#or they barely look the same and are out of character

[bluelockmaniac]

📽 "𝐂𝐔𝐓! ... 𝐈 𝐒𝐀𝐈𝐃 𝐂𝐔𝐓!?"

ft. actor!itoshi rin x costar!reader

synopsis. it was finally time to 'act out' the long awaited kiss scene with your celebrity crush, itoshi rin! but when the director yells 'cut!' . . . you both don't stop?

notes. gn!reader, 1.1k wc. popping back in for a bit hehe :)

three months and at least twenty-five near heart attacks later, you were finally about to film the long-awaited kiss scene with none other than the man of your dreams– itoshi rin. and, as fate would have it, it would be your first kiss too! killing two birds with one stone had never felt so terrifyingly thrilling.

having been chosen to co-star with the famous actor in a conventional romance movie had already been surreal enough, but now, after what felt like an eternity of rehearsals and stealing glances at your celebrity crush, it was finally time to place your pretty lips right where they belonged– on his.

the set was filled with blurred murmurs as the crew made their final adjustments, the cameras maneuvered to align their lenses perfectly, the lights flickered as the technicians adjusted them to a soft glow. surprisingly, you were not feeling nervous (rather, excited) though the same could not be said about rin who was seated on the plush prop couch in the middle of the carefully arranged living room set, his fingers drumming impatiently against the cushion.

you took your place behind the apartment door, knuckles barely grazing the wooden surface as you waited for your cue.

the movie director then cleared his throat into his fist and raised the clapperboard. “quiet on set,” he bellowed, and the room instantly fell silent. 

“ready,” thump 

“set,” thump 

“action!”

and the scene commenced.

you knocked on the door and a heartbeat later, rin’s voice floated from the inside– low & collected. 

“the door’s open.” 

short. simple. but most importantly, steady. it seems like he had finally settled into character.

twisting the doorknob, you stepped inside, shutting the door gently behind you. the air between you shifted the moment your eyes met rin’s cerulean gaze. you looked away almost immediately, heat creeping up your neck. pretending to be in love with him wasn’t very difficult when, in truth, there was no acting at all.

“i didn’t think you’d actually come.” rin’s voice was calm. he placed his mug down on the table, then threw his arm over the back of the couch as you approached and sat next to him.

“you called, didn’t you?” you turned toward him, tilting your body slightly as you took the time to scrutinize his face. his expression was unreadable, but you knew the script. furrowing your brows, you breathed out a soft huff. “liar,” you murmured. “you knew i was going to come.”

a ghost of a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. then, without hesitation, his arm dropped from the couch, sliding effortlessly around your waist as he pulled you in, closer, until you felt the warmth radiating from him. 

“yeah,” he admitted, “i did. you’ve always been easy to read, after all.”

your heart skipped a beat, but you kept your composure. barely. “cocky as always, i see.”

you scooted closer to him, the space between you turning into nothing as you buried your face into the warmth of his neck. your hands moved to rest on his chest, and you inhaled the familiar, rich scent of his cologne before sighing softly. 

“i missed you, kai,” you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin.

secretly you wished there would come a day when you could whisper rin instead, not his character’s name.

there was a long silence and you contained your excitement for what’s to come like the competent performer you are. after the silence had stretched long enough, your trembling fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt and you pushed yourself up. your eyes glistened with professional tears and your voice cracked at just the right moment. 

“i said i missed y–!”

the rest of your line was stolen.

without a word, rin’s hands found your face, fingers firm as he pulled you in, and then– his lips crashed onto yours. it wasn’t gentle. not hesitant either. it was rough and a bit reckless, too. it portrayed his scripted (or was it?) longing for you after 'years of absence' perfectly. his lips moved languidly against your own, and when a quiet whimper escaped you– definitely part of the script (cut yourself some slack, it was your first kiss for god’s sake)– you felt him shudder slightly.

your arms snaked around his neck as you began reciprocating the kiss more eagerly, with one tear cinematically slipping down your cheek. rin’s hand skis down to hold your waist while his nose brushes against yours fleetingly every now and then. it may be wishful thinking but with the way he’s passionately kissing you, you start to think that perhaps rin hadn't been acting this whole time. just like you.

“beautiful… perfect…” the movie director whispered under his breath, wiping a tear of pride as he casts glances at the camera crew filming the two successful stars. with a deep inhale, he readied himself, gripping the clapperboard. 

and–

“CUT!” his crisp voice rings through the set, signaling the end of the scene.

but you don’t pull away.

and neither does rin.

rin took pride in his career as an actor. he’d always been a professional, detached, the kind of actor that did what ought to be done and moved on. no strings, no unnecessary connections. but that was all prior to this because gosh hell would have to freeze over before he lets go of you now.

your lips were magnetic, and from the way you crawl onto his lap, fingers tangling in his hair, kissing deeper, he knows you could feel it too. a soft gasp escapes him as he lands back against the plush pillows of the couch, your weight on top of him, but neither of you seem to care.

the director blinks.

huh. odd. maybe you two didn’t hear the signal, though he was certain his voice was loud enough. “CUT!” he tried again, his voice slightly louder.

but you two were in your own world, too lost in each other to register the world around you.

“i-i said CUT!”

still, neither of you budge. the cameras kept rolling, the crew remained silent. someone sniffles in the background. perhaps, the director thinks, this is even better- like real lovers. you two depicted the raw emotions suspiciously well.

and so, when the film was released, that extended moment (the one where neither you or rin heard the call to stop) was actually kept! the movie was a massive hit, and you two may have started dating after this (the only justifiable course of action after the stuttering and embarrassment that came from you two after the realization).

of course, the director’s frantic shouting had to be muted post-production with advanced editing platforms. oh, and–

the part where rin had accidentally moaned your real name instead of your character’s? yeah. that was cropped out completely.

-

© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform

[shomatoriashi]

02/17/25; 08:34pm

sung jinwoo x civilian!fem.reader

notes: i'm so happy to dedicate my 100th oneshot to sung jinwoo (⺣◡⺣)♡

{ i can't lie, i trust you, i love you, i won't waste your time | i turn it off so i can turn you on | i'll make you say it out loud | i'm not even tripping, i won't stress you out | i might even settle down for you... }

there was something terrifying that came with being a simple human. after all, being a mere civilian while living in such a dangerous world was nothing short of a death sentence.

however, you suppose that was the reason why hunters awakened the same time these dangerous portals appeared throughout the world. humans that had the power and strength to combat the terrifying forces that these gates housed.

you, much like the rest of the world, treated these hunters like they were idols meant to be gazed upon with awe. each time a new gate appeared, they would risk their lives protecting the the people of earth while being celebrated if they came out victorious in the end.

yet out of all the national hunters that existed in the world, you were inexplicably drawn to one that went by the name sung jinwoo. the whole world knew of his perfect, cinderella-esque story where he grew from being the world's weakest to one of the strongest within a few month's time.

each time he would be captured within the glossy pages of a magazine or an article detailing his feats, you would cut them, keeping them all in a private scrapbook while admiring him and using his accomplishments to further inspire and motivate you in your own life.

you keep the scrapbook dedicated to jinwoo on your bookshelf, letting out a huff when you catch your reflection from the window's glass pane. not known to be much of a beauty, you purse your lips and run a hand through the tangles in your hair. embarrassingly enough, you often daydreamed about meeting jinwoo someday, making up pretend scenarios in your head as you basked in the thought of having his kind smile directed at you-

feeling the heat settle against your cheek, you banish those embarrassing thoughts immediately, reeling them in while reminding yourself that hunters like cha hae-in existed. you knew of the rumors surrounding jinwoo with hae-in, and truthfully, such a strong and beautiful hunter was a better fit for jinwoo than you could ever be.

a strange pang was felt on your chest, making you angrily swipe away at the tears. desperate to cheer up and feel better, you were determined to get out of your apartment and explore the streets of seoul for a nice bookstore, ready to bury yourself in a good romance novel while living vicariously through the main characters.

dressed comfortably in a hoodie and some jeans, you grab your bag and made sure you had enough funds in your wallet before stepping out of your home. breathing in the fresh air, you begin your trek out of your apartment complex, carefully treading down the concrete stairs while looking up the closest bookstore.

your search takes you to the heart of seoul, with you walking even deeper into the city before arriving at the store's address. letting out a huff upon realizing that it was across the street, you wait by the stoplight. only when the light turned red did you finally cross the street, eyes shining with excitement and joy at being surrounded by all the books.

yet before you could step on to the sidewalk, the sounds of a car's engine roaring to life makes you stop dead in your tracks. your eyes go wide, seeing the headlights of the sports car coming at you at a rapid pace. your heart sinks, knowing that you wouldn't be fast enough to avoid the impact.

"STOP!" a booming voice surrounds you, and you clench your eyes shut, preparing yourself for the incoming impact-

yet it never came.

a pair of powerful arms surrounds you, and you could smell the scent of his cologne while his hand remains outstretched, managing to stop the car with his bare hands, putting a considerable dent in it. with the vehicle forced to stop suddenly, you were dimly aware of how the cars surrounded you, causing an unnecessary amount of traffic-

your throat was dry, and you could feel your whole body trembling at the thought of being so close to death. lifting your gaze, you had words of gratitude for the man who had saved you-

yet upon realizing his true identity, the words died against your throat, for it was none other than sung jinwoo who had prevented your impending demise. your mind was in a daze now, merely staring up at the man with an almost awed expression. you could feel how taut his body had gotten when the owner of said car gets out of his vehicle. "oi asshole, you just put a dent in my baby! do you know how much money i spent on-"

"this shitty car is nothing compared to the life you had almost taken." you watch the way jinwoo's eyes glowed a dangerous, lilac hue, sizing up the man while keeping a protective arm wrapped around your shoulder

the driver recognizes jinwoo immediately and lets out a plethora of stutters. "s-sorry man, i didn't know it was you. i-i'm sorry for the trouble i caused, miss."

"get on your knees and properly apologize to her." you tremble upon feeling the deadly aura that suddenly surrounds you. not immune to the almost authoritarian aura that radiates from jinwoo's form, the careless driver kneeled down before you, pressing his forehead against the street while apologizing to you over and over again.

satisfied with his actions, jinwoo pulls you away from the scene before meeting your gaze. immediately, his expression turns softer- kinder even as he gently frames at your face, ignoring the commotion he had caused earlier while focusing his entire attention on you. "are you alright?"

it takes a herculean effort for you to maintain eye contact with him, feeling your heart pounding out of the confines of your chest as you could only manage to give him a nod. jinwoo lets out a hum, not straying a hand away from your shoulders as you felt the fabric of his shirt brushing against you. "where did you wish to go?"

you point at the bookstore settled behind him, with jinwoo flashing you a wide grin. "ah, is that so? shall we go in together?"

not even waiting for your response, jinwoo manages to take a hold of your hand, opening the door to the bookstore for you to step inside first. "thank you," you manage to tell him in a bit of a raspy whisper, willing your heart to stop racing.

but alas, not even the scent of newly printed pages could erase the anxiety and anticipation you felt with jinwoo standing so close to you. his fingertips kept brushing against your hand when you attempted to scour the aisles for anything interesting to read. eventually, your gaze lands on three books that had flowery covers and designs. with an eager nod, you decide to purchase the trilogy-

only to have jinwoo gently take away the thick tomes from your hands.

"ah, what are you doing, hunter sung?!"

"paying for these since you had a pretty shitty start to your day. and please, just call me jinwoo." he winks back at you, taking the books while heading towards the cashier's counter. you were unable to change his mind, walking behind him all while feeling like you were in the midst of a dream.

the cashier seemed to recognize him, freaking out while jumping up and down behind the counter. she asks if she could take a selfie with him, which jinwoo happily agreed to. for some odd reason, seeing jinwoo taking a picture with the cashier made a strange pang of envy course through your veins, but you try to bury those intrusive thoughts, simply waiting for jinwoo to finish with bated breath.

a few minutes later, jinwoo hands you the paper bag filled with the books he had purchased for you. a shy smile paints your expression as you held the bag close to your chest. "y-you didn't have to do that, but thank you hunter- i mean, j-jinwoo."

he meets your gaze and does the one thing you have always dreamt of. with grey eyes shining with mirth, his full lips were turned up in a smile while giving you a simple nod, "of course, don't mention it miss...?" jinwoo purposely trails off, making you realize that he was asking for your name.

clearing your throat, you turn away from him and tell him the syllables that make up your name. were your eyes playing tricks on you, or did jinwoo's smile seem to widen in response when he repeats your name (as if tasting it on his tongue)? the way your name rolls off his tongue causes you to shiver slightly in response, and you had a ridiculous thought of how you could get used to hearing him say it more often.

with the traffic and the douchebag's car gone, jinwoo escorts you back to your apartment complex. he makes small talk with you, asking you about all of your interests (ranging from your favorite foods to favorite color), filling you with a strange sense of warmth-

and jinwoo's kindness along with his willingness to save and protect you only serves to deepen your feelings for him. even as you were back within the safety of your apartment, you didn't wish to part ways with jinwoo, shyly meeting his gaze while brushing back your hair, "thanks again for... well, for everything."

a rich chuckle escapes from his parted lips, "don't mention it. i didn't mind protecting a pretty girl like you."

your knees clash together in response to his playful words, seeing his grey eyes take on a brighter hue. time seemed to stand still when he looks down at you, hands being oh so gentle when he frames at your face. you watch with wide eyes when he leans down (albeit a bit hesitantly) before murmuring fuck it as he presses a chaste kiss against your lips.

fireworks were felt going off within your head at the unexpected sensation of his lips on yours, and you shyly kissed him back, allowing jinwoo to delve his fingers into your hair, pulling you closer to him. he dives his tongue within your lips for a brief moment before pulling away, "i have to go, but... i promise i'll be thinking of you, sarang."

feeling like you were caught up in a dream, you allow jinwoo to tilt your chin upwards. he begins to grin at the dazed expression on your face, lifting up a hand to press two fingers against his lips in another kiss before pressing them against your lips once more. you stayed glued on the spot, not leaving until jinwoo was out of sight as you gave your arm a hard pinch to make sure that you weren't dreaming.

still in a haze, you enter your apartment and slam the door shut. sliding down the hard surface, you let out a shuddering breath and bask in the different emotions that you were feeling-

giddiness-

love-

adoration-

and a strange sense of belonging.

letting out a breathy laugh, you take out one of your books and open the cover-

only to see a single card with a message and a series of numbers:

i never believed in love at first sight-

until now.

xxx xxx-xxxx

sjw

end notes: jinwoo how do i love theeeee. what i wouldn't give to have you protect me and experience the love at first sight trope with you 😭🙌🏻

all stories are written by rei; please do not repost, plagiarize, or translate my works!!

[temis-de-leon]

Sewist MC who makes clothes with his clothes

Characters: Demon Brothers x gn!MC (separately)

Main Masterlist

C/W: established relationship, possessiveness, very suggestive in Asmo's part

.

Lucifer

At first, he suspects your talent will be spent fixing clothes and creating pieces for cosplay, just like Levi does, but it doesn't take him too long to discover how wrong he is.

There's more to you than meets the eye, and he enjoys every second of it, although it would pain him to admit how long he spends watching you transform something as simple as a t-shirt into whatever else you have in mind; a creation of your own much more interesting and flattering.

If you catch him staring at you with fascination while you search for the best thread to use in the fabric, no, you don't.

Stop looking so much at him and pay attention to what you're doing, MC.

Things will change the moment you ask him to give you any clothes he may not use anymore, though.

Are you telling him that not only are you a resourceful, skilled, creative and patient artist, but you also want him to mark you?

Because why else would you want to wear his clothes if not to show who you belong to?

But the symbolism goes deeper than that.

Seeing what had previously been his possessions fit you so perfectly makes your relationship feel more raw and natural.

It is as it should be because it couldn't have been anything else.

Wear as much as you like; he can always buy more.

Mammon

The Great Mammon will tell you that it is a waste of time and you should join him at the casino downtown instead.

You want to upgrade your wardrobe? How about waiting for him to win the biggest prize and then he'll give you anything you want?

Mammon, however, will tear his clothes just to see you fix them, so if the cuts or holes look too purposeful, don't mention it.

You seeing right through him is one weakness he's gonna have to learn to live with, so be merciful and don't say anything about his poor excuses.

His quivering dignity will appreciate it.

They're PR gifts from his modelling gigs, anyway. He hardly wears anything that changes his style too much.

When the inevitable day comes in which you ask to "borrow" some of his actual clothes for personal use, he will blush and stammer like crazy, even as he laughs at you for being so obvious in your affections.

Of course you want others to see who's your boyfriend! And he is glad to make your wish come true!

...

What do you want exactly? In which colour?

...can you make a matching piece for him...?

Don't laugh at him, MC!! He was asking for your sake!! In case you were too embarrassed to ask, you know?

Dumb human

Leviathan

He's one of the brothers who appreciates what you do the most, not only because he admires every form of arts and crafts by default but also because he is a fellow sewist.

And a good one at it.

Sure, his talent mostly (almost always) comes up when cosplay is on the table, but there is serious work involved, and barely anyone complains about the results.

Your shared interest deepens your relationship on a genuine level, and the innocence of it makes it very endearing.

Sometimes, you're catching up to your favourite piece of media in either of your rooms, but on other occasions, the rest of the family will probably find you working around each other, silent or deep in conversation, with eyes always focused on the task at hand.

Mammon almost had a heart attack once because he was hanging out while you both worked in the same room and suddenly you started talking after a whole hour in silence.

Levi enjoys your presence every moment of the day, but doing the same thing makes him feel all warm and tingly.

He especially likes it when you both make little trinkets for the other to wear or carry around, like a reminder that you'll always be together no matter what.

If it's the other way around, though...

If you want something that belongs to him to make customised clothes for yourself...

He won't be able to give you a clear answer for at least a week, mainly because every time he sees you after the question is made, he blushes deeply and has trouble coming up with words.

Will eventually agree to give you something, but only if you do the same.

Low-key cringe, but the thought of people seeing you in his clothes and vice versa, even if they're altered, makes him tremble in excitement.

Satan

The most curious about your abilities by far, he will be hovering over you and asking all types of questions. Of course, he will stop if you ask him to, but he won't go too far.

He can always grab a book and read it next to you.

His questions aren't meant to intrude, anyways. They're mainly directed to how long you have been doing this and how it started. Also, do you only make human sized clothes? Have you ever tried making them in smaller sizes? Say... cat sized?

Just imagine, MC! Imagine how cute the stray kitties would look with a costume or something to keep them warm during the dead nights of winter! They may even remember you for it!!

Is he getting too excited? Forgive him; he can't help it.

Imagining his favourite stray cat with a creation of yours is more than enough to make him blush.

You are dating, yet he is still surprised when you ask him to give you something that belongs to him.

The many ways in which you show how much you love him are endless.

If you teach him how to sew, maybe he can return the gesture...?

He's a dork.

Asmodeus

Real tears of joy.

Finally someone with talent that doesn't throw it away in cosplay! Levi can defend his costumes all he wants, but at least you make fabulous clothes for daily life!

