#there are many more who belong here these are just who came to mind

[awoooniper]

[nightingale-prompts]

You are not Special- DC X DP Prompt

Interdimensional God-like beings are not known for their patience, however it looked like they had gotten lucky.

This being that had been summoned against its will to their universe was actually quite calm. They sat back on a makeshift throne made by the cultists that had brought them here. Its body was the form of a young man draped in silk. He paid little mind to the cult bowing and scraping at his feet as he absentmindedly examined his nails for anything under them. They were as pristine as his marble-like form.

"You know cults get a bad reputation in these modern times." He said not looking up at the heroes who had invaded his sanctuary intent on sealing him away. "Not without cause of course. But not every cult is evil. As oxymoronic as that sounds. But it used to mean a group of people devoted to their god of choice, no different than any other religion except they lived solely to dedicate their lives to it. No tricks or schemes, just beliefs. None of that sacrifice or blood here though. I like cleanliness and a good batch of dessert for my alters."

"We aren't here to give your offerings." Batman said simply.

The teen stretched lazily and shrugged.

"You are free to just pray, take a rest, eat, or do whatever you want."

"You don't belong here. You must return to your own realm." Superman said fimly but cordially.

The cultists panicked as they looked between their god and the heroes. Some had disdain etched on their faces others had sadness.

"Don't belong? I do what I want. Who are you people to tell ME what to do? Do you own this planet? This universe?" The god challenged.

"We are the protectors of this planet. Surely you understand that we can't let you stay here using humans like servants." Superman retorted.

Constantine had a bad feeling about what came next as he got between everyone to speak.

"Sorry, forgive him. We don't want to offend. It's just that our universe has had enough beings like you causing issues in the past. We are a bit exhausted because every major event seems to hit our planet. We are a bit defensive."

The teens's lip curled.

"Do you think you are the only planet with such woes? How conceited. What you believe that your little planet is so special that it is the only one subject to the powers of beings you can't control? As we speak there a thousands of beings influencing this world that have a bigger effect than what I'm currently doing. Are you tired of being the playthings of the universe? Bah! The universe doesn't care one bit what goes on on this little planet over the billions of planets in this universe. You are no more special than a bit of algae on a frozen world." The teen sneered.

"But that doesn't change the fact that we would like one less threat to deal with," Batman said as Constantine tried to shut him up. "Even if you do not care about humans, we care what you can do to us."

"A good point but I never said I didn't care. I'm actually fond of humans but no more fond of them than any other lifeforms. There are billions of aliens in this universe alone. But not one is special because all life is special. Not one is better. But any damage I could possibly do to you could easily be done by the many unseen gods of this realm. These beings have built this world from those that actively created it, ignore it, and those that don't even realize it exists. Could you believe that your own creator doesn't know you are there? It's actually very common."

"You're dodging the question and talking in circles. We just want you to leave." Batman sighed irritably.

"You keep telling me to leave. I have just arrived but I've also always been here. Is this how you greet me?" The teen crossed his arms.

"Are you a god of this world?" Wonder Woman stepped forward this time. "You dress like that of a Roman god."

"Do you like it? I got it from Rome a few thousand years ago."

Well, he never failed to turn something into a compliment, that's for sure.

"But that's a complicated question. If you're asking if I made your universe then, no. If your asking if it exists because of me then, yes. It exists because I do. It's my nature. So I'm not a god. I'm a law of nature." The boy leaned back and kicked his feet childishly.

"You look like a kid." Clark blurted.

"Well... you're right. But you didn't have to point it out." He pouted.

"I mean, you just look...like a person. Not a force of nature." Clark quickly corrected.

"I look like what you can perceive me as. Can't ask a two-dimensional creature to understand three dimensions. Think of me as an anthropomorphic personification of a concept." The teen stood up finally and walked around his bowing worshippers.

"And what are you?" Batman said stiffly as the boy reached him.

"I am the Void. The absence of force or untethered space and infinite possibilities. A place of raw unprocessed energy. So if I exist then a tethered space with one string of possibilities exists. Think string theory." The boy laughed.

"Wait, I know what you are. You're an Ancient, an Endless. I thought I'd get a break from your lot after Morpheus." Constantine said.

The group turned to Constantine in surprise, not surprised that he knew what the kid was but that he had done this before.

"Look, kid. Your lot don't show themselves often. Especially not in front of so many people. You'd usually lay low among mortals." Constantine said suspicious of the young Endless. "Do the others know you are playing around?"

The teen presses his lips together. He glares like someone has ruined his game.

"Should I try summoning them and ask." Constantine smirked, he knew he found his in.

"You wouldn't." He frowned.

"I would." Constantine said "Unless you want to go home on your own."

The boy tried to protest but a portal opened on its own and a hand reached out grabbing the boy by the ear.

"What are you doing in the mortal realm this time?! I told you to focus on fixing the timelines not playing god like a child!" The voice boomed.

"But Clockwork-" The teen whined as he was dragged through the portal "I was just pulling a prank. I swear!"

The boy's voice was muffled and distant as he got to the other side. Then the prtal closed and it was over.

The room went silent.

"He was right. There is nothing special about any life form over another. But that also means he is no different than a human child and held to the same standards." Constantine said lighting a cigarette before leaving the ruins. "You can handle the rest right?"

[spatialwave]

just one more.

➸ ask: “Hey! How about “one more kiss, please” from the prompt list for Jayce. I just need him desperately yearning for reader” – ➸ pairing: jayce talis x gn!reader ➸ word count: 1.3k ➸ tags: mdni! fluff, kissing, yearning, mutual pining, gender-neutral reader, no mention of y/n. ➸ notes: tysm for asking! ask came from this prompt!

You couldn’t count on ten fingers how many nights you dreamt of Jayce Talis, the Man of Progress himself. The image of him rattled through your mind at every waking hour, that stupid smile you always wanted to wipe from his lips with your own. 

What you hadn’t known was how he reciprocated the sentiment. Jayce would find you at your workstation, dirt on your face and welding goggles on as you carefully put together pieces that would host the hextech gemstones for further research. You had become a treasure to him, someone he could rely on when his days were busy, which were more often than not.

There were plenty of times you hadn’t been aware of his presence, he would stand in the doorway watching you work. Hearts for eyes and forcing himself to turn away before his heart ached too much, knowing that you weren’t his.

He yearned for you each day, staying up into the late hours, wondering if you felt the same.

How could you? You were too…perfect. 

It was the night of one of Piltover’s illustrious charity events that brought in only the richest of citizens. Any and all who put in their well-earned money for the academy, and you, had been invited by Jayce himself. Viktor had decided against it, not so much inclined to spend his night at another event when he could be spending his evening in the lab with Sky.

So, you took his spot – and you did not belong.

With your hand wrapped around an empty glass which once held a darkened liquor, you stood off to the side in the large area that had been decorated so elegantly. The tunes of the live music and sounds of chatter filled your ears, eyes looking amongst the swarm of rich Piltovians sharing conversation about gods knows what.

Jayce had been everywhere and nowhere, the Golden Boy was easily the most important icon of the evening. Everyone wanted to talk with him, ask about his research and his plans for improvement of the city. 

It was irritating to be stuck alone, but at least the invitation filled your stomach with top-shelf food and liquor you wouldn’t be able to afford yourself.

There Jayce stood amongst a group of rich folk, eating him up, just like you knew they would. He was surrounded, a big smile on his lips as he moved his way through each conversation with his natural knack of charisma. You wondered what he was talking about, watching his lips move as he spoke so goddamn passionately, hands flying with each word. 

His eyes connected with yours at one point, lingering on you for a quick moment with that stupid smile, before his attention was enraptured by another generous donor.

After a few more minutes of watching, you gave up. There was nothing else for you here.

Footsteps clicked along the surface of the tiled floors, the empty halls more inviting than the gala ever was. Your fingers dragged along the surface of the brick walls, the liquor having left you in just the perfect amount of bliss as you made your way home, knowing you could sleep the next day away.

“Hey!” A voice called from behind you, startling you with a soft gasp.

You snapped your head around, eyes widening when they settled on Jayce hurrying down the hall behind you. He wore a smile, wearing too fancy of clothing to be chasing you down.

“Why are you leaving?” He asked once he reached a few steps away of you, breathing a bit heavy, “Sorry… out of breath,” he chuckled through deep inhales, “I didn’t think I’d catch up to you.”

The thumping of your heart against your rib cage didn’t go unnoticed, stilled in silence over the fact that he chased after you. A tiny smile spread across your lips.

“It’s not really my style,” you finally replied, hands landing on your hips, “why do you care if I leave?”

“Why do I care?” Jayce’s eyebrows furrowed together, “because I invited you here. I… I want you here.”

You hated how sweet he was.

“You’re a busy man, Jayce,” you smiled, offering a slight shake of your head as you stepped toward him, better seeing him under the dim lighting of the empty hallways, “I’m not too fond of just standing around watching you get swarmed by every wealthy person from Piltover. As inviting as that sounds.”

He snorted out a laugh, eyes watching you closely as you stepped directly below one of the overhanging lights. It illuminated your features perfectly, made you appear like a glowing angel.

“So, you’re just going to leave me here by myself?” He asked, those big eyes of his making you want to melt right into the floor beneath you.

You laughed in disbelief, raising an eyebrow, “you’re not alone.”

“But I want you here,” he was adamant, eyebrows furrowing again, “come on. It’s not that bad.”

“You’re annoying,” you groaned, trying to act like this was worse than it was. You had a flair for the dramatics when you needed to pull something out from your sleeve, “I’ll see you tomorrow anyway, it’s fine,” you brushed him off with a wave of your hand, “plus, you’re going to be busy all night, so if I stay, I’ll end up getting drunk by myself and that’s never turned out well for me.”

Jayce’s eyes flickered over your face, studying your expression carefully. Neither of you had realized how close you had gotten, close enough that he could tuck back some of your hair behind your ear. The movement of his hand made you both tense up, a fleeting touch that he hadn’t realized he’d done. Fingers brushed against the shell of your ear as he pulled his hand away, redness tinting his cheeks.

“Oh, uh–” he forced out an awkward laugh, eyes now looking anywhere other than your face, “you had some hair… in your face.”

Lips parted, but you couldn’t speak. His touched left you stunned in place, eyes big as you watched him. You watched as his eyes focused somewhere along the walls, hands balling into tense fists and teeth biting at his lower lip.

Maybe it was the alcohol, or the late hour of the night, but you hadn’t the slightest care in the world anymore. All you wanted was Jayce, and it was his fault that he made you feel this way, so you were going to pull him into the mess that was you.

Even if it ruined the friendship you worked so hard to maintain, all these years.

His amber eyes landed back on you when he felt your hands reaching to his cheeks, cupping his face oh-so delicately. They widened as he watched you lean closer, noticing the way your gaze flickered down to his lips he’d been habitually chewing on all evening.

Jayce’s heart fluttered, and he acted on what felt right. Meeting you halfway and sighing when your lips touched after years of imagining what this would feel like. 

Both hands reached out for you, resting on your waist as he pressed forward. The kiss developed slowly, lips moving together a bit clumsily as your patience wore thin. Hands explored each other, touching hips and shoulders, and your tongue slipped from between your lips, and that’s when you froze.

“Fuck,” you whispered as you pulled back, taking a slight step away, “sorry–”

“No, don’t,” he whispered, closing the distance with a forward step until your chests were pressed together. He stared deep into your eyes, his own full of love as his gaze continued to flicker down to your lips that he needed to taste again, “one more kiss… please.”

You smiled like an idiot.

“Just one more,” you murmured, rolling your eyes affectionately, before he pulled you back into another kiss that took the breath from your lungs.

Jayce would be the death of you.

[theonottsbxtch]

I LOVED YOU FIRST | FC43

an: guys i’m so sorry for the atrocities i’m about to cause by posting this, i’m especially tagging @obxstiles to make sure they don’t miss it and that they cry muahaha there MAY be a part two to this

summary: for as long as she’s remembered she’s loved franco, wether those feelings were ever reciprocated she doesn’t know.

wc: 4.4k

She remembered the sound of wheels against gravel. Even as a kid, Franco was fast—kicking up dust and stones as he went, all edges and adrenaline. They grew up on the same street, a road that was more dust than pavement, cutting through a small town nobody had ever heard of, deep in the countryside of Argentina. Back then, he raced down that road on a beat-up go-kart that rattled and threatened to fall apart with every turn. But he didn’t care. Even at eight years old, Franco could talk of nothing but cars and speed and the shimmering, impossible promise of a life far from here.

She was the one who stood at the end of the road, cheering him on as he came barreling toward her, heart in her throat every time he cut it too close. She told herself that’s just what friends did—waited around to see the other one make it back in one piece. But there was more to it, even then. She’d never told him, of course. Franco had always been too focused on the next race, the next finish line, to notice much about her that wasn’t familiar. It was easier that way. They were friends. That was enough.

Years passed, and with them, his childhood kart became a racing simulator, then an actual car, then a series of wins that only proved what she’d always known—that Franco was going somewhere.

Last year, his parents sold their house so he could go further, could reach another level she couldn’t quite see. He moved in with her and her family when he wasn’t racing, and for a few months, it was as if they were kids again, laughing late at night, plotting his future as he spilled out every dream he’d ever had. That was the year she started imagining he might finally see her the way she saw him.

But he didn’t.

Instead, Franco saw everything she wasn’t: the girl from another world, polished and magnetic, with a face and laugh that gleamed like the trophies he’d already started to collect. She caught him, snared him in a way that didn’t even seem real.

It was this girl—her name slipped off his tongue so easily when he let it—who went to the big events with him, who stood beside him when photographers crowded around after his races, a reminder that he’d already begun to belong somewhere else. She wanted to hate her, this stranger who was everything she wasn’t, but what good would it do?

It was easy to tell herself she was Franco’s friend. His best friend. The one who’d been there since the beginning, the one who stayed up with him on those late nights when all his dreams felt heavy enough to drown him. She’d learned to wear it like armour—the friend, the constant, the steady hand on his shoulder when his voice cracked and his confidence faltered.

No one else knew the small things about him, the things that made him human. Like how he had a superstition about not putting on his helmet until the very last second before a race. Or that his favorite thing in the world was the sound of tires on wet pavement, a soft hiss of rain and speed. Or that he used to dream of buying back the house his parents sold and giving them something better.

The nights she couldn’t sleep, she’d replay those memories to herself, like scenes from a film she’d seen too many times. They were pieces of a person she’d built up in her mind so completely, so painstakingly, that she sometimes forgot he wasn’t hers. Not really.

Now, Franco was leaving again, but this time it was different. The call had come last night, and she’d been there when he answered it, watching the way his face shifted, lit up with something she hadn’t seen since they were kids. He’d been invited to join a Formula 1 team—a chance to race against the best, a dream finally realised.

And she’d been the first person he told. “I’m in,” Franco had whispered to her after he hung up, his voice hoarse with disbelief. “I’m actually in.”

He’d pulled her into a hug, and for a fleeting moment, she let herself believe this moment was for her too—that she was a part of the dream. But when he finally let go, she could already feel him slipping away, his mind racing miles ahead, far beyond anything she could reach.

And now here they were, standing on the same dusty road they’d grown up on, only this time the road was empty. She could almost see his silhouette against the horizon, an outline that belonged to no one, not even her.

“So… this is it, huh?” she murmured, trying to keep her voice steady, her hands stuffed deep into her jacket pockets. She knew this was her job now: to be strong, supportive, even as she felt her chest tightening with everything she’d left unsaid.

Franco glanced over at her and smiled, that careless, easy grin she’d fallen in love with a thousand times. “Yeah. This is it.”

There was a part of her that wanted to say something, to tell him what it felt like to lose him, to have spent all these years beside him only to watch him walk away. But she didn’t, couldn’t. Because he needed her to be his friend, his rock. And that’s exactly what she would be, until the moment he disappeared from sight.

“You’ll be amazing out there,” she said softly, swallowing hard against the ache in her throat.

“Thanks,” Franco replied, his gaze drifting to the horizon, to whatever was waiting for him. He didn’t see her watching him, didn’t notice the way she tried to memorise every detail of his face, the way she gripped the fabric of her jacket so tightly her knuckles turned white.

Because that’s what she was: the person who stayed behind, the person who would cheer for him no matter how far he went, even if it took him far beyond her reach.

His first race was in Monza.

And Franco had made sure she’d be there.

The roar of engines echoed across Monza, the air thick with the metallic scent of fuel and adrenaline. She stood just outside the paddock, watching the mechanics scurry between cars, drivers in their fireproof suits weaving through a sea of engineers and cameras. It was Franco’s first Formula 1 race, the one he’d been chasing since the days they’d spent on that dusty street back home. He’d called her a week ago, saying he’d arranged for her ticket, that she had to be there, that it wouldn’t feel right without her.

She glanced down at her pass, fumbling with it between her fingers, her eyes darting over the crowds, wondering if she’d see him. But instead, she saw her—Franco’s girlfriend, standing just a few paces away, a beacon in the busy paddock with her polished, perfect smile.

She thought about turning around, slipping into the crowd where she could cheer Franco on from a distance, as she’d always done. But then Franco’s girlfriend caught her eye, waved her over with an easy, welcoming smile, and suddenly it was too late.

“Hi! You’re Franco’s best friend, no?” she said brightly, as if she’d been waiting for this meeting. “Franco’s told me all about you.”

She managed a smile, trying not to let her surprise show. “Nice to meet you,” she replied, her voice steady but her heart churning. This girl looked so effortlessly perfect—too perfect, really. She wanted to find something in her to resent, a crack, a flaw, some hint that would make her presence easier to bear. But the girl’s smile was warm, even gentle, and there wasn’t a hint of cruelty behind her eyes.

“You know,” she continued, turning to look at the track where the cars were being readied. “Franco always talks about how you’ve been there from the start. He says he wouldn’t be here without you.”

It was a sentiment she’d waited years to hear, but hearing it now, coming from someone else, made it feel empty, hollow. She nodded politely. “He’s worked so hard for this. I just… wanted to support him however I could.”

The girl looked at her, a spark of admiration in her eyes. “That’s really special. I think it means a lot to him, having someone who’s known him for so long.” She hesitated, her fingers twisting a ring on her hand. “I think he’s planning to introduce me to his family soon.”

A prickle of something sharp and painful settled in her chest. She managed to keep her face composed, even as the words sank in. “That’s great,” she said, injecting her voice with encouragement. “That sounds really important to him.”

The girl smiled, her gaze drifting as if she could see the future taking shape right in front of her. “Yeah… he said he wanted to wait until we’d been together for a year. He’s so thoughtful like that, you know? He really wants things to be right before introducing me to his family.” She looked at her, a touch of gratitude in her expression. “I think he got that from you—from seeing how much his family means to you.”

It was a kind thing to say, too kind. She wanted to hate her for it, but she couldn’t. There was nothing false about the way this girl looked at her, no jealousy or possessiveness. She was just… nice. The kind of nice that made her ache with the unfairness of it all, because it made it impossible to hate her, even though she desperately wanted to.

“Well, his family will love you,” she said, meaning it even as the words felt like they were tearing something fragile inside her. “He deserves to be happy.”

The girl gave her a soft, almost sympathetic smile, a smile that made her wonder if maybe she already knew—if she could see right through her, if she understood the look in her eyes, the one she tried so hard to hide.

As the engines started up in the distance, the girl reached out and gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “Thank you,” she said, her voice warm. “For being there for him, for being his friend. I can tell he’s lucky to have you in his life.”

She returned the smile, feeling a heaviness settle deep within her. Franco was lucky, that was true—but not in the way she’d once dreamed he might be. He had everything now: the career, the future, the love of a woman who deserved him in ways she never could.

And as the cars roared to life on the track, she stood there beside his girlfriend, feeling like a silent ghost on the edges of his new world. She would cheer for him, just as she always had, but now she knew exactly where she stood—at a distance, a quiet fixture in his past, cheering him on from the shadows as he sped toward a future that had no place for her.

The race had ended hours ago, and the hotel was hushed, the lights dimmed in the halls. She was alone in her room, her suitcase half-packed, clothes folded neatly on the bed. She’d changed her flight back to Argentina; she would be gone by morning.

The evening had been a whirlwind—Franco finishing in P12 on his debut race, his crew and his girlfriend embracing him, his face beaming in a way she’d only ever dreamed of seeing up close. She’d stood in the background, clapping politely, just another face in the crowd, happy for him but feeling her heart splinter with each cheer.

