#but oddly enough... they like it around her

[nosyp]

Hi Nosyp!, yandere player 120 (I don't remember her name) and fem reader.

Platonic, 120 is like an older sister to her.

(reader is the youngest of the team)

--🥬

Heyhi 🥬anon! Ty for the request🥰 and her name is Hyun Ju if you wanted to know

Title = Protective Bonds

Warnings = yandere behaviour, fighting,

Pairing = Yan! Hyun-Ju (Player 120) & fem! reader

Summary = Player 120, your older sister figure, has always had your back. When you're attacked, she’s there in an instant, her protective instincts turning dangerously possessive.

Word count = 1.5k words

The world around you felt like it was on the edge of breaking. Every day, you were forced to play a game you never signed up for. With each challenge worse than the last. But… amidst the chaos, there was one thing that survived loads of other games with you and that was Player 120.

She wasn’t like the others. Warm, nice, and caring, she had a presence that you adored. Despite being trapped on an island and forced to play sick games, she was still very caring towards you. Even though she had a cold and rough exterior, inside she was caring. She often checked up on you and teamed up with you for group games. She insisted on letting her go first or stuff like that since you’re pretty young. 

You’d never understood why she took an interest in you. Maybe it was the fact that you were small, quieter than the rest, or maybe it was just your sheer luck. Either way, she always made sure you stayed out of the crossfire, out of danger.

“Stay close,” she’d say, always with that same calm authority and warmth she had. “I’ll look out for you.”

Sometimes, you wondered if she really meant it, or if it was just her way of getting onto your good side, though you had no idea why. But no matter how much you tried to read her, she always seemed a step ahead. She was actually quite quiet, collected, and always vigilant. Everything she did was for you. Even if sometimes you didn’t realize it and how much you insisted you were fine, she still did it anyway. 

Of course, you couldn’t help but feel safe with her around, you could feel yourself starting to depend on her every second you spent with her. In a world where every ally, friend or partner could easily turn a quick 180, into an enemy, there was something oddly reassuring about having her by your side. She didn’t show much emotion often, and didn't let her guard down. But the way she always seemed to be watching over you. She kept an eye out for you when others or even you didn’t.

In this game of survival, you hadn’t realized how badly you needed someone to trust. Usually, the players that had no relationships or connections with others lost the fastest, especially in team games.

The tension in the air never eased, it was unrelenting. The games grew harder, the stakes higher, and every time you thought you could breathe, something new threatened to crush you. But she was always there for you. Hyun Ju moved strategically, aware of everyone and everything. 

You learned to trust her instincts over time from prior games with her. Ever since you got close with her, you started listening whenever she gave a command, even if it was just a simple ‘Stay close’ or ‘Follow me,’ you always obeyed without hesitation. It wasn’t just because she was good at what she did. It was because, in this game, she was the only constant. The only thing that made sense.

One evening, as you sat against the cold wall of the holding room, trying to ignore the anxiety gnawing at your insides, you felt a familiar presence beside you. 120 didn’t speak immediately. Instead, she just sat down, her posture slightly stiff and body alert as always. But there was something different in the air tonight. Something that made your chest tighten with unease.

"You look like you're thinking too much," she said quietly, her voice low and steady as usual.

You shrugged, though the weight of your thoughts was hard to ignore. "It's hard not to."

She turned her head just enough to catch your eye, her gaze soft but still intense in a way. "This game… It makes everyone think too much. Don't let it consume you."

You wanted to say something. Something to push the conversation deeper, to understand her better but the words caught in your throat. There was always this wall between you two, no matter how many times she told you to stay close or how many times you’d shared the same space. She was always so… distant. Not cold or anything, but distant. And that distance made her even more unknowable.

Suddenly, a sharp noise broke the silence. Fuck. There were heavy footsteps nearing the room. Your heart raced, adrenaline coursing through your veins. Without a word, Hyun Ju was immediately on her feet, her hand outstretched to you, pulling you up with a force that didn’t let you question it. There was no time to hesitate.

"Stay behind me," she ordered, her tone shifting, sharper now.

You nodded, heart pounding in your chest. This was different. The calm before the storm had ended.

The air was thick with tension as you followed her, hiding yourself behind her shadows. Hyun Ju was already positioning herself at the entrance, her eyes narrowed as she peered through the door’s small gap. Every muscle in her body was coiled like a spring, ready to react at a moment’s notice. It was a stark contrast to how she had been only moments ago. Opposite to her calm and collected side, now there was something darker in the air.

She wasn’t the type to show fear, but in that moment, you could sense it. Her every movement was precise, her eyes flicking between the door and you, keeping you close but not making it obvious. She viewed herself as your protector. And you viewed her as your protector as well. But even the bravest protectors could be afraid.

As the footsteps grew louder, you held your breath, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Hyun Ju didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. The command in her presence alone was enough to make you freeze.

The door creaked open, and a masked figure stepped inside, their silhouette barely visible in the dim light. Hyun Ju was already moving before they could even fully enter, stepping between the intruder and you without hesitation. Her body was positioned between you two, blocking any potential harm from reaching you.

“Get back,” she muttered to the figure, voice colder now and laced with authority.

The intruder didn’t seem to flinch at all, but they hesitated for a moment. The silence was deafening. Then, with a quick movement, they lunged. Hyun Ju reacted instantly, sidestepping with a grace that was almost unnatural. In one fluid motion, she grabbed the attacker’s wrist, twisting it to make the intruder stumble, causing their body to crash onto the cold concrete floor.

You barely had time to register what had just happened. She was fast, faster than you could even process or react. The air around you felt charged, crackling with a dangerous energy. Hyun Ju was not only a shield, but also a force to be reckoned with.

She stood over the figure now, her eyes cold but focused. “Don’t make this harder than it needs to be,” she said, her voice low, almost deadly.

The intruder groaned, but didn’t move, clearly having underestimated her.

You stood there, frozen. You had seen her handle fights before, but this was different. There was something almost predatory in the way she moved. Something that told you she would do whatever it took to keep you safe. Even if it meant crossing a line she didn’t want to.

But the thought didn’t last long. The figure, clearly realizing they were outmatched, scrambled to their feet, quickly backing off. With one final glare from her, they disappeared through the doorway, leaving you both in a tense silence.

Hyun Ju didn’t relax immediately. She was still poised, waiting for any sign that another threat might appear. You, however, couldn’t stop your heart from hammering in your chest. It wasn’t just the fight that had your blood pumping. It was the way she had acted, like your safety was the only thing that mattered to her.

She didn’t look at you yet, but you could see the tension in her shoulders slowly fading. It was as if the weight of the moment was only just starting to settle in.

"You alright?" she asked finally, her voice quiet, almost like she didn’t want to disturb the fragile silence that had fallen.

You nodded, though your throat was tight, unable to form any words at first. The reality of what had just happened hadn’t fully sunk in yet.

“Stay close,” she repeated, the calmness returning to her voice. “We need to keep moving.”

Her hand brushed your shoulder briefly, the contact so brief you almost thought you’d imagined it. But it was enough. Enough to remind you that, even in the chaos, she was there for you. The only thing constant in this maddening game.

Without waiting for a response, she turned, leading the way forward. You followed, still trying to steady your breath, but there was one thing you knew for certain. That was… with Hyun Ju by your side, you might just make it through this.

[befallenstars-archive]

*rubs hands together*

Here we are again, folks! Nyla writing and I am ready to yap about this~

Spoilers and lots of yapping under the cut!

...the way I can actually here him say this though? Word for word it feels like the dialogue is coming from childe himself. Which is genuinely amazing in my eyes bc I'm surprisingly nitpicky about dialogues in fics.

Childe, keep it in your pants. Goddamnit.

Okay, but I do think a small Kaeya hiding behind the reader and clutching on to the hem if their shirt is adorable.

"You find it absurd your mother could travel the whole of Teyvat with nothing but a knapsack slung over her shoulders and a pack of cigarettes but Celestia forbid you decide to do the same."

Mothers...this feels a little too accurate *sighs*

The pack of cigerettes is WILD tho—

Reader, trust Childe. The man has money. I promise you that. If you don't like people spending money on you, it's alright. But the man genuinely has enough money to spoil you a little.

Aweee, at least he's being considerate.

"Staring at your beloved so shamelessly?"

Listen here...

I was genuinely lost in reading as I do when it comes to good fics. Getting invested and all that. Then this guys cuts in with this? Had to suck in a sharp breath and stare at the ceiling before letting out a curse.

HOLD YOUR HORSES—

Okay, snookums did make me giggle. But the following words that left this man's lips had me going "sir??? Calm down???" Starting to feel the reader sleeps with one eye open around this man/lh

"We're not even dating" "Yet"

His insistence and arrogance is oddly charming at this point actually. Wait, we must stay focused.

"Now, there are no more stories."

...damn, I got sobered up real quick.

"They're going to make me a Harbinger."

And we get another bomb dropped mid-way. Yes, I know that he has always been a Harbringer but to bring it up...like right now???

"A Harbinger," you repeat incredulously. "A Harbinger?"

Valid reaction honestly.

Listen, I knew there was going to be slight angst. But when Character A changes in a blink of an eye while Character B is left grasping at straws for what happened and why something so significant has changed— my heart cracks a litlle as I curl up in bed while hugging a plushie.

The ending leaves a bittersweet taste on my mouth. In short, if this were a series I would genuinely be binging it and maybe even have it on my calendar when the author might update.

Actually, the shorter version is that this was so good that I just wanted to read more.

one step closer

cw. f!reader (no pronouns or specified anatomy), pre-canon, pre-relationship, childhood friends, slightly(?) obsessive behaviors, slight angst

pairing. tartaglia x reader

synopsis. your mothers always swore one of their children would marry one day, making them both officially sisters. but for now, they'll take ajax escorting you from mondstadt to sumeru to pursue your education

notes. a christmas present for my good buddy @hash-slinging-slasher-trash. an unexpected comradery was built up between us both this year, so let's have fun in the new year! they recently got into genshin this year and, unsurprisingly, they've been bagged by mr. 11th fatui harbinger himself hehehe

"You didn't have to come all the way here for this."

"And break my promise to my beloved aunt? Perish the thought!" Ajax gasps aghast, clutching his invisible pearls. "Besides, why would I miss a road trip with my future wife? The two of us. Alone." Playful blue eyes glance your way accompanied by an equally playful smile. You give him a pointed look and Ajax raises a hand defensively. The red insignia pinned to his shirt glints in the sunlight at the movement. "I kid, I kid. Just a joke. We can save that stuff later."

"Or never," you reply without missing a beat.

"I draw the line at waiting until after our wedding night."

"You're incorrigible," you groan.

Ajax can only laugh, eyes closed and grin wide. When he's like this, he's like the Ajax you remember from when you were children. The boy who unabashedly declared he'd marry you in one of your earliest memories. Your mothers were only too happy to indulge him, long since having their own jokes about how one day their children would marry and make them officially sisters.

That had been how many years ago now?

Too long ago to recall. You simply know it had been the first time Ajax's family had come to visit your own in Mondstadt. It became a yearly tradition from before either of you were born for your families to visit one another.

According to your mothers, they became friends your mother's first trip to Snezhnaya. You'd been raised on a healthy diet of your mother's travels, your mother telling them to you much like they were old folktales. She told you about the various shades of the thunder sakura of Inazuma. How she spelunked in Natlan with a few friends you can't remember the name of. Even regaled you with dramatic stories of Fontaine's Opera Epiclese where she witnessed trial and opera alike and what she swears was a love story bubbling under the surface between the Hydro Archon and her Iudex.

All of those stories paled in comparison to her most harrowing tale of surviving a month long blizzard that ended with less importantly, your father, and more importantly, your mother's now lifelong friend.

That was all took for their future families to be intertwined and for Ajax to be a present as constant in your as the bards of your homeland.

A summer in Mondstadt here, a winter in Snezhnaya there.

A Ludi Harpastum there, a Krsnik Noc here.

You distinctly remember Kaeya's first Windblume Festival after the Radnvindr's took him in. He was more quiet and would cling to the figures he found most familiar, you included. Ajax hated it. Unfortunately his complaints and intense nature only led to your coddling Kaeya more, scolding the ginger for being insensitive. Presently, Kaeya and Ajax's relationship has improved little.

Ajax has been there for many a life event.

Now here Ajax is, your official escort on the first day of your own journey. It was the only way your mother would relax about your finally leaving the nest. You find it absurd your mother could travel the whole of Teyvat with nothing but a knapsack slung over her shoulders and a pack of cigarettes but Celestia forbid you decide to do the same. It isn't even exactly the same!

At Ajax's insistence, your things were already waiting for you in Sumeru. "My men can take it ahead," he boasted proudly, reminding you of his recent promotion. "It's no problem at all, honest. Save your money!" Your protests were promptly ignored, your mother more than happy to save on the mora she would have had to spend mailing it otherwise.

"Ajax, I'm serious," you remind him for the millionth time as the Dawn Winery slowly but surely grows more and more distant. Even with Diluc and Kaeya's strained relationship, they both insisted on having a celebratory before early in the morning before you left for Liyue. You wanted your quest to be on foot as much as possible before boarding a boat that would take you from Liyue Harbor to Port Ormos. "I don't want you guys in uniform when you move my things in. I don't want to be known as the Fatui girl at the dorms."

"Relax, relax," his words due to little to soothe you. "Seriously," his tone shifts from impish to straight-laced. "I know better than anyone how the Fatui is viewed abroad. I know you worked hard to get into the Akademiya, so I don't want to ruin that for you."

You hold each other's gaze for a moment longer before you sigh in relief. "Thank you." Another beat passes before you say it again, "seriously, thank you. You didn't have to take time off to come all the way to Mondstadt. And it means a lot to Mom too. You being here helped her calm down a lot."

His lips relax into a smile that's small, "of course I'd be here for something like this. It's a big deal! You've wanted to go to the Akademiya since we were kids. Is Erna going to be there or is she still in Fontaine researching water vein flowers or whatever?"

You nod excitedly, "yeah, she said she wants to show me around when I get there. She's gonna meet us at Port Ormos." Another piece of the puzzle in helping your mother acclimate to your studying in another country. "She's only staying for the week though."

Erna, a cousin of yours had gotten in years ago leaving little Springvale behind to see the world beyond the wind-caressed hills you grew up. Busy as she'd become after getting into the Amurta Darshan, when she was able to come home it was her turn to tell you stories about a world you couldn't imagine for yourself.

The fanciful cafes with their majestic fountains, the smell of spices of a place called Treasures street. It's hard to believe you'll finally be seeing it for yourself after so long.

"Think she'll be happy to see me?" Ajax asks suddenly, observing you carefully as you

Your cheeks hurt as your smile becomes something forced. "Well," begin.

Ajax barks out a laugh immediately, "you don't have to lie, I know she's not happy I'm in the Fatui." He sighs as the last of his laughter leaves him, nonchalant and unsurprised. You wonder, not for the first time, what would be enough to make Ajax the young man shocked or hurt. Considering how you heard his enlisting in the Fatui at the young age of 14 had gone, you doubt anyone's reaction to his being an agent can get under his skin. "Not that Auntie is thrilled either. I suppose these are the struggles of those in the pursuit of strength."