He shows great interest in your projects and isn't shy in the slightest when he voices his opinions on what would look better or where you could improve your designs.

Why settle for good when you have the potential to make it perfect, right?

That's why you're dating 🩷 Because neither of you settled for less 🩷🩷

It would be wise to listen to him, though. He knows what he's talking about.

Will absolutely yell and cry in delight if you ask him to give you clothes to adapt for yourself.

Whether you're a romantic person or not, he now thinks you are and has no problems showing you how much he likes it.

His brothers are horrified by the amount of hickeys on your neck the next morning.

Those are the visible ones.

Not long passes until he invites you to his room just to show you an arrangement made out of a selection of clothes and accessories chosen specifically with both your styles in mind.

You'll make an outfit for him too, right? You have to match!

Better be ready to take his measurements, because you will be the one doing it even if he knows the numbers by heart.

Beelzebub

Oh, you have a hobby, MC? Nice!

He doesn't totally understand the appeal of it, but he's content knowing that it makes you happy.

Plus, it's a good way of spending time together. No one demands your attention whenever they see you so focused, so he can enjoy your company in peace during those moments. It's just you and him, and occasionally Belphie, sitting together while he eats and you work.

Some of those times he isn't even hungry. That's how satisfied he is.

He's asked on very few occasions if you could mend his sportswear after a rough training session, but he doesn't want to look as if he's taking advantage of you or your talents in any way.

If he breaks something of his, then it should be his responsibility, not yours.

The moment you ask for his clothes so you can wear them instead, however?

He is grinning and humming in joy like an eager puppy.

One moment you are asking him and the next you are standing in front of his wardrobe choosing what you want to use.

Surprisingly, Beel will offer to use his laundry detergent even if they're now technically your clothes.

They may have your measurements, but that doesn't mean you bought them in that size.

He still wants others to know that they were originally his.

Belphegor

Won't be extremely excited about your capabilities, but he'll show interest and, if you haven't flaunted about them already, then he's encouraging you to do so.

You are talented and other people should know.

He won't force you, though.

After all, those peaceful moments spent alone while he naps by your side and you sew are some of his favourites. The only downside is that he can't use your lap, but he isn't complaining too much.

And the presence of other people would only ruin it.

He likes to be there as you work; to fall asleep as you frown and the tip of your tongue peaks out deep in concentration; to kiss your fingers if you prick yourself.

The sight of the needle disappearing in the folds and the thread blending with the rest of the fabric is hypnotic.

.

These are the naps he enjoys the most, but he will never tell you directly.

When you finally ask him for some of his clothes, he's immediately nodding in agreement. Even before you finish the question.

What more is there to ask? As long as it is for you, then everything is available.

He also relishes in his brothers' sour expressions when they recognize your "new" outfit, but that's a secret.

.

Taglist: @ilovecandys2010 @ollieoven @kingofspadesdelusion @whimsybloom

[whos-the-seme]

Shen Qingqiu was doomed.

He stood still, fluttering his fan nervously and trying to avoid catching his counterpart's, the real Shen Qingqiu, glaring eyes from across the room. Instead, he idly observed the other Cang Qiong Mountain Peak Lords, trying to spot the differences between the ones he knew and their alternates.

Liu Qingge had brought back a strange artifact from one of his hunts to the monthly Peak Lord meeting. It was a mirror, rimmed an ugly tarnished gold, topped with a decoration that was shaped into an unidentifiable creature with ruby red eyes.

[Important Artifact Detected: Red-Eyed Sphinx's Mirror! Quest starting...]

Shen Qingqiu had been trying to remember where it might have appeared in PIDW when the surface of the mirror suddenly began to glow a dull yellow. It quickly brightened until it obscured everyone's vision.

And then, there stood another set of peak lords across the room, facing them down.

System, what on earth is going on???

[Quest started: Lost Long Spirit in My Reflection! Other characters have been transported to this universe. Host must find a way to send them back without revealing his identity as a transmigrator.]

WTF? I didn't agree to this!

[Good luck!]

System??? Get back here!

While the two Yue Qingyuans and Xu Qinglis conversed together to try to understand what had happened, the other peak lords had begun to mingle with each other, curious about their counterparts.

Shen Qingqiu tried to suppress his panic, sticking close to Shang Qinghua. His Yue Qingyuan occasionally flicked his softened gaze towards the alternate Shen Qingqiu, likely noticing that the other still acted as he used to before his qi deviation. In fact, several of the peak lords he had gotten to know over the years were sending some looks at the other Shen Qingqiu.

With the original goods right there, how long would it be before something exposed him as a fraud?? What if he was confronted about why he acted so differently?

[Host must avoid having his identity exposed. Being revealed as a transmigrator will result in Host being immediately sent back to his old body.]

Yeah, yeah, same shit as always!

Looking to his side, Shang Qinghua seemed to be experiencing the same threats, desperately looking away from the more dead-eyed Shang Qinghua across the room who, luckily, was barely paying him any attention.

Fuck, what do we do?

---

Shen Qingqiu continued to glare at the Other Shen Qingqiu in the room. The other Shen Qingqiu was so obviously a fraud, he could tell within minutes of being here. While his alternate seemed somewhat familiar, he didn't act like him at all, his mannerisms were all off, and despite the attempt at keeping a poker face, Shen Qingqiu could tell that he was nervous. Probably at being caught out.

His alternate self had likely been replaced with a bodysnatcher or some sort of spirt, if they truly were supposed to be the same person. Was everyone else stupid, or had they had their brains sucked out by a Heart Mouthed Lobster-Squid?

Or maybe they simply like the bodysnatcher better and didn't bother to investigate.

Shen Qingqiu's face became stormier, turning his glare to the Other Yue Qingyuan, wondering if he had felt happier once his precious Xiao-Jiu had vanished. The other Yue Qingyuan's face grew even more pathetic. Tch. Typical.

"That stupid System--" Shen Qingqiu nearly snapped his neck in looking at the bodysnatcher upon hearing his murmur. The fraud, upon noticing his sudden attention, clammed back up and looked away. But Shen Qingqiu knew what he heard.

Xi Tong.

He hadn't heard those words in years, not since--

He stepped forward, scanning the other once more. Upon a second, more thorough look, Shen Qingqiu realized that he grew more familiar. He wore his hair in the way that Shen Qingqiu wore it, but looser and less severe. His eyes were clearer and lighter, with hints of a smile, despite his nerves. He occasionally quickly glanced up and to his left, as if seeing something there, before bringing his attention back to the room at large.

No. It couldn't be. He was long dead, despite Shen Qingqiu's best efforts. Even if the fake had some similar things about him, that doesn't mean--

Shen Jiu had once had a brother, besides Qi-ge. Slightly smaller than him, despite the fact that Shen Jiu passed him along as much food as he could when on the streets. He smiled so much despite their circumstances, and was so kind despite Shen Jiu constantly telling him that he was making himself a target. But he looked so, so similar to Shen Jiu himself. They could have switched their clothes and looked exactly the same, if one didn't notice the difference in their demeanors.

His brother has also always been a little odd, talking to himself and arguing with an imaginary friend that only he could see named Xi Tong. One of the reasons that they survived as long as they did on the streets was due to the inexplicable knowledge that his brother seemed to have. Somehow, his brother knew about the various plants or small animals that they could hunt and sell for a pretty coin in the markets. Shen Jiu never asked, not looking a gift horse in the mouth.

But his brother was dead. He had died years ago, in the time during when they were in Qiu's manor. During a punishment for Shen Jiu's attempt to get them both to join Wu Yanzi; he had switched their clothes and taken Shen Jiu's place and died for it. That had been the final catalyst that made him set the manor ablaze and escape, mourning his brother's death as his fault for daring to be free. Cursing Qi-ge for not coming back for them.

Dazed and his vision dim, Shen Jiu took another step forward, and another. Hope, something he thought he had killed off long ago, slowly rose in his chest.

Had his brother survived in this world? Had he managed to escape alongside Shen Jiu? Or had Shen Jiu died in his place? Dimly, he can't help but think that the world would be far kinder if that were the case. If his brother had made it to Cang Qiong Mountain and became a peak lord all on his own and still managed to keep his smile. If he didn't have Shen Jiu dragging him down with him.

The other Shen Qingqiu, not having noticed his approach, laughed at something the other Shang Qinghua said ("Wonder if Shang Qinghua is a traitor here, too," Shen Jiu thought dimly). His laugh was the same. He rose his fan to hide his face, but Shen Jiu noticed how his nose crinkled, and his eyes nearly closed in delight, exactly like--

"A-Yuan?"

[mrkeatingsblazer]

defending the characters does equal loving the fandom are you okay? Bens in the wilderness with a bunch of teenagers who don’t listen to him. We see that play out the second Lara Lee asks him what he’s gonna do about it when she goes on the plane. ITS A PLOT POINT. It’s literally why Jackie dies; she signifies change in leadership and unlawfulness. Coach Ben being an adult does not matter to the girls anymore, it’s why mitsy was so okay with drugging him because in her mind he’s still holding onto civilised laws and that’s not an excuse for rape even if she thinks he wants her. That’s an excuse I see so much and it’s disgusting. And on mitsy and Ben; that girl took off his leg without barely thinking and has shown multiple other signs of mental illness that from someone in the show could look like her potentially snapping and becoming dangerous.

It’s a tactic many victims use; easing their oppressor into a state of comfort because he doesn’t know how this crazy girl is gonna react. You saying that he shouldn’t be around kids is so strange. Like what do you think he’s a pdfile?

Saying that what happened at doomcoming “wasn’t the best” is why I hate you fans, doing exactly what I said by pushing everything about the boys away or seeing it as less important. It being a women show shouldn’t mean the fandom should become a bunch of femcels who hate the guys. Shauna jerks off to a picture of her daughter and her boyfriend? Completely fine who cares Shauna is complex. Travis, a teenage boy in the 90s, saying something sexist in the first season- fuck him, im thankful he dies, doesn’t deserve anything. The same can be said with Ben who the fandom villainies’ because of his age. AGE DOESNT MATTER IN THE WILDERNESS. He has no power. The fact you think that what he’s done is so bad compared to the rest of the girls is mad. He has to die? But not the group eating people? (love those little freaks but point still stands).

Also telling me not to talk about my opinions on the show is so weird. Public platform, public opinions. You also attack a character you are gonna get fans of that character on your back. If you don’t want “debates” don’t post hate posts.

“omg poor coach ben someone save him from misty” i hope he meets his demise at her hands actually

[dreamsteddie]

Who Will Catch Me When You're Gone?

Content Tags: Platonic Sobin, major character death, grief, depression, major character undeath

Inspired by this beautiful art by @tarraing

------

When they found Steve, broken and bloody and scraped raw from the bats, all Robin could think about was that Steve's favorite sweatpants were ruined. She'd never understood those things or how someone so obsessed with fashion could wear them, but he'd always loved how comfortable they were. She razzes him about it every time he wears them.

Now they're ruined. Dirty and ripped.

She can hear Nancy ordering them to help her and Eddie freaking out but it's all just white noise to her right up until the moment everything comes flooding back in and the world has never been louder. Her breathing is deafening like she's trying to breathe for both of them.

Steve isn't breathing.

Steve isn't breathing but somehow she still is.

One moment she's stuck watching Nancy Wheeler try to patch her soulmate back together the next she's doing it for her so Nancy can start CPR. Eddie has stopped freaking out, she is dimly aware of him standing behind her, hovering because he doesn't know how to help. Doesn't know if there's any way to help.

Robin knows she's talking but it doesn't matter what she's saying. She doesn't think Steve can hear her. How could anything she says matter when her best friend isn't there to hear it? But she can't make herself stop, just in case.

But Steve never hears her. Nancy pushes on his chest and forces air into his lungs until her arms are shaking and she doesn't have enough strength to move his chest anymore. Then Robin takes over even though she has no idea what she's doing. Even though Nancy and Eddie are trying to tell her it's no use, that they need to go.

Like she could leave him here.

Then she's kicking and screaming because they're trying to pull her away. She's biting down on Eddie's ringed hand and kicking out into Nancy's ribs. She's not leaving, she's not. She can't do that to Steve, would rather lie down next to him, take his hand, and let the bats find her than leave him behind.

The last thing she sees before someone knocks her in the head is Steve's eyes, open and empty and staring right at her.

------

When Robin wakes up she's surrounded by people, but no one says a thing. She sees Dustin, red-eyed and empty standing in a corner across from the couch she's been placed on. Max won't look at her, Erica is glued to her side, Eddie looks lost, and Nancy looks like a block of steel. Steve isn't anywhere to be found.

But then again, Robin knew that. She'd know if Steve was her because their hearts beat as one, but now her chest feels empty. It's Max, brave, scared Max, who breaks the silence. Robin doesn't hear it. Doesn't listen as people start explaining plans around them. Can't channel the righteous fury she sees in Nancy, Dustin, and Max or the barely concealed fear in Eddie and Erica. All she feels is empty.

She's going to do whatever they want her to do because she knows it's what Steve would do. Knows without a shadow of a doubt that if she was the one lying dead in the Upside Down he would be on a war path in her name, so she needs to do the same.

When she launches that last fire bomb into Vecna's ugly head, it's a hallow victory.

Everyone else survives. The Byers move back to Hawkins. The town starts to rebuild. The big bad is gone for good.

But it doesn't mean anything to her. She lies in bed most days without saying a word. She lets her parents dote on her, listens passively as they try to remind her of the college acceptance letters waiting for her on the kitchen counter. Manages to sit up and smile just a little when Eddie brings Dustin and Erica by to see her. Cries with the two of them tucked under her arms, all three of them aware of how vulnerable they feel without a strong pair of arms wrapped around their other side.

Robin asks Eddie to hang back one day and makes a request. The next day he comes by with a clean needle and a pot of ink and Robin sits motionless as he engraves a sunflower inner her wrist, somewhere she'll always be able to see it. She always swore to Steve that she would never get a tattoo, too freaked out by the possibility of an infection, but those fears feel so distant now that the worst thing that could happen has come to pass. She catches Eddie with one of his own to match the next week.

------

A month goes by. She doesn't leave the house, even when Dustin comes by to beg her.

Then two. She can tell her parents are starting to really worry. They've given up trying to get to college and started trying to get her to think about therapy.

Then Five. She started going to work again. She puts on her Family Video vest and thinks about Steve. She walks through the door and imagines Steve leaning over the counter. Keith turns on Back to The Future and she goes home with a panic attack. She doesn't speak unless it's necessary, but she's trying to move forward. She knows it's what Steve would want for her, even on the days when it's not what she wants for herself.

And then Six months pass. There's a tap at her window.

She ignores it, at first. She refuses to go to a shrink, there are too many things she can't say to the ones her parents recommend, and she won't accept anything from those government goons who turned her best friend into a soldier. Into cannon fodder. Instead, she writes letters.

She sits down at her desk once a day and pours her heart out to Steve. She lets herself pretend for a few moments every day that he's just been dragged away by his parents for a few months. He's out there somewhere in the world relying on her to keep her updated on the kids and the drama at work and herself until she can go out and join him, wherever he is. Some days she writes about nothing at all, some days she rages at him for leaving her behind, sometimes she speculates about their future where she goes to college wherever he is and they get an apartment and two dogs. She seals every one in an envelope, tucks them in a drawer, and lets herself breathe in that perfect fantasy for just a moment. It's the best part of her day, and nothing can tear her away from it.

Except the tapping doesn't stop.

And Robin lives on the second floor.

And everyone she knows would just come through the front door.

She turns, so slowly, toward the window. The glare from her bedside lamp makes it impossible to see anything through it, but she doesn't need to.

There are fingers, claws, forcing their way under the sill. She sucks in a sharp breath as they curl upward, crashes to the ground as they start to pull.

She's scrambling back, getting ready to scream and make a run for the walkie she leaves on silent on her desk to call for help. To warn the others that their monsters are back before it mows her down.

But then the window gives way and she stops. Stops everything.

Because the thing in her window is wearing her best friend's face. It's wearing his hair and his moles and his stupid fucking sweatpants.

And at the end of the day it doesn't actually matter what he looks like. It doesn't matter if there are new hinges in his jaw to show off new, shark-like teeth. It doesn't matter mater if he can't say anything besides a hissed, garbled rendition of her name. It doesn't even matter when he latches onto her wrist, right above that little sunflower, and sucks, taking just enough blood to make her light-headed.

Because she can feel his heartbeat pounding along with her own, perfectly in sync.

Because she's not alone, anymore.

[movingmusically]

Hi can you do a fluffy where austin and reader fell in love while shooting caught stealing and they are on their press tour together and the people are starting to speculate about their relationship through their chemistry and when austin is in a talk show to promote he gets emotional while talking about her which basically confirms their relationship and please make it in an austin pov

Word Count: 5,893

Masterlist

Rumour Has It

Press tours are a machine. Same schedule, different city. Hotels that all look the same, blacked-out car windows, cameras waiting at every stop. I know the rhythm. I know when to turn it on, when to let the words fall out in a way that sounds effortless.

It’s a strange thing, sitting in the same chair all day while a rotation of journalists shuffle in and out, asking variations of the same ten questions. Most of the time, I can answer on autopilot, let the words settle into well-worn grooves.

But this time, it’s different.

Because Y/N is here.

And suddenly, the hours don’t drag the way they usually do.

Maybe it’s the way she nudges my knee under the table when she senses I’m zoning out, like she knows exactly when I need to be pulled back. Maybe it’s the way she always seems to have a second coffee waiting for me, despite insisting she doesn’t enable my caffeine addiction. Maybe it’s the way she laughs—really laughs—not just when the cameras are rolling, but when I catch her off guard, something quiet and unrestrained that makes my chest feel too full.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I spent the night with her.

I’m careful—don’t look at her too much, don’t lean in too close—but still, it’s there. The weight of it. The way my body feels aware of hers, even when I’m not touching her.

She nudges my knee with hers, just a small tap. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I huff a quiet laugh, tilting my head toward her. “And you look suspiciously awake for someone who barely slept.”

There’s a beat where her lips press together like she’s trying not to smile. Then, smoothly, she lifts the coffee cup to her lips. “Sheer willpower.”

The next journalist is already settling into their chair, a producer giving them the go-ahead to start.

“Alright,” the interviewer says, beaming. “So, Caught Stealing is such a unique, character-driven story. It’s dark, but not in a flashy way—it’s lived-in, messy, raw. What was it about this film that drew you both in?”

A safe, easy question.

Y/N takes it first, shifting slightly in her seat. “The characters, honestly. The way their relationships are constantly shifting, how nothing is simple. There’s no easy hero, no clean resolution. It felt real.”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s not just about a guy who gets in over his head—it’s about what that does to the people around him. How every choice he makes has a ripple effect. Nothing exists in isolation.”

The journalist nods, jotting something down, but their gaze lingers on us a beat too long. I recognise that look.

The I’m not here to ask about your chemistry, but I see it anyway look.

