudden wave of frustration. 

“Shoko and I saw some woman I thought was you—she had the necklace I fucking gave you—and she asked for her name, and we did some research on the old cranky computer.” He’s still working, his words flowing with ease, like he’s not talking about the most dangerous thing that’s ever happened to you. 

You stay quiet, your mind racing. “Hana,” you breathe out, her name tasting like hope on your lips. 

She made it out. 

“Atta girl. Told you you were smart.” Satoru bites his lip, continuing to stitch up the wound. His movements are practiced, steady, but you can see the storm in his eyes. “So, if my calculations are correct—you’re just foreign. That’s one box ticked in their list of preferences for sorcerers who get thrown here,” he murmurs, his voice soft, but there’s a sharpness to it now. “But what about the rest? You’re special grade. You have high cursed energy. So why?” 

Your heart stops. The question hovers in the air between you, thick and suffocating. You can’t say the truth. Not when it could cost him everything. Not when it could mean his life. 

“Money. They pay a lot here,” you breathe, the words stilted as you try to force yourself to believe them. 

Satoru scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief. “Yeah, okay—whatever. I believe you.” His voice softens slightly, a tired edge to it. “But I don’t care anymore. I fucking found you. That’s what matters. You’re not dead.” His breath hitches slightly, but he doesn’t let it show. Not fully. 

And it hits you harder than you want to admit. You feel something twist deep in your chest, but you don’t let it show. Not to him. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

The shooting range seemed like the perfect place to blow off some steam—at least it did when you first walked in. You hoped, maybe, Satoru wouldn’t follow you here, but of course, he did. You pity him in a way; you’re the only familiar face for him in this cold, strange place. 

“You can always just... teleport back home and then come back if you want. You know where I'm based now,” you mutter, wiping the sweat from your forehead with your black tank top. 

Satoru’s eyes briefly flick to your midsection, but he quickly drags them back to your face, a subtle shift in his gaze that doesn’t go unnoticed. His jacket is tossed on a nearby table while he’s sitting cross-legged on the floor, his white button-up shirt loosely unbuttoned, likely for air—or for dramatic effect. You can't really tell. 

"I could," he replies, his voice smooth, but there's an edge of something more lurking underneath. "But I haven’t seen you in two years." 

You don’t respond right away, trying to ignore the unsettling way his presence feels like it’s suffocating you. Were you still soft inside there? Would you still sing him to sleep, play with his hair while he pawed at your body like it was the most natural thing in the world? That’s how it used to be, wasn’t it? 

You bite your lip, a little too hard. He notices. He always notices. 

“Why?” you ask quietly, trying to keep your voice steady despite the storm inside you. The pressure from his gaze is too much, but you won't break. Not here, not now. 

"You know why, don’t play coy. You’re my girlfriend," he replies, and it sounds too natural, too casual. Like it’s obvious, like it hasn’t been two years of separation, pain, and complications. 

“I think... we haven’t seen each other for two years. I don’t think we’re still dating,” you say softly, your tone almost as indifferent as you can manage. You cock your gun and focus on aiming at the targets in front of you. Anything to distract yourself. 

Satoru doesn’t flinch. He just tilts his head, a quiet chuckle escaping him. “We didn’t have a verbal breakup, and I still don’t believe you’d leave me willingly.” 

You scoff, trying to maintain a facade of indifference, but deep down, his words sting in a way you hate to admit. “You think that highly of yourself?” you retort, avoiding his eyes as you keep your focus on the target. 

But in your chest, there’s a hole. You want to hug him, go home with him, return to the life you once had. But you can’t. You know the cost. Sato’s warning echoes in your mind. 

"I think highly of our love for each other," Satoru says, sitting up straighter, his gaze sharpening, a bit of vulnerability creeping through the cracks in his confidence. "You still love me, right?" 

The question hits you harder than it should. You freeze for a moment, unsure of what to say. If you tell him yes, things could get messy. If you say no... you’d be lying to both of you. 

You’re saved by a cheerful voice breaking through the tension. 

“Hola! Hola!” Alec greets as he enters, a wave of lightness following him. You smile at him politely, grateful for the interruption. 

But Satoru, he doesn’t hide his displeasure. The shift in his cursed energy is immediate, a sharp spike of possessiveness and frustration. His brows furrow, a crease appearing between them as he watches Alec move towards you. 

"You look fresh," you smile at Alec, who grabs a heavy-looking rifle, clearly eager to blow off some steam himself. "Dios mio, tough day today—but we made it out. Of course, I'd cheer up!" He laughs, his energy infectious, but his eyes catch Satoru’s for a second, and the tension thickens. 

“Don’t like the gun?” Alec asks, glancing at Satoru as he loads it with ease, an almost theatrical nonchalance to his movements. 

Satoru raises a brow, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “I think guns are cool, just barbaric for sorcerers to use.” 

Alec laughs sheepishly, his energy still bubbling with excitement. “Well, we’re barely considered sorcerers, that’s why we’re here—" 

He cuts himself off when he notices what he was spewing. “I shouldn’t be saying this to a jujutsu student, right?” 

You smile, trying to keep things light. “Yeah, you shouldn’t. But he already knows everything,” you say, glancing at Satoru, whose calm demeanor doesn’t quite reach his eyes. The smile on his lips is polite but cold. 

Alec stares at you in disbelief for a second, then back at Satoru. "The hell! Did you tell him? You'll get into trouble!” 

You shake your head, barely containing the laughter that wants to escape. “No, Alec. I didn’t.” But the look in your eyes says more than words could. 

"Whatever, chica," Alec shrugs. "If you get hurt, please leave me out of it. I still love you, though." He gestures to Satoru with his gun, an easy smile on his face. “Introduce him to me.” 

Satoru raises an eyebrow, sensing Alec’s teasing nature. He decides to play along, though something about the situation makes him feel oddly... free. Here, no one knows him. He’s not the feared Satoru Gojo. He's just a guy, and in this moment, that feels kind of nice. 

“I can speak for myself," Satoru says, his tone light and unbothered. 

Alec shoots him a look, clearly eager to get the conversation rolling. “Come on, man. Don’t be shy. Tell me who you are.” 

“My name’s Satoru,” he says with a grin, relaxed. "I’m a student at Jujutsu High, twenty, graduating this year in my fifth year. Came here because she’s my girlfri—" 

“We used to be in the same class, we’re friends,” you interject quickly, shooting Satoru a warning look—one that says to keep some things quiet. 

Alec’s eyes widen. “What the—you were at Jujutsu High? So, you’re twenty too? Why the hell are you here?” 

“Low cursed energy, like the rest of you guys,” you fake a smile, trying to keep things light despite the pang in your chest. 

Satoru’s eyes narrow slightly, but he says nothing.

Liar.

Alec lets out a low whistle. "So you came here for her? Damn, that’s some real friendship, man! My friends would sell me for a bag of taquitos," he laughs, shaking his head. 

Satoru laughs too, and there’s a genuine warmth to it this time. He’s enjoying this, this weird, ordinary little moment in the chaos of everything. “Tell me more about yourself,” he says, surprising Alec with his interest. 

Alec’s eyes light up, the excitement clear in his voice. “Well, Alec. twenty-six, I’m from Mexico, but I was born in Tunisia. One of my parents was a jujutsu sorcerer— my mother. Lived my life there—so many Japanese people live there, and tons of jujutsu sorcerers. There’s even a district, like in every country. So when I came to Japan to study jujutsu and get stronger, hoping to join that district, my cursed energy was... low. So they threw me here,” Alec says with a shrug, then adds with a grin, “But I’m happy! I’ve got friends, and a cool captain.” 

You raise an eyebrow at his last statement, a sarcastic edge in your voice. “Shepherd is cool?” 

Alec nods vigorously, smiling wide. “Hell yeah!” 

You roll your eyes and grin. “Alec, if he hears you say that—ten reps of push-ups,” you mutter under your breath. 

Alec laughs nervously, knowing you’re probably right. "Yeah, yeah, chica. But still, I love the old guy, even with the push-ups." 

