#some of them here. some of them in a personal way.

[shioaoi]

Rundown of the more interesting parts from the Necrits live stream with Christian Linke (Creative Director and Co-Creator of Arcane) :

There was a longer version of the Caitvi sex scene but they got bonked by the ratings people, and because it would have raised Leagues rating to mature, it got brought down to what we got.

The entire Caitvi sex scene was directed and animated by Fortiche with zero input by Riot. Christian says, "That was French people being French."

Riot making Arcane canon didn't change where they were taking characters or the story, it just made them more aware of how it would affect other Riot projects.

Christian refused to confirm exactly when the events of Arcane take place in the existing timeline.

The Arcane doesn't originate from Hextech. It is just one - in universe - interpretation of magic.

Christian doesn't view Viktor and Jayce's love as romantic, and that romance wasn't the intention when writing their relationship. However, by the way he talks, it doesn't seem he's against people shipping them romantically - just as a creative team, they were more interested in exploring a close, complex male friendship / brotherhood.

The 250-million dollar show budget number is not accurate as marketing is included in that fund. Fortiche's goal from the beginning was to bring the level of animation found in feature animated films to serialised content. While the show was very expensive for an animated series, it was way cheaper than an animated feature film because they try and work efficiently. As an example, Christian says how often in Hollywood, it's not uncommon for sometimes 40-50% of what is animated to end up on the cutting room floor while with Fortiche they try and keep it around 5%

Ekko's hair was changed from a mohawk to dreads because the artist who worked on him told them that black hair doesn't work like that (in reference to the mohwak), and here's how it would actually work.

Legends of Runterra affected Arcane in terms of giving the team inspiration for how the everyday street life is for people in the regions.

Caitlyn's LOR Tactical design (2021) and Warwicks VGU Voicelines (2017) were made to reflect what was going to happen in Arcane - production of Arcane just took a long amount of time.

They've said from the beginning that the only person who could ever defeat Viktor at the height of his power was Viktor himself. His story is about the glorious evolution, the pursuit of that, and what it actually means to remove these human elements until there is nothing left.

All projects Riot is working on - whether the MMO, Games, Written or Animated projects - are in talks with one another at all times.

Christian comments on how very few games have remain in service as long as League has, and because of its ever growing and evolving story, it's hard to bring everything together cohesively since everything was made at different times, in different era's, by a multitude of different people. So, while many things may be very cool creatively, it makes it impossible to successfully bring it all together more often than not. So for new projects, they are more focused on making something good and successful with the team and talent they have, even if it retcons or replaces content made in the past.

Christian pitched singing Heimerdinger.

Arcane's scripts for S2 were locked in before S1 was released, so they were not impacted by fandoms or online reactions. Christian thinks maybe some animation choices were influenced by things the animators saw online, but not the story.

When watching the premier of the final arcane episodes in LA - the entire 4000 seat theatre cheered when Maddie died.

The butterfly motif shared between Jayce and Viktor specifically was used to represent transformation.

Christian talked about how they don't think about really whether people will like something or not, but whether it's the right consequence for the story (this is in discussion to Caitlyn losing an eye). What makes a character likeable to an audience in his eyes is their decisions in the story; the choices that they make.

Continuing on from this, he comments on how the choices Caitlyn makes now are so different now compared to the beginning of the show. She is now willing to take risks and sacrifice parts of herself for people, for Piltover and for what is right.

When asked about Caitlyn's signature hat, Christian says that the team saw it as somthing that didn't really fit this version of Caitlyn they were writing and the person she becomes and that's why it was never incorporated into her designs.

Back in the beginning, when they were first working on Arcane, Christian would constantly going back to Jinx and Vi's original design artists & Riot August who was their champion designer to make sure they weren't messing anything up with these characters.

Christian goes on to tell an anecdote of when Paul 'Zeronis' Kwon was drawing the first concepts for Vi. This was back when Christian was in music. She didn't have a name at the time, but when Christian looked over Paul's shoulder at the art, he comments "she kinda looks like a Violet to me." They never spoke about it, but months later, when she became a serious character concept internally, she was gifted the name Vi. To this day, Christian doesn't know if his comment resulted in her name or if it was just a coincidence, but Violet became stuck in Christian's brain as Vi's true name. Riot August (who was in chat) then confirms that her name came from her tattoo, which came from one of her key design elements, being that she had the number 6 on her face. So, just a happy coincidence.

Talking about the tattoo. The tattoo was shrunken in size so, from a distance, it would look more like a beauty mark and the brain can more easily disregard it. One of the many things that they had to think about when translating the designs over as, is animation, you would be looking at a characters face a lot more than you do in league where the camera is situated top down.

As they were wrapping up the stream, Christian talks about how there always needs to be a bit of space between what content creators / content consumers do (pointing at Necrit) and what Riot does. He thinks it's good that there is space for criticism and a critical view of the things Riot does. In order to succeed, he believes they need to listen to their audience but also that they need to have their own vision, take risks, and be bold. It's a delicate balance in his eyes, and projects tend to fail when these two sides are too in cahoots.

He iterates that they are not trying to shove anything down anyone's throats. They are just trying to find what makes these characters cool, tell their stories, and be true to the regions they come from. With taking the characters from League to Arcane, it was important that they translate these stories and characters so they can hold up with the best storytelling in the world.

This circles back to the earlier point about retconning things and replacing past stories and content. He comments on how some characters are very outdated or too archetypal, but they still have an essence that people love about them.

Arcane was something Christian worked on for 9 years, and he was getting clearly emotional near the end. He also adds they're just getting started and he wants to make sure they do a good job with this IP and the characters we really love.

To those who are not happy with certain decisions, he's sorry they didn't hit what you personally wanted, but there is simply no way they can please everybody. While they are trying to make as many of the Riot / Arcane audience happy, they as the creators and artists need to follow their own compass, be the shepherds of this IP; that being creative is hard. They will keep doing that even if they sometimes have to ruffle some feathers.

He closes the stream by confirming that they are investing quite a bit in Noxas, Ionia, and Demacia for the next regions they explore.

[curtins]

CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right?

what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. secondary love interest in the form of a random oc, jjk lore being mildly twisted, history around the world, in-jujutsu universe (not an au), gojo going feral and batshit bonkers, rough séx, créampíe, INSANE glass-shattering jealousy, hate séx but only a bit, brééding, oràl (f. receiving). enemies to lovers, former friends, PLOT AND WORLD BUILDING BTW this isn't pẃp, éxhibitionísm, mirror séx, overstímulàtion, bratty reader but with a reason to be a hater, working together on a mission, mentions of alcohol and the crime underworld, DEFINITELY a bit dark because reader goes through emotional whiplash, descriptions of a fight and heavy injury, biting because i always somehow write gojo as a vampire type of freak?? the PRIME example of the miscommunication tropes and a case where neither person is in the right...nuance is your friend here, fake bodyguard!gojo, reader wears a dress + makeup for a formal event, angst, hurt, lashing out, some comfort and fluff

excerpt: part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

word count. 22k!!!!!!! AURKAY!! song inspiration. cream soda — exo, is there someone else — the weeknd

a/n. spent way too long trying to learn ps for the header 😭 wrote this only because of the new grey suit gojo art <3 there's a secondary love interest in this for the ✨ plot ✨ but he's just a character i made up for this story. i would have used one of the other jjk men but it would made it into an au that i didn't feel like expanding on 😭

mp3.. feel that tinglin', that silky smooth cream, each swirl deepens the flavor, babe. baby, go dumb dumb!

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your fluttering pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

wait. you need to pause this tape, and do a little rewind.

how did you end up here, getting finger-fucked in a luxury five star suite? by the one man on earth that you swore that you could never stand?

(earlier that day)

the chandeliers had been shimmering overhead like stars, each fine crystal caught the golden light and scattered it across the grand lobby, and it was making your eyes flare and twitch.

this entire hotel felt frozen in time, some opulent relic of the roaring twenties, translated straight into tokyo's beating heart.

it was all so...pristine, and gaudy. and even the air carried that faint scent of hefty chanel no.5 and furniture polish.

but hey, this cheque wasn't coming out of your pocket, so who were you to complain?

that's how you rationalised it to yourself, right after a smartly-dressed waiter had floated past with a tray of shimmering champagne, one that you had easily helped yourself to.

ah, fuck it.

let the bill rack up on yaga's card. the least he could do after volunteering you to the higher ups for this mission.

a thick folder rested in your lap, clipped papers inside threatening to spill over from the sheer volume of information, that made your head spin.

of course, it was all courtesy of the jujutsu administration's obsession with drowning sorcerers in needless bureaucracy. and so you leafed through it idly, your thumb skimming over the crisp edges.

names, places, dates, all laid out in haphazard detail.

what a mess, it was a lot, but not enough to fill in the gaps that gnawed at you. the higher ups never gave you everything, fuck, they hated making it easy. still, your eyes caught onto key phrases.

urgent recall of cursed object. yes, that's why you were here. and not enjoying your saturday afternoon at home.

declaration of most expenses covered, in the instances of losing a limb. fair enough, insurance was honestly hell these days.

gain access to the auction being held by the voiceless. find their leader, naoki sato.

you knew of the voiceless, most higher grade jujutsu sorcerers did. a crime syndicate so shrouded in mystery. operating overseas for decades without so much as a cloudy whisper to the general public.

you made an unimpressed face as you kept reading, crinkling sheets under your fingers. smuggling, extortion, and a great deal of unexplained murders that would leave the cast of criminal minds scratching their heads.

how tasteless. still, you weren't the law, each to their own.

however, something made this case different. it made it your apparent problem.

for the voiceless were not your usual ragtag team of ruffian criminals, intent on scamming the vulnerable and sad.

their ranks comprised of wayward jujutsu sorcerers, with a hearty appetite for special artefacts, including cursed objects.

and now here they were, back on tokyo's soil, their hands covered with more than just the regular mundane crimes that could land a man behind bars for life.

you shifted in the plush, sinking seat. flipped to a page that had been practically painted in the most unforgiving shade of neon yellow highlighter.

ah, so this was the cursed object. raijin's amulet.

there was a grainy, slightly off-centre photograph clipped to the top of the document. the image was not much to look out, all washed colours and shadows that clearly didn't speak highly of the skills of whoever was behind the camera.

a circular pendant, a darkened forged creation of bronze and jade, covered in the soot of the ages gone by. spiralled with intricate carvings that reminded you of swirling storm clouds on a summer's evening.

and at it's centre sat a jagged shard of some precious golden stone, rough-hewn at the edges.

you were certain that this was the cause behind the distorted photography, for a modern camera was simply just not meant to capture such high levels of cursed energy.

there was even a faint shape of a dragon coiled around the pendant's edges, with its claws gripping the frame as if guarding it...or imprisoning it.

you weren't sure which. you're not sure you wanted to know which.

the accompanying notes were sparse, filled with frustrated gaps that left you squinting.

believed to be an ancient relic of the heian era. captured from the treasure hoard of the early medieval sorcerer, ryōmen sukuna, after his death.

huh, you hadn't heard that name since your school-days, back when you had poured over fraying history tomes, trying to pen the perfect essay to beat out suguru's flawless grades.

said to be imbued with the power of the lightning deity, raijin. capable of summoning and manipulating thunder, and disrupting various veils and curtains. last known location: the british museum, 1982. current location: unconfirmed.

clearly not an artefact meant to sit behind public museum glass.

dangerous in the wrong hands, and priceless in the hands of all. this must have been at least leagues above your current pay grade.

your thumb hovered over the corner of the page, bruising the white paper underneath as you scanned over the rest of the text, hoping and looking for a section that would be titled: and here's how to track raijin's amulet down and find it, with no bloodshed, and just in time for dinner!

no such luck.

"figures," you muttered under your breath, shoving the folder shut with a disgusted sigh.

this entire mission reeked of playing politics. for years, the voiceless had operated under the radar of other nations, disguising the tell-tale jujutsu as unexplained natural disasters and accidents.

there had been no intervention. they had been untouchable because no-one had the foreign jurisdiction, nor the guts to intervene.

but now, with the voiceless back on home soil, it seemed the higher ups wanted to make a statement. something like 'hey, we're actually useful at our jobs of protecting the jujutsu world!' and who better to clean up their mess than you and...

gojo satoru.

speak of the devil. you glanced up towards the grand entrance of the hotel lobby, as an unfortunate doorman stood by revolving, glass doors.

your...partner strode in, with dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and you scrunched your nose, taking in his appearance.

despite gojo's striking features that could render anyone speechless, he always looked like an odd bird of prey to you.

hawkish with creepy eyes, like a big snowy owl that had been hit by a curse, transforming him and forcing him to assimilate into the world of humans.

"i wasn't sure if you would come," you called, hoping that you masked the bitterness well that he had arrived, and significantly decreased the quality of your day.

"you wouldn't say that in bed," was gojo's snarky, automated reply, before he gave you a mildly embarrassed look, as if his immature mouth moved faster than his common sense did.

"still, sorry to keep you waiting," and gojo was crushing the heel of his boot into the cream marble of the floor, tapping it, all ridiculously long legs in the same uniform dress pants that you also donned, "traffic was hell."

"you don't even have a license," you grouched with a glare that you hoped was sharp enough to cleave time and space, but you stood up all the same, "and i wasn't waiting, i was working."

click! click!

gojo snapped his fingers, reaching for the folder stacked in your arms, "yes, of course you were, sweets," and he clicked his tongue, "now, why don't you hand that to me, and go check us in? i can look over what i need to do, let's get this done before night falls."

the audacity. the absolute nerve. how so typically gojo. swooping in at the last minute for kill shot, as usual, while others poured through all the paperwork, and did all the mental heavy lifting.

"you mean what we need to do, gojo," you snapped, your scowl deepening, "you're the late one. you go check us in."

gojo arched a pale brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wished he could just unwalk through those doors now, caught between amusement and exasperation. "you used to be so nice. what happened?"

"tsk! i think you happened, gojo. didn't ask to be stuck here with you."

"ah, so you do think about me, at least. but now you're jus' so difficult all the time."

"fuck off, i'm not difficult!" you shot back, before shrinking at the foul look that an elderly couple had directed your way, muttering something about how youth just didn't know how to act indoors, "i'm just saying it's not fair -"

"fine, whatever. don't care, sweets," gojo interrupted, already rolling big, blue eyes and turning away, "i'll go do it. you just stay nice and comfortable here."

and just like that, after comfortably raising your blood pressure (and heart rate), gojo satoru strode off towards the vast front desk, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, as though the two of you weren't on the clock to hunt down and find a dangerous criminal, his syndicate and a cursed object.

you trailed behind him, resisting the violent urge to grab his stupid sunglasses and fling them across the lobby. or stomp on them.

or just sit on them.

meanwhile, your eyes landed on the last and final page of the file, where a bright pink sticky note stood out sharply against the dull black and white of the case file.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

the words were scrawled in thick, impatient strokes of a black marker. the kind that spoke more of efficiency, than humanity.

typical. there was just nothing that higher ups of the jujutsu world loved more than lopping the head off anyone that they deemed inconvenient. quick, clean and final.

still, this decision wasn't your business, not really.

you looked up to see gojo casually leaning against the counter, and his entire demeanour radiated smooth confidence as he spoke to the receptionist.

the sweet-looking woman had fumbled her worlds almost immediately, and she had dropped her pen twice. and he had caught it with an easy smile and wink that would have made you roll your eyes clean out of your skull.

you wanted to gag.

in less than a minute, gojo had the black keycard in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like some trophy as he sauntered towards the elevators.

you sighed as he stopped in front of you, extending the card with a flourish, like a knight presenting a courtier with a wreath of fresh-cut flowers.

"we're here for a mission, gojo. not to get it wet."

the tips of his ears flushed a bright, vibrant red. but his grin didn't falter as he huffed, and snatched the keycard back. leaving your arm floundering in the air before you dropped it.

"how crude. that's not even what i asked her. but still, you're welcome, sweets," he had said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated stretch of his arm.

"i didn't say thank you."

gojo smiled, tilting his head in that distracting, no. what? in that irritating manner of his, "no need. i could feel the gratitude radiating off you," and he's crossing his arms against his broad chest in a way that made the tailored uniform seem unfairly snug, "warms my heart."

"what if you don't have a heart?

for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed in gojo's eyes, irritation easily — but something unrecognisable, but he must have smoothed it away with practised ease. for that same cocky grin returned like clockwork, infuriatingly charming and just as insincere.

"what if it only beats for you?" he shot back, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and the motion was so over-the-top that it leaned closer to sleazy than heartstopping.

"now i'm worried, you need to get shoko to check that out. sounds like a serious health issue."

"your tender concern for my well-being is what keeps my blood pumping," and you know that gojo has little regard for the personal space for others, the way that the distance between you is closing once more, in a way that makes your own pulse flicker.

"please," and you take a deliberate step back to reclaim your own space, "if i wanted you gone, i wouldn't waste my time hoping for a heart attack. i'd do it myself."

gojo shrugs, tilting his head like you had just told him a sweet joke, "you're cute when you're homicidal, y'know that?"

"and you're insufferable all the time. we all have our talents."

gojo's barked out a laugh, and the sound is annoyingly genuine. it has you grinding your teeth together, making your jaw tight.

"hey, gojo," you swivel back to the towering bean-pole behind you, leaning against a steel bar.

"mhm, what?"

"i'll give you a hundred thousand yen if you keep your mouth shut during the entire elevator ride," you mutter, staring at the ground floor map, and up to where your suite was meant to be, hands fiddling over the buttons.

"deal."

you glance back, "that easy? clan money running low, gojo?"

gojo sighs, shaking his (ridiculous) snow-cone hair, "you have no idea. spent it all on a sweet talkin' girl who kicked me to the curb. even took the dog with her. who takes the fucking dog?"

despite yourself and your iron-clad resolution to not validate gojo satoru in anything, you snort, the first genuine laugh he's pulled out of you.

you choose not to notice how his eyes suddenly seem a shade brighter, as you snicker, "you're so ridiculous."

he doesn't reply as you press an index finger into the cool metal of the elevator button, and you turn around to see him sadly miming out his broke plight, with a sack of imaginary things over his shoulder, jingling the few coins he has.

tsk. you bite your lip to stop the corners of your lips lifting up to match gojo's own, wrinkling your nose in faux distaste as you spin back around, with gritted teeth. away from the mild bane of your existence.

true to his word, and shockingly so, gojo stayed silent through the elevator ride. mostly.

you caught his restless sighs, the shuffle of his ridiculously polished boots, and the occasional sharp intake of breath like he was simply dying to say something, but kept biting it back.

good. for once, it was nice to make gojo satoru stew.

the elevator dinged, and you had already stepped out, planning to ditch him in the suite, but clearly, gojo had other ideas.

"alright, sweets," he said, hand extended, "i won the bet. hundred thousand yen, i can take a cheque too."

you stopped short, glaring at his outstretched (sculpted) hand.

"right now? just as we're gonna plan how to catch a criminal? can't we do a pay later type of thing?"

gojo's responding grin was wolfish, and his voice dropped enough to make you bristle, "sure. pay later, with a kiss."

your groan must have echoed down the hall, and without thinking, you shoved past him. your shoulder colliding with his chest in a way that was deeply satisfying.

"my kisses," you snapped, refusing to look back at him, "are worth way more than a hundred thousand yen."

gojo didn't reply immediately, no. and for a second, you thought had finally managed to shut him up enough for a moment's peace to gather the thoughts that the white-haired man always managed to unravel.

but when you dared to glance back over your shoulder, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, and his lips were pressed together oddly — the faintest dusting of cherry pink peeking out underneath his sunglasses, and falling over his cheeks.

nary a peep from gojo then, save for him rushing past you to slot the keycard into the door. but holy fuck, the sheer luxury of this suite almost made you forget that gojo satoru even existed.

sleek dark woods, glowing orange accents, and a massive window that offered a panoramic view of tokyo's skyline. and then, there was the bed.

ridiculous in its decadence. a king-sized masterpiece, draped in plush linens that looked softer than the clouds dotting the afternoon sky. framed by polished ebony bedposts that gleamed in the warm light of the suite. the mattress was practically calling out to you, to sink your back into it.

wait, where was the other bed?

"nope! absolutely not," you blurted, spinning on your heel to face gojo who had sauntered in after you, pausing mid-step and clearly, equally caught off-guard with a stunned expression on his face — before morphing into something maddeningly smug.

"what?" gojo said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it's a bed. you've seen one before, right?"

you tried to speak in a way that wouldn't quite make it show that you felt like your tongue was lead, jabbing a finger at the bed as though it had personally offended you, "there's only one!"

gojo's lips quirked upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of amusement and mischief, most likely derived from your displeasure, "now look at that, we can count to ten. baby steps."

"don't start with me," you snapped, "i'm not crashing out there. i'd rather sleep in the hallway."

gojo tilted his head, the white tufts of his hair falling around his face, as though he were considering the suggestion seriously, "not sure the hotel staff would appreciate you loitering in their five-star corridors. won't stop you though, sweets."

"you can sleep on the couch," you try to offer helpfully, relishing in how it's his turn to scowl at you.

gojo's glancing towards the sleek leather sofa in the corner, most likely worth more than your monthly rent, "tempting," he drawls, "but i don't think that thing was designed for someone with legs this long," and he's slapping his hands on his thighs, and you do your very best to not track your stare down.

"then curl up like the overgrown house cat you are -"

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

"i'm liking these options less and less."

but then gojo straightens, and you're starting to see a small tick reach to the corner of his bright eyes, the faintest hint of irritation seeping through his drawl, "you know, for someone so desperate to avoid me, you spend a lot of time wondering where i'm gonna sleep."

you hate the traitorous flush heating up your face, "i'm thinking about it because you're my problem."

"well i hope i'm at least your favourite problem," gojo murmurs, brushing past you to toss his dark bag onto the bed.

"so, what's it gonna be?" gojo's voice was a lazy purr, patting the mattress beside him with a grin that could have launched a thousand arguments, "join me, or keep fighting a losing battle? because -" he faked a yawn, "i think i'm starting to get a bit sleepy."

"sleepy? you're a grown man, and it's barely three in the afternoon."

gojo arches a pale brow, and you have to force yourself to stop staring at the pink curve of his lips, "and? scared you won't be able to resist me in the middle of the night?"

"you should be scared you'll wake up with a pillow smothering your face."

gojo sighs, melodramatic and loud, rolling over onto his back, "i'd rather be smothered by -"

"gojo!"

his laugh is low and rich, and it vibrates in the air in a way that make your teeth itch, and your eyes roll, desparate to change the subject and actually get back on track.

you shove the hefty file in his direction, letting him flounder to grab a hold of it, "last page. naoki sato."

gojo's entire demeanor shifts, and falls under the mention of the name, eyes a touch darker, and suddenly serious in a way that almost makes you regret being on the clock. but he's pushed himself up from the bed, his legs dangling off the edge.

"what about him?"

you frowned, still turning over the situation in your mind, "well, he's supposedly working out of this district right, i mean, even this hotel? but why? i always thought crime bosses had creepy lairs in dark alleyways or something. and not," you gesture to the five-star architecture around you, "this."

gojo's broad shoulders shrug in that lazy way of his, like everything was beneath him, but there was something else flickering behind his perched sunglasses, "i've never even met him. just heard of him," but gojo seems to be chewing each word, as if choosing them carefully, "but what i've heard? not your typical criminal? he flies high, lives the wild life out in the open, rich and shameless."

you privately held back any biting comment that came to you as easy as breathing, about gojo also being the epitome of rich...and shameless. time and place, yeah?

gojo, thank the lucky stars, had not noticed you fighting demons to keep a straight face, "but then every so often sato vanishes off the radar, and then, bam!" your partner splayed his fingers, "he strikes again. always showing in a different place. the united states, france, england, egypt..."

you raise an eyebrow, tapping at your phone, "egypt?"

"egyptian artefacts are ridiculously powerful, sweets. i mean, on a whole other level. they aren't linked with y'know...jujutsu," he gestures vaguely between the two of you, "but whatever they've got is ancient and ridiculously potent. last the higher ups heard, naoki sato managed to get his hands on an old obelisk."

you shake your head at the prospect, humouring gojo, "whatever for?"