Because it keeps happening. Every time Y/N glances at me mid-answer, like she’s checking if I agree. Every time I catch myself mirroring the way she shifts in her chair. Every time we break at the same time over something small—a joke that wasn’t really a joke, a word that came out weird, a memory that doesn’t need explaining.

“So, I’ve seen an early cut of the film,” the journalist continues, flipping through their notes, “and I think what really makes it so compelling is how lived-in these performances feel. Nothing feels rehearsed, everything just... moves naturally. Did you two spend a lot of time together before filming?”

Y/N and I glance at each other at the same time.

And then—it happens.

That thing where we have a conversation without having a conversation. A flicker of amusement in her eyes, a twitch of my lips in response. A silent should we mess with them?

She bites back a smile. “Well, we met before filming,” she says lightly.

I hum, pretending to think. “Yeah. Darren got us together for dinner so we could talk about the script.”

Y/N groans, leaning forward. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Forgot?”

She places a hand on her chest, feigning sincerity. “I blocked it out.”

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “You’re so full of it.”

The journalist chuckles, glancing between us. Their posture shifts—more relaxed now, like they’ve stopped trying to decipher something and have simply settled into the reality of it.

It happens in almost every interview.

No one asks about chemistry, but they see it. It’s in the way our movements fall into sync without trying. It’s in the way Y/N mutters something under her breath when the next question is a little too serious, and the way I exhale a laugh before I can stop myself. It’s in the way we don’t overthink it, even when everyone else does.

The next question comes, but I only half-hear it, because suddenly, I'm remembering.

That first dinner.

The first time I saw her.

Darren had chosen some quiet little restaurant in the West Village, the kind of place with handwritten menus and candle wax pooling in the centre of the tables.

I got there first, early enough to check my phone three times, drink half a glass of water, and wonder if showing up early made me look too eager.

Then the door opened.

And Y/N had walked in.

She was slightly breathless from the cold, scarf slipping from her shoulders as she unwrapped it, tucking her gloves into her bag.

“Hey,” she’d said, flashing a quick smile.

I stood up automatically—I don’t know why, it just felt right—offering my hand.

She took it, fingers warm. “Y/N.”

“Austin.”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, I figured.”

Darren arrived moments later, launching straight into the script—breaking down the themes, the character dynamics, what made this different from other films in the same space.

But I wasn’t fully listening.

Because Y/N had pulled out a notebook, flipping past scribbled-out words and margin notes, and suddenly, I was captivated.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She’d glanced up. “Just—thoughts on Yvonne. Stuff I don’t wanna forget.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

She hesitated, then turned the notebook toward me. A half-filled page, little arrows linking thoughts together.

Wants to leave, but stays. Doesn’t trust him, but can’t let go. Is it love, or just familiar?

She spoke, voice softer now. “You don’t think she’s stupid for going back, do you?”

I looked at her then, really looked at her.

“No,” I said. “I think she’s just human.”

And that was it.

That was the moment it clicked.

“—Austin?”

I blink, snapping back to the present. The journalist is looking at me expectantly. Y/N is hiding a knowing smile behind her coffee cup.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “What was the question?”

And just like that, I’m here.

With her.

And suddenly, press tours don’t feel so exhausting after all.

Another city, another wave of interviews.

I barely register which one anymore. The cycle repeats itself—airport, hotel, press junket, premiere. Somewhere in between, I sleep just enough to keep functioning, drink enough coffee to keep from crashing. It should feel exhausting. Maybe it is. But this time, there’s Y/N. She makes it easier.

It’s in the way she always has some inside joke ready to throw at me when the energy in the room starts to dip, the way she leans in a little too close when she laughs, eyes bright with something mischievous, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And maybe she does.

We’ve slipped into a rhythm now, something easy and unspoken, something that doesn’t need rehearsing. The interviews blur together, but I can still pinpoint the exact moment in each one when she catches my eye, when my response shifts just slightly because I’m talking to her now instead of the room.

And people are noticing.

I can feel it—not just in the way interviewers hesitate a second too long before moving on, but in the way the internet is running wild with it.

I don’t look at the posts. Not directly, anyway.

But Callum does.

My phone buzzes during a break between interviews, and when I check it, there’s a message waiting for me.

You guys are the internet’s new favourite obsession.

I frown, scrolling up. He’s sent a link.

I shouldn’t click it.

I click it.

It’s a tweet. One of those slowed-down edits, the kind people put together when they’ve decided to make something out of nothing. Except—it’s not nothing.

Clips from the press tour, spliced together like evidence in some case file. Y/N laughing at something I said. Me turning toward her at the same time she turns toward me. The way my hand lingers a second too long on her back before we pose for pictures. A moment where we both start speaking at the same time, cut together with a voiceover about “soulmates always mirroring each other.”

The caption reads:

They think they’re being subtle. They are not.

I lock my phone and shove it into my pocket before I can spiral.

It’s not that deep.

Except—it kind of is.

Because it looks exactly how it feels.

It’s always felt like this, hasn’t it?

The thought sticks, lingers like something just out of reach, and suddenly, I’m not here anymore.

I’m back in New York.

Back in a darkened theatre.

Darren had suggested it. Said we should see Y/N’s play before filming started.

“She’s good,” he’d said. “Better than good. You’ll see.”

I’d nodded, agreed, gone in expecting to be impressed.

I hadn’t expected to be ruined.

She stepped onto the stage like she belonged there, and for the next two hours, I forgot about everything else. Forgot why I was there, forgot who I was supposed to be.

There was a moment—halfway through the second act—where her character stood in the centre of the stage, framed by dim, moody lighting, and she wasn’t even speaking. She was just there.

And somehow, that was enough.

The audience was silent, caught in the gravity of it, but I could feel my own breath sticking in my throat, my hands tightening around the armrests.

Because I wasn’t watching her as a director would. Or a co-star. Or even as an actor admiring another actor’s performance.

I was watching her as something else.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Then the moment broke. The scene shifted, the lights changed, the spell lifted.

But something stayed.

Something stuck.

After the final bow, Darren and I waited backstage. When she walked out, eyes still bright with adrenaline, she spotted us instantly.

“Austin?”

I grinned. “Hey, superstar.”

Her smile widened. “You came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

Something shifted then.

Something that’s only gotten stronger since.

I blink, the theatre fading, the present snapping back into focus. Y/N, sitting across from me, scrolling through her phone like she doesn’t know I was just somewhere else entirely. Like she has no idea I was just remembering the first time she wrecked me without even trying. I run a hand over my jaw, exhale slowly. Maybe I should let this go. Maybe I should stop overthinking it.

Or maybe—maybe it’s too late for that.

We’re in a different city now, a different room, but everything blends together—same setup, same questions. Except this time, we’re sitting on the floor. And this time, there are puppies.

A producer counts down, “We’re rolling in three, two—”

Before they even hit one, there’s barking, followed by the unmistakable sound of tiny paws skidding across the floor. A handful of golden retriever puppies burst into the room, tails wagging, tripping over each other in their rush toward us.

Y/N lets out a dramatic gasp, eyes going wide as one immediately scrambles into her lap, burying its face against her sweater. “This is the best day of my life!”

I laugh, already struggling to keep hold of one that’s climbing up my chest like it has somewhere important to be. “I don’t think we’re getting through a single question.”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ll do our best. First one—what’s something you learned about each other while filming?”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly scratching behind the puppy’s ear. “Austin has an insane memory. Like, borderline freaky. He’d hear a line once and know it perfectly. And all of my lines, too.”

I shrug. “Or maybe you just forgot yours a lot.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “The slander.”

I smirk, nudging her shoulder with mine.

The interviewer shakes his head, amused. “I feel like you two just communicate in banter at this point.”

Y/N sighs dramatically, cradling the puppy against her. “It’s our love language.”

It happens before I can stop it—a flicker of something in my chest, a second where my breath catches before I smooth it over.

I don’t react.

I definitely don’t react.

But later, the internet catches it—the way my fingers freeze for just a second before I move again.

By the time we get to London, the speculation is already spiralling.

At Radio 1, Greg James grins as he leans into the mic. “Alright, we’re gonna play Unpopular Opinion. You two ready?”

Y/N adjusts her mic. “Born ready.”

A listener’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“I think tea is overrated.”

Y/N’s reaction is instant. She sits up so fast she nearly knocks over her drink, outrage etched across her face. “Get. Out.”

Greg bursts into laughter. “This might be the most visceral reaction we’ve ever had.”

I shake my head, grinning. “I knew that was gonna set you off.”

“I’m actually upset,” Y/N says, turning to me. “Tea is a lifestyle.”

I shrug, smirking. “I mean, I’m a coffee guy, so…”

Her head whips toward me, genuine betrayal in her eyes. “And I thought I knew you.”

Greg loses it.

The internet follows.

- I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU?? THEY’RE MARRIED. - She reacts like he personally betrayed her, and he just smirks through it. - Austin being a little shit and Y/N getting dramatic about tea… classic.

Snack Wars is worse.

It starts harmlessly enough. A debate over crisps versus chips, a minor disagreement about the correct way to eat a scone. But then—

Then it happens.

I bite into a Jaffa Cake and immediately make a face.

“What is this texture?”

Y/N gasps, horrified. “How dare you?”

“It’s like it can’t decide if it wants to be a cookie or a cake,” I insist, chewing slowly.

She shakes her head like I’ve personally offended her. “You don’t deserve British snacks.”

I smirk. “Say that again after you try this peanut butter cup.”

She takes a bite.

And then—she moans.

The room freezes.

I stare. My brain completely short-circuits. It’s one second, maybe two, but it’s enough. Enough for heat to prickle at the back of my neck, for my thoughts to spin somewhere I really, really shouldn’t be going right now. I force myself to blink. To swallow. To not react.

The crew laughs.

Y/N turns red. “Oh my God.”

I recover before she does, settling back in my chair with a smug grin. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The TikTok edits hit the internet before we even leave the studio.

- The way Austin looked at her when she moaned over a peanut butter cup?? Sir. - Y/N making an accidental NSFW noise and Austin malfunctioning? Top-tier content.

I don’t check the posts.

Not really.

But later that night, as I scroll through my phone in my hotel room, I can feel it sinking in.

This is getting harder to hide.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want to anymore.

The London premiere is tomorrow. We should be getting some sleep. Instead, I’m lying on my hotel bed, staring at my phone, watching the internet completely lose its mind.

I knew the speculation was getting out of hand, but now it’s everywhere. The TikTok edits, the slowed-down clips, the tweet threads analysing our every move.

- They literally breathe in sync. This is not normal co-star behaviour. - Austin leans into her every time she speaks and it’s driving me insane. - The way he LOOKED at her after the peanut butter cup?? Sir, do you have something you’d like to tell the class?

I sigh, running a hand down my face.

Callum’s latest text sits at the top of my notifications.

Not to alarm you, mate, but the internet is in full FBI mode.

I shouldn’t click the link.

I do anyway.

It’s another edit—this time, someone’s taken clips from the press tour and layered them with a soft, romantic score.

Me laughing at something Y/N said. Her looking at me before finishing a sentence, like she’s checking my reaction. The way my hand lingers too long on her back before we pose for pictures. The moment in the Buzzfeed interview, when I freeze for just a second after she says love language.

It looks…

It looks exactly how it feels.

I lock my phone and toss it onto the nightstand like it’s burning a hole in my palm. I know what’s happening. I’ve spent enough time in this industry to recognise when something is slipping out of my hands. It’s not just edits and slowed-down clips anymore.

People know.

And maybe it wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t true.

Maybe it wouldn’t make my chest feel tight if every single clip didn’t look like a confession.

There’s a soft knock on my hotel room door. I don’t even have to ask who it is. I open it, and Y/N is standing there, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower. She’s wearing a hoodie that isn’t hers. It’s mine.

She exhales a small laugh when she sees my expression. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I shake my head, stepping aside to let her in. “The internet’s insane.”

She moves past me, curling up on the couch without waiting for an invitation. Her legs tuck beneath her, and she reaches for the TV remote like she belongs here. Like this is normal. And maybe that’s the problem.

It is.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to let her stay, to sit beside her, to lose a few more hours in this quiet, private version of us that no one else gets to see. But how much longer can we pretend it’s still a secret?

I lean against the back of the couch, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “You seen the posts?”

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Which ones? The ones calling me the girl who made a peanut butter cup sound R-rated, or the ones diagnosing you with unhinged heart-eyes syndrome?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, tipping my head back. “Both, apparently.”

She grins, but it softens at the edges. Like she knows what I’m actually asking. Like she knows this is getting harder.

There’s a long silence before she shifts slightly, one foot nudging against my knee. “Does it bother you?”

I don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is—I don’t know.

I should say yes. I should say we should be more careful.

But sitting here, watching her pull my hoodie over her hands, watching the way she fits so easily into my space—

I think I stopped caring the second she walked through that door.

I glance at her, my voice quieter now. “Does it bother you?”

She watches me for a beat. Then she just shakes her head.

“No,” she says simply.

And that’s the end of it.

The next night, the speculation is at a breaking point. I feel it the second we step onto the red carpet. The questions aren’t direct, but the way the reporters phrase them—it’s careful, curious.

"How was it working together?"

"Did you two always have that natural chemistry?"

Y/N laughs at something a reporter says, tilting her head up to look at me.

I smile back at her without thinking, and the camera flashes go off like fireworks.

I don’t have to check Twitter to know what’s being said.

At this point, they should just hold hands and put us out of our misery.

And the thing is—I want to.

Not yet. But soon. I can feel it creeping up on me, the inevitability of it.

Just like I felt it that day on set.

It was one of the final days of filming.

We were outside, crammed into the narrow space between two graffiti-covered buildings. The scene was a turning point—our characters finally giving in to everything they’d been denying.

The kiss was scripted.

We’d rehearsed it, blocked every movement. I knew where to put my hands, how to tilt my head to stay in frame, how to match her rhythm without stepping on it.

But when the cameras rolled, it felt like none of that mattered.

She stepped closer, her breath just brushing my neck, and suddenly the world shrank. It wasn’t the set anymore. It wasn’t the crew, or the lights, or the dozen people standing just out of frame.

It was just her.

When her lips met mine, it was deliberate but soft, the kind of kiss that says everything without words. My hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer without even thinking.

And then—just for a second—she used her tongue.

It wasn’t in the script.

I don’t think she even meant to do it—just a fleeting touch, tentative, like she’d caught herself halfway through. But it was enough.

It was enough to make my grip tighten on her waist, enough for me to tilt my head deeper into the kiss, lifting her slightly onto her toes without realising I’d done it.

Her fingers curled into the front of my jacket, her breath hitching against my mouth before she eased back, just barely breaking the kiss.

The director didn’t call cut right away. We stayed in it longer than we were supposed to, neither of us pulling back until the moment dissolved around us.

When it was over, Y/N stepped back, her breathing a little uneven, her eyes just barely meeting mine before she turned away.

I stayed where I was, frozen, trying to pull myself out of it.

I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling.

Later, I was sitting in the corner of my trailer, still trying to piece myself back together, when she knocked.

She didn’t wait for me to answer.

The door creaked open, and there she was, still in costume, her hair loose around her face.

“You okay?”

Her voice was soft—quieter than usual, like she didn’t want to spook me.

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself to.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “You sure? Because you’ve been in here for, like, an hour.”

I looked at her then, and the words just spilled out. “That scene…”

She leaned against the edge of the couch, her arms crossed. “What about it?”

“It felt…” I trailed off, trying to find the right word.

Her gaze softened, her lips curving just slightly. “Yeah. It did.”

She didn’t have to explain.

I didn’t have to ask.

In that moment, we both knew.

And when she crossed the room and sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, I didn’t stop her.

I just let her stay.

Now, standing on the red carpet, cameras flashing, her voice somewhere behind me, laughing at something a reporter said—I realise it’s been inevitable for a while.

She steps closer, our arms brushing, and lowers her voice just for me.

“You okay?”

Her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are warm.

And I know, right then, that I don’t care who sees it.

Not anymore.

The energy in the studio is infectious.

The stage lights are bright, the applause thunderous as Jimmy Fallon greets me with his signature enthusiasm. I settle into the chair, offering the audience a grin as I adjust my jacket. I’ve done this before.

I know how to play along, how to keep things light, how to sidestep the questions that toe the line between work and personal life.

But tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the fact that Y/N isn’t here. She’s back at the hotel, catching up on some sleep after a whirlwind day of press. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that her absence doesn’t mean people aren’t still talking about her.

About us.

Jimmy starts with the usual—talking about the film, throwing in a few jokes about the intensity of the role, teasing me about the internet’s obsession with my hair.

It’s easy. Familiar.

But then he leans forward, his grin widening in that way that lets me know what’s coming.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out for effect, “we have to talk about the internet’s other obsession—your chemistry with Y/N.”

The audience reacts immediately—applause, laughter, a few cheers from the back.

I laugh, shaking my head as I rub the back of my neck. “I knew this was coming.”

Jimmy laughs too, holding up his hands like he’s innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking! You guys are electric on-screen. And off-screen, it’s like… I don’t know, there’s just something there.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, gesturing dramatically.

“I mean, have you seen the edits people are making? It’s like a rom-com trailer, but better. They’re calling you guys ‘the internet’s favourite couple who won’t admit they’re a couple.’”

The audience erupts again, and I can feel the tips of my ears burning.

I shake my head, trying to laugh it off. “That’s—yeah, that’s the internet for you.”

Jimmy leans back, his grin turning sly. “So… what’s it like working with her?”

It’s a harmless question.

I’ve answered it a hundred times.

But tonight, for some reason, the words don’t come as easily.

I glance down for a second, my hand instinctively moving to rub the crease of my pants at my thigh. “She’s… amazing.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Just amazing?”

The audience laughs, and I can feel their anticipation like a weight in the room.

I clear my throat, my fingers brushing along my jawline before I let them drop to the armrest. “No, seriously. She’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with. She’s so committed, so intuitive—she just gets it, you know? And she makes everyone around her better.”

I should stop there.

I know I should.

But the words keep coming.

“She has this way of… I don’t know, making everything feel real. Like, you forget there are cameras and crew and a million distractions. It’s just her. And it’s…”

I trail off, my thumb grazing my bottom lip like it might steady me.

Jimmy tilts his head, his expression softening. “You okay, man?”

I nod quickly, forcing a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much I appreciate her until I started talking about it.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and I feel a pang in my chest—not embarrassment, but something softer.

Jimmy gives me a knowing smile, his tone gentler now. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of respect for her.”

I nod again, my voice quieter this time. “I do. A lot.”

It’s not a confirmation. Not really.

But as I glance out at the audience, I catch a few people exchanging smiles, whispering. The energy in the room has shifted—warmer, quieter, like everyone is in on something now.

And I know that whatever they’re thinking, whatever they’ve decided to believe…

They’re not wrong.

The studio is buzzing when the cameras stop rolling. Crew members scatter to reset the stage for the next segment, and I make my way backstage, still trying to shake off the weight of what just happened.

Jimmy claps me on the shoulder as I pass him. “You killed it, man.”