Satoru examines the rifle in his hands, his fingers tracing the cold metal. He’s silent, focused, but there’s a hint of curiosity in his gaze as he inspects the weapon. His cursed energy vibrates around him, filling the room with an almost tangible hum. 

“Can I try it?” Satoru’s voice is smooth, measured—his tone more a statement than a question. There's a quiet challenge to it, but it's undercut by the calmness that only he can manage. 

Alec, still recovering from the earlier explosion, nods and grins, his eyes glinting. "Sure, Saturn," he says, completely unfazed, as though it's the most natural thing in the world. He fumbles with his words a little, clearly struggling to pronounce "Satoru," and just goes with it. 

Satoru doesn’t correct him, but the twitch at the corner of his mouth betrays the annoyance flickering beneath his cool exterior. "Saturn," he repeats quietly under his breath, eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing how far Alec's teasing might go. 

You suppress a smirk. Alec’s obliviousness to Satoru’s irritation is a running joke, and you can’t help but find it mildly amusing. 

Alec’s grin only widens as he watches Satoru adjust the rifle. “I like it. Saturn suits you. You know, big, powerful—kind of like the planet, right?” 

Satoru’s hand tightens around the rifle. “Saturn’s a planet, Alec,” he mutters, his voice dry. “Not my name.” 

But Alec’s too distracted to notice. “Whatever, man. It’s catchy. And you’ve got that, you know, planetary vibe. Makes sense to me.” 

You can see the subtle annoyance creeping into Satoru’s face, but he bites his tongue. “Can we just... do this?” he asks, his patience thinning. 

Alec shrugs, seemingly unphased by Satoru’s subtle irritation. “You’re the one asking to try my gun, Saturn.” He laughs, as if this is some kind of inside joke that only he finds hilarious. 

You give Satoru an apologetic look, but there’s a part of you that finds this exchange amusing—if only because you know Satoru’s patience only stretches so far, and Alec doesn’t seem to be letting up. 

Satoru takes the rifle from Alec’s hands and steadies himself. “Let’s get this over with.” 

You step in, guiding his hands lightly. His cursed energy surges subtly beneath his skin, wrapping around the weapon as he tries to infuse it. The rifle hums with power, vibrating under his control—but then, a flicker of his immense energy causes it to backfire, an explosion of cursed energy erupting from the weapon, sending shards of metal in all directions. 

You instinctively duck behind Satoru, who is already lifting his Infinity. The world slows as his barrier expands, and you’re shielded from the flying debris by the familiar, invisible force surrounding you both. 

Alec stumbles back, eyes wide. “Dios mío! Saturn!” he exclaims, more out of shock than fear. His hands are raised, as if he expects the next explosion to be any second. “I didn’t know you were that strong!” 

Satoru lowers his hand, his Infinity flickering back to its neutral state. His expression is cool, but there’s a small twitch in his brow. “It was an accident,” he says, almost in a deadpan tone. He glances at Alec, who’s still frozen in place. “I... got carried away.” 

Alec laughs nervously, wiping sweat from his forehead. "Holy shit, man. I thought I was gonna die.” 

Satoru turns his gaze back to the rifle in his hands, the metal now slightly dented from the explosion. He shakes his head, clearly frustrated but trying to mask it. “I need more control.” 

“Guess Saturn’s a bit too much for this little thing,” Alec says, raising his eyebrows. “Maybe try something smaller. This gun can’t handle that much energy.” He holds out a pistol instead, his tone light but with a touch of genuine concern. “Try this.” 

Satoru takes the pistol, his fingers curling around it with a practiced ease. He holds it up to his face, inspecting it for a moment before glancing at you. The air between you both feels thick—an unspoken understanding lingering in the space. 

You step in close to him, your breath catching as you guide his hands once more, feeling his energy surge under your fingertips. The proximity is almost unbearable, the tension between you two sharp enough to cut through the air. 

“Remember, just a little at a time,” you remind him quietly, your voice steady but laced with something else you can’t quite place. 

Satoru’s gaze shifts to you, his eyes locking onto yours for a brief, lingering moment. “I know,” he says, voice soft, but there's something charged in the way he looks at you. 

You focus, but there's no denying the tension building between you both. The familiarity of his presence stirs up old feelings, things you try to keep buried under layers of steel and resolve. 

Slowly, Satoru pours his cursed energy into the pistol. This time, it's controlled. The weapon hums with power, but the energy is focused, directed. The shot rings out, precise—an almost unnatural accuracy as the bullet hits the target dead center. 

Satoru lowers the gun, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “That’s better,” he murmurs, his tone satisfied but still, there’s that underlying irritation in the way Alec continues to tease him. 

Alec, not noticing the subtle shift in the air, claps his hands. “Nice! Now that’s what I’m talking about, Saturn! You’re a natural!” 

Satoru raises a brow, his patience finally wearing thin. “Please stop calling me Saturn.” 

But Alec, ever the oblivious one, just laughs. “What? It’s a good name! You’re strong as hell, Saturn, deal with it!” 

Satoru glances at you, and for a moment, the two of you share a quiet, charged look. The air between you both crackles, the weight of the past two years hanging heavy in the space. You can feel the old connection, the tension—it’s still there, undeniable. 

You let out a small, almost imperceptible sigh. “You’re lucky he’s not serious,” you mutter, giving Satoru a half-smile. 

Satoru smirks, but it’s tinged with something more—something deeper, something he isn’t ready to voice. “I’ll let him have his fun for now,” he says, voice laced with dry humor. 

Alec cheers in the background, unaware of the silent exchange between you and Satoru. “Damn, Saturn, you’re gonna make a great addition to the team!” “Addition?—no, he’s not a part of us,” you say, and Alec frowns. 

“Well, I get that, but he’s pretty far from the hocus pocus school right now. Unless he can teleport to Tokyo, he’s sticking around here for a while, right?” 

“He can tele—” 

“I can’t teleport,” Satoru shrugs, lying. Alec gives you a ‘see?’ look, clearly amused. 

You gape, turning to Satoru. “What? You don’t think I’m capable?” 

“You’re more than capable.” 

“Then I’ll help y’all out until Shepherd sends me home,” Satoru shrugs casually. 

“Where would you sleep, huh?” you retort. 

“You guys don’t have extra rooms or something?” he asks, feigning innocence. 

“Yes, we do,” Alec interjects, “but those are for prisoners—criminals we take hostage.” He smirks. “But she’s got a pretty big room since she’s Shepherd’s favorite, apparently. You can stay there!” 

“Why’re you making the decision, Alec?” you sigh, exasperated, pinching the bridge of your nose. 

“C’mon, doll, I like him!” Alec whines playfully. 

Satoru’s brow twitches at the nickname, irritation flashing briefly in his eyes. He doesn’t like Alec calling you doll. He’s aware it’s probably just a nickname here, but hearing it still grates on him. It makes him feel... something. A slight twinge of jealousy. He doesn’t show it, though. He knows Alec doesn’t mean it the way he interprets it. 

“See? He likes me, doll,” Satoru says, dragging out the word as he looks at you with a look you identify as his jealousy. You’ve seen that look way too much for you to forget it. 

You want to blush, but the irony is too thick. Instead, you just groan in annoyance. “Whatever, we’ll see with Shepherd,” you mumble, reaching for your gun again. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

You somehow managed to sneak an extra plate from the kitchens. Shepherd’s strict orders allowed one serving per soldier—ensuring everyone got their share. But you had a guest. A guest who, you knew, ate a lot. You even sacrificed some of your portion, piling more onto his plate. 

More rice, more miso soup, more seaweed, more seared tofu. It wasn’t fancy—just sustenance. Basic proteins and fiber meant to keep everyone functional, not satisfied. The higher-ups didn’t care about soldiers here any more than they cared about anyone outside their elite circles. The realization stung: sorcerers at Jujutsu High were glorified, while the rest of you were discarded when no longer useful. 

Balancing the plates, you pushed open the door to your room to find Satoru sitting on the edge of the bed. The sight caught you off guard for a second. The bed was big enough for two, but the thought of sharing it with him—after all this time—felt too... intimate. 

“Um... I’ve got food here,” you said softly, shyness creeping into your voice as you approached him, holding out the bigger plate. 