"whatever twisted things he does in his free time, fuck if i know. but of course, he couldn't control it. instead, it summoned the spirit of a massive serpent, killed a bunch of innocent civilians."

you have the faintest collection of the mythos surrounding an ancient serpent, and the thought makes you shudder, "wouldn't the local authorities have arrested him for that?"

gojo pushes his sunglasses up his head, so you're now looking back at unblinking blue eyes ringed by white lashes, "how do you arrest a guy who's practically a ghost? they couldn't even find him after all that shit. besides, his technique is something else. enhance. practically has control over every cell in your body."

you nod slowly, hoping that you're piercing it all together correctly, "so this auction is because he's got more of these artefacts? like raijin's amulet?"

gojo nods sharply, and you're struck by the intensity of big blue eyes with whorls of storm clouds lingering between his gaze, "i guess even villainous criminals want to make profit. but we can get a front row seat to whatever he's planning next."

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

your frown deepens, "how the fuck does an entire auction stay hidden from the public?"

after all, you had scoured the floorplan of this hotel from base to rooftop, and not a single room or corner would accomodate naoki sato, and the voiceless that follow him.

gojo shrugs with infuriating nonchalance, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the bed, "there's jujutsu that can create entire illusions. beneath this very hotel lies an entrance to a hidden ballroom, but it's been in and out of use for decades. we jus' need to slip in, find sato, and maybe shake him a few times until he spills the amulet's location."

you cross your arms, and the unfortunate truth lingers on your tongue, "if it were that easy, the higher ups wouldn't have sent you with me as backup."

"was that a compliment for me? careful, you might actually start liking me now."

and at your affronted expression, laugher is spilling out gojo satoru, sharp and cocky and awfully infectious.

you hated the sound, not because it wasn't nice, but because it was. too rich, too easy. the kind of laugh, from the strongest sorcerer to walk the earth, that made you wonder if ever took a damn thing seriously. with the unfortunate side effect of questioning why it was so annoyingly attractive at the same time.

nobody should get to look that good while being such an unbearable ass. it was unfortunate, you thought grimly, how much you liked seeing him laugh though.

"i don't think i'd ever like you at all, gojo."

but alas, the world has a cruel way of making you wish that the earth swallowed you whole. and your heart and mind certainly aren't on speaking terms with each other to coordinate properly. for the barb flies out of your mouth like an uncontrolled reflex, a rogue arrow hitting its mark.

and you're left grimacing as gojo's smile stills. not vanishing completely, but frozen while something cooler and sharper slips into his gaze. the awkward silence that follows is loud enough to make you wince and pray that a lightning bolt strikes you down right now.

gojo gives a quiet cough, and you're wondering just how much of his nonchalant facade he has left intact. fuck, you were a bit of an ass yourself.

"ah, gojo. i didn't mean -" you started, stumbling over the words, desperate to backpedal, if only for the sake of the mission. right?

"don't strain yourself pretending," gojo cuts you off, and you're mildly stung by the smooth edge of venom coating his voice, despite his relaxed smile, "let's just get this job done, yeah? it's just us two here because no-one else could put up with you. i was the only one left who actually wanted to try."

well. ouch, that was a low blow. motherfucker.

your jaw tighten, and for a moment, all you can do is stare into vibrant blue eyes. surely, that wasn't true...right? and how awful that the sharp look in his eyes softened into a smug satisfaction as he registered how his own barb had found his mark.

now, gojo satoru is leaning back with an air of victory, crossing his arms as if to bask in it. talk about drawing more blood from a wound than necessary.

"you're awful, gojo," you bit out, praying that whatever tremor lives in your throat is not enough to appear in your voice.

"yes, i know. you say that all the time."

it was almost tragic, you thought bitterly, how in those fleeting few minutes, you had found gojo satoru bearable. likeable even. insightful, in his own smug way.

but now, the two of you were back to square one, staring each other down with walls firmly back in place.

sure, your quip had been mildly unnecessary, but it wasn't like he hadn't heard your blithe and bland comments by now?

but still, gojo's words gnawed at you. the idea that no one else wanted to put up with you, except him, of all people, burrowed deeper than it had any right to.

maybe it was petty, but you weren't about to let gojo satoru have the last word.

"remember that the higher ups want naoki sato executed," you said, breaking the terse silence.

gojo didn't even glance up from the file he'd been pretending to skim, his long fingers casually flipping a page. and that nonchalance made your stomach churn with irritation.

when he finally looked up, his expression was a mix of curiosity, and disdain, as if you had become a particularly stubborn puzzle that he'd decided was not worth solving, "yes, i know that too. so what?"

"you and i both know you've had trouble executing criminals in the past."

a calculated jab, sharper than they needed to be. and you saw the impact hit almost immediately. gojo's jaw tightened, and the glint in his frosty blue eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker, furious even.

suguru geto was still well and alive, often appearing on television as a friendly priest who would cure one of all their ails such as lower back pain or bad headaches, for the low price of joining the ranks of his organisation (read: cult). but he still remained a sore point for...everyone. you, included.

gojo, especially.

and now the air between you shifted, chilling like a winter draft had snuck into the room. your eyes fell on gojo's knuckles as they tightened around the file, his expression stony.

you shouldn't have felt proud of yourself for getting under his skin, for pulling a genuine reaction from him. but you did. you'd found a crack in his flawless armour, without needing to bypass infinity.

and it was satisfying.

"f-fuck you," gojo said finally, the razor edge in his voice was matched only by the glare he pinned on you.

you crossed your arms, doing your best to feign indifference despite the adrenaline surging through you. ignoring how you felt an awful pit in your stomach sprout, rendering you rather nauseous, and quoting his previous words, "don't strain yourself pretending it's not true."

gojo satoru's glower could have melted steel, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but he stood, slowly, his movements deliberate as he slammed the file shut with a resounding snap.

you watched as he snatched up his smaller bag, and swung the door open with enough force that you were surprised that it didn't fall off its hinges, "just be ready by the time i get back. 'm gonna take a walk."

and you were left, alone, in a room that suddenly felt so much more suffocating.

you weren't sure how long it had been since gojo had stormed out, leaving the room icy in his absence. you hadn't moved from your spot by the door, though you told yourself that you were entirely fine.

arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. but even as you stared at the dark panels of the door, the lie began to unravel.

you told yourself that you just didn't care for gojo satoru. that you didn't like how he was too loud, too reckless, too overwhelming, a force that just didn't fit into the neat confines of your world.

the heat rising to your cheeks must have betrayed you, as did the tight knot in your chest. it had been...not your wisest choice to lash out at him, or to even bring up his name. suguru geto, a wound that would never close for anyone.

but more than that, you hated the memory of his expression just before he left. hurt, and anger. and something far more raw.

he would come back, you knew that much. gojo was much too dutiful to leave a mission and abandon a chance to do some good in this world. it should have been a comfort, but it did little to ease you. instead, that certainty only twisted the guilt tighter in between your ribcage.

finally, you yanked the door open, fuelled by an impulse you didn't care to name. you wanted to catch him outside, mid-pace and brooding. just so you could say...something. anything.

but the hallway was empty, stark and silent, with only the dim flicker of warm light as your witness. you bit your tongue as your stomach churned sourly with disappointment.

and instead, you just slammed the door shut, letting the sound reveberate with just as much force that gojo had slammed the door with, on his way out. you leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you did your level best to swallow that lump of regret making a home in your throat.

pacing helped for about...three minutes. shuffling through the case files on the table did nothing but remind you of why you were here, why you had both been sent. after all, was this mission not bigger than you, or him? was this not about bringing naoki sato to justice?

it didn't feel that way.

your gaze landed on the garment bag handing from the chair, untouched from when you had pulled it out earlier, back when gojo had been inviting you...to bed.

sort of.

you unzipped the bag with (mildly) trembling hands, letting the fabric spill into your grasp. no doubt that the dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of icy, powder blue and shimmering sequins that caught the light like scattered stars.

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

your fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery, and for a moment, you felt a mild sting of your own hypocrisy and yearning heart. you accused gojo of being cold, distant and unfeeling, and yet here you were, holding a dress that reminded you of him in every way. the pale blue of the fabric, like the frost in his storm-eyes when they rested on you for too long.

if you ever came face to face with cupid, you would beat him with a baseball bat.

you sighed, dropping the dress onto the bed before gingerly stepping out of your uniform, as cool air stung your skin.

what had you been thinking, treating gojo like that? he didn't deserve your anger, not truly. you knew how much your former classmate carried, how much he gave himself to this cursed and thankless world.

but of course, the little pronged-devil on your shoulder whispered around the shell of your ear. he often drew equal blood from stinging cuts, no-one wanted to put up with you, anyway.

still, there was no use in showing up to a gathering of some of the world's most rich, wealthy and seedy looking like a hollow and shaken ghost. and this mission was just not about gojo, it was about the greater good of the jujutsu world, and that's what you repeated in your head like a mantra, as you swiped plush-red across your cheeks and lips.

a diamond necklace around your throat was the final touch. well, you say diamond, but the truth was more...cheap. still, the strand shone in linked chains of pretty crystals. and that had still been a minor fortune for one who lived on a jujutsu paycheck.

the hours had stretched the afternoon into evening, settling a fragile calm over the suite that made you ache to stretch your limbs out, and take in some fresh air.

but the silence was shattered by a sharp knock at the door, purposeful and deliberate. and it made you freeze, hands still resting on the straps of your glitzy shoes, a frown knitting your brows.

gojo had the keycard, did he not? but who else would be banging your door down?

with a sigh, you stood and lifted the hem of your dress as you crossed the room. opening the door with every intention of scolding him for whatever drama he was dragging in this time.

instead the words just about died a sad and lonely death on your tongue.

gojo satoru.

for a brief second, your thoughts emptied entirely, as though he had cast infinite void right over you, leaving you staring with a heart that hammered like a caged bird.

gone was his usual, drab uniform. instead, he had swapped the dull fabric for a sleek, black dress shirt that clung just right, paired with a crisp, grey jacket that framed his broad shoulders.

you tried to not let your gaze linger on the open gap right under the white tie that hung slightly loosened from his neck, where silk kissed creamy skin.

but gojo’s face was unreadable, distant and cool. you hated how his mere presence always seemed to tilt the world off its axis.

and you blinked, forcing your mouth to close, and you stepped back to let him in. 

"you’re late. again," you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual venom, tempered by the sharp edges of minor guilt that refused to settle in you.

"whatever. ‘m here now, aren’t i?" gojo’s tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a second too long, leaving your skin prickling with self-conscious awareness. 

it seemed that the universe needed to hit you with some karmic intervention, and you decided to take the rare moral high ground, "about earlier," you began, trying to steady yourself, "i shouldn’t have said -"

"forget it, sweets," gojo interrupted with a shrug, though his jaw was tight, "i’m not keen on hearing excuses. i get it."

you bristled, biting back the immense urge to shove him, an urge that becoming disturbingly frequent, "i wasn’t making excuses," sounding out each word slow and deliberate. anger simmering under the surface at his holier-than-thou attitude, "that was an apology."

that made gojo pause, and now he fully turned to you, expression shifting. though it was hard to read, caught between painful acknowledgement and absurd pride that would include him admitting that he was affected by what you said.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips.

"tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

gojo slid a pair of tinted sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them up his nose, smooth and practised, "in a room full of the filthy rich and tastelessly overdressed?" his pink mouth twitched, "you��ll fit in perfectly."

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

the ground floor of the building had been nothing but a sleek, cold lifeless maze of marble, and now he had led you down into what could only be described as a scene for criminals with bad taste. an abandoned parking lot stretched out in front of you, a grimy stretch of concrete that left you expecting a quiet dead end.

until gojo waved his hand, and the illusion clearly met for non-sorcerer eyes shattered.

before you, a set of massive double doors emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and the lifting of the veil had left you disoriented, nauseous. but when the doors swung open, you almost felt like you were stepping into a warped fever dream.

this room inside was the most bizarre mixture of garish opulence that you had ever seen. gold…everything. the walls plastered in a deep red, like someone had dipped the entire place in velvet swathes and then covered it with more gold leaf.

plush, overstuffed settees sat like soft, jewel-toned thrones in every corner, and glass boxes lined the walls, each holding what looked like nothing more than expensive junk, tacky figurines and diamond-encrusted trinkets.

it was the kind of place you’d absolutely expect a mob boss to call home after a particularly long, indulgent afternoon making questionable life choices.

the hall reeked of wealth, the kind that demanded to be seen. opulence dripped from every corner — gilded fixtures, crystalline chandeliers, and glass displays showcasing treasures that screamed money but whispered nothing of taste. you twitched as you passed a goblet encrusted with enough jewels to buy a small city-state. the thought of how much it probably cost made your stomach twist.

"focus," gojo muttered at your side, his tone clipped. he squinted slightly, his sunglasses doing little to shield his six eyes from the garish light that spilled over the room like liquid gold., and you could tell it was a bit...much for his senses, making him blink rapidly. "we’ll sweep the displays, see if the amulet’s here."

you tilted your head, gesturing toward his snowy mop of hair, the unruly strands falling messily over his face and grazing the edge of his glasses. "and you’re sure they won’t recognise you, in this whole...circus?"

gojo's responding glance was sharp, flat, and utterly devoid of humour.

"most of these people wouldn’t recognise a threat if it was biting them in the ass," he said, voice low and laced with disdain. "they’re not sorcerers. just your garden-variety rich and bored — criminals, trust fund brats, maybe a politician trying to look cultured. the kind of people who buy antiques because they match their curtains and makes them look good for their friends."

the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward at his cutting dismissal of the glittering nonsense around you. he had hit the nail on the head, making contempt seem like an art form.

and worse, you hated how there was something almost…sexy about it.

the thought hit you like a slap, and you forced it down immediately. gojo and sexy didn’t belong in the same sentence. not in the same universe. fuck, not even as a passing joke.

"charmed as i am by your high opinion of humanity," you said dryly, trying to ground yourself in sarcasm, "maybe don’t make it obvious you hate everyone here. we're not here to arrest every person in this room."

gojo snorted softly, his lips curving into what might have been a smirk — or at least the ghost of one. "you think so little of me. i don’t hate everyone." his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second, before returning to the vast hall ahead.

it wasn’t much. barely a glance of electric blue. but it was enough to send your pulse into a sprint, and fuck him, he had to know it. you turned your attention to the nearest display, praying he didn’t notice the warmth blooming in your cheeks.

traitorous.

"let’s just find the amulet, and sato. and get out of here," you said briskly, your voice a shade too sharp.

"mhm," gojo's voice was infuriatingly calm, but when you looked up, his gaze wasn’t on the displays. it was on you.

"you look lost."

a voice, smooth and low, slid over you like silk, stopping you cold in your tracks. it hadn't come from gojo by your side, thank the heavens above, but it didn't make your heart any steadier. you turned towards the source, and your stomach did a three-point flip.

well. hello, gorgeous.

the type of good-looking that just felt unfair. the type that made you forget your name for half a second, and then hate yourself for it. the strnger stood out against the room of puffed-up men in overpriced suits, glittering with real diamonds of their cuff-links, and rolled cigars in their hands.

your eyes fell on dark auburn strands that fell in perfectly tousled strands over his forehead, and a tailored black suit that hugged a slender waist.

"i hope you didn't wander into the wrong hall," the stranger said, curling his lips into a faint smile, fraught with suspicion as it was.

you forced yourself not to stare — at an absurdly sharp jawline, at big brown eyes. but words were a different matter entirely. you struggled to conjure them, grasping for anything remotely coherent.

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

before you could mentally regroup with a few brain cells, a sharp jolt yanked you back to reality. you sucked in a sharp breath as gojo's long fingers pinched the underside of your arm, a deliberate sting that left you glaring at him.

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

his entire focus was fixed on the stranger, his posture taut with unspoken tension, gojo's jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a perfect tooth.

the air shifted subtly, a faint hum of energy emanating from gojo. you knew that hum. it meant trouble. gojo, ever the master of simmering hostility, was gearing up for something, and he was looking weirdly agitated.

and you found it tasteless to jump the first person you had run into here.

"i usually know most of the guests at my events," the stranger continued, his voice calm, unbothered — but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

no wonder gojo looked ready to snap someone in half. naoki wasn’t just anyone — he was the head of the voiceless. the host of this auction. the man whose fortune was built on enough shady dealings to fill a large library. the one who had more blood on his hands than those who had been dealt life sentences.

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

"you've — " gojo started, his voice sharp, but you cut him off with a forced, almost too-bright smile.

"you've thrown quite the party," you said, your words tripping over themselves as you elbowed gojo subtly, hoping to god he’d take the hint. "i’m actually quite new to the area. just exploring, hoping to find something good tonight."

gojo let out a low grunt, a sound that promised retribution later. you ignored him and plastered on a wider smile, one you hoped would distract from your partner's upcoming reversal: red.

"and, ah. this is my bodyguard...genji," you added, giving gojo's arm a firm retributive pinch through the fabric of his jacket.

the look he shot you could've melted steel, but you held your ground, determined not to let him ruin this.

if for once, he could take your plan into account, a great deal of bloodshed could be avoided.

naoki's faint cherry smile widened, bemused, "your…bodyguard?" he echoed, gaze flickering to gojo satoru.

gojo who stood like a coiled spring, gojo who certainly was no method actor. his icy glare practically speaking volumes of 'i will burn this room down.'

"well," naoki drawled, his tone almost playful now, and you flushed, "i hope you find what you’re looking for here."

behind him, his entourage, a cadre of hulking men stuffed into suits barely containing their bulk, followed with synchronised precision. they looked more like walking fortresses than bodyguards, with their cold and suspicious eyes cutting through the room as they passed.

one of them shot you an odd look, and you forced yourself to feign interest in a nearby display of sapphire-encrusted forks.

the moment the criminal was out of earshot, gojo leaned down, "genji? really?"

you shrugged, ignoring how you felt your nerves fray. and refusing to meet him half-way, "what? okay, i panicked. it was the first name i thought of."

"yeah, that was so convincing," gojo muttered darkly beside you, and you caught some bitten off words about how he was never going on a mission with you again, how yaga should never have roped him into this.

all things you blithely ignored.

you didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. it rolled off him in waves, the tension in his posture, the barely audible hum of cursed energy still crackling under the surface.

"we don't even know where the amulet is. and imagine if we show up in front of yaga without it. you can do whatever you like with him after we get our hands on the cursed object," you whispered back, pretending to study the ridiculous cutlery with exaggerated focus.

gojo lowered his head, as though he suddenly saw the worth in gemstones embedded in cutlery, but just enough so he could glower at you. "you're flirting," he hissed, "i could have blasted through half this room, and just finished the job by now."

you coughed and hackled, "not all of us think effective battles are fought with a hollow purple."

"and not all of us,” gojo bit back, "feel the need to blush like schoolgirls the second someone bats an eyelash at us."

heat shot through you, part anger, part something you didn’t want to name. "blush?” you snapped. "i wasn’t blushing."

"you just wanted to jump his bones. thought we weren't here to get it wet."

"i'm not entertaining this conversation," but your voice was mildly higher pitched, drawing attention, "is that why you were there? standing like an idiot, or a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

gojo's sneer faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough to make your heart lurch with a strange, vindictive triumph.

"i wasn’t jealous," he said, "i was doing my job. y'know, being a jujutsu sorcerer. bringing a criminal to justice."

you opened your mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. because he wasn’t entirely wrong, and that infuriated you more than anything.

so instead, you lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his shoulder, onto the crisp and fine fabric of his jacket. you didn't miss the way he stiffened, briefly disarmed.

"look, i've got this. just stay close."

gojo's jaw tightened, and you could feel the unspoken protest simmering there. before he could get a word in, you turned away and called out.

"hey! naoki!"

the red-haired man stopped mid-stride, turning his head back toward you with a quizzical look. the confident words you’d planned evaporated the moment his sharp, brown eyes pinned you in place.

"i mean, naoki sato. mr. sato," you fumbled, mentally kicking yourself.

brilliant start. truly one of jujutsu tech's finest.

naoki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to faint amusement. his gaze flicked to gojo, who had crossed his arms like a fortress of disdain and immense ill-will.

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

you ignored the huff that escaped the white-haired man next to you, and forced a smile, "actually, i was hoping you could help me choose something out. i'm not an expert here, and there's just so much to see."

naoki's bodyguards shifted, their expressions darkening as if you’d committed some unspoken faux pas. but the crime boss merely tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"ah, well," he said, drawing the word out lazily, "i don’t usually get this forward with my clients, but i suppose i'll make an exception."

his eyes slid once again to gojo, who was now glowering at a waiter hovering too close to his personal space, on the edges of infinity. "your bodyguard," naoki added helpfully, "can walk behind you. perhaps he'd like a drink to keep him occupied."

gojo's snarl could have peeled garish paint off the walls, "i don't want it."

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn ass.

instead, you pasted on a smile, tight and sweet, and shot gojo a look that could cut glass, "our host is offering you something. you want that drink, genji."

"i don’t want cream soda," gojo muttered, all mulish in his six foot three glory.

gritting your teeth, you flashed naoki a helpless look, like what can you do? bodyguards, am i right?

and you reached for the waiter's tray, grabbing a tall glass of the offending soda and thrusting it into gojo's warm hand. then you leaned in, your voice a whisper, "take it. smile and act normal. ten minutes, that’s all i need."

for a moment, his blue eyes locked on yours, a storm of irritation twirling in them. you were now close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to notice the faintest hitch in his breath.

but gojo, for once, didn’t argue. with a final glare, he downed half the glass in one long, defiant gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank.

naoki laughed, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement, "you're very kind to the help. shall we?"

you shot gojo satoru one last look — a mix of triumph and warning —before stepping forward.

but your partner, predictably, looked like he'd rather swallow glass than stand a moment longer here. still, bodyguard is as bodyguard does, and he trailed after you like a reluctant shadow.

"i must admit," naoki began, his brown eyes catching the glittering lights as they swept over you, "it's rare to see someone so beautiful at these things. i think i would have remembered seeing you before, too. i'm usually stuck with old men trying to swindle me out of my fortune."

a flush climbed up your neck, unwelcome and irritating at what must have been calculated words, enough to flatter and also to disarm.

behind you, gojo audibly scoffed, clearly abandoning all manner of proper etiquette. you glanced over your shoulder to see him gripping the stem of a champagne flute, his knuckles white. the empty glass of cream soda had been abandoned in favour of something stronger.

he caught your eye and rolled his, making a slicing gesture at his neck followed by a pointed hurry up motion.

"ignore him," you murmured to naoki, pushing forward.

naoki’s eyes gleamed with amusement, easily unbothered as he gestured for you to continue walking. "does your bodyguard always look like he’s seconds away from murder, or is this special treatment for me?"

you didn’t dare look back at gojo, “he’s just protective," you said carefully.

naoki chuckled, "protective, sure. but of his job...or you?"

the words struck a nerve you refused to acknowledge, so you pressed the conversation forward. ignoring the jitter that erupted in your stomach.

"can i ask...," you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity, "are these all cursed objects? or just pretty trinkets?"

naoki's amusement didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened, assessing you like you were a puzzle he was only now beginning to piece together.

"why?” he asked smoothly, "are you interested in jujutsu? i thought you were here to...browse."

fuck, caught, but not completely.

you played it off with a small shrug. "some members of my family dabble in jujutsu," you said, letting a sliver of truth escape, but letting the rest of your words drip with lies, "i can only see curses, i'm not a sorcerer. but most of my family still hates me for how i was born."

behind you, gojo shifted, his movements a touch sharper than before. he hadn’t known that, hadn't known the small truth that you had snuck into your words.

but naoki's expression softened, his smile more thoughtful now. "that’s rare. and often not appreciated, i imagine.”

you hesitated, cautiously, but nodded. "not by them, no."

"i understand. my parents hated jujutsu. thought it was unnatural, and against the way of the world. my grandfather...he was the only one who didn't," and there's a quiet sincerity threading naoki sato's words, "he raised me when my parents refused to. at least, until he passed."

something in his story tugged at you — a familiarity you hadn’t expected. your family’s disdain for your own jujutsu, their rejection, mirrored in his words. it was unsettling, but oddly not unwelcome.

"i’m sorry about your grandfather," you said softly.