You refrain from affirming his suspicions. Your mother isn't thrilled but she refrained from expressing the opinion knowing she had little to stand on when her former husband had been a Fatui agent once upon a time. "If that boy's own father couldn't keep him from enlisting, I doubt anything I say will make him change his mind." The next time you saw your old friend after his enlisting, he surprised you for a visit when work led him to the land of freedom.

For the second time in the past ten minutes, your eyes look at his the red insignia pinned on his shirt. He's a lieutenant now.

He's moved up the ranks faster than you can blink. It's expected, you believe, with how many of his letters recounting his many assignments and achievements he'd sent.

"Staring at your beloved so shamelessly?" Cheeks warm, you push him aside. The movement does little to make him budge and he laughs when you try again. "Sorry, snookums, that's not going to work on me anymore. Don't let my acknowledgment stop you. Stare away! I'm pretty popular, y'know. Someone'll steal me off the market if you're not careful! We should have the wedding the moment we get to Sumeru! Why wait actually, we should turn back now and head to the Church!"

Your eyes roll into the depths of the Abyss, "we're not going back to the City for a wedding. We're not even dating."

"Yet."

"And I wasn't staring at you," you ignore his jest. "I was just looking at your badge. You have a new one every time I see you." A new insignia with a new scar or two or dozen to match. He has a story for each one, remembering every occasion he's earned a battle scar with crystal clear memory.

You remember how he's the same boy whose father would take the both of you ice fishing, telling you stories of heroes. Stories of his own adventures before he settled down to have a family. You never had the patience for fishing but you loved that man's tales.

The hobby has lost its magic since your friend became a soldier for the Cryo Archon. Ice fishing is simply another form in which he trains, reflecting on battles past as he endures the bitter cold. Now there are no more stories.

Ajax gestures at your the chain around your neck where your Anemo vision hangs with pride. "It's a badge of honor, much like the one you have yourself."

It's not quite the same, you want to say. "We're already almost to Liyue," you announce instead, pointing at the small bridge in the distance. "It's hard to believe it's always been so close to the Winery." You remember how it was a test of courage when you were younger. Diluc leading the charge, he dared the rest of you to see who could walk the furthest into Liyue. He'd always been the winner, you, Jean, Kaeya and Barbara unable to match Diluc's bravery.

He's a far cry from the rambunctious troublemaker he used to be.

"One step closer," Ajax notes warmly, accepting your change in topics with ease. "There's a tea shop at the Stone Gate you'll like called Pop's Teas. We should sit there a while, you can see the whole of the Dihua Marsh and the inn we'll be staying at."

That brings a genuine smile to your face, "I look forward to seeing it."

A thinly veiled comfort of silence falls over you both grass and gravel crunch underfoot. Your hands swing between you both and from the corner of your eye, you see blue peering at you. The back of your hand burns and you ignore the feeling swiftly.

It's Ajax, simply Ajax.

Soon enough after you arrive in Sumeru, you'd be going your separate paths again. You studying the stars, him on whatever harrowing assignment he is given. A far, far cry from the children you once were.

"They're going to make me a Harbinger."

The silence shatters much like ice and you blink, blood suddenly as cold as the waters of your friend's home country. "What?"

He says it as casually as one addressing the state of the weather. You halt your steps right at the edge of the bridge that connects the land between Mondstadt and Liyue, staring at Ajax's back. "This isn't ambition talking either," he halts, chuckling as he turns to face you. "It's official. Once I go back to the motherland, there'll be a ceremony and everything. You're the first I've told."

"A Harbinger," you repeat incredulously. "A Harbinger?"

The young man nods, "the youngest in the history of the Fatui." It's said with subdued pride, only a dash of satisfaction. "Of course, this was all part of the plan to conquering this world so it's not that big a deal. I'm just one step closer."

You open your mouth only to close and open it again. Your hands clasp together, fingers fidgeting as you search for the correct words to say. Congratulations? Wow, you really will be wearing another badge the next time I see you. You're really moving up the ranks!

"Not happy for me," it isn't a question as Ajax observes your furrowed brows and hunched shoulders. You lower your head, finding a nearby cryo slime bouncing on the water's edge grounding. "It's alright, you don't have to be. It doesn't change anything between us."

"When is it going to be enough, Ajax?" Your question is quiet. "What happened to you?"

'Ajax went missing for three days this month. He had the entire household in a tizzy, that boy of mine!'

You remember receiving that letter after you recently turned 15 from Ajax's mother.

Ajax has wrote you religiously since he could hold a pen. That was the one month he didn't.

The letters that followed have never quite been the same. He's never been quite the same. His eyes are duller than you remember. His lust for adventure had turned bloodthirsty.

How could someone change so much in three days?

"This has always been me," Ajax tells you without much else of a reaction. "You know me, I've always wanted to go on an adventure."

"An adventure, yes, but never this," you shoot back, fervently. Back then, Ajax happily brandished a wooden sword and would declare he'd be the world's greatest adventurer. He'd join the Adventurer's Guild and make a name for himself, fight a dragon and give you all the mora he gained. "I just," you pinch your sinuses.

The only sounds between you are ones from nature.

The croak of a frog, the gushing of a waterfall.

Ajax breaks the silence, head on as he always has been. "We're still friends, aren't we?"

You look up at the man, looking at you with eyes a mixture of familiar and unknown. You used to be able to read them as easily as breathing. Sometimes you feel as if you still can. That he's still your Ajax, face round with innocence and wonder. Now he is as mysterious as the heavens themselves.

Still you release a breath and nod, "of course we are. You're still Ajax."

A smile spreads across his face again and he looks familiar again. "Yeah," with that sorted holds his hand out for you much like a knight. He always said he'd be yours, you recall as you accept his offer like you're children again. "I'm still me."

[lilacxquartz]

Those Late Summer Nights | Chapter 24

satoru gojo x f!reader x suguru geto

plot: moving to the city from a small town was no easy feat, especially to start teaching as a jujutsu sorcerer.

summary: coming to a conclusion, satoru makes an important decision that has indirect consequences for everyone else — trigger warning: dubcon, reader is not in her right mind

masterlist • ao3 • chapter directory • previous chapter • next chapter >

Chapter 24. Sweet Cinnamon

At a glance, if he really thought about it, Satoru’s life hadn’t changed all that much. He upheld his role within Jujutsu society just fine; he still went to work and trained relentlessly—just as it was all expected of him. His students continued to not suspect a single thing and as for his remaining colleagues—they didn’t either. After all, nobody outside of his once tightly-knit group of friends could ever suspect just what sort of secret he was hiding just below where he slept.

All of the horror—the suffering—remained unchanged because he had the cover of being the strongest. An important name. A respected figure because what could Satoru Gojo, the man who had the entirety of Jujutsu society wrapped right around his finger, possibly have to hide?

Nobody could ever guess that just below his otherwise unassuming home, there was you who slowly gave into the reality he had so ‘generously’ sculpted. It was insulting in a sense as you finally broke into the concept. The prospect of living life under his assigned conditions and what were otherwise, oppressive terms, no longer seemed that bad, especially since it had been long enough to become untrusting of the outside world to begin with. Everything was losing its appeal and the prison you once sought escape from, was starting to feel like home.

Suddenly, he didn’t seem so much like your jailer anymore—perhaps your cellmate—equally trapped in a reality that you both didn’t fully understand.

Maybe your resolve was just weak.

Satoru never thought so, oddly enough, which was why he chose to break you down slowly as opposed to the alternative, if you would believe him or not. Not that he would admit it, and especially not you, but this whole situation was grating on him, too. Maintaining the sudden severance of his once tightly-knit support network while simultaneously upholding the person that the rest of the world needed him to be was a tough task, after all. You wouldn’t get it, of course, so that much remained a burden for him and him alone. Any sane person would rightfully call him delusional at such a mention, because how difficult could it possibly be, to keep up the life that he was born into?

(He wasn’t just the strongest anymore—he was a mentor, a protector, a parent—but he was also the person that he was when around you.)

Satoru never expected to get away with it though, so much so that he didn’t account for it, but luckily for him, he was good at everything—even keeping secrets buried beneath the surface—even when the dirt kept coughing right back up at him.

You’d change.

You’d adapt.

(And then things would be right again—things would smooth out once more—everything would go back to just how it was, right? …Right?)

Satoru took a deep breath as he tried to justify his delusions, already feeling the negative aftermath of his deeply-rooted obsession. He didn’t understand why he felt this strongly about you if he was being honest, someone he once thought to be insignificant from who knows where—but here he was—losing his goddamn mind.

The only conflicting factor being, was Megumi, because where did you otherwise fit into his life when the boy was too perceptive to accept sudden involvement within his life?

You’d show up clean out of nowhere, supposedly accepting your role as the husk of someone you once were and the kid would see right through it all, somehow. The idea frustrated him a great deal, but if he could pull it off—then maybe life could become worth living again to the two of you—maybe you could learn how to enjoy things again (and not hit him with that wavering, blank stare). He supposed that for now at least, the bedroom could remain off-limits—at least until the prospect of Jujutsu High met him around the corner, come next autumn when Megumi would tear away for the campus instead.

Until then, he would be careful.

He should never make the mistake of perceiving Megumi’s indifferent state as ignorance.

That’s how he would slip up.

That’s how he would lose someone he considered to be his son.

Satoru in the meantime tried cooking today again, shoving the leftovers of what he had accomplished (or lack of thereof) into a stray container. Megumi was on his last day of school for the week and therefore, he had risked it considerably by bringing you up earlier—luckily though—the kid was out cold the entire night. Besides that, there were the festivities that he stuck around for, being begrudgingly sentimental towards such things. Such reluctance and even stubbornness reminded him both dearly of his old trio.

He thought about it often—just what sort of adult he’d grow into—for him to end up like his real father, Toji Fushiguro, Satoru thought would be a devastating prospect. Given the direction Megumi seemed to be heading though, it was highly unlikely. He carried a good head on his shoulders, likely due to him being a suitable model if he could believe it. Satoru gulped at the thought, not quite liking that payoff either, especially given what he was up to right now. The role he so masterfully played, only to be a facade in the end.

“Are the pancakes any good?” Satoru asked, watching the boy poke around the plate with his face scrunched up in disapproval.

Megumi was silently blunt—most found it to be harsh, but at least it was easy to tell what was appreciated and what wasn’t.

With a strained gulp down, Megumi replied in a slightly bothered tone, “Too dry.”

Satoru half-laughed, attempting not to feel dejected, but at least he supposed that it was honest feedback. “Yeah, I… I guess they’re not salvageable either, huh?”

“Maybe not,” the kid muttered in a curt, albeit polite tone, pushing the plate away from him and crossing his arms. “Why are you cooking so much lately, anyway?”

Satoru shrugged as he tried to force down the bites of food he made. He wasn’t usually bad at cooking, especially not with sweet things. Luckily, Megumi didn’t pick up on that or didn’t care about the intricacies of his personal life. For the most part, the annoyance seemed to come from being a taste-test guinea pig instead.

“I’m not sure—I guess, I guess… I guess I want to be useful?”

Megumi blinked, studying his guardian’s expression closely. “Useful?”

Satoru nervously laughed, patting the kid on his head. “You’re a growing boy aren’t you?” he asked, trying to spin it around, realising that despite him being quite young too, it felt like he was ancient when he tried to be relatable towards Megumi.

“You’re acting weird,” Megumi complained, rolling his eyes as he tried to get out of the kitchen by this point, hoping to leave whatever sort of forced banter was unfolding.

For now, Satoru decided to brush away the rejection and scooped up the remainder of the failed concoction into another container, intending to bring it down to you later—or perhaps he shouldn’t—not if he was trying to get you to like him… Then again. That look you had in your eyes when you saw the first snow, though? He knew that he had finally gotten somewhere. He just had to dull your spirit enough to make you appreciate the little things enough.

(The little things that paled in the grand scheme of what he wanted to accomplish with you.)

Satoru listened as the front door slammed shut, intending to leave soon himself. A decision formed in his mind as he considered the process of everything else. He would go through the day as normally as possible, arousing no suspicion at all. He’d teach, he’d piss everyone else off at the faculty all the same and then finally, he’d head home.