A quiet knock broke her thoughts. She looked up, heart catching in her throat. Franco was standing in the doorway, his face lit with a warm smile.

“Hey,” he said, stepping inside, his hands in his pockets. “I was hoping you’d still be up.”

“Yeah, just… packing,” she murmured, glancing at the clothes on her bed. “I’ve got an early flight back.”

He frowned, like he hadn’t expected her to be leaving so soon. “I thought you’d stay a bit longer,” he said, a hint of disappointment in his voice. “It meant a lot to me that you were here, you know. I’m not sure I could have done it without you.”

She swallowed, trying to muster up a smile. “I’m proud of you, Fran. Really. You deserve all of this.”

He gave a modest shrug, his usual humility shining through. “It’s crazy, right? Like, it still doesn’t feel real.”

She nodded, unsure of what to say next, her hands clenching as she watched him, the words fighting to break free. But before she could speak, he went on, his face lighting up with excitement.

“Oh—and I wanted to tell you. Over the summer break, I’m planning to bring my girlfriend—” he gestured to the wall, where his girlfriend was probably just sitting in their shared room—“back to Argentina. She’s going to meet my family. I think they’ll love her.”

The words hit her like a punch to the gut. She felt herself unraveling, her heart breaking open. She couldn’t hold it in any longer.

“Why her?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Franco blinked, looking at her, startled. “What do you mean?”

“Why her, Franco?” She repeated, her voice trembling, louder this time. “Why not me? What is it about me that you don’t find appealing? Am I too loud? Too… different? Do I not fit into your world somehow?” Her voice cracked, the weight of her words finally spilling out. “What is it about me that you don’t love, that you love about her?”

For a moment, he just stared, taken aback, as if he was seeing her for the first time, really seeing her. But his eyes were filled with confusion, like he was trying to make sense of what she was saying.

“Wait—” he started, his voice halting, uncertain. “I… I didn’t know you felt—”

She cut him off, her voice fierce, raw. “I loved you first, Franco.”

He went silent, the words settling between them like stones in water, sinking deeper and deeper.

“What?” he whispered, his voice almost as quiet as hers had been.

“I loved you first,” she repeated, her voice shaking. She could feel the tears gathering, but she didn’t want to cry, not now, not here. “Since we were kids, since you were that crazy kid racing down dirt roads, I loved you. I’ve been there every step, every race, every victory, every failure. I was the one who held your dreams when they felt too heavy to carry. I loved you first.”

She watched him, waiting, hoping for some sign of understanding, some glimmer of the love she’d imagined so many times. But his eyes were wide with shock, his face torn between pity and discomfort.

He shook his head slowly, the words seeming to catch in his throat before he finally managed to say them. “But… I love her.”

The words were a knife, sharp and relentless, cutting through the last fragments of hope she’d held on to.

She let out a hollow, broken laugh, her vision blurring as she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “I know,” she whispered. “I know you do.” She took a shaky breath, her voice trembling with a rawness she couldn’t contain. “But it doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

For a moment, they stood there in silence, the weight of years pressing down between them. She could see the guilt etched into his expression, his mouth opening as if he wanted to say something to make it better. But there was nothing he could say—nothing that could change the reality that he had chosen someone else, someone who wasn’t her.

“I never meant to… I didn’t want to hurt you,” he said softly, reaching out as if to comfort her, but she stepped back, her arms wrapping around herself protectively.

“It’s fine,” she said, forcing the words out, feeling them scrape against her throat. “I… I just needed you to know. I needed you to know that I was here, that I’ve always been here. But now…” She trailed off, her voice breaking, the words she’d held for so long finally running dry.

She looked at him one last time, memorising the shape of his face, the boy she had loved and lost long before he ever realised. Then sat back down on the floor and continued packing, folding each piece of clothing and putting it away in silence, each one a silent goodbye.

When she noticed he still hadn’t left, that he was just watching him, she looked up at him. “I hope she makes you happy, Franco,” she whispered, her voice barely a breath. “Really. I hope she gives you everything you’ve ever dreamed of.”

She looked back down not wanting to catch Franco’s look of pity and closed her suitcase as he walked out of her room.

Walking out of her life for what felt like forever.

It was the peak of summer, the air heavy with heat and the scents of wildflowers and sun-baked earth drifting through the open kitchen window. She was sitting at the table, picking absently at a bowl of sliced fruit, half-listening as her mother hummed while tidying up, when her mother paused and gave her a look she couldn’t quite decipher.

“I almost forgot to mention,” her mother said, wiping her hands on a towel, “Franco’s coming back to town soon. Said he’ll be here next week with his girlfriend, so they can meet his family.”

She looked down, letting the words sink in, feeling a familiar tightness bloom in her chest. She hadn’t spoken to Franco in weeks. Not since that night in Monza. Not since she’d finally let herself say all the things she’d bottled up for years, only to walk away feeling like she’d left a part of herself behind.

“Oh,” she murmured, keeping her tone as light as she could. “That’s… that’s good. His parents will be thrilled to meet her.”

Her mother looked at her carefully, her gaze soft but probing, as if she could sense the ache that lingered beneath her daughter’s casual words. “I thought maybe you’d be excited too,” her mother ventured, her voice gentle. “It’s been a long time since you’ve seen him.”

She forced a small smile, looking down at her hands as she fiddled with her napkin. “Actually, I was thinking about going to Buenos Aires for a bit. Just a week or two with Tía Blanca. I’ve been meaning to go see her.”

Her mother tilted her head, her expression somewhere between sympathy and exasperation. “You can’t keep running from this, mi amor,” she said, her voice tender but firm.

Her shoulders tensed, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She knew her mother was right; every time she thought about seeing Franco, the old wound seemed to ache again, still raw, still fresh, no matter how many miles or weeks lay between them. But she wasn’t ready to face him yet. Not when the sight of him with someone else would only reopen everything she’d been trying so hard to let go of.

“I know I can’t keep running,” she said finally, her voice barely a whisper, her fingers twisting the napkin in her lap. “But I can now. And I can cope with that.”

Her mother sighed softly, reaching out to place a warm hand over hers. “Mi amor, one day, you’re going to have to stop protecting yourself from the things that hurt you. It’s the only way to truly move forward.”

She nodded, her throat tight, unable to meet her mother’s eyes. She knew her mother was right. But all she could think of was that moment in Monza, the echo of Franco’s words—But I love her. Words that still stung like salt on an open wound, even now.

“Maybe one day,” she whispered, more to herself than to her mother. But for now, Buenos Aires felt like the safest place to be—far from the memories, far from the impossible hope she still carried in her heart.

Her mother squeezed her hand gently before letting go, her silence filled with understanding. “Then go,” she said, with a small, knowing smile. “But you’ll know when it’s time to come home.”

And as she sat there, her heart heavy with everything she couldn’t say, she only hoped her mother was right.

A few days later, everything was sorted and she was ready to go to her aunt’s place.

She swung her bag over her shoulder, taking a deep breath as she stepped out of the house, the warm morning sun casting long shadows across the familiar dirt road. She was just two steps away from the car when she spotted it—Franco’s car, parked at the edge of the drive.

Her heart lurched, her mind scrambling, and she muttered under her breath, “No, no, no… please, not now.” She moved quickly toward her own car, fumbling for her keys as if speed alone could make her invisible. But before she could open the door, she heard his voice behind her.

“Oye, there you are!” he called, a wide, relieved smile on his face as he jogged over, his voice bright with the kind of joy she hadn’t heard from him in years. “I was hoping I’d run into you before you left. It’s been too long.”

She barely managed to keep her face neutral, clutching her bag as if it could shield her. “Yeah, well, I’ve got to get on the road. Don’t want to get stuck in traffic,” she said, opening the boot to toss her bag inside. She avoided looking at him, focusing on the small tasks—closing the boot, brushing off her hands, reaching for the door.

He took a step closer, his hand resting on the car door as if to keep her from leaving. “I’ve missed you,” he said, his tone softening. “You… you didn’t answer my calls after Monza. I didn’t know if… I just wanted to see you.”

She swallowed hard, glancing away as she forced herself to stay calm, the last words she wanted to hear sitting heavy between them. “That’s great, Franco,” she said, barely meeting his gaze, her words quick and mechanical. “But I really should get going.”

“Wait—” He looked at her, his expression slipping from surprise to concern. “Can we talk? Please?”

But she was already climbing into the car, her hands gripping the steering wheel as she turned the ignition. She couldn’t bear to stay, couldn’t bear to let him see her break again. “Take care, Franco,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed the door.

Before he could say another word, she pulled out, the tires kicking up dust as she drove away. In the rearview mirror, she saw him standing in the drive, watching her go, his face a mix of confusion and something close to sadness. She looked away, swallowing the lump in her throat as she focused on the road ahead.

But the further she drove, the harder it became to ignore the weight of all the memories tied to each familiar street and turn. Every signpost, every curve of the road reminded her of him—their childhood spent racing bikes and kicking up dust, lazy afternoons wandering these streets, dreaming of the future he was now living.

Tears blurred her vision as she drove, the memories rushing in like floodwaters, filling her mind with images she’d tried so hard to push aside: Franco at fourteen, laughing as he beat her in yet another race down the hill; Franco, younger still, sharing a quiet moment in the field just beyond town, his eyes bright with the dreams they’d both carried.

She wiped at her eyes, her heart aching as each memory pulled her further into the past, a past where they’d been inseparable, a past where she hadn’t yet realised what loving him truly meant. She could almost hear his laughter, feel his presence beside her, as if he were still the boy she’d known, before life had pulled them down different paths.

By the time she reached her aunt’s building in Buenos Aires, the weight of the drive had started to lift, the city’s pulse a welcome distraction from the quiet countryside. She parked and took a moment to gather herself, feeling the ache from earlier settle into something softer, something that no longer felt as urgent or raw.

Just as she opened the car door, a familiar voice called out.

“¡Mira! Is that really you?”

She looked up, startled, and felt her heart lift slightly. Standing by the curb was Angelo, an old friend from summers in the city. He had the same easy smile, his hair a little longer, his build a little broader, but his presence felt exactly as she remembered—warm and solid.

“Angelo!” She smiled, the weight on her shoulders easing just a little more.

He walked over, giving her a friendly hug before reaching into the car to help with her bag. “Let me help. You’re here for a visit?”

“Just two weeks,” she replied, trying to keep her voice steady as she glanced up at the familiar apartment building, a place that held a lifetime of summers, laughter, and memories untouched by the pain she’d left behind.

“Well, then,” he said, grinning as he hefted her bag easily, “we’ve got time to catch up.” His tone was light, but there was something else in his eyes, a quiet warmth that made her feel unexpectedly hopeful.

She followed him up the steps, comforted by his familiarity and the steady, unhurried way he moved, like he knew every corner of this building as well as she did. As they reached her aunt’s door, she felt her pulse slow, steadied by his presence.

The door opened before they could knock, her aunt’s familiar face breaking into a radiant smile. “There you are, mi niña!” She hugged her tightly, then turned to Angelo with a knowing smile. “And look who brought you all the way to the door! Angelo, you’re a sweetheart.”

He grinned, shrugging. “Anything for your family, señora.”

They all laughed, and for the first time in months, she felt a genuine ease settle over her, as if she’d left more than just a town behind—she’d left the weight of everything she’d been carrying.

As she glanced between her aunt and Angelo, the ache that had gripped her chest all day faded. The streets of Buenos Aires were bright outside the door, warm and humming with life. She breathed it in, feeling herself begin to let go of everything that had haunted her on that long drive.

Because maybe now that she was here, she could forget Franco.

to be continued…?

[rissouu]

quiet!choso who was sick and tired of people trying his patience just because he didn’t talk much. he never had many friends, so he usually just stuck it out with his brothers whenever he could— well that was until you popped up. a pristine goddess in his eyes. yuji showed up with you by his side one day, claiming his take on you as a new best friend and you hadn’t disappeared since.

part of choso was grateful you were only his brothers best friend and not his lover, he wanted you for himself. sure there was a slight age gap, but you wouldn’t mind it right?

where ever you and yuji went he forced himself to tag along behind you, he did it so much that he was now somewhat apart of your little friendship dynamic. you liked to call him mr. mysterious.. because no matter how much he hung out with you guys, he never really said much of a word.

on the off chance that you did try to get him to talk, it ended in one word responses until you just gave up entirely. you understood that you couldn’t change who choso was, so you got used to his comforting silence and it wasn’t all that bad.

you guys were so close now that you’d started hanging out without yuji accompanying. small things he did you started to pick up on, it was like the two of you had your own language without having to say anything at all.

the one time he did speak up though, was when he found out you had a date with some guy you barely even knew. he couldn’t have that now could he? nobody was stealing you from him, and he’d make sure of it.

“you’re not goin’ on that fuckin’ date, you hear me?” his hand came down to your pussy as he smacked it, not caring if he was gentle or not. this was a completely different side of him that you hadn’t seen before.. and you loved it.

your feet moved from around his waist and went to his chest in a desperate attempt to push him away. the man was fucking you too good, you weren’t sure how much more you could take. “c..cho! baby please, ‘s way too big,”

the whines from your lips fell on deaf ears. and before you knew it, your foot was pushed away with a swiftness causing your whole body to jerk forward. when his low eyes connected with your soft ones— you knew he wasn’t playing around.

“gonna show you what happens when you try to give my shit away. i’ll breed you so good until you know who you belong to, princess.”

©rissouu 2024 (reader is 19 and choso’s like 22 btw! click here to find the other-shorter version of this.)

masterlist

[areislol]

being transported into their world 2

►— pairings. honkai star rail men x gn! creator! reader

►— warnings. nothing really, proofread 🙅🏻‍♀️, caelus is the trailblazer, romantic but you can see it was platonic if you want to! boothill lore, slight angst sahau (self aware honkai au)

►— synopsis. their beloved creator, the one who created many worlds, including theirs, had yet to return after thousands of years. but lately, they've been experiencing strange things, feeling like a heavenly, divine figure loomed over them. could it possibly be their one and only creator?

►— a/n. so many ideas but so little time to write it all down!!

►— wordcount. 6.2k

The last thing you remember is the image of Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya standing before you, the smokey, dark and ominous fog surrounding you.

Next thing you know, you're waking up in the middle of an unfamiliar weight of silk sheets pressing against your skin. Blinking rapidly, you tried to focus on the ornate ceiling above, its intricate patterns swirling in the soft morning light.

This wasn’t your room.

Confusion gripped you as you sat up quickly, only to be greeted by a pounding headache. Wincing, you pressed your hand against your forehead, trying to make sense of the disjointed memories in your mind.

The room around you was lavish, decorated with rich tapestries and elegant furniture. Everything seemed meticulously placed as if the room belonged to royalty.

The air smelled faintly of lavender and something else you couldn’t quite place. You took a deep breath, trying to steady your racing heart.

Just how did you end up here?

Closing your eyes, you tried to recall the events that led to this moment. It all came back in fragments, like pieces of a shattered mirror.

You were standing up, shrouded in a dark, smokey fog. The air had been thick and oppressive, making it hard to breathe. Before you, Caelus, Dan Heng, Gepard, and Bronya stood with expressions of worry and determination. Their faces flashed in your mind, each one etched with concern.

Were you in a dream?

The fog, the faces—it all seemed so surreal. You opened your eyes again, scanning the room for any clues. The furniture was heavy and ornate.

A grand mirror stood in one corner, reflecting the dishevelled state of your appearance. Your clothes were the same as before but seemed out of place in this opulent setting.

Pushing the covers aside, you swung your legs over the edge of the bed, feeling the cool marble floor beneath your feet. The pounding in your head persisted, but you forced yourself to stand, determined to get out of this unknown place.

Each step felt like a struggle, your body weighed down by an invisible force. You approached the window, drawing back the heavy curtains to reveal a breathtaking view of a cityscape blanketed in snow.

Tall, imposing buildings of grand architecture stretched out before you, their intricate designs dusted with white. The streets below were covered in a moderate layer of snow, and the occasional figure bundled in winter attire moved through the frosty landscape.

Your mind raced with possibilities. Had you been transported here by some unknown force? Was this just a particularly long dream? Shaking your head you cleared your mind, yes... it was a dream, it had to be a dream.

Besides suddenly waking up from an unfamiliar room, you couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched since the moment you awoke. Turning away from the window, you noticed a door on the far side of the room. It was slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of the hallway beyond.

Cautiously, you approached the door, your senses on high alert. Peeking through the crack, you saw a long corridor lined with more doors, each one identical to the next. The silence was eerie, broken only by the faint sound of your breathing.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed the door open wider and stepped into the hallway. You wished that the floor was covered in carpet, it was extremely cold. You had no idea where you were going, but you couldn’t stay in that room any longer.

Turning a corner, you nearly bumped into a figure standing in the shadows. Startled, you took a step back, your heart pounding in your chest. The figure stepped forward, revealing a familiar face.

Grey hair, a pretty face, tall... the Astral Express golden ticket... wait...

“Caelus?” you whispered, barely daring to believe it.

Caelus’s eyes widened as he registered your voice. His surprise quickly turned into awe, and he stumbled backward, nearly losing his balance. Without a moment's hesitation, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead against the cold, hard floor.

"Your Gracefulness," he murmured, his voice trembling with reverence. "I am honoured to be in your presence."

You blinked, momentarily taken aback by his reaction. It wasn’t the response you expected. To them, you were not just a friend or a fellow traveller; you were the creator, the one who shaped their very existence. The weight of his words made you feel uneasy.

"Uh, please, get up," you urged, feeling a mix of discomfort and compassion. "You don’t have to kneel."

He hesitated for a moment before slowly rising to his feet, his eyes still filled with awe, oh his dear creator, what a kind soul they are! "Forgive me, Your Gracefulness. It’s just... we’ve been searching for you, and to find you here..."

Caelus was sure that he would get a scolding for talking to his Holy Grace for too long, he was sure of it. But he just couldn't stop the words pouring out of his mouth, all the years of yearning to meet you... and now you were here, right in front of him, before his eyes.

You offered a small nervous, reassuring smile despite the uncertainty gnawing at you. "I—I see." You bit your bottom lip, completely uncertain of what to do now as you stand there awkwardly with a curious Caelus.

"What... happened? I don't recall being here from the start," You asked, taking a moment to observe the ornaments around you. Caelus straightens his back, clearing his throat before speaking.

"You fainted a few minutes after coming out of the meteoroid. Thankfully Dan Heng caught you just in time, and then Bronya decided to keep you here, we were unsure when you would wake up."

"How long was I unconscious for?"

"Four days, your Grace."

"FOUR DAYS?!" The word came out in a disbelieving whisper, your mind reeling.

"Yes, your Grace." He nodded, a bit taken aback by your raised voice. You stood there, trying to process the information, feeling awkward and out of place.

Caelus's expression softened slightly before giving you a nod. "I'll take you to them." He guided you down the hall to another room, while you both walked you looked around once again, everything was different, not just your surroundings but the atmosphere was heavy.

You took in a deep breath, trying your best to calm yourself down. You knew that you were safe (although this place was still new to you), you knew these people, what they were like, everything.

They were famous video game characters. The very video game characters that you spend weeks on trying to find the right and perfect relic for them.

Honkai Star Rail drained your pockets, the lore and story were addictive, the play-style was addictive, and the pulling animation was addictive. Unsurprisingly, after a week of downloading the game, you were hooked.

It was a surprise that you weren't in debt... You shook your head, clearing your clouded mind. It was tough to digest the fact that you were walking right beside the Caelus!!

It was a silent walk with only the sounds of his shoes squeaking every there and then, it was clear how polished the floors were.

Caelus dared not to speak up in your holy presence. Was he even worthy of speaking to you let alone bask in your presence?

As you continued down the hallway, Caelus remained close by, his protective instincts heightened by your presence. The corridors seemed to stretch endlessly, each one identical to the last.

You couldn’t shake the feeling that you were being watched, and the oppressive silence only added to your unease.

Calm down, you thought. No one's going to jump you..

Not long after Caelus stopped in his tracks, moving to the side as his hand rested on the door handle. The door was huge and elaborate, probably three times your size, and you finally heard faint voices.

Caelus signalled for you to stay back as he approached the source of the sound. Moments later, he beckoned you forward. You hurried to his side, peering into a large room filled with familiar faces.

As you entered, Dan Heng, Bronya, and Gepard looked up from their conversation. Relief, admiration and shock washed over their faces when they saw you.