"and i, about your family,” naoki replied, a calm mask settling over his features once more, reminding you so painfully of the sorcerer who trailed behind you, "no-one should be made to feel lesser, sorcerer or not."

you caught your lip between your teeth, hoping the red stain didn't catch onto your teeth, "i thought most sorcerers hated humans."

naoki shrugged, "we aren't all that different. all flesh and blood with temporary lives."

oddly wise words from a mass murderer, thief and criminal.

you glanced over at gojo again, and just as you predicted, his scowl deepened and the glass looked like it was about a shatter in his hands. if looks could kill, naoki sato would be the first to go, no questions asked, followed by you.

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

"ignore him, please," you muttered, stepping closer to a glass case to distract yourself, "what’s this?"

naoki followed, stepping closer so you could catch the scent of expensive almond and saffron, "ah," he said, gesturing at the artefact inside, "a blade, from ming dynasty china. the jade serpent on the hilt grants its wearer the ability to control minds. some say it can even raise the dead."

the claim sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with feigned interest, nodding as naoki moved on.

"and here," he continued, pointing to a golden ring, with an oddly boyish grin for someone dealing in murderous items, "the lion's eyes. said to see through any veil, any curse. the last treasure of the dynasty of the pharoahs."

you tried to listen, but gojo's presence loomed larger with every word. his disdain for naoki sato, his barely concealed anger at the stolen objects— it was all too palpable. when you glanced back, his scowl had deepened, and the champagne glass in his hand looked on the verge of shattering.

if looks could kill, naoki sato would already be six feet under. you would be next on the list.

you swallowed hard, turning back to naoki sato and pointing at the next display. "and this?"

naoki pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "the broken english crown. apparently worn by the last king to die on the battlefield, and i haven't tried it on," he shares this with you, with a conspiratorial smile, "but legends say it fractures the bones of anyone deemed not powerful enough to wear it."

this criminal was not what you had expected at all. it was hard to reconcile the image of a hardened criminal with years of ruthless ambition, with this effortless charm and disarming way of making you lose the blurred line of correct propriety. you tried not to stare at how the warm light caught his auburn hair, like the autumn leaves in the dappled sun.

and yet, it wasn’t just his looks that threw you off. it was the way he carried himself — like he had nothing to prove and everything to hide. dangerous in a different way, one that was far harder to guard against.

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

"you know, i have to admit," naoki said, gesturing to the gilded displays around him, "most of this stuff? tacky as hell. but then, you would be surprised what most people would pay for tacky."

from a swindler, fraud and scammer? you were quite sure.

"funny, coming from someone whose livelihood depends on it. isn't that gaudy by association?"

naoki winked, and you averted your gaze from long brown lashes fluttering against soft skin, "touché. but people don't want to just buy the artefact, or the cursed object. they want the story. that shit's priceless."

you swallowed, focusing on how gojo was trying to draw your attention to a glass case hidden by all the others, and you hoped you weren't squinting, "so, you're just a storyteller then?"

but beside you, naoki sato tilted his head, "you could say that."

you thought of the clipped photos printed into the file. some in black and white, and some in raging shades of colour. where naoki sato's hands had painted entire buildings in shades of sticky red, and heads rolled on the floor. where his enhance technique could burst arteries and lungs, leaving people in pieces on the floor.

"sounds dramatic," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"life's dramatic, and too short to not take what i want," naoki replied with a faint smile, his hand lightly brushing your waist as he guided you further past long tables.

you leaned into it without thinking, a tiny movement that made a creamy, berry flush paint over naoki's features. and the sorcerer's laugh was warm, low, like he’d already won something you didn’t realise was at stake.

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

you let your lips curl into a faint smile and leaned into naoki's just a fraction more, with a very deliberate look, one that spoke of triumph and having tamed a beast.

gojo's scowl deepened, his shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration, and he started mouthing at you, silent as his lips parted. if you read his mouth carefully, well...

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

"what's that?" but it was gojo's voice that roughly cut through the air, like gravel grinding underfoot. his shaded eyes were fixed on the glass case tucked in the corner.

you followed his gaze, past his outstretched arm, and your stomach twisted.

raijin's amulet.

the cursed object you’d been hunting, the one you’d sworn to protect at all costs, gleamed innocently behind its protective glass. you could recognise the serpentine dragon coiled protectively around the stone at its centre, its intricate carving daring anyone to claim it.

your frantic eyes met gojo's. his were sharp, seething. then, both your gazes flicked to naoki.

naoki, of course, noticed nothing — or pretended not to. he let out a soft hum, following gojo's pointed stare.

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

you coughed, cutting through the rising tension before gojo could turn that look into something explosive. the glass case between them might as well have been kindling for the fire brewing.

"it's mainly for academics," you said, feigning an air of curiosity. then, with practiced innocence, you tilted your head and smiled at the dangerous special grade cursed object as if it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket.

"but it’s so pretty. what is it, really?"

naoki's hand tightened subtly on your waist, and you tried to ignore the guilt that bubbled up in your chest when his sharp features softened at your feigned interest.

"it’s just an old thing," he said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret meant only for you, "did you know it once belonged to ryomen sukuna?"

your mouth was dry, but you kept your face blank, tilting your head as though you’d never heard the name before, "sukuna?"

naoki pressed his palm to the glass case, his expression shifting into something darker, more reverent.

"the king of curses," he murmured. "lived over a thousand years ago. ruthless. when he died, most of his treasures were plundered by clans too greedy for their own good. but this..." he tapped the glass softly. "this one? it wasn't easy to get my hands on."

you leaned closer, feigning fascination while calculating your next move, trying to figure out how you could get close enough to that glass case without shattering the illusion cast on naoki sato, "what does it do?"

for a moment, naoki's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. but just as quickly, his expression smoothed out, and he chuckled.

"trust me, beautiful," he said, his voice like silk with an edge of warning. "you don’t want to wear that thing. i could get you something far more...safe."

you forced a smile, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine. instead, you threw a quick, desperate glance at gojo — a silent plea for the strongest to listen to you: i'll distract him. you get the amulet.

gojo's expression tightened, but his head snapped once, briefly, in the faintest hint of acknowledgement.

time to move.

you let out a soft, breathy laugh and tugged naoki toward a table, your hand brushing his arm with casual ease. "let’s sit," you suggested, leaning into his toned chest just enough to sell the act. "all this walking is making me tired."

naoki's laughter was warm, a touch too easy, and he let you guide him without resistance, "tsk, whatever you want," he murmured.

now you're trusting gojo satoru, simply because you had no other choice. he had to get the amulet out of the glass before alarms began to blare, and before needless blood was spilt over the glimmering floor.

and so you sat, letting naoki have his back to gojo, oblivious to the white-haired shadow slipping closer to the case. your eyes lingered on gojo, pulse racing each time he disappeared behind one of naoki's own burly guards.

but then naoki sato's gaze locked onto you, drawing your attention back with a searing warmth that caught you off guard.

"so," he asked, eyes glinting, "what do you think of all...this?"

"it's impressive," and you're surprised at how the truth has found a home in your mouth, "i didn't ever think of different sorcerers, around the world."

naoki leaned closer, with his elbows on his thighs, propping his face upon his hands, "most people don't. here, it's all about jujutsu. tokyo, this. kyoto, that. the higher ups are so narrow-minded. stuck in their ways, obsessed with tradition. they don't know anything about the world out there."

for a moment, his words startled you. they weren’t the boastful musings of a crime boss but something else. they reminded you of how gojo spoke about the rigidity of the old ways, about why he fought so hard to change things, to create a better world for jujutsu sorcerers.

ah, focus.

"hey," naoki suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. his gaze was sharper now, more intense. and over his shouder, you caught the faintest blur of white hair in the background, gojo's movements.

but it was hard to focus on anything but naoki sato's face — the sharp lines softened by his proximity, the warmth in his dark eyes that you didn’t want to admit was almost magnetic.

he was a man marked for execution, and the warrant must have been burning a hole through your suite on the highest floor.

yet here he was, looking at you like you were something worth risking everything for.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to see autumn's locks matted with rusted blood. to see eyes go dull and lifeless.

you felt like you had the moral spine of a sponge.

"can i kiss you?"

the question hit like a punch to the gut. your lips parted, but no sound came out. and suddenly, the steps in the background stopped too.

naoki's hand came up to your jaw, his touch unexpectedly reverent, and all you could think was: distraction. right. distract him for gojo. what the fuck is taking him so long?

so you closed the distance.

naoki's lips captured yours with a softness that disarmed you, but the kiss was anything but tentative, and you could taste a sweet tang like lemons and sugar. but you let his large hands pull you closer and his touch was warm and intoxicating.

the kind that made you forget, just for a moment, that this was all a ruse.

his lips moved against yours with a heat that made everything else fade to black, and his hands slid down your waist and back, tracing lines that felt dangerously real.

when you finally pulled away for air, your lips tingled, and your breath came in short bursts. you couldn’t help yourself — you reached up, your fingers brushing against his now-flushed lips, glossy under your touch, and you hated the way your stomach twisted from the way naoki sato melted under your touch.

focus, again.

you hoped, prayed, that gojo was doing his part, taking advantage of the way you had naoki sato, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, wrapped around your finger, and bruising his tongue into your mouth.

but your gaze flicked upwards, past his shoulder and collided with something that stopped your heart cold.

electric blue. devastatingly vibrant, crackling with a fury that hit the air like a thunderstorm.

gojo's eyes pinned you in place, shadows pooling in sharp cerulean, from shades that had slipped just a touch down his nose. no mask to shield whatever expression gojo had clearly painted across his face.

hurt? anger? what the fuck, was that betrayal?

your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to dig your nails into naoki's tailored jacket, to hiss at gojo to get a move on. to stop standing there like he had been hit with a shovel.

but the words didn't quite form, didn't pull at the corners of your mouth to silently shape them. his expression just held you captive, no. shamed you.

and that made you angrier. he had no right to look at you like that, like you had just crossed a line that you didn't even know was there.

but under you, naoki shifted, tilted your chip up to meet his lips again, and you let him. you...wanted him to. but the heat of his lips didn't drown out the chill of gojo's stare. your own body betrayed you with a shiver, one that you couldn't quite place yourself.

nerves, or desire.

the kiss was firmer this time, insistent, as if naoki sato was staking his claim in front of an invisible audience. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw with maddening ease, over the pulse of your neck.

and for a second, it was too easy to fall into the lie. but you felt it: the searing weight of gojo's glower burning into you, not far away.

naoki pulled back just slightly, his breath fanning your lips, "hey, you're distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes scanning your face as though he wanted to read every thought. "should i be offended?"

"no," you said quickly, almost too quickly, "just a lot to take in."

naoki smiles, all coy and glazed lips, clearly pleased by what he thought was pure flattery, and not the glowering six-eyes shining behind him. "good. i think 'm gonna like leaving you speechless."

part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

naoki's warm thumb lingers against your jaw, and your breath hitches just enough for the sorcerer to notice. you don't miss how his eyes darken, a hint of triumph gleaming in them.

you risked a glance past his shoulder again, and gojo was still there, stony-faced as naoki's own guards. but there's something else broiling in his eyes, rolling over his face like a thunderstorm cracks over a grassy plain. the fury in his eyes hadn't lessened, but now it was laced with something sharper, something that you can finally read.

jealousy. absolute glass-shattering, world-stopping levels of envy paint over gojo satoru's face.

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

was he jealous of naoki sato? of you? of this entire charade that you both had agreed to? or rather, the one you had roped him into.

the idea shouldn’t have thrilled you, but it did. and it terrified you just as much.

you let naoki kiss you again, forcing yourself to deepen it this time, your hands coming up to rest against his hard chest. you don't miss how he suddenly parts from your lips, panting softly into your mouth, and suddenly you're hit with the most awful wave of longing for a man who cannot have.

naoki’s large hands, however, weren’t idle. one brushed the edge of your dress, under the shoulder strap of your powder-blue gown, his thumb grazing against the fabric, and your breath hitched.

you shift, your breath stuttering as naoki's other hand slides higher, his fingers brushing against the flesh of your thigh, pushing your dress higher, and his hand brushes against the silver details on the side, scratching your skin. it's maddening how cool air meets the heat of your now exposed skin, and naoki's mouth crushes against yours, as if he's equally savouring the taste of you.

"t-there are people here," you gasp, your voice a fractured whisper, trembling at the edge of composure, "what if they can see or watch?"

gojo satoru is here. gojo is watching. you know your partner is close enough to hear every breathless sound you make, every treasonous whine that slips past your lips.

but naoki sato's mouth is curved into a plush, wicked smile, "let them look," and his teeth are grazing against the curve enough in a way that makes you arch your back into him, he who is now leaning over you, as if he's the one trying to capture you, "who cares - hah?"

any reasonable thought of your duty. of honour, of a mission flees from your head.

the sight of gojo's softly parted mouth and darkened eyes as he watches you in another man's arms spurs you on, and you let naoki sato press his lips against the hollow of his throat.

naoki's long fingers are blazing as they reach the very apex of your thighs. as they press two rough pads into the sopping slick that's gathered in your panties, as they run themselves along dampened fabric in a way that has you openly keening.

"can i?" and your eyes meet the mahogany gaze of the man above you. it's electrifying. you should be ashamed, furious at how you're just being taken like this, on display. but this is a room of the seven deadly sins, where each corner of the room is a lesson in hedonism, and obscene wealth.

"please."

but your eyes are only on gojo satoru behind him. on how he catches the pale-pink of his bottom lip between his teeth, and his face is seething. how his darkened eyes drop to naoki's hand working its way between your legs, and you wantonly roll your hips up to meet him there.

you let writhing fingers slip under the waistband of your pale-blue underwear, dipping into glossy, thick arousal. but you also don't miss the tent in gojo satoru's grey slacks, only metres away, and the frenzied look making him look pained.

you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy moaning openly, spreading your legs just a bit wider, so gojo could get a glimpse of your drooling cunt.

"fuck, 's good. so good, naoki."

a finger travels up, away from your winking entrance to press a soft flick against your throbbing clit, "yeah?"

and the beautiful man in between your legs all but purrs. pleased beyond measure at how you've apparently been captured, heart and soul by him. and your attention snaps back to how he suddenly draws his fingers off your soaked cunt, and brings them up to his mouth.

"sweetest thing i've ever tasted, i think 'm gonna have -"

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

the scent of iron slammed into your senses as fresh blood splattered across your face, your chest, and stained the delicate blue of your dress into a deep and damning red. it clung to your skin, to your lips as you pressed your mouth shut, fighting the bile rising in your throat.

reversal: red crackled in the air, cursed energy humming sharp, and it had sliced through the hall like a whip. naoki's arm had been torn from your waist, wrenched away as he staggered back with a guttural hiss, and you avert your eyes from the blood that paints the space between you.

"that's enough."

gojo satoru's voice is like a thunderclap, reverberating around your ears, and when you finally meet his gaze, you're met with unbridled fury. you're not sure where his shades have gone, but you're met with the full weight of six-eyes, blazing and unrelenting.

naoki stumbles ahead of you, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps through his fingers, torn between shock and raw rage. his cherry-lips are curled back into a snarl, flush with indignation.

"hah, you're a sorcerer?," and naoki sato's voice drips with venom, heavy with disbelief.

you're not quite sure gojo satoru needs to answer. not when his presence alone sends waves of cold through the hall, cutting the air precisely, cleaving it.

but there's a man running towards the commotion, a guard encumbered by a hefty black suit, and there's a cold shock that runs through you as your eyes fall on the gun at his side.

"we think that's gojo satoru," the guard wheezes, breathless.

"you're telling me this now? i gave you fuckwits one job," naoki snarls, shaking the man, with his nails dug into the guard's shoulder.

and you're quickly pushing your dress down, letting the fabric spill over your legs once more, fighting back the hot sparks that sting at your eyes.

it's enough to snap naoki's attention back to you. and for a moment, for the briefest of moment, he wasn't the hardened criminal you had been playing this dangerous game with. a boy your age, wild and beautiful, and utterly undone.

and it heaves your stomach at how the fury in his gaze trembles slightly, just enough to reveal betrayal underneath that strikes you harder than any limitless could.and it struck you harder than any whip of magic ever could.

"i must be stupid, fuck," naoki's voice cracks as he spits the words, his expression twisted with something raw, something painfully human, "you’re a jujutsu sorcerer too, aren't you?"

the accusation was a dagger, his voice trembling with disbelief but its wholly true, and your head wavers in a half-shake, half-nod.

"you’re with him, aren't you? just another one of the higher up's lapdogs?"

the words weren’t a question — they were a condemnation.

naoki's lips are curled, and his bloodied arm is now trembling but steady, defiance burning through the pain.

and a whisper in your mind tells you to smash the glass case holding the amulet, to push through it with your bare hands, just so you can bleed alongside him.

but naoki sato's bitter scoff shatters that thought, and his gaze must have followed yours, sharp and knowing, for his hand has moved faster, pulling the gun from the guard's holster.

the blast came before you could even think, loud and jarring.

but you never saw the bullet's path, only gojo.

gojo, whose arm has snapped in front of you like a barrier, impossibly fast, and well within the bounds of his infinity. as if he had tore through space itself.

the bullet collides with infinity, ricocheting into the chaos of the panicking crowd.

naoki’s gaze didn’t waver. it slices back to gojo, sharp, calculating, and darkly amused. he must have seen it now, everything.

the truth was etched in the way gojo had positioned himself, the way his blazing blue eyes never left you, the unspoken claim humming in the air like a second heartbeat.

naoki sato's laugh is lower, bitter, and you watch the mesmerising plink! of crimson on the floor.

"he's protecting you, isn’t he?" his voice dripped with venom, each word striking like a dagger, "how sweet.”

and just like that, something broke. gojo's restraint, most likely.

you can see how his fingers are flexing, his hands lifting and cursed energy is coiling at his fingertips. his thumb and index finger brush, a telltale sign of an impending blast. hollow purple.

you clench your eyes shut, bracing for the devastation of the impact —

but naoki sato was faster.

his arms snapped outward, a surge of his own jujutsu ripping through the space between you. the bodyguards around you crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies bursting under the pressure. blood sprayed in thick, sticky waves, painting the walls, the floor — against the edges of infinity.

you opened your eyes in time to see gojo falter, his hands trembling as he stared at the carnage. even he, the unflinching sorcerer, the strongest, looked shaken by the sheer brutality of what cursed technique: enhance was capable of.

and in the heartbeat of his hesitation, naoki was gone.

"fuck's sake! s-satoru! let go of me!" you snap, voice cracking with fury as you fight against gojo's tight grasp.

his vivid focus shoots back to you, his expression a storm of anger and disbelief, "what?" and gojo's voice is razer-sharp, "if you think i'm letting you go after that stunt you pulled -"

"shut up!" and you can feel your own desperation cut through the air, "you go after him, i'll go after the amulet."

you toss your head to the shattered glass and the chaos erupting all around you, "if that thing gets lost in the mess, we've done this all for nothing!"

gojo's jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a hard and furious line. for a moment, you think he's going to argue with you again, but then you're dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

pain shoots through your knees as you land, but you're soon hauling yourself up.

"go!" you hiss, shoving at his shoulder, "i'll come find you when i have it."

gojo hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, then he's gone — a blur of movement faster than your eyes could track, leaving you alone in the chaos.

your hands tremble as you grab a heavy steel bar from the wreckage, swinging it with all your strength at the glass case. the sound of shattering glass barely registers as you reach inside, your fingers curling around the cold, smooth surface of the amulet.

wild shocks run through you, and you almost keel over, feeling the rush and pulse of such a cursed object against your skin. but it's safe. you have it now.

with it clutched tightly in your hand, you turned and run.

by now, you can't find it within yourself to stop the hot tears from running down your cheeks, streaming freely as you tear through the blood-soaked scene.

you run, the air sharp and cold against your skin, your heartbeat an unrelenting drum in your ears. the thump! making your head pound.

you can follow the residuals of gojo's cursed energy, lingering like a sickly beacon, drawing you back to the dull parking lot. you pushed open the doors with both hands, red smudging onto the concrete as you ignored the sting of your palms

and then you saw it. saw it all.

the scene hits you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath clean from your lungs.

a body lies crumpled on the ground, its lifelessness more harrowing than the carnage that surrounds it. blood, thick and sticky, smears across the concrete. massive pillars, toppled like a child's toys in the wake of a clear explosion.

your gaze snags on a limp hand sprawled on the floor, and you feel your stomach twist. instinctively, your tongue slides against the back of your teeth, and the metallic tang of iron is already sleeping into your senses.

and then, there was gojo satoru.

he stands amid the wreckage, like a figure carved from shadows, and ice. and fury. his chest softly rises and falls, as though he had been running for miles, his hair disheveled and darkened with sweat.

the sight of him might have almost been human, almost comforting. if not for the gore streaked across his hands, and the thing he drops onto the concrete with a hollow thud.

you don't look at it. you don't think you can. your stomach knows the truth before your mind catches up, bile heaving within you once more.

the head of naoki sato. he would never have stood a chance against the strongest sorcerer in modern history.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

you mind flashes back to that dastardly pink sticky note, still stuck to the case file.

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

the blood pooling in front of gojo is already congealing, its sickly shine dimming in the cold, fluorescent light of the lot.

you were tired of seeing blood, of tasting it on your tongue, of breathing it in like the very air you needed to survive.

you’d thought there would be relief in the end. but instead, disappointment had rooted itself deep inside you, twisting itself.

naoki sato, for all his crimes and cruetly, had been...something. somewhere beneath the sly smirks and sharp words, there had been glimpses of something that almost looked like hope. he had said he wanted better — for everyone. for you. was it a lie? or had you twisted his words into something more comforting than the truth, desparate to see light where there was none?

your throat burns, but no tears come. just a hollow ache that matches the cold weight of raijin's amulet in your hand. you looked at it now, the thing you’d fought so hard to win, its edges biting into your skin, the dragon leaving its mark.

gojo's voice cut through the silence, low and ragged, and tired, "don’t look."

you hadn’t even realised you were staring, your eyes hovering dangerously close to the lifeless hand on the ground.

"i'm sorry," he had continued, his tone strangely neutral, as if apologising for a cracked glass rather than the irrevocable violence around him, that seemed to trail after him, "i had to do it."

you laughed then, short and bitter, the sound cracking like a whip against the cold air. "had to, gojo?" your voice trembled, not with fear, but something darker. something far more raw.

his gaze had snapped to you, and there it was — the thing that always churned between you two. a storm of emotions, tangled so tightly you could no longer tell where hate ended and yearning began.

"you think this is the resolution i wanted?" gojo shot back, his voice laced with something too jagged to be regret. "you think i enjoyed that?"

and in the most twisted, perverse theatre of your mind's eye, you see gojo's open-mouthed stare, focused on how another man touched you, made you his.

"i don’t know what you enjoy anymore," you take a step closer, your grip tightening on amulet until your knuckles whitened. but the air pushed from your lungs, "but - god, gojo. forget it. i-i don't even know. 'm sorry, too."

gojo sighs, and you see the exhaustion hanging over him too, "we'll go back tomorrow morning."

the walk back to your room is…suffocating. the air is thick with everything that you just cannot say, words that you can't even bring your heavy tongue to shape.

gojo is beind you, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing between your shoulder blades, but you just can't turn around. you don't dare to. raijin's amulet is still clenched in your hand, and its edges are cutting into your palm, a form of self-flagellation you suppose.

you push the door open, and your breath catches and hitches as you slip inside, slamming it shut after he follows. locking it with shaking hands.

in the suite, the moonlight now slices through the half-drawn curtains, as the tokyo skyline glimmers underneath you. it's painting silver lines across gojo's spectral frame, and he strides to the amenities sink, a smaller outlet near the door.

you watch, as though you're holding a sacred vigil.

your gaze doesn't leave gojo's figure as he throws his jacket off his sharp torso with a disgusted sigh, leaving him in his black dress shirt and a loosened tie.

still watching as his movements are tense, restless as he cups water from the faucet in his hands, splashing it onto his face.

when he finally looks up, gojo's white is hair dripping, his tie slightly askew, and his tired eyes catch yours like a snare.

for a moment, you’re frozen. neither of you say a word. the air feels too thin to breathe, and his gaze is too much — too piercing, too relentless, too him.

you can’t take it.

with a sharp motion, you slam the amulet onto the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. you spin on your heel and lock yourself in the bathroom, shutting him out.

inside, the luxurious space feels surreal. marble floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting, gold fixtures glinting and stinging your eyes. it smells faintly of jasmine and mint, too perfect for the mess you're about to create.

you grip the edge of the sink as the first sob wrenches its way out of your chest, hot and raw.

tears spill over, cascading down your cheeks in waves you can’t control. they come faster, harder, until you’re gasping, choking on gulps of air that burn in your throat.

you sink onto the cool floor tiles, your knees pulled to your chest as the sobs wrack your body. the weight of everything, what you did, gojo's eyes gleaming, naoki sato's hands on you, the smell of blood, it all crashes over you like a tidal wave. it’s too much for a human heart to bear in one night.

but your hands are shaking as you reach for the hem of your once beautiful dress, peeling it off with clumsy, desperate motions. the air is cool against your skin, you who is now left in undergarments.

and you stare blankly at the blood that smears your arms and legs, before grabbing a small towel, dampening it under the sink and wiping crimson stains away.

small cuts sting on your skin, faint patches where glass struck you, and you hiss.

a knock rattles the bathroom door, sharp and unrelenting, dragging you back to reality.

you close your eyes and exhale through gritted teeth, your voice brittle, "not now, gojo."

silence follows, stretching out long enough to offer the illusion of peace. but then it breaks. another knock, louder, more insistent this time.

