#and I was like WHAT IF THAT WAS A CAT INSTEAD

[bruciemilf]

Bruce truly hates magic with every pump and beat of his heart.

What kinda curse is Slang, anyway?

“This is the best day of my life.”

“Bro really thought he ate with that.” Bruce physically feels a full body shiver, charged with nausea and cringe. “This is level 10 cringe. Can’t have shit in Gotham.”

Dick is his earth bound angel, but he laughs like a demon at him, holding onto Jason for support, pledging his eternal loyalty to Zatana and her pettiness.

—

“Hey, old bat, hook me up with an adrenaline shot.”

What he wants to say is Jay, do not try and fight with 6 bullets in your stomach.

What comes out instead, through Bruce’s grit teeth and intense, fierce glaring, “Not you trying to go back to your corpse era. See how I only took 2 shots? Very demure. Very mindful.”

Jason passes out from blood loss, but mostly laughter.

—

“Chat, is this real?”

Stephanie barely bites back a full belly cackle. “I think he just asked us if we copied.”

“I wish I was Jason, 15.”

—

“This is not a slay environment. Killing is flop behavior.” He keeps his eyes shut and buries his face in his hands. Trying to convince Damian not to stab someone doesn’t seem to work.

Damian gives him a pat like he’s a pitiful cat. “I’ll only stab the non lethal areas.”

“God, I wish that were me.”

[kitguts]

BUSINESS IS BUSINESS .

abuse of power / manipulation. noncon ? misogyny. masturbation. voyeurism. degrading. c.ai

you dont know why your boss decided to send you on this trip— sure, you were qualified and perfectly capable, but everyone knew not to go to the lanes alone.

and yet, you continue walking with your gaze adverted to your feet, making sure you had a good grip on your bag as you navigate through the ratty alleyways to the warehouse.

you had already been cat called and wolf whistled at, but you keep on your track and hope none of them decide to follow you on your journey.

luckily, you arrive at the large building before you can find out.

the two women are.. intimidating, to say the least. both of them were tall, muscular, stupidly rich and egotistical. you'd worked with these kinds of businesspeople before, so it wasn't anything new— mostly you got men that would flaunt and flirt until the deal was done.

you thought they would be a little different, considering they were also women. you should know by now not to assume in this work.

"pretty thing like you shouldn't be wondering around down here," the oldest woman, sevika, chuckles while smoking a cigar. neither of them had gotten up to greet you when you walked into the meeting room, they didn't really look up either.

at least the secretary was nice...

the meeting was... awkward— for you, anyway. the two barely payed attention, shared looks after you spoke which made you gradually more self conscious, there was no note taking or even a nod to signal you were being understood. at least the men pretended to listen.

"i think we've heard enough, pretty," abby sighs, leaning back in her chair. she looked a little softer than sevika, still with a similar build and height, but she wasn't. and yeah—pretty. you're sure you told them your name, but both decided to give you nicknames instead.

at this point, you're irritated and frustrated. you want to leave and go home... wait, you can't. you're stuck in a hotel until tomorrow. on the bright side, it couldn't get any worse.

"you drive an... okay bargain, i'll give you that." the blonde shrugs, once again, glancing over at sevika. they seem to communicate telepathically, probably having spent way too much time together while scheming and scamming customers and business partners. its a good bonding activity, apparently.

she sucks air through her teeth mockingly, folding her buff arms over her chest. "but... we're not convinced. you either need to work on your marketing skills, or whatever bullshit company you're slaving for just isn't as good as you think it is, sweetheart. sorry to be the bearer of bad news."

your shoulders drop. you had been informed that after the hiccup with the last meeting, you were on thin ice— this trip was your chance to prove you weren't 'completely useless.'

"maybe you're in the wrong profession," sevika adds, neither of them having any sympathy for how your faux, determined demeanour suddenly drops. "you'd probably make more stood on the corner in a short dress anyway."

low blow... you frown, eyebrows knitting together.

"she'd look prettier there too."

the two snicker, sevika shaking her head and taking another drag of her cigar before stumping it out on the ashtray. you feel insulted, defeated— speechless. you can't believe these two women had such a lack of empathy and morality to say these things, let alone to your face.

"don't frown, princess," abby chuckles, finally grabbing the folder you had gently slid across the table to them earlier, which they ignored. "the wind'll change and it'll stay that way."

you watch as she flicks through the binder, her face unimpressed. you're upset, not even caring what she thinks— actually, that's a lie. you have to if you want to keep your job and not.. well... end up on the corner in a short dress to pay rent— not to mention, majority of that money would go to your pimp. god... where would you even find a pimp?

you're stressing about it already.

sevika seems to catch on that you're upset and discouraged, knowing damn well that her words had weaselled into you and had already started picking through your self worth. her gray eyes don't soften, but they roll and glances over at abby as the younger woman smacks the binder shut and lets it slap on the table.

"let's make a deal, hm?" sevika starts, resting an arm on the table and taking a good look at you. "since we're feeling generous... you convince us, right here, right now, and it's settled."

you frown, shifting in your seat. "i already tried."

sevika clicks her tongue, "we don't wanna listen to you dick ride your company, and you're stupider than you look if you think we're gonna sit here and look through your pretty little folder to read the same shit in different fonts... so,"

she barely gives you any time to process the demeaning words before sliding the folder back across the desk to you, the plastic cover ramming into your boobs. "convince us, or get out."

you shake your head in confusion, awkwardly holding the folder and tapping your fingers against it. "h-how am i supposed to.. convince you?"

abby groans at your cluelessness, rubbing a hand over her face. "girls like you don't have a lot going for them, right?"

you almost nod in agreement at the tone she uses, your face scrunching together instead.

"right. but, you all have one thing people want. one thing that'll get you anywhere in the world."

you're still confused, her words making you think real hard about what you have and what you don't, and then starting to worry a little about— well if you don't know, then you don't have it. meaning you've got fuck all in this world apart from a folder, hopes and dreams, and a forced smile.

sevika scoffs, shaking her head. "your pussy, baby. that thing between your legs? you know what that is?"

your cheeks flush at both the realization and vulgarity, instinctively crossing your legs. "what?"

"come on, i'm sure you've flashed it to your boss once or twice. why else would you be here?" sevika huffs, her gaze wandering over your body.

"i'm—" this is terrible. you feel your face burning with both anger and fluster as your throat closes up with embarrassment, so much so that you have to swallow and force the words out. "i'm good at my job, that's why i'm here."

"you're good at sucking dick and wearing skirts," sevika continues, really digging into your ego and image. "if you want this deal, you'll prove how badly instead of being sat there acting like a prissy little girl."

her tone is a little more biting now, still laced with mockery but more demanding. you're frozen, but actually... considering. how bad do you want this deal? how much is really on the line? they're women anyway— absolute assholes, but female.

you don't realize your hands are shaking a little until you place the folder down, shifting a little further back on the couch. you hesitate, scratching your thighs before uncrossing your legs and spreading your knees a little.

"better. you're a natural, huh?" abby mocks, nodding slowly like you were a child riding a bike and she was an encouraging caretaker.

instead, you're reluctantly pulling your skirt up and avoiding eye contact as you reveal more of your skin.

sevika lets out a low whistle before clicking her fingers— and instead of an inexperienced child on a bike, you're now a disobeying dog. "we don't have all day here. not everyone is as irrelevant as you are, girl."

your stomach churns at the words, more and more being singed into your brain probably for years. you gnaw on your bottom lip as your hands slip under your skirt to reluctantly pull down your underwear, letting them stretch around your ankles.

abby lets out an appreciative hum as your panties drop, enjoying your discomfort as your hands move to grip the edge of the couch, widening your thighs and shamefully displaying your body to the two businesswomen.

"oh, how cute." sevika coos, her gaze landing on your cunt and taking it all in. she had to admit, it was one of the cutest she and abby had seen in their years.

abby nods in agreement, twirling her pen around her thick fingers casually. "don't be so shy, come on. you gonna give us a show?"

your breath hitches at the implication, your eyes finally flickering over to both women as they stare between your thighs. "you can't be serious?"

"if you want this, you'll do it."

you did want this, you had to want this. but the mere thought of touching yourself in front of two strangers as they watch was enough to make you consider how bad living on the streets could really be.

your nails dig into the couch before you release the creased material, your legs falling open a little wider and your hand slipping between them. you breathe shakily, pressing your fingers to your clit and rubbing in slow, deliberate circles.

you're not sure what the best way around this is— would it be better to try turn yourself on so this was easier? or would that just cause more mocking and degrading? either way, your eyes squeeze shut as you let out a whimper.

abby seems pleased enough, quietly writing your name down on a piece of paper. sevika's surprised she actually bothered to listen, but she was more focused on watching you play with yourself for their benefit.

"use spit, baby, get her nice and wet." the older woman gruffs out, her hips lifting a little as she gets comfier on her desk chair.

you do as you're told, for some reason, spit now coating and stringing between your fingers as you resume rubbing. unfortunately, the wetness helps more than you want it to.

your thighs tense around your hand, your lips parting in soft pants.

a smirk creeps onto sevika's face, looking over at abby. "works every time."

abby snorts, glancing over at her business partner and then back over at you as you continue to shakily pleasure yourself, your cunt glistening with spit and something a little stickier. "you're breaking records, sweetheart. getting wet already, huh?"

you tremble a little, your moans getting caught in your throat as you circle your clit, occasionally dipping down to tease yourself further. you hate this, though it doesn't look like it, you feel disgusting and dirty as your cunt leaks with arousal.

"y'know, we could do with a new office pet. she's already drooling and whimpering," sevika comments, blatantly making fun of you.

abby smiles, her eyes locked on the way your hips squirm a little. "mhm... and she obeys, knows her place."

you whine quietly, your stomach contracting as you slip your fingers inside, your free hand holding onto the couch as you fuck them slowly in and out.

sevika hums, watching your fingers disappear inside your cunt and come back out dribbling with slick, a soft squelch being drowned out by the casual chatter between the two women.

"and all it takes is a little bit of spit to shut her up," she comments, her thick thighs spreading a little as she watches you. "isn't that right, pretty?"

you look away, ashamed, but your blood runs too hot, your face is flushed and you're resisting the urge to spread yourself open wider. you know you can't look too eager— not only was it a tactic in business, it was also a strategy to not make yourself look even more like a whore while fingering yourself in front of two strange, big women.

the palm of your hand nudges repeatedly against your clit as your pussy salivates around your fingers, your left thigh falling open just a little more so you can get a better angle, which doesn't go unnoticed.

"hm. wettest and most eager," abby muses, tapping her foot occasionally. "women like you think with their slutty cunts first, not their empty little heads. you're just as bad as a man, honey."

surely that can't be true... you've accomplished a lot without the help of your vagina, for sure. i mean, you're boobs have helped heaps but that's not the point here.

you don't think you'll have any dignity left after this anyway, clenching and throbbing around your fingers as you bite back moans and try hold off your impending orgasm.

you don't get the deal in the end, but... it's not all bad. now you have a new job.

sawry this is so short and there's more dialogue than smut whoops

⏦ﾟ♡︎ taglist !

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[necronatron]

LITERALLY. Bro if I meet some kids, I'll treat them like people. And they're so happy about that. I think I ran into a 9 yo or something going back from tennis practice and he was like "? what is this" when he saw me putting cat food onto the railing of the bridge. And I said "oh it's for the crows" and he perked up so much, started talking to me about birds he would feed, and he said "wow great job" to ME when I mentioned my huge group of pigeons I feed and the crows who follow me.

And I think if we treated kids like actual people instead of "inferiors" or "trophies", maybe they'd be more comfortable and feel safe around adults to tell them about their problems AND run to them in case of child predators.

I think a big reason why "children are an oppressed group" gets (wrongly!) read as a "pedophile talking point" is that everyone treats children so terribly that actual child molesters can speedrun winning a kid's trust by like, actually respecting their needs and perspective, at least at first. Which means that the only way out of this mess is for all of us adults to treat children with respect, so that abusers can't use the rareness of that respect as a weapon.