"Your Gracefulness," Dan Heng said, bowing his head slightly. "I—It's a pleasure to meet you."

Everyone in the room had stood up from the seats, immediately bowing down with one knee, their eyes set downcast, refusing to even look at you. They remained solemn and reverent, their gestures filled with respect and devotion—an act that left you utterly speechless.

The room was silent, barely even a breath could be heard. You felt your cheeks flush with embarrassment, a deep discomfort settling into your bones.

This wasn’t something you were used to.

Back home, you were just another person, another face in the crowd. But here… here you were something else entirely apparently.

The realization struck you again, hard and jarring: you’d been "isekai’d" into the world of Honkai: Star Rail, a place where the characters you once guided and watched from behind a screen now saw you as their Creator, their Gracefulness.

But that didn’t make this any less strange.

"Please," you said, your voice shaky, betraying the unease you felt. "You don't need to do that. I'm just… I mean, I’m not—" You trailed off, struggling to find the right words.

How do you tell them that you didn’t see yourself as anything more than a normal person? That this whole situation felt surreal, like a dream you hadn’t quite woken up from yet?

Dan Heng, still kneeling, glanced up at you, his eyes calm and steady. "Your Gracefulness," he began, his tone soft but firm, "It is only right that we show you the respect you deserve. You are our creator, the one who has guided us through countless battles and decisions."

Bronya nodded, her gaze filled with a mixture of awe and dedication. "Without you, we wouldn’t be who we are today. This is the least we can do to honour your presence."

Gepard remained silent but his expression was resolute, as if nothing you said could change his mind about bowing before you. Caelus, however, looked a bit hesitant, perhaps sensing your discomfort more than the others. Yet, even he remained in place, waiting for your acknowledgment.

You swallowed hard, feeling a lump in your throat. It was overwhelming, this level of devotion and reverence. It wasn’t something you ever imagined experiencing, and certainly not something you knew how to handle.

You’d come here, to this world, not out of a desire to rule or be worshipped, but by some strange twist of fate. The weight of their expectations, their respect—it felt heavy, almost suffocating.

"I appreciate… everything you’re saying," you began slowly, trying to find the right balance between acknowledging their feelings and setting boundaries. "But really, you don’t have to bow to me. I’m still… me. Just a person. I’m not used to this, and it makes me feel… awkward."

The room fell into a brief silence, the air thick with unspoken thoughts. You could see the conflict in their eyes—caught between their ingrained sense of duty and their desire to respect your wishes.

Finally, Caelus was the first to move, rising to his feet with a small, understanding smile. "If it makes you uncomfortable," he said, "then we’ll try to find another way to show our respect. But know that our loyalty for you remains unchanged."

One by one, the others followed suit, standing slowly. Gepard gave you a respectful nod, while Bronya offered a gentle smile, her previous intensity softening. Dan Heng lingered the longest, his gaze searching your face as if trying to understand you better, before finally standing as well.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding, a small wave of relief washing over you. This was all so new, so overwhelming, but at least now, with them standing, you felt like you could breathe a little easier.

Even if you were their creator, you didn’t want to be put on a pedestal. You just wanted to go home.

"Thank you," you said quietly, your voice sincere. "I really appreciate it."

And with that, the tension in the room eased, the atmosphere shifting back to something more comfortable, more manageable. You were still trying to wrap your head around everything, but at least now, you didn’t feel so alone in it.

"We were worried about you." Bronya stepped forward, her expression a mixture of concern and determination. "Are you feeling alright? Do you need a doctor? I can get them right away—"

You shook your head, trying to maintain your composure despite the overwhelming emotions swirling inside you. "I'm alright," you said, but even as the words left your lips, you could feel the weight of them.

Your head was pounding, a relentless reminder of everything you had just been through. The disorientation, the headaches—symptoms of something far greater than mere confusion.

You were trying to grasp the reality that had been thrust upon you, the fact that you were no longer in your world, that you had died, and now… now you were here.

Dan Heng’s eyes softened as he watched you, his usually calm demeanour laced with a subtle concern. "It’s understandable that you’re disoriented," he said, his voice steady but filled with empathy.

"You’ve been through something unimaginable. Arriving here so suddenly… it’s not something anyone could easily adjust to."

You looked down, your mind flashing back to that moment—the car crash. The impact, the pain, the sudden darkness. You remembered the sensation of being pulled away, as if your very soul had been yanked from your body, only to be confined within something cold and unforgiving.

The next thing you knew, you were hurtling through the sky, encased in what felt like a stuffy coffin, and then… Belobog.

You winced, the memory of it all almost too much to bear. "What… what did you see when I arrived?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. The question hung in the air, heavy and laden with the fear of hearing the answer.

Gepard, who had been standing a little behind the others, stepped forward, his expression sombre. "When you appeared… you were in some sort of meteorite. It was like nothing we’d ever seen before. It came crashing down from the sky, landing just outside the city walls of Belobog."

"There was news that this month, the creator would return. Everyone was on high alert and once one of my guards spotted a mysterious crater, everyone knew that it had to be you."

Caelus nodded, his tone still filled with concern. "It was like a shooting star, only… darker. And when we approached, we saw you inside, unconscious. We had no idea what to do, but we knew we had to get you out of there, to help you."

Bronya’s gaze softened as she watched you struggle to process their words. "You were in a state of complete stasis, almost as if you were… suspended between worlds. We’ve never encountered anything like it."

The room seemed to close in around you as you tried to reconcile what they were telling you with what you knew—or thought you knew. You had died. You felt it. And yet, here you were, standing in a world you had only ever seen on a screen, surrounded by people who weren’t supposed to exist.

A headache pulsed at your temples, and you pressed a hand to your forehead, trying to steady yourself. The world felt like it was spinning, the reality of your situation crashing down on you like a tidal wave.

Caelus immediately stood by your side, his hands hesitating to hold you before shaking his head ever so slightly, holding your arm and waist to keep you from falling.

"I… I don’t understand," you murmured, more to yourself than to them. "I died. I remember the crash. I remember everything going dark, how on Earth did I..."

Dan Heng took a step closer, his presence grounding you in a way you hadn’t expected. "It must have been a traumatic experience," he said softly, his voice gentle as if he were trying not to overwhelm you further.

"But you’re here now. Whatever happened, whatever brought you here, I think it was fate, just like how the legends had stated."

You wanted to believe him, wanted to find comfort in his words, but the reality of it all was still too much.

How could you be here, alive, in a place that shouldn’t even exist? And what did it mean that they were treating you like this—as if you were someone of immense importance, someone with power, someone they called their "Gracefulness"?

"I’m sorry," you said, your voice trembling slightly. "I just… I need a moment to process all of this."

Bronya stepped forward, her expression filled with understanding. "Take all the time you need. We’re here for you."

Gepard nodded in agreement, his voice steady and reassuring. "We’ll be by your side, your wish is our command."

You stood there, your mind a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions, trying to make sense of everything that had happened, everything that was happening now. The room felt both too large and too small at the same time as if the walls were closing in on you while the ceiling stretched out into infinity.

——

The rest of the day passed in a blur of activity as you found yourself surrounded by a level of attention and care that was both overwhelming and humbling. Bronya, ever the efficient leader, took charge of organizing a grand celebration in honour of your return.

It was to be the most elaborate, grand and magnificent, parade ever. Only the best for their beloved creator.

The news of your arrival spread quickly, with messages sent across Belobog and even beyond, reaching the farthest corners of the world. Shops began to close in your honour, and preparations were set in motion to ensure that everything was perfect for the festivities that would last for months.

Caelus returned back to the Astral Express to spread the news to his friends who soon sent the message worldwide, especially to their alliances.

As the day wore on, you were never alone. Dan Heng and Gepard remained by your side, they would be your guards, though you couldn’t shake the feeling of being slightly out of place.

They escorted you through the grand halls of the Supreme Guardian’s residence, offering you a glimpse into the grandeur and history of Belobog.

The building itself was massive, with high ceilings, intricate carvings, and large windows that let in streams of light, casting everything in a golden glow.

Despite the opulence around you, your mind was still trying to adjust to the reality that had been put upon you. The remnants of your previous life, the memory of your death, the inexplicable warp that had brought you here—it all lingered in the back of your thoughts, creating an undercurrent of unease that you couldn’t quite shake.

But for now, you have to focus on the present. Gepard and Dan Heng took their roles seriously, ensuring that you were comfortable, well-fed, and taken care of in every possible way. When it was time to eat, you were treated to a feast of the finest foods Belobog had to offer, dishes prepared with such care and precision that you could taste the love in every bite.

They made sure you didn’t lift a finger, encouraging you to rest when you looked tired, and when the day began to take its toll on you, they arranged for a bath to be drawn in one of the grand, marble-floored bathrooms.

The bath was a welcome respite. The water was warm, and scented with calming herbs, and as you sank into it, you could feel the tension slowly melting away.

Maids attended to you, offering you soft towels and luxurious oils, treating you with a level of care that you had never experienced before. It was almost too much—this pampering, this constant attention—but you reminded yourself that this was how they showed their respect, their gratitude for your presence in their world.

After the bath, you were led to the room that had been prepared for you, its large windows offering a view of the snow-covered city below.

The bed was soft, the sheets made of the finest silk, and as you lay down, you couldn’t help but marvel at the turn your life had taken.

Just days ago, you had been living an ordinary life, unaware of what was to come, and now… now you were here, in a world that wasn’t supposed to exist, treated as a deity by those you had only known as characters.

Sure, today would have been amazing if it weren't for the fact of constant unease nagging you in the back, it was nice to be pampered and shown love, but at the same time, you wanted to go home, back to the place that you grew up in.

As you drifted off to sleep, surrounded by the luxury and comfort that had been arranged for you, a part of you couldn’t help but wonder how long this would last.

How long you would be able to maintain this facade, to accept the adoration and devotion of those around you when deep down, you still felt like the same person you had always been—just a regular human, trying to make sense of a world that didn’t make sense at all.

But for now, you had no choice but to go along with it, to embrace the role that had been thrust upon you, even if it felt like you were living in a dream.

A dream that, for better or worse, you couldn’t wake up from.

——

The next morning, you awoke to the sound of soft knocking on your door. The sun had just begun to rise, casting a pale light across the snow-covered city of Belobog.

You could see your breath in the cool air as you stretched, still disoriented from the events of the previous day. For a moment, you wondered if it had all been a strange, vivid dream—but the grand room around you, the luxurious sheets beneath your fingers, and the echo of voices beyond the door reminded you that this was indeed your reality now.

You called for whoever was outside to enter, and the door opened to reveal Dan Heng and Gepard, both standing tall and composed. Their expressions softened when they saw you, and you noticed the subtle way their shoulders relaxed, as if simply seeing you reassured them.

"Good morning," Dan Heng said quietly, his tone respectful yet warm. "I hope you slept well."

You nodded, managing a small smile. "I did, thank you."

Gepard stepped forward, his gaze meeting yours with a mixture of concern and deference. "If there's anything you need, anything at all, please don’t hesitate to ask. We've arranged for breakfast to be brought to you, and after that, if you're feeling up to it, Bronya would like to discuss the plans for the upcoming celebrations with you."

Celebrations. The word lingered in your mind, bringing with it a mix of emotions. You still weren’t sure how to feel about all of this—the way everyone seemed to look at you as if you were something divine.

It was overwhelming, and part of you wanted nothing more than to retreat, to find a quiet corner where you could process everything on your own. But you knew that wasn’t an option. You had a role to play, and even if you didn’t fully understand it, you were determined to do your best.

"I… appreciate that," you replied, your voice softer than you intended. "I’ll be ready soon."

As the two men left to give you privacy, you dressed in the clothes that had been laid out for you—a simple yet elegant outfit that, while comfortable, still bore the intricate designs and rich fabrics that seemed to be a hallmark of Belobog's fashion.

You took a moment to steady yourself, taking deep breaths as you reminded yourself that you were in control, even if it didn’t always feel like it.

When you were ready, Dan Heng and Gepard led you to a grand dining room where a lavish breakfast had been prepared. The table was set with an array of dishes—freshly baked bread, fruits, pastries, and steaming bowls of porridge.

The sight of it all made your stomach twist, not from hunger but from the sheer extravagance of it. You took a seat, and though the food was delicious, each bite felt heavy for some odd reason.

As you ate, Bronya arrived, her usual stoic demeanour softened by a hint of nervousness. She greeted you with a respectful nod before taking a seat across from you. You noticed the way her eyes flickered to Dan Heng and Gepard, almost as if she were seeking their reassurance before she spoke.

"I’m glad to see you’re well," she began, her voice calm but measured. "The people of Belobog are eager to welcome you and show their gratitude for your return. We’ve begun preparations for a series of celebrations in your honour, and I wanted to discuss the details with you, to ensure everything meets your approval."

The idea of the entire city celebrating you—parades, feasts, and gatherings in your name—felt surreal. You weren’t sure how to respond, unsure if you could live up to the expectations they had of you.

"I don’t want to disrupt anyone’s life," you said cautiously, trying to find the right words. "It’s all very overwhelming. I’m not used to being treated like this."

Bronya’s expression softened, and she exchanged a glance with Dan Heng and Gepard, who stood behind you like silent sentinels. "Your presence alone is a gift to us," she replied gently. "We don’t see it as a disruption, but rather as an honour. The people are eager to show their gratitude and to celebrate this momentous occasion."

You nodded, feeling a mixture of unease and responsibility settle in your chest. "Alright. I’ll do my best to be what you need me to be."

Bronya smiled a rare and genuine expression that made you feel a little less out of place. "Thank you," she said simply. "We’ll take care of everything. You don’t need to worry."

The rest of the day passed in a whirlwind of preparations and introductions. Bronya led you through the city, introducing you to key figures and showing you the various places where the celebrations would take place.

Everywhere you went, people bowed deeply, their eyes wide with star-struck in awe. It was both humbling and unnerving, and you found yourself struggling to find the balance between accepting their respect and trying to maintain some semblance of normalcy.

Dan Heng and Gepard never left your side, their presence a constant reminder that you weren’t alone in this strange new world. They were vigilant, ensuring that you were comfortable, that no one overwhelmed you, and that you had moments of rest whenever you needed them.

By the time evening fell, you were exhausted, both physically and emotionally. You had been paraded through the city, introduced to so many people, and shown the elaborate plans for the days and weeks to come.

All of it felt like a dream, and as you finally returned to your room, you couldn’t help but feel the weight of it all pressing down on you.

While you lay in bed, twiddling with the fine silk blanket, the other regions were preparing to finally gaze upon their divine creator.

——

In the Xianzhou Luofu, the atmosphere was charged with anticipation as the news of the Creator’s return spread. Within the grand halls of the Divine Foresight, Fu Xuan stood before the Council of Elders, delivering the monumental announcement that had just arrived from the Trailblazer.

"The Creator has returned," Fu Xuan declared with a calm but resolute voice. "They have descended in Belobog, and it is our duty to honour them with the highest respect and homage."

The Council of Elders, seasoned in both wisdom and combat, exchanged glances of disbelief and awe. The Creator, the one who had shaped their world and guided their destinies, was now walking among them once more. The gravity of this revelation weighed heavily on their minds, knowing that their response to this event would define their legacy.

Jing Yuan, the Arbiter-General of the Xianzhou Luofu, stood quietly at the back of the chamber, his usual calm demeanour betraying a hint of solemnity. The Creator’s return was a momentous occasion, and Jing Yuan felt the significance of this event.

"We must ensure that our tribute is worthy of their grace," he murmured, his eyes narrowed in contemplation.

Nearby, Loucha listened intently. His thoughts were more introspective, contemplating the deeper implications of the Creator’s return. Loucha, ever the observer, recognized the immense pressure that this event placed upon them all.

But unlike the others, his focus was not on the material offerings but on the spiritual and existential implications of meeting their Creator. He quietly resolved to find a way to honour the Creator not just through gifts but through his actions and service.

A casket would simply not do, although he was sure that you'd grow fond of it.

Hm, what else could he possibly give you...

Blade, as usual, remained silent throughout the meeting with the Stellaron Hunters. His mind, however, was not at ease. Blade’s relationship with the concept of the Creator is complex and filled with conflicting emotions.

Blade knew he had to play his part in honouring the Creator, even if it meant confronting the very things he had spent so long trying to suppress.

Preparations across the Xianzhou Luofu began immediately. Gifts were gathered from the most skilled artisans—finely crafted weapons, ancient scrolls, and traditional garments.

The best chefs prepared exquisite dishes that would showcase the rich culture of the Xianzhou. In every corner of the realm, citizens participated in rituals, prayers, and meditations, focusing their energies on the Creator.

Jing Yuan oversaw the strategic aspects of the journey, ensuring that their voyage to Belobog would be flawless. Loucha offered his medical expertise to make sure that everyone on board the vessels was in perfect health, while Blade had already begun making his way to Belobog along with Firefly and Kafka.

As the time for departure approached, the air was thick with reverence and anticipation. The Xianzhou Luofu were not just travelling to meet their Creator; they were about to present themselves as a testament to the Creator’s guidance.

Their journey to Belobog would be marked by the same dedication and honour that had defined their civilization for centuries.

Far away in Penacony, the city of innovation and creativity, the news of the Creator’s return was met with an explosion of activity. Penacony, renowned for its technological marvels and artistic achievements, reacted to the news with excitement.

Aventurine was among the first to receive the message. As soon as he got the text, he froze, eyes furiously scanning the text over and over again.

Was this real? Has the creator really come back? The one who he worshipped so obsessively?

He immediately rang Jade, his voice frantic as he spoke to her over the phone. "We cannot afford to delay," Aventurine stated.

"This is a once-in-a-lifetime event, and we must honour the Creator with everything Penacony has to offer."

Sunday, the head of the family, took charge of organizing the preparations. He ordered all renowned artists, engineers, and musicians all come together to create a tribute that would embody the spirit of their city.

Everything had to be perfect.

Sunday was enthusiastic for the Creator's return, it was not just a reflection of his usual cheerfulness—it was something far deeper, almost lovesick.

The moment he received word that the Creator had returned to their world, something in him ignited. It was as if all his life had been leading up to this moment, and now, he could finally fulfil his purpose.

“The Creator has returned,” he whispered to himself after first hearing the news, his voice trembling with a mix of awe and anticipation. His eyes, usually bright with optimism, now gleamed with a fervour that bordered on the intense.

To Sunday, this wasn’t just an event to celebrate—it was a divine calling, a chance to prove his unwavering devotion.

From that moment on, Sunday threw himself into the preparations with a single-mindedness that was almost unsettling. He didn’t just organize the celebrations—he orchestrated them with an obsession that left little room for error.

Every detail had to be perfect, and every gesture had to reflect the utmost reverence for the Creator. He wasn’t just leading the preparations; he was living them, breathing them, as though his very existence depended on it.

When rallying the artists and performers, Sunday’s usual encouragement took on a more insistent edge. “This isn’t just for any celebration,” he’d remind them, his eyes wide and unblinking. “It’s for the Creator. We must give them everything—our best and beyond.”

He’d hover over rehearsals, his smile still present but his tone sharper, more demanding. Mistakes weren’t just errors; they were almost blasphemous in his eyes.

In the kitchens, his involvement was even more intense. He tasted every dish, scrutinizing each one with a level of scrutiny that made even the most seasoned chefs nervous. “This dish needs something... more,” he’d say, his brows furrowing in concentration.

“It needs to be worthy of the Creator. Start again.” And they would, because Sunday’s passion was as contagious as it was overwhelming. Many chefs and assistants often gossiped with one another about Sunday's behaviour, he was far too obsessed.

They, of course, understood the importance of perfecting everything as well, it would be served under the gaze of their Almighty Creator, but Sunday was too overbearing, pushy and stubborn.

Everything has to be perfect.

His interactions with the other citizens of Penacony took on a different tone as well. While still encouraging, there was an underlying pressure in his words. “The Creator deserves only the best from us. Do you understand? This is our moment to show our love, and our loyalty. We can’t afford to disappoint them.”

As the days passed, Sunday’s obsession grew. He spent nights alone, surrounded by plans and lists, going over every detail until his eyes were red and his hands shook from exhaustion.

But he didn’t care. Sleep was secondary; his devotion to the Creator was all that mattered.

Boothill, unlike the others found himself in an unfamiliar situation. Normally at ease with a revolver in hand, Boothill was now tasked with selecting gifts that would impress the Creator.