"satoru, i swear to god," you snap, your exhaustion fraying into something sharp, laced with more venom now.

there’s a sigh from the other side, audible even through the thick wood, "don't make me blast this door down."

you groan, rolling your eyes as you toss the bloodied towel onto the counter, "you wouldn't dare."

"try me. just open the door, would'you?"

you don’t have the energy to argue, and something in his tone tells you that gojo isn’t bluffing. and so you dragged yourself upright, swinging the door open with more force than necessary.

gojo stands there, with damp hair still clinging to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his templates. and his sleeves are rolled up now, revealing thick forearms flecked with rust and crimson. it wouldn't be his. no, gojo hasn't bled in over a decade.

you straighten, aware of your own state right now. in your undergarments, only shielding you from being entirely bare under his gaze. but the only clothes in this room with you are now crumpled on the floor, in a heap of ice-blue and dark red.

let him look. he's seen more than enough now.

and so you lean back against the sink, crossing your arms as your eyes meet blue, "what do you want?"

gojo hesitates, his jaw tightening as he braces himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough around the edges, "just...asking if you're alright."

the laugh that escapes you is sharp and hollow, devoid of any humour, "why wouldn't i be?"

gojo's faze flickers, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger a moment too long. you let him trace the dried blood smeared across your collarbone, the faint scratches on your skin.

"after all of that tonight..." he starts, but the words hang in the air between the two of you, unfinished. his voice suddenly falters, and you're struck by how gojo's razor-sharp confidence has dulled into something weaker, more conflicted.

you know exactly what he means. the stunt he's referring to, in his own earlier words. you wonder what exactly is eating at him now. is it honest concern, pride? residual envy?

"please, trust me. i'm fine, we managed to do what was asked of us, anyway," you clip curtly, hoping your tone is final enough.

gojo looks at you like he doesn't believe a single syllable that slips from your bitten lips, but then his shoulders sag and he exhales sharply, "fine," he mutters, turning on his heel as if he's the one that can't stand to be near you any longer.

"wait."

the word slips out before you can stop it, and gojo pauses, and his eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

you swallow hard, suddenly unsure of yourself, and lift a clean towel from the counter, helping yourself to another one of the hotel's free amenities, "can you help me with this?"

an olive branch.

you gesture with a single finger, over dried blood that has streaked over your back, your neck. the hollow of your collarbone.

you can see the refusal dancing on his tongue, the hesitation in the way his throat bobs, and how gojo's eyes flicker over you once more.

but he doesn't refuse. gojo just wordlessly steps forward, taking the towel from your outstretched hand. you watch, silently, as he moves to the sink and runs it under cold water. you're sitting on the edge of the counter now so you face him, watching the warm golden glow of the overhead lights in his pale hair.

the porcelain is cold against your thighs as you angle yourself away from the mirror, facing gojo. the towel in his hand drips faintly, and you watch as he hesitates again, just for a fraction of a second before stepping closer.

at first, his movements are slow and careful. he's raising the towel, and his hand is steady as you feel the first touch of the cool fabric against your back. a shiver practically races down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his arm snakes behind you, brushing against your bare skin.

it's subtle at first, but you notice it. the hitch in his breath, the faint tremour in his movements.

gojo, who is always so infuriatingly composed, is shaken. you hear it in the sorcerer's uneven exhale that he doesn't quite manage to suppress, the way his fingers press the towel just a little too harshly.

the suite is silent now except for the faint drip of water and the rasp of fabric against your skin. you should say something, anything, but the words don’t come. instead, your gaze fixes on him, his profile illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light.

gojo's features are always striking, almost ethereal: the ice-white hair that falls messily against his forehead, the long white lashes that frame those sharp, cerulean-blue eyes. there’s something softened by the warm light, as though the harshness of his presence, of a man who stands above heaven and earth, has been dulled just enough to make him seem almost...human again.

but you feel as though your heart must just give way, pounding so hard that it may burst. where the blood that fell from another man's veins had somehow drawn a line to gojo satoru instead.

an hour ago, you had been arched into another, naoki sato, one who had been a dead man walking. an hour ago, his hands were on you, his lips hot and insistent, and his eyes were warm, and now he’s gone. dead. gojo made sure of that. and that was always meant to happen.

the thought should make you furious. it should make you push gojo away, but instead, all you can do is sit there, feeling his hands —gentle now, impossibly careful, on your skin.

it's wrong. it's so deeply, fundamentally wrong, and yet the space another man left feels like it was carved out for gojo satoru all along.

gojo's touch slows as he runs the towel over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone with a precision that feels almost tender. your eyes slip closed for a moment, the warmth of his hand lingering even as the cold water wipes away the blood.

then he moves again.

it happens fast enough that you barely register it. one second, gojo satoru is standing tall and focused on the task, and the next...he's leaning down. his breath ghosting over the hollow of your neck.

you feel your entire world tilt as his lips press softly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, a touch so light that it feels stolen.

but now you've frozen, every breath catching as though the air was snatched from your lungs. every nerve feels as though it's on fire, hyper-aware of how soft the brush of his lips was, the faint scrape of his teeth just shy of your skin.

how gojo's lips were almost reverent, like a prayer offered in silence. how he was worshipping something he couldn't ever have.

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

gojos's cerulean eyes are molten, the usual ice cracked and melting into something deep and desperate and all-consuming. they bore into yours, wild and unguraded, and the pale lashes framing them tremble lighting as though even he's unsure of what he's just done.

but gojo's pupils are also blown wide, and electric. like a storm trapped in glass.

you swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. slowly, cautiously, you dip your head, just enough to give him permission without saying a word.

the look in his eyes shifts — hunger, disbelief, and something darker all tangled together. he presses his lips to your neck again, firmer this time, lingering as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. then again, slightly higher, his breath hot and uneven against you.

"satoru…" the name slips from your lips in a whisper, trembling and unbidden.

the warmth of his tongue catches you off guard, tracing the curve of your neck in a way that sends a jolt through your entire body, heat down to your thighs. it's...unhinged, but the part of you that should push him away is nowhere to be found.

gojo pulls back just enough for you to see the faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remain dark, intense, and burning with something that feels too big for the room.

"another man got to taste you," he whispers, "now i've tasted him."

you almost laugh, sharp and bitter. the sound lodging in your throat. the absurdity of it all, the jealously lacing his words like a poison vine, the way his breath still fans against your skin.

"that's insane," you manage, your voice shaking. it does little to stop the searing heat curling low in your stomach.

for a second, gojo's breath is still hot against your neck. and then suddenly, his hands are on you.

and fuck, it's not delicate at all. there's a roughness to his touch, desparate and unrestrained, as though something inside him as finally snapped.

his palms trace along your bare shoulders, sliding down to your arms, and then to your waist. his fingers press into your skin with a heat that makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. you don't even realise when you had opened your mouth slightly, panting as if you're trying to pull more air in.

"gojo," you manage, barely audible, and you're acutely aware of the low tense ache beginning to throb in your groin.

his hands slow for a moment, resting on your sides as if he’s trying to ground himself, or stop himself. and gojo's eyes find yours again, and they’re ablaze.

"can i keep going?"

you wonder just how you've managed to unravel this man, to leave his voice hanging by a thread in the air.

you don’t answer right away, your head swimming with confusion, slick desire, and something dangerously close to surrender. gojo satoru is watching you so intently it’s like he’s searching for every unspoken answer written on your skin.

finally, you shift — subtle, but enough. your knees part slightly, just enough for him to step between your bare thighs.

"what do you want me to do?"

you're aware of the insistent, rhythmic pulsing under your panties. of how every small shift of gojo's body against yours amplifies the soft arousal forming, as your heart pounds faster.

and so you let your fingers hook onto the pale waistband of your underwear, and you watch as his gaze follows your movements.

"i want you to touch me, there. please."

you hear the white-haired man breathe out a thankful, reverent fuck before he's following the path of your own hands, hooking a slender finger into your waistband and pulling your underwear down, and off.

and you're so painfully aware of your own arousal right now, the wet that is pooling beneath you. it feels like a relief, parting your legs so your searing heat meets cool air.

"that's perfect, look at t-that," and you're suddenly whining as gojo's fingertips begin grazing sloppy folds, raking themselves over your fluttering entrance, "she's practically been beggin' for my touch all this time, hah!"

"you - ohh, gojo!" you moan, feeling awfully faint from the rippling warmth making your cunt tighten around him, each pshh! echoing in your burning ears, "y-you wish!"

gojo's laugh is a little crazed, undone as he rolls his fingers in practiced curls, at an inhuman pace. bullying his fingers into your opening, as he rasps, "yeah, i w-wish. 'm wishing for this all the time. you never knew, huh?"

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your winking pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

and god, that's exactly where your eyes are. falling on a tense forearm around your waist, as the other works its fierce way through the clamping, gummy walls of your leaking cunt. and you're shuddering underneath him, feeling each brush of his fingers in you.

"w-we make a pretty sight, don't we, yeah?" and the words are spilling from gojo's lips with a certain smugness, but it's rough around the edges, strained. and you just can't look away from how utterly ruined he looks, from touching you.

you watch the glossed shine of your trickling pussy twinkle in the warm lights, as gojo pushes your thighs open wider. his frame leans over yours, taut and straining. and his lips are flushed and parted, betraying the deep ache of his breath.

"go onnn, say it. c'mon," and now gojo's whining in your ear, letting his hand push further into the mess as your pussy is practically weeping onto his fingertips, "won't let you c-cum if you don't say it."

your chest heaves with each desperate, gulping breath. and you can see gojo's vision narrow on how your tits threaten to spill out from their confines, the swell of your chest rising as you try to draw air through your close orgasmic daze. where the edges of your vision blur, and your heart is pounding erratically, "ahhh, gojo! 'm gonna, i think 'm gonna, oh my god!"

but there's more, you want so much more.

and against better thought, you push and elbow back into gojo's chest, heaving as he flicks his thumb over your aching clit.

"hah, what is it now? fuck was that for?" and the man is scowling at you, seemingly irritated that you drew him away from the hypnotic pull of your pulsing walls.

you swivel, away from the mirror so you're facing him. and your eyes fall on the heavy, pitched tent in gojo's grey slacks, one that must be aching and awfully painful from the way he's running his pink tongue over his bruised mouth.

"wan' more, gojo. on the bed."

you've reached up behind your back, unhooking the clip that was holding your bra together. it falls, and you toss it into the pile where gojo had flung your clingy panties, over your gorgeous dress.

and you think gojo satoru might have just had a minor heart attack.

his expression has shifted, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. you think you hear his breath hitch, as his eyes roam over you, unblinking. you're certain that the mildly brighter light in the room has nothing to do with what's overhead, rather the bright blue of gojo's six eyes.

you snicker at his dumbstruck expression, letting your hand curl around his wrist — marvelling at how he almost whines at the sight of you pushing him out of the bathroom suite, and onto that glorious bed that the two of you had argued over earlier in the day.

"n-not so opposed to sharing a bed with me now, sweets? oh, fuck," you don't let him get any more words out, since you're reaching for the sleek leather belt threading through the loops of his slacks, pawing at them so you can finally undress him. have him as bare as you are now.

something in your desparate touch must have made gojo snap, because now he's shuffling the two of you around, so you're practically splayed out under his warm, large hands. thighs spread, parted so your dripping cunt is displayed to the room, as he scoots closer. his knees pressing against the carpet.

"hnnghh, f-fuck, look at her. practically cryin' on me."

and what a sight. gojo satoru, the most powerful man to walk this earth in centuries is slumped beneath your thighs, close enough to your clit that when he breathes, he knocks his nose right over the sensitive bud, coating his face in that syrupy glaze.

and then its slow, painful. how his long tongue descends onto your weeping pussy, writhing flat in wide, broad strokes that leave you whining out his name.

you spread your legs even wider, fighting against gojo's tight grip on the flesh of your thighs. the thighs that are trembling as he brings his teeth up to graze your clit, and your arousal drips from his lips. making candied pink lips look like they've been glazed and dipped in sugar.

briefly, in the back of your mind, you wonder how you're going to continue to function tomorrow. how you're going to even be able to walk after gojo satoru has rendered you boneless.

you also wonder if there's a cosmic deity out there, looking at an invisible and heavenly camera with a dull look on their face. something like what can you do?

"mmhph, y'know i l-like this a lot better than that drink from earlier," and he's cooing at how you squeal and moan, "hah, what was that s-shit called? a cream soda."

you pull at the white strands of his hair, yanking gojo's head back from where his tongue had been lolling around your clit, ignoring his whine, "if y-you make a stupid, fuckin' joke about creaming, i'm g-gonna leave."

gojo rolls his eyes, but this time? this time, there's no malice in it, no irritation. his expression is almost fond, if not shadowed by the enormity of his own lust, "leaving before the main event is dumb choice, sweets."

"tch! get to i-it then, oh! what the fuck, gojo!"

he's found the right place to prod, to roll his fingers over the hood of your clit, occasionally propping his mouth down to suck at it lightly. your mouth is clamped shut, so you don't release an absurd amount of babble, wordless and airless about how good he's devouring you.

"hah," gojo huffs, pressing three flat fingers against your entrance, letting them curl into your walls, enough to tease you, "i can feel her beating for me. 's pulsing all over."

"c-can't you jus' make me cum?" your hands are desparate for some friction, running past your perked tits, down to his hair again. now clamping your thighs around his head, and the soft, snowy hair of his head tickles at your skin.

"can' believe you're talking shit when i'm e-eating you out," gojo chuckles, but you're just too mesmerised by the glint of your slick lighting a beacon over the lower half of his face, strands of slick as he pulls away from your pussy, "y'not that patient, huh?"

he's practically attached to your clit now, kissing it with a tender and yet firm press of his lips, seemingly aware of just how sensitive you are to that type of pressure.

you whimper and mewl as gojo's head disappeared back between your legs, deeper and lower as his tongue pushes into your pussy, flicking shallow thrusts that makes you breathe out gasps of his name.

"now i think 'm gonna cum, so close, satoru," with your hand firmly lodged in his platinum strands, you're rocking your hips messily, sloppily against his awaiting mouth.

"y-yeah? go on, sweets," he's moaning now too, and you don't miss how the edge of the bed rocks just a bit from him grinding the frame for some release on his own erection.

your orgasm makes your mind foggy, and you practically quake in gojo's large, warm hands. with a sharp cry of his name, followed by an endless chant of praise for the unearthly man between your legs, lapping at you as though you are his last drink, his last meal on this earth before he ascends elsewhere.

the hard streaks of white shoot through your vision, even as you come down from the incredible high, and you realise gojo has not stopped.

gojo's jaw is still locked as your slick dribbles down your folds, into his open mouth and onto his waiting tongue. the extra stimulation makes you deliriously cry out, "fuck, s-satoru! 's too much, holy fuck!"

you were still shaking, and a second orgam blurred your sight into an incredible spectrum of colours, white hot starlight and streaks of blue. that cascade of vivid tints flood your vision, each one jerking your hips and cunt forward until you felt your legs give way.

until gojo finally separated himself from your thighs, satisfied at how he had pulled two climaxes from you.

he's absolutely lost it, lost in that daze of being pussywhipped, and his eyes gleam with a feverish intensity. and when he crashes pink, glossy lips down on your mouth, you can feel him shake under your touch.

you moan, loud, as he nips at your lower lip. at how you can taste yourself on his tongue, syrup strands falling into your mouth as gojo suddenly twitches.

"i think 'm gonna have to be in you right now, otherwise i'll literally fuckin' die."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips as your partner pulls himself up, heavy limbs finally extracting themselves away from your naked body, reaching up to hook his fingers over the black crinkle of his rumpled dress shirt, pulling the fabric off.

leaving your mouth dry.

the moonlight spills over gojo's torso, and you track your eyes over his broad chest, rising and falling and flushed from his own arousal.

you follow the faint dusting of pale white hair as it disappeared past the waistband of his slacks that he's quickly making short work of, and you feel your pussy clench thinking about how badly you need to jump gojo satoru's bones.

but you're too transfixed by him, by the sculpted figure of a supposedly cold and arrogant bastard you've spent months and years rolling your eyes at.

he's real. all hot flesh and blood, and stunning. not that sneering, and infuriating man who's always one step ahead, always one callous word away from making your blood boil.

for a different heat has settled in you now, as your eyes fall on his throbbing cock that has sprung forth, up over his stomach. the tip is an angry, and furious berry-pink and you wonder just how you're going to make these inches fit.

"hah, didn’t think you'd be this shy, you know,” he says, voice a low, husky tease, as if he’s been watching your struggle. gojo's eyes glint with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something that you hope with lead him to take mercy on you.

"n-no. no," you repeat yourself more firmly, but it's far too breathless to be convincing, "no, 'm not shy."

but it's hard to form coherent thoughts when gojo satoru is towering over you, and his absurdly long and girthy shaft is twitching in between your slick folds.

"fuck you, s-satoru," you're whimpering, feeling the pulsing, rounded head of his flushed tip brush past your sensitive, drooling slit, "taking too long. jus' put it in already."

"mhmm, sweets," and gojo's bustling at your thighs now, pinching the soft and tender skin in retaliation for your touch undoing him so easily, "she can't even be patient, hah, trus' me. just lay back."

you comply, just this once. just because gojo satoru's cock looks so big, you think you need to gather all your thoughts so you'll be able to form coherent sentences later.

resting your head back on plush sheets, with the skyline twinkling in your peripheral vision as gojo's aligning himself with your cunt. he's gasping in low, shuddering breaths as his tip teases and hooks onto your inner walls.

"look at thaaat, oh! baby, fuck, wasn' even joking before, just sucking me up so fuckin' good!"

you don't reply, just mewling as he pushes inch after veiny inch into your dribbling walls, gasping as his large hands rest on the back of your thighs, pushing them further up so he can slot his torso in between your legs.

"oh my god, satoru! s-satoru, hnnhgh, it's too much — i don' think it's gon' fit," you always thought you would be embarrassed to lose composure like this in front of gojo, but you find yourself panting into the crook of his neck, raking nails down his flushed neck.

he's big, and you can feel every vein of his tapered curve hitting the right spots within you, as you shift your hips, desperate to let his sinuous cock kiss every inch of your pussy lovingly.

"gon' dumb already?" gojo's huffing, but you can see that he's not unaffected. his eyes are glazed over, hazy as he slowly draws his hips back just an inch, before scooting them forward already, "jus' gonna have to make this pussy learn from now on. don' worry, sweets. it'll fit."

the 'from now on' makes something in your pounding heart flutter.

but you have little time to focus on it as he bottoms out in your drenched cunt, as though you're hearing the slosh of your pussy coat him entirely, right up to the wiry, white hairs on his groin.

"hahh, there we go! the w-wonders of a positive attitude, don'tcha think?" and you're left with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as he begins to pick up the pace. a steady staccato that has you jostling underneath his ministrations.

you let his mouth chase yours, capturing glossy lips with your own bite, letting him pant, and whine and praise the heavens above for how tight you're snatching him right now.

"she's p-perfect, isn't she? t-thought about it so much, y'got no idea, got no c-clue about how much i thought about you under me like this n' how you'd f-feel!"

gojo satoru is absolutely drunk from a nectar that he has tasted once. the same nectar that coats his cock in frothy, filthy rings as he pistons his hips out of your pussy.

"happy for y-you, satoru," and you're letting your nails scratch over the shell of his ear as he twitches and shudders, "but fuck, y'talk too much! jus' focus on fucking me!"

gojo's mouth quirks upwards, that knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks at you bemused, and so hazy.

"god, a lot of that attitude now, hahh?" and he's drawling the words out, and you don't miss how he shudders when you clench around his shaft, on purpose. he's leaning in closer, barely brushing past your lips, and you wonder briefly for a split-second, gojo satoru might just really love you.

and then, without warning, his hand comes down to your side, just underneath the fat of your tits, pinching lightly at the abdomen. causing you to take a sharp intake of breath, and a dizzy huff of his name.

if you ever believed that gojo satoru was malicious in the workplace, a bane on your sanity, you had not been prepared for how he was stretching you out in all the right places.

that inhumane pace of the strongest had him snapping his hips sharply, over and over until he's hitting the spongy patch, deep within your walls.

"clamped around me like, ohh, like a fuckin' vice," gojo's grunting now, each breath coming out short puffs that match the timing of the slap! each whack of his cock delivers, pressing your hips together and coating his hips in sweet slick.

"mmph, feels so good, satoru!" you squeal, pressing a hand over your mouth so you don't wake up the entire top floor of the hotel, tits jostling with each shuffle and movement.

it's all coming down on you too quick, that electric haze shooting down your spine. made all the worse by gojo groaning and slipping his hand between his jackhammering hips, down to where your clit is practically throbbing for his touch.

he's running tight circles, before pressing the flat of his thumb under the hood of your clit, ripping a raw cry from the back of your throat, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as gojo's lips are leaving blooming marks over your neck.

"satoru, i t-think 'm gonna c-cum again," you moan, fluttering your lashes against your skin, rolling your hips up into gojo's quick fingers and brutal cock. but it feels different this time, nothing like your past two orgasms. you feel something draw its claws further into your groin, like you're going to burst and the breath will be stolen away from your lungs.

you hear gojo say something, snarky but tender as he laughs into your collarbone, as he's slapping his fingers down quickly over your clit, making you jolt. but you don't hear his words as blood roars in your eears, gushing all over his cock with a clear, sticky sheen that coats him deliciously.

makes gojo satoru groan out filthy praises over your marked skin, "didn' know you were that nasty? hahh, squirtin' over me on your first go, yeah? it's gettin' too much for me too, s-sweets. think 'm gonna hafta maaa -"

you have no inkling as to what gojo was aiming to groan out, fluttering his own blue eyes shut as his orgasm catches up to him, pumping you insanely full of thick, stringy seed. practically painting your inner walls a translucent white as you huff and whine.

but in the back of your mind, you think he wanted to marry you. a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

"fillin' you up, good, aren't i?" and he's lost in a daze, and you watch as his muscles ripple in the light of the moon, pectorals gleaming as he stuffs you further, as if plugging his seed to stay in you, making you squirm from the delicious stimulation.

you should have paid a little more attention to your surroundings. less attention to the thick veins of his cock drilling a home in you. or less attention to how his lips curl up into a sweeter smile as he presses soft, happy kisses to your cheek while you lay exhausted, caged by his thick arms.

then, you might have noticed the lights flicker and then shatter for half the hotel's rooms.

the morning sun peeks through the curtains like an overenthusiastic alarm clock, dragging you out of sleep with its gentle warmth. you stretch lazily, limbs still heavy and sticky from the weight of...the previous night's activities.

the sheets feel ridiculous soft, kudos to the insanely over-priced hotel. and for a second, you entertain the thought of just staying here. forever.

that is, until your eyes fall on raijin's amulet over on the wooden table.