[zvdvdlvr]

tw: suicide, mourning, skipping meals, heavy topic

The day after you killed yourself, he couldn’t get up from your bed. He had gone to your apartment the moment he heard and fell asleep- wrapped around your scent- sobbing into your pillow. Your cat, George Washington, had curled himself into a ball about into the little indent in your designated untouched sleeping pillow- not purring. He only purred if you were around.

The day after you killed yourself, he didn’t get up from the bed until noon. His limbs were so heavy he didn’t really mind going to sleep and not waking up again. In fact, it was your precious baby (George Washington) that had finally got him up. Meowing and whipping his tail at the crying man’s face had succeeded in bringing him to his feet. And when he got up, he saw the sun shine on all the photographs tucked in the side of your vanity mirror- pictures of you smiling back at him with your dimple showing and your eyes squinting the way they did when you were smiling genuinely.

The day after you killed yourself, he went on a drive with George Washington because he didn’t know what else to do and going through your stuff felt like confirmation that you really… weren’t coming back. And he just wanted to believe.

He wanted to believe that if he closed his eyes long enough, he’d see the shape of you refracted by his cornea. He wanted to believe that if he played the playlist you had carefully curated for date night, he would hear you singing along with the tracks just like you always do did. He wanted to believe that, just for a minute, that he was your husband (not just your boyfriend) and he was coming home to you.

When he finally parked in the lot near your apartment, George Washington climbed into his lap. Your songs were still playing on the radio but he couldn’t turn them off.

That night he didn’t eat. Instead he got George’s food and water bowl fixed up before melting onto the couch in front of your TV. He didn’t feel hunger, no, despite the fact he hadn’t eaten anything since the day you…

It was another hour before he brought himself to look at his phone: the incessant, unending buzzing of his phone had finally cut through the murky emotion of grief and numbness and pain and anger. When he scrolled through the notifications, he could only work his thumbs to type out ‘Will call you tomorrow. I love you all.’ to your family groupchat before his vision blurred and he let his eyes close so he could dream of a future he would never have with you.

[biscuitdetective]

When I was in year 4 primary, every time we had a creative writing task I would find a way to make it about my cat OC who was called Scampey (he was an alley cat with ripped ears, but versatile enough that he could be both in universes where he was cat and humans existed, or universes where everyone was a talking cat). To me, these tasks were just writing prompts to expand on the Scampey’s Extended Universe. If the prompt was to write about someone overcoming a problem, it would be about Scampey figuring out how to outsmart a stray dog. If the prompt was someone’s first day of school, Scampey went to school now. I loved these tasks but my teacher hated that I did this. She was a very old fashioned woman who was frequently accusing me of causing trouble on purpose (when I was really just Being an Autistic Child), but something about the idea of talking animals really aggravated her for some reason. At first she’d say stuff like ‘would you like to write about someone OTHER than Scampey this time’, to which of course I’d be like ‘Nah that’s ok I like Scampey! :D’

I distinctly remember she set a writing task where the main character had to be a piece of material and we would write about how they were made into a product and I am 100% certain she did this because she didn’t want me to make it about Scampey. She was VERY SMUG about this task and I remember how much her face fell when she read my story about a piece of leather being made into a shoe which then got sold in a shoe shop and then lost and thrown out with the trash where it ended up in an alley to meet Scampey The Alley Cat and they became friends. After that, she warned me if I write one more story with Scampey, she would give me detention. She set another writing task, I forget what it even was, and so I innocently wrote a story about Scampey’s best friend Stacey instead (another alley cat).

The teacher called my mother about this, telling her (we still laugh about this) that there was clearly something wrong with me and I was either creatively stunted or deliberately trying to piss her off because all I ever wrote about was talking cats instead of humans like a normal person. My mums response was basically ‘idk what the problem is. I think that’s creative. I like Scampey.’

I think the thing that annoyed me the most about this was that almost every single other kid in the class just made themselves the main character in every single one of these stories except the product one, but they were never called uncreative (or threatened with detention)

what's the most demented thing you guys got in trouble for in school mine was when an english boy in my class made fun of my name and called my mum a (derogatory word for irish travellers) so i told him my ira uncle was in town and was coming to blow him up after school

[00valentina-writes00]

♡♥︎Say Cheese, Tough Guy♥︎♡

Warnings: being put in a chokehold, being thirsty over sevika’s bicep.

Sevika is sitting at the worn-out bar in your shared apartment, a cigar resting between her fingers, the smoke curling toward the ceiling in lazy spirals. She looks half-distracted, her chemtech arm humming softly as she flexes her fingers, the faint glow of shimmer pulsing beneath the metal plates.

You’re perched on the couch, scrolling through your phone, when an idea strikes you—an absolutely stupid, ridiculous idea. But, naturally, it’s the kind of idea you have to go through with.

You glance up at Sevika, who’s still lost in thought, and casually say, “Hey, can you put me in a headlock?”

Her brows furrow immediately, her grey eyes flicking toward you with a look of pure skepticism. “What?”

You hold up your phone. “I wanna take a picture.”

She exhales sharply, shaking her head. “A picture of me choking you out?”

“Not choking me out,” you clarify, scooting closer to her at the bar, resting your elbows against the wooden surface. “Just… y’know. A light headlock. Show off those big, strong arms.” You flutter your eyelashes at her for dramatic effect.

Sevika gives you a look like she’s debating whether to laugh or throw you over her shoulder and actually put you in a headlock.

“No.”

You pout. “Why not?”

“Because it’s dumb.”

“That’s what makes it funny!”

She grunts, leaning back slightly, taking another slow drag from her cigar before exhaling through her nose. “No.”

You huff, dramatically slumping over the counter. “You never let me have fun.”

“I let you do plenty of stupid shit,” she counters. “Just last week, you made me try on your stupid little sunglasses. What were they called?”

“Cat eyes,” you mumble, fighting a smirk.

“Yeah. And I looked ridiculous.”

“You looked hot,” you argue.

She exhales, rubbing a hand down her face, her calloused fingers dragging over her stubble. “Why do you even want this picture?”

“Because your arms are sexy,” you say, deadpan. “And I want to document them.”

Sevika squints at you like she’s trying to gauge whether or not you’re actually serious (you are), before grumbling something under her breath. Then, finally, she sets her cigar down in the ashtray and tilts her head toward you.

“Fine. Get over here.”

Your heart leaps as you scramble off the couch, practically bouncing toward her. “Hell yeah.”

She sighs like she regrets every choice that led to this moment but still spreads her legs to let you step between them. She’s always warm, her body radiating heat, and when she lifts her left arm, you can see the way the muscle flexes beneath her shirt.

She wraps it around your neck—not too tight, just firm enough to hold you there—and instantly, you feel a lot smaller than you already are compared to her.

“Happy now?” she grumbles.

You angle your phone, making sure to get her bicep in the frame, the way it bulges as it rests against your jaw. You snap a couple of pictures, grinning like an idiot. “Very.”

“You’re such a menace.”

“And you love me,” you remind her, slipping your free hand around her waist, squeezing her side affectionately.

“Tch.”

You take one last picture before lowering your phone and leaning into her just a little, resting your weight against her broad frame. “This is actually kinda cozy.”

Sevika chuckles, low and deep, her chest vibrating against you. ���You wanna take a nap like this now?”

“Maybe,” you say, nuzzling against her bicep. “You’re surprisingly comfortable.”

“Comfortable?” She flexes slightly, making the muscle beneath your cheek shift. “I could crush you.”

“And yet you don’t,” you hum, pressing a quick kiss against her skin. “Because you’re soft for me.”

She rolls her eyes but doesn’t deny it. Instead, her grip loosens just enough for you to turn and meet her gaze.

“You done?” she asks, arching a brow.

You glance down at your phone, admiring the pictures for a moment before nodding. “Yeah.”

She shakes her head but doesn’t let you go just yet. Instead, she tilts her head slightly, her eyes flicking to your lips.

“You’re lucky you’re cute,” she mutters before leaning in, capturing your mouth in a slow, deliberate kiss.

You hum against her lips, smiling into it. “Lucky, huh?”

She nips at your bottom lip in warning. “Don’t push it.”

You push it anyway. “Can I make this my lock screen?”

She groans. “Get outta here.”

You laugh, slipping out of her hold but not before stealing another kiss.

[max-nicoxfandom]

DCXDP - Danny is a flerken, this causes Dick a lot of concern

Dick doesn't like Damian's new cat, or everyone thinks it's a cat, at least. It's kinda big for the size of a regular house cat, and it's whole body is like a weird trippy illusion; black with blue eyes one moment, white with green the next.

Damian claims he just picked it up off the street, and he's overall utterly unperturbed with the cat. According to him the thing was probably some sort of escaped lab experiment, and he is determined to figure out who was testing so inhumanely on animals. May God have mercy on their souls when that boy reaches them.

No one in the family quite likes the cat, except Damian, obviously.

The animal just has a way of sneaking into where it's not supposed to. It's always watching. Always just around the corner. Always at the exact place you don't want it to be at that exact moment.

Tim in particular is very annoyed by the cat. He likes to sit on Tim's paperwork, press buttons on his computer, and stick his face in Tim's coffee. The cat actively makes Tim's life harder whenever it gets the chance. Damian finds this to be the best form of comedy, because he is a little menace(lovingly).

Dick thinks he has it the worst with the cat overall though. Why? Because no one believes him about this stupid animal. Sure, they all agree that the cat is fucking weird, at the very least it's more sapient than a cat should be, but that's as far as they take it.

Not Dick.

Dick managed to sneak up on it once, and only once, and has never even attempted again. He just wanted to get back at the creature after it spent all day tripping him as he walked down the halls. It was harmless! Honestly, he just expected the cat to jump, maybe hiss, and skitter away for the rest of the day.

Instead the cat whirled around and opened its jaw so wide Dick swears its chin began to grace the floor, and then glowing green tentacles came out! They latched around his arms, covered his nose and mouth, and began to pull him into the tooth filled abyss of its jaws.

He felt the life in him leave before he was even half way pulled in. The fight slowly began to drain out of him, and the room was getting so so cold. Dick really thought this was how he was going to die, via his baby brother's freaky ass cat.

And then Damian's voice rang out, sharp and firm, simply calling the name of his cat lovingly dubbed "Phantom". The name Dick gave him, actually, because the cat travelled around the house like a ghost. Damian is the one who decided the name ghost was too childish, and thus, Phantom came about.

Damian arrived to him laying on the floor, Phantom on top of his chest purring away, as if the thing didn't try to consume him mere moments ago.

"Lying on the floor is quite unbecoming of you, Richard. However, since you are bonding with Phantom, I will let it slide."

And then Damian picked up the cat, tucked it into his chest, and walked back to where he came from.

When talking to Damian about the event later, he just looked at him like he was stupid. Tim said the cameras had shorted out (something that had been happening a lot recently), and he had no clue what Dick was talking about. Bruce and Alfred both advised him to seek mental help, believing him to be stress hallucinating. He didn't even bother telling the others.

So yeah, Dick doesn't like Damian's cat monster. He doesn't want to hurt his baby brother's feelings, but it can't stay.

Will be reblogging with more, eventually, other people's additions are VERY welcome

[solariex]

silly red dancing gif i made !! :3

originally i was gonna add cat headphones, because it was based off someone sending red music recommendations on the red askblog (cough cough @kittycatred sorry self promo) but its literally 5am as im typing this so i didnt feel like adding that right now :,) also i realized after making this that it looks VERY similar to this by starrypawu and that was purely by accident oops!! i think i got unintentionally inspired though so im linking it just in case for credit !! :D also timelapse ?? speedpaint ?? (whatever its called for animation lmao) below !! !! FLASH WARNING !! THOUGH cause i flip the canvas ALOT and switch frames alot and its sped up !! (also ignore the timeeee....ignore the time....shhhh i wasnt up until 5am at all....)

its 3 minutes long but i sped it up AS MUCH AS I COULD sorry its like 5 hrs of footage originally so thats why </3

[salemrph]

The Taste of Romance (Valentine’s Day)

Summary: What was meant to be a quiet Valentine’s Day with Sylus, making chocolate together, takes a turn when a mission interrupts: chasing down Heartbreaker.