Satoru looked up at you, his lips quirking into a faint smile. The scene felt almost domestic, like you were... his wife. 

“Thanks,” he murmured, taking the plate from your hands. 

“I’m sorry it’s not much,” you added quickly, almost apologetic. “This is all they serve here—what they’re allowed to serve.” 

He glanced down at the plate before his gaze returned to you, something tender lurking in his eyes. “Good thing I can teleport then,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar playful lilt. 

Before you could respond, he reached under the bed and pulled out a crinkling plastic bag—a 7/11 logo emblazoned across it. 

Your jaw dropped. “You didn’t.” 

“I did,” he said, grinning smugly. 

“You didn’t just teleport to get yourself food,” you accused, crossing your arms. 

He tilted his head, correcting you with a casual, “Got us food, sweetheart.” 

“You’ll burn your eyes out,” you muttered, trying not to smile. 

“For you and my belly? Worth it.” 

You gave up, rolling your eyes as he pushed the bag toward you. Inside, you spotted greasy onigiri, a couple of bento boxes, and a can of your favorite drink. You hadn’t had anything like this in what felt like years. 

“Thanks,” you said quietly, unable to hide your gratitude. 

As you both ate, Satoru glanced at your plates, noting the uneven portions. His own was piled so high it looked like the plate might crack under the weight. “You didn’t have to give me half your tofu,” he said, pushing a few big pieces back toward you. 

“They’re for you,” you mumbled. 

“Thanks, baby, but I came prepared,” he teased, gesturing toward the 7/11 haul. 

You bit your lip to keep from smiling too much. It was small, but it felt like old times—before everything fell apart. 

“So, you always sleep here?” he asked through a mouthful of rice, his cheeks puffed like a squirrel. 

The sight nearly made you giggle. “No. Just after missions like these. This is a moving base. There’s a little house by the coast I stay in with Shepherd.” 

“Shepherd? The old gruff buff guy?” he asked, raising a brow. 

You nodded. “He kind of... took me under his wing. Said something like me was too precious to waste here.” 

“I agree with him,” Satoru said, his voice softening. 

For a moment, silence settled between you, filled only by the sound of eating. Then, he broke it. “Come home with me,” he said, the vulnerability in his voice catching you off guard. “God knows Shoko misses you—Yaga-sensei too. I miss you.” 

You hesitated, your grip tightening on your plate. “I can’t,” you said finally, your voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve gotten too used to this life.” 

“Liar,” he said, his tone sharper now. “I’m not leaving until you come home with me.” 

“This is my home,” you replied, setting your plate aside as your chest tightened. 

“I’m your home,” Satoru said, his voice quiet but firm, his jaw tightening as his eyes bore into yours.  

The words hung in the air like a challenge, daring you to deny them. 

You looked away, focusing on the empty plate in your hands. “That’s not fair,” you murmured, your voice trembling ever so slightly. 

“It’s the truth,” Satoru countered, setting his plate down beside him. He leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, his crystalline eyes piercing through you. “You don’t belong here. You know that.” 

Your throat tightened, and you clenched your fists. “You think I chose this?” 

“I think someone made you believe you didn’t have a choice,” he said, his voice softening. “But you always have a choice. You had one when we first met, and you have one now.” 

You swallowed hard, the familiar ache in your chest rising. “It’s not that simple, Satoru.” 

“Isn’t it?” he asked, standing up. His height, his presence—it was overwhelming, and it reminded you of how small you felt in his orbit. “What’s stopping you, really? Is it fear? Guilt? Or is it because someone here convinced you you’re only useful if you stay?” 

You flinched, and he caught it. He always did. 

“It’s complicated,” you said, stepping back as he stepped closer. 

“Then uncomplicate it,” he said, his voice low, almost pleading. 

Your back hit the wall, and suddenly, there was nowhere else to go. He stood in front of you, close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from him, but not close enough to touch. His hands clenched at his sides like he was holding himself back. 

“Satoru,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “Please don’t do this.” 

“I have to,” he said, his voice breaking ever so slightly. “Because if I don’t, I’ll lose you. And I can’t... I won’t let that happen.” 

Your heart thudded painfully in your chest. The raw vulnerability in his words, in his eyes—it was too much. 

“You think I haven’t missed you?” you asked, your voice cracking as tears welled up. “Every day, I think about what I left behind. About what we had. But I can’t go back. Not yet.” 

“Why?” he asked, his voice trembling with frustration and hurt. 

“Because I’m not the same person anymore,” you said, your tears finally spilling over. “And I don’t know if I can be her again.” 

He reached out then, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear. “You don’t have to be her,” he said softly. “Just be with me. That’s all I need.” 

For a moment, you let yourself lean into his touch, let yourself imagine a world where things were simple again. Where you weren’t bound by duty, by fear, by the chains you’d willingly wrapped around yourself. 

But then reality crashed back in. 

You tried to move away, but the sound of his fist slamming into the wall froze you. The reverberation rang in your ears, the dent just inches from your head. You stared at the deformed metal, then back at him, your chest tight with fear—or something far more complicated. 

His breaths came sharp, his hand still pressed against the wall as if steadying himself. But his eyes—his eyes locked onto yours with a desperation that made you want to cry and scream all at once. 

“Goddamn it, talk to me—tell me the truth.” His voice cracked, raw and unrelenting. 

“This is the truth!” you snapped back, your voice trembling despite the sharpness of your words. “I’m sorry if you don’t like it, but this is my life now! So just—just leave. Or we can sit down, eat whatever junk you teleported for, and pretend this didn’t happen.” 

You didn’t mean it. Not really. But the words flew out, your defenses building faster than you could think. 

“I’m not fuckin’ leaving,” he bit out, his voice low, gravelly, and trembling with anger. “I’ll figure you out—I’ll break through this. I’m so damn tired of everyone lying to me. Leaving me.” 

The last words hit you like a punch to the gut. You opened your mouth to speak, to tell him something—anything—but all you managed was a quiet, choked, “Please.” 

Something in your voice stopped him. His arm dropped, his shoulders slumping as though the weight of the world had finally caught up to him. He stepped back, giving you space, though the tension between you remained, thick and suffocating. 

You didn’t move at first. Your legs felt like jelly, and your heart thundered so loud you swore he could hear it. But when he finally sat on the edge of the bed, head in his hands, you willed yourself to follow, each step feeling heavier than the last. 

He exhaled sharply, breaking the silence. “It’s fine,” he muttered, more to himself than you. “I found you. That’s all that matters.” 

You hesitated before sitting beside him, close enough to feel his warmth but far enough to keep the invisible line between you intact. The food sat between you, untouched for a moment, until you quietly picked up your portion. 

You ate in silence, the tension slowly ebbing, though the ache in your chest remained. Every now and then, you’d glance at him, at his furrowed brows and clenched jaw. And as much as you wanted to stay angry, to cling to the walls you’d built, a part of you wanted to reach out—to touch him, to soothe the storm raging inside him. 

But you didn’t. 

Instead, you focused on the meal he’d risked so much to get, the quiet words he hadn’t spoken but had been etched into every action, every look. 

For now, this was enough. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Sleeping next to Satoru felt strangely natural, even after everything. The rhythm of his breathing, the warmth radiating from him—it all felt like coming home. You hadn’t felt this kind of peace in two years, and before you knew it, you were slipping into a deep, dreamless sleep. 

But Satoru didn’t share the luxury of rest, not fully. His body craved it, sure, but his heart and mind couldn’t stop racing. He was right here, next to you, after two agonizing years of chasing ghosts and dead ends. He didn’t want to waste a second. 

He studied your face like it was a map back to better days, tracing the curves and lines with his eyes, then with his fingertips. Carefully, reverently, as if you’d vanish if he pressed too hard. Your lashes fluttered slightly, but you stayed asleep, your lips parted in soft, even breaths. 

His chest tightened as he leaned closer, his nose brushing against yours. Just one kiss, he thought. You wouldn’t wake up. You wouldn’t mind. Right? 

The kiss was featherlight, a gentle press of lips that tasted like a bittersweet promise. Satoru stayed close for a moment longer, letting his forehead rest against yours, breathing you in. 

