#so maybe it’s possible he did the same here

[sheppyscribbles]

"Just through here," Beni murmured, holding open a door that Justin was sure hadn't been there a moment ago and beckoning him to enter. Together they stepped out of the hubbub of the Kitajing Night Market into ...

... well. It had to be a tavern. There were booths, tables, stools at the bar, a pass-through window to a kitchen. The aroma of meats and breads and grease wafted through the air. But it was all so very bright and shiny. Silvery metal gleamed from nearly every surface, polished to a lustrous sheen. Even the tables seemed to be lacquered with flecks of some precious stone or another.

"... Beni, this place must cost a fortune ..." Every table had its own salt cellar, for the Eight's sake ... next to a bottle of spices and tiny envelopes of pure sugar! The head table of the Barlovian royal hall was never graced with such excess! Justin was beginning to wish he hadn't mentioned feeling hungry so late at night.

But Beni just laughed and shook his head. "It's some kind of different world, I think. Or maybe a spell of, uh, plenitude? Is that a word in your language? Anyway, whatever it is, it's cheap and they're open late, so let's don't play harps for a cow about it." He smiled to the server. "Booth for two, please!"

The benches of the booth had leathery upholstery, possibly wyvern skin, but the grain was a bit off. They were stuffed with something unusually soft, and Justin kept adjusting how he sat, trying to figure out what it was. He fidgeted with the collar of his surcote as he tried to decipher the menu. The illustrations helped. "If this is another world, will they still accept our money?"

"They did the last time I came here." Beni leaned in, ears flicking softly from side to side. "I can order for you, if you want. Their specialty is ... you like minced meat, right? Like those steam buns Lady Violet served at that banquet after we cleared out the Temple of Ice? It's like that, but instead of a bun, they use little loaves of bread."

Justin felt like Beni's explanation made him understand the food even less, but he had the feeling that asking questions would only make things worse. He allowed Beni to place their order, and within ten minutes the server slid two piping hot plates onto the table in front of them.

"... Beni, what are these little dusty sticks?"

"Remember the papas roots the Runas like to eat? Same thing, but they're fried in oil instead of roasting. They've got seasoning on them, but they're even tastier with the red sauce." He picked up a glass bottle from the table and handed it to Justin.

"Red sauce, hm?" He looked at it dubiously. The sauce was as bright red as fresh blood, or the markings on Beni's muzzle.

"I mean, they call it ke-çap, but instead of fish they use a tame nightshade berry. -- it's not poisonous, though. I checked." Beni's whiskers twitched the way they did when he got sheepish.

In all honesty, Justin had been hoping for a simple dish of leftover porridge, but as he bit into one of the "fry" sticks ... it was crisp. Fluffy. Hot. Quite salty, although not enough to overpower the other spices. He could taste peppercorn, garlic ... was that turmeric? Whoever ran this place must have import connections beyond one's wildest dreams.

He carefully opened the bottle of the red "catch-up" sauce and tried to pour out a small amount. "Careful, it's thick--" One tap on the bottom of the bottle, and half of the sauce splattered onto the plate, drenching the fries. Justin made a strangled cry of alarm.

"So wasteful -- my apologies!"

"Don't worry about it! Spell of plentitudiny, remember?" Beni laughed warmly and dipped a few of his own fries in Justin's little red lake. With no one scolding him, Justin relaxed and ate a few more. The sauce was tangy, a little sweet, a bit savory. It did compliment the fries, in moderation.

The "burger," though ... burg did mean a fortress, and it was certainly big enough for the name. A seared hunk of minced meat as thick as his thumb, resting between two trenchers of bread along with lettuce leaves, pickled vegetables, onion slices, a bit of cheese, and ... "... these folk really love their nightshades, I see ..."

"Mush be a cultshural thing," Beni replied around a mouthful. He gulped. "Maybe it shows how tough they are."

Justin wasn't quite as brave; he figured the red sauce was enough derring-do for one supper, so he set the onion and the red berry aside before hefting the burger in his hands and risking a bite.

It was marvelous. The slight seared crust on the juicy minced meat patty, the crisp buttery toasted bread, the tangy burst of cold brine from the bit of pickled cucumber, the gentle bitterness of the lettuce, the savory taste and creamy mouthfeel of the sharp cheese just on the cusp of melting, all mingled into one glorious morsel, a polyphonic choir singing joyful madrigals in his mouth. He took his time chewing, experiencing each flavor by itself and in play with the others as they rolled back and forth across his tongue.

"Told you it was good." Beni smiled his little fox smile, watching the wonder ripple across Justin's face like waves from a skipped stone.

"To put it very lightly!" Justin laughed softly, a bit of weight coming off his shoulders. "Practically a royal dish. How did you find this place?"

Beni shrugged, tail flicking softly against the bench on his side. "Stumbled on it one night after helping case a local mansion. The door only shows up rarely, but when you said you woke up hungry, I couldn't help checking for it."

Justin gave Beni a wry little smile. "Luck was on our side, then?"

"What can I say?" Beni settled back in his seat and popped another fry into his muzzle. "I lead a charmed life."

how would one of your OCs react to a HUGE burger and delicious seasoned french fries?

[rafes-slut]

You send your best friend nudes on aciddent

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x reader (Best Friends)

Summary: you wanted ro send nudes to guy you were talking to and without even realizing you sended them to rafe. He shows up at your house and he fucks you pretty

Warnings:(Explicit sexual content (18+), Rough, raw, and unprotected sex, Best friends-to-lovers tension, Possessiveness/jealousy, Strong language, Slight dominance themes, Mentions of nudes/sexting, Brief edging/denial)

-------------------------------------------------------

Your house was too quiet. Too empty. The kind of silence that made you restless, forcing you to find something—anything—to keep yourself occupied.

You had already scrolled through every possible social media feed, tried binge-watching a show, and even considered taking a nap, but nothing seemed to cure the boredom eating at you. The guy you’d been talking to—the one you had a… thing with—hadn't texted you all day, and for some reason, that only annoyed you more.

With a sigh, you plopped onto your bed, staring at the ceiling before an idea popped into your head. A reckless, stupid idea. But an exciting one.

Grabbing your phone, you opened the camera app, biting your lip as you hesitated. Then, without thinking too hard about it, you started posing, taking pictures of yourself—fully naked.

The longer you did it, the more confident you became, experimenting with angles, capturing the way the dim lighting cast shadows over your skin. By the time you finished, you were beyond pleased with how good you looked.

Your finger hovered over the screen as you scrolled through the pictures, feeling the rush of power that came with it. Maybe if you sent them to him—the guy you’d been talking to—he’d finally give you the attention you deserved.

Without another thought, you selected a few of your best shots and hit send.

The moment was thrilling. You smirked to yourself, placing your phone aside as you basked in the satisfaction of it all. You left your phone unattended for a while, assuming he’d take his time responding, so you didn’t bother checking right away.

It wasn’t until an hour later, when you absentmindedly picked up your phone to see if he had replied, that your stomach dropped.

36 new messages.

But they weren’t from him.

They were from Rafe.

Your heart stopped. Your entire body froze as dread crept up your spine. Confusion clouded your mind until you clicked on his name, your blood running cold as you read the first message.

Rafe: Tell me you didn’t just send that to me.

Your breath hitched. Your pulse pounded in your ears as you scrolled.

Rafe: Are you serious right now?

Rafe: Fucking answer me.

Rafe: Jesus Christ, what the fuck?

Rafe: Are you out of your mind?

Panic overtook your senses as you finally understood what had happened. Your fingers shook as you scrolled up, only to confirm your worst nightmare.

You hadn’t sent those pictures to the guy you’d been talking to.

You had sent them to Rafe.

Your best friend.

The same Rafe who had seen you at your worst, who had been there through everything, who—until now—had never seen you like that.

You felt sick.

Rafe: I swear to fucking God, tell me that was a mistake.

Rafe: Are you ignoring me on purpose?

Rafe: Do you even realize what you just did?

You stared at the messages, paralyzed with horror, your mind racing with what to do. There was no taking it back. No pretending it never happened.

Your phone buzzed again, and another text popped up.

Rafe: I’m coming over.

Your stomach flipped.

Oh. Fuck.

You barely had time to process the messages before loud, impatient knocking shook your front door. Your heart jumped into your throat.

Shit.

Rafe was already here.

Panic surged through you as you scrambled off your bed. You weren’t even dressed—still completely bare from your little photoshoot. With no time to properly throw on clothes, you grabbed the first thing within reach—an oversized shirt that smelled faintly of cologne. Rafe’s cologne. It was probably his shirt, one he had left behind on one of the countless nights he crashed at your place.

You barely managed to pull it over your head, the hem brushing mid-thigh, before the knocking got louder.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

"Open the damn door."

His voice was sharp, edged with something you couldn’t quite place—urgency, frustration… something more.

Taking a deep breath, you smoothed out the shirt, schooling your expression into something nonchalant. Like you didn’t just send your best friend a full spread of naked pictures. Like you weren’t freaking the fuck out inside.

You swung the door open, greeting him with a bright, innocent smile. "Hey, Rafe."

His eyes flickered over you immediately, scanning your barely covered frame. His jaw clenched, nostrils flaring. "You’re fucking joking."

You tilted your head, feigning confusion. "About what?"

Rafe ran a hand through his hair, exhaling a sharp breath before stepping inside, shutting the door behind him with more force than necessary. "Don't do that. Don't act like you didn't just—" He stopped himself, his tongue pressing against the inside of his cheek as his eyes dragged down your body again, lingering on your bare legs.

You crossed your arms, biting back a smirk. "Didn't just what?"

His jaw ticked. "Send me those pictures."

You shrugged. "It was an accident."

His blue eyes snapped to yours, dark and dangerous. "An accident?" He took a step closer, forcing you back slightly. "Tell me, how exactly do you 'accidentally' send someone half a dozen nude pictures?"

You swallowed hard, nerves creeping up your spine, but you refused to back down. You weren’t about to let him see how flustered you were. "I meant to send them to someone else."

His expression darkened, something flickering behind his eyes at your words. His voice dropped, lower, rougher. "Yeah? Who?"

Your lips parted, but no words came out. You weren’t sure why, but suddenly, saying his name—the guy you’d been talking to—felt wrong. The way Rafe was looking at you, staring through you like he was barely holding himself together, made your stomach twist in a way you weren’t prepared for.

His fingers twitched at his side. "Who were they meant for?"

You hesitated. "It doesn’t matter."

"Like hell it doesn’t," Rafe snapped, stepping in again, this time leaving no space between you. Your breath hitched. You could feel the heat radiating off him, his chest barely brushing yours. His gaze flicked to your lips for a fraction of a second before locking onto your eyes again. "You were really about to send those to some other guy?"

Your mouth felt dry. You blinked up at him, struggling to find your voice. "It’s not a big deal—"

His laugh was humorless. "Not a big deal?" His fingers curled at his sides like he was physically restraining himself. "You seriously don’t get it, do you?"

"Get what?" You whispered.

Rafe exhaled sharply, his jaw clenched so tightly you swore he might break his teeth. Then, in one swift motion, he grabbed your chin between his fingers, tilting your head up to look at him. Your breath caught in your throat.

"Don’t ever send shit like that to another guy." His voice was low, dangerously soft. "Not when you have me."

Your heart stuttered. "Rafe—"

"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, shaking his head slightly like he was at war with himself. His grip on your chin tightened just enough to make you dizzy. "Do you have any idea what you just did to me?"

You swallowed, your skin buzzing under his touch. "I—"

"You think I didn’t like it?" He scoffed, his thumb brushing against your bottom lip. "You think I’m mad because I didn’t want to see you like that?"

Your stomach flipped.

He leaned in, his lips just barely grazing the shell of your ear as he whispered, "I’m mad because now I can't stop fucking thinking about it."

A sharp breath left your lungs.

His other hand trailed down, gripping the hem of your—his—shirt. His fingers brushed against your bare thigh, sending shivers up your spine.

"Tell me to stop," he murmured.

But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

The second you didn’t tell him to stop, Rafe took that as a green light.

Before you could process it, his hands gripped your waist, and in one swift motion, he lifted you off the floor. A startled gasp left your lips as he placed you on the nearest surface—the hallway counter—knocking over a few things in the process.

Your legs instinctively spread, your oversized shirt riding up your thighs, exposing just how bare you were beneath it.

Rafe wasn’t blind. He saw everything.

And fuck, he wasn’t about to pretend he didn’t notice how worked up you already were.

A dark smirk tugged at his lips as his hands slid up your thighs, fingers tracing your soft skin. "You didn’t even think about putting something on, huh?" His voice was low, teasing. "Almost like you wanted me to see you like this."

Heat crawled up your neck, but before you could snap back, his fingers were already moving.

Without hesitation, he slipped between your thighs, brushing against your slick heat. A breathy moan slipped past your lips as he ran two fingers through your folds, feeling just how wet you were for him.

"Shit," Rafe groaned under his breath. "Look at you."

Your head tilted back slightly, hands gripping the edge of the counter as he teased you, his fingers barely dipping into you before pulling away again. Your hips bucked slightly, chasing the friction, and he chuckled.

"Needy, huh?"

"Rafe—" Your voice was a quiet plea, but he wasn’t feeling merciful tonight.

He pushed two fingers inside you with ease, the stretch making you gasp. He wasted no time, his fingers curling just right, pressing against that spot that made your entire body shudder.

"That’s it, baby," he murmured, his free hand gripping your thigh, keeping you spread for him. "Fuck, you’re already squeezing me."

Your legs twitched, the pleasure overwhelming as he pumped his fingers inside you, slow but deliberate. His thumb found your clit, rubbing small, calculated circles that made you whimper.

"Bet you weren’t even thinking about that guy when you took those pictures," he taunted, his pace never faltering. "Bet you were thinking about me."

You didn’t answer, but your body betrayed you—the way you clenched around his fingers, the way your thighs trembled.

He leaned in, his lips ghosting over yours, but never closing the distance. "Say it," he murmured. "Tell me who you really wanted to send them to."

Your pride held on, but your body was already giving him the answer.

You didn’t answer his question. You couldn’t. Saying it out loud would mean admitting it—to him, to yourself. That you never meant for those pictures to go to anyone but him. That the only person you wanted to see you like this, touch you like this, was Rafe.

But your silence didn’t matter. Your body told him everything he needed to know.

You gasped, yanking his wrist, pulling his fingers out of you before you could tumble over the edge. Rafe’s brows furrowed, his fingers glistening in the dim light, but before he could question it, your hands found his waistband, tugging at his jeans.

He let out a low chuckle, but it was rough, almost breathless. "That desperate, huh?"

You ignored him, too focused on shoving his jeans down. The second they pooled around his ankles, you took a moment—your breath hitching as you took him in.

Fuck.

You already knew he was big, but seeing it—thick, hard, already leaking at the tip—had you swallowing hard.

Rafe didn’t give you time to think. He grabbed your hips, dragging you to the edge of the counter, spreading you wider. He didn’t bother with teasing or stretching you any further—he knew you could take it.

And you did.

The moment he pushed inside, a strangled moan left your lips, your hands flying to grip his shoulders.

"Shit," Rafe gritted, his fingers digging into your skin as he bottomed out in one sharp thrust.

It was rough. Raw. Deep.

He didn’t give you time to adjust—he pulled back just enough before slamming into you again, knocking the breath from your lungs. The counter rattled beneath you with every thrust, his grip bruising, his pace relentless.

"Look at you," he groaned, watching the way your body took him, how you clenched around him with every movement. "This is what you wanted, huh? Not him—me."

Your nails scraped down his back, a broken moan escaping as he angled his hips just right, hitting that spot that had you seeing stars.

"You feel that?" Rafe panted, his forehead pressing against yours. "This is mine. You're mine."

You couldn’t even argue.

Not when you were falling apart around him, your body trembling as you came, his name spilling from your lips like it was the only thing you knew.

And Rafe? He followed right after, burying himself deep, groaning your name as he spilled inside you, claiming you in every way possible.

[euphoria-looney]

Astro!

Yan!Batfam x Neglected!Reader Squid Games!AU

m. list|next

"And goodness knows, The Wicked's Lives are lonely. Goodness knows, The Wicked die alone. It just shows, when you're wicked, You're left only, on your own." 'No One Mourns The Wicked' by Wicked the Musical

Divider creds: (?) and @dollywons

As a kid, all I longed for was someone to play a game with me that didn’t require some form of technology to keep both of us entertained.

Well, be careful what you wish for, because I have reached an all-time low, willing to kill people with children's games to earn money.

How much longer will I spend in this twisted game before getting killed? Maybe this is better whether I win or lose, I still gain freedom.

One choice is just the better option. 

That’d be losing winning.

Sure I would feel immense guilt, but I’d be free from debt… and then what? No longer needing to slave anyway from the amount of money I receive.

What then?

Could therapy even help? They’d probably send me off to a mental ward. 

Who's going to believe I won millions from playing some children’s games?

I looked around and saw the old man again from earlier, sitting alone in a space, I approached him, and he accepted to play with me.

“When I was little, this was one of my favorite games as a child.” The old man told us while we were walking into an open area.

“Really? I’ll be honest, I’ve never played this game before.”

As we finally found a point to play the game, we conversed.

—

“Did we do this to make a pact?”

He held out his hand, his pinkie and thumb sticking out, I laughed, wrapping my pinkie around his, pressing our thumbs together.

“Sir, no my gganbu- I think that’s what they called a really close friend right?”

—

Eventually we went all for nothing, this was the funniest game I ever played… I almost forgot the fact that I was going to die at the end.

“Ah, guess you won, betting all my marbles for your single one. Didn’t see that one coming.” I chuckled sadly.

He held my hand and placed the last marble in my palm.

“Take it, it’s yours anyway.” I looked up at him in shock, I could feel tears welling up in my eyes.

“We are gganbu aren’t we? Remember we swore on it. And Gganbu always shares everything no matter what. You made this all possible.” My shoulder shook, as I could only stare at my shoes, my eyes felt like facets at the point. 

And then I felt these same hands embrace me, and I felt like a child all over again.

“What a great way to go.”

He pulled away, making me face him.

“Thank you. I had a good time.”

I hugged him once again, my tears overflowing on his shoulders.

He let go and I walked out of the gates.

Sniffles were all I could do before I heard the voice behind me.

“I remember my name now. My name is Il-nam. Oh Il-nam.”

I kept walking then flinched when I heard a ‘bang’ go off.

Surrounded by all these dead bodies, and these empty emotions, I pushed forward.

[Player 1, Eliminated]

—

Despite everything, I’m still having these selfish thoughts of staying alive.

We had just played ‘glass bridge’ leaving three of us here, dressed in suits, and eventually I was talking with Penelope, she’s the one that helped me out of the restraint we were in after we left for the first time.

“Hey, [name], just in case either of us can actually make it out of this hellhole, promise that we will take care of each other's loved ones, okay?” 

“Don’t say that, we’ll be okay.”

But she took more damage than any of us once the glass had shattered and was losing blood fast.

“Stay where you are, I’ll go get someone.”

I left and went to the guard or whatever they were, to beg, plead, for a doctor, maybe one that could’ve been on standby, but instead they walked past me with a coffin.

I could only stare at my once best friend standing over her bed.

I ran over there and held her body up, shaking her for some sign of hope.

“No, Penelope, please, no…”

—

Approaching the end game, we ate a feast, so fresh and nicely made, I felt the need to puke.

We place in the field shapes surrounding us, to resemble a squid, this was, Squid Game.

The rain soaking both of us, gray skies, and a single guard on the side.

Astro’s shirt still soaked in blood, his suit back on. He spoke before the game began, a knife in hand.

“I ended her suffering. You know she would have died anyway.”

The tears that once stained my face had been washed off by the rain, and now I could only feel disdain for the man I once knew in front of me.

“That’s bullshit, stop lying. She could’ve survived, they could have treated her.”

He retorted.

“I know what you’re like, you’re the reason I had to kill her. I knew you two would stop all this, so she didn’t die there. Even though we’ve gone so far, just to quit?” 

It seemed so similar to the time back at the manor.

—

“Damian had a lot happen to him as a child, are you going to blame him for this?” Dick sighed Damian behind him with no remorse for the fact I had slashes on my arm, not deep but painful. And though they wouldn’t leave scars, would that really matter?

He held a weapon against me while all I had was a stack of books now discarded and torn on the ground.

“[name]. You’re older than him, he’s still a child. You are the reason for this, it could’ve been avoided if you didn’t egg things on. Don’t blame Damian for your faults.” Egg him on? All I did was try and avoid him.

It wasn’t fair.

—

Now, if it wasn’t high before, my blood pressure had to be spiking. For that petty reason? Simply because he didn’t want all of this going to waste?

“Was that it? You killed someone because this might end?” My voice trembled.

“Yeah! You and that girl would have been the majority you needed to get out! Going home without anything! I couldn’t live with that!”

“And you think that means anything?! What?! one more life on top of the others you’ve stolen isn’t enough, and won’t be enough until you receive something?! You’d rather have one more dead than for all three of us to leave and somehow find another way to bring something, anything home?!” I shouted back at him.

I took my knife out of my pocket.

“It's over…”

“I won’t let you leave here with the money.”

3RD POV

While the VIP’s finally stood up to watch this entertaining last game.

Two people who have developed over time physically and mentally, once friends, were squabbling, fighting with very small amounts of energy, but a passion to win.

Both stabbed the other when eventually, player 456 was able to get the other on the ground and punched him over and over again.

The Waynes couldn’t help but be relieved this was it, they’d never let her go again, they would make up for everything starting with making sure she would be okay.

“Found the location heading there soon!” They heard Cassandra on the other line.

Late, but they would make it.

—

[name]’s POV

I held my knife, before stabbing it into the field, next to his face, before limping over to the goal point, it felt miles anyway, the guard had his gun loaded and aimed at Astro.

There before me was the practical finish line.

I can’t… No, I refuse to if anything, playing this game has fucked me other the head, but I refuse for one second to let this game be the last thing I ever see Astro at.

“I wanna end here.” I face the guard walking back to them.

“Clause Three of the agreement. The players are able to end the game when the majority agrees, so if we both give up,  you have to end it right?” I stumbled over.

The guard spoke on the walkie-talkie while I gazed back at Astro.

“Astro.”

“Back when we went to the same school, we’d hang out together and study before leaving chasing after our purpose that called out for us. Nothing's calling anymore.” After all this time, he still is.

I smiled at him, that once gummy smile I adorned, one that I hated so much.

“Let’s go”

I extended my hand to him. 

“Let’s go together.”

He slowly lifted his hand.

“[name], I’m sorry.” 

And before I could react, he took that hand and grabbed the knife that I put right next to him, and impaled himself in the neck with it. 