Character: Sylus & Reader

Genre: romantic, fluffy, slightly action

Word count: 5,572 | Reading Time: 22 min | AO3

A/N: After today's banner, I just had to release this, because it's pretty much what I was expecting, something like this: A cute mission hunting Heartbreaker, with a super romantic outcome. Making chocolate and decorating a cake. And kisses, lots of them.

 {Pop Candy Song BGM}

You spent the last day searching for a good recipe online, strolling through pastries and sweets shops in Linkon. On the kitty cat calendar display on the wall of your kitchen, February 14th is marked with a little heart in red. Well, it is actually tomorrow. This is your third attempt making chocolates this week. You have everything you need: a box, sugar pens and flowers, gift wrap, strawberry and tons of other decorations stuff. Your idea is to create a special box, for a special gentleman that stole your heart, soul and body. 

Somehow you keep messing up with portions, you follow the instructions step by step, but always something goes wrong. The milk is too hot, too much sugar… you feel a bit like Xavier trying to not burn down your place. The other attendants were interrupted by an urgent mission, or you managed to drop the bowl or put in salt instead of sugar. 

The caw of Mephisto, sitting on the microwave, is a signal to stir the mixture. The bird can be useful even during moments like this. Mephisto seems even happy to help you out. Is strange how well you get along with him. Sometimes he gets on your nerves, especially when he steals all the shiny items you have. But you like him, and it's just as fun as fighting with Luke and Kieran.This little crow family you've joined, despite their “evil” aura, are all good people. And no one can convince you otherwise. Come to thinking of it, maybe you should make choco popcake for the twins. Giving chocolate to the mechanical crow… You stare at Mephisto, who cocks his head in response to your piercing gaze. No… You shake your head. Not a good idea. 

The kitchen smelled of rich, melted chocolate, the warmth of it mixing with the familiar comfort of home. You had been carefully stirring the glossy mixture, completely absorbed in your task, when—

"What are you doing, sweetie?"

The deep sexy voice of your boyfriend makes you hitch. If you were a real cat you would have jumped, fur bristling and tail puffed in alarm. Surely hiding yourself on top of the kitchen cabinet. Although your Hunter senses are exceptional, being at home you usually lower your guard. Your heart jumps and you almost drop the bowl, again…

"I told you to stay out of the kitchen" you huffed, turning to glare at Sylus.

He leaned lazily against the counter, arms crossed, that ever-present smirk tugging at his lips. "Yeah, but I didn’t agree to that. Besides, where should I hide in this small apartment?" 

“Why are you here in the first place? I told you I was busy” you hide the bowl behind your back. Actually the kitchen is a mess, opened packages of chocolates scattered across the counter, the strawberries you had bought are still in their cold water bath. You’re a good cook, decent at baking, but working with chocolate? That is another topic. For the occasion, when you were buying all your supplies for this mission, you bought yourself a very cute apron. Which you are wearing right now to prevent staining your outfit. Underneath it, you wear comfy shorts and a white t-shirt.

“A certain kitten ignored me all week, so I decided to drop by and spend some time with her.” His lips curve into a slow smirk. “But somehow, I ended up banned from the kitchen, and Mephisto got demoted to a kitchen clock.” His voice drips with mock offense, but the way he watches you, eyes sweeping over your domestic outfit examining you slowly from top to bottom… Tells you he’s more entertained than anything, the amusement literally dancing in his eyes.

The small apron snug around your waist and chest, the loose strands of hair slipping free from your high ponytail, the way your oversized t-shirt shifts when you fidget under his stare. You’re a mess. Flustered and completely unaware of just how lovely you look. Sylus smiles, noticing that you’re definitely not wearing a bra. It might just be his lucky day.

He exhales a quiet chuckle, stepping closer. His gaze moves to the bowl behind your back, curiosity flashing behind the red glowing eyes.

"So… what exactly are you doing?”

You meet his gaze with a sly smile, tilting your head just slightly. "I’m preparing poison."

His smirk deepened. "Poison? Sweetie, if you wanted to kill me, there are easier ways."

Before you could react, he stepped in, closing the distance in a way that made your pulse stutter. His body caged you against the counter, warmth radiating off him. His attention goes down to the spoon still in your hand, his fingers grazing your wrist as he tilted his head in amusement.

"What kind of poison will it be?" he murmured, voice low and teasing.

Your breath hitched, you felt a little nervous again but you held your ground. "The kind you can’t separate from normal food."

Sylus hummed. In a swift motion, he plucked the spoon from your grasp, bringing it to his lips without breaking eye contact. His tongue flicked against the chocolate before he tasted it, a low, satisfied hum vibrating in his throat.

"Hmm… dangerous" he mused, licking the remnants from the spoon. Your stomach flipped, heat rising to your cheeks as his free hand settled on your waist. "Should I be worried, sweetie?" he teased, his lips dangerously close to yours, chocolate lingering on his breath.

“Always" you whispered, barely able to focus with the way he was looking at you. Sylus laughed softly, his fingers tightening slightly on your waist as he leaned in, brushing his lips lightly against yours—just enough to make you chase the touch.

He lifts you onto the counter, his smirk never fading as he leans in, his lips still hovering, teasing you. Just as you think he'll kiss you, he pulls back, holding up the spoon coated with the last traces of chocolate.

“Lick” he ordered softly. You hesitate, eyes flickering between the spoon and his glowing red eyes. “For poison, it tastes good” he jokes. 

Without breaking eye contact, you slowly drag your tongue along the spoon, savoring the rest of the dark mixture. Sylus inhales sharply, his pupils darkening as his grip on your thigh tight. His cock getting harder by the second. You can feel the shift in the air, the tension between you two raising. When you finish, he titles his head slightly, his gaze dropping to your lips. “Messy kitten” he says low, brushing his thumb along the corner of your mouth spotted with sweetness. 

Before he can lean in again—

Bip bip bip!!! Your hunter watch shatters the moment. Your groan as your head falls back. You've got to be kidding me. You click your tongue in irritation. Sylus exhales sharply, his fingers flexing against your thigh before he pulls away entirely. The warmth of his body vanishes, replaced by the cold reality of duty. He leans back against the counter, crossing his arms, you can tell he's annoyed as much as you are.

Between his businesses and your jobs, having this moment is almost rare. You managed to video call, send each other messages and you try as much as possible to be with him. Now for Valentine's Day you requested two free days, so you could finish the box with strawberries and chocolate. 

You shoot him a glare before tapping the watch, the holographic interface lighting up with an incoming mission briefing. Your free day is gone. Just like that. You sigh, already slipping off the counter.

Priority Alert: Hunter (Y/N) Required. Immediate Deployment. Target—Wanderer: Heartbreaker.

You scroll through the report, brows furrowing. "It’s… been messing with couples. Destroying their date spots, ruining chocolate shipments, even sabotaging proposals." You pause. "Wow. It's really committed.”

Sylus lets out a dry chuckle. "So, you're going to hunt a depressed little menace who hates love?”

"I hope it's not as slippery as Pumpkin Magnus. This is serious.” 

Running after that Wanderer near to New Year was exhausting. At least you had fun during the event. The lantern you made together is still hanging at his base. 

“Because nothing screams ‘deadly mission’ like chasing that thing before it cancels Valentine’s Day.” 

You roll your eyes but can’t hide the small laugh that slips out. "Come on, we need to move.”

you prompt as you start grabbing your gear, moving to your bedroom to change into your uniform. Sylus seems to be a bit out of track. 

“We?" He raises an eyebrow. He follows you, not wanting to miss how you change. "I don’t remember signing up for this mission." He's distracted when you reveal your body, pulling your T-shirt over your head. He knew it, no bra today. His dick is still half hard. Sylus wanted so badly to have you that evening. Making you whimper his name, seeing you getting all sweaty and naughty. Kissing your belly, worshiping you in all senses. His plans were crushed in a moment. You glance at him over your shoulder, half naked grabbing your uniform from the chair. 

"Please. You always end up involved in my missions one way or another.” You move quickly. 

He leans against the doorframe, watching you with open amusement. "That’s different. Also I was busy with something else before someone’s annoying watch ruined the evening.”

You huff. "Well, if you're not coming, I’ll just—”

"Did I say I wasn’t coming?" His voice is smooth, teasing. 

If he can't have fun with your body then at least he would accompany you through this little adventure. Spending time with you is always fun and it doesn't really matter what you two are doing. 

Later in the city

“This the last spot where Heartbreaker was seen” you close the file on your watch. The park is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the winter sun. The lake stretches out before you, its surface rippling slightly under the breeze, reflecting the bright light of the evening. A few boats remain docked, swaying gently, their chains clinking against the wooden posts. Mephisto is scanning the area, flying over the park.

“The last couple attacked was right here. Their boat capsized, and they both ended up breaking up on the spot.”

Tracking Heartbreaker could be complicated. You look around to find some evidence of why, where and how it attacks the couples. You walk around with Sylus next to you. The scanner of your watch give you an update:

“No abnormal energy spikes detected. Traces of Wanderer activity linger near the dock.”

You nod, stepping closer to the water’s edge. “It doesn’t just pick any couple… don’t you think?”

Sylus smirks, his gaze flicks to the lake. "So, what’s the plan? Rent a boat, act all lovey-dovey, and lure the thing out?"

You let out a small sigh, tapping your fingers against your arm. “Probably it will work, but it doesn't mean it will appear right here. Which means it could take some time to find it…” You pause, then turn to face him, tilting your head slightly. “Sylus… can you be even romantic?” 

“I feel offended, kitten. Wasn't my affection not clear enough.”

You snort, shifting your weight onto one leg. “Let me think, you've taken me on several “date-missions”, using me as an armory, shield and bodyguard. And let’s not forget, you introduced me as just a friend during the museum event.”

“That's what it's all about.” Sylus lets out a short laugh, shaking his head. “Then, why don’t you teach me what it means to be romantic…”

“Do you want to take on this challenge?”

“You're always so competitive, sweetie. Why not?”

“Then less see who can make first appear Heartbreaker” 

As the evening stretches on, the two of you move through different spots known for romantic outings. First, a charming café where couples linger over half-finished desserts and whispered conversations. You glance at the menu and realize everything is designed for two: shared platters, couple-themed drinks, even desserts that come in matching sets. You realice most of the people are wearing matching outfits. You wonder if going around in the same outfits would be something you would do with him. Buying everything in a double set. Wearing the same pajamas, drinking from identical mugs, layering yourselves in matching sweaters… You have been wearing matching bracelets since the mission with the gem. Your fingers brush over it absentmindedly as you stir your drink, lost in thought. The dessert you ordered a while ago lay in front of you untouched. Sylus leans forward in his chair, smirking at your focused expression. 

“What’s on your mind, sweetie?” you're still lost in thought, your mind drifting over ways to be more romantic with him, until he suddenly holds up a spoonful of dessert in front of your nose. “Open” He orders you, you grimace at his sudden assertiveness but obey, letting him feed you. 

That’s 10 points for Sylus, feeding you is a way to be romantic.

Next stop is a flower garden, where lovers stroll between glowing lanterns and fragrant blossoms. Sylus plucks a small pink flower off a tree, twirling it between his fingers before tucking it behind your ear with a teasing grin. "That’s romantic enough for you, sweetie?" he murmurs slightly amusted. You roll your eyes but don't take off the flower.

“You can do better…” as you turn around to look around, which flower would match him the best? A red one catches your eyes, small and with delicate petals. You pull out several and turn back to him. "Bend down". You place one in his hair and another behind his ear. Sylus looks at you intensely, the warm light of the garden softening his features. You feel your heart begin to race. The beauty that this man radiates is out of this world, every time you remember this fact you don't understand how no one appreciates what you are seeing.