He knew the importance of your arrival, but there was something that lingered at the back of his head. The memories would override his brain, successfully clouding his thoughts, all he could think about was revenge.

His home.

His daughter.

His family.

His beloved memories.

Gone. They were all gone, all because of one man: Oswaldo Schneider.

Perhaps... If he impressed you with his devotion and adoration, would you help get revenge for him? As the Creator, wouldn't you be so kind as to lend your devoted worshipper some help?

(He decided to contribute something personal—a custom-made weapon, intricately designed and crafted with precision.)

Once the word spread to Gallagher that you were finally home, Gallagher’s response was deeply rooted in a sense of duty and respect.

Like Sunday, he wanted everything to be perfect, not because of an obsessive need to impress, but because he believed it was the right thing to do.

In meetings, Gallagher was a voice of calm amidst the excitement, offering practical solutions to any challenges that arose. “Let’s focus on what’s important,” he would say, steering conversations away from extravagance and towards meaningful gestures.

He believed that the Creator would value sincerity and thoughtfulness over grand displays, and he ensured that Penacony’s contributions reflected that belief.

In his heart, Gallagher held a deep respect for you. His admiration was sincere, but it wasn’t showy. He didn’t need to prove his devotion through grand gestures or dramatic displays; his actions spoke for themselves.

He believed that true reverence was shown through quiet, consistent effort—through doing what was right, even when no one was watching.

He could just taste your happiness at the tip of his tongue, it was delicious. He began to think about your responses, what would you say? Would you accept his gift happily? Toss it away in digust?

“We’ve prepared these offerings with great care and respect, Your Grace. We hope they meet your expectations.” He would say.

"Oh, Gallagher! You shouldn't have!" You would reply.

Or...

"How bold of you to assume that I would accept such a gift from a low-life dog like you!"

Even a small smile would do.

No matter your response, he would still devote his entire being to you.

He had always been confident in his abilities, but now, faced with the Creator themselves, he wondered if his efforts would be enough. It wasn’t a question of worthiness, but of connection—he wanted the Creator to understand that Penacony’s gifts came from a place of genuine respect and loyalty.

Yet, even in this moment of uncertainty, Gallagher remained composed. He knew that whatever the Creator’s response, he had done his best.

And that, for Gallagher, was what truly mattered. He would continue to serve and protect, quietly dedicated to the Creator’s well-being, just as he had always done.

——

As the day of departure approached, Penacony and the Xianzhou Luofu were abuzz with activity. Airships were loaded with gifts, including traditional dishes, intricately designed artifacts, and artistic performances that would honour the Creator.

The entire city was involved in the preparations, each citizen contributing in their own way.

When the airships finally took flight, they carried not just the hopes of Penacony but also the dreams and creativity of its people.

This journey was more than just a trip; it was a pilgrimage to honour the Creator who had shaped their being.

note: so many wips..

tags 🏷️: @tomansimp @one-offmind @miitchiji @dainsleif-when-playable @momoewn @stygianoir @irethepotato @imetsk @fiannee @sunnyf4lls @goldenglow149 @rhwm @urlocalheizousimp @saltylovetale-blog @toramune @oreo-ren @backintomykpopphaseagain @serenity-loves-red @flooofity @minteasketches @yurassia @chellazhef @fulldoves @kateybuggi @wanderingconstellations @mini-shower @160ccm @rosariashield @sickize @sarah22447 @dreamlessnight @gimmealmap @bebeluvs @caramelstarlight @sukiidreams @oceanist @achy-boo @alhaitie @dilucragnvindr-my-beloved @that-mom-friend @v-ish @merormerry @gojoulen03 @scarletttcrow @hadischara @kithewanderingme @keiqqo @livelaughlovekuni @chirikoheina @wr1t3rfum1k0 @issacdaholi @yu-ulda @alysinbshsu @vanilla-sweets @your-local-reblogging-kazoo @be-gay-do-crime-ahaha @seipaws @clavichordcleffa @uhhhiwassupp @youdontneedyoknowlol @the-lazy-perfectionist @issacdarknight @lucienbarkbark @bizzybkd @obliviousariies2007 @coffee-seedy

(if the usernames aren’t highlighted that’s because I can’t tag you so I’ll dm you when I post a new chapter! if i forgot to tag you im so sorry!)

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liking + following + reblogs are greatly appreciated!!!

[missdynamighttt]

About the interview thing where Bakugou say "when I make love to my wife", here is a few more lines he could say! Imagine Bakugou softer when talking about that. He has a lost look and a strange smile on his face, all because of his girl.

"The bed it's our kingdom and she's my queen".

"That's where I belong. In her."

"Being a hero is just my job, something I'm good at for a while. But making love to her? There's nothing better. Knowing that I'm the only one who can make her feel like that, who can adore her like that... And she's the only one for me too. Nothing else matters. Not the fights, the danger, the villains, the paperwork, the pressure or the expectations. Just a husband and wife loving each other all night along."

And in this context, Bakugou would say that he finds pathetic and sad that a man only lasts a few minutes and only one round. Sometimes he hears his fellow heroes talk about sex and he can only feel sorry for their girlfriends, but also proud to know that his wife will never know how those girls feel, because for Katsuki Bakugou if a man is not willing to last at least all night, if each round does not last more than 10 minutes, if he does not have his woman crying with pleasure and love, If he doesn't make her not remember how many times she came, if he don't have sex with her every single day without miss, if she is not on the verge of fainting without being able to walk the next day, is the man really a man or just a poor attempt?

as your husband walks through the threshold of your home, the sound of the lock clicking behind him echoes in the quiet room. katsuki immediately notices the change in the air—there's an awkward tension that wasn't there when he left.

you’re avoiding his gaze, busily moving around the kitchen, trying to keep your mind occupied. you’re embarrassed, the thought of his words replaying in your mind again and again.

the fact that he shared such... intimate, genuine thoughts with the entire world... it wasn’t that you were ashamed, but the sudden attention on your private life caught you off-guard.

"so... you’re gonna act like you didn’t just see me on tv?" katsuki says with a hint of curiosity, and a touch of worry as he notices how your back was turned away from him.

without a word, you feel the heat of his body as he presses himself against your back, his strong hands settling on your waist. he presses his lips to the side of your neck, warm and soft against your skin. it starts off slow and gentle at first, but there’s an underlying urgency to it, a need for your attention.

"i'm sorry, baby," he murmurs between kisses. "i didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, alright?"

"katsuki," you scold as he apologizes, your breath hitches when he places a particularly slow kiss on your collarbone, warmth from his affection still lingering in your chest.

"i’m sorry… but i don’t regret saying any of it. you’re my wife, and i’m fuckin' proud of it. i'm the one who gets to love you like this. i'm the one who gets to fuck you so hard you see stars."

katsuki doesn't stop kissing you, his kisses growing more insistent, but you don’t let him off the hook so easily. you finally turn around, gently pushing him back, even as your heart races.

"i just can't believe you said all that. on live tv," it’s clear you’re not mad, unsure of how to handle this side of him— this soft, unfiltered honesty as his lips trail down your neck to your shoulder.

his fiery gaze softens just a little, and then presses another kiss to your lips, this one slower, deeper, as if to reassure you. "i know, baby, i'm sorry. just… don’t ignore me, okay? it hurts."

"you’re unbelievable," your voice holds more affection than you’d like to admit. "you just gonna let millions of people know how much stamina you have, huh? bet they all think you're some kind of—"

sex god. but before you can say it, katsuki presses a firm kiss to your lips, cutting off your words, his hands slipping around your back to pull you in even closer. he doesn’t let you retreat this time, his lips working their magic on you, unable to ignore the way your body betrays you.

"don't fuckin' care. you're still my wife, sweets. you’re the only one who matters to me. maybe i just need to show you how much i love you. properly."

you scold him with a half-hearted shove, but there's no real heat behind it. "you really know how to make a woman want to kill you and kiss you at the same time, don’t you?"

as he pulls away just enough to look you in the eye, feeling the heat of his gaze. you can’t deny the way his words, his kisses, have melted the tension between you. "you know you're the only one for me, sweets. always."

"i know. but you’re still crazy for doing that."

he chuckles, pulling you close, burying his face in your hair. "yeah, well… crazy’s what you get when you’ve got an amazin' fuckin' wife like you."

‎‧₊˚✧[ it's me, kia ! ]✧˚₊‧ ｡ﾟ•┈꒰ა ♡ ໒꒱┈• ｡ﾟ ‎‧₊˚✧[ more of katsuki ! ]✧˚₊‧

⋆˚࿔ kia's note ˚⋆ SHAMELESS KATSUKI ENJOYER NUMBER TWO OMGOMG

[honeyncherry]

secret of us IV - joe burrow

summary tick tock joe, your time is running out. you'd better make your move before she slips away for good

content angst, swearing, slow burn

part three ; next

For as long as he can recall, Joe has always been a victim of Impostor Syndrome. No matter how many accolades he earned or how many times he proved himself, it was never enough. The feeling stayed, an insistent voice that whispered he didn’t belong. That he wasn’t enough. It crept into the moments that should have felt triumphant, dulling their shine, leaving him wondering when the world would realize he was just faking it more than not.

Love, he’d always thought, was the same. Not him, not something he deserved. How could it be when he was constantly battling the belief that he wasn’t enough. Not good enough, not selfless enough, not strong enough to hold on to something as rare as love? He’d convinced himself he was too flawed, too guarded, and too consumed by the weight of his own insecurities to ever be someone’s safe haven.

He believed love deserved someone who wasn’t afraid of it, someone who wouldn’t ruin it just by trying to hold on too tightly.

​​With a life that’s always been marked by transience — teammates who came and went, fans whose loyalty burned bright but faded just as quickly, and moments of glory that felt fleeting the second the final whistle blew, Joe had learned to live with uncertainty. The instability of it all only reinforced his doubts, leaving him convinced that nothing good ever stayed. Not for long. Not for him.

It was a quiet ache, the kind that didn’t scream or demand attention but lingered in the corners of his mind. He’d felt it since he was young, though he couldn’t name it then. It was the echo of his mom’s laughter when she thought he wasn’t listening, the way his dad’s hand would rest on his shoulder after a tough game. It was fleeting gestures, not foundations. And maybe that was the problem: he didn’t know how to believe in something that wouldn’t slip away.

But then you came around.

He couldn’t pinpoint the moment you became different, no single flashpoint where everything shifted. Maybe it was that first week at OSU, when you sat beside him on a ratty couch at a teammate’s house party.

He’d been perched on the edge of the couch, nursing a drink he didn’t want, his knee bouncing with restless energy. The party felt too loud, too crowded, like he was watching from behind a pane of glass instead of being part of it. Then you sat down beside him, close enough that your leg brushed his.

“You look like you’d rather be anywhere else,” you’d said, your voice loud enough to cut through the music but soft enough to feel like a secret.

Startled, he’d glanced at you, unsure how to respond. “Not really my scene,” he finally admitted, his voice low and uncertain.

You’d laughed, a bright, easy sound that made his shoulders drop a fraction. “Same. My friends dragged me here against my will.” You paused, your eyes scanning the room as if you were searching for a way out. Joe thought that might be the end of it, just another fleeting exchange.

But then you straightened up, turning toward him with a curious tilt of your head. “Want to get some air?”

He didn’t know why he said yes. Maybe it was the way you smiled at him, like you weren’t judging him for feeling out of place. Or maybe it was because, for the first time since arriving on campus, he felt like he’d found someone worth knowing. Not his roommate, who was overly eager about sharing a room with someone on the team. Not even his teammates, who barely acknowledged him off the field.

That night, sitting with you on the back steps of the house, talking about anything and everything, felt like the first time in ages he could just breathe.

That was the first thread.

Then there was the aftermath of the 2020 game against Clemson. The field was a frenzy. Players shouting, confetti raining down like a golden storm, and fans roaring from the stands. Reporters swarmed coaches and teammates, microphones jostling for space, cameras snapping endlessly. It was chaos, beautiful and overwhelming.

The National Championship. They’d done it. He’d done it.

Joe let out a shaky laugh, raking a hand through his sweat-soaked hair as a teammate clapped him hard on the back. His body felt like it had been through a war, bruised and battered, but he barely noticed. Adrenaline coursed through his veins, numbing the aches. This was it. The moment he’d dreamed of since he was a kid. Yet, standing in the middle of the confetti-strewn field, it still didn’t feel entirely real.

Reporters pushed toward him, but their questions blurred into static. He answered on autopilot, the words coming easily. Praise the team. Credit the coaches. Downplay his own role. He meant every word, but beneath it all was a flicker of something else. A nagging itch he hadn’t been able to shake all day.

You weren’t here.

You’d called a few days before, your voice every bit apologetic. “It’s a family wedding, Joe. I hate missing this, but I’ll be glued to ESPN, screaming at every play. You’re going to kill it.”

He’d smiled through the phone, forcing himself to sound unaffected. “It’s fine. You’ve got stuff to do.”

But it wasn’t fine to him. Not really. He knew it was selfish, knew he should’ve been grateful you even cared enough to tell him beforehand. But the thought still crept in uninvitedly. You’d been there for so many games, cheering him on with that unwavering support that he didn’t always know how to handle. And now, at the biggest moment of his career, you weren’t.

He swallowed the thought, trying to shake the disappointment. The crowd was still chanting, the cameras still flashing, and the night was far from over. He couldn’t let himself dwell on it.

But then, as he glanced toward the edge of the field, something caught his eye.

At first, it was just a glimpse — a flash of familiarity near the barricade. His eyes caught on the figure for a moment before darting away, his chest tightening instinctively. No, it couldn’t be. It was just the uproar messing with his head, the exhaustion playing tricks on him.

But it plagued him, begging for his attention.

Joe hesitated.

What if he was wrong? What if it wasn’t you? The thought made his stomach twist, disappointment threatening to creep in yet again before he could stop it. He told himself to let it go, to focus on the celebration. But he stood frozen in place.

Against his better judgment, he turned fully toward the sight, his heart thudding in his chest.

And there you were.

Standing near the barricade, mid-conversation with a friend, your profile unmistakable under the glow of the stadium lights. His breath caught, the air rushing out of his lungs like he’d been tackled. It was you.

For a moment, all he could do was stare, his mind scrambling to catch up. 

You weren’t supposed to be here. You had obligations. You’d told him yourself. 

And yet, here you were, real and undeniable as if the universe had decided to drop you into the middle of his mayhem just to remind him you were always there when it mattered most.

Your friend nudged you, pointing in his direction. You turned, eyes meeting his from across the distance.

The moment stretched, a fragile thread holding the two of you in place.

Then you smiled, a soft, warming smile that seemed to slow the madness around him. His chest tightened, the thrum of his pulse roaring in his ears as his breath caught. He watched as you lifted your hand, fingers curling into a small, hesitant wave. The gesture felt delicate, almost cautious, as if you were feeling your way through the moment, unsure of how he might react.

Joe felt frozen, his legs rooted in the turf, but everything inside him surged forward.

You were here.

Before he could stop himself, he was moving. The reporters were focused on the coaches, giving him a chance to slip away unnoticed. His legs felt heavy, his body sore, but none of that mattered. He jogged toward you, the noise of the stadium fading with every step.

When he reached the barricade, he didn’t think twice. He leaned over and pulled you into his arms, his face burying into the curve of your neck.

“You’re here,” he breathed, his voice crackled with emotion.

“Of course I am,” you said, words muffled as you held him just as tightly. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world.”

He pulled back slightly, hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes searched your face. “You lied about the wedding?”

A mischievous grin spread across your face, one that made his heart skip a beat. “Maybe. I thought a surprise would be more fun.”

Joe laughed, a sound that was part disbelief and part relief, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable,” he murmured, just for you.

Before he could say more, he felt a strong arm hook around his waist.

“Burrow! Come on, man!” Ja’Marr cheered, tugging him back toward the crowd. Joe reluctantly let go of you, his hands lingering on your arms for a moment longer than necessary.

“I’ll find you later,” he grinned quickly, eyes locking onto yours one last time.

As he was dragged back into the chaos, he couldn’t help but glance over his shoulder, searching for you in the crowd. You were still standing there, watching him with a smile that made everything else melt away.

The noise, the confetti, the cameras, it all felt secondary. Because in that moment, to Joe, the championship wasn’t just about the trophy or the victory.

It was about you. The way you were there for him. Every. Single. Time.

That thread was golden.

Or maybe it was later, on those long nights during his rookie year with the Bengals. When the weight of expectations pressed heavy on his chest and your voice on the other end of the line was the only thing that could keep him grounded.

He remembered one night in particular. The season had been brutal thus far, each game feeling like another test he wasn’t sure he could pass. He’d spent the day running drills, analyzing film, and listening to coaches dissect every decision he’d made on and off the field. By the time he got home, his house felt suffocatingly quiet, the kind of silence that left him alone with his doubts.

He’d called you without thinking, the phone pressed tightly to his ear as he finally took a second to sit down. “I feel like I’m drowning,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. His voice faltered in a way he hadn’t meant for you to hear, betraying just how close he was to breaking. 

You didn’t miss a beat. “You’re not drowning, Joe,” you said, your voice steady and sure. “You’re just in deep water. You know how to swim.”

He let out a soft laugh, tinged with disbelief. “A swimming reference? Really? What am I, Phelps?” he asked, half-smirking, half-expecting you to laugh it off.

“Yeah, I am,” you shot back, unfazed. “Because it’s true. You’re a better swimmer than you give yourself credit for.”

He chuckled again, shaking his head as he sank deeper into the couch. “What if I forgot how?” he played along, the doubt still clinging to his words.

“Then I’ll jump in after you,” you replied, the words so calm and certain that they made him pause. At first, he thought you were joking, but the conviction in your tone made his head spin. He shifted uncomfortably, unsure how to process what you’d just said.

It wasn’t the first time someone had offered support. Though, oftentimes, it felt hollow coming from them. People would praise him then turn their backs and mock him when he wasn’t looking. But with you, it was different. Your belief in him didn’t feel fake or conditional. It felt real, unshakable and right in a way that scared him more than he wanted to admit.

“Why are you so sure I’ll figure it out?” he’d asked, his voice softer now, the pressure loosening just enough to let him breathe.

“Because you’re you,” you said simply. “And I’ve never known you to back down from anything. Even if you feel like you’re sinking now, you’ll get through it. You always do.”

He didn’t know how to respond to that. Instead, he closed his eyes and let your voice wash over him as you started talking about your day — little things like the mix-up at the printing machine that morning or the neighbor who’d just adopted a cat. It wasn’t anything earth-shattering, but it was exactly what he needed. Enough to pull him out of his head, enough to ease the tension in his body and mind until he could finally sit still.

This was the thread that held everything together.

Joe had, overall, always been good at keeping things in their place. It’s what made him excel under pressure, what allowed him to keep his head when everything around him spun out of control. But you? You blurred the lines. You seeped into the cracks he’d worked so hard to seal, and he hated you for it almost as much as he loved you for it.

It took him years to understand it. Years of standing too close yet not close enough, of watching you steal his hoodies and tease him about his game-day routines, of feeling your hand brush his arm in ways that left his skin tingling long after. Years of telling himself it was just friendship, because anything else felt too big, too dangerous.

And then it hit him.

It wasn’t a revelation that came in a rush or a sudden burst of clarity. It crept in slowly, like the tide pulling back just enough to reveal what had always been there. Joe loved you. He’d loved you for longer than he could admit to himself. And the weight of it? It was crushing.

He was always terrified of losing control, of letting his emotions dictate his decisions. Football demanded a sort of precision: discipline so ruthless it bordered on obsession, a singular focus that left no room for distractions or vulnerability. Every play, every moment on the field, required him to suppress the nagging sentiments inside, to bury the doubts and emotions that had built up over the years and threatened to surface.

Anything less than perfect control felt like weakness, and weakness wasn’t something he could afford. Not on the field. Not off it. 

But you? You were the exception. The one thing he couldn’t control, no matter how hard he tried.

Joe thought about the night you’d shown up at his house, your voice trembling as you demanded answers he wasn’t ready to give. The way your eyes searched his, raw and pleading, left him feeling more exposed than he’d ever been on any field. He’d wanted to tell you then. He wanted to reach for you, pull you close, and let the words spill out in an unstoppable manner.