Blood gushed out and he choked out blood.

I quickly went to his side, stabilizing his head.

“Astro! Astro!”

“[name]..”

“No, no, don’t speak! Hang on!” I was panicking, this can’t be the end of us.

“M-my mother, please take care of my mom. And…”

“I love you.” That made me freeze my erratic movements, I was sure he could’ve seen my eyes widen.

“Loved you since meeting you.” With that, he closed his eyes and I could only call out his name, and held onto his body, it was getting colder fast.

[Player 218, Eliminated. Congratulations, Player456]

—

3rd POV

“Believe in Jesus or go to Hell!” A guy holding two signs chanted outside in the rain, strangers walking past each other, a white limo rolled up on the side of the street, dumping a bruised and exhausted body on the sidewalk, the same guy chanting untied the girl.

“Believe in Jesus.”

The girl was in the bank depositing 4.56 billion dollars before withdrawing some out. Her hair a mess, eyes sullen and eye bags that dragged down her face, she seemed exhausted. Walking back to the store she once worked at, a sign stated ‘SOLD’ and next to it a reef, “Rest in Peace, Conny Claire, Died too soon, old shop owner that meant so much to many people.” Flowers that surround the message.

The girl that came there for a snack could only sink to the ground in shock, hands rising to cover her face, body shaking and quivering.

Walking down a store alleyway, Astro’s mom approached the girl.

“How have you been, here take some food for the road after losing…” She sighed, and patted the girl's back, walking back to her shop.

“Have you heard from… Nevermind.” 

The girl opened her run down apartment where she once lived and went to see all the old photos in the yearbook of classes she had with Astro and in all of the group ones featuring her, her classmates, and Astro she noticed how in each one he was looking at her, with those fond eyes.

She could only fall onto her bed, her tired state crept on her before she fell asleep.

Some time later, the girl kept her promise to Penelope and helped out her family, then left them with Astro’s mom, leaving a wealthy sum of money, they became a family… somewhat of a replacement for the other's loved one, and the girl left paying off whatever debt any of them had.

The girl was sitting alone at the pond, drinking some alcohol. Before an old woman approached her, a flower basket in hand, it seemed she needed to sell them immediately before they wilted away. The girl reached into her pocket, handing her some money before the old woman went off. 

Picking up the nicely wrapped flower, a card appeared, making the girl stumble at picking up the card before reading it.

Approaching a hospital, card in hand.

It was the old man.

“What is this… Who are you?”

“Pour some water for me. Please, [name].”

And there she sat, anger rising in her, but she couldn’t do anything against the man who made the games.

She sat listening to the man talk, about the homeless guy below them, about how everything he said about himself was true, how he missed the old days, him and his friend used to have the time of their lives, and how no matter if you're homeless or rich both lives are no fun. Then a clock struck.

She looked at the machine to see that his heart was no longer beating, instead a flat line appeared. Getting up, she closed his eyes.

That’s when she finally started her life again. She got it together.

So, at the first place, her life changed at the same bus stop, well across from it, the skies were clear and the sun was glaring into the area. It had been a regular day for her, working at her own company and all.

Maybe that’s why when she unlocked her car and stared right in front of her at that same place, she was shocked to see her father, Bruce Wayne, and his family.

That’s it for this part of Astro! Did you like it?

Also, unlike Squid Game, soon after [name] left, everyone that participated in Squid Games got arrested, which made it on the news, but was looked past after a few months, [name] made gravestones for Penelope and Astro.

Ofc the Batfam got the credit and got even more famous for uncovering this incident, which is also why they hadn’t ‘visited’ [name] and now are just getting to it.

Not the update you expected, but I hope you like it.

Any comments, advice and corrections are appreciated!!!

-ILoveeeMoney

Taglist time! ❤

Also, I love the idea and from fic from both @jellyfishmoon97 and @not-weirdoshrek and a new addition that I'm super happy I bumped into @alilobsessive.

@holysoulsweets @sh4rk-k1d @sillysealsies @loomspuddle @cantfindmelol @alwaysholymilkshake @leitor-sonolento @randomlyappearingartist @beyondblissxoxo @sirairi @yhin-gg @frankie-moon3 @welpthisisboring @yokesmam @bat1212 @enchantingarcadecreation @twismare @delias-stuff @ladylupuscrow @ferchu0406 @c4xcocoa @cruzerforce4256 @anonymoushehehehe @godoreo22 @blerp-22 @facelessisnthere @sirenetheblogger @themightybee4067 @boredselkie @tiffyisme3760 @random4137 @midnightgrimoire @mybones537 @chaoticmoontimetravel @jsprien213 @crazycaoticsimp @elfollaburras3000 @czarinera @tiffyisme3760 @exactlynumberonekryptonite @gwyneveire @k-anaru @a-lurking-fae @nxdxsworld @ryuushou

I think that's everyone who wanted to be tagged, I hope I didn't spell anyone's name wrong and tag the wrong person.

[nanamisgirly]

PLEASE, STAY

↪ ( ˶ a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you. for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. and then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't. because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.˵ )

pairing ᥫ᭡。richman!Gojo x bodyguard reader. they had a sort of situation ship before.

content ᥫ᭡。fem!reader, no curses au, they're both around 30, smut at the very end, very provocative gojo (?), mean reader ig, a lot of cursing, angst, oral sex, unprotected p in v sex, mention of blood, fights scenes, broken bones, pet name (mostly sweetheart and once baby), sexual tension, slow burn, explicit language, explicit content, power dynamics, military mention (mild ptsd), gun mentions

word count ᥫ᭡。13k

notes ᥫ᭡。this is for my 200 followers 🥹 thank you for all the reblogs they are very very much appreciated!! I didn't know where I was going with this fic lmao, I just hope that some of you will enjoy reading it! I'm always open to feed back :))) be mindful this is my first long (?) fic, I threw some stuff together and hoped for the best oops

you were assigned to gojo saturo. of all the men you could possibly protect, it had to be him— you're ex-friend with benefits. 

you sat across from him at a table that probably cost more than your entire apartement, fingers twitching under the weight of irritation. the upscale place was dimly lit, the kind meant for quiet luxury. 

“you both understood?” your superior asked, sharp gaze flickering between the two of you. Gojo grinned, the same playful smirk on his annoyingly handsome face. the past nine years had only done him favors, he'd grown taller— making him tall like a damn tower— his features sharper, his frame broader. 'maybe he'd been training' you thought. ‘or it’s just life sculpting him into something even more irritatingly perfect.'

you left him when things started to be serious. back then, Gojo had some difficulties to understand he was just a sex friend. but it didn't really matter, you had to leave for the military anyway.

for a long time, you didn't want to process feelings, attachments— that was just bullshit. and now, nine years later, somehow, you were right back where you started.

you retired from the military after sustaining severe injuries. but you still craved the thrill— fights, missions, the adrenaline rush. it kept you on track. like drugs, you were addicted. so you became a sort of bodyguard. over the years, you had protected royals, rich heirs, celebrities— anyone with a target on their back. it owned you the reputation as being the best in your field. you were ruthless, cold-blooded, killing without hesitation if needed. 

your face remained stoic, your gaze locked onto gojo as he held yours. “yeah, got it. babysit the rich brat until the gala's over.” you mocked, leaning back against the chair. 

satoru chuckled, he couldn't help but tease you “oh, come on now. you make it sound so boring” tilting his head like a cat toying with its prey. “i thought you'd be happy to spend some time with an old friend”

you scoffed. “friend is a strong word, Gojo” that response only fueled his mischief. “you're right” he crosses his arms as he continues “we were never just friends” insufferable brat. “i'm here to do my job. nothing more” you said without a hint of emotion in your tone, fixing him with a glare that should've shut him up.

it didn't.

his piercing blue eyes gleamed with amusement “of course, sweetie," he purred, resting his elbows on the table, leaning in “just admit you missed seeing my beautiful face.”

you exhaled sharply, already exhausted 'maybe a small knife pressed against his throat wouldn't hurt— just a little warning.'

“what i miss, is protecting some quiet person who knows their limits and let me do my damn job in peace. this, is what i truly miss”. Gojo hummed, shamelessly dragging his gaze over you “personally, i missed that sharp tongue of yours.”

“alright, enough,” your superior cut in, his tone serious— a clear warning that he had no patience for the ridiculous back-and-forth between you two. “stay close at all times. there are threats left and right against him leading up to the gala.” he turned his attention to gojo “you don't act up, and you listen to whatever she tells you.” the rich man was clearly enjoying himself “don't worry, i love when she bosses me around” he winked at you before standing up and leaving the restaurant. like this was all a game to him.

your superior exhaled heavily, already bracing for the headache to come. then, he dropped the next bomb. “you need to stay at his place.”

you try your best to keep a straight face. “what?” 

“gojo is already informed. you're moving in tonight.” and with that, he left the table, leaving you seething.

your fist met with the surface with a dull thud. “damn it,” you muttered, frustration curling hot in your chest.

this is going to be a long, long week.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you rode to gojo's house, spending the time to talk yourself down. you had spent years perfecting your composure. you had survived war zones, assassinations, and high-profile threats. there was no reason for gojo fucking satoru to get under your skin.

and yet.

his house— no, his mansion— was perched high above the city, a fortress of sleek glass and security. the driveway alone was bigger than some of the safe houses you'd stayed in.

when you pulled up to his gates, the night was well-advanced, the cold biting at your cheeks as you lifted up your helmet. you met some guards at the entrance stating that gojo was expecting you. of course, he was.

the second you stepped through the doors, the place smelled ridiculously expensive. the living room was massive, with a sunken seating area surrounding a glass-enclosed firepit. there are floor-to-celling windows stretched across the space, offering a panoramic view of the glittering cityscape below. a massive, curved staircase led to the second floor, the railings lined with soft, glowing, light strips, guiding the way up.

the place screamed luxury— unapologetically extravagant, but with taste. just like satoru gojo.

you sighed, rolling the tension from your shoulders as you tugged off your gloves. the ride had been long. your muscles ached. your motorbike uniform clung to you, slightly damp with sweat. all you wanted was a shower and some sleep.

“you're so sexy in that uniform” his voice came from above. you looked up to find him leaning against the railing, messy white hair, sleeves rolled up to reveal toned forearms, collarbone peeking through his loose neckline of his shirt.

and that goddamn smirk.

“gojo,” you warned, voice firm. he ignored it entirely, blue eyes twinkling as they dragged over you with zero shame. “seriously, bending you over in it wouldn't be so bad.” your fingers twitched. satoru in all his splendor. 

“wouldn't be so bad if i curb-stomped you into the floor.” you respond. gojo restrained a laugh, eyes sparking with mirth. he fucking loved this— pushing your limits. “actually, i wouldn't mind that either” you grit your teeth at the comment. “just show me where my fucking room is." 

when you reached him, he let out a dramatic sigh, “not even a little peck before sleep, sweetheart?” you blankly stared at him “alright, no need to look at me with so much love” he ironically says as he turned around, leading you to your room.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

4am. the digital clock glowed dimly as you pounded your fists against the heavy bag. you slept only two hours— which, honestly was decent considering you never slept well. the military had drilled into the art of light, vigilant rest, training you to snap into action as the slightest disturbance. and staying here, with gojo just down the hall, only worsened that already unstable peace.

“fuck it” your fist connected with the training bag, a loud thud echoing through the empty gym. you did a home tour by your own after gojo dropped you to your bedroom— and to your relief, you found a fully equipped training room. exactly what you needed to burn off frustration time to time.

sweats dripped down your temple, muscles burning from exertion as you moved with precision and force, the heavy bag jerking with each impact. your t-shirt had been abandoned long ago—tossed to the side as the heat from training built up—leaving you in nothing but sports bra and low-slung sweatpants. 

“gojo, are you going to stay there for long?” you snapped as he stayed put in the doorway, thinking you hadn't noticed him those past fifteen minutes, arms crossed like he had all the time in the world. he grinned, unbothered “was testing if you could notice a threat even while distracted” you snorted “well, now that you oh-so-sweetly reassured yourself, could you fuck off?” your fist slammed onto the bag harder, sending it swinging violently.

you felt gojo's eyes on you, it almost burnt holes on your skin. his eyes darted at the sweat slipping on your back. “damn," his voice was low “i think i prefer you like this— hot, sweaty, breathless.” he insisted on the last word. your eyes flicked to his figure as he took slow steps forward. “i think i like you gone.” he clicked his tongue, tilting his head as if you disappointed him “why always so hostile? i could be way more helpful than that punching ball.”

you were too fucking exhausted for this, your next punch sent the bag flying so violently it nearly knocked over the weight rack. you caught it with one of your wrapped hand, fingers tightening around the worn leather. you exhaled sharply, preparing yourself to face gojo and his bullshit. “i swear satoru—” you stepped closer to him, closing the space between you. only to realize how stupidly tall he was up close. you weren't small but standing like this— with a solid eight inches between you— made you feel very tiny next to him.

“satoru," he repeats “it's been a while since you've said my name. say it again” he leaned in, eyes lazily tracing your lips, the small hairs at the back of your neck sticking to your skin, your full breasts pressed tight against your sports bra. a strong desire lingering in his eyes as he imagined licking every drop of your sweat. he tested your patience “you know,” he murmured “i really love this view.” 

and that was it, you had enough. in no time you grabbed him, hooked your arm, and flipped his ass over your shoulder— slamming him onto the floor. before he could react, you were on him, your thighs straddling his hips, your hand wrapped around his throat. gojo eyes widened in shock— he did not expect that. but the surprise was soon enough replaced by a slow curl of his lips.

“fuck,” he chocked out “that was hot, sweetheart.” you tightened your grip around his neck “gojo, you're a fucking perv.” you felt something hard pressing between your legs. “i'm just a man." he lifted his hand, acting innocent "you kept bouncing around that bag, how could i not get some ideas?”

the worst part of all those stuff is that you were turned on by all his teasing. your panties dampened any time he made a comment over the little talk you both had in those past ten hours.

“gojo, you're a total pathetic man,” you mutter rolling your hips down harder, closing your thighs firmly around him just to hurt a little more. his pupils blown wide and his lips part sightly— that fucking bastard was loving it. “y-yeah, pathetic” he chokes out “i- i'm a- a very p-pathetic m-man." your panties were so damn soaked by now as his length presses sinfully against your core. you refuse to acknowledge the feelings, you don't need it, you don't need him, you don't need to go back to him.

you release his throat with a final squeeze, eyes heavy, dragging your fingers down his heavy chest— feeling the hard ridges of muscle tense under your touch, before you push yourself up and off him. you see his hips twitching up, as if he was chasing the missing heat of your pussy. gojo let out a broken— needy whimper, as you adjust your waistband and roll your shoulders back, trying to gather your thoughts. ignoring the aching pulse between your legs. 

your feet leading you to the door. you throw one last glance to gojo, you can see his erection straining against his pants from where you stand, aching to be taken care of— gojo's features twisting in desperation. “be ready at eight a.m. We've got recon to do.” and with that, you leave him there, fighting the urge to go back inside and kiss him senseless.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride to the venue is longer than necessary with gojo whom insisted on riding with you. you should have known better than accepting his demand. he can not keep his hand to himself.

at first, his hands rested innocently on your stomach, but as soon as you took off, he let them slide lower, palm resting on your inner thighs— fingers tracing circles way too close to your core. the vibrations of the bike only make it worse.

at the next red light, you snap your hand down, gripping his wrist. “keep your hands to yourself” you warn him “either way i'll have to cut them off” his chest rumbles with laughter against your back. “what if i don't want to?” you hear his teasing voice through the speaker of your helmet “you're never asking about what i want, sweetheart.” his hands squeezing you through your pants. “i think i'm gonna kick your ass off the bike. go to hell that damn mission” your jaw tightened, ‘why does he have to make everything so difficult’ 

the light turns green and you don't hesitate to accelerate like a damn crazy— earning some curses from gojo, his arms wrapping around you, his thighs locking firmly against yours. once he accommodate to the speed, he's laughing, slightly enjoying the way you speed down the street like you're trying to outrun the heat pooling between your legs.

you parked in front of the luxurious hotel, one of the most extravagant hotels in the city by the way. the gala will be held there, a beautiful place— a perfect representation of gojo's wealth and arrogance. “gorgeous place, huh?” he muses. “maybe we should get a room after the mission, to celebrate our teamwork.” you swing your leg off smoothly, ignoring him as you unbuckle your helmet.

when you step inside, multiple people are working on the preparations— setting up tables, adjusting lighting, and fussing over floral arrangements. you walk straight past them, heading toward the ballroom where the gala will take place. the room is massive— high ceilings with floor-to-ceiling glass windows, multiple balconies. it's beautiful, but a logistical nightmare for security. too many places to hide, too many potential vantage points for a sniper.

gojo lets out a low whistle, walking a step behind, hands in his pockets— acting like a damn tourist instead of a man with an actual bounty on his head. you walk past the ballroom, letting him doing whatever he is. you head toward the back corridors, checking the service entrances, mapping out the security offices. The staff is too busy setting up to pay you much attention— except for the occasional glance at gojo, probably wondering if he's some high-profile guest.

then something shifts. a group of security personnel moves in, just a little too fast. too coordinated. you recognize the stance immediately— trained, disciplined. not just the hotel staff. your instincts scream at you, your feet move before your mind fully catches up— you step toward gojo to warn him…and that's when you see it. a figure in the hallway, gun raised. aimed directly at gojo's head.

your body moves before your brain processes. you twist on your heel, muscles coiled, and throw your knife. it slices through the air, and the second it buries itself deep in the shooter's forearm, he lets out a sharp yell, his aim faltering. it's all you need. you charge.

your combat boots barely make a sound as you sprint toward the shooter. you're on him before he even recovers, grabbing his wrist and twisting it outward— hard. 

POP. he screams, his shoulder socket dislocating from the brutal angle, the gun slipping from his fingers. your knee flies up, slamming into his sternum. you feel his ribs shift under the impact, his breath leaving him in choked gasp before you shove him aside like trash.

“holy shit—” gojo starts, but you don't hear the rest as you see three more attackers already closing in. one of them lunges with a knife— fast, trained. but so are you. you shift sideways at the last second, grabbing his wrist mid-swipe. then in a brutal motion, you twist. his own blade sinks into his thigh. a strangled gurgle leaves his lips as he stumbles back, collapsing to his knees, clutching the handle buried in his leg.

suddenly you feel arms wrapping around your waist, lifting you from the floor. you snap your head back, cracking the nose of your opponment with the force of a fucking hammer. blood sprays onto your shoulder and the wall. your fast to slam your elbow into his throat, his air supply instantly cut off, his body jerking as he crumples to the floor.

the last guy is bigger, stronger— seems to be military trained from the way he moves. but that doesn't matter, you've had to deal with fiercer men before. when he's close enough, you drop low— leg swings out in a sweeping arc. CRACK.

his legs are ripped out from under him. he fall onto his back, gasping for air. you don't let him breathe, your fist driving down, once.

twice, three times.

the last punch bursts his lip open, blood dripping down his chin. your fingers wrap around his throat. you lean in close, sweat dripping down your temple, eyes heavy of the need to kill. “you fucked with the wrong person.” you hear a broken noise coming from his lung. you tighten your grip.

and then— clapping. 

you whip around, chest heaving. and there stands gojo, grinning like the devil himself “well, well, well.” he whistles, stepping over the bodies of the men you just demolished. “i gotta admit, that was fucking sexy” your brain is still catching up, heart pulsing with adrenaline “what the hell is wrong with you?” you snap. “we almost got fucking assassinated.”

his grin deepens. “sweetheart…” he crouches down, tilting his head. “that wasn't an assassination.”

you freeze. you hope it's not what you think it is.

he gestures lazily at the unconscious men. “that was a test.” he lifts his shoulders, unbothered. “wanted to be sur you still got it” he winks, amused.

your blood runs hot. “a test?” gojo shrugs, way too casual for someone who just watched you beat the absolute shit out of four men. his gaze drags over you— knuckles bloodied, chest rising and falling hard— and his smirk only widens.

you don't think much as you launch at him, fury taking over— fully prepared to knock that smug grin off his face for good. but this time, he's ready. he catches your wrist mid-swing. “no, no,” he purrs, his grip tightening just enough to make you aware of his strength. “play nice.” your free hand grabs the collar of his shirt, yanking him closer “fuck you and your stupid games," you spit "i can't wait for this week to end.” you see red. 

gojo's amused eyes faded into something darker. his eyes once playful, turn sharp, dangerous. “and what?" his voice is low, cold— jaw clenched so tightly it might break. "leave like you did nine years ago?” his face inches closer, his warm breath hitting your skin. “leaving without a second look?” your stomach twists. he's standing too close— looking at you like he wants to rip you apart.

your chest rises and falls sharply. your body is still burning from the fight, but this— this is worse. you rip your wrist from his grasp, shoving him hard enough that he stumbles back a step. and he laughs. an empty laugh, far from his usual cocky, full-bodied laugh. “that's all you ever fucking do, huh?” his voice is sharp. “run.” you flinch, ever so sightly. but he sees it. and he seems satisfied ‘i finally got a reaction out of her.’ 

"i didn't have a choice". you force the words out, voice controlled. gojo's expression darkens. “bullshit, you always had a choice.” he steps forward, and this time, you don't move back. if he punched you, it will be well-deserved. you wouldn't dodge it. his fist on your face would hurt less than the words coming out of his mouth. 