Just like at the New Year's market, the lady at the doll stand referred to Sylus as a tiger, someone fierce and intimidating. And although he certainly usually has that look, and he teases you about taming him, he has a soft spot. You see that every time you reflect yourself in his eyes. That’s truly something that makes you happy. 

Sylus gently grabs your hand, kissing the knuckles of your fingers. Bowing to his beloved lady. “Only you can touch me like this…” the intensity of the moment makes you blush.

By nightfall, you find yourselves at the promenade, the city lights shimmering on the river’s surface. Couples are everywhere, walking hand in hand, nestled on benches, whispering to each other under the soft glow of street lamps. Sylus and you take a seat on an empty bench, the cool night air carrying the sound of laughter and distant music. 

You lean back, exhaling. "Well, this is the third couple’s spot on the list, and still no sign of Heartbreaker."

Sylus stretches, his arm casually draping over the back of the bench almost around you. "Maybe, it's scared of us. Or maybe…" he tilts his head, watching the couples nearby, "...it only appears when there’s actual romance in the air."

You glance at him "Are you saying we’re not romantic enough?"

He smirks, leaning in just a little. "You tell me, kitten. Has there been a moment that made your heart race?"

“Not yet” you lie and he notices it. Is written all over your face. “And you, have I made your hearts race?” 

“No…” He points out nonchalantly. You feel offended and disappointed. Your lips press into a thin line, and you scoff, looking away. 

Sylus chuckles, the sound low and amused. "Oh? Are you disappointed?"

"Obviously" you huff, refusing to meet his gaze.

He shifts closer, trapping you on the bench. His smell invades you, you want to lie on his chest and let him caress your back while he reads you a poem. His voice dropped to a whisper "You shouldn’t be." Before you can ask what he means, he takes your hand, guiding it to his chest. Beneath your palm, his heartbeat is steady but strong. Your fingers twitch slightly.

"You make it race all the time," he confesses. "I just like seeing you try harder."

Even though he says it with his usual confidence, a slight pink color spreads across his cheeks. He says something like that, and now he’s blushing? That’s not fair. You stay in that position, refusing to move, feeling the warmth of his skin under your palm. For you, the world slows down, all of it fades into the background. 

Your gaze drifts upward, from his chest to his throat, lingering for a second before finally settling on his lips. They’re slightly parted, you miss the feeling of them. How they move in sync with yours. The longing to feel his naked skin on yours, his hands being a delicate weapon with which he tortures you until you fall between sighs and moans. It ignites the deepest desire of your heart. You don’t know if it’s your imagination or if he’s leaning in ever so slightly, but your heart is pounding loud enough that he must hear it.

"Kitten" he whispers. A question. A challenge. An Invitation.

Then a sudden chill cuts through the warm night, the hairs on your arms rising as the atmosphere shifts. You tense, instincts kicking in, fingers moving quickly toward your weapon. The shadows near the water seem to distort, the faint outline of something lurking just beyond normal sight.

“There” you murmur. Your watch confirms your gut feeling: metaflux energy detected.

Sylus follows your gaze, a slow grin spreading across his lips as excitement flickers in his eyes. He rolls his shoulders, readying himself.

“Time to break a Heartbreaker.”

You react first, drawing your weapon in a fluid motion, instincts honed from countless battles. “Sylus, left flank!” You call out, already moving, running after the Heartbreaker. Sylus doesn’t hesitate. He dashes to the side, his speed a blur as he circles around to cut off any escape. 

“I see it” he growls. 

—

At the end of the day, you spent the complete day hunting Heartbreaker, to just let him escape at the last moment. Well, you managed to recover the love letter they stole from the post office. You were exhausted, your muscles ached from the chase, the weight of exhaustion settling deep. This isn't how you wanted to spend a day with Sylus. You wanted to finish what you had started in the kitchen, to lose yourself in the heat of his lips, his hands, the way he makes your world tilt whenever he pulls you close. The initial mission of creating chocolate failed.

The cool night air brushes against your skin as you walk back where Sylus left his bike that same afternoon. Luckily you didn't have to go to HQ to make the report and you can send everything another day. Is already midnight. 

“Are you up for a joy ride?” Sylus hands you over your helmet. You can’t deny the way your heart beats at the sight of him. Leaning against his bike, smirking like he hadn’t just spent the whole day hunting down an annoyingly elusive Wanderer.

You’re brushing some remaining dust from your sleeve. “Where do you wanna take me?”

Sylus tilts his head that familiar glint of mischief returns to his gaze. “Guess” You sigh, finally slipping the helmet on. 

“Fine. But if this is another mission, I swear—” Right now, you just wanted to be with him, without missions, without distractions, without anything getting in the way. 

"Relax, kitten. No more running around tonight." He swings a leg over the bike, patting the seat behind him. “Just you and me.” You bite your lip, the familiar rush of warmth spreading through your chest. Maybe today hadn’t gone as planned, but with Sylus, it never really mattered. As long as he was beside you, it was enough.

You climb onto the bike behind him, wrapping your arms around his waist. He hums in approval, his hand covering yours for just a second before gripping the handlebar.

“Hold on tight.” As the engine roars to life and the city lights blur around you, you press yourself closer against him, letting the night swallow the rest of the world. Sylus increases speed, making you scream in surprise. Instead of telling him to behave in the city, you laugh and hold on tighter to his body. The speed, the wind and the heat he emits make you forget your disappointment of not having caught Heartbreaker.

{At Twilight BGM} 

After a while, Sylus parks the bike smoothly in front of your place, the engine’s low hum fading into the quiet of the night. But he doesn’t move. You frown slightly, shifting against him, your arms still loosely wrapped around his waist.

“Why are we here?” you ask, tilting your head. “I thought you would take me to your base”

He finally exhales a quiet chuckle, tilting his head back just enough for his voice to carry over the roar of your heartbeat. “Do you miss the N109 Zone?” 

You wait for an explanation, but he doesn't say anything. Instead, he lifts a hand, dragging his fingers over the back of your hand, a slow movement that sends a shiver up your spine. His touch is always so warm against your skin.

“Then… Why?” Sylus finally turns slightly, his glowing red eyes catching yours through the visor of your helmet. 

“Because you live here…” he murmurs a bit amused “And because I figured you’d want to finish what you started.”

You blink. “Finish what—?”

Then it clicks. The chocolate. Your eyes widen slightly, your mind flashing back to your kitchen, to the mess you left behind, to the small box of chocolates you had managed to salvage amidst the chaos. You had nearly forgotten. Nearly.

Sylus watches as realization dawns on you, his smirk deepening. “You didn’t think I’d let you off the hook that easily, did you?”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “I swear, you have the worst priorities.”

Sylus finally turns off the bike and swings a leg over, his movements smooth as ever. He faces you, leaning in just slightly. “Come on, kitten. You worked so hard on them.” His voice dips lower, teasing. ��And besides…” His fingers ghost under your chin, tilting your face up ever so slightly. “You still owe me for all those interruptions.”

Your breath catches, heat creeping up your neck.

“Okay, okay.” You step off the bike, brushing past him with a smirk of your own. “But if they taste bad, you have to pretend you like it.”

Sylus chuckles. “Sweetie, if it’s made by you…” He leans down, lips brushing against the shell of your ear as he whispers, “I’ll devour every last bite.” Your face starts to burn, is he still talking about the chocolate? 

You push the door open, stepping inside with Sylus close behind you. You get rid of your weapons at the entrance, placing your belt in its usual place, then you take off your shoes. The familiar scent of chocolate is still faintly in the air, mixed with the comforting warmth of your home. Your eyes immediately move to the kitchen counter, where the bowl of half-made chocolate still sits, abandoned in the rush of the mission.

“So much for finishing what I started” you murmur, rubbing your temple. Sylus hums behind you, moving into the kitchen with easy, unhurried steps.

“Guess you’ll have to make it up to me.”

You give him a dry look. “Oh? And what exactly do you suggest?”

He smirks. “We finish them now.”

Your brows lift. “It’s late.”

Sylus shrugs. “And? Isn't it Valentine's Day already?” He points to the clock in the living room. True, it's past one in the morning. You hesitate, glancing at bowl. It’s cooled but still workable. The strawberries you left soaking in cold water remain untouched. You sigh, rolling up your sleeves.

“Well, would you like to help me then?”

His smirk widens. “I thought you’d never ask.” 

You smile, pointing to the strawberries. “Dry them off and bring them here.” Sylus makes a show of complying, grabbing a towel and drying each berry gently off. You already know he’s skilled in the kitchen, especially with those delicious cupcakes he made before. It’s fun having him here, helping out. It feels real, everything, you’re feeling, your connection, your relationship.

You pick up a strawberry and dip it carefully into the warm chocolate you have already heated up, twisting it slightly before placing it on parchment paper. Sylus follows your movements, but when he dips his strawberry, he makes a mess; chocolate coating nearly his whole fingers.

You snort. “Wow. Truly an expert.”

Before you can react, he lifts his fingers to his lips, licking the excess chocolate off slowly. The way his tongue drags over his skin, the way his eyes hold yours the entire time. He did it on purpose. You look away. Heat rushes to your face. You glance down at your own fingers, chocolate smeared across your skin from your earlier work. Before you can wipe it away, Sylus catches your wrist, holding it up between you. His gaze darkens slightly, that playful smirk softening. 

“Let me….”

He didn’t give you the time to protest before his lips brush against your fingertips, his tongue flicking out to catch the chocolate. Your breath hitches, a rush of heat shoots through your body. He’s not in a hurry. He takes his time, licking the chocolate off each finger with a sinful kind of precision. 

“Sylus—” Your voice catches. 

His eyes meet yours. He likes to make you blush, to make you lose your composure. He loves every single one of those expressions you make and he never gets tired of seeing you that way. “Hmm?”

You swallow, pulse hammering in your throat. “…Nothing.” His lips curl at the edges. Satisfied. 

And suddenly, Valentine’s Day doesn’t seem so ruined after all. Without a word, he moves, stepping closer until you're pressed against the cool edge of the counter. He lifts you easily, your feet leaving the floor as he sets you down, your body flush against his.

“Where were we before?” You open your mouth to respond, but he silences you with a smirk, his fingers brushing against the strap of your hunter watch. You freeze. With a swift motion, he rips it off your wrist, tossing it into a nearby drawer without a second thought.

“Don't need this right now” he mutters, eyes back on you as if the watch had never mattered in the first place.

Your heart races. “Wait—”

But the words die in your throat as his lips descend to the curve of your neck, trailing soft, teasing kisses along the sensitive skin there. The heat of his touch sends a shiver through you, and your hands instinctively grip the edge of the counter, as if it can steady you against the flood of desire rushing through your veins. His thumb traces the line of your jaw slowly, savoring the moment. You swallow, the taste of his proximity is intoxicating. Sylus pulls back slightly, his face inches from yours, his breath mingling with yours as his gaze flickers to your lips. 

“What else can we cover with chocolate, kitten?”

You watch down on the bowl, if he is having fun then so do you. You dip your finger once more in the mixture and cup his face with your other hand, securing his position. Sylus just smiles. With the chocolate slightly dripping down, you painted a heart on his face. You always wanted to do this, but you haven't had the opportunity until now. You lean in, your lips brushing over his skin. Then with open mouth kisses you eat up the chocolate. Licking bit by bit the sweetness. Sylus breath hitch. His hands press on your thigh, restrained, as if waiting to see what you’ll do next. You pull back slightly, meeting his gaze.

“Take your shirt off” you say softly.

A slow smirk tugs at his lips. “Bossy.” But he doesn’t hesitate. His fingers move to the buttons of his shirt, undoing them one by one with a painfully slowness, as if daring you to lose patience. The fabric parts, revealing the hard lines of his chest. 

You dip your fingers into the chocolate again, your touch featherlight as you trace a path down the center of his chest, stopping just above his heart. Sylus exhales sharply, his muscles tensing beneath your touch. A teasing smile playing on your lips. 