I nod, offering him a quick smile, but my head’s somewhere else entirely.

The moment keeps replaying in my mind—the way my voice caught when I talked about her, the look on Jimmy’s face when he realised I wasn’t just talking about a co-star.

The audience’s reaction.

I can still hear their collective aww, feel the way the room shifted.

I shouldn’t check my phone, but I do anyway.

The notifications are already piling up. Mentions, tags, texts. My fingers hover over Callum’s name when a text from him flashes on the screen.

Mate… you’re trending.

I exhale, running a hand down my face. Of course I am.

But trending or not, it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, she’s the one waiting for me. She’s the constant—the one thing in all of this noise that makes sense. And that’s what I’ll always come back to. Always.

By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s late. The lights in the hallway are dim, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound as I make my way to my room.

I unlock the door, step inside, and freeze.

Y/N is curled up on the couch, one of the hotel’s oversized robes wrapped around her, hair messy from sleep. She stirs at the sound of the door, her eyes blinking open slowly.

“You’re back,” she murmurs, her voice soft and a little raspy.

I nod, setting my bag down by the door. “Yeah. Thought you’d be asleep.”

She stretches, the robe slipping slightly off her shoulder. “I tried. Didn’t stick.”

I cross the room, sitting on the edge of the armchair across from her. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence between us stretching but never uncomfortable.

Then she tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So, how’d it go?”

I let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “It was fine. The usual… until it wasn’t.”

Her smile falters, her brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, my fingers tapping against the armrest. “Jimmy brought you up.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts—something soft, something careful. She straightens a little, pulling her legs underneath her as she waits for me to go on.

I lean back in the chair, exhaling. “He asked about working together. About the internet stuff, the edits, the… chemistry.” The word feels heavier than it should.

Her lips part slightly, her brows lifting just enough to show surprise. “What did you say?”

I glance at her, then down at my hands, which are resting against my thighs, fingers fidgeting. “I said you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with.”

She doesn’t say anything, just watching me, waiting for the rest.

“And…” My voice drops, my thumb brushing over the seam of my pants. “I said you make everything feel real. That you make everyone around you better. That…” I trail off, my throat tightening like it did back on the show.

“That what?” she asks softly.

I rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “That I didn’t realise how much I appreciate you until I started talking about it.”

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting, but she doesn’t say anything.

“And the thing is��” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together as I let out a breath. “I meant every word. But now—now everyone’s talking about it. They’ll read into it, twist it, turn it into something bigger. And I don’t—I don’t know how to feel about that.”

She shifts on the couch, the robe slipping again, revealing her bare collarbone. Her fingers fidget with the hem of the oversized robe, and for a moment, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, something I’ve noticed she only does when she’s trying to find the right words. Her lips press together briefly, like she’s weighing what to say, and it makes her look so completely like herself—unguarded, soft—that my chest tightens just watching her.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, steady. “Does it bother you? That they’ll think there’s something between us?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. My first instinct is to say no, to brush it off like it doesn’t matter. But that’s not the truth.

“It doesn’t bother me,” I admit, my voice low. “Not because it’s not true, but because… I think maybe I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

Her breath catches—just barely—but I see it. Her hands rest against her knees, fingers curling into the plush fabric of the robe.

“Then why are you so worried?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

I shake my head, my hands moving restlessly against my thighs. “I don’t know. Maybe because once it’s out there, it’s not just ours anymore. It’s theirs. And I don’t want this—what we have—to feel like… like something we have to defend, or explain.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Austin…”

I look at her, and for a moment, the air between us feels heavier, quieter. She reaches out, her hand covering mine where it rests on the armrest. Her touch is warm, grounding.

“You’re right,” she says gently. “Once it’s out there, we can’t control it. But we can control how we handle it. And honestly?” She tilts her head, a small, wry smile curving her lips. “I’m kind of tired of pretending I don’t love you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest—not because I didn’t know, but because hearing her say it out loud feels different. Bigger.

I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I cover her hand with mine. “You just say stuff like that, huh?”

She shrugs, her smile widening just slightly. “Guess so.”

For a moment, I just look at her, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand. And then, without thinking, I slide off the chair and onto the couch beside her. She shifts to make room, her legs brushing against mine as I settle in, and when I don’t answer right away, her hand moves—just barely—to rest on my jaw, her fingers light, hesitant, like she’s giving me space to pull back if I need to. I don’t. Instead, I lean into her touch, the faint pressure grounding me in a way nothing else can.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Okay?” she echoes, her brows lifting.

“Okay,” I repeat, leaning in just enough for our foreheads to touch. “Let them talk. Let them say whatever they want. Because none of it changes this.”

Her smile softens, her hand moves back further, her fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of my neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight in my chest feels lighter.

Because she’s right.

None of it changes this.

[xoxo-kses-hgs]

"Baby tu ere'... mi favorita" ♡

Characters : Cho hyun-ju (Squidgames 2), f!reader

Warnings : ready has hair and can be picked up, fluff, kissing and cuddling and clinging, let me know if I missed anything

Sum : A regular night and morning with your wife, Hyun-ju ♡

You and your wife lay on the couch. It's about 8:30pm. Your face is pressed against against her chest, your cheek squished against the fabric of her shirt. Your arm is wrapped around her waist tightly, your leg hooked on top of hers; her arm lay around your neck, her legs also tangled with yours. Her hand plays with your hair as she watches some show on the TV, the only light in the room coming from a small, dim lamp on the coffee table next to the couch and the kitchen in the next room over.

Hyun-ju looks down at you, your eyes fighting off sleep, trying to savor the physical contact between you two. "Baby?" She says softly. "Hm?" You hum and look up at her, meeting her eyes, which were noticeably just as tired as yours were. "You're falling asleep. Are you sure you don't want to go to bed? I can carry you there." You simply reply by holding her tighter- keeping her in place- and shaking your head no and going back to pressing your cheek against her chest. Hyun-ju let's out a breathy laugh and holds you just as tight as you are. "The bed is much more comfortable than the couch. Cmon." She softly eggs on, petting your hair as she speaks.

"If we move, I won't find this same position of comfort again," you frown. "I'm sure you will," Hyun-ju replies and gives your head a kiss. You shake your head no again and stay put. She sighs, but not in an annoyed way. You continue to tap your finger against her back at the same rhythm as her heartbeat; she continues to play with your hair, switching from playing with loose strands to simply petting it.

Your wife notices the taps against her back getting more and more weak; your falling asleep. She turns off the TV. "Honey," she whispers to you. You don't reply, you just look up at her, your eyes droopy. "I'm bringing you to bed," she says, sighing when she feels your grip on her waist tighten even more. "No, I'm bringing you to bed [nickname]" Hyun-ju says with authority, but no harsh in her tone. You groan but don't fight back as she sits up and picks you up bridalstyle. She walks over to your shared bedroom and places you on the bed.

"I'll be back," she says, kissing your head, and leaves you on the bed to go to the bathroom. You groan and wake up at the loss of contact. After a while, Hyun-ju comes back and gets into bed next to you. You turn to her and immediately cling to her as she puts the blanket over you two. She kisses your head as you cling onto her, your head back to resting on her chest. "I love you..." I mutter out, barely audible. Hyun-ju smiles down at you. "I love you too," she replies with a kiss to your forehead. You look up at her and she leans in and kisses your lips softly. She plays with the ring on her finger, feeling the coldness of yours pressed against her back as you hold her. "Goodnight, baby," Hyun-ju says against your lips. "Goodnight, pretty," you reply, going back to using her chest as a pillow.

Hyun-ju holds you tightly against herself, slowly drifting to sleep for the night, burying her face in your hair.

♡♡♡

When you wake up- like usual- Hyun-ju isn't there. You're always the one to wake up last, Hyun-ju always waking up at 6am. Whether the reason being to go run errands, go to the gym, or simply to cook and clean, she always wakes up early; you wake up hours after her. You get up from the bed and drag your feet across the floor to where you hear noise from- the kitchen. Hyun-ju is in the kitchen, over the stove, making breakfast for the two. "Good morning, baby" she says without looking up at you. "Hmmm..." you hum and go behind her, hugging her waist and resting your head on her back. Hyun-ju leans against the hug, smiling.

"How are you?" She asks softly. "Mhm..." you reply, still half awake; with bed head still, drool dried up on the corner of your mouth, eyes heavy, your tangtop weirdly shifted on you, your shorts a bit pulled down. "You look beautiful," Hyun-ju says. "You're beautiful," you reply. "Thank you, honey," she smiles. "Go get ready for the day, you said you had errands to run today. We need to get to the store before all the people flock in," she explains. "Okay mom," you groan sarcastically, peeling yourself away from her and dragging your feet back to the room. Hyun-ju laughs at your sarcasm and continues cooking.

fter a bit, you come back with your makeup and hair done, with your outfit of the day. Hyun-ju looks at you as she finishes the cooking and smiles, "You look pretty." "Thank you baby, you too," you smile, fully awake now. You walk up to her and kiss her for the first time this morning. You wrap your arms around her neck, your hands on your waist. You two keep kissing, your lipgloss/stick smudging onto her lips. You pull away and smile and Hyun-ju looks down at you.

"Cmon let's go eat," she whispers, your face still close to hers. "Why don't I eat you instead?" You reply and Hyun-ju rolls her eyes. She kisses your head and places her hand on your lower back, gently guiding you to the dining table. You sit at the table, your wife sitting next to you and serving your plate. "Thank you, bombon" you kiss Hyun-jus cheek. In return, she kisses your lips. Your head rests on her shoulder as you two eat, enjoying the start of your day with your beautiful wife.

Sorry it's short 😖😖😖😖

I'm tired it's late

[gwynethberdarasupremecy]

How did azriel display mate behavior when saving gwyn?

First, let’s look at this text from Helion when talking to Feyre:

“What happened?"

Helion didn't break my stare. "I tore the beasts apart with my bare hands."

A chill slid down my spine. "Why?"

He could have ended it a thousand other ways. Easier ways.

Cleaner ways.

Rhys's bloody hands after the Ravens' attack flashed through my mind

Rhys went feral when he killed the Ravens, which was his mate instinct. In this scene, we see that Helion also went feral and slaughtered the beasts with his bare hands to safe LoA. This leads many to believe Helion and LoA are also mates. But it also directly parralels to Azriels reaction when he found Gwyn”

Quote: “Azriel slaughtered all of them within moments. He didn’t hesitate”

And I know many e/riels try to argue that of course he had to kill them to save Gwyn. But in the same book we learn that Az always leaves 2 people alive to interrogate. So it is out of his “usual” behavior to kill them all. We’ve never seen Az like that before. Not even when he saved Elain. He was calm then, could think clearly and didn’t have that feral instinct. After saving Elain, he displayed exactly the same behavior as before when saving Briar. He didn’t act out of character. Azriel has a savior complex and always throws himself in danger to save anyone. But he didn’t kill every soldier without thinking to get to them. That’s the difference. With Gwyn, he acted out of character. With Gwyn he went out of his usual “pattern” of leaving two soldiers to interrogate.

Also, Azriel wrapped Gwyn in his cloak, which is a direct parralel to Lucien wrapping Elain in his cloak. I’m not saying it’s mate behavior to wrap someone in your cloak, but it is an interesting parralel.

[sunderwight]

Bingge vs Bingmei but it's a fucked up prince & the pauper style situation.

Su Bingge is the son of Su Xiyan and Tianlang Jun, the emperor of the demonic realms, the tyrant with a harem of hundreds of women and countless enemies.

Luo Binghe is the son of a human washerwoman and an unnamed demon who took a passing fancy to her, who has spent his life struggling to make ends meet and barely escaping death at the hands of anyone who recognizes the signs of his demonic heritage.

Luo Binghe is also a dead ringer for Su Bingge. There are some differences -- Luo Binghe has fluffy, curly hair while Su Bingge's locks are pin-straight. Luo Binghe has a somewhat boxier build, while Su Bingge is slender. Luo Binghe's skin tans in the sunlight while Su Bingge remains eerily pale no matter the elements. But the differences aren't all that noticeable to anyone who isn't looking very closely and can be easily taken care of with wardrobe & styling, and their faces are identical.

The only true issue is that Luo Binghe can't fake a heavenly demon's cultivation, his demonic ancestry is pretty high level but not heavenly demon level. Luckily a rare magical item helps with that. All Su Bingge has to do is infuse it with his blood & qi, and if Luo Binghe does the same and wears it as an amulet, it at least gives Luo Binghe's qi the appearance of Su Bingge's.

So when Luo Binghe is captured and brought to the palace, Su Bingge decides to keep him as a potentially useful body double. This could be really handy for uncovering threats or misleading enemies. The only issue is that Luo Binghe must be trained to conduct himself convincingly as Su Bingge, needs to raise his cultivation level to adequately mimic some of Su Bingge's abilities (or even hold his sword), and also cannot be allowed free access to Bingge's harem (for obvious reasons).

Enter Shen Yuan, a demonic cultivator, historian, cultural expert, and monster enthusiast who is somewhat notorious for his encyclopedic knowledge of Su Bingge's life and character. He's written a couple books on the subject. To keep up appearances, Shen Yuan is brought into the harem under the guise of a new wife, and more or less secluded with Luo Binghe to train him up. This way, if anyone catches them it will simply seem as though Su Bingge is spending time with his latest wife, while also providing Luo Binghe with training, oversight, and someone to help cover for him if he is approached unexpectedly. Luckily Shen Yuan is petite enough that just dressing him as a particularly modest woman works out.

Despite some mortification over the logistics, Shen Yuan takes his job seriously -- at first as a loyal subject of the emperor, but then because he soon realizes that sweet & hardworking Luo Binghe stands very high odds of dying if things go even slightly wrong. Honestly, the poor kid has high odds of dying even if he learns to perfectly imitate the emperor! This is not a safe situation! Shen Yuan himself doesn't have the greatest prospects either -- this is the type of court secret that needs to be kept at all costs, and once Shen Yuan's finished training Luo Binghe, the most logical thing to do would be to permanently ensure his silence.

He knows this story probably ends with him dying on the emperor's command.

But what else can he do, except try his best to loyally accomplish the task given, provide Luo Binghe with all the tools and training possible to survive, and cross his fingers? He's loyal! He would never talk and endanger his student or his emperor by spilling their secrets!

Luo Binghe doesn't think much of the emperor with the same face as him. If anything, he thinks he might despise that man. But this new life of his, in his quiet corner of the palace with Shen Yuan, is maybe the happiest he's ever been. If he could he would block out the world beyond forever, and just live peacefully with Shen Yuan and their lessons and studies, learning to cultivate and cooking meals for just the two of them.

Su Bingge watches in secret as this teacher with the same surname as his own heartless tutor (long dead by his own hand, now) dotes and fusses over his double, and begins to harbor sentiments that are difficult to put a name to.

[rozeliyawashereyall]

Headcanons, headcanons and more headcanons but with drawings this time.

✵One common headcanon I always think of is that literally every character ever had fucked up trying to cut their hair by themselves, it's a fun pattern /lh

✵Fucking bet you Tethys used to bully Zef

✵ Timmy and Marco would love musicals actually

✵Explained it before- but in human form; I really feel like the merfolk in human form are still stronger and faster then the average human, Zef would be too but he's still getting used to the surface lmao ✵They most likely don't understand what hair dye is

"I'm dying my hair blonde tomorrow-"

"..you're killing your hair??"

✵Sera would either tolerate or HATEEEEE slasher movies omfg. Zef doesn't like the little mermaid movie solely because of that one mom dying scene.

✵I feel like Soheil wears reading glasses..it's just a vibe

✵do you think there's video games on the ship in the rebel series, cuz I feel like Naveed would DESTROY others at Mario kart He has daily competitions with Soheil, Torvin occasionally joins and destroys both of them at it

✵Nathan also seems like he rocks at video games, specifically the horror ones. Put him in Slenderman and he's getting out of there with all 7 papers within 20 minutes if not less

✵if Zef finds something shiny he'll immediately bring it to Sera, on some occasions he *purposefully* looks for shiny objects for him

✵He also has an ongoing mission to try and sneak up on Sera, but Sera always knows. Zef refuses to give up.

✵Guys you're really gonna need to hear me out on this one. Ray reads romance novels in his free time for fun. OH ESPECIALLY THE SAME WITH SKY- He wants to know what love feels like and what better way to learn than to read.

✵Ray had those little Beyblades back in middle school. Hell he probably STILL has them actually, just for the memories. Also it's a really cool trinket

✵Mercury has a subtle limp I feel ? From getting hurt all the time—well, not ALL the time, but enough times.

✵Zef has a VERY specific and picky music taste but the problem is you can barely figure it out because it changes like, every few days or so.

✵I feel like Konrad and Sky tend to dissociate a lot ? Just daydreaming and all

✵I'm going to need everyone to hear me out on both Zef and Sera liking photography. Clemmy shows them how to take photos on their phone and it’s all over—like HOW did you take 378 pictures in the span of an hour.

Then hits the realisation that humans live for like, a third of what merfolk live up to so Zef and Sera start hanging little photos of them and Clemmy they took in the cave where they'd meet up as a forever memory.

✵Not an HC and more of a theory- but hear me out, what are the chances Sky DOES turn back into a human somehow?? Smt smt the long line of dark magic that turned the elves into vampires clashes with the holy immunity and reverses him back....But also a negative and a positive make a negative—so instead of reversing him back it could either turn that ginger into god or kill him.

✵Zef thinks jumping out of the water to startle people is the funniest thing ever.

✵Zef, Nathan, Konrad, Sky, AND Ray stim. I rest my case.

✵If Timmy hears a new word, he has to repeat it at least three times.

✵actual crossover shit—Uno night would go CRAZY with all of them. For Ray's safety and sanity he doesn't join- "no I'm not playing Uno with a vampire, a zombie, an enhanced spy and a fucking mermaid. Get me OUT of here." And you know what I don't blame him—If someone said I have to play go fish with a werewolf I'd leave right then and there....Imagine playing go fish with merfolk though- I'd do it just for the jokes i fear.

✵Do not let any of these men anywhere near horror games actually, something is getting broken and it's probably the monitor.

✵ Timmy is the resident "baby" of this AU, and Ray is the extremely unwilling babysitter.

✵it's okay though he acquires Bodie as a father figure /hj

That's all yipppeee

[littledeathdove]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐔𝐑𝐄𝐃 ༝༚༝༚ 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓. ⋆·˚ ༘ *

Scenario; Hyun-Ju is the body guard for a famous fem!Reader who happens to joy teasing and annoying Hyun-Ju as a daily thing.

A/N; I need to push out some other type of content other then re8, SOOO I’m adding my beautiful bob queen to the list aka Hyun-Ju (player 120). This is also me saying that she is added to my characters of who I do requests for!

- - -

(How she became your bodyguard)

𐙚 • With your popularity and your habit for wanting to go around places in public like malls and stuff, you had a great amount of bodyguards at standby for any time you needed them.