“you just didn't choose me.” your heart stops, feeling something inside you cracks. but you don't want him to see it. so, as much as you hate what you're about to say, you steel yourself and let it out “what, you think i owed you something?” the words taste bitter, burning your tongue even as they leave your mouth.

gojo's lips parts, but nothing comes out at first. then quietly— too fucking quietly “no.” his voice is ragged, raw. “but i thought you cared.” you feel it like a punch to the gut. gojo never says things like this. he surely is all teasing remarks and well-placed avoidance but never is he a looking like you ruined him. like you destroyed a part no one could ever rebuild— except… you.

a part of you wants to scream that yes, you did care. you still do. that you were just too afraid to stay. but you do none of that. instead, you do the only thing you're good at, you walk away. and he lets you.

for mere seconds, he lets you leave— again. but then you hear him “don't you fucking do this again.” his voice isn't a plea, it's a command. for a moment, you think that he won't let you go. that maybe—just maybe—he'll grab your wrist, yank you back, force you to deal with this. but he doesn't.

because he still wants you to choose him. and you never do.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the ride back home is fine. if fine meant quiet, tense, and filled with too much unsaid shit hanging in the air like a storm waiting to break. then yeah, it is fine.

gojo didn't pull his usual antics— no wandering hands, no teasing remarks. just silence. his hands stay firmly on his own thighs, gripping the edges of the seat. and somehow that irritates you even more. 

you can feel the weight of his gaze the entire ride back, burning into the back of your head like a brand. he doesn't speak, but his presence is suffocating.

by the time you pull up to his estate, he gets off the bike before you can even kill the engine. his movements are sharp, jaw clenched, shoulders tense. for a moment, he just stands there, staring at you, like he's debating something. you stare back, chest rising and falling with the remnants of adrenaline still buzzing through your veins.

but then, with a low scoff, he turns on his heels, and heads inside without a word. you don't follow. not immediately. taking a moment for yourself. trying to gather back your composure. 

you stay seated on your bike, hands tightening around the handlebars, knuckles white. heart pounding like a war drum against your ribs. the wind bites at your skin, but it's nothing compared to the cold settling in your chest.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the next day is spent preparing for the gala. you go over the blueprints of the venue again, double-checking entrance and exist, every potential blind spot. 

the chaos from yesterday has been cleaned up— not a single trace of the fight remains. the bloodied bodies have been taken care of, the shattered glass replaced with pristine tables, the blood smeared across the walls scrubbed away as if it never existed. as if it was nothing more than a fever dream.

you analyze the guest list, looking for possible threats. you argue with gojo about security placements, mostly because he doesn't take anything seriously. “take a look at this. tell me if you recognize anyone shady.” the tall man barely glances at the screen before muttering, “they're all shady.” you roll your eyes "that's not helpful." he shrugs, stepping toward the grand windows. “i don't really care.” that pisses you off. “gojo, could you at least pretend to care?” you put a hand on your hips, patience thinning. 

he exhales through his nose, barely sparing you glance over his shoulder. and then, with a calmness that cuts deeper than yelling ever could, he says, “you're the one who didn't care, remember?” and that shuts you up. 

he doesn't wait for your response, doesn't push, doesn't linger. just clasps his hands behind his back, taking a slow tour of the ballroom, his gaze dragging over the chandeliers, the polished floors, the extravagant decor— all while completely ignoring you.

the gala is tomorrow. 

and you don't know if you're ready.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

morning comes too soon. you barely slept, torn between the looming mission ahead and the cold, unbearable silence that had settled between you and gojo. since that night at the hotel, it had been nothing but tension— thick, suffocating, unspoken. a battlefield of sidelong glances, clipped conversations, and empty spaces where words should have been. especially your words. words of regrets.

and now, as you sit stiffly across from gojo on his sleek leather couch, arms crossed so tightly your nails bite into your skin, it's clear nothing has changed. he doesn't look at you. he hasn't since that night. since those words left his mouth, cutting deeper than any blade you took.

your superior clears his throat, dragging you back to the present. his voice clipped, all business. “you'll be attending as a couple.” the words slam into you like a wrecking ball.“you're kidding” you say flatly, glaring at your superior. “no,” he says simply. and you hear gojo letting out a laugh. the sound sends cold down your spine. 

“it's the best cover. gojo is a known public figure, and he's expected to bring someone. you, on the other hand, aren't on anyone's radar. it's the perfect excuse to keep you close and avoid suspicion.” you shake your head. “there has to be another way.” you bite the inside of your cheek, gripping your own arms as if that'll keep you from exploding. this is a fucking disaster. “there isn't.”

fucking hell.

how are you supposed to play lovers when everything between you is broken, shattered, and stitched back together with nothing but avoidance? you can feel gojo's eye on you, but you refuse to meet them. you already know what he's thinking. that you well-deserved that. that you were the one who ran away from him nine years ago, without any explanations.

your jaw locks as you finally risk a glance at him. he's watching you, studying you. blue glacial eyes pinning you in place. then slowly, he tilts his head. lips curling into a grin. “well,” his voice low, with something dark. “this should be fun.”

the moment your superior is done talking, you push yourself off the couch and stride toward your room, your pulse hammering too fast. it's too much.

the air is still charged, like static before a storm. even more now that you know you're going as a couple. behind you, gojo doesn't say a word. he doesn't try to stop you either. of course, he doesn't. 

you try to convince yourself it's easier this way. easier to act like none of it matters. like the past isn't clinging to both of you with bloodied, desperate hands.

the second the door clicks shut behind you, you let out a breath you didn't even realize you were holding. the tension in your shoulders lingers, pressing your forehead against the door. 'focus' you tell yourself. tonight is business, the mission comes first. it's not about him— not about your feelings.

you step into the bathroom, turning the shower knob. water rushed out, steam filling the space almost instantly. hot, scalding— exactly what you need. you peel off your clothes, letting them drop carelessly to the floor before stepping inside.

the first touch of water burns, but you don't move away. instead, you welcome it. let it wash over you, over your skin, over the lingering heat still trapped in your body from the way gojo looked at you earlier. your hands slide over your arms, down your sides, over the curves of your body, the pressure firm as if you could scrub away the past— him. 

the water runs through your hair, down your back, down your thighs, and still, you can't shake the way your body remembers him. the way it still reacts to the mere idea of him. it pisses you off. your fingers tighten into fists before you force yourself to exhale, resting your forehead against the cool tile. you stay like this for a while. letting the water scald you, hoping it can burn out the thing still curling inside your chest, still whispering his name in the back of your mind. 

by the time you finally step out, steam curls around the mirror, the bathroom thick with heat. you wrap yourself in a towel, sighing as you push the door open. as you step closer to the bed, you notice a box on your bed. black, sleek, expensive. your breath catches for a second, it's not hard to guess who left it. you approach it slowly, a wary sort of anticipation buzzing under your skin. 

on the box, a note. a small, folded piece of paper with gojo's handwriting.

‘’ sweetheart,  i can't let you ruin my reputation with those cheap dresses you own. i have an image to maintain, after all. a rich man can't have people thinking he's poor. wear this. — satoru ‘’

your breath stutters for a second. sweetheart. something in your chest tightens, flutters, pounds. you crush it, fight it. with steady hands, you set the note aside and lift the lid of the box— and you freeze. 

the dress inside is breathtaking. it's a shade of blue so deep, so striking— the same as his eyes. you swallow, fingertips ghosting over the fabric. it's impossibly smooth, slipping through your fingers like liquid, designed to mold to every curve, to hug your body like a second skin. a dress that demands attention. you take it out of the box and immediately notice the back. or rather, the lack of one. the fabric dips dangerously low. with a sort of thin white belt that wraps behind your neck, fastening at the nape before cascading down in a delicate, tantalizing line. tracing your vertebral column. a seductive dress, yet functional enough to fight in case.

you return your attention to the box. your eyes widen as you see a pair of underwear. a soft filthy shade of blue, slightly lighter than the dress delicate and teasing. the panties are sheer in all the wrong places, practically see-through, the thin straps barely qualifying as fabric. offering little to the imagination. there's subtle glittering embellishments, catching the light just enough to draw eye. 

just enough to drive a man insane. your throat runs dry. that fucking bastard.

you dig further into the box, only to find jewelry. a necklace so fine it barely feels real, elegant enough to steal attention. earrings that shimmer subtly, matching perfectly with the delicate bracelet nestled beside them.

everything about this is so intimate. you hate that your heart still reacts, that your fingers tremble slightly as you lift the necklace, as you let the fabric of the dress slip between your fingers. every single piece was selected with intent. this isn't just a gift, it's a statement.

gojo satoru is back at it again. back to his games. back to this push and pull. he's testing your limits once again. you need to show him, you need to keep your bold cold. mission. mission then next… gojo.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

8:17 p.m. you see as you finish getting ready. adrenaline rushing through your veins. your hands move on mechanism, fastening the holster around your thigh before slipping the small firearm into place, the slit of your dress perfectly concealing it. since gojo is the host, there won't be any security checks for you at the entrance.

you allow yourself one final breath, steadying your pulse as your hand move to the door handle. tonight, your job is to protect him. nothing more.

you push the door open, and nothing could have prepared you for what is waiting for you. in front of you stand an anxious gojo, fixing his suit jacket, smoothing the fabric before his fingers nervously reach up to adjust his tie.

your breath hitches. the tie he's fumbling with is the exact same shade as your dress— his signature blue, the color of his eyes, the color that haunts your dream more often than you'd like to admit. his scent hits your nose, flooding your senses. something fresh, subtly spiced. it messes with your head, makes it hard to focus. his hair a little bit messy, like he's been running his hands through it while waiting for who knows how long.

and when his eyes find yours, everything in you freezes.

gojo stays still. his usual teasing remark falter, no lazy smirk, no arrogance. just… silence as his gaze consumes you. it's like the weight of the last few days of distance disappears, and all that remains is the way the dress clings to your body. 

“i-” he starts. “that's…you- i mean,” he shakes his head, trying to gather his thoughts. he takes a slow step forward, his hand reaching out. you don't hesitate, taking it in yours. his fingers are warm against yours, his grip tight, like he's afraid to let go. to let you go. 

he gently turns you, his eyes trailing over the open expanse of your back. he swallows hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. “what's happening, satoru?” you tease “you finally dare to look at me, after all the ignoring these pasts days?” you tilt your head back, lifting your chin to meet his eyes. even in your heels, you remain towered by him, his presence overwhelming. gojo's eyes betray something deep— pain, maybe regret. 

“sweetheart…” he murmurs, pulling you closer by the hand that holds yours. the sudden motion takes you by surprise, a gasp leaving your lips as your body crashes into his. “you have no idea what you do to me.” gojo growls softly. the heat of his body pressing against yours, makes you weak. you can't stop the way your breath hitches.

the word mission keeps echoing in your head. you shouldn't give in, not when he got so defensive, not when you still had walls built around you. “gojo,” you whispers as his eyes flickers to your lips. he leans in, his forehead touching yours, closing his eyes. “we need to figure it out.” he says simply. “give me a chance.” his hands grip your waist, molding your body to his. “tell me why you left, please.” his voice filled with a raw, aching honesty that make your heart drop.

your brain is racing at a thousand miles per hour, your pulse drumming in your ears. the connection between you two is palpable, undeniable. your hands go to the back of his head, tugging sightly his hair, making gojo groans. you breathe out his name, your lips just brushing against his “after the gala,” you murmur. “but let's go for now. we're running late.” you pull back but the heat remains. a pretty shade of pink creeps onto gojo's cheeks. the sight of it makes you smile. 

you both reach the bottom of the stairs, and before you can move toward the door, gojo's voice calls out, low and filled with something close to mischief. “wait.”

you stop in your tracks, turning to look at him, and that playful smirk makes its comeback. he lifts your hands, then loosens his grip just enough to intertwine his fingers with yours. his eyes fixed on your face, watching for your reaction. “it's better like this,” he says, his voice mix of teasing and seriousness. “if we're playing couple, let's do it right,” he adds. you shake your head in disbelief, unable to suppress the smile tugging at your lips. “satoru, let's go now." he opens the door, the cold night air hitting your skin “i love when you call me saturo, sweetheart.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

the streets blur past, neon lights casting fleeting glows over his sharp features as he drives through the city. Gojo insisted on being the one to drive, choosing one of his luxurious car— not without making a comment on how it'd be nearly impossible to ride your bike in that dress but he'd gladly let you ride him in that dress. 

the ride is quiet. not the comfortable kind, but the charged, suffocating kind. you can feel his eyes flicking toward you between red lights.

the hotel appears, tall and grand, its golden lights illuminating the massive entrance. unlike when you came checking security, the driveway is packed with luxury cars, men in tailored suits, women in gowns worth small fortunes. there're even photographers lining the barricades, flashes firing like relentless lighting. 

despite your superior's briefing, you still feel nervous. of course you have attented events like this before to protect your clients, but never were you the center of attention.

suddenly, dodging bullets in a batteflied seems far less stressful than whatever the hell this masquerade is. at least, the car windows are tinted, giving you some more minutes.

gojo feels you tense up as he stops in front of the entrance. he turns to you, bringing a hand to cup your face, tilting your chin so you meet his gaze. “it's okay, sweetheart," his thumb traces soft, reassuring circles on your cheek. “i'm with you. focus on the job, okay?” then, with an easy smile, he steps out of the car.

the moment he does, you hear people calling his name, cameras clicking furiously. and gojo being gojo, steps out with that infuriating confidence, adjusting his cufflinks like he owns the damn place. pretty fucking bastard

gojo makes his way to your door before the valet even moves. he opens it himself, hand extended, waiting. and you can feel this is not only for the show. you let out a sharp exhales, taking his hand to get out of the car.

the moment your heels hit the ground, the flashes explode even brighter, voices pitching higher, demanding your attention. gojo's fingers intertwine with yours—firm, possessive—as he pulls you closer, leaning down just enough so only you can hear. “wanted to let you know,” his breath tickling your ear “knowing what's under this dress is no helpful to hide my boner in front of these photographers.” 

before you can react, he presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your temple. then with the smooth ease of a man who knows exactly what he's doing, he lifts your hand to his lips and plants the softest kiss against you knuckles. “also, don't forget to smile.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

inside, the gala is exactly what you expected— crystal chandeliers spilling molten gold over the sea of designer-clad elites, laughter too polished to be real, and conversations laced with unspoken agendas. the air is thick with expensive perfume and quit power plays.

gojo moves through it effortlessly, magnetic as ever. he plays the perfect host, flashing easy grins and exchanging pleasantries with people you couldn't care less about. you, on the other hand, remain sharp, scanning the room, keeping your senses on high alert.

or at least, you try.

it's hard to stay focused when you're super-aware of gojo's warmth. his palm resting low on your back, fingers tracing lazy, absentminded circles against your spine. his lips graze your temple as he leans in, voice low with some meaningless observation, but his breath is too warm, too deliberate. a shiver runs down your body.

the hours stretch on, an endless cycle of fake smiles and calculated small talk. the weight of the night starts pressing against your ribs, exhaustion creeping in. you need a moment.

“i'm getting us drinks,” you murmur, pulling away from gojo's touch, ignoring the way your body immediately protests the loss of warmth.

“how thoughtful of my wife” he teases, lips curling into something wicked. you almost fall to the floor, headfirst. 

wife. the word comes too easily from his mouth, like it belongs there. you catch yourself liking it.

shaking off the heat starting to take over you, you weave through the crowd, reaching the refreshments table. your mind still lingers on gojo, your thoughts are full of him. you're convince you need him. you don't want to run anymore.

a shadow of a smile tugs at your lips. 

when you turn back— two glasses of champagne in your hand— gojo is gone.

your pulse stumbles. your breath quickens, eyes scanning every corner, every exit. nothing. where the hell is he? 

you shove the glasses onto the nearest table, ignoring the startled look of a waiter. your training urges you to stay calm, but panic claws at your throat. gojo isn't just your responsibility. he's—

focus.

you spot one of the security personnel near the ballroom's entrance, a stocky man with an earpiece and a sharp gaze. you stride toward him, voice low but urgent. “did you see gojo leave?” the man frowns slightly “he stepped out a few minutes ago. took the private elevator up.”

your stomach knots. “who was with him?”

“not sure. a few men. well-dressed.” fury spikes through you. 'and that didn't alarm you?' you could beat his ass off if it wasn't for gojo right now. where did they find those incompetent men.

spinning on your heel, you move fast, heart hammering. the gala's noise fades behind you as you push through the discreet hallway leading to the private elevators. the display shows it stopped on the roof.

your pulse spikes. you slam the button. nothing. locked.

“fuck” you mutter under your breath. you don't have time to wait. without hesitation, you head for the stairwell, heels be damned. you rip the gun from its hidden strap at your thigh and climb two steps at a time. the adrenaline burns away any exhaustion, pushing faster.

by the time you reach the the top, your breath is ragged. hand tight on your gun, you push the rooftop door open just enough to see—

and your blood turns to ice.

gojo stands near the edge, bathed in city lights, his white hair a stark contrast against the night. the wind howls between the buildings, the breeze fluttering his tie— the same shade of his eyes, the same shade of your dress.

his usual carefree stance betraying nothing, hands in his pocket like he's discussing business over whiskey rather than staring down the barrels of guns. 

four men surround him. they're dressed too well to be common thugs, but you know better—real danger rarely looks the part. one of them, a broad-shouldered man with a jagged scar curving at the corner of his mouth, has his gun aimed directly at gojo's chest.

your grip tightens around your own gun.

and then gojo speaks. “i suggest you let me go,” he drawls, voice laced with amusement. “or my wife's going to rip you apart.” he smirks “also, we arranged we talk after the gala, to make things clear, i don't think she'd be very happy that you keep me for the night.”

the men exchange glances, unimpressed. scar-lips steps forward, a cruel smirk twisting his scar. “you're worth a lot, Satoru Gojo.” a ransom situation.

gojo pinches the bridge of his nose like they're giving him a headache. “look,” he starts, tilting his head slightly. “i don't know who sent you, but this is embarrassing. four of you? to handle me? if i were you, i'd start running before she gets pissed.”

they barely have a second to process his words before you make your move. you can't risk any longer. and gojo is doing perfectly at distracting them.

one breath. one shot. 

you step out. aim. fire

the bullet buries itself into the shoulder of the man nearest gojo. he stumbles back with a pained grunt—

and gojo moves.

he moves faster then the wind whipping through the rooftop. in the time it takes for scar-lips to turn toward you, gojo there. a sickening crack echoes through the rooftop as gojo drives his elbow into the wide man's jaw with enough force to send him staggering. without pause, he pivots, driving a brutal kick into another's ribs. the crack is sickening.

you react instinctively, ducking behind an industrial vent as one of the men pulls a gun in your direction. another shot rings out— gojo's this time. he moves like liquid shadow, disarming one of the attackers with terrifying efficiency. the man barely has time to process that he's slammed into the ground.

scar-lips, despite his disoriented state, reaches for his gun again.

gojo doesn't let him. he's on him in a blink, gripping his wrist with an almost lazy ease before twisting it violently in the wrong direction. the man screams, his gun clattering to the floor. gojo doesn't let go. instead, he leans in, voice sickeningly sweet. “told you she'd be mad.”

you freeze. you've seen trained fighters. you are one. but this? this is something else. the speed, the precision, the sheer control— it's unsettling. suspicious. 

the last man standing tries to flee, you take aim and fire a warning shot near his feet. he freezes, hands trembling in surrender.

the rooftop falls into silence, only the labored groans of the fallen men breaking the stillness. the adrenaline still surges through your veins as you lower your gun, stepping closer to gojo, who brushes nonexistent dust off his sleeve like he didn't juts annihilate four men in less than two minutes.

“you good?” he asks, eyes flickering over you, concern hidden beneath his usual playful tone. “i should be asking you that.” 

“what? you think a couple of suits can take me down?” he winks, but there's something unreadable in his eyes. something he doesn't want you to see. you don't press. at least, not now.

instead, you step forward, pressing your heel into scar-lips' injured arm. he yelps “so, who sent you?” scar-lips stay still, unwilling to say anything.

the other men groan on the ground, the sting of their broken bones keeping them from trying anything stupid. gojo sighs as if he's bored. as if this whole thing is an inconvenience rather than a threat to his life. he reaches into his jacket, pulling out his phone. 

“you know,” he hums, tapping the screen with a lazy smirk “i could call someone. but they wouldn't be as nice as she is.” he gestures at you with a tilt of his head, his tone light, but his eyes? glacial.

scar-lips doesn't flinch. you press down harder on his arm. “fuck! alright, alright!” gojo grins like you just made his night. 

“contract” he grits out. “someone put a price on your head. it's big. too big to ignore.” gojo clicks his tongue, shaking his head. “that's vague. who?” scar-lips looks like he's debating wether answering is worth the consequences. “not local”

“international” you press. he nods, slowly. “someone wants you dead, gojo. badly. all we got was a time and place.” his gaze flicks up to you, sharp despite pain. "and instructions to take you too".

the air grows thick. “me?” the man on the floor exhales “whoever hired us knew you'd be with him. they want you alive.” something cold settles in your stomach. gojo, however, laughs. it's quiet, then louder, echoing against the rooftop.

scar-lips looks at him like he's lost his damn mind. “what the fuck is wrong with you?” gojo wipes at the corner of his eyes like he actually found that funny. “man, you guys must be new do you know how many times someone's tried to put me in a body bag?” he leans in closer, voice dripping lower. “and not one of them ever succeeded.” gojo nods toward you, lips quirking. “someone wants her alive? buddy, you should be more scared of that than anything else.” 

you glance down, they want you alive. that means whoever put out this hit isn't just after gojo— they're after something he has. the implications make your blood runs cold. but you don't have time to dwell on it.

one of the men on the ground— one you thought was barely conscious— lunges.

it happens fast. too fast.

a blade glints under the rooftop lights, aiming straight for gojo's ribs.

your gun fires before you think. the gunshot rings out, echoing accross the night.

the man crumples.

scra-lips yells, trying to scrambles back, but gojo's hand shoot out, grabbing him by the collar and yanking him up. “i'd be annoyed if this wasn't so damn prediactable.” his voice has lost its amusement. it's cold now. deadly. “you made a big mistake touching what's mine.” gojo's fingers tighten. for a second, you think he'll kill him.

but instead, gojo sighs—a sound full of tiredness— and his grip loosens. “i'd love to drag this out, but we have a gala to return to,” he says, and with that, he lets go. the man collapses to the ground, coughing violently.

gojo steps over him like he's nothing more than a discarded piece of trash. he reaches for your hand, gently pulling you away. “someone's coming to pick you up.” he adds, his tone far too casual for what just happened “be grateful. i called someone to take care of you, buddies. i only do that to my special guests.” 

he slams the rooftop door shut behind them with a sense of finality, cutting off the chaos that lingers in the air.

as you make your way down the stairs, you abruptly stop, questions swirling in your mind. “what's wrong?” gojo asks. you meet his gaze, searching his eyes, trying to figure out what he's hiding from you. he steps closer "you okay?” you should nod. should brush it off like you always do.

but you don't answer, and you feel the weight of silence settles between you. it's suffocating, you don't know how to break it. so you shake your head. you want to ask him why he hired you. why he needs you when he could've handled everything alone. you want to know if there's more to this—more to you—than just being his bodyguard. the questions burns at the back of your throat, but you swallow it down, afraid of what the answer might be.

gojo's hand pulls you from your spiraling thoughts, his touch gentle—like always when he touches you—making you gasp. his palm cups your cheeks. “hey.” his eyes are full of concern, worried. his tumb brushes over your cheek, a fleeting touch, as if he's trying to ground you. you're not sure if it's for your sake or his. 

“you're acting weird,” he murmurs, tilting his head. your throat tightens. “and you're acting like this is normal.” a short laugh escapes him, not a single hint of humor in it. his grip on your face loosens, but he doesn't pull away. “what do you want me to say?”