But he froze. The fear clawing at his chest was too strong to ignore. Fear of ruining what you had. Fear of being too much, or worse, not enough. Fear of you seeing the parts of him he’d worked so hard to bury. The parts that weren’t perfect or polished. The parts that felt fragile in a way he couldn’t admit, even to himself.

So now, sitting in his car outside the bar, fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles ached, he realized he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t keep running from this, from you. It wasn’t just about the guilt — though that was part of it. It was about the pain of your absence, the way it haunted him in ways he couldn’t ignore.

​​The sound of Drew’s voice echoed, dragging him back to earlier that day.

The call started off casual… until Drew’s tone shifted mid-sentence.

“Oh, yeah, we’re hitting that new bar tonight—” Drew began, only for Mia’s voice to cut in sharply from the background. “Drew!”

Joe frowned, catching the muffled sound of Mia hissing something he couldn’t make out. There was a pause, the sound of rustling, and then Drew’s voice returned, noticeably higher-pitched and nervous. “Uh, never mind. It’s not important.”

“What bar?” Joe asked, the question coming out sharper than he intended.

“It’s nothing, man,” Drew said quickly, his words tripping over themselves. “Just a thing Claire planned. Don’t worry about it.”

Joe’s brows furrowed, his grip on his phone tightening. “A thing? You’re being weird, Drew.”

“I’m not being weird!” Drew replied too fast. “Just… you know how the girls get when they’re planning stuff. Look, I've gotta go, man. I’ll talk to you later.”

The call ended abruptly, leaving Joe staring at the screen, unease prickling at him. Drew was hiding something. He was sure of it.

Later, after hours of the conversation looping endlessly in his mind, Joe finally bit the bullet and texted Drew.

Joe: What’s going on with this bar thing? Don’t lie to me.

The typing bubble appeared, then disappeared. Joe’s stomach churned as the seconds dragged on. Finally, a response came through.

Drew: It’s nothing serious. Just a casual thing.

Joe’s jaw clenched as he stared at the message. He tapped out a reply.

Joe: Who’s going?

Another long pause.

Drew: Me, Mia, Claire, Lily. A few others.

The answer was too vague, and Joe knew Drew well enough to recognize when he was dodging. His fingers flew over the keyboard.

Joe: Is she going?

The reply came faster this time.

Drew: Yeah. I think so.

He exhaled slowly, a knot forming in his stomach as the next question pressed forward, almost on instinct.

Joe: Why wouldn’t Mia want me to know?

Yet again, the typing bubble appeared, vanished, and then reappeared, as if mocking him with its cruel, drawn-out rhythm. Each second stretched unbearably until Drew’s response finally arrived.

Drew: Claire’s bringing some guy to meet her.

Joe stared at the screen. The words blurred as his mind raced, a thousand scenarios flashing through his head, none of them good.

Joe: What guy?

Drew: I don’t know. Just some friend of hers. She’s been hyping him up for a while.

Joe: You knew about this?

Drew: Not really. Mia didn’t tell me much. She didn’t want you to find out.

His thoughts spiraled, building into a picture he didn’t want to see but couldn’t ignore. He read it again, the weight of the implication sinking in.

That’s all it took.

Now, sitting in the quiet of his car, Joe leaned back against the headrest, his eyes slipping shut as memories crept in. Your laugh, bright and unrestrained, echoing like it belonged to the very fabric of the room. The nights you’d sat cross-legged on his couch, the furrow in your brow deepening as you stubbornly argued over which movie to watch — maddening, yet somehow the one of the most endearing things about you. And the way you’d looked at him, your gaze piercing, like you could see straight through every boundary he’d ever built.

It wasn’t new. None of it was. He’d always loved you. He could see that now, clear as day, and it had taken him far too long to accept it. Joe saw no point in fighting the pull of something that felt as natural as breathing.

The thought of walking into that bar, of seeing you standing there with someone else, made his head hurt in ways he didn’t want to explain. But it wasn’t just jealousy that drove him now. It wasn’t just the idea of someone else holding the space he wanted so desperately to claim. It was deeper than that.

It was the need to stop running. To tell you everything. Lay it all bare and let you decide what comes next, because the idea of losing you, not just as a possibility but as a certainty — was unbearable.

If he didn’t go in now, if he let this moment slip through his fingers, he knew he’d never forgive himself.

Joe opened his eyes, exhaling slowly as he reached for the door handle. The weight in his chest didn’t feel quite so suffocating anymore. It wasn’t gone, but it was manageable. For the first time in a long time, he felt grounded in who he was.

Because this time, he wasn’t running.

Joe entered the bar, weaving his way through as the crowd shifted and broke around him, creating a path he barely noticed. His mind raced with everything he wanted to say, but had no idea how to begin. 

He found his friends easily, and when he reached the table, the tension was immediate, a heavy cloud settling over the group.

Mia noticed first. Her expression softened, a mix of pity and quiet concern etched into her features. Drew, on the other hand, couldn’t even meet Joe’s gaze for more than a second. His back straightened like he’d been caught sneaking out past curfew, staring intently at his drink like it might save him from the confrontation brewing. Claire didn’t bother hiding her displeasure, her glare vicious. Predictably, she was the first to speak.

“Well, this is unexpected,” she said, her tone dripping with disdain. “What are you doing here, Joe?”

Joe didn’t even look at her. His focus was locked on Drew, the words tumbling out. “Where is she?”

Drew hesitated, glancing nervously at Mia, who gave him a pointed look that said; You got yourself into this. “Uh…” Drew stammered. “She’s at the bar.”

Joe didn’t wait for more. He turned on his heel, his movements purposeful as he wove back through the crowd toward the bar. Behind him, he could hear Claire muttering something under her breath, but he didn’t care. All that mattered was you.

And when Joe spotted you, he stopped just short of the bar, his eyes narrowing. You stood with one hand resting lightly on the counter, nodding at something the guy next to you was saying. Your lips curved into a faint smile, head tilted slightly, but something was off.

From a distance it might’ve looked like you were interested, though, Joe noticed the way your gaze drifted. Your tight-lipped smile didn’t reach your eyes and your attention flickered away, glancing toward the bottles behind the counter as if they were more interesting than the guy next to you. You were looking for a way out.

Joe shifted his weight, his attention snapping to the guy. He was… average. Polished in a way that felt like he was trying too hard. Neatly pressed shirt, carefully styled hair, and a smile that bordered on overconfident. Joe felt his jaw tighten. This is the guy Claire thinks you should be with? This is who she thinks is worth your time?

As he stopped just behind you, the guy’s voice drifted over. Something about the lighting in the bar, or maybe the music. It was mundane, predictable, and Joe smirked. He wasn’t surprised you weren’t invested. Of course you’re bored, he thought. This guy’s got the personality of a waiting room.

Joe tilted his head slightly, his smirk deepening as he caught the guy’s words falter mid-sentence. He hadn’t even spoken yet, but his presence alone was already throwing the guy. Before Joe could step closer, you turned, your gaze following the guy’s faltering focus.

And then you saw him.

Your eyes locked with his, and for a fleeting second, everything else seemed to fall silent. Joe paused as he took in the way your expression shifted. Surprise, confusion, something else he couldn’t quite place. He held your gaze, unflinching, his jaw tight as he tried to dissect the emotions screening across your face.

The soft glow of the bar lights cast a warm halo around you, catching in your hair and highlighting the faint furrow in your brow. Your lips parted slightly, like you were about to say something, but no words came.

Joe didn’t speak either, couldn’t speak. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from yours, the unspoken tension crackling between you like a live wire.

He let the moment stretch, another faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. He finally stepped to your side, his voice cutting cleanly through the ambient noise that ebbed back in. “Don’t stop on my account,” he said, his tone smooth and laced with just enough edge to make his authority known.

His gaze flicked briefly to the guy before landing back on you. “Sounded like a real captivating conversation.”

The guy shifted uneasily, clearing his throat but offering no reply.

You? You just stared up at Joe, wide-eyed and silence.

For a moment, the world held its breath, leaving only the three of you in this precarious, unbalanced triangle.

Joe? Joe wasn’t about to let the balance tip away from him.

The turned toward Joe, the strain in his polite smile visible. “Uh… can I help you with something?”

Joe barely looked at him. “Not unless you plan on leaving,” he said, his attention fixing entirely on you once more. He didn’t miss the glint of something different in your eyes — annoyance, perhaps, or was it relief? His voice dropped, leaning just close enough for you to hear over the noise.

“We need to talk.”

You hesitated, your hand tightening slightly on the edge of the bartop. “Now?”

Joe nodded, his tone leaving no room for debate. “Yeah. Now.��

You glanced briefly at the guy, his mouth opening like he wanted to say something, maybe intervene. But Joe’s glare sliced through whatever courage he might have been mustering. He thought twice, shoulders stiffening as his hands lifted in a silent gesture of surrender.

With a small nod — whether it was understanding or reluctant resignation, Joe couldn’t be sure — the guy stepped back and turned, making his way through the crowd toward the table where the others sat. Joe caught a brief glimpse of Mia’s unsure frown and Drew’s poorly concealed grimace, but he didn’t pay mind to them.

He didn’t care.

His focus was locked entirely on you.

“Let’s go,” he said.

You hesitated, glancing between him and the group at the table. “But, Joe—”

“Now,” he repeated, cutting you off. There was no bite in his tone, but the urgency was impossible to ignore.

Without another word, Joe reached for your wrist. His touch was firm but not rough as he turned toward the exit, his grip guiding you to the exit. You followed without protest, your steps quickening to keep pace with his long strides.

Joe caught the faint shiver that passed through you the moment the cool night air hit your faces. He didn’t stop, didn’t loosen his grip on your wrist, but his stride slowed just enough for you to keep up.

The rowdiness of the bar gradually faded behind you, replaced by the whir of traffic and the occasional burst of muffled laughter from people on the streets. Joe kept moving, leading you past the glowing streetlamps and the lingering smokers, until he turned sharply into a narrow alleyway.

As soon as he stopped, he let go of your wrist, stepping back as if to put space between his own chaotic emotions and you. The alley was dim, the faint light from a singular light nearby casting jagged shadows against the brick walls. Joe faced you, his shoulders rigid, jaw set. His lips parted, but the words didn’t come immediately.

“Well?” you demanded, your voice clipped. “You dragged me out here. Are you going to say something, or should I just head back?”

Joe’s brow furrowed, the bite in your tone stinging more than it should have. He exhaled hard through his nose, the frustration bubbling beneath the surface of his otherwise steady demeanor. “Why were you with him?”

“Why do you care?” you fired back, chin lifting.

“I asked first.” His voice was short now, mirroring yours.

“And I’m asking why it matters,” you countered, your head tilting slightly as you took a step closer.

“Because it does!” The words came out harsher than he intended, bouncing off the narrow walls of the alley. His hand dragged through his hair, tugging at the roots in a futile attempt to soothe the building headache. “It matters because I couldn’t stand seeing you with him. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

Your eyes widened, your weight shifting as if the force of his words had pushed you back. “What do you mean, ‘couldn’t stand it’? Since when do you care who I’m with?”

Joe glanced away, his jaw clenching tightly as he fought the impulse to retreat. His hands flexed at his sides, the memory of the guy’s too-eager grin still gnawing at the edges of his self-control. “Since always,” he muttered, his gaze fixed on the ground.

You scoffed, the sound disbelieving as you shook your head. “That’s a convenient thing to say now.”

The bitterness in your voice hit like a low blow. Joe flinched, his fingers curling into fists at his sides as the frustration boiled over. 

He paused. “Just… seeing you with him tonight—” His voice wavered, the words stalling as if they physically pained him to say. His breath hitched, each syllable dragging itself out, “I couldn’t ignore it anymore.”

Your arms loosened slightly, the edge in your expression and voice easing enough to make him pause. “Ignore what, Joe?”

The words hung unavoidably in the silence between you. Joe’s eyes lifted to meet yours, searching for something he wasn’t sure he wanted to give. Vulnerability clawed at him, splintering the guarded facade he’d clung to so desperately — but there was no point in hiding anymore.

“Joe,” you prompted again, this time so softly it was almost a whisper.

He stepped closer, his chest brushing against the faint edge of your crossed arms. “Just tell me,” he said, his voice lower now, tainted with desperation. His arms twitched, like they wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare. “Tell me it doesn’t matter to you. Tell me you want to go back to him, to anyone, and I’ll walk away. But if it’s not him, if there’s even the smallest part of you that feels—” His voice broke slightly, and he swallowed hard, forcing himself to continue. “Just say it. Please.”

Your mouth opened, but no words came out. Joe’s gaze stayed fixed on you, his lungs feeling tight as if he’d forgotten how to breathe, the seconds stretching unbearably. Then, slowly, you shook your head, the motion subtle but certain.

“It’s not him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper.

Joe exhaled sharply, his shoulders sagging under the weight of relief so intense it felt like it might crush him. His pulse still hounded in his ears, but it wasn’t chaos, it was clarity.

Of course it’s not him. He’d known it before he asked, before you even shook your head. Joe knew you, and he knew that guy wasn’t you. Could never be. The realization settled inside him, carrying a flicker of hope so bright it nearly hurt to hold.

He didn’t realize he’d stumbled closer until he caught a faint whiff of your perfume, the scent pulling him in like it always did. You were so close now, he could feel the faint warmth of your breath brushing his skin.

“Okay,” Joe rasped, his voice uneven. He cleared his throat, using his hands to shake the nerves before bringing them together in front of him. His knuckles cracked softly as he flexed them, his fingers fidgeting in an unconscious rhythm. He took a deep breath to compose himself.

“Okay, wait. I— there’s something I need to say. And I’m probably going to screw it up, because that’s just what I do, but I need to say it anyway.”

You didn’t respond, just looked at him, waiting. Joe placed his hands on his hips, “I didn’t plan this. Hell, I didn’t even plan on being here tonight. But I couldn’t… I couldn’t stay away. Not after Drew told me what Claire was doing. Especially not after seeing you sitting with him, talking to him.”

A bitter laugh slipped out, self-directed and harsh. “And I know, I know I don’t have any right to feel like that. I’ve been distant. A dick. Call it whatever you want. But the truth is… I couldn’t handle it. You. Us. All of it. Because every time I was near you, I felt like I was standing too close to something I didn’t know how to handle.”

Joe hesitated, his throat constricting, his next words quieter, spoken with effort. “But it wasn’t the kind of edge you run from. It was the kind you jump off. Because being around you — being near you, it’s like nothing else fits. Nothing else makes sense. And I’m so goddamn tired of pretending it’s anything else.”

He let the words settle between you, the meaning of them filling the air. His chest rose and fell with uneven breaths.

“I love you,” he said finally, the words falling between you like they’d been waiting there all along. “I’ve loved you for a long time. Maybe longer than I’ve even let myself admit. But I was too scared to say it. I was too scared of screwing it all up and losing the best thing I’ve ever had.”

Joe’s gaze stayed locked on yours, unflinching, his body tensing like he wanted to close the space between you. “But tonight, thinking of you with someone else… it hit me. I’m not scared of losing you anymore. I’m scared of not trying. Of letting you walk away without knowing how much you mean to me.”

His breath hitched, the final words trembling on his lips. “So, yeah. That’s it. That’s what I needed to say.”

The air felt heavy, thick with everything he’d just admitted. For a moment, you simply stared at him, your lips parting as if to say something, but no sound came. 

The confession curled in the air between you. He didn’t move, didn’t say anything more, as if he’d laid everything he had at your feet and was now waiting, bracing, for what you would do with it. 

His eyes locked onto yours, and for the briefest moment, he thought he caught it: a flicker of a smile, faint but unmistakable. Like maybe, just maybe, you were about to let him in. Joe’s heart jumped in anticipation.

You opened your mouth—

Flash!

The blinding light sliced through the moment, echoing through the stillness of the alleyway, leaving quiet in tatters.

Flash.

[ahqkas]

“HOLDING YOU, HOLDING ME — dick grayson.

PAIRING! dick grayson x fem!reader

SYNOPSIS! he wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was nightwing, gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. and now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew

WORD COUNT! 4.7k

WARNINGS / TAGS! wounds and patching up, mention of blood, light cursing + lmk

NOTES! i’ll never let go of this scenario bc no matter how many times i read or write it i know i’ll eat it up ,, header below belongs to @/v6que

© ahqkas — all rights reserved. even when credited, these works are prohibited to be reposted, translated or modified

THE SOUND OF SHUFFLING OUTSIDE YOUR BEDROOM WINDOW PIERCED THROUGH THE FRAGILE BARRIER BETWEEN SLEEP AND WAKEFULNESS, pulling you abruptly from the fog of dreams. Your heart stuttered, then raced, its rhythm a drumbeat in your ears as your senses stirred to full alertness. The muffled sounds of Gotham’s unrest—honking car horns, distant sirens wailing through the streets, and the occasional shout ricocheting off brick walls—were nothing new. It was the soundtrack of the city, a reminder that safety here was a fleeting illusion. But this sound was different. It wasn’t part of the distant chaos. It was near. Uncomfortably near.

You lay motionless, cocooned in the warmth of your blankets, as a cold tendril of unease slithered down your spine. The shuffle came again, a strained, uneven drag that was too heavy, too deliberate to be dismissed as the wind or the misstep of a stray animal. The hairs on your arms stood on end, your body responding to a primal warning long before your mind could catch up. A knot of tension coiled in your stomach, tightening with each beat of silence that followed.

Your breath hitched as your ears strained, every creak of the old apartment building suddenly amplified. The sound of your neighbors moving around above you had ceased hours ago, and the faint hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen now felt deafening in comparison. Even the street noise below seemed to recede, swallowed by the weight of whatever lurked just beyond the thin pane of glass separating your room from the outside world.

Another shuffle—closer now—was accompanied by the faint scrape of something against the windowsill. A metallic sound? Your mind raced through possibilities, each one darker than the last, as your muscles tensed involuntarily. Instinct told you to stay still, to let the darkness cloak you, but adrenaline screamed at you to move, to act, to do something. The only thing louder than the pounding of your heart was the oppressive silence that followed the noise, stretching thin like a thread about to snap.

Then, a low groan shattered the quiet like a rock through glass—rough, ragged, and undeniably human. Your breath hitched, a shaky inhale catching in your throat as the sound sent a white-hot jolt of adrenaline through your veins. This wasn’t the screech of metal caught in a storm or the hollow clatter of a stray cat tipping over trash cans in the alley below. No, this was something else—someone else. And they were hurt.

Before you could fully process it, the groan was followed by another noise: a faint, rhythmic creak, unmistakable in its familiarity. Metal shifting and bending under weight, groaning as it protested movement along the fire escape just outside your window. It was a sound you had heard a hundred times before, but never like this—never in the dead of night, never accompanied by the guttural rasp of pain. It dragged a sharp, cold edge of dread across your mind, slicing through the thin veneer of safety you’d wrapped yourself in.

You sat up slowly, the mattress beneath you groaning in protest despite your careful movements. The noise seemed deafening in the oppressive quiet, and you froze, lips pressed together as if even the sound of your breathing might give you away.

Your eyes darted toward the window, the one barrier between you and the unknown outside. The curtains hung limply, a thin barrier of fabric that diffused the faint glow of streetlights below but revealed nothing of the shapes or movements beyond. Your pulse thundered in your ears as your mind raced. Every instinct screamed at you to stay still, to melt into the shadows and feign ignorance, to bury yourself under the covers and hope the moment passed.

But there was something else—a treacherous, gnawing pull of curiosity that refused to let you stay frozen. It dragged at you, a siren call that tugged against the fear coiled in your gut. Against all logic, you leaned forward, heart pounding so hard it felt as though it might leap from your chest. The cool air of the room kissed your skin, each shallow breath catching against the weight of the silence as you crept closer, unable to ignore the magnetic pull of whatever—or whoever—waited on the other side of that fragile pane of glass.

You froze just steps away from the curtain, your hand outstretched but trembling in the stillness of the room. Your fingers hovered mere inches from the fabric, the rough texture brushing your skin as you hesitated. The air felt heavier here, charged with the kind of tension that made your chest tighten and your breathing shallow. Each breath you took was deliberate, measured, the faint rush of air between your lips almost too loud against the suffocating quiet. Every nerve in your body begged you to turn back, to crawl under the covers and pretend none of this was happening.

But then another sound broke the stillness—a groan, sharper this time, tinged with desperation. It wasn’t the deep, detached groan of exhaustion but something raw, visceral, and undeniably human. The sound struck you like a slap, your heart lurching painfully in your chest. Whoever was out there wasn’t loitering or trying to scare you. They were hurt. And badly.