Movie nights were always a hit or a miss for you, but this time he would try again, letting you take the lead. He’d get your favourite snacks and your favourite drinks, and let you choose a film out of a variety this time. He wouldn’t try and force you into anything this time either, not anymore—or at least—not like that. Maybe, just maybe, if you were able to feel like you had even a semblance of control (however false it was), then you would finally understand the big picture of what he was trying to paint.

~~~

With the rest of the world fast asleep and with Megumi staying over at a trusted babysitter; Satoru lowered himself into the basement at long, long last. The sight was something he had barely gotten used to by this point, though. Would you even believe him if he told you that he doesn’t actually like seeing you cooped up like that? That he hated that sort of, vacant and surely dead-inside look you gave him daily—nightly—whenever it was. He wanted something different—perhaps those eyes that glinted with hope when you were back in your small town with him at your side, not whatever this was—whittled down to something blank, the sparkle put out and faded.

(Unless he could rekindle it.)

(That was the sort of hope he held onto for both of your sakes.)

The stairs creaked and your body twitched, but you didn’t make an effort to acknowledge him. Satoru softly sighed at such a thing, waiting for the dreaded question to finally surface, the answer on his lips already threatening to escape.

False freedom was what he could give you—but you could never go home.

And yet, just as the words left your lips, the question was something different.

“Can we go up and look at the sk—” you began, only for him to cut you off before you finished with the mention of his, “—never.”

A tense silence brewed between the two of you and the implications hung heavy in the thick, almost stagnant air. Satoru for once, hesitated, unwinding his bandages clean from his eyes and finally dimmed the blinding fluorescents into something more bearable, at long, long last. The shadows were at last allowed to settle and a new look in your eyes formed at the gifted low light—not just relief, but acceptance too—the look of someone defeated, ready to surrender.

He took a deep breath and settled the plastic bag full of snacks and the like down before where you sat, before sitting down right next to you. Satoru considered extending an arm out to reach and pull you in close—to touch you—but he refrained. Nothing forced, he told himself, even if it was too late to go down that approach. He knew himself, that what he was doing was fucked up, but also, he never wanted for it to be this way. Or at least that’s what he kept telling himself. Something about Suguru getting to you first and in secrecy, too, had triggered a darker side of him that he didn’t know he had—that he potentially didn’t want to understand. Maybe it was never about sharing what his friend had to begin with, maybe he would have been fine with it from the start. Maybe it was simply just because…

(Did he even know the real reason?)

It was simply just because Suguru saw something in you that he couldn’t.

Or?

No, that couldn’t have just been it. Or at least, it couldn’t have been the full truth. Think, Satoru, think. There was something deeper—more volatile.

At first, Satoru thought that Suguru was reaching. You were a pretty face, right? Maybe he wanted something passive or casual, that much was fine, but he could read him perfectly well. From the moment you disclosed what you did at the table from the very first time you met, something potentially very dangerous triggered for Suguru. He had seen that look in his eyes before, way back then, right when he was at the cusp of falling off into the deep end—right before he stopped himself.

Perhaps he should have seen the signs earlier on; what with the lacking interest of who it was that they, as sorcerers, should be protecting and how to do it.

(No, no. He got it.)

It was simply because, instead, Suguru saw a familiar darkness within you that he used to bring closer to justify the means.

Whereas you just wanted to move on—to reduce the negativity—to prevent the darkness from consuming you.

(Maybe it was that… Satoru wanted it too?)

Satoru took a deep breath, drinking in the silence. He thought back to hearing about that murder in your old town, recognising the name immediately—the follow-up to a recently connected killing of a civilian but also, his own family too. He remembered that dysfunctional home; the tough crowd that he had to face and yet, it still made him feel weird, but at the same time… not that he wanted to justify the crimes of his friend, he kind of got it. Or at least, he was starting to.

It was however wrong of him to share that information with you in that way, so for that reason, he had to do better. The abduction should never be forgiven, that much was perfectly fine and even something he accepted, but, he would at least try to help you move on.

Away from the negativity.

Away from jujutsu society.

Away from Suguru.

And into a fabricated life, yes, but… he would give you everything he could beyond that and never force anything ever again.

(Was that much such a delusional hope?)

Before that could happen though, he had to understand something. He reached out into the bag at his feet and took out two drinks of something citrusy, pulling at the tab before handing you the other one.

“Hey, [name]?” Satoru asked, locking his eyes on the same wall you focused on.

You turned your head ever so slightly but didn’t answer.

Satoru continued anyway, “Tell me what really happened back then—the part of the story that you didn’t tell. I know that Suguru knows because otherwise he wouldn’t have done what he… I guess… I’m just trying to understand something.”

Your lips parted a little, trying to bring yourself to tell the truth again. A part of you wondered why he was bringing this up now. Maybe he was just curious, or maybe he was trying to conduct his own investigation as to why his good friend went off the deep end. Whatever the reason, you gave in a second time.

You started off the same way, just like before, reciting it just as clearly as you did for Suguru back then. You watched his reactions as you spoke, watching his once curious expression slowly morph into something shaper—something with a different sort of edge to it. Perhaps it was vulnerability, realisation, or both. It faded quickly whatever it was, quickly twisting into anger, perhaps even self-blame because just like Suguru, Satoru at long, long last, finally understood why you were as dangerous as you were.

A product of the very humanity they were assigned to protect, yet so horribly scarred from it.

Satoru tensed as you finally finished up and for a good, long while, he didn’t say a single thing, but then when he broke the silence, he surprised you instead.

“Did you mean to say that you want to go look at the sky, earlier?” he asked, his voice so tender, so raw.

You didn’t have to think twice. “Yes.”

He sat up, stretching out his stiff limbs from their once compacted position, and looked around. Maybe the basement was a bad idea from the start. Maybe giving into the whole estate was. Satoru sucked at his teeth as he made another internal decision, leaving the bag behind and leading you up, flicking the lights off and all of the suspicion be damned, the change was going to start now. He led you up to the roof, letting you lean against the railing to look at the starts, and for just a minute, he left you all alone to step just out of earshot to make a call.

He was going to change things. Isolation was never it. The fucking penthouse was never it. He finally got it. He’d make arrangements for somewhere else, perhaps exactly as Suguru planned and Megumi would go to high school as normal come the end of the next summer. It hurt, but the person he left him behind with was trusted and eventually, he would return—but first—whether it was the wrong way to do it, he was going to make things right. You’d live somewhere far away from the literal prison he had wrongfully confined you to and he would mend things from there on.

(Not quite realising that it was another format of the very same thing he had otherwise inflicted, convincing himself that it was different this time.)

Satoru scoffed again as he finalised those decisions, internally berating himself.

He should have given you that chance from the start.

He shouldn’t have let Suguru poison your mind.

He shouldn’t have succumbed to a moment of weakness back in the classroom—fuck—what exactly did he do, when he…

The cataclysm, indeed.

He was simply just the rain that followed after the clouds, and you, the storm.

~~~

After a moment, you headed back down with Satoru from the moment that it got too cold. Your fingers found themselves curling against the clothes that he wore. It was already deep into the dead of winter, but you tried to tolerate more than you could, thinking that this was your last time seeing the sky—even if it was dark—you pushed yourself more than you could.

However, as Satoru guided you into the bedroom and sat you down, suddenly seeming so awkward, so tender; the sass and the confidence gone from his usually proud demeanour, he revealed the person that he kept hidden beneath the surface so well—from the world, from his friends, from everyone—although now, at least not to you.

For what was below strength, also lay weakness.

Satoru tugged you towards him, pulling you deep into his chest, enveloping you with his body as though to shield you from the rest of the world. With his grip and the hurt that coursed through his veins, he radiated a deep anger, feeling something beyond just regular sadness consume him. He held onto you so tight, so longingly, so desperately.

“I’m sorry,” he muttered quietly on a loop, his chin resting atop your head, “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry—”

For whatever reason, you gave in. You needed to be held softly for a change—to for once, be listened to. You gave in. You knew you shouldn’t have, but…

His fingers traced their way down to meet your jawline, gently pushing you up to meet with his eyes, so purely blue and crystalline. Satoru’s lips then crashed against yours, his breath hitching—yours too—when you for once, reciprocated it for a change. You were breaking. He was breaking. His lips tasted of sweet cinnamon today, of burnt sugar, of something sweet. He wouldn’t let you go, pulling you up, for once, trying to read into what you wanted for a change.

Delicately, his touch found its way in between your legs, snaking the path down to meet at a certain point. His movements were clumsy—inexperienced—his motions out of rhythm; but, god, he tried. You deserved to feel good for a change, after all. For a moment he stilled, realising that he was only prolonging the cycle, but then—a shudder, no—a moan slipped through your lips and just like that, the addiction returned in full blast, straight like morphine into his system.

Grinding into his touch felt foreign but you did so anyway, circling your hips ever-so-slightly to guide the pace. Satoru picked up just fine, moving to hover over you after a heated moment, as gently as possible trying to read into your body language, pushing apart your legs from the second that he felt no resistance. In an anticipated rush of nerves, he fumbled with his own clothes, plunging his aroused length into the apex of your cunt, burying himself deep inside, pistoning himself with almost manic fervour.

Satoru hilted himself again and again, his breath catching in his throat as ragged gasps barely trickled out of his lungs. You felt so good with your legs wrapped around him like that, sinking him fully into you like an anchored weight—so capsizing and devastating and yet—

Embracing the storm, you allowed him to rut into your core like a man crazed, peppering you with sloppy, open-mouthed kisses all the while. His momentum felt slick, somehow not painful like all of those times before, and yet—charged with something dangerous—so raw and apologetic, finally feeling something from you that wasn’t despair. You kissed him again, letting the taste of cinnamon linger.

Satoru, to your surprise, however, wept into the pillow beside you, dampening your hair in the process. Oceanic blue eyes that flooded—pounding into you with fresh regret, yet at the same time wishing to forget about all that he had inflicted—that he was, actively inflicting; telling himself that it was all okay this time because you were finally giving in.

(Even though, surrendering to a broken state of mind wasn’t the answer.)

“Does this feel good?” he asked as his voice cracked, sounding muffled as he strained into the pillow, partially obscured by your hair.

Your breath locked in your throat as you tried to respond, rolling whimpers that bordered on whines filling the silence instead. You did feel good, but you also didn’t, but you also did. Satoru pushed the advantage, misinterpreting the breathless silence as something positive—you were enjoying yourself, right? At least for now, everything was okay, he was okay, and nothing mattered—

Satoru stilled all of a sudden, feeling himself grow close. His fingers moved quicker that time, tracing feverish laps around your clit, reducing your lower half to a violent tremble, feeling your legs give in from underneath him; the chorus of your voice looping in a short-winded symphony and finally, you came undone at long, long last.

A wave of pleasure imploded within you, collapsing from the very moment it coiled, but beyond that, something felt wrong. So terribly wrong. Like a sudden wave of clarity had washed over you, regret settled into the depths of your heart and soul. The weight of what you gave into playing heavily, leaving you feeling like a woman drowned. You didn’t fight back this time though, realising that you were closer to freedom than ever before—all you had to do now was to hold on a little longer—to give in, to surrender—so that the starry nights could become sunrises forever more.

Satoru finished with a final loaded thrust, driving himself with a wailing conclusion. His head dropped forward, resting his forehead against your own and after a while, he pulled out at long last, not caring about the cleanup for a change, rather just… enjoying the afterglow of the moment.

A hint of worry started to consume him though.

What if your admission of surrender wasn’t real?

As you both drifted off to sleep, he held onto you even tighter than before, hoping, even praying, that this wasn’t the case at all, and yet…

Nevermind.