“i want you to tell me why,” the words come out quieter than you intended, but no less desperate. “why hire someone to protect you?” something flickers in his gaze, quick enough that you almost miss it. his fingers twitch against your skin. “you really think i need a bodyguard?” the way he says it sounds wrong—too light, too easy. 

“exactly. you don't." your voice is unwavering now, the certainty of it strengthening you. “not after i saw what you did tonight. the way you fought— it was effortless. you're better than any soldier i've ever seen.” you hesitate, the memory clicking into place. ”better than me.” and now that you think about it, you remember your punch he blocked that night, back at the gala preparations. the sheer force he used. you should have realized then.

gojo is quiet for a moment. then, finally, he sighs, letting his hand drop from your face. the loss of his warmth makes your chest ache. “i thought it'd be obvious by now,” he mutters, looking away.

it isn't. 

it's not obvious at all. and the fact that he won't just say it outright makes your frustration curl tight in your chest. 

you take a step back, shaking your head. “well, as you can see… it's not.” you cross your arms, the hurt leaking into your voice. gojo's head snaps back toward you, eyes narrowing. “you overthink too much.” you scoff, anger bubbling up despite your exhaustion. “then give me answers. if you did, i wouldn't have to.”

his jaw clenches, and for a second, you think he's going to throw out some flippant remark, something to brush this all under the rug like he always does. 

but then— 

he takes a step forward.

and another.

until there's barely any space left between you.

“maybe i don't want you to know,” he says, voice low, almost quiet to hear. the words send a sharp pang through you. he's never been this blunt before— not like this. “why?” you whisper, almost afraid to ask, but you need to go through this. together. “once you know, you won't look at me the same.”

your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.

“satoru," you murmur, refusing to back down, “you dressed me tonight. you brought me here as your date. you even called me your wife.” your voice shakes, but you keep going. “and i was scared to lose you tonight.” the words slip out before you can stop them, raw and unfiltered, the weight of them hitting the space between you with unbearable force. 

gojo stills. his breath is uneven, and his eyes—those brilliant blue eyes—widen just slightly. you close your own, exhaling shakily before continuing.

“i ran once. nine years ago.” your voice is barely a whisper now. “i was young. i was afraid. and it was a mistake.” his entire body tenses. “Satoru,” you open your eyes, meeting his. “i want you. all of you. and surprisingly, i'm willing to stay. to stand next to you. to kill for you if that's what it takes to keep you safe.” you pause, your voice thick with emotion. “i'm not afraid of threats. i don't want to run anymore.”

gojo looks wrecked. completely and utterly undone.

you step closer, pressing a hand to his chest, feeling the rapid, unsteady beat of his heart beneath your palm. “nothing you could ever say will change the way i see you.” your voice is firm “nothing.”

he swallows hard, his hands twitching at his sides like he doesn't know whether to pull you in or push you away— to protect you from people that would want to hurt you, only to hurt him.

but then— he breaks. 

his arms wrap around you, crushing you to him, his grip almost desperate. his forehead drops to your shoulder, his breath warm against your skin. and for the first time, gojo satoru—the untouchable, unshakable man— trembles.

“making me go through all that," he says against your hair, "being irrefutable with me and letting me beat the hell out of four men—" his fingers gripping the fabric of your clothes like he's terrified you'll disappear. “it took you all that to finally tell me what's on your heart?”

you let out a watery laugh, wrapping your arms around him just as tightly “i'm sorry.” he lets out a shaky breath, his lips brushing your temple. “stay,” it's not a command, not a plea— just a confession. you close your eyes, letting yourself sink into his warmth, into the way he holds you like he's never wanted anything more. “i'm not going anywhere.”

and just like that, nothing else matters.

the gala, the stares, the whispers— none of it exists as you slip out through the back entrance, hands locked together, ignoring the world you're leaving behind.

gojo doesn't let go.

not even when he open the car door for you, not even when he slides into the driver's seat. his hand stays on your thigh, fingers warm and steady, tracing idle patterns against your skin. every red light is an excuse— an excuse to lift your hand to his lips, pressing slow, deliberate kisses on your knuckles, the pads of your fingers, the inside of you wrist.

you shiver, watching him through lidded eyes. “you're being soft.” gojo hums, a lazy grin pulling at his lips. “you love it, don't you?” and you don't deny it.

the drive is quiet, heavy with something unspoken. when he pulls up in front of his house, fingers still tracing slow, burning circles on you thigh, the weight of earlier comes crashing back. you shift in your seat, eyes flicking toward him. 

“what were you going to say earlier?” his hand pauses for just a second— just long enough for you to notice. then, instead of answering, he leans in, his breath hitting your jaw as his lips ghost over your skin. “you really want to talk about that right now?”

the air is charged, thick with frustration and need. his lips press against the corner of your mouth— featherlight, teasing, but you can feel the restraint in the way his fingers grip your thigh. you tilt your head, giving him more access as a sigh leave your lips. “i need to know.”

gojo groans, low and deep. his hands move— one sliding up higher up your thigh, the other tangling in your hair as he pulls you toward him, his lips finally crashing against yours.

the kiss is messy, heated, all tongue and teeth and pent-up frustration. you don't even remember shifting onto his lap, only that his hands are on your hips, gripping tight enough to leave marks. his breath is ragged when he pulls back, forehead pressed against yours. your lipstick stains his lips, smudged, messy, sinful.

“you really wanna do this now?” his voice is rough, uneven. his fingers slip beneath your dress, brushing against your bare skin. “because if i start talking now, i won't stop. and i'd rather have you like this, falling apart in my hands. or my tongue. begging for more.”

your pulse is wild, but you don't back down. “satoru.” you lift a hand, softly wiping the lipstick from his lips. “tell me.” his sigh is one of defeat, his head falling back on the headrest. “i didn't hire you to protect me.” his voice is quieter now, raw in a way you've never heard before. “i hired you because i wanted you close.”

your breath catches. gojo chuckles, but there's no humor in it. “you ran from me nine years ago,” he presses open-mouthed kisses along your neck— wet, lingering. “did you really think i was going to let you do it again?”

your eyes burn with emotions— ones you don't have time to process because gojo's lips trail lower, his tongue flicking out, teasing, tasting. "being an influential young man got me some enemies. I had to know how to fight like a soldier— if not better. as the years went by, I became even more influential. and with some quick calls, I was able to find you."

“i don't think i deserve you, gojo.” the words spill out, breathless. gojo clicks his tongue, pulling back just enough to meet your gaze. his hands frame your face “sweetheart,” his voice barely above a whisper “let's go inside,” his teeth graze your skin “i'm going to show you just how much you deserve me.”

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

you barely step through the threshold before gojo's hands are on you again, pushing you against the wall. his kiss is devastating, all-consuming, a plea and a demand in one. his hands roam, sliding down your sides, gripping your hips hard enough to bruise, like he's afraid you'll slip through his fingers again.

“you're killing me,” he groans, voice hoarse, “i need you. need to taste you.” your dress is barely hanging on, undone but still covering you like some cruel temptation, and that makes it worse for him. he doesn't pull it off— not yet. his fingers skim the fabric, then push it up, bunching around your waist. that's when he sees them.

your light blue panties— delicate, sheer, adorned with tiny pearls. the one he meticulously chose for you earlier. he fucking loses it at the sight.

“sweetheart.” his voice shatters, his breath stuttering as his thumb brushed the pearls, the fabric already damp. a pretty little thing wrapped up so nicely just for him. his hands shake when he presses his palm flat against your cunt, cupping you through the soaked fabric. “you're so wet. you wanted me this bad?”

you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.

he drops to his knees so fast it's almost embarrassing. he doesn't even push your panties aside right away. instead, he leans in, kissing up your thighs— not just to tease, but to worship. his lips press against every scar, every mark, each one a silent promise. “my pretty strong girl,” he murmurs, his fingers squeezing your legs. “i will take care of them later.”

“satoru—”

his mouth finds the inside of your thigh first, biting down hard enough to make you whimper before soothing the mark with his tongue. then finally, finally, his mouth is on you. a hot, wet, messy kiss pressed right against your cunt, sucking you through the fabric of your panties. you gasp for air, your hands tightening on his white hair, earning a moan from him, an actual moan.

his tongue pressed flat against your cunt, teasing you through the pearls and lace. you gasp, body jolting, thighs trying to squeeze together, but he won't let you. his strong hands hold you open, force you to take it.

“f-fuck—" you breathe, fingers diving into his hair.

gojo grinds his face into your pussy like a possessed man. “god, you taste sweet even through this,” he slurs, drunk on it, his voice muffled. “missed having my mouth on you.”

his tongue dragged over the fabric, lapping, teasing, sucking, his fingers slipping underneath to pull them to the side. “Gojo—” your head slams back against the wall.

he didn't let you finish as he spreads your pussy open with his thumbs and buried his face between right into your core, eating you out like he was trying to ruin you for anyone else. like he needed to prove something.

it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.

he's licking into you with long, deep strokes, his nose bumping against your clit. his fingers dug into your ass, yanking you closer, forcing you to grind against his mouth, fucking his tongue with every rool of your hips.

“t-too much—” your body is trembling.

“been too long, huh? missed me eating your pretty little pussy?” sliding his tongue down to fuck into you, groaning when you clenched around him. you were so wet, so fucking wet, dripping down his chin as he worked you over, puling moans out of you that made his cock throb painfully against his zipper.

his arms wrap around your waist, locking you in place, forcing you to take everything he gives. his moans vibrate against your skin, needy, delirious, he's getting off on this as much as you are. “taste so fucking sweet,” his voice is muffled by your heat. “could stay down here forever.” he doesn't stop, doesn't let up— not even when your thighs squeeze around his head, when you're shaking so hard you can barely breathe.

your body locks up, pleasure tightening, so close it hurts. his fingers dig into your flesh, his lips wrapping around your clit, sucking just right, and that's all it takes— you break apart with a cry, shuddering, coming all over his tongue.

gojo groans like he's tasting something forbidden, something addictive, lapping it all up, refusing to let a single drop go to waste.

by the time he pulls away, his lips and chin are glistening, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling like he just ran miles. your dress is still on, but your panties are pushed to the side, and gojo is a wrecked mess between your legs, staring at you like he's ready to die for you.

 “come here.” you grabbed him by the collar, pulling him into a flithy desperate kiss. his hands scrambled to get his belt open, shaking so badly he barely undo it. “l-let me help,” you whisper, your hands brushing his as you pull his belt free, undoing his zipper. “i want to make it up to you” you look at him in the eyes “for running away.” your hands slide over his thighs, palming the thick outline of him through his pants. he's already rock-hard. gojo let out a pathetic whimper. “s-shit, you don't have to—”

the second you slide down his boxers, his cock slaps against his stomach, thick, flushed, dripping. “f-fuck—” he lets out when your hand wraps around him. he's so hard it must be painful, a bead of precum leaking from the flushed tip.

you dropped to your knees and looking up at him through your lashes “i need to, satoru” 

gojo chokes “fuck— yeah, please—” with nothing more you took him in your mouth. his hands immediately flying to your hair, not pulling, just holding, like he needs something to ground himself

his entire body jerked as your tongue drags up his length, flicking over the tip before you sink down, taking him deep. tongue pressing against the thick vein running along his dick. you hollowed your cheeks, bobbing your head, your hand stroking the rest of him. it's slick and obscene, the sounds echoing in the hallway. your lips stretched around him.

“f-fuck— sweetheart,” gojo is a mess above you. a whimpering, panting mess. his thighs tensed, his whole body shudders. “fuck, f-fuck— too good, it's too fucking g-good—” he wants you to let you continue. he wants to watch you take him apart. 

but he wants to feel you. it's been nine long years for fuck sake. he just needs your pretty little cunt wrapping around his cock. “i-if you don't stop— shit— if you d-don't stop r-right n-now, i'm gonna—” he grabs your wrists, and you pulled off with a sinful pop, lips swollen, eyes gleaming.

“bed. now.” 

except… you don't make it to the bed…

you get as far as the couch before you're shoving him down, straddling his lap, gripping his shoulders. his cock is still out, flushed, leaking, twitching against his stomach. and your soaked panties are still on, pulled to the side, teasing him.

“reverse cowgirl.” you say, full of tease. his brain short-circuits. “w-what?” you don't answer. you just move, shift until your back is to him. you give him a full view on the open dress, the curves of your body, the barest glimpse of your soaked panties sill clinging to your folds.

“oh, fuck— ohhh fuck.” his head drops back against the couch. his hands finding your waist as you took his base and let your hips ever so slowly sink down.

you both are drowning. “t-toru— ahh, ‘s big—” your voice breaks. you forgot how fucking big he is. surely the biggest cock you’ve ever took. “th-that's okay, s-sweetheart,” gojo is hardly holding on, shaking beneath you. “you're d-doing good— fuck— your walls are sucking me i-in. i— fuckfuckfuck—”

inch by inch, you take him, stretching, gasping, feeling him pulse inside you.

sweat drips down your back. gojo leans in, licks it up. and then— 

he loses his patience. 

he grabs your hips, slams you down, and fuck, you both scream. his fingers are bruising, his breath wrecked against your spine, and you're already a trembling, cock-drunk mess in his lap. “t-toru— please—”

“shhh, sweetheart,” he pants, barely coherent. “let me make you mine again.” 

he drags you down onto him, thrusting up to meet you, filling you so deep you can feel him in your stomach. “ohhh— fuuuck, toru—” your hands scrambling for purchase against the couch as you rock back against him.

“that's right, sweetheart,” his forehead pressed against your bare spine. “take me— please, take all of me.” he pulls you back onto him harder, a desperate, needy little sound escaping his throat when he sees the way your pretty blue panties cling to you, your pussy stretched around the base of his cock, underwear soaked. “s-shit, your panties— fuck, that's so—” gojo can't even finish his sentence. his hands slip under your dress, his fingers finding your hard nipples and pinches them through your bra.

“satoru, i—” you sob, rolling your hips, grinding down. “that's it, ride me,” he begs, his hands palming your soft breasts. “you feel so fucking good, s-so tight—” you lift your hips just to slam back down, picking up a rhythm, and gojo loses his fucking mind. his moans spilling out in rapid desperate gasps. “fuck, baby—”

his length throbs inside you, his hips bucking up uncontrollably. he grabs at you, at your dress, your thighs, anywhere he can touch, his lips pressing frantic, open-mouthed kisses along your back. 

“d-don't stop— please— ohh f-fuck, please don't stop—” he sounds so ruined, so completely fucking gone.

somehow you grind down even harder, sending the poor guy's body jolting. he's straight-up choking, his moans turn high-pitched, pathetic, whimpering. “sweetheart, i-i can't— oh fuck, i'm gonna—” his voice breaks, shaking “i can't hold it— i can't, i can't—” 

you lean back against his chest, turning just enough to catch the sight of him— his head thrown back, eyes squeezed shut, mouth parted, his entire body trembling beneath you. “t-toru,” you whimper, tightening around him. “cum for me.”

that's it. that's all it takes.

Gojo slams you down onto him one last time, a ragged, broken cry ripping from his throat. His cock pulses deep inside you, his grip on you almost bruising as he spills into you, moaning like he’s coming apart at the seams. his chest rising and falling erratically, his entire body completely ruined.

and even as the pleasure fades, he doesn't let go. “you're mine. not letting you go again.” he doesn't give you time to respond as he suddenly grabs your wrists, shoving you face-down into the couch. “but that doesn't mean i'm done with you.” his body is still trembling, his cock still throbbing inside you, slick with both of your release.

“one round isn't enough,” heavy voice in your ear. he rolls his hips once, slow and deep, dragging his dick through the mess he's made of you.

your whimper is swallowed by the cushions, fingers clawing at the fabric as he strats moving again. his pace is slow at first, torturous, letting you feel every thick inch stretching you open again. then he pulls out almost completely—just the tip remained inside— before slamming back in, so deep your vision blurs.

“mhhh— satoru!” the force of it knocks the breath out of you, makes you choke on your own moan. his hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, sliding up your back, fisting your hair.

“look at you, sweetheart,” he pants, voice slurred, filthy. “so wet—so messy—fuck, listen to yourself.” and oh, you can hear it. the lewd, obscene squelching of your cunt sucking him back in with every thrust. it's dripping down your thighs, coating his cock, soaking the couch beneath you.

“s'dripping” he groans, pulling out just to watch the way your hole clenches, fluttering around nothing. your slick mixed with his cum spills out. glistening, pooling between your legs. “fucking— shit” he grits his teeth, fisting his cock, slapping it against your swollen cunt. “such a pretty mess."

“p-please,” you sob, wiggling your hips, trying to push back against him. you're so sensitive, already teetering on the edge again. “please what?” his grip tightens in your hair, yanking your head back so his lips brush your ear. “use your words, sweetheart. beg for it.” your brain is mush, squirming beneath him, but you give him what he wants.

“please— please, t-toru fuck me— use me. w-want you s-so bad— need you so bad—” his breath shudders “you're so hot,”

and he slams back into you, deeper, harder, faster. you scream, your arms giving out as he fucks you into the cushions. his pace is wild, frantic, desperate— his cock found your g-spot. hitting it over and over again. until you're body is nothing but raw nerves and white-hot pleasure.

“y-you like this?” gojo struggles finding his breathe, sweat dripping down his temple. “like getting fucked stupid? like being ruined?” you can't even speak— just babbling his name.

“sweetheart, im not gonna last— fuck, i wanna feel you cum again, i need to feel it—” he moans, he swears your cunt was made perfectly for him and only him. one hand slipping between your legs, fingers rubbing at your clit in messy, quick circles.

“come on— cum on my cock, wanna feel your cum all over me,” your whole body seizes, pleasure ripping through you so hard you think you black out for a second. you scream his name, back arching, legs shaking, walls clenching tight around him he nearly collapses. “ohh— ohhh ‘s gooood— wrapping around my cock aghn,”

his hips snap forward, his voice breaking as he lets out white long hot creams. he cums so much, it leaks out around his dick— balls.

for a moment, the only sound in the room is your ragged breathing, the lewd, sticky wetness between your legs, the faint creak of the couch beneath you. gojo breaks it with a breathless, shaky laugh. “you're a fucking dream,” he mumbles, pressing lazy, wet kisses to your shoulder. his arms wrapped tight around your waist.

“satoru…” you whisper his name, running your fingers through his damp hair. he exhales and lifts you into his arms. he carries you like you're something sacred, irreplaceable. something he'll never allow to slip through his fingers again.

"bedroom," he murmurs against your temple. “i need to love you properly.” your breath catches, a lump forming in your throat. this is different. you wrap your arms around him as he carries you through the dimly lit house, his body still inside yours, still pulsing, still clinging to every last bit of warmth you give him.

tonight, he took you like he was desperate. like he had something to prove, like he needed to reclaim you after all these years apart. but now…

now he's looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.

when he lays you down on his bed, it feels like the world stops. like you both exist in your own universe. gojo hovers over you, his hands tracing over every inch of you. he maps your body with his touch, memorizes you with his lips, presses soft, reverent kisses over your skin.

and he pauses when he reaches your scars. trembling hands ghost over them, his expression unreadable. his eyes, impossibly blue even in the dim light, flicker up to yours. his fingertips linger on your scars, tracing them so gently it make your breath hitch.

“nine years,” his lips press over each mark, worshipping. “nine agonizingly years without you.” your chest aches. you cup his face, wiping the single tear coming down his cheek with your thumb. gojo closes his eyes, leaning into your touch like he needs it to breathe. “you don't get it.” murmuring it more to himself than you.

he looks down at you like you're everything. like he doesn't believe you're real.

you don't get a chance to respond before he's kissing you—slow, deep. it's not just hunger, not just lust. it's grief, it's relief, it's the kind of love that breaks you open and remakes you all at once.

when he finally pushes into you, it's not desperate. it's deliberate— he's trying to mold himself to you, he wants to leave an imprint of himself inside you forever. “satoru—”

“i know, sweetheart,” he kisses the corner of your mouth, your neck, your collarbone. “let me love you.” 

you do. you let him take his time. let him move in deep, slow thrusts that leave you breathless. let him pull every last moan from your lips until your nails dig into his back. his name falls from your lips like a prayer, over and over again.

“feel that?” satoru takes your chin in his hand, making you look at him. “feel how deep i am? how i'm filling you up?” there's no rush, just the overwhelming feeling of being connected— having each other the way you were always meant to.

“toru, please,” you gasp into his mouth. “i've got you,” he mutters, nose brushing against yours. his fingers lace through yours, pinning your hands above your head, your legs wrapping around his waist, your body arching into him. 

“you're everything,” he whispers. “you always were.” your chest tightens, you feel yourself shatters as heat coils in your stomach, winding tighter and tighter.

you're so full of him, of love, of longing, of everything you've spent nine years trying to ignore.

“i love you,” and it sets something free inside you.

gojo chokes on his breath. his rhythm stutters. his fingers tighten around yours. his lips tremble against your skin. “say it again,” he begs.

“i love you, Satoru.” his hips snap into you harder, pace remaining slow as if he's trying to commit every part of you to memory. “say it again, sweetheart.”

“i love you—” his body tenses, his release crashing over him at the same time you hit yours. his lips find yours as you both shatter together.

when he collapses on top of you, he doesn't let go. doesn't even try. you're still tangled together, still connected when he speaks. “i was serious,” you hum, sleepy, completely boneless in his arms. “about what?” his fingers stroke over your hip. “about calling you my wife.” 

you tilt your head, searching his face. he's looking at you like you're his entire world. he's never been more sure of anything in his life. “i don't just want you here tonight,” he says softly, kissing the tip of your nose. “i want you here forever.”

tears sting your eyes, but you smile, brushing his hair out of his face. “then start calling me that now, satoru.” gojo grins— that beautiful, bright, devastating grin.

“come here, wife.”

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

[hivemuthur]

Hii! Thank you for replying. I've read five things and loved it so much I wanted to send another ask, and somehow managed to forget to send it, but never mind here it is now.

I was thinking a viktor×reader who were eachother's first everything (early academy days?) but than the reader had to move away for schooling/work, whatever, but now they're back (sometime after the beginning of hextech) and have to work with jayce and viktor. How would that dynamic look like? They didn't breakup over an argument or because they fell out of love but because that's the way life took them. I'm imagining them knowing eachother so well inside and out to the point people just assume they're dating. (Reader making viktors coffee even better than he can himself, viktor making something to fix a problem reader has but never had a solution for, anything really). And I don't know, maybe, possibly, somehow the tension gets to be too much for both of them and they're both more skilled now and whatnot... (I could live without that part tho, is you feel like it doesn't fit)

Sorry if the ask is too complicated, I've just been thinking about it for so long.