"Are you trying to make art?" His voice is a low rumble. You grin, dipping your finger back into the bowl. 

"Maybe. Stay still."

He growls softly, like a domesticated wild cat, when you drag the chocolate-covered fingertip over his collarbone, tracing down his ribs in lazy patterns. In the middle of this action, you get a better idea, and you start writing on his chest. A little crooked, but clearly. Something that always comes to your mind every time you see him. Every time he kisses you, every time you melt into a long hug, when you sleep next to him or he just says your name. Then, suddenly, he catches your wrist, his grip gentle yet firm. His eyes soften as he reads the words scrawled across his chest. His smile is small, but undeniably warm.

"Kitten..." he murmurs, pressing a slow kiss onto your lips. "That's something I should be saying.”

“Did you think our competition was over?”

His hand sliding to the back of your neck as he pulls you closer. “Is this how…” He presses another kiss onto your lips, his voice low as he whispers against you, “...you’re going to teach me romanticism?” He moves his lips to your cheek, planting a soft kiss there as well. “I’m more than happy to be your student.” 

You try to pinch him, but Sylus is quicker, capturing your other hand as well. "Oh, now you want to punish me…"

You smile, a glint of mischief in your eyes. "Then be a good boy." For a moment he considers not doing what you say, but that "good boy" has made him very horny.

Sylus leans in, his body pressing between your legs. You sink your free hand into his tousled grey hair, pulling him toward you as your lips brush together. The way his breath mingles with yours is both comforting and intoxicating. The trust and complicity that you share with him is unique. The longer you're in this intimate position, the faster your pulse quickens, and you swear it's synchronizing with the beat of your lover. 

Sylus moves with an urgency that surprises you for a moment, his lips finding yours again, more demanding this time. His lips trail down your jaw, his touch becoming more insistent, more heated. You tilt your head, gasping softly as you feel the desire in his touch.

"Tell me," he whispers between kisses, "What do you want, kitten?" His hand slides up to your cheek, his thumb gently brushing the curve of your jaw as his gaze holds yours. You breathe out, every inch of you aching with the pull between you two. 

“You know what I want.” you whisper back. 

With a quiet, almost reverent motion, he lifts you effortlessly from the counter, your legs instinctively wrapping around him as he carries you to the bed, never breaking eye contact.  

It isn’t long before every single piece of clothing you were wearing is scattered across the room, discarded like thoughts of hesitation that no longer matter. His hands move with a gentleness that contrasts with the fire in his eyes, tracing slow, reverent paths over your skin. He holds you as if you are something precious, something irreplaceable, as if he’s afraid you might vanish if he lets go.

His lips follow the path his hands have mapped, pressing slow. His fingers skimming along the curve of your back, the dip of your waist, the rise of your ribs. 

"You’re beautiful" he murmurs, almost as if the words slip out without his permission. He leans back just enough to look at you, his gaze searching, drinking you in as if this moment might slip through his fingers if he blinks.

You reach up, fingers threading through his silver-grey hair, tugging lightly. “You always say that” you whisper, smiling softly.

“Because it’s always true” he counters, brushing his lips over your temple. You close your eyes at the tenderness of his words, the way they sink into your chest, filling spaces you hadn’t realized were empty. A quiet sigh escapes you as you nuzzle into him, feeling the warmth of his skin against yours. You have never felt safer, never felt more cherished than in this moment, wrapped in the arms of the one who knows you better than anyone else.

In the most intimate moments, in the intensity of your sighs, you know that Sylus, despite not expressing it in words, shows you his most romantic side through his actions. And tonight, he expresses it to you with the intensity of his gaze and the softness of his movements. 

Actions speaks louder than words.

[tojisun]

I would like to humbly more soup

(The one with detached reader and traumatized Simon that blurb was so tasty and ONLY only if you have the spoons for it ♡)

i have a ladle so have this

they share a cig together; it’s not even from simon. he found it in the drawers in their bedroom, stashed underneath a couple of CD’s that are only encased in paper folders. it’s an old pack with only four sticks left and they’re not even the potent kind, and simon realizes, then, that they have been hidden so carefully.

he purposefully lays them on the kitchen table, after dinner, to watch how she’ll react. it is, after all, still a breach of her privacy; that, sure, she opened her home to him but he knows, all too well, that there are certain corners in every house that are never meant to be prodded — apparitions made from memories live along too, and simon knows to be careful lest he rouses a nightmare from its burrow. he knows. he knows. still, he thinks about what he can coax from her, and chances it with the shadows.

but she just blinks at it, her eyes flicking between simon and the pack, slowly and cat-like, before heaving a sigh and reaching for her lighter in her pockets. simon hums, something low and curling with a quiet wash of disappointment at her impassivity, and moves to take a stick out from the pack, only—

a twitch in her fingers. a slight pause in her movements. a crack in the facade; a blip in her silence.

simon smells the blood in the water and pounces on it with snapping maws. he grins, careful, and utters, “y’don’t like it that i found them.”

he doesn’t need to ask when it is obvious that it is true.

she licks her lips, eyes meeting his, and simon wants to commend the way she was quick to gather her spillage and force it back in her mask, but her hands are still quaking, and her fingertips have turned light with how hard they are pinching the lighter, and simon knows that he’s won this one.

she knows it too. he sees it in the way she takes a ragged breath in; in her continued silence.

“they’re my mom’s.”

her voice doesn’t waver, it doesn’t break. it rings clear, like he just asked her what the weather was and she knows it is raining outside because when does the rain ever stop? but she is no longer looking at him, and simon—

he knows enough about the apparitions made from memories and pulls his hand away.

“i see.”

simon wonders if it’ll look too much like he’s licking the wound of his shame if he offers his pack instead, but in the silence of his words, as his own memories unfurl like miasma, she lights up one.

he devours the image she makes — the quiet ember flickering across her face, now smoothed off any storm — when she takes a puff. he doesn’t look away even when she passes the stick to him; doesn’t look away even when it is his turn to breathe it in, and for his patience, he is rewarded the sweet image of the smoke spilling from her lips as she collapses back to her seat with a soft upturning of her lips.

and, somehow, the night isn’t over even when they’ve finished the pack.

simon knows that this is the true victory.

[worthlessnepenthes]

So I reblogged this because it’s funny but then I thought about YQY for a second, and reblogged again so I could talk.

This isn’t going to be any new, profound thoughts for the fandom I’m sure but they’re new to me and I wanna talk for a minute.

I, personally, do not like YQY. I don’t HATE him, but I don’t like him. But I do feel sorriest for him, out of all the SVSSS and PIDW characters. I often forget that when he left SJ, he too was a literal child. Yes, he probably could have done better—told his master he needed help to save his brother, heck, told a fellow shidi or shixiong once he got to the peak. He was probably popular. I can’t imagine no one would have been willing to help him. But he was also a child, so I forgive him. He suffered and hurt himself, grievously, permanently causing himself a chronic condition in his attempts to get back to DJ. I don’t know that I think he did everything he COULD, but I do believe he did everything he THOUGHT he could.

And then Shen Jiu shows up, much like a feral cat, and constantly lashes out and hurts YQY. Their strained relationship is absolutely caused on both ends. It’s hard to say, ‘Well, YQY should have just KNOWN that SJ wasn’t going to the brothels to sleep with whores/didn’t kill LQG/wasn’t abusing Ning Ning/whatever other terrible things he was accused of,’ when SJ was, in fact, very verbally abusive and physically abusive to at least one disciple (lbh. Do we even get a canon reason WHY he hates him so much?), and verbally abusive to YQY, and to most likely many other characters.

However, maybe if YQY had actually stood up for SJ and said ‘No, this is a misunderstanding, this is not what happened,’ instead of just assuming that SJ had done whatever terrible thing and then covering for him in a sense of guilt, maybe things wouldn’t have been so bad. Or if YQY said, ‘take out your anger on me, it’s all my fault, but leave the others alone’. (It wasn’t, and SJ is wrong for acting this way.)

Honestly if they had ever fucking COMMUNICATED instead of just assuming the actual fucking worst of each other, while still deeply loving the other (in whatever romantic or platonic way they had, they loved the other) no matter whether they ever said it or not, a lot could have been avoided. Like PIDW YQY’s death.

Or hell, if Airplane had ever written about Xianxia mental health care instead of probably curing depression with papapa!

But the relationship between SJ and YQY is almost worse and more horrifying after SY comes through. YQY KNOWS it isn’t SJ, but every test they do show he isn’t possessed. So maybe it really is SJ, and all SJ needed to become happy was simply…to forget almost everything, but especially any time SJ and YQY spent together before they became Peak Lords.

So YQY is still trying to make it up to a person that he both thinks is there and thinks is not there, never knowing for sure. Every emotion he has towards this ‘new’ SJ feeling like a betrayal, ‘if only SJ could have acted like this before!’

Yeah. It’s really horrifying. He never gets the comfort of knowing for certain that SJ is gone, never gets to properly grieve and burn incense for him. But he also always feels just slightly off kilter with SY, and then feels guilt, because this is SJ! And even if it isn’t…what can YQY do about it?

YQY has many sleepless nights, wondering, after SY shows up.

I don’t like YQY, but I feel sorry for him. He is the most pitiful character in the book to me.

Shen Qingqiu, pissed off during a peak lord meeting: when I die I want Shang-shidi to lower me into the earth, just so he can let me down one last time

Shang Qinghua: bro c'mon

Yue Qingyuan, abruptly overcome by jealousy so intense that he's on the verge of a qi deviation: but I thought I was the one who let Xiao Jiu down the most...?

[ducktoo]

Cheeky

IVE’s An Yujin x M!Reader

Note: Thank u @mintwithchoco for the prompt! It was fun to write this! (I might have post it a bit early but It's a bit too fluff to rot in the jail-

Hope yall got enough dose of lethal Yujin. Here’s a cutie Yujin for yall

(Can this woman not make me blush every single time-)

You have heard many opinions about An Yujin through her online exposure. Gorgeous yet strict, a natural professional and one of the most popular idols in the business.

So when you got hired as a personal bodyguard to IVE, you knew you had to be in your best behaviour. You were expecting a professional introduction. Maybe a polite handshake, a simple exchange of names, and a respectful nod—just like how it had been with every other client before.

But no. Instead, the first thing you got was laughter.

Loud, unabashed laughter.

You had barely stepped into the practice room, clad in your sharp black suit with an earpiece securely in place, when Yujin spun around mid-dance routine, caught sight of you, and nearly collapsed from laughing too hard.

"Oh my god, you look so serious!" She practically wheezed, hands on her knees.

You blinked, your professional composure wavering just slightly. That’s not the usual reaction.

"...Excuse me?"

She straightened up, still giggling, and gave you a once-over. "You're my new bodyguard, right? Wow, we’re the same age, but you look like you’re about to arrest me or something."

Yujin wiped at the corner of her eyes and grinned as she strolled up to you, radiating the kind of unbothered energy that made your brow twitch. Well this is…going to be a pain.

"Well at least I do look the part, no?" you asked, straightening your vest as you clear your throat . "I’m literally here to keep you safe."

"Oh, I’m very grateful." Yujin smirked, stepping closer with a mischievous glint in her eye. "But I was kinda hoping for someone... I don’t know, scarier? You look way too nice."

You stared at her, unimpressed. "I can be scary."

"Yeah?" She raised an eyebrow. "Prove it."

You sighed and took a step forward, dropping your voice into a low, stern tone. "If you don't follow security protocol, I will personally make sure you regret it."

For a moment, Yujin's eyes widened, and you thought—just for a second—that she would actually take you seriously.

Then she grinned even wider.

“Ohhh,” she mused, stepping even closer, her face just inches from yours. “I like you already.”

You had a very bad feeling about this.

-

If you had known what was coming, you would’ve quit on the spot.

An Yujin, despite her public image of being a charming, responsible leader, was actually a menace.