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

you blink, squinting at the empty space beside you. your first instinct is to check besides the bed, and then under it, for fear that the six-foot three man has simply fallen off.

but your gaze falls on a tiny pink sticky-note on the nightstand. one that you suspect was pilfered from the scattered case file on the couch. you peer at looping cursive, scrawled in a blue marker.

don't eat anything yet! gone to get a proper breakfast!

you can't help the soft huff that leaves you, fond in its escape. you feel this sudden urge to don some proper clothes, to go down and join him in the warm sunlight.

but then you pause. perhaps, you ought not to. it would be fun to let him miss you just a bit. the thought of the gojo satoru standing there, waiting in line for entirely average pancakes is amusement enough for you.

but before you can pull the crisp sheets over your head, your eyes catch a glimpse of something else by the bed. a small, satin-blue box that didn't exist yesterday, in the world of cruel choices and...semi-successful missions.

the memory of yesterday pulls a frown from you, but you shake your head, determined to clear your thoughts.

you reach for it, letting your fingers run over the smooth surface, before tugging at the silver ribbon cautiously. half-expecting to find something weird like gojo's usual idea of a joke like a half-naked framed photo of him with a lipstick print.

ah!

but instead, inside the box lies a thin necklace. you've stared longingly enough at shop windows to know that these are real diamonds. not the cheap kind either, a well-cut carat that makes you gasp to yourself, a flush running over your cheeks.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips. "tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

you pick it up, feeling the cold weight of it in your hand. what is this, romance? a necklace? gojo satoru doesn’t even do romance. at least, not in the way anyone would expect.

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely get you diamonds just to throw you off balance. mission accomplished.

you glance at the sticky note again, then back at the necklace. this is way too much for your sleep-addled brain. and yet, there’s this funny little thing inside you, a warm spark that you don’t know what to do with.

fuck, when did he even have the time to get this gorgeous gift?

you’re definitely not soft, but gojo does this thing to you — he has a way of turning your whole world upside down, and now…apparently, he’s gone and done it again.

your cheeks warm, but you don't admit to it. not yet. but there's no denying the softer spot that's growing in you, the urge to have gojo satoru in your arms in this very moment so you can run your hands through soft, white hair to watch him purr. to see his cheeks flush from a sweet blush as his blue eyes flutter shut.

your eyes fall on his crumpled uniform jacket from yesterday, his discarded clothes. perhaps, you could just join him. after all, you feel words threatening to spill from your mouth and you want him to hear them.

a surprise of your own? you think you want to see gojo satoru speechless for once.

do not plagiarise or repost! likes and reblogs appreciated. btw, this jenny packham was the dress i envisioned for reader but imagine whatever you like!

[murdrdocs]

a slow life with lucius; fluffy smut; mating press; lowk breeding kink MDNI 18+

thinking about living a life with lucius, or hanno as you know him.

spending your days living a mundane life. tending to the farm, living amongst chickens and goats, making a simple living for yourselves while keeping food on the table. there's not much excitement here, but this beats what else the two of you could be doing. when you see the marred skin of his and remember the feeling of aches that will likely never truly subside, you know what else you could be doing.

you pray to your god that when that day comes—because you both know the day will come, rome is ambitious and she will not be stopped before reaching your home—may the victory be swift or may the death be merciful.

but you don't have to think of these things when you're scolding hanno for being too rough with the crops. he'll tell you it is impossible to be too rough with crops, their deaths rarely come at the hand of the farmer and are usually caused by neglect. and while he is right in his own regard, you'll still send him a pointed look that makes him smile.

there is much time in your day for basking in the glory of the other. under the roof of your home, behind closed doors to keep your neighbors away, you stand in the center of the room, his arms over your shoulders and your arms around his waist. you've been together for some time now, you've done this with each other often, but it truly never gets old. you never get tired of hanno taking his time with you, cherishing every single patch of your skin as they all come together to make the person he loves most.

he doesn't tell you much about his past, but he tells you that you're all he has. it's the two of you, and hopefully eventually a few little others who can live in a humane world, god willing. but for now, it's just the two of you.

yet, the things hanno does to you makes it seem like he wants to increase the population of your home sooner rather than later. the way he bends you body with the weight of his own, pushing your thighs to your chest and hooking your calves over the corded muscle of his shoulders. the way he stares deep into your eyes as he gives you even deeper strokes, pushing his cock further into you time and time again until you're so sure you're going to have to start breathing for him, even when he's taking your breath away from you with each draw back.

"you're okay, yeah?" he always asks you, although in different variations. your favorite will always be the confident way he asks you, when the corner of his lip pulls up and he says, "you like this? do you enjoy what i do to you?". it's simply the way he says it, deep timber of his voice twisting the tone of the syllables until it sounds like he already knows the answer.

you cannot see how he wouldn't—with your cunt leaking around him and your moans filling up the room.

still, you always make an effort to answer him, no matter the strength of the spell he has put you under that time.

he's always so pretty above you, whether it be when the sun slips through the window and illuminates a blue iris, painting the replica color of a sea you know so well, or when the white light of the moon slips through and highlights the evidence that the sun has made on his skin.

big hands touching you everywhere, lips doing the same, but sometimes, you'll only let him get so far. at times when his hands slip down your body, heading towards a spot he has not left alone after the initial discovery, you'll have to swat them away. he's grown to expect it now, rolling his eyes half heartedly and fighting off a grin as he raises his eyebrows in an expression of insincere frustration.

"covered in dirt," you'll explain, knowing what will come next.

the way he bends down, tip of his nose brushing against yours as he tells you, "as is the rest of me ... and yet."

and he's always right. there seems to be a certain amount of the earth that both you and hanno will forever carry with you. a mark of the life you're so privileged to currently live, therefore more of a beautiful reminder than a nuisance.

so, as you let his fingers slip down to the most delicate parts of you, happily settling into the feeling of multiplied pleasure, you grin at him and echo his words.

"and yet."

[archangeldyke-all]

Oh man I have ideas..

Sevika has a home back in Zaun but she has to have an apartment in Piltover because of councilor duties until she fully adjusts to topside and accepts the insistent offers of a manor. Imagine being her wife and just helping her relax after her first day, cuddling and all that whilst adjusting to the fancy apartment bigger than your old house.

Or..

Sevika taking her wife out for a walk in Piltover, admiring more of the garden as the plants grow upon new soil. A talk about the future whilst holding hands.

Or..

Them renewing their vows, having that damn fancy wedding of the dreams.

Toodles!!!

EEEEEEEEK okay lets do some councilor sevika (also isha and jinx are still alive in this story because i said so. she doesn't need to suffer so much to still be an incredible leader. give her her girls!!!)

men and minors dni

you were the first person approached about sevika representing zaun in piltover's new council post-war.

you were a little concerned to find councilwoman shoola and three members of her personal guard on your front stoop-- and for just a moment you had a flash of anxiety that she was here looking for jinx or isha.

"councilwoman. hello." you say, still surprised. you've met the woman a few times before, both of you attending various re-building efforts around the undercity. she holds up a hand.

"please, dear, we've built a bookshelf together, you've seen me at my lowest. you can call me shoola."

"h-how can i help you counc-- shoola?" you ask. she smiles.

"i'm here regarding your wife."

you frown. "...is she in some kind of trouble?" you ask, already mentally planning how to worm sevika out of her trouble. the councilwoman chuckles.

"quite the opposite, actually. i'd like her to join the council... as an ambassador to the free nation of zaun." she says.

you nearly shit yourself at her words-- sevika's life work casually mentioned like it's just a sidenote. "the-- free?" you ask.

she smiles. "while the deaths of the other councilmembers in the war was a horrible loss, there are some issues i could never get my late colleagues to agree on. now, though... i've been given full authority to reorient the power structure of the council to avoid anymore kirraman's taking over-- and i've always been of the belief that zaun should be free."

"and w-what... you want to arrest jinx in exchange for it?" you ask.

shoola chuckles. "no."

"y-you want isha?" you ask. shoola laughs again.

"what could i want with a child? no!"

"so... what do you want?" you ask, your voice shaking as the reality of the situation sinks in.

"i just want your help talking sevika into the job. i know she can be... stubbo--?"

"bullheaded?" you guess as shoola searches for a kind word to describe sevika's stubbornness. she chuckles at your description of your wife and nods.

"here." she hands you a stack of papers. "i've outlined the full responsibilities of the job. as well as the benefits she will receive for serving. please. look it over and talk to her, would you?"

you do.

it's an excellent proposal.

as the undercity figures out how it wants to self govern, piltover will fund zaun's public infrastructure as if it's their own-- meaning that the undercity will, practically overnight, have access to things like clean water. and schools. and welfare. they will provide these services for up to fifteen years as zaun finds it's footing.

the position outlined for sevika in piltover's council is a way to assure piltover doesn't back out of their promises-- that somebody is there to call them out when they try to cut corners in helping the young nation of zaun find it's footing.

and, while your wife might miss the more physical aspects of her old work, you can see her chewing out some stingy old councilors for their greed in your minds eye, and you can't help but smile.

"what're you smilin' about?" sevika asks.

you jump and slam the folder in front of you closed, blinking up at your wife.

she's back from her meeting with ran, scar and jericho. the four of them have grown close in these past few months as they coordinate rebuilding efforts for various neighborhoods across zaun. you have to gulp, trying not to get dizzy with the possibilities of what sevika's job offer means for them as a team. as team zaun.

"h-how was your meeting?" you ask. sevika raises an unimpressed eyebrow at you and you huff. she sinks across the table from you, easily pulling the folder out of your grasp.

"meeting was fine. the elementary school bein' built in firelight's territory is almost ready to open. first school in zaun." she says with a smile. "now, what were you smiling at?"

"i was approached by councilwoman shoola this afternoon."

sevika raises an eyebrow at you. "did you two try to build a chair this time?" she teases. you groan and kick her shin, before tapping the folder in her hands.

"no. i was asked to convince my stubborn-ass, incredibly loyal, strong, beautiful, hard-fucking-headed wife to join the fucking council."

sevika blinks. "what?"

"they want you in the new council. serving as an ambassador. to the free nation of zaun, sevika."

sevika blinks again, and then she rips the file open, her silver eyes flying across the confidential text. "the fr-- the free nation of zaun?" she asks, her eyes flying up to yours to confirm. you grin and nod.

sevika flies out of her seat and crawls across the dining room table to reach you, tears flowing down her cheeks as she kisses you like her life depends on it.

you're there when shoola and sevika finally sit down to discuss the opportunity. shoola's the first piltoverian to not turn her nose up at the messy state of your small home-- she even grins at the sound of jinx and isha bickering from their bedroom. "you two have made a lovely home for yourselves, here." she says, sitting down at the table and jumping a bit when a toy squeaks under her bum. "i can almost see the love leaking out of the wallpaper."

"could be black mold." you whisper. sevika and shoola both sputter surprised laughs.

"sevika. have you considered my proposal?" shoola asks.

sevika sighs and nods. "i have a few conditions before i agree." she says.

this surprises you. as if the prospect of representing a free zaun isn't tempting enough, you saw the salary sevika's being offered. it's the kind of money that could buy you a house big enough that all four of you could have your own bathrooms.

(secretly, though, you hope you live in a tiny house forever. you like tripping over your family-- being within reaching distance at all times.)

"first. i'd like you to assign me the budget to employ three of my trusted confidants as advisors. i can give you their identities if you'd like, but i give you my word that they're good peo--"

"done." shoola cuts sevika off, scribbling a quick note in her journal before looking back up at the pair of you with a smile. "what else?" she asks.

you smile a bit. sevika blinks, then gulps. "jinx and her little friend ekko get a full ride to the university up top. they're incredibly gifted, and with a little proper education they could advance zaun--"

"you don't have to convince me, i remember how the war went. without them, we'd all be dead. i can arrange that."

"i don't want to leave zaun. i can't represent these people if i'm not living here. i'll need a car to get--"

"would you like a personal vehicle or a driver each morning and evening?" shoola asks.

sevika blinks. "a-a driver." she says, a little shocked.

"anything else?" shoola asks.

sevika nods. "o-one last thing." she reaches over to grab your hand. you have no idea what she could possibly want beyond what she's asked for-- she's taken care of her friends, her family, and her transport.

"anything." shoola says. you think the woman might mean it.

sevika looks down at her lap and sighs. "we... we never really got married." she says. you blink, not at all understanding why she's telling the councilwoman this. "i mean... we had a party and we exchanged vows," she says, a smile tugging at her lips. you squeeze her hand and her eyes flick up to yours, before shyly darting away like you guys haven't been married for a decade now. like you guys don't have two kids together. "but we never... nobody gets married in zaun. 's expensive. the trip up to the justice is too far. and..." sevika gulps, her voice getting shaky as she looks back up at you. "and you're the reason i've fought so hard for our home in the first place." she whispers.

tears start to well up in your eyes and you let out a shaky laugh. "what, 're you proposing to me again?" you ask. sevika snorts and shakes her head before turning to shoola. the woman's drying her own tears.

"will you arrange to have us married? officially?"

"i'd be honored." shoola agrees.

the wedding is small and intimate, you and sevika, jinx and isha, vi, ran, scar, jericho, and shoola.

the councilwoman took you to a beautiful little garden a few blocks away from the council, and she married you, officially, as the sun set and your girls threw handfuls of confetti into the sky.

your whole party marches through the streets of piltover and back to zaun for the afterparty, councilwoman shoola laughing happily as you introduce her to the zaunite tradition of barcrawling.

each bar you enter, jericho happily announces that you and sevika have been freshly married. sevika, being the new spokeswoman of zaun, is quite the celebrity now. all of this is to say, you spend the night drinking many free drinks, hugging many drunk strangers, and kissing your wife on request about a thousand times.

it's the best night of your life.

taglist!

@fyeahnix @lavendersgirl @half-of-a-gay @thesevi0lentdelights @sexysapphicshopowner

@kissyslut @chuucanchuucan @badbye666 @femme-historian @lia-winther

@sevikaspillowprincess @emiliabby @sevikasbeloved @hellorai @my-taintedheart

@glass-apothecary @macaroni676 @artinvain @k3n-dyll @sevsdollette

@ellieslob @xayn-xd @keikuahh @maneskinwh0re @raphaellearp

@iamastar @sevikitty @mascdom @nhaaauyen @annesunshiner

@mirconreadzztuff22 @veoomvroom @lushh-s3vik4s @katyawooga @lesbodietcoke

@lavandasz @strawberrykidneystone @sevikasfan @fict1onallyobsessed

[finelinefae]

reaching out [tennisplayer!harry x tennisplayer!y/n]

synopsis: just one moment out of very many of tennis!h pining over y/n before they teamed up.

word count: 5.5k

contains: enemies to lovers, pining h, angst, abusive parents, mentions of physical abuse, tennis rivals, fluff

a/n: very first tennis!h blurb omggg - i missed my babies so much!! For those who don't know, this is a blurb for my tennis!h series which you can read here !!

. . .

Harry stretched his legs, working his calf muscles, as people settled into their seats in the stands. Today was a big day, one that had drawn a large crowd, but he paid them no mind. Performing in front of a big audience never shook Harry’s confidence. When it came to tennis, his focus was entirely on the game.

It was the county cup semi-final. Harry had competed in the same event last year, finishing in second place behind Henry Waver, who took home the gold before heading to rehab a month later for using performance-enhancing drugs. Harry had come a long way since then, and he was determined to make it to the final and claim first place.

Some might have thought Harry no longer needed to compete in these smaller events, given his path toward qualifying for the Olympics, but he couldn’t stay away. Maybe it was the rush of winning, or perhaps the quiet focus that settled over him when the game began—just him, his opponent, and the swift rhythm of the ball being hit back and forth between them.

He walked over to his bench, some people cheering as he walked onto the court. He was wearing all white, a towel around his shoulders and his racket bag hanging from his shoulder. He reached for his water bottle, pouring it into his mouth. 

His eyes scanned the growing crowd, but there was no sign of his parents—not that he had expected anything different. He caught a glimpse of Mitch chatting with a few girls from their year group on the stairs, but Harry's focus shifted immediately to the center of the stands, only to find it empty.

A frown tugged at his lips, the first sign of emotion since this morning. He glanced around, searching for the one person his heart longed to see, but before he could spot her, his coach clapped him on the back.

"Remember what we worked on yesterday—don’t overstep the baseline and make sure to follow through," his coach muttered, his tone more routine than encouraging.

Harry barely registered the words. He shrugged off his coach’s hand, distracted. "Yeah, yeah, I know," he mumbled, his mind still preoccupied with trying to figure out why she hadn’t shown up yet.

The opposing crowd erupted into cheers as Lionel Boyce stepped onto the court, raising a hand to acknowledge their applause. Harry barely spared him a glance. He had crossed paths with Lionel plenty of times in his tennis journey and knew the truth behind the polished exterior—Lionel was an arrogant opportunist, desperate for sponsorship deals.

Harry took a swig of water, his grip tightening on the bottle as he set it down and reached for his racket. The game was drawing closer, but the empty seat in the center of the stands—the one he had been watching all afternoon—remained vacant. His chest tightened at the thought of someone else filling it. He wasn’t sure how he’d play with a stranger sitting there instead of the person he was hoping for.

The umpire climbed into his seat, and the announcement for the game’s start echoed across the court. Harry felt a firm pat on the back from his coach as he stepped forward.

“Go show him what you’re made of,” his coach said with a nod.

The crowd erupted as Harry walked onto the court. Most of the cheers came from the Crestwood supporters, and while it wasn’t the loudest reception, it was enough to steady his nerves.

Across the court, Lionel sauntered into position, basking in the applause. Harry couldn’t stop his eyes from rolling as Lionel flashed his best grin to the crowd. He didn’t miss the way a group of girls in the front row seemed to swoon, whispering excitedly among themselves.

The umpire adjusted the microphone and cleared his throat, his voice carrying over the murmuring crowd. "Ladies and gentlemen, play shall begin. First set—Harry Styles to serve."

Harry stepped into position at the baseline, gripping his racket tightly. As always, he raised it and pointed toward the center of the crowd—a ritual that steadied his nerves and granted him good luck for the game.

But this time, his breath hitched.

There she was, sliding into the seat he’d been watching all afternoon. Y/N.

Her eyes found his almost instantly, and for a fleeting moment, the world around him fell away—the roaring crowd, the pressure of the match, even Lionel’s smug presence on the other side of the net. It was just her, sitting there with that familiar stoic expression.

A small smile tugged at Harry’s lips. She was always like this at his matches, focused and intense, watching every move with the same concentration as if she were playing herself. Her unwavering focus sent a spark of determination surging through him.

He adjusted his stance, exhaling slowly as he prepared to serve. With her gaze burning into him, he played to win the entire thing. 

. . .

Mitch had thrown a party to celebrate Harry’s victory over Lionel, just as he always did whenever Harry won anything. It was a tradition Harry had grown fond of, even though he often found himself dreading the expectation to win every time he played. Victory wasn’t typically celebrated in his world—it was expected. But his friends? They always found a way to make a big deal out of it, and Harry appreciated that, even if the attention wasn’t his favorite part. Being around his friends was.

Harry stood in the kitchen, holding a cup of something he couldn’t identify. Mitch was across the room, chatting animatedly with Sarah. Harry was pretty sure Mitch had been infatuated with her ever since she’d transferred to Crestwood four years ago. Watching them, he wondered if Mitch would ever work up the courage to act on it.

He couldn’t help but glance around, hoping to spot someone else. He knew Sarah’s best friend and roommate might be here, too, but there was no guarantee. Unlike Sarah, who thrived on Crestwood’s social gatherings, her quieter counterpart was more selective about where she spent her evenings.

“Hi, Harry.” He turned to see Astrid approaching, her blonde hair cascading over her shoulders, her skin glowing with a fresh tan from her recent holiday in the Maldives. He’d only known about it because his mother, after scrolling through Facebook, couldn’t resist mentioning it during their last phone call.

“Hey, Astrid,” Harry said with a polite smile. He didn’t mind her company, but unlike most of the guys in their year, he didn’t feel attracted to her in the same way they did. Sure, she was stunning—legs for days, an effortless smile—but their shared interests barely went beyond tennis and the fact their parents were friends. Friends who, annoyingly, had been dropping hints about the two of them dating for as long as Harry could remember.

“Congrats on the win. You were amazing out there,” she said, her voice smooth and practiced.

“Thanks. I heard you did well at the Championships the other week,” he replied. He hadn’t actually seen her match but knew through their coach that she’d won.

“Yeah, I’m hoping to qualify for the Australian Open,” she said, her grin widening.

Harry nodded, letting the conversation drift until his gaze caught something—or rather, someone—in the living room. His heart skipped a beat.

There she was.

Her smile lit up her face, radiant and warm, eclipsing even the moonlight streaming through the large windows. Her hair spilled to one side, leaving her neck bare, and she was wearing a sleek black maxi dress paired with chunky heels—an outfit so out of the ordinary for her that it was almost disarming. Harry’s eyes lingered on her longer than they should have, but he didn’t care. He’d been hoping she’d come.

His smile faltered when Adam appeared beside her. Harry’s stomach tightened at the sight. He knew Adam had a soft spot for her—he’d admitted as much—but assured everyone he wasn’t looking for a relationship. Still, seeing them together made something uneasy churn in Harry’s chest.

“Harry?” Astrid’s voice snapped him back to reality. He blinked, realizing he hadn’t heard a word she’d been saying. She followed his line of sight and spotted Y/N. Her tone shifted, tinged with something that wasn’t quite approval.

“Oh, Y/N’s here,” Astrid remarked flatly. “I’m surprised after…everything.”

Harry’s head whipped toward her, brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

“You didn’t know?” Astrid asked, her surprise seeming genuine. “One of my friends was at the Country Club a couple of weekends ago. She got lost trying to find the bathroom near the pool and overheard her dad yelling at her—apparently for getting a bad grade on her report card. She said he slapped her.”

Harry’s stomach dropped, cold fury replacing the unease. “He what?”

Astrid shrugged, completely unbothered. “I’ve always thought her family was messed up. My dad had a horrible experience at their Country Club—almost sued them after Mom got food poisoning there.” She kept talking, but Harry wasn’t listening anymore.

His attention snapped back to Y/N, watching her closely. Something was different. To anyone else, she probably seemed the same, but Harry knew her too well. He noticed the way her fingers twisted together, fidgeting nervously. Her smile, though bright, didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her makeup seemed heavier than usual; she rarely wore much or applied it sparingly, but today, it looked as though she was trying to mask something—maybe a shadow or imperfection on her cheek, though he couldn’t be sure.

Harry’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. If what Astrid said was true, there was no doubt in his mind—he’d track down her father and make him regret it in ways that didn’t bear sunlight. But first, he needed to talk to her, to make sure she was okay. The problem was, Harry knew her well enough to realise she wouldn’t just open up if he asked. They weren’t even friends. In fact, Harry was pretty sure Y/N didn’t like him at all. 

It wasn’t really a surprise, considering how they’d met—and the fact that he’d spent most of his days tormenting her just to get her attention. It was childish, he knew, but it was easier than admitting how much he actually cared. And he did care—more than he should, more than she probably realised. Beneath all the teasing and arguments, she mattered to him. So, if she was hurt, none of that other stuff mattered. He just needed to make sure she was okay.

When Harry saw Adam walk away, he seized the opportunity to sneak in. As if she could sense his presence, Y/N looked up, her smile immediately fading, and her jaw tightened. Harry couldn’t help but feel a twisted sense of satisfaction. There was something exhilarating about her reaction, the way she shifted from neutral to visibly irritated, even if it was driven by nothing but disdain for him.

“I’m surprised you were willing to show up, love,” he said, his voice carrying the familiar, mocking tone.

Y/N’s eyes flashed with irritation at the nickname, her posture stiffening even further. Harry had always loved calling her that—it was almost like a reflex, especially since she absolutely hated it. He relished in the way she bristled, every time.

“Not so willingly, as a matter of fact,” she shot back, her arms folding across her chest. “I’m only here because Sarah wanted me to come.” She still hadn’t taken a sip from her drink, Harry noticed, as if it were some kind of shield between them.

“Excuses, excuses.” He clicked his tongue with a grin, leaning casually against the edge of the table. “What did you think of the match?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow, clearly surprised by his question. “You care what I have to say?” she asked, a slight edge to her voice.

“No,” Yes. he replied, his eyes gleamed with a spark of challenge. “But I know you’ve got something to say anyway.”

She gave him a wry smile, the faintest hint of a laugh on her lips. “Well, it wasn’t one of your best, that’s for sure. Your tracking was terrible. You were lucky Lionel cared more about his appearance than his technique.”

Harry couldn’t suppress the chuckle that escaped him. He knew she wasn’t wrong—tracking had been off, and Lionel had certainly played a little too carefully. The dig was unsurprising to say the least but he took it all on board.