He would make it right again, because, at this point, he had to.

~~~

In the meanwhile, days later after the call with Yuki went through and the hope had planted itself, Shoko received a phone call to her personal cell from an unfamiliar number. Practically tearing out of the med bay within a flash, she quickly locked herself in a nearby supply closet with her back pressed against the door, shutting out the world just in case.

With a tentative hand, she pressed the phone against her ear, expecting to hear words of comfort, her heart dropping from the moment she heard Yuki talk.

“It’s me,” Yuki greeted, her words sounding tense. “We might have a problem.”

Shoko’s breath hitched, already sensing something terribly wrong.

“A problem?” she asked, trying to keep a composed tone.

“Yeah, I, uh,” Yuki continued, “I had a mole check over the estate posing as a housemaid and, “he’s not there Shoko.”

Shoko’s voice faltered. “What do you mean?”

“His home was picked clean, it’s empty,” she added, trying to break the news in as delicately as possible, yet in words that begged understanding, “she asked around, but it turns out that she didn’t need to—they’re keeping it a secret for now, but—Satoru Gojo is gone.”

How could she be so close and yet somehow so far away from it all? For her to have devised a plan that might just work and yet, Satoru flipped the tables all over again. Was this intentional? Her mind raced, yet nothing stuck.

For a moment, it felt like time went still.

What kind of cruel fucking joke was this?

And more importantly, what did that mean for you…?

[bueckersstuff]

REMEMBER

PART ONE

Pairing: Paige Bueckers x Reader

Genre: Childhood friends, separation, amnesia, angst, slow burn, smut, romance.

Description: Dead eyes, pale skin, no memories. Returning to Minnesota convinces your father that it might be for the best. The familiarity of everything, he says, might help. But you have no recollection of living a life here, except for the old basketball court just around the block from your home. And somehow, you find yourself walking aimlessly toward it, wasting your remaining time sitting on the rusted metal bench. No one comes here. Yet, you feel like you're being watched.

Then, one sunset, a vehicle abruptly stops in the distance. A woman with blonde hair steps out. Blue eyes, glowing skin... and suddenly, your brain snaps. Memories.

You almost feel happy, hopeful that you can regain your lost memories. But when you look into her eyes, all you see is hatred.

Chapter 1: Snapshots of Memories

"Are you ready, honey?" Steven, your dad, asks for the nth time today. You’re packing up all your things because you're going back to Minnesota, your hometown. "It's for the best," your dad says. And, with your current state, you're in no position to negotiate.

You haven’t looked in a mirror for the past three years, but one glance at your arms tells you that you've become skinny—like, malnourished-skinny. Gone is your rosy complexion, replaced with deathly pale skin. You could pass as a vampire, minus the fangs. Plus, you feel like a shell, void of any memories. The only memories you have are from three months ago—waking up in a hospital bed, with your dad hysterical and shaking from exhaustion, and maybe from the happiness of you finally waking up.

Apparently, you learned that you were involved in a traumatic car accident. Your mom, Emma, was the driver, and you were in the passenger seat. Sadly, she didn’t make it. After hearing that, you kind of want to hit your head for not recalling anything about your own mother. You feel guilty and weirded out that you can’t even feel sad, hurt, or broken when learning about the loss—because you couldn’t even put a face to the name your dad calls his beloved wife.

"Yes, Dad. Are you?"

And now, three months later, you're leaving and moving states.

Minnesota

You arrived at last. It was a cozy home, with your nice room, and you saw things and trinkets a 12-year-old might own. You're 22 now, you think to yourself. That’s what your dad tells you—he showed you your documents. You're a senior college student, majoring in Civil Engineering. Ironic, considering you're supposed to be so smart, and now you're just… meh.

You went down to the living room and saw your dad unpacking other things, so you told him you were going to head out and check the premises. There was this gnawing feeling inside you when you passed by that old, abandoned basketball court. You couldn’t quite put your finger on it, but it was the only thing that felt familiar.

And then it became a habit. Every day, you walked toward the court, your mind empty, then sat there for a couple of hours until the dark started consuming your vision, and you’d know it was time to go home. Your dad noticed your strange behavior but, oddly, didn’t comment on it—he just smiled.

One morning, while eating breakfast with him, you asked:

"Did I play basketball before?" You felt so drawn to it, but not enough to buy a ball and actually play.

"No, you preferred swimming. You liked to excel in areas where physicality and aggression weren’t present. You liked to draw, you could sing, not sure if you danced though, but definitely swimming. That was your therapy," he said, a faraway look in his eyes.

"So, why was I drawn to that place? It’s the only familiar thing here."

"Oh, honey. I did say you didn’t play, but you loved to watch someone who did."

Your heart stopped upon hearing that. I used to watch someone play basketball in that court? Is that it? Was it special?

"Who, Dad?" Your heart was thumping.

"A friend, honey. But I think she’s not around here anymore," your dad said with a sad smile, followed by a sigh.

"Oh." That was all you could say. What a wasted opportunity to regain my memories.

Days passed, and you slowly adjusted to your new life. You read through your past documents, searching for articles that might be crucial to your development. On your free time, of course, the basketball court became your personal meditation place. But ever since that conversation with your dad, coming here felt like you were being watched. You were certain no one was close enough to actually be watching you, except for the passing vehicles on the block. You thought you were just being paranoid.

Until one sunset, a car abruptly stopped in the distance. You turned your head, thinking there might have been an accident because of how loud the screeching of the tires was. But then, you saw a woman with blonde hair step out—blue eyes, glowing skin—and suddenly, you were holding your head because it hurt. Snapshots of memories flooded your brain, all with the same description of the woman, but with no face.

Once the pain subsided, you finally felt hopeful and happy that someone might hold the key to your memories. But when you came face to face with the woman—eye to eye—all you saw was hatred.

Dad, is she the friend?

[pinkskiessss]

LACY - chapter 3

Warnings: Language

Paige Bueckers x oc

A/N: Last chapter for tonight :)

Laylas perspective

The silence in the car felt heavy, to say the least. Layla couldn’t shake the feeling that something was different tonight between them. She wasn’t sure if it was the late hour, the strange turn of events, or the quiet, palpable tension between her and Paige. They had only really talked today, but now, being alone in the car with Paige, Layla felt oddly aware of every small movement Paige made—how her fingers held on the steering wheel, how her blue eyes flicked to Layla every so often.

“So, have you eaten yet?” Paige’s voice broke the silence, a casual question that was somehow comforting.

Layla glanced at her phone again, checking the time. “It’s 1 AM, Paige. What’s even open?”

Paige laughed lightly, her eyes glancing at Layla before focusing back on the road. “Fair. But I was thinking we could cook something. It’s not like we have anything else to do bro.” As if it’s not 1 AM.

Layla stiffened slightly at the suggestion. She liked things a certain way, and cooking this late wasn’t exactly part of her usual routine. Her apartment was always neat and organized—everything in its place. The thought of being in someone else’s space, cooking at this hour, was a little unsettling. But Paige’s easygoing tone made it seem like no big deal. “You want to cook at 1 AM?” Layla asked, her voice a little more hesitant than she intended.

Paige shrugged, her fingers still tapping on the wheel. “Why not? We’re not getting any sleep tonight anyway. Plus, I don’t know about you, but I’m literally starving.”

Layla bit her lip, glancing out the window. She wasn’t exactly hungry, but the idea of disappointing Paige seemed worse. “I guess you’re right. I could eat something.”

Paige pulled into the parking lot of her own dorm building, and Layla felt a knot of uncertainty in her stomach. She had never been to Paige’s dorm before, after all, they didn’t like eachother less than 48 hours ago. The building was quiet, and Layla’s mind raced as she tried to prepare herself for whatever might come next. She wasn’t exactly used to being so… spontaneous. Her life had always been a bit more controlled, predictable.

“Ready to cook?” Paige asked, her voice light, as she turned off the engine and smiled at Layla.

Layla nodded, trying to shake off the unease. “Yeah, sure.”

They walked into Paige’s building, and Layla couldn’t help but notice how relaxed the place felt. Paige led her down the hall to her apartment, and Layla’s eyes flicked to the slightly messy pr boxes on the floor and some scattered shoes by the door. It wasn’t dirty, but it was definitely different from her own meticulously organized space. Layla felt her shoulders tense as they stepped inside.

“Oh sorry about the mess, I know it kind of looks like a frat house in here,” Paige said with a grin, her voice a little high. “Morgan and KK are asleep in their rooms, so it’s just us tonight.”

“No worries,” Layla said, trying to sound casual as she followed Paige into the living room. “I’m just glad to be anywhere but the gym right now. I definitely stayed to long my body hurts.”

Paige laughed and gestured toward the couch. “Trust me I know.”

Layla sank into the cushions, feeling slightly out of place but trying not to show it. She tucked her legs underneath her, her mind still racing as she tried to adjust to the laid-back vibe of the room. Paige moved toward the kitchen, pulling out ingredients from the fridge with practiced ease.

“So, what are we making? Or you I guess, are you sure you don’t need any help?” Layla asked.

Paige turned around, holding up a frozen pizza with a grin. “Easy enough. I’m not exactly a chef, but I can make this work.”

Layla blinked, surprised. “Frozen pizza at 1 AM? That’s your big plan?”

Paige laughed, her voice light and unbothered. “Sorry, we don’t exactly have much options. We always DoorDash.”

“It’s okay don’t worry I’m not picky,” Layla responded back.

Paige set the pizza in the oven, the two of them both on the couch now. Layla sat back, her legs tucked underneath her, her arms crossed as she watched Paige flick through the TV channels. The silence between them stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable—just different. Layla couldn’t shake the feeling that something was building, something she couldn’t quite explain.

“So, what do you want to watch? We have to be kinda of quiet because they’re sleeping. ” Paige asked, her voice breaking the silence.

Layla shrugged, “How about Don’t Worry Darling?”

Paige glanced at her, a teasing smile tugging at her lips as she moved impossibly closer to the girl. “Really? You’re just picking that because of Harry Styles, aren’t you?”

Layla laughed, her cheeks flushing slightly. “Okay, fine, yes. He’s hot. But Florence Pugh is in it too. She’s amazing.”

Paige’s smile softened, but her eyes twinkled as she laughed. “I’m gay, Layla. I don’t really care about Harry Styles, or any guys matter a fact.”

Layla froze for a moment, her breath catching in her throat. She hadn’t expected Paige to just say it like that, so casually. It made her feel exposed, vulnerable in a way she wasn’t prepared for. But she couldn’t back out now.

Layla laughed nervously, trying to brush off the tension. “Okay, okay. But Florence Pugh is in it, too. She’s incredible.”

Paige raised an eyebrow. “She’s not really my type, though.”

Layla blinked, caught off guard. “What? How? She’s so pretty. What even is your type?”

Paige’s gaze flicked to the TV, her fingers tapping against the armrest. Layla could feel the tension between them, but Paige didn’t seem to notice. Or maybe she did, but she was trying to ignore it.

“I don’t know,” Paige said making eye contact, her voice quieter. “I guess I just… don’t really have a type. I don’t know”

Layla’s heart skipped a beat, and she found herself staring at Paige back, wanting to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. She wanted to ask, to press her, but the moment felt fragile. Instead, she looked away, her thoughts a jumble of confusion.

Before long, the pizza was ready, and they ate in comfortable silence. Layla’s body felt tense, her mind spinning with thoughts she couldn’t quite grasp. It was like there was a pull between them, something that she couldn’t explain, but she didn’t want to acknowledge it. She wasn’t sure what to make of it.

When the movie ended, Layla felt her eyelids grow heavy. She hadn’t meant to fall asleep on the couch, but before she knew it, her head was resting in Paige’s lap. Paige’s fingers gently stroked her hair, and Layla’s heart raced at the contact. She told herself it was nothing, just a friendly gesture. But the warmth of Paige’s hand, the way her body felt so close, was making it hard to think clearly.

They lay like that for a while, wrapped up in the quiet of the apartment, the soft rhythm of Paige’s breathing lulling Layla to sleep. She didn’t know what any of this meant, but she knew that being here, with Paige, felt… good. And that scared her more than anything.

[tarnishedsilverjewelry]

I have a request idea about Kuai Liang x reader; in the past timeline when Kuai Liang was sub zero, he and the reader were husband and wife before the restart of time, now in the new timeline, they meet for the first time where the reader goes on a trip to Fenjian for study in college where she runs into Lord Liu Kang and the Lin Kuei Trio and as soon as she lays on Kuai Liang both of them couldn't take their eyes off each other and feel a connection with each other and that "I know you somewhere" feeling. Can you write about that?

Again and again

A/N: ugh every request I get is so GOOD UR MINDSS I SWEAR!!

‼️I used Y/n in place of a name!! If you don’t like that don’t read it‼️

Warnings: none!

So if you didn’t know, Fenjian is a real village in Guangdong province, which on a map is a southern province( and if the maps prove correct) borders the sea

You’d come initially to Beijing for schooling, and it had done you well! You’d met good people and eaten good food. But..you just felt restless there.

A friend recommended reveling with him to visit family in Shanghai and then to Fenjian to see more of the country. You agreed excitedly, excited to not only experience more of the culture, but also get better at the localized dialects than just Mandarin or Shanghainese

As you traveled further down south, you felt your body relaxed this odd tension you’d felt since you arrived. You had been oddly tense, struggling with your speaking more than you had back home, and you felt more drawn to smaller Fenjian restaurants than the more popular and more crowded restaurants your friends dragged you to

Your stay in Shanghai was only about 2 weeks, and you made friends with your friends family and was welcomed back easily.

But when you arrived in Fenjian, the smallest village than you had experienced something just clicked. You took a deep breath of the fresh air and smiled. “This place is nice.” You said without much struggle. “You’re getting better! And you really think that? Fenjian is my home and I love it but…it’s boring!” She laughed at you, thought her mockery lacked any heat

“I’m from a small town! I can appreciate small towns!” You tried weakly. “We’ll come on! My uncle is waiting! Then, you meet Madame Bo! She’ll love your appetite!”

You let her pull you along through the dirt paths to her uncles house. Here, you noticed that speaking was..easier. You’d been practicing with the local dialect and apparently it had paid off. He was kind enough to laugh with you when you stumbled on your words or said the wrong thing

That night, you met Madame Bo. She spoke enough English to hold polite conversation and it helped you coast along with ordering on your own, which your friend complimented you on happily.

You said you were open to trying anything and that was how you and your friend ended up with basically the whole menu. “Here. This is braised snake porridge.” Madame Bo said, stopping to show you how to eat everything.

Upon realizing you had ordered too much, your friend looked around before locking with someone “Kung Lao! Raiden! Join us! Meet my friend!” They shared a look and shrugged, sitting across from you

You managed to introduce yourself relatively well, which earned more praise from your friend and Raiden. Kung Lao and you made fast friends, despite the language barrier. Your shared love for food bonded you easily enough.

I’m slow and awkward English he said “We have…go. We meet friend also.” You nodded and said goodbye, not expecting him to pull into a hug. “We are..friends now! So I hug you!” He laughed, which made Raiden roll his eyes. Raiden gave you a side hug before going to greet friends.

When your food was cleared, and the bill was paid (you’d gotten a discount from Madame Bo because “I’ve never met such a nice foreigner!”)

The sun had set already, and a small local band was playing happily for a small crowd of dancing patrons. “I’m going to dance! Join me if you want to!” And just like that, you were alone drinking your tea content with just watching your friend dance with Raiden and Kung Lao

“Oh hey! Another foreigner!” Was that fucking Johnny Cage? Yes, and he was sitting with you and trying to flirt with you.

He was really laying it on thick, but seemed to take it well when you turned him down. And the conversation after was about movie production—pretty interesting stuff actually

And finally, he got up to dance too, and left you alone again. You laughed lightly at your friends feeble attempts to get you to join them, and while distracted you were joined by a man clad in yellow.

“Not joining?” He asked kindly. “Oh no, I don’t dance. Not well anyways.” You shrugged, tearing your eyes away from your friend to look at him.

His left eye had a thick scar—that was evidently still healing— running through it, his dark hair pulled back cleanly enough to appear short, his eyes were sharp and combined with his bicep which was as big as your head seemed like pretty dangerous

But his thick lips were pulled into a small and kind smile. “Do you?” You quickly followed up with “Dance. Do you dance?” Kindly, the man shook his head. “I do, but certainly not like…that.” He pointed his head to Johnny Cage (how the fuck did he know him?) who at first glance appeared to be…flailing

“Mm. My name is [Y/n]. What’s your name?” “Kuai Liang, I must say Johnny is the foreigner I’ve seen here.”

Laughing softly you pointed to your friend “I’m here for school on an exchange program. And to get better at my speaking. My big accomplishment was ordering with minimal English tonight.” Kuai Liang nodded, leaning forward