The realization sent a shiver rippling through you, but it didn’t stop your fingers from clutching the edge of the curtain. Slowly, cautiously, you pulled it back just enough to peek outside. The cold air from the window seeped through the thin glass, and you instinctively leaned closer, the warmth of your breath fogging the pane as you strained to see into the darkness. For a moment, there was nothing—only shadows twisting in the faint orange glow of the streetlights below, the occasional shimmer of metal catching the dim light. The fire escape stretched out before you like a skeletal bridge to nowhere, its emptiness pressing against your mounting fear.

Then, your eyes adjusted, and the shadows shifted, revealing a figure slumped against the railing. Your stomach twisted painfully at the sight, the breath caught in your throat as you tried to process what you were seeing. A man—larger than you expected, broad-shouldered despite the way his frame sagged—leaned heavily on the railing, his head tipped forward as if even the act of holding it up was too much. His chest rose and fell in uneven, labored breaths, each one visible in the faint puff of condensation against the night air.

His clothes—or was it some kind of suit?—clung to him, dark and soaked in places you didn’t want to think about too closely. The material melted into the blackness of the night, making it hard to tell where he ended and the shadows began. But there was no mistaking the weight of his posture, the way his hands gripped the railing with what little strength he had left, or the crimson stain trailing down the side of his body, catching the faintest glimmer of light. The sight of it turned your unease into something deeper, something colder.

“Shit,” you muttered, the word slipping out before you could stop it, sharp and quiet in the tense air. Your pulse quickened, adrenaline washing over you like a crashing wave as the reality of the situation sank in. Whoever this man was, he needed help—and fast. The knot of fear in your chest twisted tighter, but it was overwhelmed by something more immediate: the urge to act. Your hands trembled as you reached for the window, the cool glass biting against your fingertips as you slid it open. The icy air hit you instantly, sharp and unforgiving, stealing the warmth from your skin and making you gasp.

You leaned out into the night, the cold biting your cheeks and tangling in your hair as you peered down at the figure slumped against the railing. “Hey,” you called, your voice low but urgent, carrying just enough to cut through the silence. Your breath puffed out in faint clouds as you spoke, dissipating into the darkness between you. “Are you okay?” The words felt hollow as they left your mouth, even as they pressed against the lump of anxiety in your throat. Of course, he wasn’t okay—one look at him made that painfully obvious.

For a long, agonizing moment, the only response was the faint whistle of wind cutting through the metal of the fire escape. He didn’t move, his frame slouched in a way that made your chest tighten, the weight of his injuries pulling him down like gravity itself was working against him. Just as panic began to creep in—had he passed out? Was he even breathing?—he shifted, the motion slow and labored, as though even the act of turning his head was a monumental effort.

The faint light from the street below caught on his face—or rather, what was covering it. A mask. Sleek and dark, it reflected just enough light to reveal the harsh contours of his features, obscuring everything but the intensity of his movements. His head lolled slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might collapse entirely, the strength draining out of him like water slipping through a sieve. But then, with an audible effort, he rasped out, “Not really.”

The sound of his voice hit you like a gut punch—low, rough, and laced with pain. Each word dragged out of him felt like a struggle, and the exhaustion clinging to his tone was impossible to ignore. It was the voice of someone on the edge, hanging by a thread. You swallowed hard, your breath catching as you watched him shift again, the barest movement of his hand gripping the railing as if it were the only thing keeping him upright.

“Well, no kidding,” you muttered, more out of reflex than anything, the dry sarcasm slipping past your lips before you could stop it. But the sharp edge of your tone faltered as your gaze darted to his injuries. Blood—thick, dark, and all too real—streaked his side, dripping in sluggish rivulets down his torn clothes. You swallowed hard, fighting the rising wave of panic threatening to claw its way up your throat. “Can you… uh, climb inside?” your voice was softer now, but still tinged with urgency.

He hesitated, his shoulders stiffening, and for a fleeting moment, he looked more like a cornered animal than an injured man. His hand gripped the railing tighter, the tension in his posture radiating defensiveness even as he swayed slightly, his balance precarious. “I don’t want to—” he began, his words rasping out low and hesitant, as if he were weighing the consequences of accepting help against the risks of staying put.

“You’re bleeding on my fire escape,” you interrupted, crossing your arms to disguise the nervous tremor in your hands. “I’m not asking. Get in here before someone sees you.” You tried to keep your voice steady, firm, even as your heart hammered against your ribs. You weren’t sure where the sudden boldness had come from—maybe it was the adrenaline, or maybe it was the sheer absurdity of the situation—but you refused to back down. If he didn’t move soon, you weren’t sure he’d be able to at all.

For a split second, you thought he might argue, but then his lips twitched ever so slightly, a faint ghost of a smirk flickering across his face. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced by the grim set of his jaw as he shifted, bracing himself. With a pained grunt, he pushed off the railing, his movements slow and deliberate, every step looking like it might be his last. His knees buckled slightly as he approached the window, and instinctively, you stepped closer, your arms uncrossing as you reached out without thinking.

“I’ve got it,” he muttered, though his voice lacked conviction. He was trying to sound strong, but the unsteadiness in his steps betrayed him. As he climbed through the window, the effort took its toll. He leaned heavily against the window frame, his large frame towering over yours even as his weight pressed into you for support. The sudden closeness made you freeze for a moment, the sheer size difference between you starkly apparent as his broad shoulders filled the small space of your window.

You adjusted quickly, hands instinctively reaching to steady him despite your earlier hesitation. One hand brushed against his arm, and you couldn’t help but notice how solid he felt beneath your touch, even through the bloodied material of his suit. He shifted his weight against you slightly, just enough to steady himself, and the subtle press of his shoulder against yours was enough to make you acutely aware of how much he was relying on you in that moment.

“Easy,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper as he finally made it through the window and into your apartment. You stepped back to give him space, resisting the urge to grab his arm again as he straightened with a wince. His movements were slow and deliberate, every motion screaming of pain, but he managed to stay on his feet. For now.

“Couch,” the word tumbled out before you could think too hard about what came next. You gestured toward the battered, threadbare piece of furniture across the room, its cushions sagging from years of use. It wasn’t much, but it was better than your window frame—or worse, the fire escape he’d just been bleeding all over.

He gave a faint nod, the motion sluggish as he shuffled forward, his hand bracing against the wall for balance. Each step looked like a battle he was barely winning, and just as he reached the couch, his knees seemed to give out entirely. He dropped onto it with a heavy exhale, the springs creaking loudly in protest. His head tipped back against the cushion, his chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

For a moment, you stood frozen, your back still pressed against the window as your mind worked to catch up with what had just happened. The sharp contrast of his dark figure against the warm glow of your living room lights made the scene feel surreal, like something out of a movie. But the blood—thick and vividly red against the black fabric of his suit—was all too real.

And now, in the full light of the room, you could finally see him clearly. The sleek black material clinging to him wasn’t just any clothing—it was a suit, one that seemed designed to meld with the shadows. Faint blue lines traced down his sides in sharp, angular patterns, adding a faintly futuristic edge to his appearance. But it wasn’t the design that held your attention—it was the bird emblazoned across his chest, unmistakable in its shape even beneath the layers of grime and blood.

Nightwing.

The name hit you like a freight train, an unspoken expletive rushing to the tip of your tongue as you took another step forward. Nightwing is in my apartment. The realization made your knees feel unsteady, and you clutched the back of a nearby chair for balance. He wasn’t just a man in a mask—he was Nightwing, Gotham’s acrobatic vigilante, a name whispered in both fear and admiration depending on who you asked. And now here he was, slumped on your couch, bleeding out like any ordinary man who’d bitten off more than he could chew.

Your gaze dropped back to the gash across his chest, the jagged tear in his suit exposing the angry, raw wound beneath. Blood was soaking through the material, dark and relentless, and the sheer amount of it sent a chill racing down your spine. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to breathe through the rising tide of panic. This was happening. This was real.

And if you didn’t act fast, he wasn’t going to make it.

“I’ll get some supplies,” you said, your voice sharper now, cutting through the haze of disbelief. Each step felt heavy, your heart pounding like a drum in your ears as you yanked open the cabinet under the sink. The first aid kit sat buried behind a clutter of forgotten toiletries, its edges dusty and worn, but it would have to do. You grabbed it along with a few clean towels, their soft cotton contrasting starkly with the chaos unfolding in your living room.

When you returned, your stomach twisted at the sight of him. He’d slumped further into the couch, his broad shoulders sagging into the cushions as if gravity were trying to pull him under. His head tipped back against the worn upholstery, exposing the pale curve of his neck. The steady rise and fall of his chest—though strained—was the only reassurance he was still alive.

“Don’t pass out,” you said, dropping to your knees beside him and setting the first aid kit on the coffee table with a clatter. The firm edge to your voice was betrayed by the slight tremor in your hands as you unfurled one of the towels. Your heart hammered against your ribs, but you forced your tone to remain steady. You couldn’t let him see the full weight of your panic—not when he already looked like he was barely holding himself together.

At your words, he cracked one eye open, the faintest glimmer of amusement flickering in his gaze despite the shadows of pain etched across his face. “Not planning to,” he murmured, his voice low and hoarse, each word dragging out like it cost him more than he could afford. The faint smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth was enough to make you pause.

Who the hell manages to look smug while bleeding out on someone’s couch?

But the glimmer faded as quickly as it appeared, his body sagging further against the cushions. You pressed your lips together, swallowing the sarcastic retort building in your throat. There wasn’t time for quips or questions—only action. You unfolded a towel, your fingers brushing against the warm stickiness of his blood as you pressed it gently against the gash across his chest. The sharp hiss that escaped his lips was like a jolt of electricity, and you found yourself murmuring, “Sorry,” even as you kept the pressure firm. His skin was warm beneath the blood and fabric.

You worked quickly, your hands steady despite the rising tide of nerves gnawing at your insides. The fabric around the wound had been torn beyond recognition, and you didn’t waste a second as you cut through the ruined material with swift, practiced motions. Each snip of the scissors felt like a small victory, as though you could fix this, like the clean cut would somehow make everything better. You pressed a towel to his side, feeling the heat of his blood seep through the fabric, the warmth of it sending a chill up your spine. He winced at the pressure, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t pull away. His muscles, tense and coiled under your hands, were the only indication that this wasn’t just a minor scrape. His breath came out in shallow gasps, but he didn’t make a sound of protest.

“You’re awfully calm for someone who just broke into my apartment,” you said, your voice forced to sound lighter than it felt. The words were meant to cover the nerves crawling up your throat, to push away the uncertainty gnawing at you. Humor—it was the only defense you had left in this absurd situation.

He let out a soft laugh, though it sounded more like a wheeze. It was rough and ragged, like even that small act of amusement took everything he had left. “Didn’t break in. Fire escape’s fair game,” he managed to rasp out, his eyes fluttering closed again as though the effort of speaking had drained him further.

For a moment, you stopped, just long enough to take in his words. Fair game, huh? You couldn’t help but roll your eyes, despite the situation. So this is how he justifies sneaking into random apartments in the middle of the night.

“Right,” you muttered, your voice dry, trying to ignore the sick feeling twisting in your gut. You could feel the heat of his skin under your fingertips, the way his body trembled slightly despite his attempt to stay composed. You glanced at his face, the mask still in place, but now that you were up close, you could see the way his eyes flickered with exhaustion and pain. It was like something human was trying to push through all the bravado.

But you had to focus. The towel in your hand was already damp from his blood, and you pressed harder, trying to staunch the bleeding as much as possible. “This isn’t exactly how I pictured my night going,” you muttered, though your tone softened a bit as you reached for the first aid kit. Every instinct in your body told you to move fast, but there was something about him, even in this state, that kept you grounded.

Maybe because I’m not sure whether you’re about to pass out or punch me in the face, you thought, but didn’t say. Instead, you reached for the antiseptic, uncapping it with more precision than you felt, and prepared yourself for whatever came next.

His lips twitched again, a ghost of a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes, but it was enough to make you wonder if he was trying to find some amusement in the chaos that had spilled into your living room. It didn't make sense—how someone could be this battered, this close to breaking, and still manage to show any semblance of humor. But there it was, a quiet resilience you couldn't quite place.

He didn’t respond at first, just watching you work. His eyes, hidden behind the mask, still tracked every movement of your hands, each shift of your body as you carefully cleaned and bandaged the wound on his side. There was something almost unnerving about how still he was, like a predator waiting for the right moment to move, but in the context of the situation, it made him seem more human. Vulnerable.

“You do this often?” you asked, your voice lighter than you felt. It was a simple enough question, but it served to break the silence between you, the quiet hum of the apartment making the space feel far too small. You didn’t look up at him immediately, but you could feel the weight of his gaze still on your face, intense and steady.

“Hmm?” he responded, the sound rough in his throat, as though the effort to form words had started to exhaust him.

“Get beaten to hell and crash on random fire escapes?” you pressed, glancing up at him as you secured the bandage around his chest. You tried to mask the faint bitterness in your tone with humor, the question rolling off your tongue more to distract yourself than anything else. This whole situation felt like something out of a bad dream, and you needed to ground yourself. Even if it meant making jokes about the absurdity of it all.

He let out a breath, his lips pressing together for a moment as he thought, the flicker of amusement still lingering in his eyes. “Only when I’m not at home,” he said softly, his voice rough, barely a whisper, but the sarcasm was clear. The way he said it—like he'd done this enough times to know exactly how it would go—made something twist uncomfortably in your chest. This wasn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, and maybe it wouldn’t be the last.

You couldn’t help but huff out a soft laugh despite yourself, but it was more out of disbelief than humor. "That’s reassuring," you muttered, tightening the bandage with a firm pull. The night had turned stranger than you could’ve ever imagined, and all you could do was keep your hands steady as you finished the task, trying to ignore the fact that this was your reality now. For however long he was going to be here, this was your reality.

As you worked, you couldn’t help but wonder—what exactly had he been doing up there? Was it a routine mission gone wrong? Or was it something else, something far more dangerous than just a bad night on patrol?

But asking those questions, probing further, felt like it would unravel everything you were holding together. You were already way past the point of no return, anyway.

You leaned back on your heels, exhaling a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding. The tension in your shoulders eased slightly as you wiped your hands on one of the towels, the fabric already stained with his blood. The light in your apartment, dim as it was, highlighted the mess of the night: the empty first aid kit, the scattered towels, the faint smell of antiseptic in the air. Everything felt heavier now—like the weight of what had happened wasn’t just about this bleeding stranger in front of you, but about you, too, suddenly pulled into something far more dangerous than you'd signed up for.

"You need stitches, but that’s the best I can do right now," you said, your voice softening as you turned back to him. "Try not to tear the bandages before you... I don’t know, get some actual medical attention?"

You were trying to stay light, trying to keep your tone steady, but the words felt hollow. He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he pushed himself up with a grunt, the movement slow and stiff, his pain clear despite the faint determination in his eyes. He steadied himself against the arm of the couch, looking like he might collapse at any moment, but there was something else there too—something that made you stop, heart fluttering painfully in your chest.

He offered you a faint smile, the expression almost shy despite the rough edges of the night, his eyes meeting yours in that quiet, unexpected way that made the room feel too small.

"Thanks. Really," he said, his voice rasping, but genuine.

For a moment, all the noise of the world outside your apartment seemed to fall away. The sirens in the distance, the occasional sound of traffic, even the distant hum of the refrigerator—it all blurred into nothing as you just stood there, staring at him. His gaze was soft, more tender than you would’ve expected from someone who’d just crashed through your window with blood dripping from their body. It wasn’t that it was romantic, per se—at least, that wasn’t what you expected it to feel like. But there was something in the way he looked at you, something that made your heart skip a beat, something you couldn’t explain.

He didn’t move, didn’t look away, and for a long moment, neither did you. There was something raw in the quiet between you, as though both of you were momentarily suspended in this small, messy space. His smile was faint, but it was real—a fragile thing, born of pain and gratitude. You swallowed, suddenly aware of how close you were, how the distance between you had narrowed while you weren’t paying attention.

Before you could stop yourself, your hand moved, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm—just a gentle brush of your fingertips against his skin. You told yourself it was nothing, just checking if he was steady, but even as you pulled away, there was a spark. A quiet acknowledgment that this was different. The way his eyes followed the movement of your hand, the way he hesitated before his next breath, made the space between you feel charged, like something unspoken was hovering in the air.

"You're welcome," you whispered back, voice quieter than before, tinged with something you couldn’t quite define. There was a flicker of something in his gaze, an understanding, and for a moment, it felt like the world outside didn’t matter. It was just the two of you in that small, dimly lit room, suspended in time, with everything else forgotten.

And just like that, you both broke the moment—him leaning back into the couch with a soft grunt, and you turning your attention back to the bandages, your pulse still racing in your ears. But the quiet connection lingered, a soft hum under everything else.

ADDITIONAL NOTE! if you like my work , please consider reblogging and / or commenting . thank you if you do 🤍

[lolxdswag123]

Just friends?

Percy Jackson x reader

Warnings: making out, I think that’s it tbh

——————————————————————————

My brain was fried. I had been working on homework and studying for hours all week. I had just about isolated myself in the library, and even managed to get on a first-name basis with the librarian.

I regretted my decision to take so many credits this semester, but I just got so excited when I got into New Rome University that I went a little overboard. The only person who was taking more classes than me was Annabeth- of course. She had spent some time with me in the library this week, but other than that I hadn't gotten any social interaction outside of my classes. I knew my best friend Percy was probably wondering where I was.

I submitted a paper that I didn't even have the energy to proofread. I just was hoping for the best at that point. Just as I clicked submit, I got a text notification on my computer. It was such a relief to be able to use normal technology at school. It was so hard in the mortal world to constantly explain why I couldn't have phone.

The text was from Percy.

Where have you been? Haven't seen you all week

I smiled, immediately pulling out my phone to text him back.

Library. So much work :(

I glanced over at the window, seeing that the sun had begun setting. I sighed, pulling out some of my notes to begin studying. I only got a few minutes in before my brain couldn’t take in any more, and I checked my phone once again. Percy had responded.

Got any free time tonight?

I rolled my eyes. ‘Only for you’ I thought, although I decided not to text it.

What do you have in mind?

After I sent that text, I tried my best to give my attention to my notes. Again, I failed. I wasn’t sure my brain could take in another ounce of information without giving up on me.

I slowly packed up my belongings, deciding it would be best for me to just go back to my dorm. When I exited the library, it was dark. I quickly walked back to my room. As soon as I got there, I dropped my backpack, changing into comfortable clothes. My phone buzzed again.

Want to come over?

I yawned, considering it, then deciding I didn’t have the energy to leave my dorm tonight.

Can you come here?

I hadn’t even finished putting my hair up when he responded.

On my way

I smiled, unlocking the door and turning on my tv before getting comfortable on my bed.

I was relieved to be seeing him again after my extremely long week. When we were growing up, we had gotten used to only seeing each other in the summer. At college however, we saw each other at least four times a week. Even when it’s doing small things— walking to class, going to the dining hall— we had really gotten used to eachother’s presence this year. It felt weird to go a week without seeing him.

I also was slightly relieved that it would just be the two of us tonight. I loved Annabeth so much, but I honestly didn’t have the social battery to interact with more than one person after my mental exhaustion. Plus, Annabeth would be doing homework all weekend anyways.

A few minutes after I’d gotten comfortable, I heard a knock on the door. “Come in!” I called.

A moment later, my best friend came walking through the door with a plastic bag and a cup carrier in his hand. I smiled, standing to close and lock the door behind him.

“Hey,” he said, setting the drinks on my desk.

“What’s this?” I asked, gesturing to the bag.

He shrugged, holding it up slightly, “I just assumed you’d be too busy to think about eating, so I picked up some take out for us.”

I beamed up at him, gratefully taking the bag and thanking him.

After being best friends with someone for almost ten years, you really get to learn how they work. Percy always was one that hit the nail on the head when it came to my habits. He was right, I probably would have forgotten about dinner if he hadn’t brought it.

He kicked his shoes off, jumping onto my bed and pointing to the drinks, “I also got some hot chocolate, I wasn’t sure if you wanted any, but I was stopping anyway.”

I nodded, smiling at him, “Thank you, Percy. You’re the best.”

We both sat on my bed, watching the new season of Outerbanks together as we ate our dinner. I tried my best to pay attention to the show, but I couldn’t stop myself from yawning and zoning out.