“You always have such charming critiques, don’t you?” Harry smirked. “Should I be worried about your career in commentary?”

Y/N’s replied, the sarcasm was back in full force. “Oh, I don’t know. Maybe I’ll just stick to calling it how I see it. You wouldn’t last five minutes with me in your corner, would you?”

Harry leaned in a little closer, their banter familiar and comfortable despite the tension. “You’d be too distracted by my charm to focus,” he said with a grin, savoring the challenge in her eyes.

Y/N scoffed but couldn’t entirely hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “Right. I think you’d find me too busy pointing out all the flaws you refuse to see.”

“Sounds like a good time,” he replied smoothly, his grin widening.

She rolled her eyes but didn’t look away, the intensity between them palpable in the silence that followed.

“So,” Harry started, the tone shifting slightly, more serious, “what else? What else did you think of the match?” He genuinely wanted to know—part of him knew her critique might actually help him. But the other part of him just liked the way she made him think.

Y/N seemed to hesitate for a split second, the walls she kept up around her cracking just enough for him to notice. “Your footwork was off, too. You were slow on some of your returns, and—”

Harry laughed, cutting her off. “I thought you said you weren’t a fan?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow at him. “I’m not. But I’ve watched enough matches to know when someone’s not giving it their all.” Her gaze flicked to his eyes, sharp and clear. “And I know you can do better.”

Harry’s smile faltered, something unspoken passing between them, something that felt almost like respect. He had a feeling she wasn’t just talking about the match anymore.

“Well,” he said after a beat, straightening up, “I guess I’ll have to show you just how much better I can be, then.”

Y/N didn’t answer right away, her lips pursed as if she were weighing her options. Finally, she shrugged, that same familiar look of defiance in her eyes. “We’ll see.”

Harry’s eyes lingered on her for longer than he intended, “What about you?” He took a sip of his drink. 

She frowns, “What about me?”

“I haven’t seen you training recently,” He said. 

Y/N’s expression faltered, her eyes flashing with something like hurt or fear. “I haven’t had time.”

“What do you mean? I don’t think I’ve spent a day where I haven’t seen you on the court.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

Harry’s brows furrowed as he studied her. There was something about the way she shifted on her feet, the subtle way her fingers tightened around the cup in her hand. It wasn’t the first time he’d sensed something was off, but hearing her say she didn’t want to talk about it made his curiosity spike. It was rare for Y/N to hide anything, especially from him. He’d spent enough time observing her—dissecting her every reaction, every word—to know when something wasn’t right.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, leaning forward, his voice losing its usual teasing edge. “You know you can talk to me, right?” He almost regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. Not because he didn’t mean them, but because he knew she wouldn’t believe it—not after everything.

Her lips pressed into a thin line, and for a moment, Harry thought she might brush him off entirely. Instead, she let out a soft, almost bitter laugh. “Yeah, right,” she muttered, not meeting his eyes. “Since when?”

He didn’t have an answer for that. She was right—he had never given her much reason to trust him. But right now, as much as it pissed him off that she was shutting him out, he couldn’t help but feel... protective. There was something going on with her, something more than she was letting on, and it was like a switch had flipped inside him.

“Y/N,” he repeated, his voice softer now, “I’m not gonna push you, but if something’s going on, you don’t have to go through it alone. You know that, right?”

Her eyes finally met his, and for a brief moment, Harry thought he saw a crack in her tough exterior—a flicker of vulnerability—but it was gone in an instant. She shook her head, her gaze hardening.

“I’m fine,” she said, though her voice lacked conviction.

Harry didn’t buy it, and he didn’t think she expected him to. He knew he was on dangerous territory—one misstep, and no doubt she would lash out at him for putting his nose into business that was nothing to do with him. But something in him refused to let this go. He couldn’t just sit there, watching her shut him out.

“Come with me,” he said, motioning for her to follow him, the command in his voice surprising even him.

Y/N glanced at him, confused, her arms still crossed defensively. “What?”

“I’m taking you outside,” Harry said, already standing and grabbing his jacket off the back of the chair. He could tell she was about to protest, could see the hesitation in her eyes. He couldn’t help but feel a surge of something—determination, maybe, or a mix of things he couldn’t quite name. “You need a break. You’re tense as hell, and I don’t like seeing you like this.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Harry cut her off. “Trust me. It’ll be good for you.”

For a moment, Y/N seemed like she might just walk away, but then she sighed, as if giving in to the inevitable. “Fine. But don’t get any ideas.”

Harry smirked, fighting the urge to laugh. “No promises,” he teased, already walking toward the door.

Outside, the late afternoon sun was beginning to dip, casting long shadows across the empty tennis courts. Harry tossed her a tennis racket, watching as she caught it awkwardly. He was doing this for her—for whatever was weighing on her, for whatever had her retreating behind that wall. He wasn’t sure if tennis was the right call, but it was something he knew they both shared, something that might bring down some of her defenses.

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “You’re serious about this?”

“Dead serious,” Harry replied, stepping onto the court. He grinned at her.

She hesitated before stepping onto the court, but when she did, Harry could see a flicker of something else in her—the tension in her shoulders loosening, just a bit. She wasn’t fully on board yet, but the corners of her lips twitched upward, and that was something.

They began to rally, hitting the ball back and forth with the kind of casual ease that came from years of practice. Y/N’s form was sharp, fluid, and Harry couldn't help but be impressed, as he always was. But it wasn’t just the way she played that had him captivated.

It was the way she laughed.

The sound was light, unguarded, a sound he hadn’t heard from her in so long. It was like the weight of everything had lifted for a moment, leaving behind only the carefree side of Y/N he rarely got to see. She had a natural smile, the kind that reached her eyes and made them sparkle with a mischievous glint. Harry couldn’t look away.

Her laughter filled the air, echoing across the empty courts, and for a fleeting second, everything felt right. Harry’s heart skipped in his chest as he watched her, the way her eyes shone with a genuine sense of freedom. It wasn’t just the way she looked in that moment—it was how she felt, and how much he wanted to be the reason she smiled like that.

His heart thudded painfully in his chest. He had always known he had a thing for her—he didn’t even try to deny it anymore. But this was different. He wasn’t just in awe of how she looked, or the way she challenged him to be better—he was infatuated with her.

The thought hit him hard, and he tried to push it aside, to focus on the game. But with every smile, every laugh, Harry found himself falling deeper, in a way that he couldn’t control. There was something about her—the way she made everything feel effortless, the way her presence seemed to fill up the space, making everything more vibrant. She was everything he wasn’t—bold, unafraid, untouchable in some ways. And Harry was starting to realize how much he wanted to be the one to reach her.

When Y/N hit a particularly good shot and spun around with that radiant smile, Harry felt a flutter in his chest. He swallowed, his throat tight, and for a moment, he wasn’t sure if he could handle being this close to her without completely falling apart.

“You’re not half bad,” she teased, breathless from the rally.

Harry grinned, the praise warming him in a way he hadn’t expected. “I know. You should be honored to play with me.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t quite suppress the grin tugging at her lips. “You’re insufferable.”

And there it was again—her laugh, the way she made everything feel lighter. Harry caught himself smiling at her, not the cocky, playful smile he usually wore, but something more sincere. Something that spoke volumes of how much he was starting to feel for her—how much he had already felt.

They rallied for another few minutes, the sun dipping lower as the evening air turned cooler. But Harry wasn’t paying attention to the time, or the way the game was unfolding. All he could focus on was the way her hair caught the last of the sunlight, the way her eyes gleamed with happiness—and how damn beautiful she was.

“You’re good,” Harry finally said, his voice quieter than usual, almost like a confession.

Y/N gave him a curious look, then smirked. “You finally noticing?”

He wanted to say more, to tell her exactly what he was thinking—but it would only complicate things. Instead, he just nodded, watching her carefully, trying to keep his emotions in check. “I’ve always noticed,” he said, his voice a little too soft, betraying the quiet ache he felt inside.

Y/N paused, her expression softening for a brief moment before her usual mask of sarcasm slipped back into place. “Well, I’m glad you finally decided to admit it.”

The smile she gave him in return was genuine, full of warmth. And for a moment, Harry forgot about the rest of the world, just watching her, heart in his throat, wondering how he had gotten so lucky—and so lost in someone who would never even look at him the same way.

Y/N took a few steps back, wiping a hand across her forehead, trying to shake off the intensity of the game and the weight of the conversation that had been hanging between them. Harry still stood there, watching her, his breath a little heavier from the rally but his focus unwavering. It was as if he was waiting for something to break, for her to say the words he didn’t want to hear but somehow feared.

She didn’t look at him for a moment, her eyes scanning the ground like she was trying to find some way out. But then, when she spoke, her voice was softer than usual, almost reluctant. "You were right earlier... about me being tense," she said, barely above a whisper.

Harry tilted his head, unsure if he’d heard her correctly. His heart rate picked up, and he took a tentative step toward her. “What do you mean?”

Y/N hesitated, clearly at war with herself, as if saying the words out loud would somehow make them more real. But Harry could see the way her fingers curled tighter around her tennis racket, the way her shoulders were drawn up protectively.

“Something happened... with my dad,” she finally admitted, the words slipping out in a rush, like she couldn’t stop them once she started.

Harry’s chest tightened, but he kept his expression neutral, unwilling to push her too much. "What happened?"

Y/N looked up at him, her eyes redder than usual, her face more vulnerable than he'd ever seen it. "He... slapped me," she said, the words a simple admission but heavy enough to make the air around them thick with tension.

The air in Harry’s lungs seemed to stop for a moment. His chest tightened, fists clenching at his sides as the words echoed in his mind. Slapped her.

He was careful not to let the anger build, though it was hard. The thought of anyone hurting her—let alone her father—lit a fire of fury inside him, but he knew he couldn’t let it show. Not now. Not when she was looking at him like that, so fragile and raw.

“Y/N,” Harry said softly, stepping closer. His voice was low, almost as if he were afraid the words might break something inside her. “I’m so sorry.”

She shook her head, her lips trembling slightly. “You don’t have to apologize,” she murmured, her voice thick with something he couldn’t quite place. “I don’t want your pity.”

“I’m not pitying you,” Harry replied quickly, his gaze steady. He took a slow, steadying breath. “I’m angry, though. At him. But I’m not pitying you, Y/N. You’re... you’re strong. You don’t deserve that. You never have.”

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat as she tried to steady herself. Harry could see her fighting it—fighting the tears, fighting the emotions that were threatening to spill over.

“I got a low grade on my report card this semester,” she whispered after a beat, her voice so small it almost hurt to hear. “My parents think it’s because I spend too much time playing. They threatened to stop funding my schooling if I didn’t quit. Not that I’m going to quit, but I have to lay low for a while.”

Harry’s heart broke at her words. He didn’t know how much more of this he could take, the thought of her in such a difficult situation, but he forced himself to stay composed. She was so strong, but there was only so much someone could take.

“Does he…” Harry hesitated, the words feeling too heavy to speak, but he forced them out anyway, “Does he do that often?”

Y/N opened her mouth to speak but paused, her gaze dropping to the ground for a long moment. The silence stretched between them, and Harry felt that pit in his stomach grow deeper with each passing second. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely a whisper.

“It wasn’t the first time,” she said, her voice faltering. “But he doesn’t do it often.”

Harry’s eyes darkened with barely-contained anger. His hands clenched at his sides, a reflex he couldn’t control. “Y/N, he shouldn’t be doing it at all,” he said through gritted teeth, his voice low and tight. He wanted to reach for her, to pull her close and hold her, but something held him back. He knew she wasn’t ready for that, and he didn’t want to push her further away.

“No man should ever lay a hand on you,” he added, his voice raw with emotion. “Not ever. You don’t deserve that. No one does.”

Y/N stayed quiet for a long time, her face a mixture of exhaustion and something else Harry couldn’t name. She looked up at him, eyes glistening, but there was no hint of softness in her expression. She had her walls up again, already rebuilding what little had cracked.

“I don’t want your sympathy, Harry,” she said firmly, her voice regaining some of its usual sharpness. “And I don’t need you to protect me. I’ll deal with it.”

Harry’s chest tightened, frustration bubbling to the surface. “But you don’t have to do it alone,” he said, taking a step closer, his voice softer now. “I can’t just stand by and pretend like nothing’s wrong. You shouldn’t have to carry this by yourself.”

She shook her head, but this time, there was no bite in it—just a sad resignation. “You don’t get it,” she muttered, her eyes darting to the side. “I’m not some fragile thing that needs to be protected. I don’t want your help. I just want to get through this on my own.”

Harry could feel the walls she’d built between them—walls made of pain and pride—climbing higher, and the instinct to break them down was strong. But he knew, deep down, he couldn’t force her to open up, especially not when she wasn’t ready.

“I’m not trying to save you, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something like regret. “I’m just here. Whenever you need someone to listen, or... whatever else you need. Just know that.”

She didn’t meet his eyes, but he could see the smallest tremor in her shoulders as she exhaled. Finally, after a long pause, she spoke again, her voice quiet but firm.

“I don't need help,” she said, her words like a wall being slammed shut. “I don’t need your pity, and I don’t need anyone to try and fix me.”

Harry’s heart dropped, the weight of her words hitting him harder than he wanted to admit. But he understood. She was trying to keep control of a situation that was already slipping through her fingers. And maybe she wasn’t ready to let him in, no matter how much he wanted to be there for her.

“I’m not trying to fix you,” he said, his voice barely a whisper now, the weight of his emotions slipping through despite himself. “I just... I care about you, Y/N. I don’t want to see you hurt.”

Her eyes flicked to his, sharp and guarded. “I don’t need help but I’ll keep that in mind.”

Harry’s chest tightened, but he didn’t let his gaze drop. “Alright,” he said softly. “But I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.”

Y/N didn’t respond, and Harry didn’t push. Instead, he stood there for a moment longer, looking at her, wishing he could say more—do more—make her feel safe, but knowing it wasn’t his place to force anything. For now, all he could do was wait.

And somehow, that felt worse than anything.

“Want to go another round?” Harry asked, his voice lighter, searching for a way to ease the tension.

“I think we should probably head back. Sarah might be looking for me.” Y/Ns expression softens.

“Right” the last thing Harry wanted to do was leave this pocket of space they were in together. He savoured any rare moment of time he had with her alone and this was one of them.

They walked side by side, the silence between them not uncomfortable, but heavy with unspoken truths. As they approached his flat, Y/N glanced at him, her voice quiet but firm. “This doesn’t change anything, you know. I don’t want you to look at me differently just because I couldn’t defend myself against my dad. I’m strong—it just… it caught me off guard, that’s all.”

Harry stopped, turning to her with an earnestness that made her chest tighten. “Y/N, this doesn’t change a thing. Not about how I see you, or what I think of you. You’re still the strongest person I know.”

Her lips quirked in a small, tentative smile. “Good,” she said softly. Then, with a playful glint in her eyes, she added, “And you better win the final.”

Harry chuckled, his own smile breaking through. For her, he would.

For her, he’d do anything.

. . . 

Harry walked into the school the next day with his tie askew, shirt unbuttoned just enough to show his white t-shirt underneath, and his blazer slung casually over his shoulder, hooked with his middle finger. He had no particular reason to look so disheveled—he just liked the chaos it seemed to cause.

As he passed Mitch’s locker, he caught sight of Y/N walking down the hallway. Her eyes were trained straight ahead, like she was in her own world, but Harry couldn’t resist. He flashed a smirk and called out, “Hey, love.”

She immediately paused and turned to face him. Her expression was unreadable for a moment, then the corner of her lips twitched slightly, but her eyes were all ice.

“Seriously?” she asked, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Yeah, seriously,” Harry teased, not backing down. “You got something against me saying hello?”

“Not really,” she replied dryly, her arms crossing over her chest. “But I’m guessing you’re doing it just to get a reaction.”

“You know me too well,” Harry said with a grin. “But still, can’t help it. You just look... irresistible when you’re pissed off.”

Y/N’s eyes narrowed, but there was a flicker of amusement hiding beneath the irritation. Without saying a word, she lifted her middle finger and gave him a quick, deliberate flip-off. Then, as she turned to walk away, she allowed herself to smile, just a little—just enough for Harry to catch it.

He watched her walk off, his smirk fading as something tighter, warmer, filled his chest. He had always loved the way she carried herself—so confident, even when she was annoyed with him. He liked that she never made it easy. But right now, as she walked away, all he could think was how much he was falling for her.

"God," he muttered under his breath, watching her disappear down the hallway. "I’m so screwed."

[binomech]

Grasping at straws: Thoughts about Viktor's disability in Arcane

Disclaimer: In this post I try to give it some credit to Arcane writing from within the narrative. This is a Watsonian interpretation, not a Doylist one. Assume that underneath all of this I am beating Riot with LeGuin tomes.

Bootstraps and Denial

We get a glimpse into Viktor’s sense of self while he’s talking Jayce down from the ledge in S1A1E3: He is extending a sense of kinship to Jayce, who has just been stripped of his research equipment and autonomy by the Council when they relegate him to the care of his mother. He also considers the fact that he’s a faculty assistant in Piltover something he worked hard for, that was awarded to him despite his disability and immigrant status. His visible physical disability, accent, name, are all class signifiers that he must reject and dismiss if he wants funding, accommodation and recognition and it points to Piltover only allowing Zaunites as both a PR token and only if they reject enough of their Undercity culture. This is crucial: Viktor did not earn his position because he worked hard and believed in himself, he was rewarded for assimilating.

Becoming a Specimen

All of Viktor’s screentime in S1 takes place in Piltover to the exceptions of his visits to Singed, both in his childhood flashback and his adult visit to request help with the Hexcore experiment. Two things stand out to me in these interactions: The traumatic experience of being valued as a specimen, and the scrambling to the top of the ivory tower as a response to said trauma. He meets Singed and Rio in the immediate aftermath of a fall caused by his leg’s angle while he kept track of a device he built, a reminder that it would be the defining feature of his career, not his creations. Rio is shown to him as a lively, yet dying, specimen that must be preserved because it is a mutant, because it is defective and that defect makes her extremely valuable. I can understand how a young Viktor would latch onto the idea of saving something because it is faulty and project, and how finding Rio effectively dead and her body used for profit ended in an understanding that defects are only good if you can exploit them in some way, it’s not you, as a person, that they want. Conceptualizing a Viktor that is dead set on convincing the world that his work is important in and of itself goes through understanding that he sees his visible disability as both a hindrance and a weakness to exploit from the Piltover Academy.

Jayce encourages Viktor to do PR for Hextech with him several times, and right before the Progress Day speech, just as Viktor has had a coughing fit and is sitting down to rest his leg, Viktor says he doesn’t want to be seen as his partner, not in front of “them” (them being Piltover’s aristocracy). Viktor sees in Hextech a chance to leave a scientific legacy, and Jayce’s partnership is a way to keep the funds coming without his disability being an issue for investors. He believes in his partnership and Hextech as a joint endeavor between him and Jayce, but he knows what happens when Piltovans see a disabled Zaunite in any position threatening their hegemony. The catch here is that Viktor’s experience with Rio makes it so that this is not so much political awareness, as much as it is an avoidance so hard it loops back to agreeing with the oppressor, just to live a little more, just to make sure the world sees what you did.

When Viktor is diagnosed with Sump disease, a terminal condition caused by overexploitative mining and industrial pollution caused by Piltover’s factories and production exports, the sequence plays alongside an investor PR campaign from Jayce. It’s Viktor, who is already disabled, losing his place in the legacy of Hextech because he is dying at the hands of those who made it possible financially. It’s this Viktor, who sees his hopes of being remembered for his inventions dwindling, desperately going back to Singed and saying “I understand the value of the specimen. If rejecting my personhood buys me time, I will be what they want to see: A cripple, a corrupted Zaunite, a man desperate for power.”

The Hexcore has been trained to heal the subjects it’s used on, but Viktor was the one to train it: He was the one to determine what parts of the subject were considered sicknesses and flaws. To the degree that the Hexcore is, in many ways, a reflection of Viktor’s understanding of disease. It targeting his leg on first deliberate connection is a reflection of intent and desire more than any kind of agency from the device. Sky being used as fuel for the Hexcore’s learning is a point of contention for Viktor at that point because it’s the meeting point of the specimen and the scientist: Some lives are expendable if it means furthering your goal, and your life is the most expendable one. Are you ready to kill, be killed, for legacy? And Viktor panics because he is back, he’s looking at Rio’s corpse, born and raised for dying. Suicide for him at this point is an out, an unhealthy way of trying to go back to when he still had a choice. He asks Jayce to destroy the Hexcore and let him die because at that point he is still capable of dying without becoming a resource.

The Horror of Bioethics

Season 2 for Viktor is him becoming a specimen: Not a person, but a tool used to pave the road to a goal. In this case, Noxus’ acquisition of Hextech weaponry (which Viktor opposed ethically in Season 1, as he becomes the weapon itself in Season 2). He is resuscitated using the Hexcore against his will, a Hexcore containing both Viktor’s inputs for non-human healing and Sky’s research on applying those principles to the human body. He is a machine trained to heal, and he leaves for Zaun not under Viktor’s orders, but under the maxim to heal. He sees the widespread health issues caused by people that Viktor was bootlicking in Piltover, the direct result of him helping care for Rio until she died and was used to synthesize Shimmer as a drug, and where Viktor avoided his association with Zaun, the Hexcore resorts to the inputted instructions: Fix what we have established is broken. Viktor, who rejected his own disability, who rejected his home, his personal history, taught this thing to target the disabled, to target the poor, to target the sick. It is horrifying. The script presents it as vaguely unsettling but well-intentioned when it is blatant eugenics brought on by the loss of autonomy of a disabled man; the horror of it is not the cult, it’s knowing that all of this healing comes from someone having assimilated emotionally, politically, and physically, into his oppressors. It is not Viktor helping Zaun from the inside, it is Piltover’s allegedly meritocratic hellscape grafted onto Zaunites.

Who is allowed to be disabled?

Now, Jayce’s journey in the post-Hextech apocalyptic world is shown as a climb up from the Sump into the top of the Hexgates’ tower, almost reminiscent of Viktor’s journey as he understands it: You’re in a pit with a broken leg, in pain, hungry, desperate and you climb because it’s that or accepting death. You hope whatever is up there was worth the climb, but it’s a leap of faith. It’s remarkable, in contrast, how Jayce’s understanding of that climb is shaped by his own socioeconomic background. Viktor reaches the top and is punished for it, Jayce reaches the top and comes to an enlightened understanding. Viktor grows up disabled and is punished for the climb, Jayce acquires a disability during war time and he becomes the scientist-politician-hero. I appreciate how Jayce, upon encountering Viktor, fully armored even in his mind, can see a back brace, a leg brace, strained tendons. But it is also why a terminal illness resulting from Piltover’s economic chokehold on Zaun is conflated with a visible congenital disability, while they are manifestly not the same: This is a Viktor who got absorbed into Piltover’s vision of legacy, this is a Jayce who has grown up in it.

Legacy? What legacy?

In his final shot with Jayce as they erase the rune-stone, Viktor’s right leg is curving inwards, implying his femoral anteversion is something that he has finally incorporated into his perception, which was absent in every previous shot of this realm. Viktor's acceptance is for his own body, yes, but also for the consequences of giving up on it and dying.

This story as it is presented to us is a tale of avoiding annihilation through denial of one's limitations. While it's not a story that I enjoy, it is the one we were given. My hope is that through understanding it we can all tell better stories about disabled people.

[gravegoer]

Sevika is on the council now, GO.

Council member Sevika

thank you for this ask ive been WAITING for this !!! i love council member sevika (the only council member with a lip piercing)

masterlist (comment to be on my taglist)

You fought in that war with Sevika. You had her back, and she had yours.

At the end of that day, you went home together, injured, and exhausted.

The war had ended, but at the cost of so many losses. Peace was finally in sight.

Until enforcers knocked at your door. Sevika snapped at them, telling them to "Fuck off." But they had to be here for a good reason, right? Right.

Sevika was an important figure to Zaun. People believed in her. She is loyal to all Zaunites. that's a trait not many people have. So, of course, the council wanted her. The enforcers were there to deliver that important message

She growled at them, telling them to leave. You knew she needed time to think, even though in the back of your mind, you already knew what her decision was.

You waited an hour or so for her in bed, hearing her grunts of frustration and her pacing around the living room.