“How exciting! Are you staying in Shanghai? No, no that can’t be right. Beijing. You’re staying in Beijing!” He declared, mostly joking. “Uh-yeah! You a psychic or something?” This made him laugh harder at his shock.

“Kuai Liang, I see you made a friend.” A calm voice said with a kicking edge. “Do you mind if I join you?” The man asked you. “No of course not!” The man sat next to Kuai Liang, looking between the two of you with an odd look.

Liu Kang did not add much to the conversation between you two. And was mostly zoned out, suddenly struck with memories he’d long since buried, he tried not to dwell on them.

“I…perhaps this is odd to say, but I feel like I know you. Perhaps we have met before?” Feeling emboldened you denied it “Id remember a face like yours, you’re too handsome to forget.” Kuai flushed.

“You’re too kind, [Y/n]! But you are right, a face as beautiful as yours is too hard to forget…perhaps I could try and teach a few slower dances? The band is finally slowing down it seems” Liu Kang watched with a fond smile as he guided you through a dance

Looking down at the tea cup clutched between his hands, he nodded to himself. He’d made the right choice when he was weaving the fabrics of time and humanity together. When you were struck down with Hanzo, he was the one to comfort Kuai Liang

And when he started molding worlds to his desires, and creating life itself he created you from memory—someone seeking knowledge, someone kind and loving and gentle, and when needed a fighter.

As the night progressed, Liu Kang stayed and watched you both. He had only heard second hand snippets of your meeting with Kuai Liang, after you died alongside Hanzo he was too struck with grief to speak of either you with anyone for more than a few sentences, but especially you.

Your name and your stories were his ways of keeping you with him, and sharing that meant sharing you. Kuai had lost you already, and he was not willing to share your memory now. Hanzo had many friends on the team, you were as far separated from them as possible.

So now, seeing you as a dynamic and real person and not a painting or drawing was an opportunity he felt he couldn’t miss. Was he the god fire and keeper of time? Yes! Could he rewind time to see this as many times as possible? Also yes! But he wouldn’t abuse that power, he would see it now in real time.

At the end of the night, when Madame Bo was cleaning up and you both had finished off another pot of tea, you yawned. “Excuse me, I’d better go. But it was nice meeting you.” Kuai Liang felt panic surge through him and he called out for you. You turned with a confused look

“I’d like to see you again sometime soon. Is that okay?” “More than okay. Tomorrow maybe?” “I’ll be here then. Noon sharp.” He declared firmly. Giggling you said “Goodnight Kuai Laing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek before feeling the restaurant. Leaving him red in the face with an ear spitting smile on his face.

Oh yes, staying was the right choice

Kuai Liang had been lonely for many years. His ice abilities had created a wall around his heart that could not be moved.

It was not until he had made peace with Hanzo—and was convinced to go out to a local restaurant—did that change

You were sat watching the small crowd dance, and clapping along softly. Hanzo noticed this, and to his dismay forced him into sitting across from you

“Not joining?” He asked awkwardly. “Oh no I don’t dance. Not well anyways. Do you? Dance, I mean?” He shook his head

“No, not like them. I know a few slower dances.” You nodded smiling softly. He felt the ice around his heart crack at the gesture. “Hm. Well, my names [Y/n]. Nice to meet someone who isn’t insistent on dancing.” Kuai felt a smile tug at his face. “Kuai Liang. And that man, in the yellow is my friend Hanzo. Forgive my bluntness but I’ve never met a foreigner here before.”

Unphased by his words you smiled wider “I’m in an exchange program! I’m staying in Beijing. But visiting friends family. And working on my speaking.”

Kuai nodded and the conversation flowed throughout the night. Through attempts at dancing together, through lots of tea, and plenty of teasing from your friend and Hanzo

At the end of the night, Kuai insisted on walking you back to where you were staying. Your friend had already left you and Hanzo had gone too. You walked slowly through the cool night, the conversation did not stop and even on the doorstep were hesitant to say goodbye

“I’d like to see you again sometime soon. Is that okay?” “More than okay. Tomorrow maybe?” “I’ll be here then. Noon sharp.” He declared firmly. Giggling you said “Goodnight Kuai Laing. I’ll see you tomorrow.” And pressed a chaste kiss on his cheek.

[hollowed-theory-hall]

Regarding the Canonicity of the Harry Potter Games

Like, I love Hogwarts Legacy. I played it through to completion 4 times (I played a few sections more than that). But even though I really liked the game, and many of its characters, and I enjoyed playing it, I can't help but not consider it truly canon in the same universe of the books. I consider it, like, an alternate timeline than the books; where some of the worldbuilding elements and characters are canon to the books, but otherwise the story and many aspects of it (such as some of the worldbuilding and characters in the game) are not canon for me since they outright contradict the books.

(I would love to talk about Hogwarts Mystery and why I don't take its story and various game elements as canon either, unfortunately, I got too frustrated with the energy mechanic and didn't even finish 3rd year in the game so I don't feel like I know it enough to make a comprehensive post).

The main reason is that there are things that outright contradict what's written in the books. Such as the placement of certain locations in the castle (the castle in HL is gorgeous though):

1. The potions classroom isn't located in the dungeons near the Slytherin common room.

2. The greenhouses are referenced as being outside the school and not connected to the castle the way they are in the game:

Harry, Ron, and Hermione left the castle together, crossed the vegetable patch, and made for the greenhouses, where the magical plants were kept.

(CoS, Ch6)

4. The Owlery is inside the school, in the West Tower, specifically, and not a walk-off from the school (that's also a movies issue):

Harry He then climbed out of the portrait hole, up through the silent castle (held up only briefly by Peeves, who tried to overturn a large vase on him halfway along the fourth-floor corridor), finally arriving at the Owlery, which was situated at the top of West Tower.

(GoF, Ch15)

5. Many classrooms and offices aren't located correctly. For example, the DADA and the Transfiguration office windows should face the Quidditch Pitch:

dreadful though his final detention with Umbridge was sure to be, he had a distant view of the Quidditch pitch from her window and might, with luck, be able to see something of Ron’s tryout

(OotP, Ch13)

“Hmm ...” Professor McGonagall stood up and stared out of the window at the Quidditch field, just visible through the rain. 

(PoA, Ch9)

6. The above is also a problem with the location of the Quidditch pitch which should be near the lake:

Harry walked slowly along the deserted corridor, peering out of windows as he went. He could see people messing around in the air over the Quidditch pitch and a couple of students swimming in the lake, accompanied by the giant squid.

(OotP, Ch38)

7. The library in the game is on the ground floor (or below, since there are staircases going down to the library) and the restricted section is even lower in a basement level below the library. In the books, the library is on the 3rd and 4th floors, and the restricted section, specifically, is located on the 4th floor.

8. Again, this issue is also in the movies, but the doors to the Great Hall should be located to the right of the Entrance Hall. The Entrance Hall is described in quite detail in the books actually:

The entrance hall was so big you could have fit the whole of the Dursleys’ house in it. The stone walls were lit with flaming torches like the ones at Gringotts, the ceiling was too high to make out, and a magnificent marble staircase facing them led to the upper floors. They followed Professor McGonagall across the flagged stone floor. Harry could hear the drone of hundreds of voices from a doorway to the right — the rest of the school must already be here — but Professor McGonagall showed the first years into a small, empty chamber off the hall. They crowded in, standing rather closer together than they would usually have done, peering about nervously. [...] Feeling oddly as though his legs had turned to lead, Harry got into line behind a boy with sandy hair, with Ron behind him, and they walked out of the chamber, back across the hall [Enterence Hall], and through a pair of double doors into the Great Hall.

(PS, Ch7)

9. In general what's on each floor is incorrect. The one-eyed witch statue isn't on the third floor. The astronomy tower isn't the tallest tower (the headmaster's tower is taller). Myrtel's toilet should be near the DADA office on the second floor, not in the dungeons, etc.

10. You'd also notice in the game all the castle's windows are painted glass and you can't see outside through any of them. They are gorgeous, and it's definitely helpful for the sake of game performance, so I get why they did that, but in the books, it isn't so. Harry mentions looking out windows and seeing the grounds a lot.

(I would like to share the closest to canon map of Hogwarts I could make (which I made). It's an amalgamation of design elements from the movies, Hogwarts Legacy, and every quote I could find in the books regarding placements of various locations. Tumblr is just really bad with large high-resolution images 😭)

Then there are inaccurate world-building elements. (I'm not gonna count Basic-Cast and Levioso which are not real spells since they are clearly gameplay mechanics and aren't trying to be world-building accurate):

1. Horklumps are used in the Wiggenweld Potion in-game, even though Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them clearly states that Horklumps are useless as potion ingredients:

The Horklump is a favourite delicacy of gnomes but otherwise has no discernible use.

(Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them)

2. Matilda Weasley's existence makes no sense. By her red hair, Gareth Weasley's dialogue, and in-game letters, Matilda is stated to have been born a Weasley and didn't marry into the family. Hogwarts Legacy's art book confirms this. The reason this doesn't make sense is that Ginny Weasley is referred to as the first female born weasley in several generations.

Matilda is a professor who doesn't look very old in 1890, so she would've been born around 1,850s, let's say. Gareth is her brother's son, born in 1975-ish. In the game, a letter states Gareth has a sister, so that's zero generations with no female Weasleys. Septimus Weasley was born in the 1910s (his wife, Cederella, was born between 1915-1919). This makes him and his 6 older brothers, the next generation after Gareth, and the first generation no female Weasleys. Septimus is Arthur's father, making Arthur, his brothers, and his cousins the second generation without female Weasleys. And Arthur is Ginny's father. Two generations without female Weasleys wouldn't make Ginny the first female-born Weasley in several generations.

So, in the books' canon, Matilda and Gareth's younger sister, can't exist.

3. The entire Goblin Rebellion. Such a big, historical event would be remembered and referenced in the books the way other goblin rebellions and Grindelwald's war are mentioned. Not only that, but the ministry during the game has no reason to hide a goblin rebellion. It's a plot element in-game that makes no sense. It's not at all the same situation politically as in Harry's fifth year and the Ministry has no reason to cover it up (unless Rookwood is bribing someone, maybe?), so I don't get it at all.

Also, remember, Dumbledore starts Hogwarts in 1891, a year after the game. If this rebellion happened and the MC existed, Dumbledore would've likely known about it. A story like the MC's isn't just forgotten about over the course of less than the average wizard's lifetime. Not to mention the MC not being anywhere in canon or being referenced at all.

(what I'm saying is that the game should've chosen to take place further in the past and it would've solved a lot of continuity issues).

4. Ancient Magic. I know this is a game mechanic, but it's also a big part of the game's story — and it makes no sense with how we see magic in the HP books. When characters in the books refer to Ancient Magic, the kind of magic we see in the game is not what they are referring to. At all.

“ ‘Dragons are extremely difficult to slay, owing to the ancient magic that imbues their thick hides, which none but the most powerful spells can penetrate ...’ But Sirius said a simple one would do it. ...”

(GoF, Ch20)

Ancient Magic can refer to the natural magic of magical beings. The kind of magic that exists as part of nature and isn't wieldable. It's "ancient" since it's old and part of the natural world.

“But how to get at Harry Potter? For he has been better protected than I think even he knows, protected in ways devised by Dumbledore long ago, when it fell to him to arrange the boy’s future. Dumbledore invoked an ancient magic, to ensure the boy’s protection as long as he is in his relations’ care. Not even I can touch him there. ... Then, of course, there was the Quidditch World Cup. ...

(GoF, Ch33)

“But I knew too where Voldemort was weak. And so I made my decision. You would be protected by an ancient magic of which he knows, which he despises, and which he has always, therefore, underestimated — to his cost. I am speaking, of course, of the fact that your mother died to save you. She gave you a lingering protection he never expected, a protection that flows in your veins to this day. I put my trust, therefore, in your mother’s blood. I delivered you to her sister, her only remaining relative.”

(OotP, Ch37)

It can also refer to magic any powerful enough witch or wizard could do that was mostly forgotten. Both Voldemort and Dumbledore refer to the blood wards Dumbledore set up after Lily's sacrifice as "Ancient Magic" and I'm certain Dumbledore doesn't have the same abilities the MC in HL has — because no one does. These abilities don't exist in the books.

The ward is referred to as ancient magic becouse that's what it is — a mostly forgotten spell from very long ago — not a different kind of magic. Just old.

“Secondly, the castle is a stronghold of ancient magic. Undoubtedly Voldemort had penetrated many more of its secrets than most of the students who pass through the place, but he may have felt that there were still mysteries to unravel, stores of magic to tap.

(HBP, Ch20)

This again, uses the term "ancient magic" to refer to old forgotten magic (such as the Room of Requirement or the moving stairs at Hogwarts). Hogwarts is referred to as a stronghold of ancient magic not because the founders were like the MC in HL, but because they were very powerful wizards using magic that has been mostly forgotten since then. Any magic using runes (like a pensive) would be considered "ancient magic" in the book's universe because it's old. That's literally all ancient magic in the books means. Either "old and mysterious magic" or "natural magic of the world". It is not something a select few wizards can see and wield or a different type of magic.

5. The little hamlets around Hogwarts. I get why they are there (so the game could promote itself as an open-world) but they don't make sense. In canon, we are repeatedly told there aren't many wizard-only settlements and Hogsmead is one of the only ones. These little wizard hamlets make zero sense. Like, the very small ones which are basically two farms are fine, I can see wizard family farms like these existing. What I can't see is a larger hamlet, like Upper Hogsfeild existing so close to Hogsmead. It would not exist.

Before the Statute of Secrecy, most wizards lived in muggle towns, and after it, they still mostly stayed in muggle towns and the few wizard-only ones. The amount of wizard-only hamlets around Hogwarts in the game is honestly ridiculous for the books' world-building.

Again, I love the game, I'm writing this because I decided to boot HL up again to run around Hogwarts, but the game is not really canon. So, for the sake of analysis, I often discount the various games for this reason. They contradict book canon, and book canon comes first. Anyone can obviously do whatever they want, I'm just explaining why I occasionally discard game evidence, which is when it contradicts the books.

(There are world-building elements in the HL I do like, though. Such as the Hufflepuff Dark wizard who married a disowned Black daughter, I consider them canon since they're fun and don't contradict canon either, so they're fine).

[moonlightshaiku]

You're Nicer When You Drink

Silco x Reader

Word Count: 1620

Warnings: Dissociation, Angst

Ao3: Here!

Notes:

What is your reason for living? What do you do when you feel like you're going to fade away?

Tag List: N/A

While Singed and Silco insisted it was multiple personalities, you preferred another view. You’d been visiting Babette’s, talking with her and her workers. Babette was very understanding, happy to run errands and leave you and some of her workers alone to discuss the working of your minds. 

It was this weekend that you’d spoken to someone new. She was older than most, loud, took up space. But when she sat in front of you she seemed to drift off. She sat in her chair and her edges blended with the curtains behind her. Her eyes were dark, and only that. She would only scan the room when you didn’t look at her, her only movements minute and almost invisible unless you looked for them.

“What we have,” she said in an even tone, never looking at your face, “is not multiple personalities.” You’d asked what she’d meant. She got up to grab a shot of something from the cart behind Babette’s desk. They were so plain, you noticed, her movements. Silco swayed and wrapped his fingers around his glasses oddly. Grabbed the decanter with one hand from the very bottom as he guided with his other hand on the neck.

She just grabbed a shot. 

When she sat, she didn’t take a sip, just stared off again. “In order to have a personality, you need to have a consistent consciousness, a past, an awareness of yourself. We have none of that. We aren’t real, not like other people are.”

She’d left not long thereafter. And it stuck with you.

You watched each of your own movements. Saw how unsettling it was as you blended in with whatever curtains were behind you. 

You watched Jinx. How her body flowed around her surroundings like a child’s train running around a Piltover beach. The way she held objects and moved them with a slight bounce. You knew she could feel herself dying, you could feel the ropes in your chest, too. But she knew how to live. How to be real. It was second nature to her, and you had no idea where to start. 

When your sentences finished, you became the background of a room. You died, lost whatever tied you to reality for other people, until they looked at you again. 