Finally, he pulled back and exhaled slowly, threading his fingers with yours. It wasn’t just to hold you close. It was to anchor himself, to remind him that this wasn’t a dream. You were here, and for the first time in a long while, the crushing weight on his chest began to lift. 

If you woke up and tried to leave, he’d know. 

But more than that, he just needed to feel connected to you, even if it was only through the quiet strength of your intertwined hands. 

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

“I don’t understand why I’m here,” his voice echoed quietly, the calmness in his tone like it always had been, barely betraying the weight of his past decisions. “I’m... a criminal under your records.” 

The room was thick with tension, the air almost vibrating with the intensity of what was at stake. The elderly voice of the higher-up rumbled through the shadows, commanding authority with its gravelly resonance. 

“Yes, you are—" the voice boomed, thick with years of experience and frustration, "but in the end, you hate the Zen’in, don’t you? They want to overthrow our system, impose their own ideals—Naoya had us fooled. We thought we were making progress with him, but... no.” There was a pause, an exhale heavy with regret. “We need your help. We can’t do this without you.” 

A small silence followed, like a crack in the conversation, as the man stood still, his face a mask of indifference. He didn’t move, didn’t twitch a muscle as his mind ran through all the motives, all the options laid before him. 

“And why the hell would I care?” he finally spoke, his voice still flat, yet there was a deeper edge to his words now, cutting through the tension. “I have my own reasons, my own motives. Your visions, your politics—don’t concern me. And neither does the Zen'in family.” 

The elderly figure in the shadows could feel the defiance in his words, the weight of years of pain and betrayal weighing heavily in his heart. But this wasn’t about politics anymore—it was personal. 

“You’re different,” the voice rumbled again, with a certain conviction. “Naoya wants to eliminate sorcerers. You know he’s after Gojo, specifically. You care about him, don’t you? After all, everyone does. Isn’t that right?” 

A slight shift in his expression betrayed the fact that the mention of Gojo had struck a chord. 

“Sure,” he muttered, his voice softening ever so slightly as memories of his old friend flickered through his mind. “You can say that. But why do you need my help?” 

“Because," the elder’s voice dropped to a more sinister level, "you were once labeled the strongest. The one who could end it all. If you help us, we won’t detain you. You won’t be a prisoner after this is over. We’ll let you vanish, disappear. Go into hiding again. No one will come after you.” 

His lips twitched, a humorless chuckle escaping his throat. He turned slightly, his gaze steady as he let out a low sigh. 

“You all lie,” he said, eyes narrowing, a ghost of disbelief and bitterness lurking in his voice. “Why should I believe you?” 

“Because Naoya Zenin is a threat,” the elder responded with chilling finality. “He cannot—he will not—be allowed to control the jujutsu society. And neither will anyone like him. We need you to ensure that doesn’t happen. Help us, and we’ll keep our word.” 

The man stood there for what seemed like an eternity, contemplating the offer. His mind was a battleground of pros and cons, the weight of the past and the present crashing together in a maelstrom. There were risks, of course. But he couldn’t stand by and watch as the world he once knew spiraled into chaos. Not without doing something. 

And, if he was being honest, a small part of him still cared about the ones who had cared for him—Gojo... and you. You had been kind to him when no one else had. And perhaps... just perhaps, there was a chance to make things right. 

Finally, after what felt like an eternity of silence, his voice broke the stillness. “I accept.” 

The elder chuckled, a satisfied grin creeping across his face. “Good. You’re a smart man. Welcome back—Suguru Geto.” 

next

© All Rights Reserved mymoonisgrey

Taglist is open!

@lavnder311

[pandapetals]

Gossip Session

The girls are gossiping about Mrs. Howlett when Logan overhears them.

professor logan howlett x professor fem!reader - established relationship (y'all married), cute, fluff, teasing, no y/n used, no reader description, your an english professor, logan is a history professor - imagine days of future past logan with the white streaks in his hair

read on ao3 or find more parts for the series: here

divider credit: @enchanthings

Rogue leaned casually against a tree, her arms crossed and a knowing smirk on her face as Kitty and Jubilee stopped walking and turned to her. The afternoon sun cast a soft glow over the garden, but the conversation between the three was anything but innocent.

“Let me guess,” Rogue said, cocking an eyebrow. “Y’all heard about that rumor.”

Jubilee’s eyes widened in excitement. “Oh, you mean about Mrs. Howlett?” She practically bounced on her heels, her voice dripping with playful intrigue.

Kitty’s mouth fell open in mock shock, her hand flying to her chest. “Wait, what ? There’s a rumor about her? Spill!”

Rogue rolled her eyes but grinned. “Apparently, some of the students are sayin’ she’s got Logan wrapped around her finger so tight he even started gardening. Gardening! Can you imagine Logan pickin’ out flowers and planting seeds?”

Jubilee giggled, doubling over slightly as she imagined it. “Oh my God. Logan with a little sunhat on, maybe some gloves. You think he talks to the plants, too?”

“‘Grow faster, bub,’” Kitty added, her voice gruff as she imitated Logan, sending all three into peals of laughter.

Unbeknownst to them, Logan was walking back from the greenhouse, a bundle of herbs and fresh vegetables tucked under his arm. He caught the tail end of their conversation and stopped in his tracks, narrowing his eyes. 

For a moment, he stood there, deciding whether or not to interrupt. But when Jubilee’s voice drifted over with, “I bet she makes him do it! Like, ‘Logan, go plant me some tulips,’” Logan couldn’t resist.

With a low chuckle, he stepped out from behind the hedge. “Well, ain’t this a nice little gossip club.”

The girls froze like deer caught in headlights, their laughter cutting off instantly. Kitty’s face turned bright red, Jubilee let out a nervous laugh, and Rogue smirked, not at all fazed.

“Logan!” Kitty squeaked, trying to recover. “We weren’t… uh… we weren’t talking about you. Or Mrs. Howlett. Nope. Not at all.”

Logan raised an eyebrow, stepping closer and towering over the three of them. “Uh-huh. So, I didn’t just hear somethin’ about me wearin’ a sunhat in the garden?” His gruff voice carried a hint of amusement, and the corner of his mouth twitched.

Jubilee couldn’t hold it in any longer and started laughing again. “Okay, okay! But in our defense, you were coming from the greenhouse just now. And we all know Mrs. Howlett has you on a leash. A cute leash, but still a leash.”

Logan scoffed, though his smirk betrayed him. “First off, no one’s got me on a leash. Second, you think I’d be caught dead in a sunhat?”

“I mean…” Rogue began, her Southern drawl playful. “If she asked nicely enough, maybe?”

Logan pointed a warning finger at her, but the grin on his face was unmistakable. “Watch it, Rogue.”

Kitty tilted her head, her curiosity getting the better of her. “Wait, so do you actually garden for her? Or was that part of the rumor made up?”

Logan sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he set the bundle of herbs and veggies down on a nearby bench. “Look, she likes fresh stuff for cookin’. So, yeah, I planted a little somethin’ out back. Big deal.”

The girls exchanged glances, grinning like they’d just uncovered a juicy secret. “Aww, he’s blushing!” Jubilee teased, pointing at Logan’s faintly flushed face.

Logan rolled his eyes but chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, laugh it up. At least I don’t go around spreadin’ rumors.”

Rogue raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Oh, we don’t spread ‘em, sugar. We just enjoy listenin’ to ‘em.”

Logan crossed his arms, giving them his best mock glare. “You’re all trouble, you know that?”

Jubilee stepped closer, her grin turning mischievous. “Hey, speaking of Mrs. Howlett… is it true she used to write poetry? Like, super romantic, flowery stuff? Someone said she read a poem to you once and you almost cried.”

Logan blinked, his jaw tightening slightly, but then he surprised them by chuckling. “Yeah, she does…sometimes. For the record, I didn’t cry. Just… got somethin’ in my eye.”

Kitty gasped, her hands flying to her mouth. “Wait, wait, wait. She does write poetry? Oh my God, that’s so sweet!”

Rogue leaned closer, grinning. “What’d it say? Spill it, Logan.”