𐙚 • Unfortunately though, a opening in your staff of guards had opened up after you had to let go of one due to them leaking out information of your whereabouts to a friend of theirs just so they could get a photo/autograph.

𐙚 • You weren’t in charge of taking care of hiring a new bodyguard, so you left that task in the hands of your management while you still continued to indulge in your love of going to places that could let paparazzi easily catch sighting of you. Your new target was a lovely cafe you heard had great pastries.

𐙚 • In disguise, you made your way there during the afternoon which your management said would be the best time to go thanks to little to no people being around. And they were right, there were barely any people in the cafe and only a small line of people at the counter.

𐙚 • You dismissed your bodyguards — expect the one who was also in disguise — and made your way to the line. Even though it went over your head of why a line would be at the counter even though there was barely any people here, you realized that there was situation going on between a tall women and the cashier. After a quick listen in you caught on that the woman didn’t have enough money on her card for whatever she was ordering, and that she going to pay for the rest in cash which she was fetching out of her wallet.

𐙚 • Even though the cashier was patiently waiting for the woman to count her money, a tired looking business man behind the taller woman had spoken up on the frustration of waiting on her to make change. The situation turned even more sour/embarrassing when the man had muttered what sounded like an offensive term after the cashier explained he would just have to be patient.

𐙚 • You watched the woman’s body language change drastically, noting of how her face went completely blank. When you noticed her placing her wallet back into her pockets, you moved from your place in the line to right beside her.

- - -

“I’ll pay for it,” You said without even realizing what you were doing. You took a moment to process the moment as you looked from the cashier to the rude man behind the woman you were suddenly helping out. The same woman who was now looking down at you with slightly widen eyes, she seemed to be in shock for a while which allowed you to fetch your own card and give it to the cashier.

“I will also like to add a strawberry ade with whatever pastry is the most top seller here onto that order. Please.” The words rushed out of your mouth showing how much you wanted to go ahead and get the order before you have to scene with the guy behind you. Thankfully the cashier seemed to catch on and she quickly added your extra items to the order before telling you your total and tapping your card transfer the money.

Once you grabbed your card back you went over to the side of the counter that the cashier told you to wait for your order at, the taller woman hesitantly following behind you along with your bodyguard. After a couple of beats of silence and looks between you and your guard, the woman finally spoke up.

“…Why did you do that ma’am?” Her words caused you to look up at her, you knew she was tall but behind right beside her now made it even more noticeable. You didn’t know how long you were looking at her but she seemed to get nervous due to your prolong stare. If her now fidgeting with her hands was anything to go off of.

“I saw you putting your money away after that…rude man,” You trailed off your words trying to keep yourself as respectful as possible, “and I didn’t want you to just cancel the order due to him, so I just decided to pay for both of our orders. I had enough money to do so anyway.” You tired your best to make it seem like nothing, especially since you didn’t even know you were doing it for a good couple of seconds.

Thankfully your order was placed on the counter before the woman could say anything else, so you took the chance to place her order in her hands. “Are you sitting anywhere? I will like some company beside the guy over here.”

- - -

𐙚 • That is how you ended up talking to woman — whose name you learned was Cho Hyun-ju — for what you believe was two hours.

𐙚 • Thanks to your openness in the conversation and questioning, you learned the surface level of Hyun-Ju as a person and her financial situation which she was more hesitant to share. Even though you didn’t know her background or if she even have any experience, you had excitedly told her who you are and your need of a new bodyguard due to the past situation with your old one. All in hopes to help her out.

𐙚 • She was quick to say that she couldn’t possibly, but you were persistent. Telling her about the pay she could get and how she could be backed up by a secondary guard if she didn’t have any experience. You never thought you were a convincing person but you were able to Hyun-Ju to agree.

(As your bodyguard)

𐙚 • Hyun-Ju takes her job very serious. She took note of your old bodyguard and their mistakes, even though she would never do something so unprofessional, Hyun-Ju still makes sure to refrain from making any silly mistakes. Especially since she is quite literally in charge of your safety here.

𐙚 • Hyun-Ju uses her advantages of having a sharp eye and being quick on her feet to keep you outmost safe when she is around. She is always scanning out the places your both in especially if your both in a disguise because you wanted to go do something in public. She will subconsciously take it a step further to read everyone’s body language for any potential threats to your life. With her heightened senses, no one could possibly try you.

𐙚 • Hyun-Ju joins on board with your managers to see when is the best time for you to go out to a certain place whenever you decide you want to indulge in that like of yours. Even though she can and will protect you no matter what, Hyun-Ju not only enjoys having a less load on her shoulders with a denser crowd, but it also calms down your anxious thoughts on the what if’s that could happen to you if she isn’t able to fully protect you due to a large crowd around.

𐙚 • Due to how you both met, Hyun-Ju is quick to defend you in situations, calm down your nerves, and give you supportive advice when it’s needed. She sees this as a payback for what you did for her in that cafe, even though you constantly tell her she shouldn’t worry about such small things.

𐙚 • Hyun-Ju isn’t shy to admit that she loves the fact that her pervious experience in the army and closeness to you allowed her to land the job as your new personal bodyguard. She loves being able to be by your side without questioning. There’s no lying about the fact that you grown to be an employer of Hyun-Ju, but also a close friend.

𐙚 • Whenever you two are driving around in your luxury car by your personal driver, Hyun-Ju loves to have conversations with you even if they don’t always stay appropriate for a employee and a employer.

𐙚 • Don’t even get me started on the whole disguises. If you insist on doing makeup on her to add to her disguise she wouldn’t even refuse since she likes the calming experience of you doing her makeup. It even more fun to do a raiding of your closet for clothes that would make you blend in more. Especially when it turns into a whole walkway show of you presenting one outfit after another.

𐙚 • On a more serious note, Hyun-Ju can become protective over you quickly if a situation was to escalate and you accidentally or purposely put yourself in harms way. When situations like this happen Hyun-Ju doesn’t care to be gentle with the paparazzi, she will shove them will all her strength if it means she can get you to safety quicker. And once she has, Hyun-Ju will be quick to explain to you how you must be more careful.

𐙚 • Depending on how dangerous the situation got the longer this conversation will be. Especially if you were to dismiss it or try to make it seem as if it wasn’t as serious.

(Reaction to your behavior at first/Handling your silly behavior)

𐙚 • Hyun-Ju will be surprised by your behavior at first. She did suspect that you would act more professional once she came into this position, but she isn’t complaining. Your silly behavior makes her more comfortable around you quicker then expected

𐙚 • When it comes to your occasional teasing Hyun-Ju usually just brushes it off with a small fond smile, sometimes she will get “shy” and subconsciously fidget with her hands if your teasing was more effective that day. That is all when she first starts working for you, but later on in the job she is more confident and comfortable to tease you back

- - -

“Oh come on Hyun-Ju, there’s no need to be so shy!” You shuffled in your seat as you waved from inside your car to the flashing cameras outside. Once your driver finally drove completely away, you looked back to Hyun-Ju with a smirk on your face. “There’s nothing wrong with saying you enjoyed what that fan was saying, I mean how many bodyguards could say they got called hot by their employer’s fans?”

You leaned forward to get a better look at Hyun-Ju’s face, wanting to be sure that you weren’t making her uncomfortable or if she had shown any signs of wanting you to stop. Thankfully you were met with the sight of a small shy smile on her face alongside a showing of redness on her cheeks.

Hyun-Ju started twisting her index finger as she shook her head and looked towards you finally, “You are ridiculous, shouldn’t you be more worried over the fact your fans almost went out of control back there?”

You shrugged as you scooted closer to Hyun-Ju, resting your head on her shoulder as you stretched out your legs. Tired from the amount of walking you had just done and the amount of flashing cameras in your face just moments ago was starting to take effect on your eyesight.

“Why would I be? That’s what fans do, plus I have a hot bodyguard to worry about and take care of that for me.” Your smile deepened as you felt Hyun-Ju’s breath hitch and her head turning the best it could to look down at you.

After a couple of beats of silence, a giggle-filled it in, it was Hyun-Ju’s. “I swear you make me consider if my position is truly the best or not every day,” amusement was laced all over her voice. Her hand hovered over your side as the vehicle went over a bump.

You decided to just roll your eyes and leave the conversation at that, but suddenly an idea came into your head. Snapping your head upwards to look at Hyun-Ju — who was looking at you almost immediately once you started moving again — your finger pointing at her as you vocalized your idea excitedly.

“I should pull a Lady Gaga and have you sing over some lyrics on a song!” You didn’t even need to explain what that meant since Hyun-Ju seemed to get it immediately. Her eyes disappeared completely as she rolled them into the back of her head, a small dramatic groan coming out of her throat.

“Yeah, I’m not doing that.”

- - -

𐙚 • Now if your teasing was to lean more towards the flirtatious side it causes a whole different reaction out of Hyun-Ju.

𐙚 • In her past career she likely never experienced this type of behavior. So she will be pretty confused at first and worry if your words would make it seem like your favor her more. Which wouldn’t be a problem if you didn’t have other bodyguards that could find an issue in this.

𐙚 • She’ll slowly guide the conversation into a different direction when you started to teases her, or just completely go quiet in hopes you would switch to another topic yourself

𐙚 • Hyun-Ju wouldn’t necessarily dislike your behavior but she definitely gets concerned of possible problems arising between her and her co-workers. But after she notice that they don’t care over the favoring and how they are also amused by watching you and her interact, she will start to react back to you more

𐙚 • Probably not going as far as to flirt back but she will sometimes playfully cover your mouth or make you remember something embarrassing you did just to get the same reaction out of you

- - -

Overall Hyun-Ju would be a great bodyguard and would gladly protect you. Even though she might joke about disliking her position, she truly is grateful for you and will not trade this job for any other. Not only because of the good pay, but because she has grown quite a great attachment towards you, and she’ll do anything to keep your relationship strong.

A/N; And that’s the end of the post, requests for our queen are completely welcomed! I currently I’m using a scenario generator to get ideas of what to write so yeah 😭. These headcanons aren’t on the most romantic note but I hope y’all enjoy my silly lil rant still 😛

[bwat5-blog]

Reality Check: Caitlyn & Vi

**Spoilers For Arcane**

Alrighty. This won't be too long as it doesn't need to be but I am seeing a lot of the same nonsense lately and it is bugging me. For anyone who hasn't seen me say so a million times already, Vi is my favorite character. She has been since the show started for a variety of reasons.

And in truth although I greatly enjoyed Caitlyn's story and she grew much more engaging to me in season two, I was never nearly as invested in her. But My. God. The amount of absolute nuclear grade bull-shit that has been used to try and demonize her has made me talk about her SO MUCH MORE than I ever intended. So I wanted to address something.

The Hit:

Okay. Let's talk about this real quick because people have really latched on to this. It it okay or acceptable that Caitlyn hit Vi?

Obviously Not

And Caitlyn doesn't think so either. Look at her face just before she turns. But there is an OCEAN of factors at play here influencing Caitlyn and Vi both and it is about a million miles from being as simple as that. I'm not getting into all of that here I have done it many times already. But to address a few points:

This is the only time she hits Vi knowingly in anger. The second time she doesn't have any idea who Vi is. The third time is part of a plan Vi is quite clearly on board with. Stop exaggerating.

Vi forgave Caitlyn way too easily for this!"-

Okay. Like I said it isn't about making this okay. And it isn't about some sort of trauma Olympics as I've seen it called. But we need to remember some things that Vi certainly would.

Even if at the time it was for her own purposes Caitlyn got her out of prison when she really had no hope of ever being free

Caitlyn saved her life repeatedly in Zaun when she barely knew her and owed her nothing

Caitlyn offered herself in Vi's place before she knew the firelights were friendly

Caitlyn gave Ekko the gemstone and was going to let him present it to the council

Caitlyn stood side by side with Vi and told the council to their faces they had failed all of Zaun

Jinx abducted and terrorized Caitlyn after nearly killing her, all for her proximity to Vi

Caitlyn spared Jinx when Vi begged her to and it cost her her mother

As far as we see and are made aware, Caitlyn never blames or tries to put that on Vi

Caitlyn apologizes to Vi for springing the badge, clearly feels guilty and is honest that she is afraid she or Jinx will die if Vi doesn't come

When they do see each other again, Caitlyn immediately is on board with helping Vi save her family

When Jinx surrenders herself into custody Caitlyn doesn't send her to Stillwater and doesn't immediately try and execute her when she could have. Instead waiting for Vi to wake up

Clears the path for Vi to free Jinx and escape if she chooses. Putting her love for Vi over her hatred of Jinx

Like I said. This isn't about justification. There is no justifying physically harming someone you love. But there is a world of difference between doing something terrible in a TERRIBLE moment and being a chronic domestic abuser like some of you are saying Caitlyn is. And as far as I'm concerned, Vi knows exactly who Caitlyn really is, and chose love and forgiveness.

[cinnamonbear22]

Baby (choi su-bong x reader)

Chapter one

PLEASE READ⇊⇊⇊

I just wanted to explain a little and write some disclaimers! This story is set way before squid game happens. reader and other characters are of age. I am adding my own tweaks to his character which may not be cannon accurate. This story contains heavy topics, i am not responsible for the media you consume. It contains abuse, drugs, violence, sexual content, fem reader. I appreciate all types of feedback :) I am planning on makin this a series, I already have multiple chapters written !!

Tw- drugs, abuse, fem!reader

-

The cool wind hastily nipped at (Y/n)s cheeks as she walked against the breeze, shivers being sent up at down her entire body despite being warmly dressed. The large hand-me-down jeans scraped against the damp concrete as her black hood was drawn over her cold head. Hair was constantly blowing out of place but her hands were to busy being jammed in the pockets of her brothers old tan canvas jacket that was visibly worn-out, gripping the wad of cash anxiously as while striding down the street.

She kept her head down in effort of keeping her cheeks warm while looking up occasionally to see how much farther she have to go. Not many people were out considering it was a Tuesday night and most people had to work early in the morning, as well as students having school.  The streets were mostly empty besides the occasional drunk man stumbling around and the drug addicts pestering on the side of the road asking for money.

It wasn't the best part of town for a young woman to be walking through this late at night but she didn't have a choice. When her brother needs her, he needs her. The consequences were never worth the pain and time so if she had to go at a ridiculous hour at night she did.

The familiar landmark of a green, rusted, bronze dog statue appeared in her view which was her remembrance point that it was the first alleyway directly after the piece they would meet. She had been in the same alleyway a countless amount of times that it didn't even bother her much anymore walking straight down into it. Well, she was afraid of it, but she had learned to tolerate it.

The wind now was blocked by the two buildings that left limited space on either side of her. She could finally comfortably open her eyes and pick her head in surveillance of the familiar place. The setting never, ever changes. The bricks on both walls of the buildings are graffitied beyond belief. Although it was barely visible in the night due to the dim flashing lights that hung onto the side of the building. It was littered with leaves, overgrown weeds peaking through the cracked concrete, broken glass and aluminum cans. Occasionally a load of dirty needles would appear from time to time.

She wasn't the type of person to get bothered by absolutely anything but the amount of suffocation that she felt every time she entered this alleyway is overwhelming. The constant feeling of a looming threat gnawed at her nerves that heightened her awareness of her surroundings. She was a smart girl, she knew how to protect herself and is quite frankly very good at carrying herself, but she didn’t have a choice. She has been trapped into her brothers business as a drug-courier and money collector since the young age of eight-years-old. No one would expect an innocent little girl committing degenerate crimes, right?

He was one of the most popular drug lord in all of Korea that had multiple high connections to powerful people. Police have been trying to investigate for over a decade, but the execution of the business was extremely well thought out so there was no room for error. For obvious reasons she was never allowed to use her name in public places, resulting in the lazily thought-out nickname 'Baby' since she had been the youngest in the business. She hadn't heard anyone say her real name in years. She was never allowed to go to public school, but her brother made sure to educate her all throughout her adolescence. Before she had gotten her own place, she was never allowed out of her brothers home. She was constantly monitored. She wasn’t allowed to make cell phone calls, she was only allowed to answer. Her phone got went through every single night despite being a crappy flip phone that barely functioned.

And yet, the most familiar part of this entire alleyway was leaned up against the moist brick walls with a cherried cigarette between his snide lips. "Baby," Su-bongs blowen out eyes darted quickly to her lifeless pupils. Her emotionless face stared up at him quietly as his slender fingers pulled the cigarette out of his mouth. "You're late." his overly expressing eyebrows raised in a mocking fashion as he looked at the girl.

She stayed silent for a moment while instantly remembering the countless number of times he has left her waiting in this alleyway for several, several hours. "Barely." She mumbled quietly keeping her eyes on his that would twitch from time to time. He would always excuse his twitching from a “muscle spasm condition” but she knew better. She had been around substance abuse her entire life. "Three minutes behind." She knew she didn't have to defend herself to him but she wasn't afraid to prove a point.

"You're never late, I thought something happened to you," he clasped his hands over his chest with mumbled words since he was still supporting the cigarette in his lips. The fake concern didn't amuse her at all, her stone-cold face remained emotionless as he felt like she was piercing an icy spear through his chest and into his soul with her tired eyes. "So, big brother send you out here this late? Hm?" He slowly began to push himself off the wall, fixing his slouched shoulders and cracking his neck to fix his tall, slender posture, but (y/n) didn't budge. She had never really felt threatened by him knowing that he was a little afraid of her brother and if anything had happened to his most loyal employee, he would not be happy.

She blankly stared at him in response to the question that he already knew the answer to. He chuckled deeply at his own joke and slowly began to move a bit closer to her. Her eyes narrowed on him, analyzing every movement so she could anticipate what his next move was. She knew how impulsive he was with his thoughts and how he is possibly insane even though they both never had personal problems with each other. But one wrong move at the wrong time, that could all change.

She averted her gaze to her dirty white sneakers as he inched closer to her in the claustrophobic alley leaving her nowhere to create a safe distance. He strived off of the small movements that she would rarely express, her drained eyes darting to the ground as he approached her almost set him on fire. The way her breathing visibly hitched in the freezing air as he bent his body down eyelevel with her made him smirk. "When will you stop being a puppet?" He whispered softly through his clenched teeth and sleazily reached behind her head and yanked her thick black hood off that offered limited protection from the cold. Thick cigeratte smoke left his lips and straight into her face which only irritated her. She could never recall a moment that his joking gestures amused her, yet he continues to display them after the last six years of knowing each other.

Her eyes snapped back up at his with strong pensiveness once the cold air pricked at her ears and neck, her fighting instincts were quickly alerted with how close he was getting to her which resulted in her quickly pulling her hands out of her pockets and shoving him off. "Stop being a douche." Her eyebrows furrowed together out of anger as he barely felt the force of her push. His feet shuffled back against the broken glass and concrete as he chuckled to himself with slight adoration for the small angry expression on her face. "Come on," she was practically shooting daggers through his head as she stared hard at him. "It's late and cold. I want to go," Her tone was sharp and demanding yet she was so softly spoken that the rustling of the wind was louder than her. Her stray hairs blew messily in the breeze before she stuffed her hands back in her pocket gripping the wad of cash with frustration.