It pained you to not go comfort her but you knew this was a decision she needed to make on her own.

Sevika entered the room with a determined expression. She kneeled at your bedside and put a larger hand on yours.

"I know this is going to be a change, and you might be upset but—"

"Im so proud of you, Sevika." Your eyes glimmered with hope.

Her brows furrow at your words, and you reach up to rub the crease from her expression. "You've made it so far. You're going to do so well." She is the voice of Zaun and speaks for you all.

You know there couldn't be a better person for that position. With Sevikas loyalty, she would never make a move to put the undercity in jeopardy.

Her eyes soften at your encouragement. It's all so new to her. She knew it was going to be a hard start, but not as hard knowing you had her back. You would always be there with open arms at the end of the day.

At that thought, you hold her warm face between your hands, and she closes her eyes at your touch. She's exhausted but still relents. That's one of the things you admired about her.

That night, you held her head to your chest, comfortingly. She deserved no less. Your fingers raked through her hair gently. Her heavy arm was draped over your waist softly, and your sweet voice lulled her to sleep. There was a long day ahead of her.

In the morning, she was more affectionate than usual, kissing your forehead before she got dressed. (And then again after). Laying her head on your shoulder as you finished up your breakfast. Hugging you from behind tightly while you brushed your teeth.

She was nervous, and this was the first time you saw her this way. Albeit not the last. But it was weird seeing Sevika, who was oh-so-big-and-strong get worked up over this.

People eyed you both on your walk there. She didn't make eyecontact with anybody and stared straight ahead with a firm look. Unlike her, you waved and smiled at some curious people, holding onto Sevikas arm.

When you got to the most important building in Piltover, she insisted that you walk her into the council meeting room. At first, you refused, but at her defeated and almost scattered look, you relented.

Even though you knew it would be hard to see with the topsiders, you knew it was for the best. The council members eyed you as you stood in the doorway with Sevika. You gave her an encouraging look, and she put a hand on your shoulder, lovingly, before stepping past you.

Taking a step back, the doors shut, and you waited for her on the other side.

Sevika was a part of the worlds new beginnings. Even though she held an important role amongst the people, she could argue that your role was more important.

You kept her sane through it all.

i absofreakinglutey love council member sevika in all her 5 second screentime glory !! and i will definitely be writing for her so look out for that in the future..

[v1x3n]

SNAP! ── ripped apart.

♯ PAIRINGS - john price x falsely accused reader x 141

♯ SYNOPSIS - tortured for information by your family and the person you loved, john price. you were harmed for something you hadn't even done, you were framed as the traitor and soon they would find out.

♯ TAGS - fluff, angst - panic attack, trauma, flinching.

─ previous chapter // masterlist // next chapter ─

There's a sudden knock on the door to your room, your body dry and freshly washed, the minty smell from the soap bar fills your nostrils whilst you slump on the hospital bed. Curled in a way that was uncomfortable but it wasn't hurting any wounds so that would have to do.

The knock is followed by the door opening wide, revealing a man who you recognise, a man named Logan. The cheery fellow bounces into the room, suddenly the dingy lights seem brighter. "how's my favourite girl?" the man smiles while trotting inside, then closing the door behind him. "The nurse told me t' not bother ya sooo here I am!" he announces, smirking when you peer up at him. Your permanent frown slightly moves upwards when you see the goofy yet devious grin on his face.

Without a reply he sits down on the wooden chair placed by your bed, "you're looking better! my wounds are barely healing!" you wonder what had happened to him for a moment but then you remember that one of the first times he snook into your room, he rambled on for almost an hour. Telling you that he had been shot whilst on a mission, twice in the stomach. Luckily he survived. He smiles as he stretches out his hand, groaning, "I'm glad you're okay," he says, his voice filled with emotion.

A sigh falls from his lips when you sit up, "saw some big beefy guy leave your room before," john, he's obviously talking about john. "Looked real pissed off." Logan mumbles under his breath when he looks to the side. Fucking twat, he was pissed off? He doesn't deserve to be pissed off. "Ya know him?" He looks towards you for an answer. But you two both knew you weren't going to verbally say anything. You nodded hesitantly.

"Ya friends?" the man questions, this time it wasn't so hesitant. "No." You firmly said. Logan thought this was the first time you had spoken to him, it clearly must've been a trigger or something, "he is NOT my friend." Reaffirming your statement, pure rage boils through you at even thinking about being his friend. He lost that fucking privilege. "huh."

There's a silence that lingers in the air. The wet droplets from your freshly washed hair drips down, sending shivers down through your body. "Well, at least you have people visiting. My family is too busy t' visit. Or they just divnt wanna." he mutters the last part, "id kill for anyone t' visit."

"You know you get a lot of people lining outa your door? I can barely get through mine cause these bulky men will always be there." What? You questioned internally. "Ya friends with them?" you probably knew who he was talking about, it was probably the other knobheads that harmed you. None of them had really spoken to you since you arrived, john would sit down on the chair that Logan was currently sitting on sometimes, you two wouldnt talk though. Youd rather kill yourself than utter a single word to him.

"none of them are my friends, " gruffly talking again. Your throat kinda hurt so the sounds came out raspier than you had wanted them to. "hmm! Anywho! You wanna play some cards with me? I knowww.... Snap?" Then he puts on a dumb little smile.

After rolling your eyes at him, you nod. Magically he pulls out a card deck. Placing them on the blanket covering you. Once splitting the deck into two and passes you a half. Logan puts a card down gently on the blanket, not wanting to put it down too hard and hurt you. He didn't quite know what had happened to you but by the looks of it it was bad. You had nurses in all the time, your body was wrapped in bandages and by the looks of it, you only had 8 fingers.

"6 of clubs!" he announces. You place down a random card, 4 of hearts.

After a few rounds, you had won. For him having a deck of cards and wanting to play snap, he wasn't that good at it. A small smirk rises on your face, looking down at your massive stack whilst he had no cards left. "Well, well done." He grumbles with a mocking pout.

Once nodding you give him half your cards and he whacks them across the bed. Scattering the cards around, you gasp. Laughing, he observes the stunned look on your face before you shuffle the cards and half them. Dividing them into two halves, again making sure you both have a half each.

The word snap was yelled out from Logan's lips as he finally got ahead of you and slammed his callosed hand downwards onto the 2 of diamonds. When you flinch, he felt the weight of his face drop. "fuck, I'm sorry-" the look on your face could only be described as panicked, scared and fearful.

Suddenly a loud ringing blinds your ears. Your breathing grows. You take sharp and quick breaths when he looks towards you. You don't know why you panicked so much over something so stupid but then again - you do. "oh god I'm sorry!"

Logan's heart sank as he watched you struggle to catch your breath. He quickly slid closer, his voice gentle, "Hey- fuck- it's okay. I'm right here." He hesitated, unsure whether to reach out physically, but instead whispered, "Just breathe with me, nice and slow," trying to guide you back to calmness. But unfortunately that didn't help. You flinch back once more and shuffle under the blanket. The sounds of the room grew louder, the beeping of the machines sound over Logan's - trying to be - comforting voice. Your breath caught up once more. Your breathing is loud and fast. "it's okay-"

He gets cut off when a nurse comes into the room. She quickly rushes to you and all you see is almost a blur when your eyes prick with water. Distant yelling and you see the obscured bodies rush into the room, the nurse beside you and mumbling nonsense as the blob you think is Logan leaves. 

[ruruumin]

hi!! I came across you and I thought your work is really amazing!! This is my first time asking something like this haha but for everything a first :) I really love figure skating and I was wondering if you could make a oneshot or any headcannons of the reactions of blue lock characters haha (mostly rin nagi and sae)! (sorry if I made some mistakes, English is t my first language)

ice, ice, baby!

₊˚ ᗢ blue lock various x figure skater! reader.

⤷ what kind of relationships rin, sae, and nagi (separate) would be in.

itoshi rin

“if you’re going to do something, do it with your entire heart.”

rin met you when he was only ten years old. you were his next door neighbor with a feverish dream to become the best figure skater in the world. although it may have been one of the loftiest dreams anyone might hear, he believed in you the same way you did for him. and together, he will see you perform all over the country, with him in arms waiting.

so when a cold rainy day comes and the two of you were walking home together under a shared umbrella, he wanted to say something. but you beat him to it. standing in front of your door, you turned around and smiled, saying only two things: i will be leaving to russia tomorrow morning to train with a new coach. 

this first part came as a no brainer to him, of course you would leave. just as sae did a few months ago, you were beginning to flap the wings you were blessed with. however, the second part was what kept him on his toes, heart punching up to his throat: and i love you, rin.

after departing in the morning, he would stay up late to watch your performances on television. even when he had early practice, it was complete habit to see you on screen. your presence on the ice was unmatched by many of your cohorts in russia. cold and calculative, yet free flowing. like a confident stream you graced the fields with a polished play. alongside a perfectly timed quad axel, it placed you right at the top of the world.

the ultimate power couple. when you’re at the kiss and cry, you’ll say his name to the camera before blowing a kiss. meanwhile, whenever he scores a goal, he’ll raise his fist in a catching motion, bringing it up to his lips as he hides his faint smile behind his hand. your performances will always be dedicated to each other and it drives the press mad (rightfully so). 

when you return to japan, he’s the first person that you see at the airport. in only a matter of seconds, with his extremely long legs and speed, he is wrapping his arms around you tightly, inhaling your scent as he lays his head on your shoulder. 

he would immediately take you back to all your favorite places. during your time away, he had taken a multitude of pictures and sent you dozens of instagram reels of cafes. now that you were here in his arms, it made going to them all the more real (or maybe not, with you sitting in front of him, enjoying a mont blanc and latte, it feels like the perfect dream). 

sleeping in the same bed as him had never felt any better. while you knew him to be a drooler, you would have never expected him to be clingier than a koala. he is keeping you flushed against his chest the entire night. if you think about getting water, he will follow you with arms tangled with yours. 

itoshi sae

“i’ll carve my name into ice while you all watch in awe.” 

the only other person with the same amount of arrogance as him was you, a rebellious teenager he found on the streets of spain. you tried to pickpocket him on his first day in the country. instead of reporting you to the police, he asked you one simple question that changed the trajectory of your life: if you had the chance to do anything, what would it be?

some people viewed you as a lost cause in the figure skating world. having started extremely late compared to your other peers, your name was rubbish and caked in dirt. however, it never stopped sae from coming to see you after every practice, watching as you practiced your spins and salchows underneath the dim lights of the arena with a coach he’d hired. to him, you were a diamond in the rough that just needed a push.

he didn’t think much about your relationship until it was late at night. you were walking back with him to a hotel, face covered with masks to avoid intruding paparazzi. it started off with small talk, like family and friends (you learned he had a very cocky but sweet brother back in japan), but it quickly diverged into something more intimate that had the two of you walking into his room with intertwined pinkies.

when it came time to perform in the qualifying rounds, you had plunged the stadium with wails and tears. overcoming the country’s beloved skater by a wide margin, you stood above everyone, head raised high as you pointed up to the cameras, hardening your gaze as you mouthed sae’s name. you must have known he was watching from the corners of the locker room. 

the world of figure skating was going to change with you, a new generation skater that rose from nothing. 

sae feels immense pride when it comes with you. even though there were many curve balls thrown in your direction, whether it be from bad press or his persistent fanbase, the smile you hid beneath the covers reassured him that you were going to stick it out. nothing in the world could compare to the happiness you felt when you were with sae. because with him, you knew you could do anything.

dates typically consist of fancy meals or sightseeing trips. he isn’t particularly drawn to these activities himself, but what motivates him is the thought of treating you to something new. whether it be a pretty dessert from down the street that costed an arm and a leg, or seeing the stars as you walk along the beach, he’ll dedicate a huge chunk of his income to letting you see the world in its fullest.

matching photocards on the back of your phone cases. sae uses a clear one so he can flip his phone around and stare at you before every game. while some think he’s admiring your smile (as beautiful as it is), he’s actually sees you as the perfect rival to his games. although you were both in different sports, the two of you constantly pushed each other to your limits, showing the world what it means to be the very best. 

nagi seishiro

“there is no point in anything if you aren’t going to have fun.” 

he wasn’t interested in figure skating until he came across one of your performances on youtube. it was really early into middle school when he started watching you. one of the reasons why he started was because you skated to a lot of his favorite songs from video games he liked. the second reason was because you looked like you were having fun. 

unlike most figure skaters he’s seen, you made the sport look enjoyable (he thinks everyone else looks extremely constipated when they’re too focused). with a beautifully confident smile, you danced across the ice, performing triple axels and a perfect biellmann spin. you skated as if you truly loved this sport, and this was the selling point for him (maybe this is when he started to be called a certified fanboy).

when he arrived to blue lock, the first thing he wanted to win back was his phone so he could keep up with your recent uploads. even when you aren’t posting something figure skating related, your miniature q&a sessions were entertaining enough to keep him awake for the rest of the night, much to reo’s dismay (he wanted to sleep early for once).

the best thing reo had gifted him were a pair of tickets to see you perform at one of the biggest skating rinks in the country. nagi was almost shaking in his seat in excitement, eyes wider than saucers when you stepped into the arena with the prettiest outfit known to man. you blew kisses and waved to the audience, giving them your signature smile. you suddenly stopped in your tracks to deliver a long kiss in nagi’s direction, something that sent him into an early cardiac arrest.

your relationship with him blossoms after seeing him at the local convenience store. the two of you had awkwardly reached for the same cup noodle. even though you were dressed in a simple, oversized black hoodie and a mask that hid half of your face, he easily recognized you by the sound of your voice. nagi’s phone would have dropped to the ground if it wasn’t for you catching it midway. when the screen lights up with a picture of you as his wallpaper, you smile and type in your number, throwing his phone back to him as you take the cup noodle and leave.

you and him would text consistently. after every practice he would immediately rush over to his phone to see if you had left any messages. expect a lot of back and forth photos. nagi’s pictures consisting of things he saw that reminded him of you while you sent him photos of yourself at practice or a recent choreograph. 

imagine how shocked your youtube fanbase is when you show up with your 6’3 boyfriend who barely shows up on camera because hes too tall for your tripod. you’re teaching him how to ice skate and although he started as a wobbly giraffe, he easily picked up a lot of tricks. he might not be the best at doing jumps but his footwork was impeccable (you like to tease him about switching careers but he lazily replies with his face in your shoulder about how much work it’ll be). 

[revelboo]

I absolutely love your writing! Scratches my brain just right! How do you think they would react to tattoos? I'm pretty much covered and just curious about your thoughts!

Tattoo Reaction Scenarios

Various Transformers x Reader

IDW Starscream

• Skimming his lips against your neck, Starscream feels you shiver when his denta graze you. Optics devouring as he lazily maps you out with his mouth and servos. Lingering on the colorful designs inked on your soft skin. “I like these decorations.”

• “They’re tattoos.” Sprawled on your belly beside him, you feel his servos tracing along your shoulder and lingering there. “Do you guys do anything like this?” Inhaling as he finds the one on your hip with gentle touches.

• “Decorating our armor plating is fairly common,” he replies, moving your hair aside to trace over your neck. He’d never bothered with the practice, liking himself the way he is, but he likes the art decorating your skin. “Some change their color schemes regularly.”

• Rolling onto your back, his optics heat as he looms over you. “You could write out your name for me in Cybertronian characters and I could get it tattooed somewhere,” you tease, tugging at his wrist so you can lay his servos against your collar bone. “Maybe here.” Pulling his down to your inner thigh, you grin as his expression becomes possessive. “Or here.”

IDW Sunstreaker

• Ignoring the twins doing their own things, you turn your back to them and pull your sweater off over your head, stripping down to a tank top. Because for once, it’s not freezing cold. Or maybe, you’re running a fever. Sitting crosslegged to fold the sweater, you don’t even realize Sunstreaker has moved until a big servo touches your shoulder nearly scaring you to death. Something that big shouldn’t be that quiet when he wants to be. Reaching back, you swat him. “Don’t sneak up on me.”

• Ignoring your annoyance, his optics trail over your shoulders and upper back. Studying the colorful designs winding over your skin that you’d kept hidden. You’d made yourself a canvas, so why hide it? “Different artists,” he murmurs, servo tracing a pattern on your bicep.

• There’s no judgment in his tone, just curiosity and it eases the tension bracketing your spine. Reaching, you touch one. “Yeah, I designed this one,” you say, chin lifting. “This one a friend sketched out.” You wonder what he thinks of them, unwilling to explain their meanings to him just yet. Some of them still hurt you if you dwell on them like the script on the inside of your wrist with a signature painstakingly copied.

• Fascinated, he explores each one. Wondering what they mean, the stories behind them. Also knowing from the way your jaw is set, that you’re not ready entrust them to him just yet. Venting softly, he turns over his wrist, servos tracing a scar marring his otherwise pristine paint. Not art, but a mark with a story and your eyes study it and then lift to his optics. “A story for a story?” He offers and you smile slightly.

IDW Bluestreak

• “Needles?” He ask, his tone so dismayed you almost laugh as his servos hover over your skin. Not touching you, because he’s always so conscious of your personal space. Afraid of upsetting you or crossing a boundary he’s not allowed. “Didn’t that hurt?”

• “It gets easier every time,” you say, catching his big servo in your hands and pulling. And finally he cautiously touches your arm and the scrolling tattoo there. “I kind of look forward to that little bite of pain now.” Door wings lifting slightly at that, he can understand all too well needing pain to ground yourself. You’re like him, then. Carrying around something you keep hidden inside.

TF Earthspark Megatron

• “Gladiators painted themselves before battle. To inspire themselves and to instill fear in their opponents,” he murmurs as he gestures at the ink peeking out at your collar. He’d worn such paint in the pits, remembers striding out under those blinding lights as the bloodthirsty crowd looked down and screamed his name. Fans that would still cheer whether or not he survived his next battle. “They usually weren’t permanent marks, though.”

• He sounds so melancholy as you reach to touch his servos, bridging the distance between you both and surprising him. “If you ever want to talk about it?” Smiling ruefully, he gently traces your cheek with a servo. And you know it’s a no. Or at least a not yet. Laying your palm against his lingering servo, you begin to speak. Explaining your tattoos and showing them to him. Reaching out even if he’s not ready to share with you just yet.

TFP Ratchet

• “Another one?” He growls, spotting that shiny stuff taped to the inside of your wrist. Knowing you’ve gone and had another human embed ink under your skin again even though he can’t understand why. The designs are pretty enough, but he’d done some research and he knows it’s a painful process. So why harm yourself for art?

• Rolling your eyes, you ghost your fingertips over the dressing covering your tattoo. Still too new and sore, but you wonder what he’ll think of it when he realizes you had tattooed his cross with the Autobot insignia inside it on yourself. Most likely, he’ll just gape at you and get flustered. But you’d wanted to wear his badge, wanted something permanent of him to carry for the rest of your life.

[potatoes83]

I get a new phone when my old one stops working; is either glitching up so bad it's non-functional, the onboard battery stops holding a charge, or the screen stops working, (that's absolutely hysterical with a touch screen phone). So what is that these days, somewhere between every three and eight years depending on the quality of the phone? I'm an Android user, I don't need the newest greatest flagship phone, fairly basic. I'm not upgrading every time a new model comes out.

So with that said, a couple phones ago, I hadn't been in the AT&T store for quite a while. And I don't know what the hell they were thinking, but I walk in and all the counters are gone. There are these tall uncomfortable tables with tall uncomfortable stools that look like something out of Men in Black, and a couple random fabric boxes that I presume were supposed to be some sort of couch. And some dude coming up to me with a tablet like a fucking concierge or something.

Right out the gate, I'm not comfortable. I am here to conduct business. I want to walk up to a counter, wait patiently in line, talk to a person, and get a new phone. Instead this person takes my name and tells me to sit somewhere uncomfortable as if I'm being seated at Chez le Ritz. Eventually I am summoned to one of the tall uncomfortable tables, successfully clambering my bad leg up onto a tall uncomfortable stool on only the second or third attempt.

I need a new phone. Doesn't need to be too fancy, here's what I got, what can you do for me?

Well can I interest you in an upgrade to the latest iphone? No, I'm not interested in that.

Well we can bundle your new phone with a DirecTV package that comes with Home Security and a free tablet, well yes, that tablet would require a separate data plan, but it's only $30 extra a month... No, I'm not interested in that.

Well I see you only have a 1 GB data plan, that really is just woefully inadequate for this day and age. Now for only an extra $60 a month, we can raise that to an unlimited, blah blah blah streaming, blah blah blah social media, so on so on. No, I'm not interested in that!

And the problem is, to the exact point of OP's post, we are generally raised to be polite. Like this other person is talking, I am the customer, but they hold the position of power because this is their territory. I'm not going to stop them mid sales pitch to tell them look, I just need a damn phone, nothing else. Even though I would be well within my rights to do so. Like hey, I'm going to stop you right there, save us both a lot of time, this is what I need, and if you keep going off tangent, I am going to leave. That's probably not going to happen. Instead I'm just going to sit here and suffer in silence, hoping that you have some magic threshold of me saying no that breaks you out of your feedback loop and you can actually tend to my request.

Incidentally, and I have no way of proving that it was company policy, but I feel like that number was three. Because after the third no, we just completely shifted gears, and I was walking out of there with a new phone not terribly long thereafter. And since then, and it's been quite a number of years since I was last in the AT&T store, they had kind of put things a little bit closer to back to normal.

Assertive is definitely not one of my strongest characteristics, and it would save me a hell of a lot of frustration and suffering in silence. 🥔

Ive said this before but swear the biggest skill to learn as an adult is how to resist high-pressure sales tactics. You do NOT have to answer questions with anything other than "Sorry I'm not interested." No matter how nice they are or no matter how many follow up questions they ask or even how agitated they get when you stand your ground. Just keep saying I'm not interested. Don't answer their questions. Don't give them an opening to try to push back on your reasons. Be a fucking brick wall of I'm not interested.

[subjectsix]

KIP'S BIG POST OF THINGS TO MAKE THE INTERNET & TECHNOLOGY SUCK A LITTLE LESS

Post last updated November 23, 2024. Will continue to update!

Here are my favorite things to use to navigate technology my own way:

A refurbished iPod loaded with Rockbox OS (Rockbox is free, iPods range in price. I linked the site I got mine from. Note that iPods get finicky about syncing and the kind of cord it has— it may still charge but might not recognize the device to sync. Getting an original Apple cord sometimes helps). Rockbox has ports for other MP3 players as well.

This Windows debloater program (there are viable alternatives out there, this one works for me). It has a powershell script that give you a little UI and buttons to press, which I appreciate, as I'm still a bit shy with tech.

Firefox with the following extensions: - Consent-O-Matic (set your responses to ALL privacy/cookie pop-ups in the extension, and it will answer all pop-ups for you. I can see reasons to not use it, but I appreciate it) - Facebook Container ("contains" Meta on Facebook and Instagram pages to keep it from tracking you or getting third party cookies, since Meta is fairly egregious about it) - Redirect Amp to HTML (AMP is designed for mobile phones, this forces pages to go to their HTML version) - A WebP/AVIF image converter - uBlock Origin and uBlacklist, with the AI blacklist loaded in to kill any generative AI results from appearing in search engines or anywhere.

Handbrake for ripping DVDs— I haven’t used this in awhile as I haven’t been making video edits. I used this back when I had a Mac OS

VLC Media Player (ol’ reliable)

Unsplash & Pexels for free-to-use images

A password manager (these often are paid. I use Dashlane. There are many options, feel free to search around and ask for recs!). There is a lot that goes into cybersecurity— find the option you feel is best for you.

Things I suggest:

Understanding Royalty Free and the Creative Commons licenses

Familiarity with boolean operators for searching

Investing in a backup drive and external drive

A few good USBs, including one that has a backup of your OS on it

Adapter cables

Avoiding Fandom “wikias” (as in the brand “Fandom”) and supporting other, fan-run or supported wikis. Consider contributing if its something you find yourself passionate or joyful about.

Finding Forums for the things you like, or creating your own*

Create an email specifically for ads/shopping— use it to receive all promotional emails to keep your inbox clean. Upkeep it.

Stop putting so much of your personal information online— be willing to separate your personal online identity from your “online identity”. You don’t owe people your name, location, pronouns, diagnoses, or any of that. It’s your choice, but be discerning in what you give and why. I recommend avoiding providing your phone number to sites as much as possible.