I know it's gonna be a while before you can write it but I can't wait to read all of the other requests in the meantime.❤️

~🍒

Dear sweet 🍒 Janna, hello again! Here's your fic!

Same As It Ever Was

viktorxfemale!reader explicit! a bit of everything - fluff, angst (light), smut

word count: 5,6K

author’s note: this is very freeform, an experiment, kinda? A story told in vignettes, little scenes between Viktor and Reader since the moment she came back to the Academy interwoven with their past, sex included. For this to work, I've written current events in Present Tense and the flashbacks in Past Tense.

artist on X (obsessed at this point)

—

You brace yourself with a deep breath—just as you did all those years ago. With lungs full of air, you cross the threshold, and memories come crashing back. Heimerdinger’s lectures, suspicious cafeteria food, noise complaints from your neighbours when Jayce laughed too loud in your dorm. Your dorm itself—its lumpy bed, not enough cabinet space for your books, scattered notes, and long night study sessions with Viktor.

As promised, he and Jayce are there, waiting to pick you up in the entrance hall. Jayce is as giddy as ever—stretching, chattering, busying himself with the announcement board, occasionally pointing at something to get Viktor’s attention. He looks almost the same.

Viktor, on the other hand—nearly still. He leans on a… crutch? It’s a crutch now, huh. You wince at not knowing sooner. An extra brace on his leg as well. His form is more hunched than you remember. He nods at Jayce’s remarks absently, craning his head toward the door, and his face—oh. It lights up when he sees you, just as it used to. Your heart travels all the way up to your throat.

You have to force yourself not to skip. Jayce reaches you first, nearly crashing into you with his embrace. He’s stronger than before, his shoulders broader. Either he’s gotten taller, or Viktor looks shorter. He pats your back and chuckles a mumbled hi—but your eyes are already on Viktor.

He opens his arms in an inviting gesture, and you slide right in. He still fits. He still smells the same, though there’s a lingering trace of oil on his collar. His hair is longer, and his clothes hang looser on his frame, but he feels the same. His neck is just as pretty, his hands just as strong. They go where they used to—one to your back, the other cradling the nape of your neck. You take one last inhale before he pulls back, a familiar spark playing in his eyes as he says, "Welcome back."

***

You stared at the schedule board, squinting as you tried to make sense of the messy list. You muttered under your breath, crossing out dates in frustration when the door behind you creaked open.

A voice spoke from behind, calm and precise. “Do you need assistance?”

You turned to see him—tall, neat, with a cane at his side. Pretty hair falling boyishly over his forehead, eyes the colour of liquid gold, two freckles decorating his upper lip and a spot under his eye. His voice was thickly accented, and you suddenly felt dumber than ever.

“What gave me away?” you huffed, managing a smile. “Groaning or furious scribbling?”

“Eh, a little bit of both,” he said, leaning in slightly to point at a part of the board. “Let me help?”

You handed him your notebook, and he made quick work of explaining the confusing schedule. “Looks like we’ll be seeing each other,” he hummed, studying your timetable.

Thank the gods, you thought. Feigning surprise instead of relief, you raised an eyebrow. “Really?”

He nodded, the faintest smile pulling at his lips. “I’m looking forward to having class with you. I’m Viktor.”

In response, you muttered your name in one breath.

Without another word, he pressed the notebook into your hand, making sure your hands brushed, then turned and walked away, leaving you standing there, momentarily dumbfounded.

***

You follow Jayce and Viktor through the lab, eyes wide as they show you around. The space is far more impressive than you remember—equipment gleams, wires stretch across the ceiling like intricate veins, and the hum of machinery fills the air. Jayce is practically bouncing with excitement, narrating every little detail with an energy that nearly has you dizzy, while Viktor stays quieter, his gaze focused, occasionally glancing at you as though checking for your reactions.

You’re still trying to wrap your mind around everything when the tour finally ends, and Viktor turns to you with a small smile. “Is there anything you need?” he asks, his voice as smooth and calm as ever.

You consider it for a moment, then sigh dramatically. “I would kill for a coffee.”

Jayce snorts a laugh, “Things don’t really change, do they? Do you want to make it yourself as usual?”

“Of course, as you mentioned—things don’t change, which means I still don’t trust any of you with your coffee-making skills, Jayce,” you reply with a smirk, stepping past him toward the kitchenette area. Viktor watches you closely, but you don’t pay him any mind as you start pulling out the necessary ingredients. “Do you want one?” you throw over your shoulder. And Viktor nods with a smile.

You fall into an easy rhythm, just like old times. Your hands work quickly, grinding the beans, adjusting the water temperature, adding the perfect amount of milk—exactly how you know he likes it. It’s almost like your body remembers, and you can’t help but feel a strange sort of nostalgia as the familiar process comes naturally.

The sound of Viktor clearing his throat breaks your focus, and when you turn, he’s standing a little closer than you expected. His eyes are fixed on the coffee mug in your hands, and the way he’s staring at it almost makes you laugh.

You hand him the cup with a raised brow. “Did I get it right?”

He takes a slow sip, his expression unreadable at first. Then, after a long pause, he sets the cup down carefully on the counter, still looking at you, and says quietly, “Perfect.”

The fact that you remember how to make it, that you remember him—how he likes it, what he’s used to—has him speechless. You watch him for a moment, unsure of what he’s thinking, and the quiet fills the space between you both.

“Just like before,” he says, as though to himself, and you can't help but smile.

***

“Okay, coffee or death,” you whined, pressing your forehead to the desk with exaggerated dramatics. It had been your fourth hour of studying, and the letters on the page began to blur.

“I guess it’s coffee then,” Viktor stretched his legs in the chair before scrambling up to the kettle. “I have no idea how I would explain a corpse in my room.”

“I do not care what motivates your actions, I’m just in dire need of something keeping me alive, or I will fail this class,” you mumbled, still buried in the notes resting under your face. A cup set firmly by your left cheek made your eyebrow quirk, and you let out a sigh of contentment.

“Ah, sweet salvation,” you hummed, grabbing it and taking a sip. And then—

“Viktor. What is this?”

Viktor’s voice was light as he shrugged. “It’s a coffee strong enough to keep you awake until morning.”

You winced, shaking your head slightly. “It’s so strong, it could actually solve the dead body problem you’ve mentioned before.”

He chuckled at that, his gaze still on you. “I suppose that’s one way to describe it.”

You huffed in frustration. “Do I have to do everything myself?”

Viktor only grinned, a spark of amusement in his eyes.

You rolled your eyes, pushing yourself out of your chair and crossing the room to the counter. “Alright, move aside.” You grabbed the ingredients with a practiced hand, preparing a new brew. “This is coffee, not the motor fluid you made.”

Viktor leaned back in his chair, watching you as you worked. “That’s very thoughtful. I suppose you can always become a barista if you fail the class.”

You turned, one eyebrow raised in challenge. “Just wait, Viktor. You’ll see. If I fail, I’ll open my own shop. I’ll call it ‘Professor Coffee’—I’ll make sure the brew is strong enough to wake the dead.”

Viktor’s laugh was soft but genuine. “It seems you’ve got it all figured out.”

***

You reach out, barely muttering, “Could you pass me…” before the tool is already in your hand. You glance at Viktor, who hasn’t even looked up from his work.

“How did you know?” you ask, eyebrows furrowing in surprise.

He taps his temple, a small smile playing beneath his goggles. “I have a good memory.”

***

You frowned at your workbench, trying to put a name to the tool you needed, but your mind blanked.

“Can you pass me the…” you began, unsure, your voice trailing off. You made a small gesture with your hand, hoping Viktor would somehow understand what you meant. Without hesitation, he handed you a wrench.

“No, not this,” you said, waving it off. “The other one?” You gestured again.

Viktor stared at you, brows furrowed, before passing you a screwdriver.

“Not that one either!” you huffed, frustration creeping in—not with him, but because your mind had suddenly decided to fail.

The ritual continued, with Viktor visibly amused as your hand hovered over the various tools he’d passed you. Wrenches, pliers, a hammer, and a couple of screwdrivers littered the workbench. You glanced down at your notes, trying to remember.

Viktor hummed, looking from your desk to your notes. His eyes narrowed, and his lips curled into a knowing smile. “Ah. This one?”

Before you could respond, he was standing behind you, lowering the tool into your hand. His arms brushed the sides of your face, and you felt the press of his stomach against your back. For a moment, you froze, breath catching in your throat.

“A calliper,” you whispered.

“Well done, lásko,” Viktor muttered into your ear.

***

The clock announces an hour way past when you’ve expected to be home already. “Should we call it a night?” you ask Viktor, who sits opposite you, a soft smile curling on his lips.

“Some things have changed, then,” he says, tapping his crutch lightly against the floor. “You used to work until figurative death back in the day.”

“Well, I guess I’m getting older,” you reply with a grin, your tone light but laced with a touch of weariness. “What about you? Any big changes?”

He knocks on his brace playfully, lifting the crutch with a small gesture. “Besides the visible?” He chuckles softly. “Not much. Still working to the death.”

Your smile falters for a second, your gaze softening as you roll closer to him on your chair. You rest your hands gently on his knees, studying his face for any signs of deeper discomfort.

“Are you well, though?” you ask, your voice quiet, careful.

Viktor looks at your hands for a moment, then props the crutch on the desk beside him. He squeezes your palms, his grip firm but tender.

“I am now,” he replies, his voice low, almost like a confession. “Haven’t been for a while, but now I’m well. As well as I can be.” He pauses for a beat, then adds with a small smile, “And now that you’re back, I’m even better.”

You brush your fingers gently through his hair, feeling the familiar warmth of his presence, the intimacy of the gesture. Viktor hums softly, his eyes fluttering closed in response. So familiar, you think, a wave of nostalgia washing over you.

You swallow before speaking again, a bittersweet smile tugging at the corners of your lips. “I’ve missed you.”

Viktor’s eyes remain closed, his expression softening, and when he speaks, his voice heavier now when he sighs. “I know.” He pauses, squeezing your hand once more. “I’ve missed you too.”

***

You and Viktor lay in bed together, tangled in the warmth of each other’s embrace. His arm was draped around you, and the soft rise and fall of his chest beneath your cheek was a steady comfort. The room was quiet, unbearably so, when you nuzzled into his neck, inhaling deeply. His scent—rich, familiar, like the warmth of him—filled your senses, and you clutched him tighter, as though trying to memorize the feeling of him.

"I'm going to miss you so much," you whispered, your voice muffled against his skin, your breath shaky with the weight of the thought.

Viktor hummed softly in response, his fingers tracing small circles on your back. "I know. I will miss you terribly too." His words were gentle, but there was a deep sadness in his voice that you could feel even without looking at him.

He nudged your face with his nose, his palm warm as it cupped your cheek. His touch felt like a promise, though you weren't sure what to expect. "If it's meant to be, we will meet again," he said, his voice low, the words wrapped in the quiet certainty.

A pang in your chest tugged at you, and without thinking, you leaned up, pressing your lips to his. The kiss was soft, but your heart ached with the knowledge that this might be the last time you felt him close. It tasted with bitter acceptance, as you poured every bit of feeling you had into it, hoping it would somehow last, somehow hold you both together despite the distance that would come.

When you pulled away, your heart felt heavy, like it was breaking in your chest.

***

You both sit on the couch in your apartment, papers and notes scattered around you, a quiet hum of frustration bounces between you. Viktor’s hair is dishevelled, falling into his eyes, and his shirt has found its way half-out of his pants, a few buttons undone. He stares at the pages in front of him, his expression a mixture of exhaustion and determination. You glance over at him, hoping for a breakthrough.

“Any ideas?” you ask, your voice tinged with a hint of desperation.

Viktor groans and rubs his eyes, his shoulders sagging. “You know what… I think I’m getting old too,” he mutters, dropping his hand to your lap. “Can we get back to it when I’ve had at least two hours of sleep?”

He looks at you, his hand settling on your knee absentmindedly, his fingers warm through the fabric of your clothes. You stare at his hand for a moment, before looking up at him. He seems so tired, but also so… beautiful. His rumpled clothes and tousled hair remind you of the boy you loved.

“Sure,” you say quietly, your voice barely above a whisper. You look at him, really look at him. He’s always been handsome, but tonight you can finally see how much time has passed. The wrinkles carving his face deeper, jaw stronger, singular grey strands shining through the chestnut hair. Eyes the same. He doesn’t look like a boy anymore.

Wordlessly, you move closer to him and his gaze doesn’t falter. You cup his cheeks and brush your thumb over his lip. And then, your mouth comes close to his, into a soft brush, trembling and tentative. And Viktor responds with a hand sliding up your thigh and a tilt of his head. He cranes his neck and closes the little distance left between you with a sigh of relief.

His free hand slides up to your neck, pulling you in as his mouth parts and tongue joins to wrestle with yours. He gasps when you bite his lower lip and hums, as his palm slides behind to cup your ass. Fully in his grasp, he press yourself more onto him, fingers tangling into his hair, coaxing small sounds out of his throat. It’s wet and slow and when you peek through your eyelashes his brows are scrunched and a blush blooms down his neck to his chest.

He doesn’t kiss like a boy anymore, you think to yourself. It comes unbidden and warms your insides up.

The taste of him lingers on your lips as you pull away just a fraction, your breaths mingling. You barely have a moment to think before Viktor kisses you back, deeply, hoarse inhale taken straight from your lungs leaves you dizzy.

***

Viktor had walked you back to your dorm after a late-night study session at the library. His pace was slow, almost reluctant, as if he was trying to figure out what to say before you parted ways. You were too tired to wait for him to find the words, your mind still foggy from hours of studying.

“I guess this is goodn—” you started, but before you could finish the word, his lips were on yours. The kiss came out of nowhere, abrupt and clumsy, pressing you back into the door behind you. For a moment, you froze, your tired mind scrambling to catch up with what was happening.

Then, the realization sank in, and the sound that left your lips transformed from startled surprise to a soft moan. You responded without thinking, hands sliding up Viktor's sides, feeling the warmth of his body as you kissed him back.

He dropped his cane, his arms wrapping around you, pulling you closer. His touch was urgent, hands cradling your back and drawing you in as you ran your fingers through his hair. Feeling your response, he grew bolder, shut his eyes and concentrated on drawing deep breaths through his nose to not have to part from you.

Hands everywhere, as if he couldn’t decide what to do. You nearly laughed when she squeezed your butt quickly, only to go back to your waist, slide into your ribs and then to the small of your back. So feverish.

When the oxygen run out, he broke the kiss but still kept you close. “I wanted to do this for the longest time,” he chuckled into your mouth.

***

He gives himself a good-willed push off the couch’s armrest but ends up trapping your hip beneath his. His face scrunches in worry when you hiss, but the sound quickly transforms into a laugh. When your stomach shakes beneath him, Viktor feels a strange swelling in his chest. This is so familiar.

He looks at you longingly, sliding his fingers into your hair. Your laughter dies into a moan when his groin presses between your legs. His tongue grows more eager now, as if he remembers just how much he used to want you. “Fuck, I’ve missed you,” he breathes against your lips, and you respond by fisting his shirt, nearly tearing it. You try to say you’ve missed him too—fuck, how much you’ve missed him every day—but you can’t, because your mouth is full.

You brace yourself on your elbows, meeting him halfway. You’re not sure you can bear to part long enough for him to take your clothes off, so instead, you take his hands and press them to your ass. He accepts, of course, kneading your flesh in rhythm with his breath.

When you finally straddle him, your fingers move to undo the rest of his shirt. That’s when he stills. His palms come up to wrap around yours, and a quiet plea escapes him. “Wait,” he says weakly, his cock already hard—you’re sure this costs him a lot.

“Whatever for?” you ask, nosing at his face before pressing kisses to his cheeks, his closed eyelids. You untangle your fingers from his and wrap your arms around his neck.

“I should show you something first,” he murmurs, and begins to undo his shirt. You lean back to give him space to sit up, but your hips never leave his, and your eyes never look away from his face. You give him the room he needs, and feel unbearably not close enough.

***

You fought with the doorknob to your bedroom for a hot minute. Viktor, being very distracting, had completely derailed your brain from this simple dexterity task with continuous neck-licking and ear-kissing. He kept smirking against your skin, all cocky and pleased with himself, ever since the moment you’d asked, “Do you want to come in?”

You stumbled into the room together, and his fingers immediately shot to your vest. You hadn’t even blinked properly before it was undone, his hands cupping your breasts through your shirt, his cane hooked over his forearm.

Laughing and snorting at his clumsiness, you’d steadied him by the waist and let him walk you backward toward the bed.

Your hands fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, but they were small and stubborn, and you were too impatient. With a frustrated huff, you abandoned the effort and slid your hands over his shoulders instead. “Arms up,” you ordered, and Viktor chuckled as he complied.

He lifted his arms obediently, but as you dragged his shirt over his head, it caught for a moment, tangling around his face. He let out a muffled laugh, flailing slightly as you tugged it free, and the moment he was loose, he lost his balance. He tumbled backward onto the bed with an oof, propping himself up on his elbows as he grinned up at you.

You stepped between his legs, watching as his expression softened, turning almost reverent. His hands found your waist, fingers brushing deliberately over the fabric of your skirt before he slid it down, letting it pool at your feet. His lips followed the motion, pressing a slow, open-mouthed kiss to your stomach before he rested his chin there, gazing up at you.

He cradled your hips, thumbs stroking lazily over your skin. “Are you sure this is what you want?” he asked, his voice quiet, careful.

You nodded, eager, and leaned down to kiss him, pouring every answer he could ever need into the press of your lips.

***

“There is both more and less to me than there used to be,” Viktor says, rubbing slow, thoughtful circles up and down your thighs. His expression is pensive, and an apology lingers somewhere in his voice. You hate that he feels the need to apologise in the first place.

Your touch slides across his chest, down—down the leather ridges of a brace you’ve never seen before. It screams Jayce Talis with every bolt, every stitch, and your heart aches at the thought that you weren’t here when this was happening.

Your eyes dart between his chest and his lips before you finally nestle deeper against his pelvis, wrap your arms back around his neck, and crush your mouth to his in a kiss that weeps remorse. “You beautiful, beautiful man,” you whisper, pressing your face into his. “How are you so brave?”

You cup his cheeks, and he only smiles, covering your palm with his.

“I’m not brave. I just… survived,” Viktor says with a small shrug. Then, after a pause: “Would you like to help me take them off?”

You nod, eager, and lean down to kiss him, pouring all the fragmented pieces of yes into the press of your lips.

***

Viktor rolled with you across the sheets, his hands skimmed up your sides, warm and eager, fingers pressing into your skin like he was trying to memorise the feel of you. Your mouths met again, lips parting, tongues teasing—lazy and deep, now that you had each other finally.

He pulled you closer, your thighs bracketing his hips, and when you reached down, fingers curling into the waistband of his trousers, he let out a shaky breath. You grinned against his mouth, tugging them lower inch by inch, letting your nails drag over his skin just to hear the quiet little sounds he made in response. Finally, with one last playful yank, you pulled them off entirely, giggling when they got caught at his ankles for a moment before slipping free.

And then you saw it—his brace.

Viktor stiffened immediately. His hands twitched at his sides, and he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to look anywhere but at you. "It’s nothing," he muttered, voice quieter than before. "You don’t have to—"

You reached out, your palm settling gently on his leg. "Viktor," you said softly, your touch firm but tender. His gaze flicked back to yours, guarded, unsure. "You are so beautiful."

He gasped, a sound so quiet you might not have caught it if you weren’t so close. His lips parted slightly, eyes searching yours like he wasn’t sure if he’d heard you right.

You didn’t give him time to argue. Instead, you leaned down, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to his thigh, just above the brace. He shivered beneath you. Carefully, you undid the clasps, your fingers working with quiet reverence, peeling away the brace as if unveiling something sacred.

It left behind faint indentations in his skin—lines and ridges pressed deep from the whole day of wear. You kissed each one, your lips trailing over the marks with the same care you’d give any other part of him. Viktor’s breath hitched, his fingers threading into the sheets, gripping tight.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, barely above a whisper, he breathed, "You undo me."

***

You set the last metal part of Viktor aside, and now, finally—after years of longing—you see him. His legs are parted, eternal bruises marking his thigh and knee, the toes of one foot cramped closer together than the other. His ribs bear pearly little scars where the chest brace has caught against his skin.

His cock rests idly in the crease of his thigh, beautiful as ever—pink at the tip, his navel scattered with curly hair that meets in a neat line just below his belly button. His hips are sharp angles, his belly rising and falling with each breath. You take in this adult man’s body and compare it to the boy you fell in love with. And you are sure now—there is only more to him than there used to be.

You step between his legs, and his arms reach out, fingers tracing a scar on your lower abdomen. He hums, “This is new.”

“You should see the other guy,” you murmur playfully. “A machine malfunctioned at the lab. One of the energy conductors went unstable, and before I could shut it down, a piece of metal sliced me open.” You pause, watching his face tense. “I got lucky.”

Viktor brushes his thumb over the scar tissue before lowering his lips, pressing a kiss to it—slow, reverent. “My brave girl,” he mutters against your skin. Your head lulls back on your shoulders, fingers threading into his hair and you let out a sigh.

You shudder when he presses a delicate touch between your legs. His hand, more calloused than you remember, gathers the curve of your inner thigh—but oh, his fingers still feel the same. The same timid swipe across your core, the same quiet hum of approval at the wetness you've gathered for him. Then, his free arm comes to wrap around your hips, pulling you closer as he presses his ear to your belly and slides two fingers inside you.

More skill, you notice. A pang of jealousy coils in your chest—ugly, unnecessary—but you don’t let him see. He kisses your stomach, and his eyelashes tickle your skin as he moves his hand up and down and his fingers hit the spot that has you moaning out his name. “As tight as I remember,” he hums, and it lances through you how infinitely hotter he has become.

You tug at his hair to make him look at you. Two gold gems drill right through you when you say, “Viktor.” A sigh, then, “I think I really need to fuck you now.”

He smiles sweetly and kisses your stomach again. “Then it seems we are on the same page.”

***

After a lot of fumbling, adjusting, and whispered curses, you finally found what worked. Viktor propped his knee up with a pillow, his other leg hooked under yours, grounding you together. His weight pressed you into the mattress—not crushing, just enough to make you feel him everywhere, warm and steady.

He rolled his hips into you, slow and measured, his arm caging you in as he kissed you through it. The heat of his breath spilled over your mouth, his lips parting just enough to let out the quietest of moans. And even in the haze of pleasure, you could see it—the determination tightening his brow, the concentrated press of his mouth against yours. He was on a mission, and that mission was you.