"Still don't have a car?" He expressively tilted his head to the side like a confused dog as he smashed his cigarette against the brick. She gracefully shook her head no and pressed her lips together impatiently. "You had to walk?" His upper lip twitched then he tilted his head to the other side. His twitching was normal to (y/n) at this point that she hardly noticed it at this point.  "Let me give you a ride back to your brothers" he nodded his head towards the left of him indicating his car was parked somewhere around the alley.

"Are you fucking nuts?" Her harsh tone surprised him a bit as he threw his hands up in the air for quick defense. He knew better than that and she knows he does. All of the stupid questions he asks her are all things he already knows, but it's in his nature to pester her. "Stop asking questions you know the answer to."

"Okay, okay," he curled his lip, shaking his head slightly. "I was just trying to nice. I just want you to get home safe, you're very important to me." Although his tone was a bit sarcastic he genuinely did care for her. After doing business with her for years, he's grown very fond of their small relationship that's been built from the brief interactions.

"Cut the shit," she did not reciprocate his friendly playfulness, she never did. There was never a reason for her to be friendly, or playful. That was what her brother drilled into her head anyway.

"You know, I've known you for a very long time," He started one of his spiels that only made her roll her eyes. Even in the bad lighting he could still see the flash of whites of her eyes as she huffed. "And you've never been pleasant to me once."

"Business isn't supposed to be pleasant." She quickly retorted and silently prayed that this interaction would speed up but commerce with him always took the longest.

"You wouldn't have to even do this if you weren't so easily pushed around." His blown-out pupils mocked her as she swallowed hard but she didnt let his words even get to her. She knew she was a pushover; she didn't need to hear it from someone else.

"Just give me the bag." She snapped; her volume was a little louder than usual which made his brows shoot up with surprise.

"Alright," he dropped his shoulders in a defeated manner, turning on his heels slowly as he started walking towards the black backpack that was slouched against the wall. (Y/n) looked side to side checking her surroundings before pulling out the roll of bills in her clutched palm as she watched his every move. He never screwed her over once during their business, but she still would stay on high alert when the money and products were out. His eyes immediately darted to the fistful of cash which he grinned deviously.

They swapped items without any word. (Y/n) quickly unzipped the bag and shuffled around the items making sure everything was present. He had held the money tight in his hands as he began flipping through the several large bills. His head was already racing with the freedom and privilege this money provide even if it was for a temporary amount of time. She slung the bag over her shoulder weaving her arms through the straps and she pulled her hood back over her head. She gave him a brief nod instead of properly saying goodbye and without his response she was already walking in the opposite direction.

"Jesus Christ..." she whispered to herself quietly while keeping her head down on the gravel being kicked up under her feet. She reached one of her hands up to her chest pocket, removing the crumbled carton of slim menthol cigarettes from her jacket. She brought the box up to her lips, grabbing a singular cigarette with her mouth before shoving the box back. Then subconsciously she moved her hand down to her front right pocket of her pants where she had always kept her lighter.

Major disappointment filled her body as two of her fingers poked directly through the fresh hole that was ripped into her jeans. She had completely forgot that she got caught on a jagged fence during the walk, but she didn't know she lost her lighter. "Goddamnit..." she groaned, patting herself down like an officer would in a manner while praying that she maybe just misplaced it.

She didn't need it, she thought to herself as the unlit cigarette still lingered between her cracked lips. But the temporary relief that she would feel was needed.

she hesitantly looked over her shoulder to see if Subong was still around, and luckily, he hadn't gone too far. He had his back to her as he walked away with his head hung low and his arms were sporadically dancing to an imaginary beat that was playing through his head. She was scolding herself heavily for what she was about to do, she knew that he would get a kick out of her and drag their interaction out even longer than intended. But it was a long walk home. "Subong!" Her loud voice echoed against the brick walls and pinged angelically in his cold ears. He spun around so quickly that he had almost stumbled over his own feet as (Y/n) was already walking towards him.

He felt his ears burn against the cold air while his stomach was slowly dropping to feet. "Everything is in the bag!" He quickly defended himself since he had already jumped to the conclusion of why she's walking back to him. His hands slightly trembled at the strange anxious feelings running through him that was only enhanced from being intoxicated.

"I know," she murmured cooly as she looked up at him with the cigarette moving between her lips. "Can I borrow a light, please?" her expressionless eyes filled him right up before he exhaled gently not even realizing he was holding his breath. He began to laugh softly at himself; his tense posture quickly became lax.

"Hm," he hummed like he was truly pondering her simple question while tapping his chin and looking up at the dark cloudy sky. His black pupils then narrowed down at the shorter girl in front of him as his rough hands reached into his back pocket, pulling out a black lighter that was engulfed in a chrome case with skulls and crosses engraved in the metal. "How bad do you really need it?" His wiggling eyebrows playfully ridiculed her before she gently sighed. Of course, everything had to be a game to him. But she wasn't the person to play those games, she deals with enough bullshit that she did need more unnecessary convivences.

"Not enough." She pursed her lips in a bothered manner and turned her back to him to restart her journey back to her brother's home. His smile quickly dropped from his face as she started walking away and he scolded himself for a second. He knew she hated his jokes, his teasing, his demeanor, their interactions. He knew she hated him, but he still felt oddly enchanted by her and screwing up a moment like this is only adding more tension.

"Fine, fine" He swiftly placed his hand on her shoulder before she got too far out of reach. She paused under his touch, but he quickly retracted his hand off her knowing that could result regrettably. She spun back around slowly with the cigarette still loosely hanging from her plush lips, her tedious eyes lifted up to his that gazed at him with the slightest look of vulnerability. A look he's never seen. His lip quivered for a moment as he flicked his lighter with his thumb holding the small flame down to her mouth as she inhaled harmoniously. The small light illuminated her face for a moment as he watched her with reverence. He took notice of her sad, sunken eyes that were complimented with scarlet eyebags and the small scar that was engraved above her eyebrow. Her lips that wrapped around the cigarette were still an alluring shade of pink despite being cracked and dry, as well as a few small bruises down her neck that had the shape of fingerprints. The flame extinguished from the small devices as she exhaled with shut eyes to peacefully enjoy the buzz of the first hit. "What do you say?" He grinned down at her with slight amusement at her relief.

"Thank you." She opened her eyes and looked at him softly which he was shocked he had gotten a positive response of gratitude.

"Here," He reached his hand out that held the decorated lighter between his slender fingers to her. "Take it, for the way back." She looked at the lighter hesitantly while her eyes darted up from him, to the lighter, and the back to him. "Go ahead, here." He shoved the lighter closer to her as she glared up at him. She took her hand out of her pocket and grabbed it from him, her freezing fingertips gently grazed against his own before she slid the lighter in her coat pocket.

"What's the catch?" She felt overly skeptical, squeezing the metal in her pockets harshly.

"There isn't one." He confusedly tilted his head at the question as he took notice of how quick her soft energy changed into guarding.

"Then why did you give this to me? What do I need to do in return?" Her jaw clenched tightly as she slowly began stepping back away from him with flickering eyes.

"Nothing?" He cocked a brow at her hastiness then furrowing them together confusedly. "It's a gift, from me to you." He held his hands up to show her he physically was harmless. "Have you ever received a gift before?" He harshly spat since he was taking great offense to this interaction. He doesn't understand why she is so defensive now and why she thinks he'd hurt her when he's never done anything to hurt her.

(Y/n) swallowed harshly, her throat was beginning to feel slightly dry from embarrassment. She never was given something without an expectation for something in return, ever. "Goodnight." She quickly turned around and walked fast out the alley as Subong stood there in a shocked manner, watching her disappear around the corner.

He was drawn to her. It was the consistency of her pushing him away that attracted him. She was a complete mystery to him, and he wanted nothing more than to peer into her life.

[aspenmissing]

could you do something with a few arcane characters (claggor, Vander, Viktor, and whoever else) with someone who works at babette’s? Can be angsty or fluffy, whichever works :3

If not, enjoy your day!! I love reading your fics!

ꜱɪɴꜱ ᴏꜰ ᴛʜᴇ ᴄɪᴛʏ

ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴠɪᴋ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ || ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ/ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ || 7735 ᴡᴏʀᴅꜱ || ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢꜱ: ꜱᴘɪᴄʏ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ꜱᴍᴜᴛ, ɪᴍᴘʟɪᴇᴅ ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ/ʀᴀᴘᴇ(ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ) ᴛʜʀᴇᴀᴛᴇɴ ᴏꜰ ɴᴏɴᴄᴏɴ/ʀᴀᴘᴇ (ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛꜱ), ꜱʟᴜᴛ ꜱʜᴀᴍɪɴɢ, ᴅᴇɢʀᴀᴅɪɴɢ, ᴘʜʏꜱɪᴄᴀʟ ᴀʙᴜꜱᴇ (ᴍᴏꜱᴛʟʏ ɪɴ ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ), ɴᴇᴀʀ ᴅᴇᴀᴛʜ, ᴏᴠᴇʀꜱᴅᴏꜱᴇ ᴏꜰ ꜱʜɪᴍᴍᴇʀ(ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ'ꜱ ᴘᴀʀᴛ), ᴅᴇꜱᴄʀɪᴘᴛɪᴏɴ ᴏꜰ ʙʀᴜɪꜱᴇꜱ/ɪɴᴊᴇᴄᴛɪᴏɴꜱ (ᴘʟᴇᴀꜱᴇ ᴛᴇʟʟ ᴍᴇ ɪꜰ ɪ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴍɪꜱꜱᴇᴅ ᴀɴʏ)

ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴꜱᴡᴇʀ: ʜᴇʟʟᴏ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ! ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ᴛʜᴇ ʀᴇQᴜᴇꜱᴛ ᴀɴᴅ ᴛʜᴀɴᴋ ʏᴏᴜ ꜰᴏʀ ʀᴇᴀᴅɪɴɢ ᴍʏ ꜰɪᴄꜱ!! ɪ ꜱᴛᴀʀᴛᴇᴅ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴅᴏɪɴɢ ꜰʟᴜꜰꜰ, ʙᴜᴛ ᴛʜᴇɴ ɪ ᴅᴏɴ'ᴛ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ᴡʜᴀᴛ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴᴇᴅ ʙᴜᴛ ɪᴛ ꜱᴏᴏɴ ᴡᴇɴᴛ ɪɴᴛᴏ "ꜱʟɪɢʜᴛ" ᴀɴɢꜱᴛ. ʙᴜᴛ, ɪ ᴅᴏ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴇɴᴊᴏʏ ɪᴛ ᴍʏ ᴅᴇᴀʀ, ᴀɴᴅ ɪ ʜᴏᴘᴇ ʏᴏᴜ ᴀʀᴇ ʜᴀᴠɪɴɢ ᴀɴ ᴀᴍᴀᴢɪɴɢ ᴅᴀʏ/ʀᴇʟᴀxᴇᴅ ɴɪɢʜᴛ!

ʀᴇᴀᴅᴇʀ | ᴊᴀʏᴄᴇ | ᴠɪᴋᴛᴏʀ | ᴠᴀɴᴅᴇʀ | ꜱɪʟᴄᴏ | ᴄʟᴀɢɢᴏʀ

JAYCE

Babette’s was a place of silk and shadows, where laughter was a song and whispered secrets were the currency of the night. It thrived on the illusion of intimacy—on the fleeting promise that, for the right price, loneliness could be staved off, if only for a few hours.

Y/N had learned how to navigate this world effortlessly. She knew how to hold a man’s gaze just long enough to make him believe he was the only one in the room. She knew how to touch without inviting closeness, how to smile just enough to make them forget it was practiced. It was a dance she had mastered—one that never allowed for missteps.

And yet, of all the patrons who frequented Babette’s, only one had ever made her question the boundaries she had so carefully constructed.

Jayce Talis.

=

The first time he walked in, it had been raining. The kind of relentless storm that turned Piltover’s golden streets into a gleaming reflection of its own decadence. He had stood at the entrance for a long moment, water dripping from his coat, eyes scanning the room as though he wasn’t sure what had brought him here.

She had seen it before—men hesitating on the threshold of sin, torn between duty and desire. But Jayce had looked different. He wasn’t a man searching for pleasure. He was a man searching for something he couldn’t name.

Even then, she had known he wouldn’t be like the others.

He never sought out the entertainment Babette’s was known for. He never took an escort to a private room, never let his hands wander over exposed skin. Instead, he sat at the bar, nursing a drink he barely touched, exchanging glances with her between sips.

He had been a curiosity at first—an anomaly in a place where men came to indulge. But as the nights stretched on, as he returned again and again, something about him unsettled her. Not in the way of danger, but in the way of familiarity. Like looking at someone who understood a part of you without ever needing to say it aloud.

She never asked why he kept coming back. She only knew that every time he did, he found her.

=

The moment he walked in, she felt the shift in the air.

Jayce Talis, golden boy of Piltover, carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but tonight it seemed to be crushing him more than usual. His normally proud posture was slumped, his steps slower, as if exhaustion had seeped into his bones and hollowed him out. The usual fire in his eyes was dimmed, dulled by something she couldn’t quite name.

Y/N leaned against the bar, watching as he sank onto the stool beside her.

"Rough day, golden boy?" she teased, her voice carrying the same lightness it always did when she spoke to him. It was a carefully measured thing, meant to put him at ease without asking too much of him.

Jayce let out a breathy chuckle, raking a hand through his damp, tousled hair. "You have no idea."

He didn’t elaborate. He never did.

And she never pressed.

She had long since learned that silence often spoke louder than words.

The bartender set a glass in front of him, the amber liquid inside catching the dim, flickering glow of the chandelier above them. He traced the rim absentmindedly, his fingers tapping against the glass, restless. She watched the way his hands trembled slightly, a barely noticeable shake that betrayed just how deeply something was weighing on him.

Y/N reached out without thinking, curling her fingers around his wrist before he could take a sip.

Jayce stilled.

His skin was warm beneath her touch, the steady pulse beneath her fingers a quiet contradiction to the tension in his frame.

"You’re not really here for the drink, are you?"

He hesitated. Then, slowly, he shook his head, letting out a quiet, bitter laugh. "No. I guess I’m not."

She could have let the conversation end there. Could have let him sit in his silence, let him drown in whatever weight he carried. It would have been easier.

But Jayce wasn’t just another patron.

So she shifted closer, her voice softer now. "Then why are you here?"

For a long moment, he just looked at her.

Not in the way most men did when they set foot in Babette’s, with eyes that roamed and lips that whispered empty promises.

Jayce looked at her like he was searching for something.

Like maybe—just maybe—he had already found it.

"Because you’re here," he admitted, barely above a whisper.

Her breath hitched.

The walls she had spent years building suddenly felt paper-thin.

She should have laughed it off, should have brushed it away with a teasing remark. But the way he was looking at her—the raw sincerity in his voice—made it impossible to pretend.

"Jayce…" she started, unsure of what to say.

"I mean it," he murmured, his hand covering hers. His touch was warm, grounding. "I don’t know why, but when I talk to you, everything doesn’t feel so… heavy."

She had spent years convincing herself that what happened within these walls wasn’t real. That the stolen glances, the fleeting touches, the whispered confessions meant nothing in the morning light.

But this—this—felt real.

And she didn’t know what to do with that.

Her fingers curled around his, just a little tighter. Just enough to say, I hear you. I see you.

"Then stay a little longer," she whispered.

And he did.

=

The night stretched on, the world outside growing quieter as the hours bled together.

They didn’t speak much after that. They didn’t need to.

She simply sat beside him, her presence a quiet comfort against the storm brewing inside of him. Occasionally, their hands would brush—a lingering touch here, a fleeting moment there. Each one felt like something unspoken, something fragile.

At some point, Jayce exhaled deeply, as if letting go of something he had been holding onto for too long. His fingers ghosted over hers again, slower this time, deliberate. Not a request, not a demand—just an anchor.

She didn’t pull away.

And when he finally left that night, the tension in his shoulders seemed just a little lighter.

The next time he came back, he found her again.

And again.

And again.

Until one night, when the walls she had built no longer existed at all.

VIKTOR

The first time Viktor returned to Zaun after leaving for Piltover, he was taller, thinner, and carried the weight of a world that was not yet his to bear. His shoulders, once slouched with boyhood, were straighter now, though tension curled around his frame like an old habit. The cane he used wasn’t new, but it was more refined now—sleek, practical, and sturdier than the old makeshift one he’d used in his younger days. It was a steady, measured tap, tap against the grime-slicked pavement, cutting through the ever-present hum of the Undercity, marking his passage through the familiar chaos.

So was the gleam in his eyes—something sharp, something too bright, like a spark trying to catch in the damp air of Zaun. It was ambition, maybe. Or hope, worn thin from fighting against the current. Either way, it was fragile in a way Viktor would never admit.

You had watched him from the shadows of Babette’s, tucked between the neon glow of the entrance and the deep pools of darkness the city loved to swallow people whole in. You had learned to be both seen and unseen here, to slip through Zaun’s filth with a practiced grace, to exist where others only noticed you when you wanted them to.

But Viktor was never someone you could hide from.

His gaze swept the street once, twice—then landed on you with an unerring certainty.

“Y/N.”

Your name on his lips was both familiar and foreign, shaped by time and distance. His voice had changed, too—deeper, rougher around the edges, touched with something that hadn't been there before. Exhaustion? Experience?

You felt the corners of your lips twitch, though the smile you gave him was small. Soft. Tired.

“Viktor.”

And just like that, the years between you shrank into nothing.

=

That was years ago now. And still, he comes.

The bell above the door jingles, the soft, familiar sound marking his arrival. Viktor steps into Babette’s tonight, and as always, the dim light catches the sharp angles of his face, making him seem like a ghost from another life. His limp is more pronounced than the last time you saw him, and the cane he leans on now is a far cry from the crude, makeshift one he once used. The polished wood gleams with care, the dark brass of its handle catching the flickering candlelight as his fingers flex over it.

The scent of perfume and stale liquor clings to the air, but beneath it all, there’s something deeper, something familiar—like the warmth of an old fire that’s been left burning in the heart of a place that’s seen too much. Home, perhaps, though neither of you would ever admit it aloud.

You look up from where you’re wiping down a glass, your hands stilling for just a moment as you take him in. "Didn’t think you’d be back so soon, genius."

His lips curl at the nickname, and despite the distance, despite the years, there's still that little spark in his gaze—a flicker of the boy you once knew. His smile softens as it reaches his eyes, something unreadable passing between you. He sets a small pouch on the counter, its weight just enough to make a quiet sound as it settles.

“I had some spare coin,” he says, voice quieter than you expect, but steady. “Figured you could use it.”

Your throat tightens at the sight, and the urge to push it away is instinctive. You glance at the pouch, fingers still on the glass as you push it back toward him, trying to steady your breathing. “I don’t need your pity, Vik.”

His jaw tenses. The shift in his expression is subtle, but it’s there—something fleeting, just out of reach. “It is not pity,” he says firmly. He hesitates, just long enough for you to catch the vulnerability in his eyes. “It is care.”