Be intentional

Ask questions

Talk to people

Remember that you can lurk all you want

Things that are fun to check out:

BBSes-- here's a portal to access them.

Neocities

*Forums-- find some to join, or maybe host your own? The system I was most familiar with was vbulletin.

MMM.page

Things that have worked well for me but might work for you, YMMV:

Limit your app usage time on your smartphone if you’re prone to going back to them— this is a tangible way to “practice mindfulness”, a term I find frustratingly vague ansjdbdj

Things I’m looking into:

The “Pi Hole”— a raspberry pi set up to block all ads on a specific internet connection

VPNs-- this is one that was recommended to me.

How to use computers (I mean it): Resources on how to understand your machine and what you’re doing, even if your skill and knowledge level is currently 0:

This section I'll come back an add to. I know that messing with computers can be intimidating, especially if you feel out of your depth. HTML and regedits and especially things like dualbooting or linux feel impossible. So I want to put things here that explain exactly how the internet and your computer functions, and how you can learn and work with that. Yippee!

[secretress]

❝𝐏𝐀𝐂: 𝐈 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐛𝐞 𝐟𝐫𝐨𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐤 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬, 𝐈 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞.❞

Where is your future lover from? (Detailed)

Masterlist.

Authors note,

I finally fixed my links (starting here and with my masterlist), now you can press on them instead of clicking on my profile.

Moodboard. Divider.

Pile I.

Trigger warning: faintest mention of self-harm.

France, Indonesia, Canada, China, Afghanistan, San Marino, Norway, Some of you have someone who is on a cruise/overseas (may be a fisherman, work with the ocean, ocean is key), Sudan, and French Guiana.

You already know where and who your future person is. I, originally, was going to use tarot to figure it out, until I saw 4:44 on the clock, and it hit me, as it will do the same with you. Since you already know where they are, your mind has been running with ideas on what to do about it. Some of you like to travel a lot and want to find them since you are intuitive as it is. And the rest of you want them to come to you like a knight saving their princess. One word of advice for everyone here: allow your heart and intuition to decide for you. I know that listening to your logical mind is better and it can protect you, and sometimes where they are from and finding them can be exciting, but at the same time, with your current energy, it will not help nor happen for you. Right now, your main focus should be working on yourself, healing, and connecting with your flaws. I know that you have healed a lot, and I am so proud of you for that, but you need to connect with your flaws. Not everyone is perfect, not everyone will have the best or good qualities, and that is okay. Not everyone will always be perfect and only have a few of their qualities; sometimes they will have their flaws, and that is how they will act for that day. And that is okay. Everyone has flaws, and everyone has good qualities to them, and that is what makes them human.

A lot of you have been focusing on what is good and what is bad; try to focus on what you want your morals to be instead. A lot of you don’t believe in what society says about morality and how they pressure the world to focus on their ideology, but because of this, you started to feel guilty for it. Don’t. You are allowed to have your own morals and your own ideas on what is right and what is wrong, or in this case, what works best for you. That is the beauty of having your own mindset and not following the crowd, and that is another thing that makes you beautiful. Because I find you and your energy beautiful, and you need to start to believe that. You need to start to fall in love with yourself and learn to appreciate all parts of you. Some of you feel nervous about the flaws you have, and that is okay. But, at the same time, if you don't show appreciation to them, then you will start to feel scared around who you are. You cannot allow your future person to fill the void you feel. You have to do that for yourself first. Because if you don't, you will lose yourself throughout the relationship and become a people pleaser like you did in your younger days.

A lot of you desire for me to speak more about your future person, but there is nothing that I can channel, nor would tarot give me anything. The problem is your current energy. You need to stop chasing ways to find them and start to chase yourself back and accept all of you. I keep thinking of a mile run; some students will work hard to become the best, and some will cheer the slower ones so they can make it at the end. You are in between these two types of people. I know that you have healed, and again, very proud of you, but you honestly need to get a grip and start to cheer for yourself and your flaws. Fall in love with yourself again, you are deserving of that. I do not care what you have done in the past, everyone has forgiven you, so why can’t you? What makes it so worthy to sabotage your happiness for your past mistakes? What is done is done, and you know that, so why indulge further? Make yourself happy so you can be that princess and allow your knight to come your way. Because your future lover is supposed to come to you, not the other way around. Stop taking care of others, respect your younger self for healing your people pleasing ways, and get a grip back into the path you desire. It is your time for your happiness because you deserve that.

I know that sometimes you seek others’ validations or need for comfort, so take it from me. I read people’s energy, and your energy is fine. You’re okay, you deserve happiness, and I am telling you to go seek it. It is time for you to appreciate yourself instead of allowing yourself to be a widower to your past. Stop letting others hurt you and make you believe your flaws are disgusting when they are not. Who are they to say something about who you are when they do not know anything about you? Sure, you can say I don’t know anything about you, and that is true, but yet again, I am reading your energy, so I have the gist here. Do not allow your insecure thoughts to eat you alive again. Our insecurities can always shift into something positive, and you deserve that happiness, and when you do meet your future person, they will show you the same. But please, do not wait for them to arrive to feel their touch, do it for yourself. Take care of yourself, pamper yourself, appreciate yourself, put yourself on a pedestal, and no, that is not wrong. It is not selfish. Those who say it is selfish are the people who do not know how to respect themselves, they do not. They may have grown up in an environment where it was frowned upon, but yet again, it is a lack of respect. So, do not do that to yourself, understood? Some of you think you have selfish tendencies, and yes, you do, however, it is something that can be switched to gratitude. You need to show more gratitude for those who can be a little more selfish; those who aren’t and others say that you are, stop allowing them to make you feel that way and start to become more selfish. Being selfish is not a bad thing, excessive amounts are the problem. So balance it out with gratitude and self-love for yourself. Please show yourself compassion when things become harder and stress arises. Stop nitpicking everything you do, stop going back into picking your skin, chewing something that damages your teeth, and/or picking your nose with sharp nails (it can cause scabs in your nose damaging your inner lining meaning bacteria has a better chance of entering and thus bacterial infections). Stop the self-harm too, you do not deserve that. Okay? You deserve happiness.

Masterlist.

Pile II.

Greenland and Mauritius (drawn to it two times), Ireland, Some of your future person lives on a boat so their locations differentiates, Russia.

Your future spouse’s energy is so beautiful. I instantly kept saying, “wow, wow, okay, wow, wow.” Your future spouse's energy keeps shifting, meaning they like to travel a lot, but at the same time, people are drawn to them like a magnet. Their energy is very strong. It reminds me of taking shots and getting dizzy after one. So strong, wow.

A lot of you are trying to figure out if someone in your friends’ circle is your future spouse. From the readings you have read, the signs you have seen or wanted, the way the people speak to you, and the way you feel about them have made it harder for you to pinpoint or locate who they are. It is no one in your circle, but someone in your circle knows your future spouse online. And they will introduce you to them in the near future. My intuition says, “you are not ready to meet them. You need to let go of being the investigator and stop reading pacs. Give up on them and take a break for the sake of your mind and peace. It’s time for you to let go and have fun before you are introduced to them and fall for them on the sight of their words addressed to you.” They are such a romantic with you, with others, they are like, ‘’meh, whatever. Okay, and?” But with you, it is like let me just find the most perfect, stunning, angelic … (more lovely words) rings for the most perfect person in the world; you are my world, my life, my presence .. and so forth. Very lovey dovey with you, you make them so soft. At first it was gross and weird to have this switch of who they were, but then you started to make them realize how nice it was to feel something more. You are their safe haven, and the same can be said about them for you.

I see a pretty garden, filled with nice roses and pink roses, some dandelions, and dragonflies surrounding the both of you. You have an outfit similar to Alice in Alice in Wonderland, and they have an outfit similar to the White Queen. It’s such a warm and bright atmosphere that you can get lost in it and fall into a rabbit hole. The same can be said about who you both are and how your energy will melt perfectly with one another. So drawn to one another that no one can separate you both away from one another. Your adventurous and childlike wonder personality is what grabs your future lover’s attention and spins their world into the story itself. In short, your relationship will be magical but overwhelming with their parents and yours. There is going to be clashing. A lot of communication will mend it but not heal the relationship. Do not pour yourself into fixing it, focus on you and them.

Masterlist.

Pile III.

Trigger warning: faintest mention of rape.

Mongolia, Panama, Burundi, Northern Mariana Islands, China, Canada, Russia, and Kazakhstan.

Your future spouse grew up and is still living in a close bonded village or community. Their mindset is closed, very closed, hence why the energies you have read differ from one another.

II of Swords and X of Swords.

I need you to listen to me very carefully. Although this is a future lover or spouse reading, your lover is not someone you are supposed to be with. Their energy is so.. so very overwhelming, complex, and so damn off putting. I can’t even read it.. it is that bad. I have no idea if you are speaking with them on a dating app, met them and had a “lovely” date with them, if they are your ex, or even dating you, but leave or do not engage with them. I will describe them. I wish I could give you a cute reading about who they are, but their energy is so blank—so empty, shadow like, and so very much draining you.

This person blends into the crowds and projects themselves as a kind and lovely person who went through so much trauma. This person has told you, or will tell you (future energies appeared), that these people were awful, and these people made them feel small, but they were able to heal, or at least tried to feel better about themselves. (Red flags are waving in my mind), they like to talk about France or are associated with France (born there, love the food, know the culture, etc.). They will subtly mention how perfect you are but secretly hide their disgust for you. You may have noticed it and brushed it aside from how exhausted you have been lately. I would not say you have been gaslighting yourself; you could be, but something along the lines of ignoring it or acting ‘oblivious’ because you want something good to finally happen to you. They like to bounce around each topic, never fully explaining what they are saying but ‘appearing’ intelligent because they bullshit their words. Some of you have noticed it and have called them out on it, but they either love bomb you and you let it go, or they manipulate you and you believe their lies or will (future energies only). They believe you are easy to trick, and they are right. You are easily swayed to someone’s side because of how open-minded you are; you need to start to limit that and focus on your ideals.

They love, and I mean love, being perverse around you. They always act as if they are modest and clean, that they have innocent and pure thoughts, but they do not. Very disgusting mindset, it reminds me of those who think it is okay to rape others. Yuck.

With the X of Swords (ten of swords), they.. (sigh, I am so sorry for you, truly. I hope one day you can finally heal and find the right person for you). They prefer to put you down and make themselves feel better about themselves. Usually, people who are insecure do that, yet they are not. They see themselves as this perfect being who deserves the best, and everyone deserves filth for being around their existence. Very high unhealthy self-esteem and very close tendencies to being a sociopath. I am not sure if they are diagnosed or not, but they do or would have pride for that, for being a psychopath or a sociopath.

You got two sword cards, and when it comes to the more depressive or weaker genre, this symbolizes abuse, lack of empathy or care, and being harsh. This may explain this person’s inner thoughts and how they interact with others, yet on a surface level they act like the better parts of what the swords symbolize: being creative, being brave and taking charge, learning to communicate or perfecting it, and being overall intelligent with a touch of care. I believe now you know who this person is, and the fear that surrounds your heart is making you overwhelmed because you put so much into this relationship only to find out that it was a lie.  I believe it is time for you to let them go and let go of everything about who they are and what they did for you. In reality, it was for them so they could have you wrapped around their finger, and unfortunately, you gave them easy access. Block them, cut contact with them, simply get rid of them, and bring back your peace.

Intuition told me that you need two oracle cards, and I will explain it for you. The first one you got was ‘’dna.’’ It states, ‘’you are predisposed to follow the karmic dictates of your ancestral patterning to some extent, yet as you evolve in your consciousness and expand the light of awareness, you can make choices that shift and modify this ancestral design.’’ Meaning, you have to follow along what your beliefs were all along, stop allowing others to sway you and follow their beliefs, their morals, and their tradition. Though it is good to have an open mind, an open mind with a huge heart, and being naive is what makes you fall down; it is your downfall, and it will be hard to build back the same place you fell from. You can ever truly go back to that, but you can always rebuild it and make a place that is better for you, but at the same time, a safer and calmer place for you to rest when things become tough. The next and last card channeled is ‘’iceberg.’’ It states, ‘’whatever you suppress or deny and attempt to keep out of conscious awareness will show up somewhere and somehow.  These are your shadow aspects.  Now is the time to allow these elements to surface and embrace them.’’ It means exactly what I have been saying to you. Learn to appreciate your open mindset, but learn to push away being so naive that you fall into that spiral I previously spoke of. Learn to appreciate that you care, that you want good things coming your way, and that you know and understand that you deserve good things, but push away those who do not mean well to you. They will sink you like how the Titanic sank with the iceberg. And that is something you simply do not deserve.

Masterlist.

[felassan]

David Gaider on Fenris, under a cut for length:

"Fenris. Now, DA2 is a story all on its own but I'm not going to go there other than to sum it up as "we had just over a year and a half to make this". It's why I only wrote one follower, Fenris, and although it'll make his fans mad: I probably shouldn't have. Let me explain. The way we'd approach making the followers is brainstorming a list of concepts covering first the array of gameplay classes (and sub-classes) and then making sure they each have some skin in the game when it came to the story's conflicts - ideally having characters on both sides of the major ones. Why? You can't make a player care about the world, but you can make them care about characters who care about the world. It's the easiest way to provide hooks into a conflict, outside of it knocking on the player's door. Heck, it's probably better than that. Players will burn the world for approval. After that, we'd decide things like romances/sexuality. Then the writers would pick who they'd write. I always let my writers pick first. I figured they do their best work when it's something they're inspired to write... and they got so few chances at ownership, I wanted to give it whenever I could It's why I (reluctantly) let Patrick wrest Cole from my grasp in DAI, a character I'd created in Asunder. It's also why I let Jennifer take Anders in DA2, who I'd started in Awakening. In this instance, it meant I was left with the angry elven warrior character who nobody else appeared to want."

"It should have been my first clue that something was up. The second was how the artists had zero clue what to do with him. The art concepts were all over the place - from mages to crows to... well, even weirder. No matter how hard I tried to explain the idea, the artists simply didn't seem to get it Does this mean he was a bad character? Not exactly. Just an idea that probably deserved some re-examining. You can tell when an idea has a certain spark, and part of that is being easy to communicate. Sadly, there wasn't time for any re-examining even if it'd occurred to me. And it didn't, not yet. If it had, if I had time, maybe I'd have re-booted him as a templar. Someone pro-templar rather than anti-mage, who could give a personal hook into Meredith and give the templars some badly-needed humanity. But this falls into the shoulda-woulda-coulda category. I had a follower to write. Quickly. I struggled, at first. It was hard to get away from "Fenris hates everything, all the time". It felt very one-note, and I didn't know where to take him. My third clue, I guess. I also wasn't sure if I was the right person to write a former slave. I did know that couldn't be the center of his story. I did know trauma, however. How it can eat you up. How the hate and resentment is like drinking poison and hoping the other person dies. How it can infect your relationships. Fenris's trauma isn't my trauma, obviously, but here I dipped into a more personal part of myself than I'd ever done before."

"It gave me the center of his story I was missing, but wow was it uncomfortable. In a good way, maybe. I likely wouldn't have, if I hadn't been so desperate. In a way, I think DA2 had some of our best writing *because* of the timeline. It was raw, with little time to sand down the interesting parts. I wouldn't have done the "Fenris doesn't talk to you for three years" thing if I'd known we were going to cut all the reactivity initially planned for the time jumps. When that call was made, I campaigned to cut the jumps to a year, but there was no time for the revisions it'd need. So, um. Awkward. I used to get asked where the name came from, and I... don't remember? Obviously it's derived from Fenrir, but I don't recall why we picked that. Someone pointed at Fenris the Feared from Joe Abercrombie's books... and I did read them, so maybe the name lodged in my head? Wouldn't be the first time. Casting Fenris turned out to be easy. He was the first time I requested a specific VA and got him. (The other times were Merrill and then Solas, my two "I want these specific Welsh actors, please".) Why? OK, if you must know, I'd played a bit of Final Fantasy XII. I heard Balthier. "Yes, that." 😅 And Gideon Emery was a delight, as it turned out. Consummate professional, and that lovely gravel in his voice... good god. Bite the knuckles. There was a struggle to find the voice at the outset where I did my best not to say "just pls do Balthier" but he found Fenris on his own and it was amazing. Overall, Fenris turned out better than he had any right to, considering the rocky start. He had a lot of soul, a vulnerability forged by pain that struck a chord with a lot of players, and I'm glad. Do I regret anything? Probably having him live in a corpse-filled mansion that would never update. That's a hindsight thing, though, as again the cut to reactivity over the time jumps came late. Outside of that, maybe letting the player give him back to Danarius? Poor shock value and a waste of resources because almost nobody took the option. Good evil options are ones that are tempting to take. And the lyrium tattoos. Interesting concept, but they're probably why you'll never see Fenris in a future DA. He requires a custom body, and the tattoos make that expensive. It's why I put Fenris in my 4th DA novel - the cancelled one. Don't fret, though. He died in it, so this way he lives on. 😉"

[source thread]

User: "Wait wait how does he die in [the cancelled novel]??" David Gaider: "Gloriously, after taking up a cause he didn't believe in at first but then made his own, one that allowed him to rediscover what it meant to be elven." [source] David Gaider: "I’m not sorry about the novel cancellation. I’m the one who cancelled it. I am kinda sad we couldn’t make it work, though. Considering it was after I left the DA team, it would have been my final DA hurrah." [source] David Gaider: "From my perspective, it was kind of "well if you're never going to use him again, let me at least give him a proper send off" and the story required a glorious death... but I get that's not the story his biggest fans would want (which is Hawke + Fenris 4ever), so it's just as well." [source]

User: "You all did some incredible work with such a tight deadline" David Gaider: "I'm of the opinion that even if we'd had only another six months to bake, DA2 would be remembered as a classic and not either a flawed gem or underbaked sequel, depending on who you ask." [source]

[tiefighter]

hey im feeling nerdy and i took my meds so I'm hyperfocusing on typing for some reason so I'm gonna like

drop some shit

but that's because people are usually raised like they're in a prison. No joke. There's a social theory called Panopticon Theory (link leads to a course brief for a university that explains it pretty well) which boils down to "people behave themselves if they think someone is always watching and they'll get in trouble" which was developed for an actual prison system. Schools reinforce this, so do workplaces, and basically social gender norms also reinforce this. A lot of our media does too! Think about the movies you've watched where it's like, hey the protagonist has defied some rule they didn't know about, and now shadowy government figures are after them!!!! CONSEQUENCESSSSSSSS The result is that as a society, we tend to want to "behave" because there's like, someone watching us. And for Americans in general, there's also the history of slavery in their country that makes that a double whammy for anyone that's not white. Here in Australia, there's also a history of our native people being subjugated and literally eugenics'd nearly out of existence, and the white idiots were a colony of convicts, so there's active pushback against that sort of shit in the WEIRDEST AREAS.

There's a lot of stuff to look at that I'll mention briefly, like tall poppy syndrome, the male gaze, toxic masculinity and a bunch of OTHER SHIT that makes you more aware of WHY you feel like you're going to get into trouble if you don't do person right. And that's saying nothing of masking, autism and adhd and rejection sensitive dysphoria, which is just my personal experience. general shit here: you might get in trouble, but there's reasons why and if you know what they are, you can circumvent and sometimes even game the system and I'll tell you, it's cathartic not to give a fuck because you know the ways they're trying to make you.

Amazing how I’m a grown adult and I still cannot shake the exact same childhood feeling of thinking im going to “get in trouble”

[c0n-fus3d]

𝚂𝚑𝚎 𝙻𝚒𝚔𝚎𝚜 𝙰 𝙱𝚘𝚢.

(Older!Powder x fem!reader)

I'm sorry but I finished ep 1 of act 3 and had to write this to get my emotions out about ekko and powder being a thing in an alternative reality bcz just RAHHHFHSHEHSHHS my gay ass is crying (no offense to the timebomb shippers, you do you!! If you like this that's cool💪💪) ENGLISH ISN'T MY NATIVE LANGUAGE, IF I MADE SOME SPELLING MISTAKES I'M SORRY ALSO SPOILERS FOR ACT 3!!

Warnings: uhhh just angst, mostly angst, this is for my girlies who might be feeling the same

༺ღ༒ ༺ღ༒ ༺ღ༒ ༒ღ༻

You've always liked Powder, every since you were kids, and still when you are teenagers.

Their was always something about her. The way she made the most creative inventions, the way she always seemed to have some sort of spark in her eyes. Her laugh, her hair, her eyes, it's hard for you to explain the feelings you have towards her.

You knew the way Vi's death was heavy on her, you could see that with the days, and soon years that came after. You we're always trying to be there to support her, make her feel a little better. You gave her space when she needed it, and we're there for her when she needed you the most.

And then there was Ekko.

You never hated Ekko, you 𝙙𝙤𝙣'𝙩 hate Ekko. he was a good guy, you got along with him. He was around Powder nearly just as much as you we're, maybe even a little more. When you were around Powder, he wouldn't take long to show up as well. You didn't mind.

But you couldn't deny that you we're jealous of him, of Ekko. The way he charmed his way into Powder's heart over the years. With his sketches, ideas, personality, kindness and understanding. You wanted what him and Powder had as if what you already had wasn't enough for you. You could see the way she looked at him, how 𝙝𝙚 looked at her the same way.

You often wished it was you instead of him. You try to forget about your jealousy, push it asside. You try to push your jealousy and selfishness asside, keep everything natural between you three. But it got harder and harder the more time went on.

Ekko has been acting strange recently, or at least that's what Powder told you. How he 'seems not to remember anything' and how he says these things about how in a dream her and Vi we're completely different. You noticed yourself too, how he was more around then usual. You assumed it was because of his project or whatever.

Now you find yourself here, on the dance floor in the last drop. Inventions around you everywhere as music and colorful lights fill the bar. You look into the crowd, trying to spot Powder. It took you a whole 5 minutes to finally spot her, but to no suprise, Ekko was there. On the dance floor, with her. Dancing together to the beat of the music like it was just the two of them. You tried to move your eyes away from the sight, let them be happy and together. But the jealousy ate you from the inside out, this all just left a bitter taste on your tongue. It all got so overwhelming so quickly, so you decide to leave the place before you explode and do something stupid.

So you decide to go out to Powder's little Hideout for now and go back once you've cooled down. You look at the massive invention across the room, stunned as fuck how they made this. You don't want to pay too much attention to it though, so you continue walking through the massive space before sitting down in front of the small memorial that Powder made for Vi.

You lighten the place up before just.. Sitting there. You sigh, looking at the picture sat on the desk. Vi always knew you had a thing for Powder, she always encouraged you to tell her how you felt. Whenever the situation was on your mind, you'd go here. You'd talk, like she was still there. Because to you, she was. To everyone, she still was. Now wasn't any different, you talked about what has been going on recently. With Ekko, Powder, and everything else.

"I just.. Don't know what to do, I know I'm supposed to be happy for them.. Ekko is a great guy, a-and if they become a thing, I'll be fine with it but.. Theirs this voice in the back of my mind that just doesn't seem to go away.." You groan, your head in your hands as you thought for a moment.

You knew you couldn't hide your feelings forever. If Powder wasn't going to feel the same way towards you, you might as well tell her what you've been feeling all this time. Just for an answer, a yes or a no. Anything. If she didn't feel anything as well then at least she'd know.

"I'll tell her, tonight. Like you always wanted me to do.. I'll.. I'll get this over with, okay? For you."

You found yourself walking back towards the last drop, but then you see Powder, going in the direction of what you knew to be the place where Vi always took her to. So you decided to follow.

If only you weren't blind enough to see Ekko walking along with her.

You climbed up to the place, heart racing in your chest as you tried to think about the things you could say. Your mind was running a million miles and you tried desperately to calm your nerves.

You we're finally gonna do it, you we're gonna tell her how you feel.

But just as you nearly reach the top, you see her. And Ekko.

Their kissing.

In front of your eyes.

Your heart dropped, hope that you knew was useless in the end shattered as you saw the image.

Wrong fucking timing. You stood there, frozen in time before quickly getting out of there. Trying to hold back the tears that we're threatening to fall.

She likes Ekko. She only likes Ekko. It was never you. Not in childhood, not in teenage years.

She likes a boy. That boy.

Your not that boy, and for now, you had to live with that.

You we're never going to being the one kissing her. It was always going to be him in the end.