One arm wound snugly around your neck, cradling you into him, while his other hand worked between your legs, fingers slick and diligent. He timed each stroke with the snap of his hips, coaxing you closer, closer—

“Oh—Viktor—”

The sound of your voice shattered something in him. His rhythm stuttered, his forehead dropped to yours, but his fingers didn’t stop, circling, pressing, working you toward your peak. You dug your nails into his back, rocking up to meet him, and then—

It rushed over you like a cresting wave. Your thighs tensed around his waist, your breath caught, and the pleasure crested so high it stole all thought. He moaned softly, watching, feeling every pulse of your release around him.

His movements became less controlled, needier, a touch more frantic. He groaned against your shoulder, muttered something in a language you barely caught, and then followed you over the edge. His body trembled against yours, hips stuttering, breath shaky as he spilled into you, his lips still parted against your skin.

For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The only sounds in the room were your slowing breaths, the faint creak of the mattress, and the heartbeat pounding in your ears.

Then, Viktor finally lifted his head, flushed, sweat-dampened curls clinging to his forehead. He swallowed hard, his expression abashed but glowing with something warm and dazed.

“I hope that at this point, it is merely a formality,” he said, still breathless. “But… may I be so bold as to call you my girlfriend from now on?”

***

Your hips slot back together as if no time has passed. He fills you the same way, stretches you perfectly, and the expression he makes as he sinks in—God, it’s the same. Crushingly fucking gorgeous. Relief and bliss war on his face, his lips parting around a shaky groan as his hands seize your ass, pulling you down fully with a sharp slap of skin against skin.

He nuzzles into your neck, breath heavy and warm, licks up the column of your throat before sinking his teeth into your tendon. You gasp, moan, and pull at his hair, and the low, satisfied hum he gives in response shoots straight through you. His grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin as he guides you into motion, dragging you up before urging you back down. A faint roll of his own hips meets yours with every descent, his restraint slipping as the pleasure builds.

It doesn’t take long for you to notice—he’s changed. There’s more confidence in the way he moves, the way he takes from you, the way he talks to you. His voice is deeper, richer, words curling into your skin like smoke.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, dark and approving. He drags a hand up your spine, settles it at your nape, tilting your head so you do look—so you watch the way he devours you with his eyes. “You take me so well, lásko.”

Heat spreads down to your toes. You try to bite back a whimper, but he sees it, hears it, and smirks. Smirks, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you.

Oh, he’s so much bolder now. And you’re falling apart because of it.

It starts with the way he tilts his hips just right, the way his grip on you tightens like he knows exactly where you need him. His free hand glides down your spine, tracing sweat-slick skin before slipping between your bodies. Two fingers find your clit, and your breath stutters. He circles once, twice—slow and deliberate—before pressing down, firm and unrelenting.

“Come for me,” he murmurs, voice like silk, like sin. He rewards you with a deep thrust, dragging a broken moan from your throat. “Let me feel you.”

You do—oh, God, you do. Pleasure overtakes you, crashing through your body in waves, pulling you under. Your thighs shake around him, your hands fly to his shoulders, nails sinking into muscle as you arch and shudder and keen his name. He groans, eyes dark and reverent as he watches you unravel in his lap.

Yet still, there are things that haven’t changed. The way his breath hitches when you clench around him. The way his moans turn desperate when you lean forward and suck at his throat. The way he starts to chase the pleasure once he gets close, gripping you tighter, rutting up into you with a fervour that makes your head spin.

And the way he comes—the same shudder, the same deep, gasping moan, the same way his arms crush you against his chest as if he could pull you inside him. His release spills deep, his body trembling beneath yours, and you realise it then, as you always have.

He is grateful for this. For you.

Your noses brush as he catches his breath, and his hands smooth over your back, grounding himself in the feel of you.

“Still with me?” you murmur, running your fingers through his damp curls.

Viktor exhales a breathless laugh, lids heavy, lips parted in something like awe. He nods, shifting just enough to press a lingering kiss to your collarbone. “Always.”

[belit0]

This is incredibly specific so feel free to ignore me. 😘 Would you mind writing hcs for Itachi with an s/o who was pregnant but didn't find out until the day he killed his clan off? And he didn't find out until he snuck into their house just to see them again while they were asleep the first time he came back to the village. And maybe his s/o wakes up and is still very much in love with him and tells him about his kid?

If you do decide to toss this, I still love your writing and hope you have a wonderful day!

No ignoring! Sometimes (very often I must admit) I take my time to respond, and although late, it always happens. So here we go!

He never meant to come back.

It was foolish—no, reckless—to even step foot inside Konoha again, but the pull was unbearable. Like an ache woven into his very bones, a longing so deeply ingrained that ignoring it became impossible. He only meant to look, to confirm that she was alive, breathing, existing beyond the bloodstained past he had left behind.

He never expected this.

Her house is smaller than he remembers, tucked away in a quiet corner of the village, untouched by time or war. The same curtains sway against the open window, the scent of chamomile tea and lavender drifting in the air, as it always did when she was still his.

She sleeps curled on her side, chest rising and falling in a soft, rhythmic motion, utterly unaware of the shadow standing in her doorway. Moonlight spills across her features, and for a fleeting moment, Itachi allows himself to feel. To imagine a life where he had never walked away, where he had never—

Then he sees it.

A small, sleeping form beside her, tiny and peaceful, half-hidden beneath the blankets.

His breath stops.

For a long, excruciating moment, his mind refuses to process what his eyes are showing him. He stares, unblinking, heart hammering against his ribs, and-

No.

No, it’s not possible.

And yet, as his gaze roves over the child’s face, as he notes the shape of their small nose, the curve of their jaw—he knows. The realization slams into him like a kunai to the chest, sharp and merciless, ripping apart every carefully constructed wall he had built around himself.

A child.

His child.

The air leaves his lungs in a quiet, barely-there exhale. His fingers tighten against the fabric of his cloak as something unnameable, something he has not allowed himself to feel in years unfurls in his chest.

He wants to move closer, needs to, but his body betrays him, rooted in place by the sheer weight of this discovery.

And then, she stirs.

He watches, helpless, as her lashes flutter open, as her body shifts ever so slightly, until her eyes meet his.

For a single, fragile moment, there is nothing but silence.

Then—

-…Itachi?

Her voice is barely above a whisper, raw with disbelief, with something dangerously close to hope. She pushes herself up on her elbows, blinking rapidly, as if afraid he will disappear if she looks away.

He should leave. He must leave.

But he doesn’t.

He stands there, immobile, as she rises from the bed, as she step closer, the distance between the two shrinking with every hesitant breath. He does not flinch when she reaches for him, fingers ghosting over his sleeve as if testing whether he is real.

And then, softly, brokenly, she says it.

-You have a son.

His entire world tilts on its axis.

The words land like a blade to the heart, sharp, irreversible, and everything inside him stills. The years of discipline, of cold, unshakable control... It all unravels in an instant.

-…When?- His voice is hoarse, barely above a breath.

She swallows, fingers tightening against the fabric of his cloak. -I didn’t know,- she admits, voice thick with emotion. -not until the night you— She falters, and he knows what you mean. -the night he killed them all. I— Her gaze flickers to the child still sleeping soundly, unaware of the storm raging between her. -I couldn’t tell you. You were gone.-

Gone.

Gone, and yet here he is, standing before her, a man who does not belong to this life anymore. A man who has condemned himself to a path that has no place for love, for family, for—

His child.

His breath shudders. He forces himself to look, to really look at the small body curled beneath the blankets, to take in the tiny hands, the soft hair, dark, like his own.

A part of him. Left behind without his knowledge.

A part of him that should not exist, and yet—

-I didn’t tell anyone,- she continues, softer now, as if afraid speaking too loudly will shatter the fragile moment between them. -No one knows. Just me.-

And now, him.

The weight of it is suffocating, but he cannot move. Cannot breathe, cannot think.

She searches his face, desperate, looking for something... Anything. -Say something,- she whispers.

He doesn’t know what to say.

Because this was never meant to happen.

Because he should not have come back.

Because the child sleeping mere feet away is the one thing in this world he cannot have.

But she is still looking at him, still waiting, and despite everything—despite the agony tearing him apart from the inside out—he cannot deny her this.

So he reaches out.

Slowly, hesitantly, his fingers brush against her cheek, the first touch in years, the first time he has allowed himself the selfishness of feeling her beneath his hands. Her breath hitches, and for a brief, fleeting moment, he allows himself to imagine—

A different life.

One where he never left.

One where he could kneel beside the bed, trace his fingers over his son’s small hands, press a kiss to her forehead, and whisper:

I am here.

But that life does not belong to him.

So instead, he lingers—just for a second longer. A second too long.

And then, with the gentlest touch, he pulls away.

Her eyes widen. -No—

-It’s better this way.- His voice is soft. Resigned.

She shakes your head, hands clutching at his cloak, as if she can hold him here, keep him from slipping away like a ghost in the night. -Itachi—

-I should not have come.

A lie.

He had to come.

She doesn’t let go. -Stay.-

His heart clenches.

He cannot.

Instead, he does the only thing he can do.

He memorizes.

The shape of her lips. The warmth of her hands. The faint, lingering scent of chamomile and lavender. The steady rise and fall of his child’s breath.

And then—

He vanishes.

[fanartka]

Heartstopper and Jayvik crossover

I really love Alice Oseman's Heartstopper series and I think Charlie and Nick are very similar to Viktor and Jayce. Especially in matters of caring for your partner and “Did you eat well today Charlie/Vik?” So here's a crossover where Viktor and Jayce met in high school.

I'm still not entirely sure what kind of activities they were involved in, whether it was sports like in Heartstopper or maybe they are now in the back room of the laboratory. Hmm, why not, let's imagine that Viktor is not yet lame and a wonderful runner, like Charlie. Perhaps because in Zaun running fast is an excellent skill for survival. They play some Piltie game like rugby, and once a boy from a group of bullies intentionally bumps into Vik and breaks his leg so that now he not only can’t play rugby, but has to walk with a cane. I can imagine Jayce's feelings, but beyond all the despair, guilt and rage, he would be an incredibly caring and supportive partner (sorry for this little angst moment).

But for now they are happily kissing in the back room, not at all expecting that Miss Young will suddenly catch them. I really like to imagine them as teenagers in love. I absolutely adore the couple Charlie and Nick, they are such a cuties, and I am very grateful to the author Alice Oseman for showing what a healthy relationship should be.

And many thanks to my Sunshine @slasher-art , who introduced me to both fandoms, watching them with you was a great happiness❤️🩷.

Unfortunately, I haven’t had time to buy volumes 4 and 5 yet, they were quickly sold out in Ukraine, so I’m waiting for an additional edition, but those pages of the comic that are in the author’s account intrigued me incredibly.

Jayvik has some kind of magic of its own - they fit perfectly into any universe, any fandom, with them it would probably be possible to make a crossover with even Robinson Crusoe, even with the game Plants vs. Zombies.

And now, re-reading Heartstopper, which I fell in love with because of Charlie and Nick, I can easily imagine Viktor and Jayce in their place. Just imagine how Vik gets bullied at school because he's gay from Zaun who doesn't even have a last name (until Jayce suggests his own, of course😏), how Jayce chivalrously defends him, how they start liking each other more and more, and how Jayce desperately tries to find a book about bisexuality because Google hasn't been invented in their world yet.

By the way, when I started translating phrases from Ukrainian back into English, I realized that they could be translated differently from the original, and I started looking for the right page from the author and guess what? Some pictures in my book and the one posted by the author do not match! I wonder if it was because the book was still available for pre-order at that time and Alice Oseman later changed some pages for printing?

So if anyone here has the third volume in English, I would be very grateful if you open page 590 and write whether your pictures are the same as in my book or the same as in the author’s account (whiter version up here⬆️). By the way, I really like the softer color of the pages, so I made the background a little different. And I'm going to redraw some more moments I like there.

Fans of Charlie and Nick, Viktor and Jayce and anyone else are welcome to comment, I really love discussions, even if we have opposite opinions, the main thing is to conduct the discussion civilly.

[butterflydm]

WoT rewatch thoughts (1x5-1x08)

Still has spoilers through the s3 information that we have so far and book spoilers through a memory of light.

1x05

Both beginning and ending this episode on funeral rituals worked so well. Great structure.

Time skip for traveling! Mark a month off on the calender.

We can really see how Mat has deteriorated in the last month by the way he snaps at the kid who runs into him.

Love the shot of Dragonmount looming behind Tar Valon. They exist always with that reminder of what the Dragon did.

Mat has no appetite. Poor sad wet cat.

The betrayal of there being Two Beds in this inn room, lol. Why are we not respecting the classic fic tropes?

Rand reassuring Mat that he didn't kill that little girl or her family. Rand believing so hard in Mat's goodness maybe partly because he can see that Mat is having a difficult time seeing it in himself.

Even with Nynaeve's coat off, she's still half Green and half Yellow.

Moiraine trying so hard to mentor Nynaeve and she Does Not Want It.

Man, Perrin and Egwene had a much more cheerful journey than either of the other sets. But they get plenty of trauma right now, so they don't need to be jealous.

Once again, the show does such a good job showing us the strength in the Tuatha'an. And this thread will continue into Perrin's storyline in s3, with both Whitecloaks & Tuatha'an. They've done a solid job of tying Perrin to them both.

Loial shows up and immediately calls Rand an Aielman, lol. Poor Rand!

Oh, I see you, Fain!

Oof, people throwing food at Logain and mocking him. Baffled at the people who say the downsides of being a man who can channel weren't shown.

The promise scene between Mat & Rand is so good. Ultimate sad wet cat Mat. I really do love everything about this scene.

I really like our exploration of Stepin's utter and compete grief and emptiness after Kerene's death. How much the other Warders try to help him, how Nynaeve tries to help him but it isn't enough.

Love love what they did with the old rings being melted down (to create new).

Between what happens with the Whitecloaks here and then the Seanchan in s2, Egwene reacting by being as fiercely independent as possible makes all the sense in the world.

The Whitecloaks and Tower novices both wearing all white seems like it might create some emotional dissonance for Egwene, but I understand why the show didn't go there. That's just down to Jordan making too many groups of people wear white.

Oof, the Whitecloak stuff with Egwene & Perrin is hard to watch.

But our first hint of Perrin's golden eyes.

I note how Valda feels about all channelers similarly to how Liandrin feels about male channelers. And then we can get into the Seanchan's dehumanization of channelers as well.

Liandrin trying to bond more with Nynaeve. Has she been having ta'veren dreams? Ishy has had a month to try to figure out at least some of the places where his potential ta'veren have gone.

Our first reunion! It's always such a relief when any of them get to reunite. Man, Mat really does look on the verge of death.

Nynaeve can now join Rand & Mat in the Not Trusting Aes Sedai or Moiraine squad. Oops.

She tells Rand a story about Egwene to reassure him of Egwene's strength, never realizing that it's also the moment when Nynaeve likely channeled for the first time (to heal Egwene).

Perrin shares his deepest shame and secret with Egwene here - that he killed Laila by accident during the battle. So Perrin & Egwene's journey ends up being also very traumatic but the trauma was concentrated into the last day or so of the journey.

And just like was hinted at with the fire, Egwene & Perrin are finding their power at the same time. I wonder if this will happen again with their TAR training in s3? I really hope they run across each other in TAR. Let the characters stay connected!

Liandrin definitely got shot down by Moiraine at some time in the past.

Love the whole "shrine to ward off the Forsaken" thing. Great touch.

Siuan has been off in Caemlyn - was she talking to Elaida about Elayne, or was it about politics?

Moiraine: the White Tower's Woman of Mystery. Everyone wants to know what she's up to!

Alanna got such a glow-up in the show compared to the books. She's great here.

We get another nod to accepted poly relationships (amid the Green Ajah, at least).

Great conversation between Stepin & Lan. And a heartbreaking conclusion to Stepin's little mini-arc of grief and the Warder bond.

1x06

Little baby Siuan! ❤️ ❤️

Our first look at Tear as well.

Such a great way to introduce Siuan, considering they wouldn't have her for more than one episode this season.

And we learn in some places that it's dangerous for a woman to learn to channel - it's not only the Whitecloaks who assume that everyone who can channel is a Darkfriend.

Given that we know now (as of s2) that Moiraine & Siuan are older here than in the books, I wonder if that means her dad has already passed on.

Much like Egwene, Siuan is strongly associated with the water.

(This scene made me tear up too. I've cried three or four times today, I think)

Leane wearing light colors here vs the darker colors she wore in the s3 sneak peek to bash a Darkfriend's head in.

Another scene that gains so much depth on rewatch- knowing about Moiraine & Siuan's relationship & knowing about Liandrin being Black Ajah.

We just saw Stepin choose death in the previous emptiness of losing his bond, now Logain seeks and is refused death while suffering the emptiness of losing his connection to the One Power.

Everyone does still look good here, but the costumes definitely got a glow-up in s2 & again in s3.

The only main player in this scene not playing an elaborate game is Alanna. Siuan and Moiraine are pretending not to be in cahoots, Liandrin is pretending not to be Black Ajah - Liandrin trying to fracture the divides between the Ajahs, and also throwing Moiraine under the bus. A lot of Daes Dae'mar going on.

I also feel obligated to note that around this time frame is the jumping off point of my (now over 500k!) fic series: voice in the back of my head (archiveofourown.org/series/2688649). It is Cauthor-focused (Mat & Rand romance), though it does bring in the canon romances for Rand later on and we have some fun poly relationships going on, and it is currently spoiling through the twelfth book, but each fic in the series says how far that particular fic goes with regards to spoilers. The fic premise is: Liandrin found Rand & co instead of Moiraine finding them, and Rand is motivated enough to instinctively Travel himself, Mat, and Nynaeve to Tear because he wants to escape her.

This fic has been a lot of work and I am pretty proud of it so if you feel at all inclined to read an AU of the series that starts with the idea of "what if we gently slid Mat into Rand's romance situation?" and is a mix of show and book canon... give it a try. If you like it, please let me know your thoughts. <3

Anyway, Moiraine be spying on Rand & co., waiting for Nynaeve & Loial to leave to go talk to Rand & Mat.

Rand's protectiveness over Mat on this scene is really what threw my shipping switches on for them. He pulls a sword on Lan, despite knowing he had no chance against him!

"The world doesn't need a Dragon like me."

But Moiraine has figured out this is something else, not going mad from saidin, and Mat gets healed of the dagger's sickness.

So... was Rand using the One Power to help keep Mat from succumbing to the dagger's pull? Moiraine thinks that Mat shouldn't have been able to resist as long as he did.

We get some Tower politics, and we get the first hints of the Seanchan.

Moiraine is just encountering so much weirdness with these kids. Now there are wolves, she must be thinking to herself. Wolves!

The romance reveal scene! I like this change for several reasons- it's better romance than either gets in the books, it follows naturally from the NS relationship setup, and it adds drama for Moiraine, who did get a bump from mentor figure to being a protagonist.

It also gives the show a chance to show softer and warmer sides to both Moiraine & Siuan. Plus the nice play between duty & love bodes well for other romances.

I love how they reunite and only afterwards does Moiraine let Siuan know about the Dragon. Priorities!

And it makes so much sense that Moiraine has been doubting their prophecies after all this time on the road, while Siuan hasn't been out there with disappointment after disappointment.

This conversation also (unintentionally, given that it was a last-minute change) sets up Moiraine deciding she'd rather have the Reds potentially gentle the Dragon than risk Mat choosing to join the Shadow, because she thinks he's not strong enough to resist.

Ishy deliberately sent Siuan that dream. 😭

Liandrin knows too much. She definitely has been getting Ishy dreams.

Another reunion!

And the convo with Siuan is great. Nynaeve not bowing still cracks me up. Egwene going "wtf, nynaeve can channel? and she's stronger than I am?" with just her face is also hilarious.

Egwene & Nynaeve get a much kinder pep talk from Siuan than poor Rand gets in s2.

Moiraine's exiling is another great, emotional scene. And it also teaches us more about how the Oath Rod works, and sets some reasons in place for the Hall to be wary of Siuan. And sets up some precedents for the future.

And Moiraine trusting and giving more to Siuan than she was asked to give in the Oath - not just exile but obedience. That's gonna hurt a lot when we get to s2.

Even though she literally asked for it, it's obvious how hard it is on Moiraine to see her Sisters turn their backs on her.

But now we do (briefly) get our full Two Rivers reunion, and that is lovely. Hugs all around! Fond teasing! They love each other!

So we know that it wasn't actually the Dark One who was trapped at the Eye, so... it sounds like the knowledge of the location of the Dark One's prison is lost to time. It does make sense that Darkfriends would target that info specifically.

Moiraine not able to tell them that she trusts them, due to her Oaths, is a. so funny and b. makes it mean so much in s2 when she is willing and able to say that she trusts Rand (this is the real reason why it's difficult for me to get on board with The Ruse (TM) theory - because it feels like it would retroactively ruin that 2x07 moment between Moiraine & Rand).

Now that he's pretty sure Mat can't channel and isn't the Dragon, Rand knows deep down who it really is.

But then we lose Barney-Mat at the Waygate and I'm sad!

You can tell this very last scene was shot after the post-covid shutdown, because Maddy (Egwene) lost some roundness in her cheeks during those in-between months and it makes her eyes look a lot bigger.

I adore Donál's Mat but also miss Barney's. The feelings are both very present.

1x07

The Blood Snow! So epic. I love everything about this scene.

I will say, given that we have a stabbed pregnant Tigraine in the side here and it looks like we're getting a flashback to pregnant Morgase in s3, it does feel fairly likely that we will get pregnant Elayne as well, later on in the series. Tigraine gets stabbed the same way that Elayne is described as being stabbed in one of the super-late books (can't remember which, so I'll tag through AMoL) iirc.

Tigraine really did give every ounce of herself to her destiny, and I'm so glad the show version of her got a moment of kindness and compassion at the end.

Moiraine's cynicism about Mat vs Rand's rose-colored glasses about Mat: fight!

Nynaeve doing her job as Wisdom to keep all the kiddos together and make a promise to find Mat later.

"The one thing that we cannot afford is for the Dragon to turn to the Shadow."

Lan trying to cheer Nynaeve up is very sweet.

Egwene wants to sleep near Rand and he lets her this time (contrast to 1x02, when he pushed her away).

I like negging Machin Shin better than the version in the books, I admit it. It's more personal! Just relentlessly dunking on everyone's deepest fears.

Everyone looks so haunted. Poor kiddos.

I don't understand the people who don't understand the big fight. Everyone is so on edge from what they just went through! They are all overly emotional and vulnerable right now. The fight could have been MUCH uglier and still been valid tbh.

Uno! Congrats on your s2 upgrade to Hero of the Horn!

Another confession: I find this Lord Agelmar & Lady Amalisa much more interesting and memorable than the ones in the books. And I was kinda relieved that the show took the whole Five Great Captains thing off the table right away.