If she wasn’t sneaking off to buy snacks at the nearby convenience stores without telling anyone, she was hiding behind doors just to jump-scare you. And the worst part? The other IVE members had joined in on it…but mostly Yujin.

"Come on, just one smile," Yujin teased one afternoon, poking your cheek while you stood guard by the van. "You've been with us for months, and I still haven't seen you laugh."

You exhaled through your nose. "My job is to protect you, not to entertain you."

"That’s so boring. How do you survive without fun?"

"By keeping a certain someone out of trouble." You shot her a pointed look.

Yujin gasped dramatically, clutching her chest. "Wow. Is that how you see me? Just a walking headache?"

You opened your mouth—because yes she was a giant headache to you—but she cut you off, suddenly leaning in way too close.

"What if I am your problem, huh?" she whispered, eyes glinting with playful challenge.

You held your ground, staring her down. "...Then I'll have to handle you accordingly, I suppose."

Instead of backing off, Yujin grinned wider. "I’d like to see you try."

Oh, she was insufferable. And unfortunately, you were stuck with her.

-

"You know," Yujin drawled, stretching across the couch in the waiting room like a cat in the sun. One arm hung off the side lazily, while the other rested behind her head, eyes gleaming with that familiar mischief. "I think you like me more than you let on."

You sighed, already used to her antics. "What makes you think that?"

Her lips curled upward, slow and knowing, like she had already won whatever game she was playing. "Because I'm fun. And charming. And incredibly good-looking." She struck an exaggerated pose, tilting her chin up dramatically like some kind of historical monarch.

Across the room, Wonyoung groaned, rubbing her temples. "Unnie, please. Have some dignity."

"You don’t want me to tell the truth?" Yujin gasped, clutching her chest in mock devastation, her mouth slightly parted as if she had just been personally attacked.

"I don't want you to embarrass us in front of our bodyguard," Wonyoung corrected, glancing at you apologetically.

You just shook your head, lips pressing into a thin line. "I'm used to it."

Yujin’s eyes flickered with amusement, but instead of making another joke, her expression softened just slightly—like she had caught something in your tone that intrigued her. Then, just as quickly, the mischief returned. "See? That's basically an admission that you enjoy my company."

You gave her a deadpan look. "That is not what I said."

"Too late, I'm taking it as fact." She stretched her arms over her head, looking far too pleased with herself.

You exhaled through your nose, choosing to ignore her. If there was one thing you'd learned about An Yujin, it was that engaging with her nonsense only fuelled her further.

But despite all her teasing and the way she constantly pushed your buttons, there were moments when she reminded you why she was the leader of IVE.

Like now.

Liz sat in the corner of the room, staring down at her phone with her lips pressed into a tight line. She was fidgeting, her hands twisting together in her lap—a stark contrast to the usual easygoing energy she carried.

Yujin noticed instantly. Her playful expression melted away, replaced by something steadier. More grounded. She pushed herself off the couch, crossing the room in a few quick strides before crouching beside Liz.

"Jiwonie," she called softly, nudging her knee against Liz’s. "What’s up?"

Liz hesitated before sighing. "I feel like I keep messing up my parts in the choreography."

Yujin tilted her head, studying her with an unreadable expression. Then, instead of immediately reassuring her, she took a moment. Just a beat of silence—enough to let Liz’s words settle before responding.

"You don’t," Yujin said firmly. "We practiced together, remember? You’re doing fine."

"But—"

"No buts." Yujin stood up, walked over, and slung an arm around Liz’s shoulders, giving her a reassuring squeeze. "You know what I told you? The best performers aren’t the ones who get everything perfect all the time. They’re the ones who keep going no matter what."

Liz still looked uncertain, but a small smile tugged at her lips. "You really think so?"

"I know so." Yujin grinned. "Besides, if you mess up, I’ll just mess up too. That way, we’re both in trouble."

"That’s a terrible encouragement," you muttered.

Yujin turned her head slightly, just enough to meet your gaze, and the glint in her eyes was back. The glint. The one that usually meant trouble.

"It’s called leadership," Yujin shot back. "Ever heard of it?"

You exhaled sharply, shaking your head, but you didn’t argue. Liz was smiling now, and that was proof enough that whatever Yujin was doing was working. She had a way of lifting her members’ spirits that was genuinely impressive.

Liz laughed, looking much more relaxed. "Thanks, unnie."

"Anytime," Yujin replied, patting her head before making her way back to her spot on the couch. As she passed you, she glanced up, smirking.

"See? I'm not just a pain in your ass."

"I never said that," you replied, but she only winked before plopping back onto the couch like she hadn’t just effortlessly reassured one of her members.

You sighed. Protecting An Yujin was exhausting… but you didn’t mind as much as you pretended to.

-

Your day off. A rare and precious thing.

You had been looking forward to it—no earpiece, no schedule to follow, no six-foot radius of hyper-vigilance around an overgrown puppy disguised as an idol. Just a quiet, peaceful day to yourself.

Or so you thought.

The realization hit you like a cruel joke when you spotted her.

An Yujin. Hoodie up, mask on, but you’d recognize her anywhere. The way she walked, slightly loose-limbed and confident, like the world was hers to navigate. The way she hummed under her breath as she glanced at store signs, completely unaware of how reckless she was being.

You groaned under your breath. Of course.

But before you could even question why she was out alone, without security, without backup, you saw him. A man. Mid-thirties. Dark hoodie. His posture was too stiff, his steps too calculated. He lingered a few feet behind Yujin, never overtaking her, never slowing down. His gaze flickered to her every few seconds, fingers twitching slightly as if waiting for something.

Your instincts kicked in immediately.

You followed her into a convenience store, keeping to the shelves as she strolled past the snack aisle. She had no idea. Her biggest concern at the moment was probably whether to get banana milk or iced coffee—completely oblivious to the shadow tailing her.

He lingered near the entrance, pretending to look at snacks but never actually picking anything up. His eyes were locked on Yujin, and his fingers twitched like he was waiting for the right moment.

Sasaeng. Your stomach turned cold.

You moved fast.

The moment Yujin left the store, you followed right behind. And just as the man reached out—

You grabbed his wrist. Tight.

A sharp intake of breath. The man's head snapped toward you, eyes widening in shock and irritation.

"The hell—?" he hissed, jerking back, but you didn’t let go.

Yujin spun around, startled. "Huh?—"

"Good afternoon, mister." You pulled her behind you instinctively, keeping your grip on the man. "I don’t know what you think you’re doing," you said, voice low and firm, "but walk away. Now."

The man scowled, trying to yank his arm free. "Who the hell are you?"

"Her bodyguard," you answered coldly. "And if you don’t leave in the next five seconds, you won’t like what happens next."

A flicker of hesitation. His eyes darted between you and Yujin, who was standing rigid behind you now, her usual carefree energy drained into something tense and alert.

Then, finally, the man sneered and yanked his arm free. "Tch. Not worth it," he muttered before disappearing into the crowd.

You stood there for a moment, making sure he was really gone, before exhaling.

And then you remembered the girl behind you.

"So…what the hell?" you snapped, turning to her. "Why are you alone?"

She blinked up at you, wide-eyed, still processing what just happened. "Uh…"

"You know how dangerous this is, right?" Your voice was sharper than usual, the adrenaline still running through you. "No staff, no backup, no security. What were you thinking?"

Yujin finally seemed to snap out of it, rubbing the back of her neck. "...I just wanted to go out for a bit. I didn’t want to bother anyone."

Your fists clenched, the lingering adrenaline making your chest feel too tight. "You call this not bothering anyone? You're lucky I decided to go out right now you dunce."

She hesitated, shifting on her feet. Then, in a small voice, she admitted, "I didn’t even realize he was following me."

You exhaled slowly, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"Yujin," you muttered, softer this time, "this is exactly why you can’t go out alone. It’s not about you wanting freedom, it’s about your safety. There are people out there who—" You stopped, shaking your head. "Just... don’t do this again."

Silence stretched between you for a few seconds before Yujin suddenly smiled.

It wasn’t her usual teasing grin. It was softer. Almost... grateful.

"You really do care about me, huh?"

You groaned. "That’s what you’re taking from this?"

Her lips twitched, and just like that, the mischievous glint in her eyes was back. She nudged your arm playfully. "Admit it. You’d miss me if I got kidnapped."

"Don't make me use profanity you—"

"Fine, fine!" She laughed, hands up in surrender. But then she let out a breath, gaze flickering down for a second before meeting yours again, more earnest this time.

"Seriously, though," she murmured. "Thanks. I mean it."

You watched her for a moment, noting the way her usual carefree mask had cracked just a little. The way her eyes, despite the teasing, held something like genuine gratitude. She nudged you playfully. "Guess I owe you one, huh?"

"More like you owe me about a hundred at this point," you muttered, finally relaxing.

Yujin grinned. "Then I’ll start by buying you lunch. C’mon, bodyguard. Let’s eat."

And despite everything, despite the fact that this was supposed to be your day off, you found yourself walking beside her, watching her laugh like nothing had happened.

-

You should’ve known saving An Yujin would have consequences.

Not in the form of a promotion or a bonus (though you wouldn’t say no to either), but in the absolute menace she had become ever since that day.

At first, you thought you were imagining things—the longer stares, the way her lips curled mischievously whenever she caught your eye, the subtle brushes of her fingers against your arm whenever she passed by.

Then, the touches became more deliberate. The teasing got more frequent. The closeness is more unbearable.

It was like a switch had flipped. Suddenly, your personal space was no longer yours. And the worst part? She did it so naturally, like she had always been this clingy with you.

Just like this one morning at the company building—

"Mr. Bodyguaaard~" Yujin sang as she threw an arm over your shoulders, completely ignoring the amused stares of the staff around you. "Walk me to the practice room!"

You exhaled. "Yujin, You know I’m going there anyway."

"But this way is more fun." She tightened her grip, practically hanging off you.

You gave her a look. "...Do you have to be this close?"

"Yes," she said simply, grinning.

It only got worse after a long schedule. You were expecting Yujin to slump in exhaustion like she usually did. Instead, the moment she climbed into the van, she scooted over without hesitation, settling in way too close before dropping her head onto your shoulder with a satisfied sigh.

Your entire body stiffened.

"What are you doing?" you asked, voice flat, not daring to move.

"Getting comfortable," she mumbled, shifting slightly as if trying to mold herself against you.

Your brow twitched. "You have an entire seat to yourself."

"But I don’t want to sit alone," she said simply, eyes fluttering shut. "You’re warm."

Across from you, Wonyoung and Liz exchanged knowing looks.

"Oh no," Gaeul muttered, covering her mouth to hide a laugh.

"I don’t get it," Wonyoung whispered, glancing between you and Yujin. "Since when were they this close?"

Liz smirked. "Since someone got rescued and suddenly realized how cool their bodyguard is."

You sighed. "I heard that, Jiwon."

"I'm glad you did," Liz cheekily shot back.

Meanwhile, Yujin hummed in contentment, completely ignoring the stares and the muffled giggles of her members. As if your shoulder was the perfect place to rest, she nestled in further, her soft breath fanning against your neck.

You felt heat creep up your collar.

"...Heavy," you muttered, shifting slightly.

"Comfy," she countered with a teasing lilt, her lips curling into a lazy grin.

From the corner of your eye, you saw Gaeul shaking her head. "This is getting dangerous."

Liz, meanwhile, giggled behind her hand. "We should start selling tickets to this slow-burn romance."

You groaned. Yujin? She just smirked.

Her clingy antics doesn't stop in the comfort of their dorm, unfortunately. Before their music show performance, you were standing near the dressing room door, waiting for the members to finish.

And then the door swung open.

Yujin strolled out like she was making a grand entrance, her hair freshly styled, her makeup flawless—looking every bit the idol she was.

And then, in one smooth motion, she reached out, grabbed your hand, and laced her fingers with yours.

Your brain lagged.

"Let’s go, mister!" she announced.

You blinked. "Why are you holding my hand—?"