Silco was too real. He was real in sharp edges and tensed shoulders. In barks and demands. It set you on edge. 

You realized as you sat in his office again, why it was so easy for him to let you use this room as a safe haven, even as he conducted meetings. It’s all you could focus on, how you would just blend into the background.

You wondered if you were allowed to scream. What would happen if you did. And then you pictured the woman from the brothel again, the way she was real until she sat and breathed. And then she didn’t exist fully anymore. 

Silco was more affectionate the more you avoided him.

He became less real the more time you spent apart from him, he drank more. It became easier to bear the weight of his existence when you only talked across from him, staring at his large-backed chair, three shots in.

He asked again and again what was wrong, if he could fix it. But it was only as he sipped his bourbon. He left you to rot when he sobered up.

Sevika looked at you with pity when she woke you up each morning. You’d been late for a few days, unable to raise yourself from bed, so she’d taken on the responsibility. She didn’t speak to you much anymore, but the look of pity was enough. You’d feared that look, because you knew the day you got it, it meant you’d lost her. She was too real for you to get to her now. Or you were floating too far away for her to reach you. 

Jinx didn’t visit. You were sure she was busy, or something. 

One day she did visit, and quickly caught on. She punched your shoulder lightly. “What’s got your titties in a twist, toots?” She’d asked. You don’t remember what you’d said, or if you responded at all. But she left, still playful even as her footsteps softened. Floating somewhere else. 

Thieram didn’t speak to you until it’d been weeks without you going on a job. You hadn’t even realized how long it’d been. Even as you thought back, it didn’t make sense. 

Thieram was easier to talk to. He was real, but not too real.

He set something in front of you, and you sipped it without question. It was thick, chocolatey. “Did… uh, did you know that chocolate gives you dopamine?” And you felt yourself laugh. It was too breathy. You wish you could laugh harder, feel it burn your neck and chest.

“Drugging me into happiness, Thieram?”

He gave a nervous laugh and shrugged. You picked up your glass so he could wipe the counter under it. 

“When did you last eat?” He asks, grabbing a packet of crackers from under the counter. They were always given to patrons that got just a little too drunk. You’d once seen Sevika shove the crackers one-by-one into the mouth of a slim girl that had a panic attack after being thrown around too much in the crowd.

It had worked. Or maybe the girl was too busy drooling over Sevika. You couldn’t blame her.

You placed the crackers into your mouth slowly. You couldn’t feel the crackers in your mouth, or the pressure as you chewed, but you could feel them clog up your throat. You drank and drank to get the feeling out, but it held steady, making you heavy and foggy again. 

“What’s been up with you, anyway?” He asks. He’s just leaning on the counter, now. Cleaning and counting done.

You shrug. “I don’t feel real. Do I… exist?”

Thieram shrugs. “As much as you ever have.”

You look at the counter. “I think that’s the problem. I don’t think I’ve ever existed.”

He sighs deeply. “Do you have a reason to live? Like, family or something?”

You shake your head, and he gives you the same look Sevika does. You realize it’s not pity. You feel a little more real. “I think my reason for living has been being alive.”

He rubs his hands down the front of his shirt. “Well, there’s your problem. That’s surviving. And, in my opinion? Barely that. Do you have any reason to live?”

You pause. “It should be Silco. And Jinx.”

“It’s not?”

You shake your head again, take a sip of your drink. “I don’t think I even know what a reason to live is supposed to look like. Or be.”

He hums. “I mean, most people say family, or revenge, or making up for mistakes.”

You run a hand down your face. “But it has to be more than that. None of that applies to me. All of that is shallow, and stupid, and doesn’t make sense.”

Thieram nods. “I mean, yeah. I’m sure there’s more to it, people just don’t really have the words to put to it.”

“Who will? Have the words, I mean?”

Thieram’s eyes drift up the stairs, and you shake your head. 

“I’m not talking to Silco.”

“Can I say something kinda shitty?”

“Go for it.”

He lets out a big sigh. “I think you owe it to him, to be honest.”

You nod. “I do. I just… my words won’t be enough. And instead of getting more words the longer I wait, I lose them. And now I’ve waited too long. I’ve lost them all.”

He takes your drink and rinses it out, scrubbing it dry with a towel. You can see he’s thinking, the stillness in his shoulders comforting. “I think you not having words is part of the problem. And he’ll see that. He’s smart.”

“He’s too real.” You blurt. “He’s so real it hurts. And you’d think it’s jealousy, but I’m jealous of Jinx. She’s… so real. And I want her kind of real. I don’t want Silco’s kind of real. He’s sharp, and rude, and so, so intense.”

Thieram is always so still when he thinks, and always leans his head towards the floor. You can see him doing it now. The way he thinks is so visual you can feel it in your chest, and you can’t help but sit in silence. Hold quiet respect for his soft voice. The almost motherly whisper that leaves him when he speaks in private. “I don’t have an answer for that.” He says finally, his shoulders dropping and his movement continuing. 

You nod, solemn, and push yourself off your barstool. You can feel the weight of your feet on the ground. You’re realer. “I’ll just rip the bandaid off, then.”

Thieram jokingly salutes you, his uncomfortable smile so forced it's goofy and shows too much of his gums. You huff. 

Silco’s office is colder than it usually is, and it allows the fog to come a little bit closer. Not just the cold, but the energy of the room. Silco seems so faded. You want to hold him until he’s so real you need to throw up. You want to fix it, but there’s not enough of you to do that. 

He gestures to the chair at the opposite end of his desk, he seems limp. You head for the cart on the other side of his room. Pour two shots. Four fingers each. Then you sit.

“I still have work to do.” He says. 

“I need to talk to you.” You reply. 

“Why is alcohol needed?” He asks.

“You’re nicer when you drink.” You answer.

[olldtimerbuckley]

Hi Buckley! Hope you’re having a good day!

I don’t know how this works but here I go.

 4

A

꒰ 𓅫 ꒱ “we’re gonna need to talk about some things after this, aren’t we?”

I was thinking of (young adult) Ellie working at Joel’s furniture company, she’s his apprentice, and oddly they’re good friends, but lately they are secretly pining for the each other hard. One day Joel has to pick up some light work stuff from a far storage, and takes Ellie with him for help. But oh no! they ended up trapped inside because the lock malfunctioned, and in the meantime they wait for Tommy to release them, they also release some spicy tension…

Ps. I picked thigh because Joel is enamored with Ellie’s.

Yeah I think that’s all :D thank you!

I know this has been in my inbox forever and took so many liberties with this prompt, but it's already shaping up to be the lightest, tropiest, most unserious thing I've ever written. I'll post it to AO3 after I polish it up (I wrote half of it in a fever-induced haze) and have a little more written. Early estimate is 3 chapters.

@jammingjoellie I hope you like it so far!!!

Head Over Hardwood Part 1

Minors & Antis DNI

Joel x Ellie

Warnings: Age gap, inappropriate workplace romance, no smut (yet) just a lot of UST

Length: 4.9k

“God fucking shitdick. Where the hell is it?”

Joel smiles as he watches Ellie from his workbench, something he's been doing a lot lately. Smiling, of course. Not watching her. Because shamelessly leering at his nineteen-year-old shop apprentice would be extremely inappropriate, and while he might, occasionally, skirt the bounds of their workplace relationship, he's not fool enough to believe she's seriously interested in him.

What they do isn't even flirting, it's just… teasing. Harmless teasing.

So, there Joel sits with his chin resting on his fist, watching (not leering) as Ellie aggressively pats herself down like an overzealous TSA agent, a constant current of profanities pouring out of her carmine mouth. When she bends at the waist and shoves her hands into the lower pockets of her work pants, he snaps his gaze away from her so fast his neck cracks.

The last thing he needs right now is to get caught staring at the cute little curve of her ass. Still, the image of her bent over burns behind his retinas.

Holy Hell.

As if seeing her sucking on that creamsicle earlier wasn't enough to whittle down his self-control. The length of it disappearing past her lips before her cheeks hollowed, her tongue working around the stick and lapping at her sticky fingers, the sloppy, suckling noises she made…

His cock starts thickening in his jeans.

That's just fuckin’ great. Fifty-six years old and he's poppin’ a woody at work.

Joel shifts in his seat, his tired eyes darting over to the bathroom door. As unprofessional as it is, it certainly wouldn't be the first time he's taken care of himself at work since this spitfire of a girl slammed into his life like a wrecking ball whose sole purpose was to test his patience and raise his blood pressure.

A soft snarl draws his attention back to Ellie. Or rather, down to Ellie; crawling around on her hands and knees, her face is almost pressed to the floor.

I guess it's time to act like an adult. One of us has to.

Joel sneakily adjusts himself before standing and leaning back against the table, both hands gripping the edge. “Are you lookin’ for somethin’?” he asks, trying to keep the amusement he feels bubbling in his chest from reaching his voice.

Huffing and puffing, Ellie shoots a glare up at him, her eyebrows pinched tight in aggravation. “My favorite drafting pencil. I swear I just fucking had it,” she mutters, slumping back onto her knees.

As he takes a few strides closer, she lifts her chin to keep holding his gaze, her lips parting and neck arching until he's standing directly in front of her. God, her open mouth is almost level with his crotch. If he was in this position with any other beautiful woman, in any other context, the things he would do…

Joel swallows down his filthy thoughts and clears his suddenly dry throat. Focus. “What's it look like?”

Flailing her hands around, Ellie launches into an animated description, “It's light blue stainless steel with a white foam grippy thing that's perfectly molded to my fingers. The label is too worn down to make out, but it looks–”

“Kind of like this?” he interrupts her tirade, plucking a pencil that bears a striking resemblance to the one she’s yapping about out from behind her ear and holding it in front of her face.

She blinks. Her eyes widen. Then the pink coloring her cheeks darkens, steadily creeping over her nose and up to her hairline. “No?” she squeaks, wincing at the sound of her own voice.

Joel clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Riiight.”

Letting out a drawn-out sigh, Ellie rises to her feet, brushing off the sawdust shavings peppering her thighs on the way up. When she grabs the pencil, her warm fingertips brush over his knuckles. The contact is featherlight, but it lingers on his skin, tingling up his arm like a pulse of electricity.

“Thanks, man,” she says softly, moving a piece of hair behind her ear. Her mossy green eyes are downcast at her hands as she fiddles with the pencil, rolling it back and forth between her fidgety fingers. “It's, uh, been a long day.”

“You're damn right about that.” Joel crosses his arms. “The sales floor closed an hour ago. What the hell are you still doin’ here?”

“I thought I'd take those measurements Tommy brought in and start drawing up the blueprints for that job on Sugar Hill Drive,” Ellie explains briskly. Turning away from him on her Converse heel, she prances over to her desk and begins leafing through various work orders and number sheets.

May is the tail end of Spring – and tax season – meaning Against The Grain’s normally steady trickle of business is booming with bored housewives redesigning their kitchens and equally bored husbands commissioning custom billiard tables for their man caves. Joel would rather work on his own projects and sell them in the showroom, but scheduled jobs keep the lights on. Plus, this year he has a lovely mentee to offload some of his more boring work onto.

Although, she appears to be just as enthused as he is at the prospect.

Even from clear across the room, he can see Ellie's supple lips curl into a frown. “Jesus, is there anything on the docket besides French country cabinets?” she grouses, separating the sheet she needs from the rest.

“Let's see…” He snags the discarded papers from her desk – making sure to avoid knocking over her growing collection of succulents – and wets his thumb before flicking through them. “That hipster bar in Austin put in a custom order for a live edge bar top. Maria says we should upcharge ‘em since they're commercial and don't know their asses from a hole in the ground.”

That wrings a smile out of her. “I knew I liked that woman,” she sighs wistfully. Folding one leg underneath her, Ellie plops into her chair, her favorite pencil gripped safely in hand.

“Let me grab you a calculator–”

“Pfft,” she scoffs. “I don't need a calculator.”

Joel lets out a low whistle. “Well, aren't you a regular Albert Einstein.”

Her neck rolls along with her eyes as she skewers him with a sardonic sideways glance. “Why yes, I have tits and I can do math,” she states snappishly. “Stop the presses!”

“Woah, now. You know that's not what I meant.” He casually hitches his thumbs into the band of his jeans and cocks his knee to the side, shifting his weight onto one leg. “I'm perfectly aware that pretty girls like you can do math.”

Ellie tuts at him chidingly, but she's still wearing that crooked grin of hers. “Careful there, buddy. I could report you to our nonexistent HR department for that kind of talk.”

“Report me? You're the one who was just talking about your…” Warmth crawls up from his collar, heating his face. He makes an awkward gesture to his torso. Please don't make me say it.

She grins like a cat that's got a mouse by its tail. “My what?” she asks coyly.

Looking past her, he stares out of the window he keeps cracked to balance out the varnish fumes and heavy scent of sawdust floating around their workspace. Outside rolling gray clouds are piling one over the other, prematurely canceling out the sun.

“Well?” she presses impatiently.

“... tits,” Joel finally hisses the obscenity through gritted teeth.

Slapping a hand flat on the desk, Ellie throws her head back and barks out a laugh that's closer to a cackle. “Dude! I can't believe you just said that!” Her voice is distorted by several more maniacal giggles. Any embarrassment he feels is quickly overwhelmed by the look of sheer glee she's aiming at him.

The traitorous smile that tugs at his lips pulls at dormant muscles. “You said it first!” he retorts defensively. Good God, could he sound any more childish?

This girl.

This fucking girl.

“Yeah but you're you,” she counters glibly, like the meaning behind her cryptic words is somehow obvious. Then she smirks, twirling her pencil around idly. “Besides, I'm just stating a fact. I objectively have tits.”

“And you're objectively pretty too,” Joel volleys back in a low drawl without missing a beat.

The twirling stops. “That's not… I-I don't–” Ellie sputters for a witty comeback before landing on a flustered, “Shut up.” Bowing her head to excuse herself from their conversation, the tips of her hair dust over her bare shoulder where one sleeve of the open flannel shirt she's wearing has slipped down her arm.

His flannel shirt.

The one he gave her on one of Texas’s rare cold nights last winter, wordlessly tucking it around her little body after catching her shivering. He hasn't asked for it back, and she hasn't offered. Not that he minds; it looks better hanging off of her small frame anyway.

Quietly, Joel studies the seashell curve of her spine that is almost guaranteed to put a crick in her neck. The chaotic contortion of her body, twisted like a pretzel with one slim leg dangling like a fishing line, contrasts with the still lake of her face; smooth as a windowpane, only her fox-like eyes move, following the rapid strokes of her pencil across the page. Watching her work is mesmerizing. He could stare at her, uninterrupted, for hours.

As if on cue, a harsh cough from behind his back reminds Joel that they're, unfortunately, not alone. In the doorway, Tommy stands with his hands on his hips, and judging by his raised eyebrows and knowing smile, he's been there for a good while.

Joel can feel his own smile wilt as he lumbers over to his smug-as-shit-looking little brother. By the time he's within spitting distance, his face is creased with its usual scowl. He drops his voice to a low growl, “How much did you hear?”

“Enough to feel like I need a post-sex cigarette.” Tommy elbows Joel in the arm affably and adds, “I mean, Good Lord.”

“Don't start,” Joel warns. “We're just… friends.” He can taste the dishonesty of the word as it leaves his mouth.

But what’s the alternative? There’s not a singular term in the English language to accurately define the odd, flirtatious, and sometimes combative relationship between him and the decades-younger woman whom he spends at least five days a week with. And even when not basking in the vibrant warmth of her presence, most of his waking (and sleeping) hours are consumed by thoughts of how soft her skin would feel under his fingers. What her lips would taste like. The kinds of noises she’d make if he—

“Friends?” Tommy snorts. “Man, you bring her to every family dinner.”

“I couldn't let her keep livin’ on takeout and pizza,” Joel protests feebly. He still remembers the moan she made around her first bite of meatloaf, like it was the first decent meal she'd had in her entire life. “And your wife is the one who started invitin’ her in the first place.”

Tommy's expression is incredulous. “Last week you drove twenty minutes to her apartment in the middle of the night to fix her water heater.”

“Her super is a real dirtbag,” Joel says matter-of-factly. “Who knows how long it would have taken him to get to it.”

“Brother,” Tommy grabs his shoulder, looking him directly in the eyes with his are-you-actually-this-fucking-dense stare. It's a look Joel is well-acquainted with because he's usually the one giving it. “You cosigned a loan on her car. Are you really tellin’ me that's just some good ‘ole southern hospitality?”

He's got a point… not that Joel's ready to surrender it. “As her employer, I think it's important that she has reliable transportation.”

Tommy shakes his head slowly. “You know, as much as you bust my balls for bein’ pussy-whipped, at least I'm gettin’ some.”

Smacking his hand off his shoulder, Joel makes a throaty noise of disgust. “Gross.”

While it's true that he's not getting that, he is getting something; her smile, her gratitude, her time. Plus, he genuinely likes doing things for Ellie. Likes making her life easier, even in small, arbitrary ways. It's been so long since he's felt useful to anyone outside of his job. 