Logan shook his head, his smirk growing as he backed away toward the mansion. “Nope. Not happenin’. If you wanna know, you ask her yourself. She writes all sorts of stuff. But good luck with that—she doesn’t tell me half the stuff I learn about her.”

Jubilee narrowed her eyes, her tone dripping with mock offense. “You mean to tell me you’re married to her, and there’s stuff you don’t know?”

Logan gave Jubilee a lopsided grin, his tone playful. “Marriage is a lifelong mystery, kid. And I’m just lucky she puts up with me.”

The girls burst into laughter, their amusement ringing through the garden as Logan turned to leave. Before he could, Jubilee called out, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey, Logan! Did you know your wife has a question box in her classroom?” she asked, a mischievous grin spreading across her face.

Kitty immediately chimed in, doubling over with laughter. “Oh, he knows! I heard he even helped her answer some of the questions one time.”

Logan froze mid-step, glancing over his shoulder at them. His brow quirked in mock suspicion. “Yeah, I know. It’s her clever way of getting the students to ‘focus.’” He folded his arms, though his smirk gave away his amusement. “What about it?”

Jubilee leaned forward, her eyes glinting with delight. “Oh, just that… some of the questions in that box are about you .”

Rogue raised an eyebrow, smirking. “Did ya know the kids asked her what you do to make her blush? Or what her favorite thing about you is?”

Logan’s smirk faltered, replaced by a mix of curiosity and slight embarrassment. “What’d she say?” he asked, his gruff voice dropping a notch, though he tried to sound casual.

Jubilee and Kitty exchanged mischievous glances, dragging out the suspense. “Well,” Jubilee began, tilting her head dramatically, “she said you don’t even have to try to make her blush—just the way you look at her sometimes is enough.”

Logan blinked, his rough exterior softening for a moment. He wasn’t expecting that. “She said that?” he asked quietly.

“And that’s not all,” Rogue added, stepping closer, clearly enjoying the moment. “Did ya know she leaves little notes for the students who seem upset? Kitty said she caught her leaving a note and a snack on a student’s desk after class one day. The kid was smilin’ all week.”

Logan’s eyebrows lifted slightly. “I… didn’t know that,” he admitted, his voice softer now. “But I should’ve known...she loves her little notes.”

“And!” Jubilee added excitedly, bouncing on her heels, “Did you know she asked Hank to set up a whole telescope lesson for the kids just because she overheard one of them say they liked astronomy? I mean, who does that?”

Kitty grinned, crossing her arms. “Oh, and remember that time you had a crappy week? She totally reorganized her schedule just so she could bring you lunch every day, but she didn’t tell you. She told Jean she didn’t want you to think she was fussin’ too much.”

Logan rubbed the back of his neck, his smirk returning but tinged with something softer, something deeper. “You three been keepin’ tabs on her or somethin’?”

“Logan, we’re girls. We notice things,” Jubilee said with a grin. “And don’t act like you’re not smitten. You’re practically walking around like a lovesick puppy half the time.”

Logan scoffed, his gruff demeanor kicking back in, though it was half-hearted at best. “I ain’t smitten. I’m just… lucky.” His gaze softened as he looked toward the mansion. “She’s somethin’ else, isn’t she?”

The girls nodded in unison, their teasing giving way to genuine smiles. Rogue patted Logan on the arm. “She’s a keeper, sugar. Not that ya didn’t already know that.”

“Damn right I know,” Logan replied, his voice a quiet rumble. He glanced back at the garden, then toward the mansion where he knew you were probably grading papers or planning a lesson. After a beat, he gave the girls a sly grin. “You three keep gossipin’ all you want. Just don’t tell her you spilled all this, or she’ll never let me hear the end of it.”

Jubilee laughed, rolling her eyes. “Please. She’ll probably blush and call you ‘tough guy.’”

Logan smirked, shaking his head as he turned toward the mansion. “Yeah, probably.”

As he walked away, Rogue called after him. “Hey, Logan, don’t forget to tell her all this! Women like to hear it, ya know!”

Logan raised a hand in acknowledgment but didn’t turn around, his heart swelling at the thought of all the little things you did—things he hadn’t even realized. For the rest of the day, he carried those new pieces of you close, already planning how to make sure you knew just how much he appreciated you.

[yearsbecomingcool]

nice guys finish last | daniel markowitz 18+

donate to gaza here | masterlist | part 1

pairing | daniel markowitz x f!reader

synopsis | you see how long danny can really last.

warnings | f!reader, sexual context, mentions of premature ejaculation, subby!danny, dom!reader, handjobs, degradation, titty worship, nipple play, & edging.

word count | 1.6k

a/n | if writing submissive men is wrong i don't want to be right. this was so fun to work on, it's been a long time since i've written any smut involving men so this was a bit of a challenge, but a fun one nonetheless. i'm trying to figure out which other character's of fred's i want to write for so if y'all have any requests pls share, i am a deeply indecisive person. also!! if you'd like to be on my taglist for future fics let me know!!

You’re sitting on Danny’s lap as he hangs his head in embarrassment. He can’t believe he just came in his pants from making out and grinding. He feels like a teenager again in the worst way possible. He gathers himself enough to speak, “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to-”

You cut him off, cupping his face in your hands, “Hey. It’s okay, I’m not upset.”

“It’s just…it’s so fucking humiliating,” he whines. 

“Why? Danny…it was hot.”

He looks up at you, a bit confused. “What? I came in my fucking pants like- like a teenager. That’s embarrassing!”

“To you maybe. I don’t know…I liked it. It’s cute, I didn’t know I got you worked up like that,” you giggle, playing with his hair. 

“Cute? You’re messing with me, there’s no way you thought that was cute.”

You shake your head, “Some girls are into it y’know, I am at least. Makes me feel good to know that all I had to do was kiss you and dry hump you. Makes me think about how you’d react if I actually got my hands on you.”

“You want to touch me?” He asks it as if it’s the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard.

“Did you think I was grinding on you for shits and giggles?”

He blushes bright red, “I just…didn’t want to assume anything. I-I don’t know.”

“You’re fucking adorable, truly.” 

You cup his face in your hands, forcing him to look at you. “Danny, let me make this clear. I want to touch you, I think you’re attractive, I’ve been into you for years. Fuck whatever insecure thoughts are running through that head of yours, okay? It’s hot that you just came in your pants like that, I wanna see how long you’d last if I touched you for real if you’d let me.” 

He wets his lower lip with his tongue and nods his head. “Please…” It comes out small and pathetic. He winces as he hears it leave his lips. 

“Please what? Tell me what you want me to do, Danny.” You straddle his lap again, thighs on either side of him. Your hand goes down to his belt. “I can’t give you what you need if you don’t ask for it.” 

He throws his back against the couch, whining pathetically, his hips rolling up against yours. You reach down to pin his hips to the couch, “Be a good boy and use your words.” 

“God…you’re really gonna make me?” He asks breathlessly. 

“I mean unless you want to go off into my bathroom and try to get yourself off, then yeah, you’re gonna ask for it.” He’s only seen this side of you a couple times in his life and every single time he’s crumbled beneath your feet, ready to do whatever you ask of him. With other girls he’s been the one to take charge, but as you order him around he can’t help but melt and bend to your will. 

He closes his eyes and sighs, “Please…please touch me. I need it so bad.” 

His pleas are music to your ears. You smile down at his lap and start to undo his belt, pulling it off and throwing it to the side. You lean forward and start to kiss his neck while you undo his pants. You don’t pull his cock out immediately, you’re gonna tease him first.

“Let’s make a deal, yeah? You hold off on coming till I give you permission and I’ll let you suck my tits. How does that sound to you?” 

He opens his eyes, glancing down at you hungrily. “I-I just have to hold it till you say?”

“Mhm, that’s all I need from you, pretty boy.”

“Fuck it, yeah, deal.”

You chuckle against his neck, your hand trailing down to his crotch. You begin to palm him through his underwear, whimpers falling from his lips almost instantly. “I knew that would work, fucking perv. Did you think I’d forget every time you’d look at my tits in my bikinis? You looked at me like you wanted to eat me, just wanted to bury your face in ‘em, hm?”

“Oh fuck me…” He mutters, his hips bucking up towards your palm, desperate for something more. “You noticed?”