You exhale, shaking your head slightly as you lean against the counter, arms crossing over your chest, the movement almost defensive. "You can’t keep doing this. Walking down here alone, wasting your money on me."

“It is not a waste.” His voice is firm, but there’s a quiet plea beneath it, a rawness that you rarely hear from him. “You were always taking care of me. Let me take care of you for once.”

The words land, deeper than you want them to. You want to argue, to tell him you’re fine, that you don’t need anyone’s help—that you’ve managed this long without it. You want to tell him Babette’s isn’t as bad as everyone thinks, that you’ve made your own choices. But you can’t, not when he’s looking at you like this, like you’re someone worth saving.

Viktor sees through you. Always has. He always will.

Your shoulders sag under the weight of everything you’ve kept buried, and before you can stop yourself, you reach for his hand, fingers brushing against his in a gesture that feels too fragile, too desperate. His skin is colder than you remember, but when his fingers tighten around yours, the warmth that follows is grounding. Familiar. Safe.

“I hate seeing you here,” he murmurs, the words soft, as if he’s afraid you’ll hear too much in them.

You swallow hard, the weight of your own feelings pressing on your chest. “And I hate seeing you up there, running yourself into the ground.”

Viktor huffs a quiet laugh, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction as he shakes his head. “Then we are quite the pair, are we not?”

You smirk, the corner of your mouth pulling up slightly as you meet his gaze. “Yeah. We are.”

And for a moment, everything else falls away—the noise of the bar, the heavy air of Zaun, the years that have passed between you. It’s just the two of you again, like it was when you were kids—two kids from the Lanes, scraped and battered but dreaming of something bigger, something better.

Maybe you never made it out, not in the way you imagined. But Viktor? He always comes back.

And maybe, just maybe, that’s enough.

JAYVIK

The heavy sound of heels clicking against damp cobblestone echoed through the narrow hallway of Babette’s. The brothel, tucked deep in the tangled streets of Zaun, was a gilded cage—an opulent prison where the powerful sought escape from their miseries, indulging in pleasures they could never claim in daylight. The scent of perfume, smoke, and cheap liquor clung to every surface, mingling with the low hum of laughter and whispered promises.

Y/N had long since learned how to navigate this world, how to sell the illusion of intimacy without ever giving too much of herself away. She wasn’t ashamed of her work—it was survival, and she had carved out a life for herself, one where she still held on to a shred of dignity. It wasn’t much, but it was hers.

Viktor and Jayce had been an anomaly in that life, slipping through the cracks of carefully built walls.

Viktor, the sharp-witted scientist, had first stumbled into Babette’s with hesitation in his gait, cane tapping against the uneven floor as he observed the brothel’s excess with something between amusement and mild distaste. He had never been a customer in the traditional sense. He had come for conversation, for reprieve from the grueling demands of his research, and, eventually, for her.

Jayce, by contrast, had been a familiar face long before Viktor. He was fire where Viktor was ice, ambition and charm wrapped in a body sculpted by years of labor in Piltover’s forges. He, too, had never sought out Babette’s for what it was meant to offer—at least, not until Y/N.

They were lovers first, the golden boy and the outcast, bound together by the same relentless drive to change the world. Their relationship was an open one, unshackled by convention, but there had been something different about Y/N. She was not just another fleeting dalliance, not just a body to warm their bed.

She had become something else entirely.

Tonight, however, something was wrong.

=

The usual hum of the brothel felt off—more erratic, the energy shifting between forced revelry and something darker. The clients were crueler, drunker. Hands lingered too long, voices slurred with entitlement. Y/N had seen bad nights before, but tonight, the air felt suffocating.

And then it happened.

A man—wealthy, powerful, the type who thought coin could buy him anything—grabbed Y/N’s wrist hard enough to bruise. His smile was all sharp teeth and unchecked arrogance.

“You’re prettier up close,” he mused, fingers ghosting along her jaw. “What’s the price for something special?”

Her stomach turned. “You’ve had your time,” she said evenly, trying to pull away.

The man’s grip tightened. “I don’t recall saying I was done.”

A cold, creeping dread coiled around her spine. She had handled difficult clients before, but this man… there was something about the way he looked at her, something that sent alarms screaming through her body.

Before she could react, he shoved her back against the nearest wall, his weight pressing down on her. The impact sent a sharp burst of pain up Y/N’s side, a gasp tearing from her lips.

And then, everything moved too fast.

The cane hit the ground first, clattering against the floor as Viktor surged forward, his limp forgotten in the sheer force of his rage. His hands curled around the man's collar, dragging him away with a strength that was startling in someone so often hunched over his work.

"Enough," Viktor’s voice was quiet, but it carried a terrifying weight.

The client froze, startled by the venom in Viktor’s tone.

Jayce appeared moments later, his broad frame blocking the exit. His gaze swept over the scene—Y/N against the wall, Viktor standing between her and the bastard who had dared to touch her. His hands clenched into fists, barely containing the fury crackling beneath his skin.

“What the hell is going on?” Jayce’s voice was dark, controlled, but Y/N could see the way his muscles tensed, ready to snap.

She pressed a hand to her ribs, wincing as she pushed off the wall. “Nothing I couldn’t handle,” she murmured, but even to her own ears, the words sounded fragile.

The client scoffed, straightening his collar, trying to regain his composure. “I paid—”

Viktor’s fist met his jaw before he could finish. The impact sent the man stumbling back, blood smearing across his lips. Viktor winced slightly, shaking out his hand as if surprised by his own reaction.

“You paid,” Viktor repeated, voice low, “for what was offered. Not for what you think you are owed.”

The man’s arrogance wavered, fear flickering in his eyes as he looked between Viktor and Jayce, who had stepped forward with slow, measured steps.

“I suggest you leave,” Jayce said, his tone deceptively calm.

The client hesitated, but something in Jayce’s expression—something dangerous—made him think better of pressing his luck. With a sneer, he spat blood onto the floor and stormed out.

The silence he left behind was heavy.

Y/N exhaled shakily, the adrenaline fading, leaving only exhaustion in its wake.

Viktor was the first to move, his hands gentle as he reached for her, his touch lingering at her wrist where bruises were already forming. “Are you alright?” His voice was softer now, laced with concern.

Y/N swallowed past the tightness in her throat. “I’m fine,” she lied.

Viktor’s frown deepened. “You’re not.”

Jayce stepped in, his warmth grounding, his eyes scanning her for further injury. “You need to get out of here,” he murmured. “Come with us.”

Y/N hesitated. This was her life, her reality. Could she just leave?

Viktor seemed to sense the conflict, his hand lifting to brush against her cheek, a rare moment of tenderness. “Please,” he whispered. “Just for tonight.”

Jayce offered a lopsided, tired smile. “We’ll figure it out later. Just let us take care of you.”

And for once, Y/N let herself be selfish.

She nodded.

Jayce exhaled, relieved, as he draped an arm around her shoulders, guiding her forward. Viktor retrieved his cane, his grip on it tighter than before, his free hand never straying too far from Y/N’s.

The three of them left together, stepping into the cold Zaun night.

Whatever came next, they would face it together.

VANDER

The usual mix of drunk regulars, men playing at being kings of the Undercity, and enforcers looking for trouble. It was loud, the air thick with smoke and sweat, and the floor sticky with spilled drinks. It was just what you needed.

You just wanted a drink. Something to take the edge off. Something to make you forget the ache in your back, the sting along your ribs, and the deep, throbbing bruise at your hip.

Babette never forced you to take the rougher clients. She didn’t have to. Coin was coin, and some men liked a girl who didn’t flinch when the belt came off. And you? You weren’t in a position to say no, not when they laid enough money on the table. It was part of the job. It was supposed to be just a job.

But tonight, you felt it more than usual.

Your fingers trembled as you wrapped them around your glass, whiskey burning as it slid down your throat. You weren’t even drinking for the taste—just the numbness that came after.

You didn’t notice Vander at first, too caught up in the heat of the alcohol and the dull throb of your bruises. But then, there he was—solid, steady, familiar.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just set down a fresh drink beside yours and leaned against the bar, arms crossed over his chest. His gaze flicked over you like he was taking inventory, like he could piece together what had happened just by looking.

"You alright, love?" His voice was gruff, edged with something that made your stomach twist.

You forced a smile, lifting your glass in a mock toast. "Never better."

His eyes narrowed. "That so?"

You tried to hold his gaze, but the concern in his expression made something in you splinter. You looked away, focusing on the chipped wood beneath your fingertips.

Vander didn’t push. He just stood there, waiting, until you exhaled a slow, shaky breath.

"Just got paid good is all," you admitted, voice low.

That was all you needed to say. Vander knew what that meant. Knew the rules of Babette’s house, the way things worked. The more money they paid, the more "willing" you’d be. It didn’t matter if you were actually willing or not.

His jaw tightened. His fingers flexed against the bar, like he was imagining wrapping them around someone’s throat. But when he spoke, his voice was controlled. Even. "You hurt?"

You hesitated, then shrugged off your coat, letting the fabric slip from your shoulders.

The bruises on your arms were fresh—dark smudges blooming across your skin, some shaped like fingers, others like something worse. A welt ran along your ribs, barely hidden beneath the thin straps of your dress.

Vander didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Just stood there, staring at the marks with a look you’d never seen on him before.

Then, slowly, he reached for your arm, his touch careful. Gentle. Like he was afraid you might break if he wasn’t.

"Come with me," he said, voice quiet but firm.

You didn’t argue.

=

He led you past the bar, through a door that creaked on its hinges, into the backroom where the scent of old wood and whiskey lingered. It was quieter here, away from the crowd. Warmer, too.

Vander guided you to sit on the edge of an old couch, kneeling in front of you. He didn’t ask for permission, just reached for the hem of your dress, waiting for you to nod before he lifted it slightly, just enough to see the worst of it.

His breath left him in a slow exhale. His fingers hovered over your ribs, never quite touching.

"Fucking bastard," he muttered.

You almost laughed. "It’s part of the job."

His gaze snapped to yours, and you saw it then—the anger, the frustration, the helplessness of knowing that he couldn’t change the world you lived in, no matter how much he wanted to.

"This ain’t a job," he said, voice rough. "This is someone hurtin’ you."

You swallowed hard. Looked away. "I’ll be fine."

Vander exhaled, slow and steady. Then, carefully, he reached for a cloth, dipping it into a basin of water nearby. His touch was gentle as he pressed it to your skin, wiping away sweat and blood, his fingers lingering just a second too long.

"You don’t have to go back there tonight," he said after a while.

"Babette won’t like that."

"I don’t give a damn what Babette likes."

You smiled, just a little. "And what? You gonna keep me here?”

"If I have to," he murmured.

Something in his voice made your breath catch. You looked at him then, really looked, and saw the way his gaze softened when it met yours.

"You don’t gotta do this alone, love," he said. "Not while I’m around."

And for the first time in a long time, you believed him.

SILCO

Zaun’s air was thick with the stench of chemicals, the hum of machinery, and the perpetual sense of something festering. Y/N had known this city like the back of her hand, had learned to survive in its shadows and beneath its grime.

She had once belonged to something more.

She had once belonged to them.

Vander. Silco. Felicia. They had been her family, her anchor in a world that threatened to swallow them whole. They had shared drinks, dreams, and the quiet certainty that no matter what, they would stand together.

But that had been before.

Before Felicia died.

Before Silco disappeared.

Before the only thing left of that dream was Vander, broken and weary, clutching Vi and Powder as if holding onto them would somehow keep everything from unravelling.

Y/N had tried to stay. For a time. But every time she looked at Vi’s stubborn fire or Powder’s wide, wondering eyes, she saw Felicia. She heard the way they laughed like her, fought like her, wanted more like her. It was unbearable.

So she left.

Babette’s brothel had not been the first place she turned, but it was the place that stuck. A new kind of survival. A place where no one looked at her with pity or expectation, where she could drown in the haze of dim lights, perfume, and the touch of people who never asked about her past.

She made her choice, and she lived with it.

And Silco?

When he finally returned from the depths of whatever hell had swallowed him, he did not ask why she had chosen Babette’s.

He only looked at her—like he was cataloging every change, every scar she had earned in his absence. Taking her in with that sharp, knowing gaze, as if he could trace the years on her skin, the weight she now carried, the way she had hardened.

She didn’t ask where he had been.

And she didn’t ask about the changes in him—the gauntness in his face, the sharper edges, the way one eye burned red like an ember that would never die.

Because some things in Zaun were better left unspoken.

=

He still came by Babette’s on occasion, always watching her with that sharp, assessing gaze—never interfering, but never quite looking away. Not possessive, not exactly. But aware.

She could always feel it when he was there. A presence that settled over her like smoke, curling in the edges of her vision, a quiet reminder that someone from her past still saw her. That someone still cared, in his own distant, unreadable way.

He never told her to stop, never asked her to leave. Never judged. He simply made it known that he knew. Knew what she did, who she took into her bed, the life she had carved out for herself in the absence of the one they had all lost.

A silent understanding settled between them—one neither of them ever put into words.

She wasn’t his. And he wasn’t hers.

But sometimes, when the night stretched long and the air between them was thick with things unsaid, she wondered if he ever wished things had been different. If, in another life, another version of their story, she would not be here and he would not be standing in the shadows, watching.

=

She had a regular—a client she’d grown used to over time.

He was different from the others. Kind, in a way that never felt forced. Gentle. He never pushed, never asked for more than what she was willing to give. He paid well, never tried to haggle. Some nights, he didn’t even touch her at all, just spoke with her, filling the silence with easy conversation.

She let herself relax around him, just a little. Let herself believe that, if she had to do this kind of work, at least she had been lucky enough to find someone who treated her well.

It was easy. Simple.

Until it wasn’t.

=

It started like any other. A drink, a few whispered words, the usual routine.

She let him kiss her, let his hands trace familiar paths along her skin. Let him lead her up the narrow steps to her room, where the floorboards creaked beneath their slow, measured steps. The door clicked shut behind them. Routine. Predictable.

She knew what he liked. Knew how he would touch her, how he would sigh against her skin, how he would linger in the quiet moments before slipping a handful of coins onto the bedside table. He had never hurt her. Never given her a reason to be afraid.

But tonight, something was different.

Somewhere between the laughter and the undressing, the unbuttoning of his shirt and the soft murmur of meaningless words meant to fill the space between them, he pulled out a vial.

A glimmering, pulsing vial of Shimmer.

Her breath hitched. The sight of it—of the unnatural glow shifting in the low candlelight—sent something cold curling through her stomach.

"You’re gonna feel good, just like before," he murmured, voice warm, reassuring. But his hands trembled slightly as he held it between his fingers, and there was something in his eyes she had never seen before. Desperation. Hunger.

Y/N pulled back slightly, her brows knitting together. “I don’t take that shit,” she said, her voice steady despite the unease creeping up her spine.

He only smiled, a little too wide, his grip on her wrist tightening just enough to make her tense. “You won’t even remember any of this… but you’ll feel better.”

Her stomach dropped.

She moved to pull away, to shove him off, to yell, to do something—

But the sharp, hot sting of a needle pierced her skin before she could.

It was instant.

A fire, thick and consuming, roared through her veins, twisting its way up her arms, her chest, her throat. Her vision blurred, the room tilting and stretching in ways that didn’t make sense. Her breath hitched, caught somewhere between her lungs and her throat, and her body—her own body—felt like it no longer belonged to her.

Her limbs grew heavy, her fingers slack, her head lulled to the side. Panic clawed at the edges of her mind, but it was buried beneath the rush of something sickly sweet and all-consuming.

Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

Her thoughts—scattered, slipping through her fingers like water.

The last thing she saw before the darkness took her was his face, hazy at the edges, his hands reaching for another vial.

Then, nothing.

=

"She’s in a bad way, Silco."

Babette's voice was softer than usual, stripped of its usual sharpness, the playful edge missing. The usual teasing humor that accompanied her words was replaced with something grim. Seriousness. Worry.

Silco sat across from her in the dimly lit back office, the air thick with tension. His gloved fingers steepled beneath his chin, his mismatched eyes narrowing as he listened, focusing all his attention on her. He hadn't planned to come by tonight—too many matters demanded his presence in other corners of Zaun. But when Babette herself had sent for him, when she insisted it was urgent, there was no question in his mind.

Now, he understood why.

"Tell me what happened," he said, his voice as quiet and controlled as ever. Every syllable was deliberate, carrying a weight that made the room feel smaller, heavier.

Babette exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over her forehead, trying to compose herself. She wasn’t the type to show vulnerability, but there was no denying the tension in her voice. "It was one of her regulars," she said, her words slow, like they were hard to say. "The one who always treated her sweet. Always paid well. Never rough, always kind. But I guess he wasn’t so sweet after all."

A cold, tightening coil wound its way through Silco’s gut. He didn’t need to hear more to know where this was going. His fist clenched, but he kept his composure. He had learned long ago that showing any hint of emotion—especially anger—could be a dangerous thing.

"Go on," he urged, his voice low, like a warning.

Babette looked down, her expression darkening further. "They went up to her room, like usual. And when she didn’t come back down for a while, I sent one of the girls to check on her. They found her in bed—barely breathing. At first, I thought she’d passed out, but when they checked her pulse, it was shallow. Weak."

Silco’s jaw tightened, the muscles along his neck tightening as well. He didn't speak. He didn’t need to.

Babette continued, the words spilling out now in a rush. "There were vials of Shimmer everywhere. He’d just kept giving her more. And she was covered in injection sites. I don’t even know how many, Silco—like he was trying to see how much she could take before she just… broke."

His grip on the edge of the desk tightened until the wood groaned beneath his fingers. His pulse pounded in his ears. His mind raced. The sound of Babette’s voice faded as his thoughts narrowed down to a single point—the image of her, broken, slipping away, and the thought that it was someone else’s hands that had put her there.

He stood, cutting her off mid-sentence, his movements as fluid as ever, but with an urgency that was rare for him. "Where is she?" His voice was hard now, like steel—controlled, but tinged with something darker, something colder.

Babette gestured toward the stairs. "Upstairs," she said quietly. "We cleaned her up as best we could, but she’s still not waking up. She’s fighting it, but it’s still in her system. The Shimmer’s got its claws in her."

Silco didn’t hesitate. He was already moving, striding toward the door. "I’ll take care of it," he said over his shoulder, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Babette’s eyes followed him as he left the office, and for a brief moment, she looked like she might say something more. But she remained silent.

Silco didn’t need words. He needed action.

=

The narrow, dimly lit hall felt longer as he ascended the stairs, his boots echoing in the silence. When he reached her room, the door was already open, and he could see her—Y/N—lying on the bed, still, unmoving. She looked fragile, smaller than he remembered, her body limp beneath the thin sheets. The faint, sickly smell of Shimmer lingered in the air, thick and nauseating.

He moved quickly to her side, his hand gently brushing the hair from her face. She didn’t stir. Her skin was cold to the touch, her breathing shallow, ragged. Her eyes remained closed, but there was a flicker of movement beneath her eyelids—like she was fighting to wake up, fighting to break free of whatever hell the drug had dragged her into.