“Seriously, why the hell haven't you asked her out yet?” Tommy asks, bringing the count of how many times they’ve had this exact conversation up from a million to a million and one. “You've been pining over her for months now. It's not cute anymore. If anything, it's getting sad.”

Joel takes a deep breath and tries to pretend that the pity in Tommy’s eyes doesn’t sting. “Besides the thirty-seven years worth of reasons between us that say it's a bad idea, there's also the legal and ethical concerns on account of me bein’ her boss and teacher. She'd feel like she has to say yes just to keep her job.” He looks over at her and feels a staggering, confusing mix of want and loss lodge itself in his throat. “I can't …” His voice is thick. “I won't put her in that position. It ain't fair.”

It also ain't true.

Joel's seen her working alongside Tommy's crew on construction sites enough times to know that she doesn't take shit from anybody – and he means anybody. He's watched all fiery five and a half feet of her come toe to toe with a man twice her age and size before stepping in to prevent the situation from turning ugly. Then subsequently having to deal with her snarking at him all the way home about how “she can handle herself and doesn't need some prehistoric cowboy coming to her rescue like a white fucking knight…”

It was frighteningly adorable and he'd spent the better part of her tongue-lashing trying to stave off a smile. Not that he'd ever admit that to her, of course. He does (at least slightly) value his life.

All of this is to say that Ellie is perfectly capable of standing her ground and saying no. A no he could handle. A no would almost be a relief. If he's honest, what he's really afraid of — terrified of — is that she'd say yes. That she'd pry open the door to his empty, misanthropic existence and make herself at home in his heart, giving him something new to lose. He can't take another loss. Not after—

Even the hint of her name in his mind tightens the knot of grief in his throat, choking off his air supply.

Just as Tommy opens his mouth to call out Joel on his bullshit, Maria pops up behind him, wrapping an arm around his waist. “Hello, you,” she says softly, pressing up on her toes to graze his cheek with a kiss before turning her icy blue gaze on Joel. “Joel,” she adds as an afterthought.

“Maria,” he greets her warmly, uncharacteristically grateful for his sister-in-law's timely interruption.

Maria wedges herself between the two men and into the crowded doorway. “Hey, Els!” she shouts.

Without pausing from her draft, Ellie bites back a belligerent, “What!?”

Over the sounds of Tommy and Joel’s muffled snickers, Maria heaves out a loud, exhausted exhale. “I see you've picked up Joel’s good manners,” she says curtly, but her smile remains bright and intact.

Finally breaking from her work, Ellie spins in her chair with a flourish and nods at Joel, her eyes light with amusement. “Don’t give this guy all the credit. I like to believe I came out of the womb with this sunshiney attitude,” she declares, matching Maria’s wry sarcasm.

“Cute,” Maria deadpans. “Well, now that I have your attention: will you be attending Teddy's birthday party tomorrow?”

“Depends…” Ellie crosses her legs and shoots Maria a look full of suspicion above her steepled fingers. “Will there be cake?” she asks the question in a slow and serious tone, arching her scarred eyebrow.

Maria hums an affirmative. “Chocolate cupcakes with ganache frosting.”

“I don't know what the hell ganache is, but it sounds delicious.” Ellie claps her hands together. “I'll be there.”

“Fantastic. We'll see you then.” Maria tucks her hand through the crook of Tommy’s arm.

“Make sure you guys head out soon! There's a storm rollin’ in and this guy needs his beauty sleep,” Tommy adds, pinching Joel's cheek and ignoring his attempts to swat away his hand.

Ellie treats them to a winning smile. “I'll make sure to tuck him in nice and gentle tonight,” she purrs, giving Joel a cheeky wink before whipping back around and leaving his heart beating a quick staccato rhythm against his ribs.

Teasing, he reminds himself. It’s just teasing.

Linked arm in arm, the couple begins to leave, giving Tommy one last chance to mouth “Make a move already” to Joel behind Ellie’s turned back. In retaliation, Joel snaps a lacquer-stained rag at Tommy's departing backside. As their indistinct chatter about birthday plans for their son fades into the distance, Joel picks up on the gentle pitter-patter of rainfall.

On his way to shut the window, he clicks on Ellie's desk lamp to give her eyes a break from the encroaching darkness. Once closed, it's just him, Ellie, and the warm glow of light flooding her corner of the room. The soft sounds of her tuneless humming blends with the howling of the wind. It feels like they're the only two people left in the whole world. It’s a thought that should be alarming, but all he feels is peace.

After making sure all the windows are secure, Joel returns from the kitchenette with two steaming mugs. “Don't worry, it's decaf,” he says as he places the cup of tea that's mostly a cream and sugar concoction on her desk.

Truth to be told, this has become his favorite part of the day: when they linger just a little too long, hovering just a little too close.

Tilting back in her chair, Ellie props her feet up on the desk and grabs her mug, clutching it with both hands. She sends him a bemused little smile. “So, what are your big Friday night plans? Is it JAG reruns? Or M*A*S*H reruns?” she asks, her voice teasing and sweet. Her raised legs are almost close enough to brush his waist, and Joel thinks about how easy it would be to close his hand around her ankle and pull her closer. To pluck that cup out of her hands, lean down, and kiss her.

Instead, he grips his mug tighter. “I actually might switch it up and watch a movie tonight.” He takes a sip of his coffee and savors the bitterness on his tongue before swallowing. “What about you?”

“Ohhhh. I have some big, big plans.” She ticks off each one with a slender finger, “First, I'm going to microwave Ramen, then I'm going to crawl into bed and scroll on my phone until I pass out, and then I'm going to wake up with the imprint of it on my face.”

Joel frowns. “I thought Fridays were designated game nights with you and your friends.”

Ellie's lips part in surprise, like she didn't expect him to have her schedule memorized. Like where she is and who she's with isn't constantly on his mind when they're apart. After a quick recovery, she clears her throat. “Jesse's band has an out of town gig tomorrow. They're staying at a motel this weekend — leaving me all on my lonesome,” she emphasizes the last part with a sigh, dramatically tossing her hand over her forehead.

His frown deepens at the thought of her going home to an empty apartment. “You didn't go with them? I thought you went to every show.”

“And miss out on your nephew's birthday party? I could never.” She nudges him in the side with her shoe and smiles. “I'm the only one who can keep up with the little guy.”

“Shit, that reminds me; I need to take his present out of the storage unit and put it in my trunk.” A one-of-a-kind piece of craftsmanship, Joel had carefully carved the children's rocking horse from wood ash to resemble a dragon. Then, unsatisfied with his vision to simply stain it, Ellie had painted finer details along the face, tail, and saddle. “I'll only be gone a minute.”

Ellie jumps to her feet. “I'll go with you!”

“Are you sure? It's lookin’ a little…” Joel trails off, grimacing at the window. Rain is pelting like bullets against the glass, but she's already brushing past him and skipping towards the backdoor, unbothered.

“Dude, don't be such a pussy. It's just a little drizzle,” she says dismissively. As she goes to leave, a gust of wind catches on the storm door, slamming it wide open and drenching them both in cool air and unrelenting rain.

A bolt of lightning fractures the apocalyptic-looking sky.

“Just a little drizzle my ass,” he mumbles under his breath. “Get to the unit. I'll deal with this. The garage code is–”

“Your birthday!” Ellie cuts him off as she jogs ahead, having to yell above the thundering rain. “Yeah, I got it.”

The door is rolled halfway up by the time Joel makes it to the small steel building. A small hand shoots out and grabs the sleeve of his shirt. “Get the hell in here!” Ellie whisper-yells urgently. His head narrowly misses smacking against the corrugated metal as she pulls him inside. Without wasting another second, she flicks the lightswitch and hits the garage door button in two hasty motions.

“God, I'm fucking soaked,” Ellie groans. It shouldn't, but the strained, breathy sound of her voice goes straight to his cock. He turns to look at her, only making the growing situation in his jeans worse; her high neck, rain-soaked tank top is suctioned to her skin, revealing every slick curve.

Suddenly enthralled by the dimly lit maze of junk and back stock, Joel starts making his way to the back where he stashed Teddy's gift. He can feel her following him, her squeaky feet shuffling close behind. “How did you know the passcode was my birthday?” he asks curiously.

“Uh, because it's your password to literally everything,” she answers flatly. “You're not nearly as mysterious as you think you are.”

Joel ignores her comment as he comes to a standstill in front of a lumpy package. “Ah, here it is."

Saddling up next to him, Ellie crosses her arms and stares down blankly at the nondescript brown wrapping paper and messily tied twine string. Then she glances up at him. Then back down. This occurs four more times. Finally she fixes him with a hard look and asks him outright, “Are you kidding me?”

He lifts his hands defensively. “Hey, it's what's on the inside that counts.”

“Joel,” she breathes his name, and even with her voice’s patronizing inflection of annoyance, the way she says his name makes his knees a little weak. He wouldn’t mind her moaning it. “This is for a five-year-old’s birthday party. I expected better from a man who's so detail-oriented.”

Joel can't keep the stupid grin off his face. “Was that a compliment from the Ellie Williams?” He smacks his lips. “I never thought I'd see the day.”

“Well you are a master of your craft, Mr. Miller,” Ellie simpers, batting her eyelashes up at him coquettishly.

He nods. “Keep talkin’. I'd like to hear more of this.”

“And ceaselessly humble, too.” Her buttery smile softens the sarcastic dig, and Joel notices the faded freckles on her lips for the first time.

Only then does he realize just how close their faces are.

Have they ever been this close before? They must have been. He's guided her hands, adjusted her grip, and positioned her shoulders during the early days of her training. But he's always gone out of his way not to actually look at her this closely – only from a safe distance – because he's worried that once he starts, he won't be able to look away. That the plumpness of her lips and vivid green of her eyes will pull him in like a slow tide until he's stranded in the middle of an ocean, drowning in the beauty of her face.

Now that he's here, it's nothing like drowning. There's no struggle. No panic. He's simply falling, falling, falling.

Seconds pass. Her lips part, but she doesn't say anything. Wait, is she leaning in? Is she–

BOOM. An unearthly loud crack of thunder sends them leaping away from each other.

“I'm going to take a look through the Christmas stuff Maria stores in the back!” Ellie blurts loudly, speed-walking away from him, her spine stiff as a board. “There has to be a big red bow or something sparkly to spice up your shitty wrapping job.”

Worried he's made her uncomfortable, Joel hangs back at the end of an aisle of storage racks and runs a hand through his hair, mentally chastising himself for letting his self-control slip so easily. All she did was smile at him for Christsakes. Maybe Tommy’s right. Maybe he should just ask her out. No matter what the answer is, at least it would put an end to this unbearable tension.

The very familiar sound of Ellie cursing disrupts his thoughts. When he follows it, he finds her reaching for a bin on a top shelf labeled “Christmas” in sharpie on an old piece of tape, her body fully extended as she bounces unsteadily on her toes.

A pair of Dickie's has no business sclupting a pair of thighs like that, he thinks as he approaches her from behind.

“Here, I can—”

“I almost have it,” she mutters, her fingers scrabbling to pull the box closer to the edge.

Joel snorts. “Clearly.” Instead of waiting for her to bring the box down on her head, he tries to bypass her and take it down himself.

The cheeky little brat shoulder-checks him out of the way. “I said, I almost have it!” Ellie insists stubbornly.

“This is ridiculous.”

“You're ridiculous.”

“You're gonna knock over the whole damn shelf!”

“No, I'm not–hey!” Ellie exclaims as he circles her hips with his hands, thumbs resting above the swell of her ass. If he looks, it's only for safety reasons before bending his knees and boosting her up to compensate for her lack of height. “Did you… did you just lift me up off the floor?” Thankfully she sounds more awed than indignant.

“Yeah,” Joel grunts, his forearms straining, “and you're getting heavier by the second, so if you could hurry–”

Just then the light cuts out and Ellie jerks in his arms, throwing him off balance. After a few failed attempts to regain his footing, Joel loses his grip on her and they both go down onto the cold concrete floor. It's too dark to see, but he can feel her elbow dig into his ribcage, her skull knock against his superplexus, and her ass land snugly against his groin.

For several disorienting moments they lay there in an awkward tangle of splayed limbs heavy breathing.

“I think the power went out,” Ellie states.

A chuckle rumbles through his chest. “Your skills of observation never fail to impress me, kid.”

Joel can practically hear her eye roll in the pitch black silence.

“Are you okay?” he asks, the playfulness in his voice replaced with genuine concern. His body may have cushioned her fall, but it was still a hard landing.

She wiggles against him, and he inhales sharply through his nose. Christ, she smells like strawberries and cream, and he wants to bury his nose in her hair and taste her throat. “Yeah,” she answers. “You?”

“Yeah. But could you…” Get off of me before you can feel my hard-on stabbing you in the back. Being pinned beneath her on the ground is a dangerous, exciting position to be in, and if she doesn't move away soon, she's definitely going to notice.

“Oh, right.” Her hand presses into his kidney as they begin the uncomfortable process of disentangling their bodies. “I think Mission Make Joel's Wrapping Job Look Less Pathetic might be a failure.”

“Ya think?” he quips.

She sighs. “I'll borrow some crafting ribbon from Dina tomorrow. Just please tell me you have your phone so we can get the fuck out of here without killing ourselves in this death trap. I left mine charging inside.”

Joel extracts his phone from his back pocket. Luckily unharmed by the fall, the battery sits at a concerningly low 17%, filling him with a new sense of urgency. After swiping down and turning on the flashlight (a handy trick Ellie taught him), he holds it up to see her already turning the corner, feeling her way with her hand.

The bright light shines over her shadowy figure as she nails the garage button with her tiny fist. It clicks. Then… nothing. She hits it again. Still nothing. After grabbing onto the door itself and giving it a couple of rough tugs, she finally huffs defeatedly and turns to him. “Damn thing won't open. You have the keys though, right?”

The screen in his hand flashes with a warning: “battery power 15%”.

“Right!?” Ellie repeats, louder. Panicked.

Joel's stomach sinks. This. This is the throat closing, lungs filling, drowning sensation he was expecting earlier. He shoves his hands into his pockets to confirm what he already knows: they're empty.

Shit.

[cerealbishh]

"You really care about me."

"Yeah. I really, really care about you."

"I- I really care about you too."

"No, but... I like, really, really care about you."

[dayz-ina-daze]

If I hear one more fucking person act all surprised that I’m disabled and then immediately cite my weight as a reason for their shock I’m going to lose the plot

[eats-the-stars]

everybody who went to a private catholic school name the craziest personal belief an instructor lectured the class on.

i'll go first: mentally disabled people are free of original sin, just like animals, so they get a free pass to heaven

[bcneheaded]

HI HELLO if anyone's wondered where I've been....... its been either work kicking my ass lately OR.... elden ring. JJFJDFSD

[29121996]

.

[whereisthedamndaddymanual]

They can clearly see my straw man corporation is not for profit.

All my funds go toward buying my children shit they don't necessarily need, but I try to do better for them then I was done for.

[evieelyzabethh]

"glue song"

✭"don't forget to kiss me or else you'll have to miss me"✭ ~ How Arcane characters show affection headcannons {fem reader}

cast ✧ Vi, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

cw ☞slightly pervy jayce (you can't pry him from my cold dead hands), fluff

♞Vi♞

♞Vi kisses like she is starving, and you are the first morsel of food she can get her hands on. Like she is drowning, and you are her first breath of air. It's not just desperate and hungry, but there's also a thankfulness to it. Thank you for sticking with her, thank you for being so patient with her, thank you for loving her. Vi doesn't do anything half-assedly, especially not kissing her pretty girlfriend. It's probably her favorite form of affection because it's so versatile. It doesn't have to lead to the bed if neither of you want it to, sometimes it's just on the couch, you sat in between her large thighs, positively falling into her.

♞Her favorite place to kiss you would be on your lips as she holds you chin in her rough hands. She would kiss you thoroughly and deeply, her tongue languidly kissing your own without a rush or care in the world. She is quite prone to getting overwhelmed herself, squeezing the air from both of your lungs and having the nerve to pout at you when you pull away. On her messier days, she leaves a string of spit behind, but she's always kind enough to wipe it away with a few swipes of her thumb. With every inch you pull back she leans in a mile more, chasing you as you try to catch your breath and when she does pin you down, she holds you impossibly close so you can't escape again until she's had her fill. Even then, she holds you in her large arms and tangles your limbs together, at one point sliding her hand beneath your shirt just to lay it on your tummy and feel it move as you breath.

♞Vi is also secretly a space heater. She runs incredibly hot and because of this, sleeps naked and is always down to give you her jacket. It just makes sense in her mind, seeing her clothing wrapped around you. She likes sharing most things; oddly specifically, drinks. She's gross and thinks it's hot that you're technically swapping spit. When it comes to alcohol, especially if you're not a big drinker, both of you will nurse off the same drink, her tipping your head back and pouring it into your mouth when you get a bit too tipsy to do so yourself without spilling.