When we both finished our food, Percy stood, taking the trash from my bed and throwing it into my trash can. I yawned again.

“You okay? I can go if you want to just go to bed,” he said.

I shook my head, “I’m okay,” I said, patting the spot next to me, “stay a little.”

I knew that I needed sleep, but I missed his presence. It felt weird that this was the first time seeing him in days.

I layed down on my bed, getting comfortable and yawning again. Percy paused the show, taking his place next to me again and laying on his side to face me.

“My mom called today,” he said quietly.

“Yeah?” I said, “how is she doing?”

He chuckled, “she’s good, she said she’s happy you and Annabeth are here to ‘keep me in check’,” he said, using air quotes on the last bit.

I laughed, “seems like it’s the other way around right now, I wouldn’t have even remembered dinner if you didn’t bring it to me.”

He paused, rolling onto his back and fiddling with the edge of his sweatshirt sleeve. He didn’t say anything, and I could immediately tell that something was off.

“What’s up?” I said, still facing him. I found myself staring at his pretty face, and thinking about what Annabeth had been saying to me earlier that week. She always said that Percy and I should ‘stop pretending and just get together.’

It definitely wasn’t something that I could say I’ve never considered, I just couldn’t risk ruining the friendship. I’d seen several of my college friends lose their friends by taking it a step too far. I would never recover if I made things awkward between us.

He interrupted my thoughts, when he spoke again. “Paul and my mom asked about you.”

I smiled, moving slightly closer to him to get more comfortable, “Oh yeah? What did they say?”

He looked back down at his sleeve, fiddling with it again. He paused for another moment, before saying, “Just like— they keep asking about us…”

I hesitated, having an idea of what he meant, but I decided to push, “What do you mean?”

He sighed, tossing his arms down to his sides and staring back at the ceiling, “They like… make assumptions— just because we hangout so much.”

I nodded, deciding to question him further, “We hangout with Annabeth too most of the time.”

He glanced over at me, opening his mouth like he was about to say something, but turned back to the ceiling and began playing with his sleeve again.

I leaned forward to rest a hand on his arm, which he glanced at, before looking back at the ceiling.

I took a deep breath, realizing that he wasn’t going to speak up, so I did. “So they’re inquiring into the nature of our relationship?”

He snapped his head over to me, brows furrowing in confusion.

I laughed, “They are asking if we’re really just friends?”

He turned his head back to face the ceiling, “Ohhhh, yeah. Pretty much.”

I nodded, removing my hand from his arm and propping myself up slightly to get a better look at his face.

“And what did you say?” I asked.

He turned on his side, fully facing me now, and propped himself up on his arm so we were looking at eachother.

He breathed in, before saying, “I said I’m not really sure.”

I nodded, looking into his eyes and knowing where this conversation was leading. We’d been putting it off for years. It scared me. I didn’t want to ruin our friendship, but looking into his sea-green eyes I knew that I couldn’t keep pretending.

“You’re not really sure?” I asked, cocking my head slightly to the side.

“I mean…” he started, and I watched his eyes scan my face before continuing, “I don’t know. It felt weird not seeing you this week. Like… I missed you.”

I laughed at his awkwardness, but said, “I missed you too, Percy.”

I swore I could see his gaze flicker down to my lips for a millisecond, but I chose to ignore it. It made me feel tense and my heart started racing.

He sighed, nodding, but sounding confident when he said,“What should I say then, next time they ask?”

I could feel my face heat up. I can’t keep dodging this. I can’t avoid it forever.

“What do you want to say?” I asked, trying to stall so that I wouldn’t have to make any decisions.

He pursed his lips, but didn’t lose his confidence, “I think it’d be fair to say that we’re not really just friends. And that we should have had this conversation a while ago.”

I nodded. Of course he knew what I was thinking. How could he not? We know each other almost as well as we know ourselves.

I swallowed, and my voice came out as a whisper, “I think that’d be fair to say.”

He nodded, and his gaze flickered down to my lips again, only slightly more noticeably this time.

I cleared my throat, my heart racing, “So if not friends, then what?” I asked quietly.

He searched my face, and I could feel his breath now. I wasn’t sure when we had gotten so close, but we were really close.

It’s not that I had never kissed a guy, I had. They’d all just been with people I never really cared about. I knew somewhere deep down that I would never really like anyone else. He was always in the back of my mind. And now with his breath on my face, I was nervous. We’d never crossed the line in our friendship beyond the occasional cuddle, but even that was rare.

“What do you want us to be?” He flipped the question on me, and his lip quirked into a small grin.

I paused, not knowing what to say. I searched his face, eyes focusing on his lips for a second longer than they should’ve.

“Can I be honest?” I whispered, eyes falling to his lips again before meeting his eyes.

He nodded, his eyes falling to my lips too. I could hear his breath quicken as the distance between us seemed to shrink.

“I’ve known we should’ve had this conversation for a long time, but now that we’re having it I don’t really know what to say,” I said, and his gaze returned to my eyes, “I really care about you, Percy.”

He nodded, “I really care about you, too.”

We stared at eachother, neither of us knowing what to do. Neither of us had ever been in a real relationship before. It was new territory for both of us. But of course Percy always knows exactly what to say.

“Will you go out with me? Tomorrow night?” He asked, before quickly saying, “Unless you have too much work, I mean.”

I smiled, feeling a fluttery sensation in my stomach before saying, “I’d love to.”

He nodded, scooting closer to me, “Yeah?”

I nodded, biting my lip and smiling, “Yeah.”

Our faces were inches from each other now. I let my gaze fall to his lips, and his hand reached out to rest on my jaw.

Slowly, he finally leaned in. His lips touched mine, softly at first, like he was scared that if he moved too fast, he might break me. I let out a soft exhale through my mode, and he pulled me closer, deepening the kiss. I could feel his hand slide from my jaw to the back of my neck, his fingers tangling in my hair.

We pulled away for a moment, both of us breathing heavy, and looking deeply into eachothers eyes. We both had massive grins painted on our face. Without a second thought, our lips were on eachothers again.

The room suddenly felt hot. My hands made their way to his chest, feeling the rapid beat of his heart beneath my finger tips. All I can think is— why did we wait so long? I let my fingers curl in his shirt, bringing him closer, as the kiss quickly grows more urgent, more intense.

He held me tightly, like he was afraid I might slip away. I felt his hand slide down to my waist, pressing me against him. I let out a quiet gasp as he pulled me onto his lap, firmly guiding me until I straddled him. Nothing else mattered. Just him, our lips, the feeling of our bodies so close together after so many years.

His fingers hesitantly trailed up under my shirt, the touch sending shivers through me as he let his fingertips move along my bare skin. I could feel my breathing pick up, my hands sliding up to his shoulders. I found the courage to tug at the hem of his shirt, pulling it up. He pulled away, breaking the kiss just long enough to let me lift it over his head, revealing the warm skin beneath. My hands explored his chest, his shoulders, feeling every inch of him as he watched me with that soft, intense gaze, like he’s waiting for my every move.

He slowly pushed my shirt up, and I shakily lifted my arms, letting him slide it off. When it was off, we locked eyes, still smiling like idiots. His hands quickly found my waist again, his fingers splaying across my back as he pulled me close, his lips finding mine once more. I could feel the warmth of his skin against mine, the slight brush of his chest as I pressed myself against him, feeling his heart racing just as fast as mine.

He grabbed my hips, encouraging me to move back and forth. I gasped into the kiss, and began grinding with his grip. We moved together, the friction between us heavy, and I let out a quiet moan. I couldn’t believe we were really doing this. I felt him shiver at the sound, his breath catching as he presses his forehead to mine, pulling away from the kiss but not stopping his movements.

“Gods,” he whispered, his voice rough, barely more than a breath. “I’ve wanted us for so long.”

I could almost feel tears prickle in my eyes, as I breathlessly replied, “Me too.”

He leaned down, kissing my neck with an intensity that I never knew he was capable of. He nipped and kissed, only pausing to mumble, “Since we were 15.”

His confession sent a surge of warmth through me, my hands moving to explore his back, tracing the muscles there. The muscles that I was so familiar with. That I’d seen in battle countless times.

I felt him shudder, his grip on my waist tightening as he lifted his head from my neck, pressing me against him with a need that matched my own. I rolled my hips, feeling the heat build, and he let out a low, breathless groan, his fingers digging into my skin as he joined our lips together again.

Our kiss was electric, heavy, and full of everything we wanted to say and do to each other for years. I leaned into him, pressing my forehead to his, feeling the warmth of his skin. My eyes welled when he stopped moving our hips together, and I saw the soft, vulnerable smile that played at his lips as he whispered my name like a promise.

I whispered his back, feeling my heart fill with an affection that I’d been holding back all these years.

We stayed like that for a while, embracing each other with a few soft, stolen kisses every now and then. We whispered to each other about how happy we were, and he suggested a few dinner places for tomorrow night.

Eventually, we decided to lay down together, but when I finally got comfortable he sat up, saying it’s late and he should probably let me sleep.

I shook my head, rolling my eyes, “Stay, dummy.”

He smiled brightly, and layed back down, embracing me again. We fell asleep like that, only to be woken up the next morning by a knock on my door. I hadn’t been expecting anyone, but I nudged Percy awake.

We looked at each other, wide eyed, and scrambled to find our shirts and fix our appearances.

The knock came again.

“Just a second!” I called out, combing through my hair with my fingers as Percy carefully straightened out my blankets. He gave me a thumbs up when it looked satisfactory.

I nodded, turning to open the door. There stood Annabeth, open notebook in hand, not looking up yet but saying, “Gods, what took you so long?”

I looked at Percy for help, before hesitantly saying, “Sorry, my room was a mess.”

She furrowed her eyebrows, looking up suspiciously, when her eyes caught on Percy. She smirked, closing her book and looking between us.

She checked her watch with a knowing smirk, “Wow, Percy, what are you doing here so early?”

I could feel my face heat up, as Percy struggled to find his words.

“I- uhhh… yeah…” he so eloquently said.

Annabeth shook her head, smiling at us. “It’s about time. I’m going to the library, was just going to see if you wanted to come, but obviously you’re already occupied.” She said, turning and walking back down the hall.

I closed the door as she walked away, and Percy’s face was just as bright red as mine felt.

We stared at eachother for a moment, both of us unsure of what to do.

“Wanna get back in bed?” Percy asked, scratching the back of his neck.

I smiled, taking his hand and dragging him back up to my bed. “I’d love to.”

[unknownplane]

The Court Jester Part 1

Yandere Batfam x GN Reader

Pt. 2, Pt. 3, Pt. 4

"How did this happen?" the man who claimed to be my father asked.

"It started when I was young. My mother was close friends with Bruce Wayne. So when she died, he decided to take me in. Looking back on it now, I can tell it was just so he could have a piece of her even though she was gone. He, like many other men were infatuated with the idea of her and what could happen if they had her. That is how I came along. Someone couldn't keep their hands to themselves. Nobody, but my father knows that they are my father. We have tried finding him before, but there has been no luck.

I was 4 when I was brought to the manor. Bruce, overwhelmed with anguish, couldn't even look at me as I had my mother's features. Alfred showed me around. I even got to meet my new brother Richard, better known as Dick. An accurate nickname because as soon as he met me, he decided he did not want to be around me. That was fine. I was still dealing with the loss of my mother. As time went on, I felt as if I was forgotten. Bruce was busy throwing himself into "work" and he only needed Dicks help. It didn't take me long to figure out who he was. With all the bruises and tension around the house when things got bad in Gotham anyone living in that house could tell he was Batman. He had claimed he didn't want me to get hurt that's why he never asked for help but I knew it was because I looked like mom. I had her (h/c) (h/t) hair and her (e/c) eyes.

A couple of years later, a new boy came into the mix. His name was Jason Todd. He was okay. He didn't really know when to stop, though. I heard a lot of fights between him and Bruce. He talked to me sometimes when we had time. I was in school getting good grades and he was a Robin so we didn't have much time for each other. But then he died, and I had no one again. Even when he did come back, he came back changed he no longer cared for me. He was harsh. Ruined.

Then there was Tim Drake. He was really nice at the beginning, but he got busy and sleep deprived, so I stopped reaching out. I didn't want to take up his time as he had an actual job.

Then Stephanie Brown came, and I realized that there was a pattern. These people were too busy for me. I should stay out of their way and not be a burden as I have proven to be before.

It was like that until Damian came. He was unlike all the other Robins. He was mean and brutal. It was around this time that I started to reach out to the family. I had realized I had severe depression and self esteem issue from being the only one in this family that did not excel at anything. When I reached out, he was the one who but me back in my place. He was the one who told me to stay in the background where I belonged. And I might have if I was still the child that came here unwillingly at 3 years old, but I am no longer that child. I am an adult who has a degree in psychology and has a stable job. So I left.

When I first moved out, the first person I told was my online friend. I had been in contact with him since I was 5. He was like a father to me. He was very happy for me and told me, "You are finally free from that dreadful house!" and I couldn't agree more. I stayed in contact with him over the years, and our bond strengthened.

Then, one day, not even a month after I left the manor, he asked to meet up. I agreed. We met up at an abandoned wearhouse. He had told me he was a wanted man, so I did not mind. When I saw him, my face lit up as did his. We talked about a lot of things that night. One of which was if I wanted to help him in his endeavor. Chaos. And I gladly agreed as I would do anything for him as he was my father.

He soon started training me. Making sure I could deal with pain and know how to fight. The first week was agony, but then we both realized something. No matter how badly I was injured, it never had reproductions as the injuries would heal almost supernaturally. So soon, we started experimenting. Of course, I still felt pain, but anything for my dad. We found that no matter what happened to me, I couldn't die.

Then, I became strong enough to take part in one of his acts. Which leads us to now. Dies that answer your question?" I say, looking into the desperate eyes of The Batman with an elongated smile. Glee shined in my eyes as I finally had his attention.

"But SHHHH dad doesn't want to know your secret identity! Says it would ruin all the fun!" I proclaim. My teeth are fully showing as I giggle.

"What did I do wrong?" Bruce whispers to himself. As if he didn't already know. This was all his fault, and now the last piece he had of (M/N) was out of reach.

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

Hello!! This is my first time writing on Tumbler and just wanted to say Hi. Please let me know if you want this to continue. If it does, updates would probably be slow as I am in college and am using this as an artistic outlet. Thank you so much for reading!!

[chuluoyi]

I'm thinking about Megumi's sister, who went to magic school with him. who was trained by Gojo. who fell in love with Gojo. who dared to confess her feelings to him. and which Satoru rejected, saying that he was too old for her

it doesn't have to be something obscene… so if you like this idea, then please write something!

belong with me

- gojo satoru x reader

the strongest sorcerer is your savior. you know he is far from your reach... but is it so wrong to love him—after the years you spent by his side?

genre/warnings: angst to fluff, a bit slow burn, age gap, one-sided pining, mentions of injury, comfort, teacher!gojo x student!reader

notes: omg omg i actually really like this idea!! i had wanted to write this since you sent this ask but i was struggling with the setting, so i tweaked minor things so that it’ll fit the canon timeline—reader is megumi’s cousin rather than sister.

and *sigh* it somehow turned out into a 4k+ word🤧

general masterlist

What is Gojo Satoru to you?

If asked that, Megumi would definitely say that he owed both of your lives and his sister’s to him. Following the chaos too complicated for you to understand that left the three of you orphaned at the age of six, Gojo Satoru, who were just barely an adult himself then, was the one who stepped in to take all of you in.

But to you, he was more than just that. He was many things. Your savior, mentor, friend, and... you daresay, first love.

And because of that, you would never thought that there’d come a time when your heart was really broken by him.

At first, Gojo Satoru felt like a big brother to you. Megumi was suspicious of him since the very beginning—his skepticism was funny sometimes—but you and Tsumiki weren’t as much.

He easily became your friend. You would laugh for hours to end after he cracked the stupidest or lamest of jokes. He made the fact that curses exist and that you were somehow able to keep them at bay more bearable.

And when Tsumiki fell into her curse… Gojo was there to bring you comfort.

“Why isn’t she waking up?” Your hands were shaking as you frantically poked and nudged your kind cousin from her peaceful slumber at the hospital bed. The smell was suffocating—the sight was unbearable. Tsumiki was supposed to be bouncing up and keeping both you and Megumi at bay, not lifelessly lying here like this.

Facing Gojo, who had a tight-lipped expression beside you, you pleaded, "Gojo-sensei—" your glassy eyes welled up, voice choked with tears, "—make her wake up, please..."

And that was the first time he broke your heart. Even the strongest couldn’t lift this cruel curse posed upon your kind sister.

Your throat tightened, choked with painful whimpers as tears flowed uncontrollably. Sudden grief overwhelmed you, making you sway and shake like a leaf. At first, you didn’t notice how a pair of warm hands enveloped you, drawing you close for comfort.

Gojo allowed you to cry against him while you pounded on his chest. Not a word came out of his lips, a telltale sign that he was taking the situation seriously—something you, above anyone else, understood well.

From then on—ever since the tragedy that befell Tsumiki, it seemed like Gojo became even more protective of you but stricter with Megumi. The two of you eventually pursued the path of jujutsu, driven by one wishful thinking in mind—the possibility to break Tsumiki’s curse.

Encountering Gojo became a daily routine when you lived at the dormitory as a first year at Jujutsu High. He frequently dropped by just to greet you, or give you some things he got from his missions.

"Here," Gojo handed you the package of a popular kikufuku store. With that blindfold on and a shit-eating grin split his face, he actually looked so ridiculous. "I got you all their available flavors! Trust me, you'll like them!"

Against your own will, you felt rosy blush spreading across your cheeks. "Oh, thank you... I'll give some to Megumi as well, he's been working hard lately..."

"Ehh?" he pursed his lips. "No, no, no—they're for you! Don't give them to that emo kid!"

There was absolutely nothing significant about how he worded it. You were well aware of that—only a fool wouldn't be.

So why are you so giddy? Hah, why do you feel like you're... special?

"Don't call him emo," you chided, trying to suppress your smile.

"But he is! He's always grouchy with me without reason!"

Throughout your childhood, and now as you were entering adulthood yourself, Gojo's presence in your life still felt like a comforting, warm blanket—a dependable presence you could rely on, someone you could trust completely.

And apparently, someone you had unwittingly given your heart to.

It was a gradual process. You didn't fall for him at first sight or anything of the sort—it took years of being under his protection. Even as you watched him pursue one girl after another from the sidelines, you couldn't deny it—your heart was already his since then.

He always knew what to say, how to cheer you up.

"What's got you so down, huh?" Gojo asked, tousling your hair gently as you slouched. "Is it because of earlier? Don't be so down, you're doing great."

You fidgeted with your fingers, feeling the sting of failure twisting your gut. "I held everyone back, sensei. That's not great at all."

In the last mission, you nearly put Yuji and Nobara's lives in danger. You had taken the initiative to step into the cursed room, and had it not been for Megumi who came to your rescue, any one of you could have sustained significantly more severe injuries.

Gojo offered you a lopsided smile. "You couldn't have known that. Don't beat yourself up so much. The most important thing is that all of you are safe."

"But we might not, all because of my daring ass."

"Look."

He squatted to meet your eye level, and it dawned on you that he wasn't wearing that blindfold. "The fact is that everyone is good. And no, even if Megumi wasn't there, you wouldn't have been doomed. I would have been there, I always have, yeah?"

He was truly a sight, with that sparkling eyes even more so when he smiled unabashedly, voice not as playful as his tone usually was.

"That doesn't make me feel better," you replied, forcing out the words even as you were somewhat awestruck. "It doesn't change the fact that I'm inadequate."

"You're a first year," Gojo pointed out. "Everyone is bound to make mistakes. You just have to learn from them."

"In our line of work, those mistakes can cost us lives." You chewed your lip, looking down. "I—I don't want to be responsible for someone's death."

Your words left Gojo momentarily speechless. His blue eyes blinked several times as though he was taken aback, and you felt even more small—you had just revealed your deepest fear to him.

But suddenly, he laughed right in your face, prompting you to shoot him a glare. Just as you were about to retort, he rested his palm on your head.

"Do you seriously think I will allow that to happen?" Gojo queried with a wide grin and snarky tone. "To you, out of everyone else?"