For a moment, Silco just stood there, watching her, his chest tight with something he couldn't quite name. A flicker of guilt, of regret, gnawed at him, but he quickly silenced it. This wasn’t the time for that. She didn’t need his weakness.

He scooped her up carefully, cradling her against his chest. Her body felt like dead weight, but he held her close, his movements careful yet decisive. He wasn’t going to lose her. Not like this. Not to some bastard who thought he could break her.

"This is done, Y/N," Silco murmured, his voice low, a promise in the silence. He glanced down at her, his fingers brushing against her cheek as he shifted her in his arms. "You’re done with this."

With a final, lingering look at the room, he turned and made his way out. His stride was firm, resolute—there was no going back.

He would take her somewhere safe. Somewhere where she wouldn’t have to fight to survive anymore. Somewhere where she wouldn’t have to rely on the kindness of strangers who would turn on her when she was most vulnerable.

He would keep her safe.

And he would make sure that nothing like this ever happened to her again.

Silco stepped into the night, carrying her with him, the weight of his promise hanging in the air as the cold Zaun winds swept around them. He knew that the road ahead would be dangerous, but he didn’t care.

As long as she was safe, nothing else mattered.

CLAGGOR (AU)

The neon-lit streets of Zaun hummed with life, the distant hum of machinery and the low chatter of the undercity's residents blending into the usual backdrop of the worn world. Y/N stood with her friends on a familiar corner, the dim light of the streetlamps casting long shadows around them. Powder’s laughter rang out, infectious and bright, while Ekko tossed a ball between his hands, the two of them clearly caught up in their own little world. Mylo, ever the chaotic one, was teasing Ekko about missing a pass, his sharp grin never faltering.

Claggor, with his towering figure, stood just by Y/N’s side. His big, boisterous personality always made the world feel a little less heavy, even in the heart of Zaun’s darkness. His booming voice often kept spirits high, a balance to the often-overwhelming pressure of living in the undercity.

But that comfort was shattered when a voice, shrill and dripping with malice, cut through the air like a blade.

“Oi, Y/N! You’re looking a little too cheerful for someone who spends all day in Babette’s.”

Y/N’s stomach lurched. She froze, her hand instinctively tightening around the strap of her bag as she turned toward the sound. The man standing before them was all too familiar. One of the regulars from Babette’s—always with that same arrogant smirk plastered on his face, always throwing lewd comments her way whenever he showed up. His words made her skin crawl, but she’d learned how to brush them off. At least, that’s what she kept telling herself.

His gaze flicked over the group, his smile widening into something that made her skin prickle with disgust. He looked each of them up and down, sizing them up before his eyes landed on Y/N once more, that smug grin never leaving his face. “Oh, is this your gang, darling?” he sneered, his voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like you’ve got quite the crew around you now. What, you don’t get enough at Babette’s, Y/N? Need a little extra from these boys? I’m sure they’d be more than happy to help out.”

Y/N’s stomach churned. She could feel her face flush with embarrassment, a wave of humiliation washing over her as his words cut deeper than they should have. He wasn’t just talking about her job—he was dehumanizing her. And in front of her friends, no less. The whole world seemed to shrink in that moment, the weight of his words pressing against her chest.

Powder’s energy faltered, her usual light-heartedness giving way to a concerned frown. Ekko paused mid-air, the ball he had been tossing falling to the ground, his eyes narrowed in growing tension. Mylo’s jaw clenched, and Y/N could feel the air shift as he took a step forward, clearly ready to do something about this.

“You really think you can just talk like that to her?” Mylo growled, his voice low and menacing as he stepped into the man’s space, his usual cynicism replaced by something darker.

Claggor’s presence behind Y/N was like a towering wall, his massive shoulders tense and his fists clenched at his sides. Y/N could feel the protective energy radiating from him, but a part of her didn’t want this. She didn’t want to be the weak one, the one everyone felt the need to defend. She’d learned how to fight her own battles, to carry the weight of her life without leaning on anyone. But the cruel words the man had thrown her way hit harder than she expected, breaking through her carefully constructed walls.

“Claggor, it’s fine,” she muttered, her voice steady but strained. “I can handle this.”

Claggor’s gaze flicked to her, his frown deepening, but he didn’t move. He was there, a silent sentinel, his mere presence a reminder that if it came to it, he’d be the one to step in. But Y/N didn’t want that—not now. Not this time.

“Claggor, please,” she whispered, her voice barely audible as she took a step forward, her hand reaching out to him, pleading silently with her eyes. “Let him go. I can deal with it.”

The man scoffed, his sneer deepening as he leveled his gaze at Y/N. “Yeah, I bet you can handle it. Probably used to men like me, huh? You’re nothing more than a whore, after all.” His words hit like a slap, but then he turned to Y/N’s friends, his voice oozing with condescension. “You all don’t mind sharing her, I guess? She’s used to it. Right, Y/N?”

That was it. The moment the man dared to make a mockery of her—dared to talk like that in front of her friends, calling her a whore—the protective instinct in Claggor snapped. Without another word, his massive hand shot out, grabbing the man by the collar and lifting him off the ground like he weighed nothing. The man’s confident expression faltered, his feet kicking helplessly in the air.

“You don’t talk about her like that,” Claggor growled, his voice a low, threatening rumble. His grip tightened, and the man’s face flushed with panic. “You think you can walk around here, degrading her like that, in front of me?”

Y/N could see the fury in Claggor’s eyes, the raw protectiveness that she hadn’t wanted but felt like she needed. She tried to step forward, but her heart was pounding too loudly in her chest.

“No, Claggor—let him go!” she called out, her voice sharp and pleading, but it was no use. Claggor wasn’t listening anymore.

The man’s eyes widened in fear, but he clung to his smug demeanor, even as he dangled helplessly in Claggor’s grip. “What, you gonna protect your whore now? You gonna fight for her too?” he sneered, his words laced with venom as he turned his mocking gaze toward Y/N. “Well, damn, I’m feeling generous. I’ll give you the first ride.”

The second the words left his mouth, something snapped inside Claggor. His face contorted into a savage snarl, a primal fury burning in his eyes. Without hesitation, he slammed the man back into the nearest wall, the sickening thud of impact echoing through the street. The man gasped, his smugness instantly replaced with panic as his body went limp from the force.

Claggor’s grip remained unyielding, his knuckles white as he held the man against the wall. “You don’t ever talk about her like that,” Claggor growled, his voice low and full of deadly intent. “Not while I'm standing here. Not while I’m breathing.”

The man’s face drained of colon, his bravado crumbling like brittle paper as he tried to squirm, but Claggor’s strength was unwavering. He tried to mumble something—some weak defence—but his words were nothing more than a stammering mess, drowned out by Claggor’s presence.

Claggor leaned in closer, his breath hot and heavy against the man’s face. “If you ever even think of looking at her again, I’ll make sure you never forget it.” He slammed him into the wall once more for emphasis, his eyes never leaving the man’s terrified gaze.

The man’s feet kicked uselessly, his body barely holding on as Claggor’s anger raged like a wildfire. But in the face of Claggor’s wrath, all the man could do was curse under his breath, too afraid to do anything more. He was broken, humiliated.

With one final shove, Claggor released him, watching as the man crumpled to the ground, gasping for air. The coward stumbled backward, casting one last hate-filled glance at Y/N before he turned and bolted into the shadows, his ego shattered, leaving nothing but the lingering echo of his retreating footsteps.

Claggor stood still, his fists trembling slightly as the fury that had burned through him slowly began to subside. His chest heaved with each breath, but his eyes softened when they found Y/N.

She stood there, her eyes wide, still processing what had just happened. The sting of the man’s words still lingered in the air, but it wasn’t as sharp now—not with Claggor’s protective stance in front of her.

Claggor stepped back, his eyes softer now as he looked down at her. “You okay?” he asked, his voice quieter, more concerned.

Y/N nodded, though her throat tightened with the words she didn’t know how to say. “Yeah. Just... okay”

Claggor’s hand landed on her shoulder, steady and comforting. “You don’t have to do this alone, Y/N. You don’t have to handle it all by yourself.”

Before she could respond, Powder stepped forward, her small frame bursting with indignation. “Yeah, no one talks to our friend like that!” she shouted, her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re better than him, Y/N! And we’re gonna make sure you know it!”

Ekko gave her a sympathetic look, stepping closer and offering a pat on the back. “You’ve got us. Always.”

Mylo, who had stood at the ready, relaxed his posture just a bit, his usual cynicism giving way to something else entirely. A quiet solidarity. “Don’t worry about him. He’s a coward who talks big because he knows we’re not gonna let him get away with it.”

Y/N felt a swell of emotion rise in her chest. These people—her friends—weren’t just standing by her. They were fighting alongside her, each in their own way. Powder’s fiery spirit, Ekko’s understanding, Mylo’s quiet loyalty, and Claggor’s unwavering strength—they were here, and for once, she didn’t feel alone.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice soft but filled with gratitude. “I... I don’t think I can do this without you.”

Claggor gave her a small smile, one that didn’t hide the concern in his eyes. “You don’t have to.”

And for the first time, Y/N didn’t feel like the girl from Babette’s. She didn’t feel like the one who just endured, who just survived. She was a part of this group—her friends, her family—who saw her as more than the job she did. She wasn’t some object to be passed around. She wasn’t just surviving anymore. With Claggor and the rest by her side, she was finally starting to live.

[denjjisgf]

NEW PERSON, SAME OLD MISTAKES maneater reader x unsuspecting s. gojo

cw: no smut but EXPLICIT CHARACTER DEATH, stalking, drugging, stabbing, dismemberment, vomiting, obsession, reader is delusional, despite the tags, this chapter is relatively unserious, not a lot of gojo in this one

series m!list

we all hate doing the walk of shame.

it's tacky and honestly quite embarrassing in a city of 15 million people. normally you're a "get in, get off, get out quick" kinda girl, but today is proving to be not your day. busting through a back alley fire exit of your downtown high rise, you look rather suspicious walking in the early hours of morning. a gym bag was slung over your shoulder and you were limping slightly from the duffel's dead weight.

it takes 20 minutes to drive to your worksite, a desolate plot of land which used to be a forest and is soon to be a spanking new subdivision. it also happens to be where you dump your bodies.

your car swivels when it rolls off the pavement and into wet gravel. you hum to the song playing on the radio, twirling the woven fiber strap on the bag, seated in the front passenger's spot. the sun is barely risen and the sky tinged with orange and clouds. driving through dug up holes and the bare bones of homes, just on the edge of the property is a woodchipper.

the car lurches as it stops, as if it was digging its heels into the ground, frightened by what's to come next. if there's time for a little candor, you're pretty freaked out too. your hands tremble, just barely (and mostly because of the cold), fingers sinking into a rubber-cased "on/off" switch. the machine roars to life, screaming with hunger, and an awful gnashing sound fills your ears. a flurry of leaves gets kicked in the air and remnants of sawdust floats down onto your hair and shoulders.

"fuck, i hate this shit," you grumble, dropping the heavy duffle to the frozen ground and dusting yourself off. you take a quick look around, scanning for innocent bystanders, lost children, generally anyone who would be alarmed by what you're about to do.

you zip open the bag and grimace at the severed head floating on top of neatly stacked pairs of arms and legs. its mouth was slack, frozen in a scream, tongue pale and bloody. the hack job on the neck was definitely not your best work, but considering the circumstances, careless and hasty, you were pleased with your bonesaw skills while inebriated.

after making sure the wheelie cart was positioned to catch the guts of the woodchipper, you chucked an arm into the mouth of it and a finger flew up into the air, bouncing back into your hand. the dead flesh is cold in your palm, and you feel the blood rush from your head, down. you run to the treeline, queasy from your hangover, and vomit. the alcohol-tinged bile burns as it comes up.

what a shitty valentine's day.

...earlier this week...

"why is it i only see you fleeing the scene?"

satoru. entertaining his stupid flirtations only makes you smart mouthed, and you're weak for that sharp glint in his eye, brows perked up in half shock, half arousal.

"huh, couldn't tell'ya," twisting your body to match his eyes as you walk by. "if only i could manage to get out a little bit quicker. it feels like sneaking out and getting caught by dad," and with a wink, you're slinking out his apartment lobby door. shameless as fuck, he undresses you with his eyes.

you don’t know, but he loves that bratty mouth, your little innuendos. that sexy body when you swing your hips for him, leaving from another man's place. he runs his palm down his face, groaning, wishing you wanted him instead.

telling satoru you were dating someone in the building, in some ways, worked in your favor. he no longer questioned seeing you around, in the elevator and by the trash chute. no, you weren't stealing his trash, but you did check for condom wrappers.

now, before you go and judge, you had a job too! you couldn't just watch him every night, but it had begun to drive you mildly insane not knowing what he was doing. you contemplated installing cameras in his place and began lashing out at your employees when they fucked up paperwork and you had to stay late. everyone had become a barrier and all you needed was satoru.

but other times, the white lie left you frustrated and wondering what would've happened if he was flirting with you at the cafe instead of that barista. would you still have wanted to end his life, feel his blood drain, and body go cold? the image makes you shiver now.

which is probably what's stopping you from killing satoru. you feel like you're starting to lose your edge. i mean, two weeks ago, you let that girl from the club go, and now you’re more of a stalker than a killer.

you leave his place at the perfect time to bump into him, when are buzzing with adrenaline from sneaking around, dopamine and lust. not only do you get to be in his space, but you also get to see him. relaxing your "not letting potential victims see you" rule to spare a few fleeting seconds with satoru, the two of you dance around small talk and shoving your tongues down each others' throats every time.

you wish you had stuck around to talk to him that next day when you're searching through his laptop, the one he conveniently left unlocked.

"A DATE???!!" if steam could fume from your head, it would have. how could this have happened?? but there it was, the third most recent conversation with "jessica", confirming a date on february 14th, just thirty minutes ago.

you're pacing, staring at the open messages app. stomping over to the couch, you perch on the armrest and tumble backwards into the throw pillows. your fingers tap to open the app store, downloading hinge, impatiently tapping your phone case as the meter gauge fills.

why didn't he ask you?!

that stupid imaginary boyfriend... god, why did you say that?? why not a "best friend" or "dogwalker", some shit like that? you can't wallow alone on valentine's, knowing your satoru is out with another woman, you have to find another date. something else to preoccupy your time.

you know if you stay at home, you'll only end up back at his place, furious and bloodthirsty. while you're experienced, for sure, you've never done a threesome, and with your recent track record, it's best not to try anything new.

in a breeze you create a profile. you swipe through a few accounts, and close the app, disappointed. none of them were satoru. your silver fox, tall, broad, and aging like fine wine. the thought makes you swoon and snuggle deeper into his sofa.

you left earlier that night, wanting to deprive satoru of your subtle affections in passing. by the time you're tucked into bed, you have several "let's fuck" dms on hinge, and significantly less viable candidates than you'd hoped for. it is internet dating, so i don't know what you expected.

on valentine's day, you're strapping on a pair of ruby low pumps and smoothing down the black fabric of your cocktail dress. the bar your date had picked was only a couple blocks away, so you opt to walk, cinching the waistbelt of your trench coat, and going.

you were the first to arrive. you left a little early, so you could have plenty of time to survey the area, get comfortable before your date- matt, mike, you don't know, and frankly don't care- got there. you wave down the bartender and pass him a titanium card to start a tab. you have a couple drinks while you wait, and when your date got there, you have a couple more.

the rest of your memory is foggy from here. you had a lot to drink last night, and this morning, head splitting open from the inside and covered in blood, proved you blacked out sometime between 10 pm. and boy, were you busy.

it was quite alarming to wake up to actually, fingers crusted in blood, your hair matted in certain spots. pieces of bone shard were caught in your sweatshirt and your hands ached like you were using heavy machinery. the bonesaw... goddamnit. what was wrong with you?! the closed bathroom door stared eerily back at you. you were afraid to see what was behind it.

by the corner of the bedroom, sitting on a black, hefty trash bag, is a duffle bag, busting to the seams. hey, looks like last-night-you left you a gift. not long after, there you were. you grab the last body part in the nike duffle, your date, the man from quebec's leg, and toss it over your head. speckles of blood smack against your lips as the metal teeth chew up the limb and shit it out its other end.

drinking to oblivion wasn't your thing, you didn't like feeling out of control, so you chalked it up to "the satoru problem". you speed home when the body was disposed of, leaving the gorey scene behind, and your victim's bits and pieces churning in a cement truck. you were desperate to shower, dirt and blood caked in your cuticles, skin coated in a layer of filth.

sliding the key into the front door, you sigh with relief when you make it back to your penthouse. you climb the glass staircase, heading into your bedroom. the scent of iron and something sour tinge the air. the bathroom light shines faintly under the bottom of the door.

peering inside, you feel your mouth pool with saliva, holding back a gag. carnage is everywhere. your modern, pristine white bathroom is painted with blood and sinewy vessels like hair on a shower wall. thick, viscous puddles yet to dry are in circles all over the floor, but majority of the damage is in the tub. you run the shower head and the water shifts from crimson to pink after a few minutes.

it takes all afternoon to clean up the mess the man from quebec's dismemberment made. you make a vow to never kill anyone drunk or without planning ever again. you delete the messages you sent to him on the dating app and erase your profile.

it wasn't smart to kill without planning, and dumping the bodies near your company's buildsite requires thoughtful planning. you pray the construction guys pave on their merry way and pay no mind to the chunks of human flesh in the cement.

"this has to be the last time," you tell yourself. great, now you're talking to yourself outloud. you had official lost it. satoru gojo was the only thing you could think about, he consumed you. you decided in a split second, and then you're buckling your seatbelt, taking off to his apartment. you knew he was home, it was the weekend, so he had no reason to be at the office.

when you got there, you walked straight to the intercom, punching in his apartment unit. it buzzes four times before his voice cuts in, grainy through the shitty box speaker, but all the same shoots electricity in your veins.

"hello?"

"hey, gojo. it's me."

"oh hey...how'd you know which unit was mine?"

"ah," you clear your throat, "i've been calling all the units. luckily you answered this time."

he chuckles sexily through the intercom. "are you that desperate to talk to me?"

"actually, yea."

he's silent on the other end and you fidget in place, second guessing coming here on a whim. i mean, to be honest, it's not like the two of you are that close. he probably flirts with everyone...

"oh. hmm- where's the boyfriend? trouble in paradise already?"

"i'm thinking of ending things. i haven't told him yet, i just- i just know it's gonna be the best thing for me."

"so, you aren't gonna tell him, but you'll call every unit in the building to tell me?"

"look, i'm just looking for some comfort. these are difficult times and i had a rough valentine's day, okay?!" you're choking up, suprisingly for real, "my "boyfriend" took another woman out last night."

he's silent. "i'm really sorry. i- i didn't realize."

"satoru?"

"yea?"

"do you still have that guest pass?"

"i'll be right down."

sorry if i lost the plot @megumisthirdog