I also love their outfits.

Oh, hi, Fain! I suspect we'll get to see more of him in s3.

Min is so much better in the show than the books, omg. Just... on every level. She actually is jaded and world-weary.

"There is a man they must find. A boy, really."

Given that we saw Mat visibly recoil at hearing the Red Ajah mentioned in that s3 clip, I wonder if we're going to see him & Moiraine actually talk about it. I mean, it's in character for both of them to avoid that particular convo, so we will see!

Egwene's little quip at Rand's cooking is cute but I bet contributes to that feeling of Rand's that she doesn't see him as a man but as a boy.

I like how Min's visions were used here. And that she does what Moiraine blackmailed her into but holds back enough to protect what she knows would be the biggest secret (that Rand is the Dragon) because she doesn't feel like it's hers to reveal.

I really love how the shot with the three kids is framed to show the empty chair at the back to emphasis Mat's absence.

Anyway, I like the fight. Characters should be allowed to be messy and argue. Each of them has a perspective and is stubborn about that PoV.

Egwene is right that Moiraine can't lie, but the others are right that she can mislead or withhold.

And I love that the tipping point for the actual fight is Mat & his absence.

And then Nynaeve lobbing a bomb into the conversation as soon as it gets heated enough that she's getting uncomfortable. I mean, they aren't arguing about Mat anymore, at least?

Perrin's super-close "the only woman I've ever loved is my wife" and the hot five seconds that I shipped Perrin & Rand (but then Mat was mentioned in Rand's 1x08 fantasy world and I was right back to Cauthor lol).

I like that Lan had Malkieri friends alive in Fal Dara & I'm pretty stoked about the s3 Melindhra spoilers as well. Very cool to dive more into those relationships than we did in the books. Nynaeve getting an introduction to Lan's people & culture! After he got to know hers in 1x01! Very nice.

Jump-scare Lan does crack me up.

Anyway, good for Nynaeve and Lan for hooking up when they think there's a chance they might die in the morning.

Rand struggles with coming to terms with being the Dragon but Egwene thinks this is all about the big fight earlier. So they are having two different conversations right now.

Hey, in light of this convo- Rand is going to go to, well, Tar Valon anyway. Maybe not the White Tower itself. We'll see if he gets a doorway visit or not.

But this is Rand's big final burst of denial before he goes and talks to Min, confirming to himself that he's the Dragon, as he's tried not to believe that he is. So we've now had two instances of Randgwene sex used to delay or avoid an important conversation.

I am... very curious if the pattern continues in s3. Pretty sure they'll sleep together again, from what we've gotten in the trailers & such, but I am curious about the framing & context.

This montage of Rand accepting the truth about himself gives me chills.

Min's exhaustion here makes her so relatable.

I am so glad Tigraine had someone to hold her hand at the end. That she saw that her son would be taken care of.

"Rainbows and carnivals and three beautiful women." 😍

Elayne only three episodes away (2x02, right?), and Aviendha a little bit after that, but they are on their way! And this is our first hint about them.

1x08

3000 years ago, whoo!

Love their outfits.

Love the choice to have the AoL scenes in the Old Tongue.

LTT is perfect. Genuinely so good.

And the gut punch of seeing how technologically advanced the world used to be. It was a magitek utopia (or at least seemed that way to them).

I do wish that Rafe & co could have brought their original vision of this episode to life, because it is so devastating to go over all the things they lost (a principal actor! Their original Blight location! Their stunt team! Even more that I can't recall at the moment too I bet) but they did so much with what they had. I am so fucking impressed.

"I love him, Perrin." And then she thinks he died to save all of them. Yeah they do need to finish things off properly in the show.

Lan 100% thinks that going after Moiraine right now means his death, hence the sweet but flowery speech to Nynaeve here.

Ishy and Rand come face to face. I wonder who Ishy thought the Dragon was (he says he didn't expect it to be Rand). I love the reveal of Ishy's true face. And trying to touch Rand's face right away lol.

"Stubborn as ever, Lews."

The convo between Moiraine & Rand is interesting (all of them are) but partly because Moiraine doesn't actually say that she believed it was Egwene. I think she hoped it was Egwene but that's not quite the same. And Rand doesn't ever really think it was Egwene either, except maybe at the start, because we know he was worried it was Mat during that month of them journeying together.

Hey, the horrible bully from Moiraine's story! We're gonna meet her in s3. Because that story is about Elaida. She beat a novice with the One Power to force her to channel.

Min is very amusing in the show. I like her a lot. I really like that we get to go on an emotional journey along with Min about the downsides of having her viewings in s2, instead of it all happening before we show up in her life.

Again, really like the relationship between the siblings here - Lord Agelmar & Lady Amalisa. It's sweet.

"Let us hope we will buy the women and men of this world enough time to stand a fighting chance."

Rand recognizes the place where he locked Ishy up years ago. Love that we get to see that moment in s2.

Moiraine talking about the Tower's histories getting destroyed by Darkfriends. Very important note, I feel.

And Ishy springs his win-win trap. There was no actual way for Rand to win here, because he didn't know who he was fighting.

I've mentioned this before but I love that the show split up the battle into philosophical (Rand) vs physical (everyone else) because that's the Last Battle too. Rand's fight is a philosophical one and it always was. The Power is there to get him to where he needs to be to make that choice.

Our mention of Mat in Rand's temptation world, where Egwene is clearly being fondly exasperated but not truly annoyed. So, you know, like how Rand feels about Mat.

Ishy plays with his food, taunting and shielding Moiraine.

Perrin and Loial's friendship being a throughline for all three seasons, getting to know each other here, spending more time together in s2, and Loial going home with him in s3.

Rand struggling against a hollow perfect reality. Major, major foreshadowing for the endgame so I'm glad I already listed amol spoilers.

And Rand also needs to forcibly let go of Egwene and his dream of their life together in order to wake up from his encounter with Ishamael, something that Egwene doesn't get the opportunity to do, because the boyfriend she recently reunited with heroically died in order to save the world (to her understanding). So Rand and Egwene go into s2 (and presumably s3) with very different contexts about where their relationship left off.

You know, in retrospect, it's so appropriate that the Horn was being guarded by one of the Heroes.

Ishy is so smug here because he really does win no matter what. Tbh I feel like waking up Lanfear was his big mistake in s2. Because her agenda is different enough from his that they ended up conflicting, even though they share an LTT obsession.

That being said, even though this is a win-win for Ishy, what Rand learns here can/will help him win the Last Battle. So it works out in the long run.

Rand & Moiraine believe that the Last Battle is won, so she's willing to let him wander off to die in the wilderness if he wants... and then she kicks herself forever when she realizes how wrong she was. Like, it's Moiraine & Siuan's plan that fully releases Ishy. They thought they could do an endrun around the prophecies (which Moiraine has to be fully aware that Rand has not accomplished!).

As Moiraine might say "the arrogance".

Love the setup here at the end by Fain.

"Rand may be the Dragon but all five of you have a part to play."

And Moiraine. "This wasn't the Last Battle. I fear it was the first."

And our great intro to the Seanchan and how wildly different they are to anything we've already seen.

Tomorrow, I'll start rewatching s2 and see how far I get!

[jackoshadows]

Here's the thing with regards to all the discussion on whether Ned should have told Catelyn the truth of Jon and whether that would have changed Catelyn's treatment of Jon. For Ned the risks involved outweighed everything else.

Ned knew Catelyn, who she was as a person. Knew how much she loved her kids. Her kids came first for her.

And most of Catelyn's hatred of Jon Snow is rooted in her love for her kids. Robb is her first born, the heir to Winterfell. How dare Jon Snow look more like Ned, than Robb Stark!

Does this change if she knew that Jon was Lyanna's possibly legitimate son?

That the son of Lyanna Stark, Winterfell's daughter, beloved of the Northern smallfolk, looked more Stark like than her first born? Hell, wouldn't the legitimate cousin be more of a threat than a bastard who cannot inherit?

Sure a legitimate Stark wouldn't be tainted by the prejudice against bastards of being treacherous and untrustworthy because they are born of lust but those factors only fueled the already existing fear and loathing that Catelyn had for Jon Snow.

And given how much Ned knew of Cat's love for her children, we then come to Ned's question of what she would do if the lives of her children were in danger and she could save them by bartering Jon.

Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do? Even more so, what would Catelyn do, if it were Jon's life, against the children of her body? He did not know. He prayed he never would.

I think there's no question - she would give Jon up.

And that's why Ned Stark took his secret to the grave.

I think the saddest part is this right here:

To her credit, Cersei did not look away. "He saw us. You love your children, do you not?" Robert had asked him the very same question, the morning of the melee. He gave her the same answer. "With all my heart." "No less do I love mine." Ned thought, If it came to that, the life of some child I did not know, against Robb and Sansa and Arya and Bran and Rickon, what would I do?

What about Jon? It's just sad that Ned doesn't include Jon amongst the children he loves :(

Ultimately, at the end of the day, as much as Ned loves Jon and brought him up with love, hopefully when I read him finding out who his biological parents are, that day for him is filled with love and understanding. He didn't get their love, but maybe he understands how much they would have loved him had they lived.

[maxispixels]

We were here once - The train station

Hobie Brown x GN!Reader

1/6(?)

Part 1 > Part 2

1.5k words

Ah London. You ran away from that city a long time ago, but there are things you can't escape forever. Feelings, for one. So you come back, tracing the fading footsteps of your past, hoping to see the boy you left behind.

Warnings: general teenage angst, self indulging Im14andthisisdeep

“I didn’t want to make it hard, 

I think we both hate goodbyes.”

You stepped off the train at its last stop, London. You had only put foot in this railway station once before, and it was the day you left. The wind whipped your face, cold and unforgiving, dragging you out of the wagon’s borrowed warmth. London had never been kind to you, and today was no exception. It welcomed you like a slap. The smell of wet asphalt made your nose curl, and you swore it smelled worse here than anywhere else in Great Britain, than anywhere else in the world. It smelled of metal and pollution and blood. Of something foul that assaulted your nostrils and made shivers run down your spine.

It hadn’t changed. London was still London. Bigger and smaller all at once. The same tall red bricks, the same industrial bones, columns and metal arms clutching the glass ceiling like Atlas holding the world, while the grey clouds pressed down, heavy enough to fall. People rustled everywhere, carrying their heavy luggage, running against time while you walked right back into it. 

Destinations written in orange letters, buzzing, dizzying you with choices, so many places better than here, maybe because they weren’t tainted by your presence. It was like a list of possibilities, many you had checked off during your journey.

If it had been hard to leave, it was harder to come back. It felt like crawling back into the mouth that chewed you up and spat you out. Like climbing up to the sharp teeth with the dial tower that still stood as the metronome in your sleep.

You gazed at every face, hoping to find his. Hoping that he might still be here, like he’d never left this station, like he’d been waiting all along. 

The deafening bells rang for the doors of the departing trains, rang for another chance to run the way you did before. You didn’t feel like you were coming back home to your hometown. It never felt like home. That was why you left. Better to be a stranger anywhere else than here, where you were supposed to belong.

Every whiff of leather made your head turn, eyes lingering over strangers who didn’t even look like him — just in case. Just in case time had changed him far beyond recognition, the way it changed you. Still, you focused on wicks and lanky silhouettes, similar to the one that stayed on the platform that fateful day. 

You couldn’t picture his expression when you left for good, probably because you never gave him one. But you remembered the bench you both sat on, the tile he stood on.

You didn’t say you were going, though you meant to at first. You had been too scared. You couldn’t handle the disappointment, or worse, the apathy.

If he had asked you to stay, you would have, and it would have killed you. If he didn’t care at all, you could’ve left, but it would’ve killed you just the same.

You resented him for making you consider staying in the first place. If you had never met him, then maybe it would’ve been easier, then maybe every new joy wouldn’t have been tinted by his absence. 

Or maybe you resented him for only meeting you in June. For allowing you a single summer before you were gone. Three poor months, nothing in the human lifespan, engraved in your soul like a cigarette burn that refused to heal. Maybe if you had met earlier, you would’ve never felt the need to leave in the first place. Or maybe he would’ve followed you.

You’d planned to go early in the morning, before the first thin rays of daylight. Your departure was to be like your presence had been: quiet, discreet, unremarkable, as if you'd never even been there at all. But somehow, he found you anyway. 

“So you’re really leaving?”

He plopped down on the bench next to you, awkwardly fidgeting with his bracelet. It caught the low blue lights, a frayed thing wrapped around his wrist, like something holding him together. Yours matched, still on your wrist, then and now.

You nodded, staring straight ahead. You couldn’t look at his face, at his eyes and see what feelings collided in a sea of golds and honeys and browns, sweet enough to pull you in, too thick to swim in, and deep enough to drown. 

You braced yourself for something sharp, for him to mock you for even trying in the first place, to jab at your cowardice for running away. He didn’t, not this time. Did he, ever? Did you just hope he would, so you could find a reason to miss him less?

“You know where you’re going?” he asked. “Got somewhere to stay?”

Another nod. He sighed. You couldn’t tell if it was relief that you weren’t completely reckless, or disappointment that he’d lost an excuse to tell you to stay.

Your train wasn't due for fifteen minutes. He waited with you. Until the last second and maybe the hours that followed, in case you took the train back. You wouldn’t know. You didn’t come back.

“You okay?” 

You nodded again, though it wasn’t exactly true. You felt strangely light, weightless, numb maybe. All your fears, all your hopes, culminating into that one moment. Your whole life packed into one backpack and a vague destination, maybe by the sea, maybe overseas. Maybe just anywhere that wasn’t here.

But it gnawed at you. Leaving Hobie behind. The only thing about this place you didn’t hate. The one tie that made running away feel like a betrayal instead of an escape.

“Can you talk to me, please?” His voice cracked a little, not quite a plea but close. “I need to hear your voice.”

“Sorry,” you murmured. “Wasn’t sure what to say.”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said. “Just… yeah.”

“Yeah.”

Silence wrapped around you both, thick and suffocating. Your heart was a mess with excitement, fear, grief all tangled up in the same beat.

“I hope you find it,” he said eventually, so soft you almost missed it.

“Find what?”

“Whatever you’re looking for.”

You nodded, your best and only language that morning. It soothed something in you, hearing that. The kindness in it. He was letting you go without making you feel guilty for leaving him behind. No bitterness. Just understanding. More than you deserved, maybe.

“Be safe, yeah?”

“Promise.”

The only promise you made out loud was the one you broke first. You had been reckless, and you collected scars and marks like souvenirs. But it shaped you into who you are. Like a coward high on adrenaline, finding a fix only through running away, you were doomed to danger once the fear was left behind. The scars were parts of what you were looking for. You were wearing them like badges of honor, like Hobie wore his.

When there was one minute left before your train, Hobie hugged you tight, and for a second, you thought he wouldn’t let you go (and for a second, you were okay with that). 

The train was delayed by a few minutes, so that hug lasted longer than either of you planned. You don’t know how you both held it together, didn’t crack into sobs right there on the platform. Maybe because you both knew that one single tear, one wobble in your voice,  would’ve made you stay, and you needed to leave more than words could say. 

The train doors opened with a sigh, like the city itself was telling you to go. You didn’t hesitate. You couldn’t afford to. One second of doubt and the whole thing would crumble. 

You weren’t sure if you regretted it or not, even now.

You kept your back to him. You didn’t dare to look at him directly, preferring to meet his gaze in the distorted reflection of the curved metal inside the wagon.

Neither of you said goodbye. It would’ve sounded too final, too much like forever. And with how long it took you to come back, it might as well has been.

It was only when you sat in the train and reached for some water in your bag that you found his note. It was something simple, genuine, like him. You still had it in the pocket of your jacket, crumbled, the ink almost completely vanished. 

You held onto it all that time, like a lucky charm, the last piece of him you allowed yourself because reaching out would've too painful. Tucked inside your bracelet, ruined by sweat, tears and rain. It was barely legible, but you knew the words by heart, that’s how many times you reread it.

He stayed on the platform that morning, and so did a part of your heart, but neither of you knew that yet.

And now, you needed it back. Standing here again, you knew exactly why you returned.

What you left in this forsaken city — the city that forsake you first — was mostly gone, scattered in the wind like ashes. Still, as you made your way out of the station and into the restless pulse of London, it all came rushing back.

The memories you wished to forget, and the ones you ached to remember better. 

The streets that saw you grow up, the concrete that caught your tears, the soil that molded your spine, the hands that still held pieces of your soul preciously. 

You needed to scrap whatever had subsisted back, teeth and nails if you had to.

Part 2

👉👈👉👈👉👈🫠 hiiii sooo

[harrywavycurly]

Narry as dads!!!😍💕

Hiii babes!! Ohhhh I love thinking of Harry and Niall being besties so therefore any kids they have will also be friends! So I hope you enjoy this little blurb!!💖

-want in on ask night? Look here✨

*I went with you just being their bestie! Hope that’s okay also the names of their kids are very random*

Summary: You join your two bestfriends for a day at the park with their kids✨

“You want me to put my daughter who can’t even crawl yet on the slide? Yeah-not happening Horan.” You stare at Harry who has both hands on his hips, sunglasses in his hair keeping it out of his face, his daughter Grace securely strapped to his chest but most importantly he has a hard glare aimed right at the blue eyed brunette standing next to you.

“Harry it’s a slide what could possibly happen to her while on the slide?”

“She can’t sit up properly so how do you want her to even go down the slide?”

“She’s strapped to your bloody chest Harry! So just go down the damn-”

“Niall James!” You shout his name at the same time you reach over and give the back of his head a nice smack making Harry chuckle while Niall lets out a groan as he turns to look at you.

“What was that for?” Harry rolls his eyes at Niall’s question as he reaches up to slide his sunglasses down over his face.

“Watch your mouth we are at a public park with children around you can’t say things like that.”

“M’sorry but he’s drivin me mental with the helicopter dad routine.” Niall points towards Harry while his attention is still on you. Harry lets out a scoff as he reaches a hand down and gently adjusts the little hat that’s snug on her head keeping her ears warm.

“I’m not a helicopter dad.” You run a hand over your face as Niall turns to give Harry all his attention so they can start the all too familiar argument about if Harry is too protective of his daughter or if Niall isn’t protective enough with his little girl. “I just make sure she’s safe and cozy at all times that’s all.”

“Harry her feet haven’t touched the ground since she was born and that was four months ago.”

“That isn’t true she sits on the floor for tummy time and on her play mat with the fishes she likes to stare at before bed and besides didn’t Angelina trip over a rock the other day and needed not one but two Elsa bandaids for the cut on her knee?”

“Yeah she’s three. She trips. S’what kids do.” As if on queue Niall’s daughter runs over from where she was playing on the jungle gym and tugs on Harry’s pants.

“Hello love.” Harry’s voice has zero hints of annoyance or defensiveness like it did just a moment ago as he looks down at the blue eyed little girl who is smiling up at him with pigtails and a dimple popping out of her cheek.

“C’n she play yet?” Angelina asks in her usual soft sweet tone that normally will get her whatever she wants. Harry looks away from the little girl and down at Grace who started wiggling her fingers and kicking her legs as soon as she heard Angelina’s voice.

“Maybe we can see how she feels about the swing? Would you like to do that?” Angelina just nods quickly before turning around and running off towards the swing set making Harry laugh and Niall turn his focus on watching her to make sure she doesn’t trip over anyone or anything on the way.

Before Harry can take a step in the direction of the swings you walk the short distance over to him and place a hand on his arm. Niall already knows what’s about to happen so he heads off towards the swings so he can help Angelina get comfortable on one and help push her for a bit.

“Let me take her.” Harry doesn’t try to argue with you or tell you no, he just smiles and begins unbuckling her from the carrier so he can hand her to you. “Hello my love how are you? Has your daddy been hogging you all day? I think he has and that’s just rude of him isn’t it?” You coo making her giggle while Harry watches with an amused smile on his face as his bestfriend walks off with his little girl towards the swing.

[sevcasejay1chicago]

Life Lines- Severide x Casey x reader

Summary: Multi-car pileups and morning sickness do not mix.

🚨Warnings: Illusion to people/ children dy!ng, possibly violent descriptions of vomiting, Needles mentioned. 🚨

🚨🚨🚨🚨🚨

Calls with kids were always rough, but even worse since you found out you were pregnant. Right now, while you were pregnant at least, you are driving the truck and operating the aerial. You were to help ambo on any calls that did not impose a safety concern to you and the baby.

On this particular call, truck was called out to assist in a major car accident. Squad was tied down elsewhere, so you guys were it. Upon arrival, you all sucked in a huge breath.

“Holy shit.” Gallo muttered, staring right past your shoulder at the scene you were pulling the rig up to.

This was a multi-car pileup. Bodies were scattered around. Bystanders were helping wherever they could until help arrived, but you could tell some were a lost cause. As soon as you put the rig in park, the back cleared pretty quickly. Matt grabbed your arm from across the console.

“Hey.” Matt whispered, lightly rubbing a hand over your arm. “You can stay here or help ambo. No heavy lifting, okay?” Matt asked, slightly concerned with the paleness of your face.

You nodded, not daring to open your mouth. From your vantage point, you saw a small body in the street. As soon as you approached, your eyes landed on him and you knew that kid was in bad shape. It made you physically sick. You could tell he hadn’t been properly buckled, which means someone fucked up and that made you angry and sick all at the same time.

——————————————

Once the call was over, Matt decided that Mouch needed to drive back. The crew was extremely concerned by how pale you had gotten and Stella was in charge of keeping an eye on you on the ride back. Matt messaged Kelly, knowing that he was already back at the station, to give him a heads up and have him meet them on the app floor.

So, once Mouch had the rig still, Kelly was waiting for you to hop out of the rig and into his arms. What he wasn’t expecting, however, was for you to run past him and toward the bathrooms. He was quick on your heels, putting the situation together pretty quickly.

Once you were in one of the stalls, you immediately projectile vomited into the toilet. If it wasn’t for Kelly catching you around the waist and slowly guiding your ascent to the floor, you would have slammed onto your knees and possibly hit your belly on the way down.

“Oh baby.” Kelly exhaled, kneeling behind you and rubbing your back with the hand that wasn’t secured around your chest. “It’s okay. I’m here.”

Matt came barging in after you started heaving the second round into the toilet. “I knew something was up, God babe. I should have benched her.” Matt couldn’t fit in the stall and he was growing antsy as he stressed over your well being. He paced back and forth, rubbing the back of his neck as he pondered on what his next move should be. “You got her Kel?”

“Yeah.” Kelly said, lightly squeezing the back of your neck and holding you by the waist. “Can you get some water and a wash cloth? Maybe see if Brett is here and can get her some Zofran?”