“Danny, you’re as subtle as a brick through a window. You could’ve burned holes through them if you tried hard enough,” you laugh. You squeeze him through his underwear and his eyes shoot open like he was just given a shot of adrenaline. He whines so pathetically that you can’t help but smirk, “So sensitive…” 

“I can’t help it…I haven’t been with anyone since Allie,” he mumbles. 

“Forget about her, okay? I’m gonna make you feel so good, baby. Promise.”

You tug his briefs down, his cock springing free. “You were hiding this from me this whole time? Allie was a lucky girl,” you chuckle, biting your lip as you look down at it. You hold your palm up to his mouth, “Spit.” 

“You want me to spit on it, shouldn’t you do that?”

“Sorry, should I just dip your dick in your Dr. Pepper?” You ask sarcastically.

“Please don’t.” He leans forward and spits into your palm obediently. 

“Atta boy.” You wrap your hand around his cock, pumping it at a slow teasing pace.

He mewls at your touch, his head falling forward against your neck. He places soft kisses starting at your ear, trailing down to your collarbone. He keeps his hands to himself as best he can, gripping your waist. “Can’t believe this is real…” He mumbles against your skin. 

“How many times did you touch yourself thinking of me, Danny?” 

He whines, “So many times. I felt so guilty every time, just couldn’t get you out of my head. Fuck, you’re so pretty.” He begins suckling marks into your delicate skin, you whine as you get him off. 

You pick up the pace, watching how his body reacts to your touch. Part of you is shocked he’s held it this long after how quickly he came before. “Pervy boy…getting off to your best friend like that, should fucking punish you for it. Do you even deserve to cum again tonight?” You’re teasing, of course you’ll let him cum, you’re not cruel. It’s just way more fun to watch him squirm. 

“Please, please, I’m sorry! I-I just…you-”

“Hm, shut up. Fuck the deal, gonna give you what you need.” You tug your shirt down with one hand, your bra exposed. “Don’t make me do all the work here, it’s not gonna suck itself.”

He reaches forward to tug your bra down as well, he starts to kiss down from your collarbone to your breasts. He leaves marks every now and then, leaving a dark trail you know will leave you wearing turtlenecks for at least a week. He spends his time marking you up, he’s wanted to do it for years. He reaches up for your nipple, rolling it between his fingers, eliciting a whine from you. He smirks as if he’s won, you squeeze his cock softly to remind him who’s in charge. He lets out a strangled yelp and bucks up into your hand. He takes your nipple into his mouth, suckling at it as he moves his hand to tweak the other. You pick up your pace, muttering a mix of praise and degradation.

“Pretty fucking boy, you’re so good for me. Bet you spent so much time fucking your hand imagining doing this to me, hm? Bet you felt so guilty seeing me after, poor baby couldn’t get me out of his head. You’re doing better than I thought, didn’t know you could handle a pretty girl's hand around your cock. Could barely handle a kiss before.” You laugh as he suckles at you.

He’s practically fucking your hand at this point, bucking his hips pathetically. You squeeze your hand around his cock, stroking him and keeping the pace of his thrusts. His eyes squeeze shut and he moves his mouth to your other nipple, whining against your skin as he feels himself getting closer. He suckles harder, causing you to wince at the slight pain. You tangle a hand in his hair, pulling his face flush against your breast. He lets out a strangle moan and spills his seed against your lap and into your palm. As he comes down he suckles at your breast as if he’s soothing himself. 

He finally pulls away, breathing heavily. You bring your fingers to his mouth, “Clean ‘em up for me?” I ask. He brings your fingers into his mouth, sucking till they’re clean. You pull them from his mouth, wiping them against his t-shirt. You grab his chin and lift his head, you smile at the sight of his flushed cheeks and messy hair. “You’re so fucking hot.”

He grins bashfully, leaning his head back against the couch. “I didn’t know you could be so mean…or that I’d like it so much.” He lifts his hand, trailing his fingers over the marks he left on you. He looks proud of them.

“You owe me a turtleneck for these y’know, we’re lucky it’s winter.” 

“Hm you could just show ‘em off instead. Let everyone know I left ‘em there,” he numbles.

“Who knew you could be so possessive,” you laugh, rolling your eyes. 

“Look at you, if I don’t leave a mark I’ll never get another chance.” He sounds sad.

“You’re going to get many other chances, the night’s still young, I haven’t come yet…and tomorrow I might wanna wake up with a pretty boy between my thighs,” you tease, stroking his hair gently. 

“Fuck…I feel like I need to clean you up instead. Another round in the bath maybe? Your hot water got fixed, right?”

You chuckle, “Yeah, fucking finally. C’mon, I think you owe me an orgasm or two.”

[elainsgirl]

if we ignore all the ways the text itself makes it clear elain’s book (with az) is next and just look at the marketing/publicity side, i still don’t see how people can deny that elriel is next:

- the coloring book including the TT scene

- the illustrated dust jackets with nessian and elriel for acofas

- the countless magazine articles saying they believe elriel is next (time, E! news, etc)

- the decision to make the azriel bonus chapter exclusive to BAM but the feysand one to B&N, which has a much larger audience of readers and then reprint the feysand one in the special editions

- interviews where sjm said she’s already started writing elain’s book and had “dreams of ivy choking her” (if we go with their assumption that elain is book 7 and gwynriel is book 6 except you don’t start writing book 7 before book 6 so why would she have been writing elain’s back in 2018ish?)

this is all just off the top of my head so there could be more. and that’s just without analyzing the text, which in itself practically screams elriel!!! i’ve talked with 2 of my friends who are casual readers and none of them even know that gwynriel existed as a possibility bc of how outlandish it was. and if that is how casual readers in 2025 are STILL reacting to gwynriel, there is absolutely no way she would spring a ship that doesn’t exists in canon on her readers! at least mor and emerie was hinted at in acosf so if they get a book together, it at least makes sense bc it was explained on the page in the actual books. i just don’t understand how people can deny both the text and marketing decisions at this point

The second Sjm stopped mentioning Elucien in her videos and became “hush” “hush” about Elains Li - it was ringing bells that elucien is no longer endgame. But you’re completely right, lets *solely* talk about the marketing aspect of this. Buckle in, this is long.

*Before we begin, Let’s make it clear by Acowar/Acofas - Sjm definitely knew what was happening in acotar 4 = acosf and Acotar 5, she herself said both those books lay crumbs and foreshadowing for the future.

The colouring book that did quite well & rated highly on goodreads. It contains all the significant moments @elrielsgarden recently did a post talking about it but lets focus on the elucien/elriel scenes we get.

There is no elucien scene within the coloring book. The closest is this, the scene where Elain is standing next to Lucien. Where his focus is on Nesta and Elains focus elsewhere.

Then Mass chooses to include a scene between elriel: When you look at this scene, what do you remember?

This passage:

as much as antis say this scene is insignificant and means nothing - Sjm, the author herself clearly found it to be important enough to be included within the coloring book.

So, Here Mass included the iconic truthteller scene yet if elucien is endgame - why did she not include a single significant scene between them? Why elriel? It could have been Lucien giving Elain his cloak in acomaf? It could have been a picture of them sitting together when they first talked. Anything YET eluciens get nothing, so what exactly is the point? What marketing technique is this? Why did she want to include an elriel scene but not Elucien.

Moving onto the dust jackets:

Like, come on. You cannot tell me this wasn’t done on purpose, Mass knew what she was doing - so again, if elucien was endgame, why isn’t he apart of this? Why isnt he next to Elain?

You close the book, Nessian land on each other. Elriel land om each other. If Nessian is endgame and this was for a romantic hint/purpose. well. Following that logic - the same reason applies for elriel, another hint at Elains final endgame.

Keeping all of this in mind so far - Let’s look at some interviews from Sjm:

Let’s combine all of these to get a general gist of the spinoffs:

3 spinoffs = 3 novels. It was in acowar where Sjm started writing a story and realised she wanted to explore new characters- There’s a few characters I say Acowar diverts too that are “new”: Vassa, Helion/LoA, Miryam. She also says she planned and researched for Elains book. But the two most important things to me are 1) She knew Nessian were next AND what she wanted for the second novel. The third novel she left the door open for, logically; If the next book is elucien, Mass would have already known who Az ended with therefore knew what the last book would be about, Gwynriel. Vice versa. If Gwynriel is next- she definitely would have known elucien would be acotar 6 YET only 2/3 spinoffs were planned. Then - you may ask who or what the last book could be about? Prequel. Especially with the way HOFAS went, Sjm seems ready to dive into the lore of and history of pre-acotar.