"You saved me, so now I’m keeping you close!" she said cheerfully. "You're my lucky charm!"

Behind her, Leeseo’s jaw dropped. Liz and Rei had to turn away to hide their laughter.

"Yujin," you hissed under your breath, trying to pull away.

She only tightened her grip.

"Nope," she said. "Mine now."

You could physically feel Wonyoung’s migraine forming. "You cannot just say that out loud," Wonyoung groaned, covering her face.

"I just did." Yujin smirked, swinging your intertwined hands slightly, watching your reaction with delight.

Liz and Rei lost it, muffling their laughter behind their hands.

At that moment, a staff member walked by, did a double-take at your very obvious hand-holding situation, and nearly tripped.

You wanted the ground to swallow you whole.

-

You really should have been more prepared for this.

It happened at the airport, in front of dozens of fans, reporters, and flashing cameras.

You were walking beside Yujin, scanning the crowd for any potential threats, keeping a careful distance—when suddenly—

"Honey~!"

You froze. The world stopped.

Gasps. Shrieks. Camera flashes directly in your face.

Even the security personnel ahead of you paused.

Your entire being short-circuited. "What did you just call me?"

Yujin, completely unbothered, turned to you with an innocent smile. "Honey~" she repeated, her voice sweet as sugar.

Wonyoung, Gaeul, and Rei screamed.

 Leeseo was flabbergasted, with Liz quickly covering the youngest's ear from behind.

Even the fans were losing their minds.

"OH MY GOD—"

"WHAT DID SHE JUST SAY—"

"HUH?!?!?"

"YUJIN CALLED HER BODYGUARD HONEY?!?!"

"What. The. Hell. Yujin?!" Your ears burned with embarrassment. "Are you trying to make me headline Dispatch?"

"You take care of me," Yujin said smoothly, not missing a beat. "You protect me, you make sure I eat, you saved my life—so obviously, you're my honey."

"You cannot just say that out loud in public," you hissed, absolutely mortified.

"But I just did," she replied with a grin, eyes twinkling with mischief.

You quickly cover her mouth, frantically trying to damage control. "STOP!!!!"

At this point, Wonyoung had buried her face in her hands, physically unable to process what was happening. Gaeul was bent over, wheezing. Rei looked like she was watching the most dramatic plot twist unfold in real life.

A fan nearby whispered to their friend, "Do you think they’re dating?"

You nearly collapsed.

And Yujin?

She just tugged on your sleeve, eyes filled with amusement, and smiled. "Come on, honey. Let’s go."

And as you caught the knowing grins of her members, the delighted chaos among the fans, and the sheer horror on your own face reflected in the airport glass, you realized something.

You didn’t just save An Yujin.

You unleashed a monster.

[syluslnd]

HSJSISIS Request inspired by the recent event‼️it's also NSFW‼️What if reader was the one who got cat ears and tails instead of Sylus? And their VERY sensitive, I just know Sylus would be having the time of his life playing with them

۶ৎ────୨ৎ────۶ৎ────୨ৎ────۶ৎ

It started as a normal day or at least, as normal as life could be when Sylus was involved.

You’d woken up feeling… strange. Your body felt lighter, your senses sharper and there was an odd tingling at the base of your spine. But it wasn’t until you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror that you realized something was very wrong.

“What the—?!” you exclaimed, staring at the pair of fluffy cat ears perched atop your head. They twitched in response to your voice and your eyes widened as you noticed the long, sleek tail swishing behind you. “Oh, you’ve got to be kidding me.”

Before you could process what was happening, the door to your room swung open and Sylus strolled in, his crimson eyes gleaming with amusement. “Well, well” he said, his smirk widening as he took in the sight of you. “What do we have here?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, glaring at him. “Don’t even start, Sylus. I don’t know what’s going on but I’m not in the mood for your teasing.”

Sylus chuckled, leaning against the doorframe. “Oh, but how can I resist? You’re absolutely adorable like this.” He stepped closer, his eyes flicking to your ears. “Do they move on their own or do you control them?”

“I don’t know!” you snapped, your tail flicking irritably behind you. “and I don’t care. This is ridiculous.”

Sylus reached out, his fingers brushing against one of your ears and you immediately shrieked, jumping back. “Don’t touch them!” you yelled, your face flushing as a strange sensation shot through your body.

Sylus raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning devilish. “Oh? Are they sensitive?” He stepped closer again, his hand hovering near your ear. “How about this?”

Before you could react, he gently flicked the tip of your ear and you let out an involuntary gasp, your knees nearly buckling. “S-Sylus!” you stammered, trying to push him away but he caught your wrist effortlessly.

“You’re even more fun like this” he said, his voice low and teasing. “I wonder… what else is sensitive?” His gaze dropped to your tail and you immediately tried to step back but he was too quick. His hand wrapped around the base of your tail and you let out a strangled cry, your entire body shuddering.

“Let go!” you demanded, your voice trembling as you tried to pull away but Sylus only tightened his grip, pulling you closer.

“Not a chance sweetheart” he said, his breath warm against your ear. “You’re far too entertaining like this.” He gave your tail a gentle tug and you let out a whimper, your legs giving out beneath you. Sylus caught you easily, his arms wrapping around your waist as he lowered you onto the bed.

“Sylus, I swear—” you started but he cut you off with a kiss, his lips claiming yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. You tried to push him away but your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch instead.

When he finally pulled away, his smirk was back in full force. “You’re so feisty” he said, his fingers trailing down your side. “But I think I like you better like this completely at my mercy.”

You glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way your ears twitched and your tail curled around his arm. “You’re enjoying this way too much” you muttered.

Sylus chuckled, his hand moving to stroke your tail again and you let out a soft moan, your body arching against your will. “Of course I am” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “You’re absolutely irresistible like this.”

He leaned down, his lips brushing against your ear and you shivered as his breath tickled the sensitive skin. “I wonder… how much more can you take before you break?” he whispered, his voice low and sultry.

You opened your mouth to retort but before you could say anything, he gently nibbled on the tip of your ear, and your words turned into a gasp. “S-Sylus!” you cried, your hands clutching at his shoulders as your body trembled.

Sylus pulled back slightly, his smirk turning almost predatory. “You’re so much fun to tease” he said, his fingers trailing down your neck. “But I think I’m just getting started.”

Sylus pinned you to the bed with ease, his body hovering over yours as his crimson eyes gleamed with mischief. You squirmed beneath him, your tail flicking irritably but he only chuckled, his grip tightening around your wrists. “Now, now” he said, his voice low and teasing. “Where do you think you’re going?”

“Away from you” you shot back, though your voice wavered as his lips brushed against the sensitive tip of your ear. Your body shuddered, a soft gasp escaping your lips before you could stop it.

Sylus smirked, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you. “You say that” he murmured, his breath warm against your skin “but your body tells a different story.” He nipped at your ear again and you let out a strangled whimper, your back arching off the bed.

“S-Sylus, stop—” you tried to protest but your words dissolved into a moan as he dragged his tongue along the edge of your ear. The sensation was overwhelming, your heightened senses amplifying every touch, every breath, every flick of his tongue.

“Stop?” he repeated, pulling back slightly to look at you. His smirk was infuriating, his eyes glinting with amusement. “But you’re so much fun to play with like this.” He leaned down again, his lips brushing against your other ear. “Besides, I think you’re enjoying this more than you’re letting on.”

You opened your mouth to argue but before you could say anything, he captured your lips in a searing kiss, his tongue sliding against yours with a possessiveness that left you breathless. You tried to resist, to maintain some semblance of control but your body betrayed you, melting into his touch.

When he finally pulled away, you were left gasping for air, your chest rising and falling rapidly. Sylus chuckled, his fingers trailing down your neck. “You’re so responsive” he said, his voice dripping with amusement. “It’s almost too easy.”

You glared at him, though the effect was somewhat ruined by the way your ears twitched and your tail curled around his leg. “You’re insufferable” you muttered, though your voice lacked its usual bite.

Sylus grinned, clearly unfazed by your comment. “And yet, here you are, letting me have my way with you.” He leaned down again, his lips brushing against your ear. “But I think I can do better than that.”

Before you could respond, he dragged and poked his tongue along the inside of your ear and you let out a sharp cry, your body arching off the bed. The sensation was overwhelming, your heightened senses making every touch feel like an electric shock. You tried to push him away but your hands barely made contact before he caught your wrists, pinning them above your head.

“S-Sylus, please—” you begged, your voice trembling as he continued to tease your ear with his tongue.

“Please what?” he asked, his voice low and sultry. “Tell me what you want.”

You shook your head, your face burning with embarrassment. “I—I don’t know” you stammered, your body trembling beneath him.

Sylus chuckled, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s okay” he murmured. “I’ll figure it out for you sweetie”

He continued to tease you, his tongue and lips exploring every inch of your sensitive ears, each touch driving you closer to the edge. Your breath came in short, ragged gasps, your body writhing beneath him as you tried to escape the overwhelming sensations.

But Sylus wasn’t done yet. He moved down to your neck, his lips and tongue leaving a trail of fire in their wake. You let out a soft moan, your hands clutching at the sheets as your body trembled with pleasure.

“You’re so adorable like this” Sylus murmured, his voice low and husky. “Completely at my mercy.”

You wanted to argue, to tell him to stop but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, you found yourself leaning into his touch, your body craving more even as your mind screamed for him to stop.

Sylus smirked, clearly sensing your internal struggle. “Don’t fight it” he said, his lips brushing against your ear. “Just let go.”

And as his tongue flicked against the sensitive tip of your ear once more, you felt yourself falling, your body and mind consumed by the overwhelming sensations. You let out a soft cry, your body arching off the bed as pleasure coursed through you.

Sylus chuckled, his lips brushing against your ear. “That’s it” he murmured, his voice low and sultry. “Just let go.”

[kashverse]

hihi another request, can you do one where babykuna is spending a day with her uncle choso? it could be anything really, go to a park or play salon or baking or painting or even play dress-up! i could see choso making a custom matching outfits and kunapapa is just jealous he doesn't have a matching outfit with his baby girl.

thank youuu <3

if there is one thing choso understands in his line of work as uncle "chocho" to babykuna, it’s that every single day is a grind. not just in the business sense—no, no, no. this is the real world, where survival depends on working hard and playing harder.

and by "playing harder," he means getting absolutely swindled at the mall by a six-year-old and her unhinged ideas.

in the span of 24 hours, babykuna and choso now have:

matching deftones t-shirts—except the album cover of ‘around the fur’ has been horrifically swapped out with a 0.5x picture of babykuna's face, making her look like a cryptid mid-screech.

matching temporary tattoos—$20 per spray-on tattoo, an absolute scam, but babykuna had sparkly eyes when she picked out the designs, so what was he supposed to do? say no? ridiculous.

freshly painted nails—babykuna’s nails were pink with tiny skull stickers; choso’s were black with glitter. because, in her words, “you need to be sparkly and scary, uncle chocho.”

choso had just accepted his fate, proudly wearing his t-shirt and admiring his nails, when they walked through the front door.

enter sukuna.

sukuna, who had one expectation when his brother babysat his kid: to not be personally attacked by what he sees when he gets home. instead, he’s greeted by his daughter parading her new drip and his brother-in-law looking like a deftones fan who got lost in the hello kitty section of a hot topic.