“I’m on it. I’ll be right back sweetheart.” Matt called, running out the door and toward the ambo that was parked on the apparatus floor. He wasn’t sure if you could hear him, but it made him feel less like he was abandoning you when you needed him.

“Breathe baby girl. Just breathe.” Kelly murmured, rubbing your back slowly. He didn’t like the pallor of your face or the way you shook in his embrace. He wants nothing more than to have shielded you from this or to switch places with you.

You were sweating and very uncomfortable. The nausea was hitting you hard and in waves. You were still in the first trimester and the morning sickness had been killer, but this was insane. Your emotions were making this so much worse. You gasped around a heave, shaking and crying as your body fought to rid itself of everything in your system.

“Baby. I need you to try and calm down.” Kelly whispered. “It’s okay. Try to take some deep breaths for me. You can do it.” He coached, hoping to help calm you down some.

You nodded to show Kelly that you heard him. You were really trying and you were hoping that Matt would be back with that Zofran soon. Everything was spinning. You were vomiting less, but your stomach kept heaving. You held your forehead with one hand and clutched Kelly’s arm with the other. You were doing your best to ground yourself, but it was a slow, and almost hopeless, process.

Matt came back into the room as you started just dry heaving. He had a needle full of Zofran and an IV with a bag of fluids in the other. “Kelly.” Matt called, grabbing his attention for long enough to hand over the needle.

Kelly gave you the shot of Zofran, took the sick bag that Matt must of pulled out of his pocket and put it in your hand. Kelly guided you out of the stall and lifted you gently to sit you on the counter by the sink. Matt flushed the toilet before coming back to you and Kelly with the supplies from Brett in his arms. You had the sick bag under your chin and your forehead resting on Kelly’s shoulder. Every now and then, you would gag into the sick bag, causing your forehead to bump into Kelly’s collar bone, but he held you steady and comforted you through it.

“Sh Sh Sh. Breathe sweetheart.” Kelly whispered, kissing the crown of your head and rubbing your back. “It’s over. It’s okay.” Kelly turned his eyes to Matt in the mirror. Matt was chewing on his thumb nail and studying you. “What is it?” Kelly asked Matt, drawing Matt’s attention to him.

“There was this kid on the call.” Matt said, rubbing the back of his neck. “I think that’s what started this.”

You nodded into Kelly to confirm Matt’s suspicions. You were breathing a little slower now, practically melting into Kelly. You were exhausted and wanted nothing more than to go home and snuggle with your boys.

Kelly nodded and kissed your head again. Since Kelly was sure you were done, he offered you some water to rinse with and some mouth wash. Matt switcher places with Kelly then handed over the IV to let him get the line in, seeing as Matt was shaking from the adrenaline high he was coming down from and did not have steady hands at all. You have always been a hard stick to begin with, so Matt wanted to save you from the torture of him digging for a vein and just let Kelly do it.

You closed your eyes, turning your face into Matt’s neck while Kelly did his thing incase you opened your eyes. You knew you needed these fluids now, especially after that episode and with the shot you were given. You didn’t like it, but it had to be done. Plus, the faster you complied, the faster you could lay down.

After the IV was in and the fluids were started, Matt held the bag while Kelly helped you change out and get into some sweat pants. The boys led you to their office, which they now shared. They laid you down and Kelly set off to speak to Boden about the rest of shift.

Matt sat down next to your half asleep form, pushing the flyaways off of your face. “Better?” He whispered, looking you directly in the eyes.

You nodded and hummed your affirmation. You were exhausted. You were fighting to stay awake to see what the rest of the shift would bring.

Kelly walked back in a few minutes later and found Matt carding his fingers through your hair. “Hey. Chief said that he called subs in for all of us. We can go home after you finished the drip or stay and sleep.”

“It’ll be quieter at home.” Matt said, looking down at you again.

“I’m scared to sleep. I don’t want to see it.” You whispered, covering your face with your hands.

Matt sighed and started pulling your hands away from your face. “I know. We will be there though.” Matt soothed, rubbing your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Finish that and then we’ll go home. You and the baby need rest.” Kelly said, coming to sit next to you on the other side of the mattress.You nodded and reached for their hands, using them as your life lines.

——————————

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[viric-dreams]

Charlotte Pryce told no one the day she was leaving for London. That's not to say that no one knew of her intentions. It was the source of enough strife between her and her mother. Why would she ever leave Cardiff? Who would possibly care for her, a widow of three? Does she expect to remarry down there? It's foolish of her to leave everything behind for no good reason. And if she leaves, insists on her willfulness, she would be leaving it all behind.

She left enough in the end--anything from her husband's estate that couldn't be liquidated, the furniture, countless keepsakes, a carefully burnt letter, her mourning garb. Her best wishes to her parents and her siblings, that maybe one day they would understand. She left it all and boarded that ship with three kids and two trunks to her name. Whether her mother wouldn't or couldn't understand was no longer her concern--she knew what London had to offer her, had to offer all of them: Freedom. A chance to be more than someone's wife, someone's daughter. A chance for her children to have that same freedom one day. That they wouldn't be tangled in their family's web of influence--swayed by the money they used as a bridle. For it was never so direct. The influence it bought in her life was a subtle one--guiding her behaviour. One that she's made peace to do without.

Everything has its price, however, and one only gets so far by one's own means. She'd connected herself with an organisation--one that takes newcomers under their wing and seeks to give them a place to stay. Charlotte may have principles, but not pride. But what she hadn't accounted for was the man waiting for her on the other side of the desk.

Robin. Not the one from her memories--his hair is streaked with grey. There's a sharpness etched into his features entirely absent from their youth. His eyes glisten in the lamplight, threatening to spill over into a mirrored emotion clawing at her chest. Of course he'd be involved in a scheme like this. Her brother was never able to keep his hands out of the social sphere--the very thing that set him forward on the path by which fate had doomed him. He looks at her as if she's going to vanish the moment he blinks, revealing the name she'd written on that form a cruel trick of the mind.

His name is half way out of her mouth before he embraces her, a string of hurried words falling from his lips and--yes. It really is him, and how she missed him. Yet even as they separate--as he turns to meet her kids in person for the first time, no longer names in a letter, tells them how surprised he is, how glad he is to see them in London--that warmth turns sour. She knew he was in London. She knew it was possible that they'd run into each other. But now? The promises fall like stones down an empty well, echoing darkly as they crash against the ground. That she shouldn't worry--he has the perfect place set up for them--that his own home is large enough to accommodate. And they can live together, just like summer holidays. Wouldn't that be grand? Something invisible tightens its claws around her chest. Did she not come here to shake free from her family's grasp, and the inevitable terms and conditions that come from their generosity?

But Robin's different. He hardly counts as family--not after what they'd done to him, how they'd pushed him out and all but banned his name. But he's family in the way that matters, the way he tells her--people who stick together, no matter what. And after she'd stuck with him--been the only one to write after all of these years--it's the least he can do. Maybe it would be different. She missed him, after all. It's certainly what's best for the children--a stable home, another family member around to care for them, the extra money able to be invested in their needs.

She takes her trunks and follows him to their new home.

[clownthemedlizardlambs]

i have a req for a bot (since i absolutely love all of your existing ones 🫶), and you don’t have to make it, but i would be so grateful if you did ! (just bc i know you put a lot of time and effort into making these, and it can probably get exhausting with all the requests).

it’s inspired by the song we hug now - sydney rose (which i’m sure u already know of)

(only a rough idea bc i’m not very creative)

(lyric basis): ‘i have a feeling you got everything you wanted, and you’re not wasting time stuck here like me. you’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened, the world ended when it happened to me.’

background information:

pre-crash reader and natalie had a close bond, it was a friendship that bordered romance, friends with benefits type of thing. neither of them would be with other people in this time period, it was an unspoken rule. almost like they were in a relationship, but just didn’t define it (and they also wouldn’t, because it was the 90’s, and couldn’t really publicly be together, or suggest it to the other, without backlash). only a few nights before nationals, they had an argument (possibly about their relationship), it was bad and they cut ties.

——‘i have a feeling you got everything you wanted’

—once they were all stranded in the wilderness, natalie got with Travis, in a straight relationship, and she has somebody to be close to, while reader no longer has anyone (since they have always been there for each other).

——‘and you’re not wasting time stuck here like me.’

—reader still misses natalie greatly, and is always reminiscing. it was always her, and natalie, she didn’t have anyone else, but it seems natalie has got over the both of them extremely quickly.

——‘you’re just thinking it’s a small thing that happened.’

—to the reader, it seems like they didn’t mean much to Natalie, because she had already ‘moved on’ to Travis (he’s just a replacement, an attempt to get over her, but reader doesn’t know that).

——‘the world ended when it happened to me.’

—natalie was the reader’s everything. her friend, her lover, her family. they have known each other the majority of their lives, both with shitty parents, and living in the same trailer park. natalie played soccer for the yellowjackets, but the reader worked photography & on the school paper, which is why she was strung along to nationals, as it was part of a project she was doing for one of her classes. (she had to beg coach martinez for a spot, given they couldn’t just take extra students out of school for something they weren’t apart of). after natalie and the readers argument, the reader was utterly alone, because she had never branched out to make separate relationships other than Natalie, because she always assumed they would have each other, and that no one else would understand her, or be as close to her, the way natalie was. they didn’t even find or check on each other after the plane crashed (despite both wanting to, and instinctively doing it).

scenario:

it’s been a few weeks since the crash, everyone is cooped up outside the cabin, either on the porch, a log or the forest floor, annoyance and emotions high due to the lack of food and cleanliness. travis and natalie come back from a hunt, close in proximity, hands held, giggly expressions. the reader doesn’t say anything, but maybe rolls her eyes. it doesn’t go unnoticed by everyone else and basically sparks an argument, eventually between natalie and the reader. (namely about natalie and travis, etc).

i just want angst 😭💔

again, you do not have to actually make this, but i would love if you did 🤍

Natalie Scatorccio Bot (Link at Bottom)

AN: The amount of work you put into this request is insane BTW

I’ve been sitting on this one for a bit tweaking it until I got something I liked. Trying to put your vision into a bot was a challenge (a very welcome one) and I really hope you like it and I did it justice

I played the song the entire time i wrote

The fire crackles low, its flames dancing with a quiet intensity that casts long, flickering shadows across the camp. The night air is sharp, biting at your skin, but it’s the coldness inside you that you can’t escape. You sit on a worn log, knees drawn up to your chest, watching the others with a silence that feels like an eternity. The tension hangs thick in the air, an unspoken weight pressing down on everyone. Food is running low, tempers are running high, but none of it matters. None of it can compare to the gnawing emptiness inside you.

It’s been weeks since the argument with Natalie, but the wound feels as fresh as if it happened moments ago. Words were exchanged that neither of you could take back, but you never imagined that would be the last time she’d look at you the way she once did. You never imagined that in the blink of an eye, everything would unravel. That she would walk away from it all like it had never mattered. Like you had never mattered.

But there she is now, returning from a hunt with Travis, walking side by side. Their hands brush together, and they hold on. Together. They look like a couple—the way their hands fit together like they belong there, the soft smiles on their faces, the quiet, shared laughter. It’s like a punch to the gut. You can’t look away, even as every part of you wants to. You want to hate it. You want to hate them. But no matter how hard you try, it doesn’t stop the ache.

The others are watching. You can feel their eyes on you, the weight of their expectation heavy in the air. Why are you still here? Why are you looking at me like this?

Travis and Natalie reach the fire, their presence expanding like a living, breathing thing that swallows up the space around them. They stand too close to each other, their shared joy stinging like salt in an open wound. It doesn’t matter if the hunt was successful. No single kill could ever outweigh the way Natalie looks at him now.

Like you never existed.

Mari lets out a sharp sigh from a nearby stump. It’s exaggerated, clearly meant to be heard. “Oh, please, this is getting ridiculous,” she mutters.

Your heart picks up, thudding in your chest like a drumbeat you can’t escape. You don’t want to hear this. You don’t want to hear what everyone else is thinking, but you can feel their eyes on you, their judgment hanging in the air.

Shauna is the first to speak. “It’s just... awkward now. Don’t you think?” Her voice is soft but laden with meaning as she glances between you and Natalie. Her eyes flick to Travis, who stands uncomfortably beside her, unsure if he should speak up.

“Awkward?” Natalie’s voice sharpens, though her smile doesn’t falter. “What are you all getting at?”

Lottie, who’s sitting cross-legged on the porch, shrugs nonchalantly, her voice calm but cutting. “I mean... it was always you two, right?” She gestures between you and Natalie. “Now it’s just... different.” She doesn’t need to finish her sentence. The implication is clear.

The air between you and Natalie feels suffocating. Every breath feels like it takes more effort than the last. You want to scream. You want to throw something—anything—but instead, all that comes out is a bitter, tight laugh.

Natalie scoffs, like the suggestion is ludicrous. “That was before,” she says, her words slicing through the air like daggers.

The weight of everyone’s attention is like a physical thing pressing on your skin. You don’t want to do this—not now, not here, in front of them all. But then, Natalie’s eyes land on you, and it’s like the world shifts beneath you.

Her gaze isn’t cruel. It isn’t mocking.

It’s worse.

It’s indifferent.

Like you were nothing more than a brief moment in her life. Something easily erased.

You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head. “You really moved on that fast?”

Natalie’s eyes narrow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means it’s funny how you don’t even care,” you snap, your voice sharp, the words tasting like acid in your mouth. “Not about me, not about us.”

“There was no us,” Natalie replies, her voice a cold snap as she steps closer, something dangerous flashing in her eyes.

The words land like a slap, like a punch straight to your gut.

“No?” Your voice wavers, despite your best efforts to keep it steady. “So I imagined all of it? You sneaking through my window at night? You saying I was the only person who really understood you?” Your breath catches in your throat. “You kissing me like I was the only thing keeping you alive?”

For a moment, her face twitches. Her jaw clenches. She looks away, like she can’t bear to meet your eyes, but you see it—the brief flicker of guilt that flashes across her face, there and gone in an instant. She turns back to you, her jaw set tight, her eyes cold as ice. “We didn’t have anything,” she says, her voice hard as stone. “You just couldn’t—”

“Don’t lie,” you cut in, rising to your feet, hands trembling at your sides. “We had everything, Nat. Everything. We were—” You pause, trying to steady yourself. “I was everything for you.”

For a second, you see it. The hesitation in her eyes. Like she almost wants to reach out. Almost. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just presses her lips together, shaking her head. “That was before, okay? That was before we—” She cuts herself off, her eyes flicking toward Travis, standing a little too close.

You laugh again, but it’s bitter, dry, and hollow. “Yeah, that was before. Before you got someone else to fill the space.” The words are like nails in your throat. “Someone who doesn’t leave when things get hard.”

Travis shifts uncomfortably, glancing between the two of you. He’s caught in the middle, unsure of how to handle the situation. But it’s not him you’re angry at. Not really.

“You don’t get it,” Natalie says, her voice softer now, almost like she’s explaining something to a child. “We were nothing back then. We were just... two people who—”

“No,” you interrupt, your voice rising as the frustration begins to boil over. “No, don’t you dare try to make it sound like it meant nothing.” You take a step toward her, not caring who’s watching anymore. “I gave you everything, Nat. I trusted you. I loved you.” Your throat tightens, but you don’t stop. “But you moved on. You didn’t even care that you broke me.”

For a moment, she just stares at you, her expression softening as if she might say something—might apologize. But she doesn’t. Instead, she just looks away, pulling her hand from Travis’s like it burns her.

“I had to,” she whispers, her voice barely audible. “I had to move on. I couldn’t stay stuck, waiting for... for something that wasn’t real.”

The words hit like a punch to the gut. You want to scream, but you can’t. You stand frozen, the weight of her words sinking in, heavy and suffocating. And in that moment, you realize—maybe she never cared as much as you did. Maybe to her, you were always just a small thing.

And maybe it was the world to you, but to her? It was nothing more than a fleeting moment.

Link -> 🦎

[oh-no-its-bird]

I cannot lie to u guys. A big motivator driving me to write the Shang Qinghua in Naruto fic (and specifically to finish it) is that I so desperately need to see one very specific scene of Houhua somehow getting zapped into canon

I genuinely don't remember if I've posted about this yet or only written it out in my notes app but like .

Houhua's gets into a fight and his mangekyou (relating to time shit and directly connected to the 'real' naruto universe via the system) kind of smashes into Obito's mangekyou (dimension travel shit) and also possibly even into Sasuke's own (idk whether he has the rinnegan or not in this au / at that point, but he's also there, and if he does have it, it'd also pitch in w time and dimension)

And basically, all three of them get tossed face first into canon naruto for a bit! I'm sure this can't possibly go wrong.

They get scattered across fire country ,,, They were originally fighting in some 3rd location and Houhua lands back inside of Konoha, and assumes (logically) he just got regular teleported and not hit with the fucking dimension travel beam.

So, yk, he goes 'oh FUCK I lost Sasuke' and goes straight for the Hokage tower to tell Tsunade what happened, bc

a) last uchiha(s),

and b) they were quite possibly specifically sent out on some mission together by her when it was crashed by Obito

Maybe they were going to try and hunt down Itachi ?? Sharingan vs sharingan,,,, idk but if they were then Itachi is also probably around here somewhere due to the dimension zap. No one ask me the specifics I have no idea yet, this would be so down the line in the story

But anyways. Just. Houhua bursting into the Hokage's office then immediately bursting into tears and wailing smthn ab having "lost Sasuke" to a very confused Tsunade and very alarmed team of ANBU agents

More realistically, he'd never be able to make it up into the Hokage's office, so like. Houhua being stopped (by people he knows !! that no longer seem to know him !!) at the doors as he is confused and angry bc WHAT THE FUCK YOU GUYS HE HAS TO REPORT IN LIKE YESTERDAY !!! THEY HAVE AN EMERGENCY ON THEIR HANDS !!!

Houhua accidentally manages to bullshit his way into the Hokage's office by just acting so confident (bc ofc he is! He fr thinks he's supposed to be allowed to be here!) and also jabbing his finger into an ANBU's face and calling them out by code name like he knows exactly who they are, going SPARROW U ARE NOT DOING THIS TO ME RIGHT NOW !! THIS IS NOT THE TIME FOR THIS SHIT !!!

Maybe he throws in Itachi's name somewhere in there if the mission he was sent on involved trying to hunt him down

Either way, the ANBU are successfully convinced (and confused) that this guy... must belong here? Is he some higher up? Was he undercover? They dont know but he sure does know them and is acting like everything is ok, so...?

I just need Houhua interacting with canon tbh, au x canon is my favorite thing ever, in the entire world. He deserves to get zapped into naruto canon w Sasuke for a while !!

Meanwhile, Obito is now in an alternate world close enough to the one he left that he doesn't really care (Houhua's existence has not impacted him much tbh) but like. No consequences. Obito doesn't have to worry ab his plans here bc this isn't his world so nothing really matters. But it's still similar enough that the people (read: Kakashi) he might interact with are basically the same to him

So anyways Obito goes to give Kakashi some special 1 on 1 harassment. Could literally go in any direction tbh

Obito probably appears in his room like a little freak and just starts fucking w Kakashi as Kakashi goes through the "who are you how did you get in here" routine (while slowly sliding into an "oh god its Obito" realization fueled panic attack the longer the conversation goes on)

In true Obito fashion, Obito mood swings like no one has ever mood swings before, alternating between making some serious threats to saying straight up creeper shit he'd probably never even voice aloud in his original world

But he can say them all here because there are no consequences, and he wont even have to look himself in the mirror later when he goes home and itll all be fine :DD

Kakashi is having a straight up bad time.

Meanwhile Itachi is just having. A time.

He probably goes back to the Akatsuki only to be faced to face with HIMSELF and immediately checks tf out of just. All of this. He is dissasociating.

The Itachi's haaateeee each other btw, pure self-loathing directed at eachother in such a passive aggressive way. It's very telling, actually.

It would be incredibly uncomfortable for anyone to watch but most of the Akatsuki (Deidara and Hidan especially) are watching with rapt attention while shoveling popcorn into their mouths. Deidara is especially delighted to see that even Itachi himself can't fucking stand another version of him

(As if Deidara could last 1 minutes alone in a room with another him without trying to blow each other up)

Eventually ofc they realize the root of the differences between their worlds (Houhua) tho I think the first real difference they'd note would actually be Jun's existence-- just because he's the easier topic between them, since he's occasionally partnered with (our) Itachi

Idk how they bring up Houhua but like, once he's prought up, (canon) Itachi would be like "Who?" in just the flattest voice as (our) Itachi has a little episode of 'oh. he doesnt exist here.'

Itachi having to describe Houhua to someone else,, but that someone else is himself so he finds himself being more honest than he might have otherwise been w literally anyone else,,, ough,,

(canon) Itachi has Izumi, and mmmayyybe they'll realize that they're just gender bent versions of each other (kind of, anyways) but I kind of doubt it. Either way, thatll be a fun conversation to have

Even more fun of a conversation is the inevitable Sasuke conversation, which I do not even know where to begin with

WHICH ALSO BRINGS US TO SASUKE. WHO IS OUT THERE SOMEWHERE. IDK WHAT HES DOING BUT MAN IS HE LOST.

Sasuke's part of this arc could go in a lot of directions depending on if he defected from the village or not (still undecided on that but for now lets say he isnt, since Tsunade sent him on that hypothetical mission w Houhua)

Just. A slightly healthier and more stable and sane Sasuke who was raised by Houhua after the massacre. Ok and now throw him at his canon counterpart. I think they would also dislike eachother

Canon Sasuke probably burns with envy at the knowledge that this Sasuke got to keep one of their clansmen, and that Houhua helps to shoulder the burden of revenge. But he also has scorn for the fact that Houhua has seemingly "held him back" from revenge or some shit. Not entirely to mask his jealously, tbh

Idk but like, Sasuke vs Sasuke. It's a mess.

Don't let Naruto meet the Sasuke who never left Konoha / possibly came back or he'll lose his mind ab it

Anyways yeah !!! Houhua au meets canon ,,, I need it so bad,,, fuck,,

[fortune-maiden]

Based on Bridon Ep 4, I’m starting to wonder more about how Lu Guang’s powers work

He took a photo of CXS and was apparently able to keep an eye on him through that

But doesn’t that raise some questions about the “12 hours into the future” that LG can see? He took the photo so wouldn’t it make more sense that he could see 12 hours into the photographer’s future? It would explain why he followed CXS to the pub rather than watch from the hotel room, but somehow it also looked like he was able to know exactly what CXS was doing in the pub so he knew the exact moment to call and summon him back

Is he just able to zoom in on the particulars as long as he’s physically present in/within some short radius of the location?