So if Gwynriel was endgame, Gwyn being so important to the plot as Gwynriels claim: She would have been introduced in acowar or even acofas. The books that set up the spinoffs, is she brought in within those books? No. Even by going off on what Sjm has confirmed about the spinoffs, it already logically disproves both elucien and gwynriel.

onto the articles:

E! and Time are good sources that are held highly and people believe. They have an honest reputation for being informed and real as far as news articles can go. Both these articles talk about which couple? Elriel. Here’s the thing: For Gwynriel to work, it has to be next as (Azriels bonus = his pov next) so shouldn’t these articles be talking about him? Yet its Az AND Elain. No Gwyn. They don’t even focus on elucien.

To have these major sources talk about elriel…when the next book is going to be gwynriel is just complicating and confusing for casual readers which are majority of the fandom. Mass nor BB would want that, would they? And this bothers antis as some even lied that these articles mentioned their ships as well (conveniently no proof was given to go w the claim)

Nail on the coffin is the fact Feysands bonus will be reprinted and included in the new editions, the bonus that talks and has a slight focus on Elain. If one was to *only* have read Feysands bonus, be honest. Would you have come to the conclusion that Gwynriel’s book is next?

No and that itself puts an end to Gwynriel. The ship has slowly been sinking this year and this was the final proof- it was never happening. And if you don’t have Gwynriel -> no way for Elucien to happen.

And you’re right, aside from casual readers not clicking onto Gwynriel being next - for ACOTAR specifically, Mass has set up each couple before their book in the same way. They each have had some foundation, attraction, romance, actual tangible connections to the plot BEFORE their books. A gwynriel book will be a messy, retconneed book which is a lot of effort to create AND make sense with the previous series and I just don’t see Mass doing that. If Gwynriel was to happen, there would have been no need for elriel. These books focus on ONE couple. Elucien had angst without elriel. Gwynriel could have been set up to have angst without elriel, so why even create elriel in the first place? As a “red herring” ? But then why would any author go through so much trouble in positivity developing elriel and their plot for 3 consecutive books if they weren’t happening?

When you try to follow Gwynriel/Elucien logic there is a lot of confusion.

I feel like I got off track somewhere - my bad. Point is - by marketing alone and adding all that has happened in regards to the ships it had always pointed towards elriel. Elains book, Az as her Li. At MOST - there’s a speculation on a love triangle between Az, Elain and Lucien - even then who is the focus? Elain. Not Gwynriel.

I think 2024 was the year of elriels’ soft launch. BB and Mass prepping the fandom for an announcement and 2025 will be elriels year. Where everything will come together in a nice neat little bow. 🎀

[miyamiwu]

Red and Green; Up and Down

Red and Green are very prominent colors in the Yingdu Chapter. They are the two main colors in the OP:

red and green album behind the camera; red and green basketball court

They’re even more obvious in the ED with the traffic lights:

Red phone booth, green light; red and green lights (+yellow if you count XF lol)

But Miya, they are primary/secondary colors. Of course, they’re everywhere!

Okay, but look again at this frame in the OP:

Red on the outside, and green on the inside.

Now, look at the same basketball court, but as shown before the OP in YE1:

The colors are reversed. It’s now green on the outside, and red on the inside.

There is probably more to this discrepancy if we analyze the relevant dialogue in this scene for the pre-OP and in the lyrics for the OP, but I don’t have time for that right now. Let’s just take this as a signal from the animators to focus on those two colors.

Okay, so Green and Red are relevant, but what do they have to do with Up and Down?

In YE1, there was this scene where CXS passes the ball to LG, but it then unusually focuses on the camera and not on the ball:

Our eyes can’t help but be drawn to the camera…which is pointing to the down arrows on LG’s tie. And what are those arrows pointing to?

The green lane Lu Guang is standing on. However, this lane is red in the OP. Is it really pointing at the green? Or is it pointing at the red? And why focus on the camera first instead of just focusing directly on the arrows to get the message across more clearly? Camera + Arrows. What could they mean? This is something to think about...

Then in Lu Guang’s nightmare in YE3, Vein is chasing him in a green hallway, and he escapes into a green exit with a green down arrow:

He then falls into a dark room full of red:

The Green arrow from above is pointing down to the Red room.

So, does that mean Green is Up and Red is Down? I can’t say...

In the Bloody Storm PV, we have people descending green stairs:

Only the steps are green, though. We can say that there’s green light shining from above to make it appear green. This green light can also be seen on the backs of the men.

It is also worth mentioning that @rainibao has pointed out that, in the flashes, the people are ascending the stairs:

Moreover, the green light is lost here, and we’re left with a gloomy frame full of neutral colors against a plain red background. This also happens in the part of the song where the tension builds up and Vein is about to go crazy. This is definitely relevant, seeing as in the YE3 nightmare, Lu Guang finds himself in a red room and Vein finally catches him.

Something something about Green and Order (men obediently going down the stairs; Vein forcing Lu Guang down a green hallway), and Red and Punishment (men going up the stairs as the tension builds up, Vein catching Lu Guang in a bloody room).

Anyways… Is Red up? And Green down? Or, going by the green being light from above, then is Green up and Red down? I still can’t say...

Why does it matter what direction they are?

Because in Mandarin Chinese, time is viewed in a vertical fashion. The past is above you, while the future is below you. Knowing whether red/green is up/down can help us ground ourselves in this time travel show.

There’s also this:

Red light on Lu Guang; Green light on Cheng Xiaoshi.

I’ve always found the color assignment here odd because in traffic light language, Green means go, while Red means stop. Shouldn’t CXS, who is already dead, be the one in Red since his time has stopped? They even made it a point to color him in cold neutral colors without the green light shining on him, as if to hammer in the point that he’s dead (in contrast to Lu Guang who is in warm colors when not under the red light). (It was too difficult to get a screenshot of this, but I remember seeing a draft of this animation sequence where CXS was clearly transitioning from grey to colored, while LG was more warm to colored. If anybody can find that again, please send me a link!)

Anyways, if Green Cheng Xiaoshi is Dead, then does that mean Green is Future/Down? Red Lu Guang would then be Past/Up, signifying him going back in time.

But this doesn’t align with the nightmare sequence, where Green is Up and Red is Down… But then again, it was a nightmare. Can we even trust it? Can we trust anything in this show???

Or maybe Red/Green is constantly cycling between Up/Down. Maybe one moment Red is Up and Green is down, while in the next it’s reverse. An indication of time being a closed loop in Link Click?

I don’t fucking know.

There are no conclusions here. I just thought I’d point this out so I can have more people be just as confused as me hehe.

Dumping this to you, specifically, @protect-namine

[trulyradicalactivist]

My name is Act. I use She/They/It/Neo pronouns. I have been a radqueer since the original coming, and a part of the pro-para and proship communities before that. This is not a usual pinned post. This is a letter to my community. This blog is designed to support, uplift, and announce all forms of activism for our community and encourage each one of you to begin the revolution. For our identities, for our pride, and for our loved ones.

My call to action is under the cut. I ask you to take the time to read it. Thank you.

For too long, we’ve lived in the shadows of a world that dismisses, marginalizes, and oppresses us. Many wouldn't say oppression. Many downplay what we go through, saying that we’re just trolls taking up minimal space in the digital era. But we have been oppressed. In our own spaces, we’ve had civil wars, fighting over one thing or another, specifically designed to divide us! In spaces beyond our community, we’ve faced not only hostility, but outright discrimination. Told to kill ourselves by cowards who hide behind anonymity, many people who simply desired to be themselves, driven to suicide. Are you not angry? Are you not driven to the brink by what these people have done to us, justified by hatred and misinformation? I'm angry!