♞Her go to pet name is 'pretty' and I will die on this hill. It's the thing that defines you for her. She's an idiot and a loser and she knows there's more to you than just how you look, but she just can't help it that whenever she sees you, all her reptile brain can think is 'pretty'. She absolutely abuses it, too. Besides this, I also think she would use those sleazy kinda bar pet names, like sweets or babydoll. Not in a creepy sleazy way, but that is just realistically what she would've been hearing for terms of endearment.

♞Slight side tangent, in a modern AU she is definitely one of those mascs that gets a hold to some Calvin Klein boxers and takes advantage of every opportunity possible to show the waistband off. Part of it is just her showing affection, even if you can reach tall shelves on your own, she still insists on getting the items for you. This carriers over into many things, like twisting open pickle jars or opening your soda cans if you're someone into longer nails. While she isn't as good with building things as Jinx, I think she would definitely be able to manage putting together the furniture in your shared home. Would it take all day? Well, yes! But you chose to make the best out of it and fuck on top of the furniture to test its sturdiness and congratulate your girlfriend on a job well done.

♞On the topic of nails in a modern AU, she would love a partner who gets them done absolutely goes feral if you get them customized to her liking, like coloring them after her eyes or hair or sneaking her name in there somewhere. She feels like she's made it in life when she can pay to get them done. It seems like a selfless action, but it would be a lie to say she gets nothing out of it. The scratch mark you leave on her back after break her brain a little.

★Ekko★

★Ekko loves cooking for his girlfriend! I feel like that would definitely be his main love language along with quality time. As stated before, you two would spend a lot of time in his kitchen, often times with some source of music providing a background noise to the nonsense that you concoct together, occasionally slow dancing while there's time to kill while waiting for something to finish in the oven. Food fights may occasionally occur, but he does a thorough job of licking you clean after. He claims he 'can't let good food go to waste'.

★He would also have a sketchbook absolutely full of you. You can tell when a new edition is about to be added as well. Ekko isn't loud, but he isn't quiet either. His foot is always tapping, he's usually humming something, he always has something to keep his hands busy. He's hardly ever still, except for those moments when you fully wash over him. Sometimes the lighting is exceptionally beautiful, sometimes it's in appreciation of how the wind moves the world around you, and some moments are just so breathtaking beautiful he has to take a moment to go silent, still, and stare. Sometimes he'll just tell you to be in his presence and be pretty so he can properly commit you to paint and commemorate you forever in oils and brush strokes. He's not above nude paintings, though those strokes look and feel much different.

★Ekko is the CEO of quick kisses. He's a busy guy!! He's running an entire commune. He makes the absolute most out of moments when you have the world to yourselves, but most of what you receive are quick passing kisses on your cheeks or the corner of your mouth. He misses on purpose because he simply does not believe in starting things he doesn't have the time to finish. For this reason, I don't think he'd be a big quickie guy. A kiss can easily just be a kiss, but sex is not something meant to be done in 5 minutes.

★Ekko's favorite place to kiss you would also be your lips. He's a romantic, what can I say!!! At the end of every day, you ask each other how your day was after you've both showered and gotten comfy. You both sit on his bed, set beside each other, your legs haphazardly laid over his as he casually massages your thigh. Sometimes you're both a bit too tired and aren't listening that hard, the occasional tidbit catching your attention making either of you sit straight and get closer until eventually you laid on top of him, both of you half asleep. No matter how much energy either of you has, a good night kiss is to be had. When Ekko doesn't need to be quick, he is impossibly slow. He has all the time and then some.

★Not only does he demand a good night kiss, but a good morning kiss to. He gets pouty without it. And sassy. He tells Scar, very loudly so that everyone can hear him, that you hate and don't love him anymore and he is just so deeply hurt that you would let your boyfriend, you're one true love, leave the house without kissing him goodbye and doesn't shut up about it until he gets his goddamn kiss.

★He loves picking out your outfits. He prides himself on the way he dresses and out of everyone, I think Ekko has the most domestic skills. I've already discussed how well he cooks, but I wouldn't be surprised if he also knew his way around a needle and thread. He is not just wearing any clothes; he has a sense of style that he is very proud of. This being said, he loves going shopping with you in a modern AU and he loves when you eventually get comfortable enough to not retreat into the bathroom when changing from outfit to outfit. He's the one making you do the little spin so he can appreciate the outfit from all angles.

★As far as pet names go, I think Ekko would keep it simple with "babe" or "baby" for more casual usages. I also think he would be fond of "my girl" and expects it from you in return because yes he is "your boy" and yes you are "his girl" and yes he loves you very very much. He wouldn't be a stranger to "my love", especially in the mornings or at night when your face is the first and last thing he sees when he closes his eyes. It makes him feel extra sappy.

❂Jayce❂

❂He is all over you at all times of the day omg. I feel like of everyone, Jayce would be the clingiest. This isn't to say he's attached to you at the hip, but his favorite part of the day is getting to go home to you. You're cooking and there he is sitting on the counter yapping about Hextech or something. You're taking a shower and he wants to join. And it's not just a proximity thing, it's also a touchy thing. Any reason or way he can find to touch you, he is taking it. He doesn't care if it's pathetic, dammit, he wants to be held.

❂Jayce would absolutely thrive in a modern AU. He would be the guy whose social media page are all posts about his girlfriend and does he just love to show you off. He would spoil you so good, but rather than buying anything you wanted like Mel would, I think he would also really enjoy making you presents. This isn't to say he doesn't enjoy buying you things, one of your staple pieces of jewelry is the gold anklet he bought with his initials on it.

❂Physical touch is easily his love language but he cannot handle all that, or rather, he freezes in situations where you initiate it. His hands tend to naturally find your waist and will occasionally, if he's feeling bold enough, slip down to your ass, but one time when it was freezing out, you offered your tits as handwarmers and he got a nosebleed. Jayce is definitely an undercover perv but due to never having a girlfriend before and being completely foreign with the concept that he doesn't need to hide how badly he wants to jump your bones at nearly all hours of the day, he freezes when it comes to you initiating contact.

❂He would definitely be the type to get you teddy bears and flowers just whenever. It's never with any rhyme or reason and it happens rather sporadically, just when he is out and about for any reason and thinks of you and wants to bring you something home. He thinks of you a lot, actually. Mel and Viktor love the both of you, but sometimes he goes a bit overboard when it comes to talking about you. This being said, he jumps at any opportunity to show you off. He loves going to gala's because he likes seeing you in pretty clothes and hanging off his arm. He also likes kissing you in public, even if no one's paying attention. He is well versed in the art of delayed gratification and loves getting the both of you riled up knowing full well he does not have the balls to actually fuck you with people around (he gets loud and is very well aware of this)

❂ Jayce's absolute favorite place to kiss you is your neck. He usually starts with your lips, large hands cupping your cheeks and soft lips moving over yours until he gets more antsy. His hands travel from your cheek to your neck then begin to creep under your clothes to grab and knead at your warm skin. Then he would move down your face, peppering kisses across your lips, down your jaw, then down you neck, panting as he goes along and his hands getting rougher as he tries to remain composed. He stops there for a moment, breath fanning over skin that is now slightly red from his canines nipping you and his fresh stubble scratching the area, reminding himself to be gentle and not take more than he's given. He pleads with you, his own cheeks flushed from the heat of the movement as he mutters out his "please...". He's begged you time and time again to not make him verbalize exactly what he wants, but you are relentless. At least he has the manners to ask sweetly beforehand.

❂He is the type to lay right on top of you. After you've gotten comfy in your bed, thrown on your pajama's, maybe are doing a bit of light reading before bed, he comes around to disturb your peace and lay himself right on top of you, smothering you with kisses while he lays there. He eventually moves out of his starfish position to lay his head on your chest and wrap his arms around your torse. He's like a giant, weighted, warm teddy bear

❂One of his go-to pet names would be 'baby', but only when it just the two of you. He is also quite fond of 'gorgeous' and he always has a stupid smirk on his face when he says it. His favorite would be 'sweetheart'. Slightly off topic, he would be the first to jump the gun and start calling you his wife. Especially to council members that are annoying him and taking up time he'd rather be spending with you, he is very quick to pull a "Sorry, gotta get home to my wife." He bought to matching rings for your one-year anniversary to sell the story better.

☽Viktor☾

☽As far as physical affection goes, I think he would be the least touchy. I think the touches would be concentrated on your face, lazily tracing all of your features, marking where your cheeks sink below your cheek bones, the divot between your chin and lips, and where your face is most pronounced. While he wouldn't call himself an artist, he could probably mold your face in clay from the number of times his feather light fingers have caressed every inch of it. He's utterly entranced by it. His mind often wanders while listening to you speak, eyes roaming from your lips and taking note of them in proportion to your eyes, getting lost in the color of them until his eyes flit to your nose and the way your nostrils slightly flare out. It's very mechanical, but that's just the way his brain works.

☽Less of a hugger but he does like to keep his arms around you. Especially on date nights when you're cuddled up on your couch, a myriad of snacks in between the two of you, your head resting on his shoulder while he tries to hide his snores as he falls in and out of consciousness. You accuse of him trying to go to sleep and he tells you he was just "resting his eyes".

☽He would make you all the trinkets in the world. Many of them start as failed experiments of his or scraps from projects past that need to be repurposed, but the thought is always there. He hates to waste and there's really no need to when he has a girlfriend he can make gifts for. Your vanity is full of pretty side projects, decorative boxes for your makeup, ornate music boxes, tea sets and tiny figurines. Your desk would be full of special tchotchkes.

☽Speaking of tchotchkes, I think that would be one of his playful nicknames for you. It sounds absolutely delectable in his accent. I think he would also go for the classier terms of endearment such as 'dear', 'love', 'darling' as well as variations of them in his mother tongue. He would love teaching you his native language, both as a way to bond even more but also to make sure he never loses it.

☽He would also be big on compliments. He is probably your number one supporter, but not in the loud sports fan with a huge foam finger kinda way, but in a quieter more personal way. He is extremely confident in you and your abilities as well as being endlessly proud of everything you do. He is in complete awe of you, and he tells you as such. It is impossible to feel bad about yourself in his presence, he keeps a mental rolodex of every accomplishment of yours to combat any sort of negative self-talk.

☽Not a big PDA guy. He would rather throw himself out of a window than suck face with you in Jayce's presence. He is a big hand-holder which is disastrous when doing it while walking around because neither one of you can walk straight to save your life. It's not even an issue with his leg because you do it too. You bump into each other all the time, though in the winter it is more often on purpose to keep warm.

☽Viktor's favorite place to kiss you is on your forehead. It's simple and it's sweet and more often than not what he can get away with the most. With how much time he spends in the lab, he has grown to deeply appreciate those quiet moments with you, holding your hand under the table as he works in the low light, papers rustling as he tries to find the specific formula he's looking for. Jayce is across the table, snoring loud enough to keep the both of you awake. You look like you want to kiss him, he can feel your gaze on his lips as your fingers tangle through his hair and he turns to you and gives you a small smile then a sweet kiss on your forehead. When he pulls away, he leans into you and you sit there for a moment, nose to nose. "Just a few moments, love, I'm almost done." You giggle through tiredness. "It won't be a few moments, Vik." And he appreciates your understanding more than most things in the world. "No, it won't. But I'll try to make it quick.", he promises and then plants another kiss on you

☽He really likes reading with you, or just doing activities that allow the both of you to be doing something together without necessarily needing to talk. It doesn't even have to be something he's good at, it could be a painting session, or a pottery lesson, and he would be down. He would also be the type to try and pick up on your hobbies. You like to crochet; he's also picking up a crochet needle to try and work alongside you. And he's not too proud to ask for help, he likes a relationship where both parties are constantly learning and exploring.

☼Mel☼

☼Mel is definitely the type to spoil you. She has so much money and is not afraid to use it. You really like that dress you saw while window shopping? She's already ordered it to be tailored to your exact size. You like that bracelet? You wake up to it in a box on your nightstand the next morning and spot her wearing a matching piece later on that day. It's not to try and buy your love, she just thinks you deserve the world, and if she could buy it, it would be your wedding present.

☼Mel love holding hands at all times and specifically is the type to rub the skin between your pointer finger and thumb. Her skin would also be so soft, touching her feels like touching smooth velvet. She also likes to kiss your knuckles and the inside of your wrist before letting go, the mark her lipstick feeling like a heavy imprint of her lips.

☼She is also very fond of kissing your nose. She thinks 'booping' you with her finger is childish, but she is not above a little peck on the nose, which is the abridged version of her usual ritual of pecking your forehead, nose, and lips. Those kisses are usually taken in the morning when you go your separate ways for the day, particularly those that she knows will be long and tedious. She likes to think she takes part of you with her when she does it. She misses your intellect, she misses the silent indicators of your presence, she misses how you feel. Some days, she greatly yearns to return to you. She feels like a physical weight is lifted off her back and she can actually breathe.

☼She loves spending wash days with you. Those locs take hours and you are there right by her side, gossiping and discussing everything and nothing while royal hairdressers take down or retwist that beautiful head of hair. It's even better if you're the one doing it for her. She likes the feeling of your fingers in her scalp, massaging out the wrinkles in her brain as she goes boneless in between your legs. I, unfortunately, do not think she could return the favor. She is like basically royalty; her whole life someone was likely doing it for her. She would try and learn!! It would just take a little bit.

☼I do think she would be very good at doing your makeup. She has the base routine DOWN and usually likes to do simpler eye looks, though she can do whatever you request of her. All hell breaks loose when it comes time to do lips, and her gloss would end up all over your face as she is overcome with the unabating urge to leave glossy kiss marks all over your face . You would return the favor, whatever pigmented shade you previously wore landing all over her flawless skin, and she would savor the moment with a photo she keeps in her journal

☼In a modern AU, I think she would be really good at carnival games. I can't explain it, she just would. She's not the biggest fan carnivals and fairs as they're a bit too loud and crowded for her taste, but if you wanted to go, she certainly would never say no to you. While I think Vi would try very hard to beat them only to fail, Mel would be unexplainably good at them and win you tons of prizes.

☼Mel carries a purse on her at all times and has absolutely everything in there. Pads, tampons, ibuprofen, lip gloss, hand sanitizer, wet wipes, anything you could possibly need is in that bag of hers. She also carries the big bag so you only have to carry around outfit purses than can barely handle a handful of coins. She also loves matching outfits with you!!! You probably own so many matching outfits, matching pjs, matching workout sets, as well as multiple items of clothing that are the exact same except for sizing.

☼She would be another one who constantly talks about her partner, albeit, in a much smoother way than Jayce does. Jayce jumps at every opportunity to bring you up in conversation, it's always flows naturally with Mel but she also brags far more. It's always, "That's great but my girlfriend..." or finding ways to talk about big accomplishments knowing damn well no one else can compete. See her girlfriend has a doctorate, or her girlfriend won this prestigious award, or her girlfriend was the first to do this...what were you saying about your wife though???

☼As for pet names, I think Mel would be another person who uses "my love" or "my dear" but I also think she'd be the type to refer to you as "princess". Once again, coming from royalty, she treats you as such, and that also comes down to how she refers to you. She also just likes calling you by name, usually in her sappier moments followed by her last name She can't get enough of the way it sounds rolling off her tongue and the two of you together just sounds perfect.