“what. the. fuck.”

babykuna threw her arms up. "PAPA! LOOK!" she twirled around, showing off her custom t-shirt with her own terrifyingly distorted face. “we MATCH!” sukuna’s eye twitched. "oh, do you? huh. isn't that nice. isn't that—ABSOLUTELY UNFAIR."

choso blinked. "uh."

sukuna gestured wildly at babykuna, then back at choso, then back at babykuna. "why do you match with ‘chocho’ but not me?!"

babykuna gasped. “OH MY GOD, YOU’RE RIGHT!” choso, sensing danger, took a defensive step back. “listen, man, she—”

"shut up, choso. shut the fuck up, choso." sukuna rubbed his temples, betrayed. "first, my own daughter—MY OWN DAUGHTER—matches with my dumbass brother before me, and now you’re telling me that i’m the only one without a stupid ass t-shirt?!"

babykuna, to her credit, looked genuinely apologetic. “papa… i can make you one too?” sukuna sighed dramatically, dragging a hand down his face. "oh, now i get a t-shirt. now."

babykuna nodded earnestly. "yes! with an ugly picture of you, just like me!"

choso let out a quiet snort. big mistake.

sukuna turned to him immediately. “what the hell are you laughing at, you glittery dumbass?” choso, who now regretted his entire day at the mall, cleared his throat. “...nothing.”

sukuna exhaled through his nose, like an aggressive bull preparing to charge. "where’s baby? at least he wouldn’t betray me like this."

that was when baby the orange tabby casually walked by, decked out in a tiny version of babykuna and choso’s t-shirts, tail flicking behind him like a king among peasants. sukuna's soul left his body.

"YOU DRAGGED THE CAT INTO THIS?!"

[jiminomenon]

model! karina cheers assistant! reader up

pairing: model! karina x assistant! female reader

word count: 1k+

summary: y/n was having an absolutely miserable morning, and everyone—including jimin—felt the effects of her foul mood. snapping at people left and right, she wanted nothing more than to be left alone, but of course, jimin had other plans. unwilling to deal with a sulky assistant all day, the spoiled model took it upon herself to fix y/n’s mood—whether she wanted her to or not.

from my series: the devil wears prada

y/n knew it was going to be a bad day the moment she woke up. her alarm didn’t go off, meaning she had to rush through her morning routine. her coffee machine—her lifeline—refused to work. then, as if the universe was out to get her, she stepped outside only to be met with pouring rain and no umbrella. by the time she arrived at jimin’s penthouse, drenched, exhausted, and running purely on frustration, she was already dangerously close to losing her patience.

“you’re late,” jimin commented, lounging on the couch with a cup of steaming coffee in her perfectly manicured hands. she didn’t even need coffee that morning; she just liked the aesthetic of holding it.

y/n shot her a sharp glare as she squeezed water out of her sleeves. “gee, thanks for the observation, sherlock.”

jimin raised an eyebrow at the attitude but didn’t say anything. yet.

the day only got worse from there. y/n had back-to-back calls, urgent emails, and a schedule to fix because someone (cough jimin cough) decided she didn’t feel like attending a certain shoot last minute. every little inconvenience grated on her nerves, and soon, she found herself snapping at anyone who so much as looked at her the wrong way.

even the model herself.

“ugh, can you stop hovering?” y/n snapped when jimin followed her into the kitchen, watching her struggle to open a stubborn bottle of water.

jimin, who usually had a snarky comeback for everything, simply tilted her head. “you’re in a bad mood.”

“no shit.”

instead of getting annoyed like usual, jimin just hummed. “hmm. i don’t like this.”

y/n scoffed. “well, i don’t like today, but here we are.”

jimin didn’t leave her alone after that. in fact, she made it her mission to pester y/n. during meetings, she’d text her ridiculous things like ‘what if i got bangs? do u think i’d look hotter?’ or ‘i saw a dog today. it was ugly. reminded me of you.’ ‘go get princess that new limited edition cat dress from givenchy’

when that didn’t work, she started physically annoying her—poking her arm, pulling on the sleeve of her blazer, even stealing her pen when she was trying to write something down.

“jimin, i swear to god—”

“oh, look at that. you’re saying my name now instead of ‘ms. yu.’ progress!” jimin smirked.

y/n groaned, rubbing her temples. “what do you want?”

“you, but less grumpy.”

“not happening.”

jimin gasped dramatically. “so mean. what happened to my lovely assistant?”

“she’s dead. may she rest in peace.”

but of course, jimin never knew how to give up. later in the afternoon, she disappeared for a while, only to return holding—of all things—y/n’s favorite pastry from that overpriced bakery she always talked about.

y/n blinked. “where did you get that?”

“doesn’t matter.” jimin placed it in front of her. “eat it.”

y/n frowned. “why are you being nice?”

jimin rolled her eyes. “i’m always nice.”

y/n snorted. “you’re never nice.”

“and yet, here i am, doing charity work by cheering up my grumpy little assistant.”

y/n stared at her, then at the pastry, then back at her. ugh. she hated to admit it, but… it was kind of sweet. with a sigh, she finally took a bite.

jimin watched her expectantly. “better?”

y/n chewed, pretending to think. “eh. a little.”

jimin smirked. “knew it.”

y/n shook her head but couldn’t fight the small smile forming on her lips. maybe today wasn’t completely terrible. as much as y/n hated to admit it, jimin’s efforts were helping. just a little. but she wasn’t about to give the bratty model that satisfaction so easily.

jimin, however, was relentless.

“so,” jimin started as she plopped down onto the couch beside y/n, far too close for comfort. “what else do i have to do to make you stop sulking? want me to book you a vacation? buy you a new car? oh, wait—maybe you want me to drive you around in said car. imagine that, ms. assistant, getting chauffeured by me.”

y/n shot her a deadpan look. “why do you sound like a rich old man trying to solve his problems with money?”

jimin gasped, pressing a hand to her chest in fake offense. “how dare you? i am far from an old man.”

“you have the attitude of one.”

jimin narrowed her eyes. “you really are in a mood today.”

y/n sighed and leaned back, rubbing her temples. “look, i appreciate whatever you’re trying to do, but i just… i need some space, okay?”

jimin frowned. she didn’t like that answer. not one bit. y/n was hers to annoy, to pester, to keep close—space was not part of their arrangement. but instead of voicing her complaints, she stayed quiet for a moment, thinking.

then, out of nowhere, she got up and disappeared into the other room. y/n didn’t think much of it at first—jimin was unpredictable like that. but a few minutes later, she returned with something in her hands.

a blanket.

before y/n could ask, jimin tossed it over her, making sure it covered her entire body.

“…what are you doing?” y/n mumbled from under the fabric.

“i’m tucking you in. obviously.”

“tucking me in? i’m not a child.”

jimin scoffed. “well, you’re acting like one.”

y/n huffed, but she was too exhausted to argue. the weight of the blanket was warm and oddly comforting. she peered up at jimin, who was looking down at her with an unreadable expression.

“…why are you being nice?” y/n finally asked.

jimin crossed her arms. “you’re annoying when you’re in a bad mood. and if this is what it takes to make you stop being annoying, then fine. i’ll allow it.”

y/n gave her a look. “wow. you really suck at being genuine.”

“and yet, here i am, taking care of your grumpy ass,” jimin quipped back.

y/n rolled her eyes but couldn’t fight the tiny smile tugging at her lips. she sighed, finally letting the tension melt from her shoulders. maybe jimin’s ways were unconventional, but at the end of the day, she did make her feel better.

“thanks, i guess,” y/n muttered, barely audible.

jimin smirked. “huh? what was that?”

y/n groaned, pulling the blanket over her face. “don’t push it, yu.”

but the way jimin’s smirk softened into something almost fond did not go unnoticed.

“just rest for now, m’kay? be in a better mood when you wake up.”

[espresso1patronum]

Nine Lives, One Knight

(batman!gojo x catwoman!reader)

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

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

word count: 10.1k

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

Gotham was never silent.

Not even at midnight.

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

To some, the noise was chaos. To you?

It was home.

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

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

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

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

And yet—

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

Something you can’t see, but feel.

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

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

Too easy.

Too—

“Going somewhere, kitten?”

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

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

There he is.

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

Or rather—Gojo Satoru.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You stole something," he says.

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

"You know what I’m talking about."

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

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

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

Before he can move, you bolt.

And that’s when the rooftop explodes.

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

Shit.

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

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

You don’t fall.

Because he doesn’t let you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And they’re not alone.

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

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

"They knew you’d be here."

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

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

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

Cute.

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

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

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

And then—they strike.

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

Fast and efficient. Classic him.

You? You have your own way of doing things.

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

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

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

"Focus."

You grin. "I am focused."

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

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

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

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

You’re so close you can hear his heartbeat.

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

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

Then—"Move."

And just like that, the moment is gone.

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

It’s fast. Clean. Too easy.

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

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

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

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

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

Your stomach drops.

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

Shit.

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

And then— the rooftop blows apart beneath your feet.

Pain.

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

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

And then—falling.

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

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

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

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

Gojo.

Watching you.

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

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

His jaw ticks. "You were bleeding."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You need rest," he mutters.

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

"You need to not die."

"You didn’t answer my question."

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

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

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

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

"Just me."

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

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

"—then you’re already in too deep."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then— he shifts.

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

Almost—

But then, the moment shatters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Now that’s a challenge.

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

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

Liar.

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

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

You grin. "Awfully trusting, Bat."

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

You both know that’s a lie.

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

Shit.

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

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

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

You blink. "Show-off."

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

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

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

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

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

"Always."

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

Fast. Too fast.

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

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

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

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

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

It’s just you. Him. And a choice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fuck,” you breathe against his lips.

And then— he pulls back, barely.

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

The silence between you crackles like a live wire.

Then he swallows. “We can’t—”

You shove him off. Hard.

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

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

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

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

And just like that, it’s over.

Except it isn’t.

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

And there’s no undoing it.

Gotham’s elite love to party.

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

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

It’s your kind of scene.

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

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

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

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

It felt awkward.

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

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

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

Gojo Satoru feels you before he sees you.

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

And then— you walk in, dressed to kill.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Watching. Brooding. Jealous. Exactly as you wanted.

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

And just like that, he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then, you break it.

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

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

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

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

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

His breath hitches, barely audible.

For a moment, he doesn’t move.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His hand falls away. His walls slam back up.

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

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

"Duty calls, huh?"

His expression remains unreadable. "Always."

And with that— he’s gone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Darkness swallows you whole.

"Say that again."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet.

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

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

Someone took you. And that changes everything.

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

This is something else, something darker.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You take a slow breath and assess your surroundings.

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

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

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

"Ah, you’re awake."

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

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

Fushiguro Toji.

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

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

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

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

The words are casual, but your stomach twists.

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

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

Your heart skips just for a second.

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

Right?

Right.

Right.

…Right?

Gojo finds the first guy in ten minutes.

The second in five.

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

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

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

It isn’t a question. It’s a demand.

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

That’s all Gojo needs.

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

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

You won’t let him see you sweat.

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

He’s enjoying this.

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

Enjoying the way you’re waiting for something.

Or rather, someone.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Faint. Steady. Alive.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Gojo tilts his head, slow and deliberate.

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

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

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

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

He’s dismantling him.

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

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

There’s just rage.

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

This is Gotham. The corruption. The powerlessness.

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

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

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

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

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

"Let him go."

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

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

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

"Let’s get you out of here."

The silence is suffocating.

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

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

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

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

'"Satoru."'

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

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

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

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

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

"Let me see your hands."

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

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

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

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

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

That makes him snap.

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

But you don’t let go.

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

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

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

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

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

Or worse—hold on tighter.

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

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

The words hit harder than any punch.

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

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

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

You scoff. "Can’t, or won’t?"

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

"Do what?"

"Make this something it isn’t."

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

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

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

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

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

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

He knows he shouldn’t. But he does.

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

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

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

Because he knows.

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

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

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

And fuck.

Fuck.

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

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

And this time? He won’t fucking try.

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

You tell yourself it’s better this way.

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

But this time? This time, it feels different.

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

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

And that? That fucking stings.

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

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

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

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

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

And the next? You’re surrounded.

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

"Thought you were untouchable, sweetheart?"

Shit.

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

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

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

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

Satoru feels it before he hears it.

It’s instinct.

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

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

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

He fucking knows.

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

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

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

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

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

But then— a gun cocks.

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

Your blood runs cold because you know that voice.

Suguru Geto.

And that? That changes everything.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The USB.

Shit.

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

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

Satoru's close.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The third? That one’s personal.

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

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

It should scare you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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