We’ve carried the weight of a world that refuses to see us for who we are, and we’ve endured the pain of invisibility and injustice. I refuse to accept that the identities in this community will endure that pain any longer. No more.

This is a call to every single one of you. Whether you’ve been part of this community for years or you’re just now finding your voice, know this: you are not alone. Our strength lies in our connection, our shared experiences, and our collective will to change the minds of people who hate us, to educate, to bring a new era of peace where radqueer is the norm. Everyone thinks the future is radqueer, and I agree, but to make it that way, it takes a community willing to change the present.

We need community and we need action. Not later, not tomorrow, not yesterday, the time hasn't passed and it isn't coming towards us. The time is now.

In the digital age, our voices can and do echo across the world. Activism is not just a tool; it’s a lifeline. It’s where we educate, organize, and amplify. Share your stories, challenge injustice, and build networks of solidarity. Every post, every comment, every shared resource matters. Together, we can flood people’s minds with truth and resistance. We can make a new tomorrow.

But I also recognize the power of individual action, even in isolation. Real life protest does not always mean marching in the streets; it can mean standing firm in your truth, no matter where you are. Writing “radqueer is the future” on a desk, on a bathroom wall. Scattering posters, flyers, stickers in the streets, putting them on benches in parks or sticking them into lamp posts.

Resistance is not a singular act—it’s a lifestyle. It’s choosing, every day, to reject the narratives that tell us we’re less than. It’s refusing to be silent in the face of oppression. It’s demanding change, even when the odds seem insurmountable, and believe me, they certainly seem impossible, but I promise you. They aren't. We have done this before, we will do it again, and again, and again, until we need not fight anymore.

Let’s not forget why we fight. We fight for the right to exist as we are. We fight for those who cannot fight for themselves. We fight for future generations, so they won’t have to endure what we have. And most importantly, we fight because we believe in a world where justice and equality are not ideals but realities.

So, here’s what I ask of you. A few actions, if nothing else.

Be loud. Use your platform, no matter how small, to speak out. Share resources or even create them, talk about your stories, and call others to action. Scream from the rooftops who you are, what you live for, what you fight for.

Be relentless. Don’t let apathy or exhaustion silence you. Take breaks when you need them, but never lose sight of the goal. I know. I know people who hate us break you down, try to make you tired, ruin your mental health. Take breaks. Always take that time for yourself. But a fight waits for nobody, so feel in your heart, even while you aren't fighting, we are. We’re fighting for you.

Be united. This community has shown itself to be a magnet for division, but do you expect to fight while shooting at those fighting with you? Differences in belief aside, differences in opinion on the future, what should be, what shouldn't be, who shouldn't and who should, put them away. We can come back to discuss those when the future isn't against us, when the enemy has laid to rest and we have made a life with them, where they do not want us dead or wish harm upon us. But for now, they do. Together, we are stronger than any force that seeks to divide us, so put away your issues with the person beside you and find that two make a better fight than one ever could.

Be bold. Challenge the status quo, whether it’s online, in your workplace, or in your personal relationships. Change starts with discomfort, and progress begins when we confront what’s wrong. A picrew says radqueer’s aren't allowed to use it? Use it. Make it your profile picture. Do it with flags. Identities. Terms. Pictures. Anything that says you, because of your identity and your beliefs, aren't allowed to use it. Anything that wants to oppress you. Do not accept it.

This is our moment. This is our fight. And we will not stop until the world hears us, sees us, and respects us. I will fight. I will fight for you, for this community, for all of us with identities we cannot share for fear of our income, our lives, our safety.

Justice is what I fight for. What do you fight for? Your family, your friends, the people you love? The right and ability to be yourself? To express yourself the way you desire to? To have the right to change your race, age, gender, species, anything at all, in the court of law? Do you fight for anarchy, for revolution, to tear down the status quo? Then fight.

The revolution begins with us—and it begins now.

[melosliving]

can you write a proposal? — for either aaron or kelvin

Let me cook for my boy kelvin bc I feel like there’s not enough light on him 💔 hope you’ll like it !

kelvin harrison jr x soon-to-be-wife!reader

boyfriend!kelvin who realize he was in love when you called him out on never letting you hold the aux in the car. He tried to act unbothered, but the way you went from R&B classics to afrobeats without skipping a beat ? Yeah, you had him wrapped.

boyfriend!Kelvin who saved the movie ticket stub from your first date and still keeps it in his wallet. not because he’s sentimental (or so he claims)—but because he remembers you saying, “This was fun, we should do it again,” and it was the first time he knew he wanted a future with you

boyfriend!kelvin who really knew you were the one the first time he saw you rolling your eyes at him in the middle of an argument over something dumb he said. He didn’t even care what the argument was about anymore ; all he could think was how good you looked when you weren’t afraid to check him.

"Kelvin, you’re being ridiculous."

"Ridiculous? I’m just saying—"

You cut him off with a sharp, exaggerated sigh, hands on your hips, eyes rolling so hard he thought they’d get stuck. “Do you even hear yourself right now?”

boyfriend!Kelvin who always goes the extra mile to take care of you. Like the time you called him late at night, exhausted from a long day, and said you didn’t feel like cooking. He showed up an hour later with your favorite takeout, no questions asked.

"You didn’t have to do this," you said, already halfway through a bite.

"Yeah, I know," he replied, watching you with that soft smile he always saved just for you. “But I wanted to.”

boyfriend!kelvin who started thinking about proposing the night you stayed up late to braid his hair after his hairstylist canceled last minute. 

It wasn’t just the way your fingers worked through his hair so gently, or how you teased him about being tender-headed—it was the way you stayed even though you were tired, the way you hummed under your breath, the way you kissed his forehead when you were done and said, “Alright, you’re handsome again now, babe.” That night, as you dozed off on his chest, it hit him : you weren’t just his girlfriend. You were home.

boyfriend!kelvin who spent months secretly planning the proposal, even though you always told him you didn’t need anything “extra.” He wanted it to be perfect. So he ran through ideas—rooftop dinners, big family surprises, even hiring a photographer—but nothing felt right. nothing felt like you. It wasn’t until he remembered how much you loved watching the sunset that it clicked.

boyfriend!kelvin who practiced what he was going to say in front of the mirror for weeks.

"Alright, so… 'You mean everything to me, and I can’t imagine a life without you'—nah, too corny."

He groaned, running a hand down his face.

"baby, you good?" you shouted from the other room.

"Yeah, just… talking to myself !" he yelled back, quickly shoving the ring box into his pocket.

boyfriend!kelvin who spent the whole day of the proposal lowkey freaking out. He kept pacing around the house, double-checking the ring in his pocket, texting Aaron for emotional support. But when he saw you getting ready for your little “date by the beach,” looking effortlessly beautiful in a way that only you could, he calmed down.

girlfriend!reader who side-eyed him the entire day because something was off. Why was he acting so weird ? Why was he being so extra sweet and nervous at the same time ? And why did he keep checking his watch like y’all were late for something ? But even as you clocked him, you didn’t push too hard. kelvin always had a way of surprising you.

"kelvin it’s either you tell me what’s wrong or I’m going crazy. I don’t like it when you’re like this, baby."

"girl can you wait for a second ? Damn."

boyfriend!kelvin who almost forgot what he planned to say when he dropped to one knee and saw your face—eyes wide, lips parted in surprise, your whole energy shifting in a way that made his heart skip. But then he remembered why he was doing this. He remembered all the quiet moments, all the laughs, all the times you had his back without him having to ask.

“It’s you,” he said, his voice steady even as his hands shook. “It’s always been you and I want that to be forever. Will you marry me ?”

girlfriend!reader who frozes for a second, your mind racing. But when you looked down at him—his smile nervous but sure, his eyes locked on yours like you were the only person who mattered—you knew your answer before the words even left your mouth.

“Yes,” you whispered, then louder said : “i wanted to be your wife the moment you took me back home on our second date.”

boyfriend!Kelvin who slid the ring onto your finger with a grin so wide it almost made you blush, then pulled you into his arms like he couldn’t believe you were really his.

fiancé!Kelvin who won’t stop saying, “You stuck with me now,” every time you try to tease him about how nervous he was that day.

@ melosliving 2025