You gazed at him in a daze, feeling self-conscious with his warm hand on your head. He'd likely done this a hundred times already, but you could never get past the sensation of his gentle touch on your skin. You yearned for more—for him to cradle your face, to caress you, to draw you closer—

“The obvious answer is, I won't,” he declared so surely, exuding unwavering confidence. You blinked, marveling at how his words made your heart soar and your breath catch. “So stop thinking about scary things. I'm here, remember?”

How was there a person who was such a perfect blend of the man of your dreams—smug, but also funny, caring and strong, like Gojo Satoru was?

Was it a sin to harbor these feelings for him? He has always been kind to you, and if you daresay it, fond of you as well. Is there a possibility—

Really, you should have known your boundaries.

"I think..."

And yet your heart screamed, for whatever it's worth—

"...I love you..."

Why couldn't you see that this was doomed right from the start?

"—Gojo-sensei."

You were breathless. Your wildly thumping heart drowned out almost everything else. Your hands were sweaty, and you braved yourself to meet his eyes.

And when you did, you knew heartbreak for the second time—

The way his smile faltered a bit, yet he forced it upwards, perhaps to spare your feelings.

Just as he always has. Ever since he rescued you back then, he would do these silly things so you would feel better.

"I'm flattered, you know?" Gojo gazed at you genially. "But I think—"

"You don't understand." What am I even insisting? "I... like you so much, Gojo-sensei. All this time."

It was supposed to be your final card. Baring everything to him. How grateful you were that he took you in, the kindness he showed you, Megumi and Tsumiki, those sleepless nights after Tsumiki fell into coma that he spent with you, sharing shaved ice on the hottest, cruelest summer...

"You're almost half my age," he stated matter-of-factly, and a sinking feeling settled in your stomach. "You're mistaking love for admiration. That's it."

"No! I know how I feel—"

"You should find someone your age," Gojo added while maintaining his smile. "There are good guys out there. Toge is nice—ah, but his cursed technique might be a little troublesome. Yuji is earnest and honest..."

You have never thought that there’d come a time where your heart was really broken by him. But he just did, as he listed all your friends without any regard to your feelings.

Suddenly, a wave of resentment surged within you, prompting you to hiss and cut him off.

"You're always like this," your eyes had started to well up with tears, but you ignored it. His puzzled expression only fueled your frustration.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

You felt ashamed, but in hindsight you should've probably expected this. You didn't have anyone else to blame but yourself. You knew it wasn't fair to lay the blame on Gojo like now—he was merely on the receiving end of the brunt of your heartbreak.

You hated this. You hated yourself. And you couldn't help but to hate him too, despite knowing that you shouldn't.

With that, you dashed away, tucking away your first love to the furthermost part of your heart, swearing that you'd never, ever revisit that chapter of your life again.

Ain't that just the worst thing to hear?

Witnessing your tear-streaked face as you hurried past him left him stunned, rooted in place.

In no way was Gojo Satoru going to romance his own student. You were quite literally his protege and his other protege’s sister. That was simply out of the question. Not that he was the model of propriety, but even he knew that was not right.

And it didn’t have anything to do with the fact whether he did see you as a woman or not, because even if he did, it shouldn’t make a difference.

Right? It won’t change anything.

Because it was how it was supposed to be.

It was probably one of the forms of tantrum—or whatever it was labeled—in the end, it was simply a reaction to not achieving what you wanted.

For years, Gojo had shielded you and Megumi from the Zen’in clan. They were horrible people, and you were eternally grateful that Gojo went to great lengths for you, always swatting them away before they could get close to either of you.

Now that you thought about it, who they really wanted was Megumi. Your cousin held the quintessential Zen'in talent, while your modest Projection Sorcery wasn't particularly rare among the clan. Still, they sought you as well, merely to bolster their prestige with another member.

Normally, you wouldn't think such things. But you weren't in the best state of mind, muddled by your blind heartbreak. It skewed your mindset to one of the extremes.

And then you got this terrifyingly brilliant idea—what if you turned yourself to them? Surely the Zen’in would be sated for a while and stop bugging Megumi.

And you didn’t have to see Gojo as often too.

This went against everything he had done to ensure your safety. But that was the first thing that entered your mind when Zen’in Naoya accosted you by chance.

"We're family," he stated with a smirk, sending a shiver down your spine, an unsettling feeling washing over you. "We wouldn't harm you. Why waste your time being Gojo's little errand girl, huh?"

This was easier, or at least that was the illusion you attempted to persuade yourself with.

Naoya left with you with a meaningful "Think about it."

And the more you thought about it, the more you leaned towards the scenario you had thought to be unimaginable before—leaving Gojo behind.

Two months had passed since then, and it was time for the Kyoto Goodwill Exchange event. Gojo remembered this being one of the most exciting moments during his youth, and he sincerely wished that you would have fun too, even with all that had been going on between you.

He knew he was the one who said Yuji would be good. But he wanted to backtrack when he saw him getting punched by Todo. Nah, Yuji was too stupid, he wouldn’t want that for your match. Must be someone else… who was stronger, better.

And then he was even more beside himself when he saw you with Mechamaru.

Like really? That tin soldier? You could definitely have someone more human. He surely didn’t approve of the sight of you getting friendly with that suspicious scrap of metal!

"Hah," he grumbled to himself. Was it just him or were young boys these days simply too subpar?

Yuji is too risky, after all, he is also Sukuna's vessel. Todo... no way, he can crush you with one hand... Panda is a panda...

As if the roster wasn't bad enough, he was met with the most bewildering sight.

Never would have Gojo thought that someway or another, he would see you with that obnoxious Zen'in spawn who called himself the heir.

Before he could grasp his actions, he stomped right into the midst of where the two of you were—

. . .

You were a step away from agreeing to a whole load of new mess, until wind got knocked out of your lungs as you were harshly yanked from behind—

—and the next thing you knew, a broad back was in front of you.

“What do you want?” a low voice, almost foreign to your ears. But this man before you was Gojo Satoru himself, just way sterner than he usually was.

You were caught off guard by his tight grip on your wrist, his dark gaze fixed on the Naoya.

“Ah, don't be like that, please.” Naoya dismissed with a wave of his hand. "I'm just saying that it's been too long already for you to play the benefactor. She ought to be with the family, where she rightfully belongs."

Gojo seemed to grow more imposing, his sneer deepening. "And by family you mean you?"

The atmosphere grew tense as the exchange between them continued, each word laden with underlying tension.

"Hah, Gojo-sama, you really think you're so high and mighty, don't you? I'll have you know that she, and by extension, the Fushiguro boy, are Zen'ins. No matter how—"

Naoya's words seemed to falter as Gojo's presence intensified. There was this thick electricity in the air, and you almost shuddered when he spat, "Leave."

He couldn't possibly murder another great clan's heir, no matter how much he might have been able to. It would incite a strife that would make his eyes hurt. He just had to scare him off.

And he did. Naoya went with his tail tucked behind him, and that was one problem taken care of. Now Gojo just had one other thing to deal with—

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his tone sharp and accusing, before he even properly faced you. "Since when did you start meeting up with him?"

You hadn’t talked to him ever since your botched confession, but with the way it seemed, he was acting quite normal. It irked you.

"That's hardly your business," you retorted with a hiss.

Your responses seemed to grate him. "Oh? What do you mean it's not?"

"He is right, isn't he? I'm a Zen'in. There is no need for you to go out of your way to keep me under your wing. I can always go back to them."

"Are you—" His frustration was evident and it was quite possibly the first time you saw him direct this at you. "You can't go to them—"

"Sure," you mocked, wrenching your wrist away from his grasp. "I'm telling you, I'm not a child, Gojo-sensei. Please stop telling me what should and I should not do."

"That's not what I'm getting at. I've told you how horrible that place is, your place definitely isn't there."

"And? Where should I be?" you huffed challengingly. "Please, don't tell me that it's your cue to say that it's by your side. Because both of us know it's not."

Gojo didn't know what frustrated him more, the fact that you somehow fell into whatever it was that Naoya had whispered to your ear or how bratty you were being right now. Unwittingly, he let his own pettiness slip out, "You know what? You're being quite childish right now."

He convinced himself that, having practically raised you, he was entitled to have a say in major decisions in your life. He wouldn't let the Zen'in take Megumi away, let alone you.

Your face went scarlet with repressed anger. "So be it then."

With that, you stalked away, and just like how you went away from him the first time, Gojo could only stare at you in silence.

How had your relationship with him turned this sour? Was it the wrong thing to not acknowledge your confession before? He sincerely thought you would realize the implications behind your own words and snap out of that ideal version of him you had in mind—because he knew best that he wasn’t made for this.

Girls your age must want a taste of young love. He understood that, but it couldn’t be with him. It had to be someone else.

He resumed his musings earlier before he found you out with Naoya. And he finally came to a conclusion, that Yuta was the best match. Shame he was still away somewhere in Africa.

When Yuta got back, he would introduce him to you. Yuta was strong, kind, and he wouldn’t hurt you. And it would do him good too to have someone who cares about him.

Gojo Satoru never made flawed judgements. He knew this was the best approach, and yet why was there still this stifling feeling in his gut… at the idea of you being with someone—god forbid—who isn't him?

Not long after, a sinking feeling gnawed at him at the chaotic mess surrounding the Kyoto Goodwill event.

At first Gojo thought it was the standard worry. He chalked it up to all of his students were trapped inside this curtain that specifically forbid him to enter. Naturally, he would worry for his students; after all, he was their teacher.

But when he saw you fell on your knees with what seemed like a stem of cursed flower perched on your chest, he knew it was something else.

You were gasping for breath, clutching your chest in pain while Panda supported your weakened form, and seeing you like that apparently was too much for him. For the first time, Gojo regretted his decision. He shouldn't have pursued the enemy first. He should have gone to you first.

His instinct took over as he swiftly tore you away from Panda’s arms, drawing you close to his chest. His mind went blank, but he forced himself to focus on you, on what was causing you pain. "Y/N, calm down—"

"It hurts—!" you whimpered, digging your nails into his arm tightly, tears streaming down your face. "It hurts so much... I-I..."

For Gojo, this was a form of torture he hadn't realized before. For him, seeing you smile should have been the default, not this sobbing, injured, vulnerable state you were in now.

"I'll take you to Shoko. You'll be fine," he murmured decisively into your ear as you slumped against him. His grip around you tightened, and he repeated, "You'll be fine, I promise."

In the midst of your foggy mind, a realization struck—this was the second time you were ever held in his arms. And much like the first time, you felt an overwhelming sense of security.

Ah, but he had rejected you. You should know your place. You really should because pining on someone who didn't want you wasn't a wise thing to do.

But just this once...

Stupid. You were stupid indeed.

Because you chose to bask in this very short fantasy, fervently wishing that the heavens would grant you this sweet dream of him holding you in his arms like just this for a little longer.

As Gojo quietly observed you resting after being tended by Shoko, numerous thoughts swirled through his mind.

"I hate how you constantly treat me like a child!"

That was not true. He didn't mean to treat you like a child, because you were indeed not. You were a grown woman now, no longer the crying child consoled by Tsumiki and protected by Megumi as you were back then.

Once, you were this young bud he was meant to nurture into strength, but now despite himself, he saw you more as a woman rather than his protege. He wanted to see you bloom into this pretty girl he had always known you were, always innocent and protected—and a selfish part of himself would add: preferably by himself.

You were so serene. You looked so soft too as you laid there. Gojo thought this wasn't quite right and he couldn't quite get the image of you screaming in pain out of his peripheral thoughts.

Had he truly fallen? This strong urge to protect you, ensure your happiness, see you always smiling—it was as if these emotions were suddenly planted, but immediately establishing themselves like deep-rooted feelings that wouldn't fade away easily.

No, actually... who was he kidding? It was what he had kept to himself for a while now. He just refused to acknowledge these feelings out of the misguided sense of propriety.

It was all he could think of from the moment you passed out until you awakened. He pasted a smile on his face when you opened your eyes to his face.

"Ah, Gojo-sensei..." you mumbled, still disoriented. The way you looked at him was as if you were spooked, to say the least, and it bugged him. "Sorry, how long have I passed out?"

"Just a few hours. Are you okay? Do you still feel the pain?"

"Uh... a bit, but I'm okay..."

Normally, he never seemed to run out of things to talk about with you. This was too obvious. You were uncomfortable with him, and he noticed it.

You also seemed acutely aware of this immensely awkward situation. Having spent the majority of your life with him, you used to be open and at ease around him. But now, it wasn't the same. All because of your reckless confession before.

You spent the first few hours with occasional silence. Eventually, Gojo stepped away for a while, leaving behind a lingering sense of discomfort instilled within you.

You remembered the feeling of being in his arms. Once again, he saved you. The least you could do is to express your gratitude.

I don’t like this. It had been two months already. You had to put an end to this unbearable tension. You couldn't force him to return your feelings—you understood that now. And to make it to the way it used to be, you had to make it clear to Gojo too.

And so when he was back to your room, you braved yourself again. For the second and last time.

"Gojo-sensei," you breathed out, willing your shaky hands at bay. "I'm sorry to make you uncomfortable. Please forget what I said before."

What is this now? Gojo blinked, stopping right in his tracks, somehow hearing how you started with a "sorry" didn't sit well with him.

You continued. "Maybe you are right. I'm grateful for you, I look up to you... for the longest time, I might even have idolized you."

Wait...

"But it isn't love," you said with finality, looking away. "This is me admiring you, for all things you have done for me. And even if it is, I still can't force you to look at me in that way."

Gojo could only gaze at you in silence, a storm raging inside his chest. This was what he had hoped you would realize when you confessed your feelings back then, but now—

"I don't like how... we are now," you gulped. "And it's my fault. So I'm taking it back—"

“No, just—” This wasn’t right. Gojo knows it, but why is he saying this? “Just wait for a minute.”

You started as someone he wanted to protect, along with Megumi and Tsumiki. And then you grew up right in front of his eyes. Someone like you, who had gone through many horrors in life ever since young should have someone dependable and strong who could make you happy.

But then Gojo thought, he didn’t like how others looked at you. Heck, in his eyes, they were inadequate for you, if anything.

“Sensei?” you looked up to him with that doe eyes of yours, and Gojo Satoru felt like this was enough.

To hell with you finding someone your age.

He was strong—the strongest, and if it’s him, he most definitely could protect you far better than anyone.

He could make you laugh—had been for years already, and nothing would stop him now.

He would be damned should you somehow go to the grubby hands of the Zen’in.

“Keep your eyes on me,” his somber voice said then, causing your heart to skip a beat in response.

In short, he was better-suited for you more than anyone else ever could, in every possible aspect.

Apparently he was right. Your place was by his side, after all.

“…because from now, I might start looking at you too.”

[evergone]

Lonely

Theodore Nott x Legilimens! reader

Warnings: Swearing.

Description: The reader has no friends until destiny (in the form of a boy named Theodore Nott) does everything to make her feel like she belongs.

In your first year, you were put in a dorm by yourself. You heard so many times that this was a gift — a sign of your good fortune, Professor Trelawney said — as everyone else in your year group had to share with someone else, but you, the introvert you were, were left to your own devices. Despite these assumptions, you quickly discovered that sharing a dorm was central to establishing friendships, and you spent the vast majority of your high school life friendless and alone.

At times, your boredom and your loneliness were so all-encompassing that you would read the minds of the first years who you knew wouldn’t be capable of sensing the imposition upon their thoughts. None of them thought of much. The boys were preoccupied with daydreams of girls and music (most of them were very into hip-hop as was the popular culture of the nineties), and the girls were nearly all stressing about parties and school work.

You were as much at ease with your situation as one could possibly be. You were of the mindset that if there was nothing you could do about it, why bother? Everyone had their cliques, their friends, and you were just the one to be left out. Your only goal was to get through the remaining year, then you would leave school, rent a house somewhere obscure, become a writer or an archaeologist or something else fun, and start your life over again. But it appeared that destiny had other plans.

Destiny, that supreme, omniscient, omnipotent concept that dwindled above and twisted within the interactions of all peoples, came to you in a free period you were spending in the library. The period before had been Charms, but that was of no consequence, neither was the fact that you had no more classes until later that night when you would make the journey to the Astronomy tower. You were sitting at a desk in the far left corner of the library, tucked between the pages of a number of books written by Z-named authors of some incredibly niche portion of history when Madam Pince’s high-pitched and troubled voice disturbed your rather unproductive attempts to finish your homework.

Ever bored, and hardly ever entertained, you leant to the side to see around the long bookcase. To your surprise, your eyes immediately met with a pair of blue ones. The irises were mere spots lost in the oceans of colour and they darted between you and Madam Pince, desperate for assistance. Behind those eyes, you could hear his mind asking for your help. If you was slightly smarter, you would’ve avoided this person’s gaze altogether and returned to your work.

“Madam Pince,” you said before allowing yourself a moment to think, and the frustrated librarian’s head turned to you in owl-like frustration, “Is everything okay?”

“Not at all,” she said, her voice an angry whisper, “Mr Nott should be in class, instead, he’s here violating my books!”

You glanced at the owner of the eyes. The green lining of his robe told you he was from your house, so you knew him even if only from afar. He hung out with the big group of your housemates most of the time, but you’d observed that he often sat by himself in the common room and the others intruded on his personal time. He was tall — probably six feet or so — and thin, with hair that was darker than blond, but most definitely not as dark as some of his friends’ hair. In the traditional sense, he was handsome, but you’d heard him speak in class before, and his voice bore an awkward intonation as if to speak was to curse which made him seem almost as nerdy as yourself. Despite this, every movement he made seemed elegant no matter his emotion, this was so inherent of a feature that even in that moment — when he was so clearly itching to turn and run — he was like a swan. His name was Theodore Nott, and you’d never spoken to him before.

“He’s supposed to be helping me with my homework,” you blurted out and Madam Pince quirked a pencilled-on eyebrow, “You know I’m terrible with, uh, Ancient Runes.” You both had that class together.

“Yeah,” nodded Theo as he stepped around her and stood by your side, “The professor said it was okay, I’m surprised she didn’t tell you.”

“As am I,” she frowned, “Tell her not to let this happen again.”

“Yes, Madam.”

With an irritated hum, she left the two of you alone. Theo turned to face you once she was out of earshot, and let out a sigh of relief before sitting down on the edge of the desk you were at.

“You’re in Slytherin,” he said obviously, “What year?”

You sucked in a breath of air, “Sixth. Yours.”

“Oh.”

His brain exploded with a million thoughts at once, his conscious and subconscious fighting for dominance. You could hear the embarrassment as he reprimanded himself for not knowing, and the confusion as he searched his memories for some sign that he had, in fact, seen you before.

“We have Potions together, and Astronomy, and Divination, and Ancient Runes, and… most of our classes, actually.” You shrugged without a care.

Theo cringed, “Sorry. I don’t think I’ve ever noticed you before.”

“I don’t really make my presence known,” you said, “So don’t worry about it.”

“I’m Theodore Nott,” he introduced himself, hand outstretched towards you, “What’s your name? I don’t want to make the same mistake next time.”

“Y/n L/n,” you said and shook his hand. It was soft and had no callouses at all.

“I best be off, I’m missing Arithmancy.”

“Boring.”

“You’re telling me,” he chuckled and left the library.

Over the course of that afternoon, you were unable to tear your mind away from Theo, and none of your homework was completed as a result. You didn’t go to dinner in the Great Hall. Your mind was much too preoccupied to eat.

At eleven-thirty, your alarm sounded, and you washed your face in preparation for Astronomy. Professor Sinistra demanded that all her students wore their uniforms for her classes, even if said classes were at midnight, but there wasn’t a single person who ever did that other than Hermione Granger. Everyone else tended to pull their robes overtop their pyjamas and call it a day, yourself included.

The lesson wasn’t all that interesting as Sinistra had the class chart some stars for the whole hour. However, you barely managed to get anything done because you were so distracted by Theo who was sitting peacefully at the opposite side of the tower amongst his friends. Including Theo, there were five of them (you didn’t include Crabbe and Goyle, who you always thought were less friends than goons, or Millicent Bulstrode or Tracey Davis, both of whom you knew were periodically hated by the others). Two girls, three boys.

Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, Blaise Zabini, Draco Malfoy, and finally, Theo. At seventeen, his hair was a mostly consistent length of woody brown curls that sat fluffily on his head — if anything it was maybe a bit shorter on the sides. His eyebrows were thick as they always were, and in that particular Astronomy lesson, they were hard pressed against the tips of his long eyelashes that seemed almost too feminine to belong to him. By far the most intriguing and attractive aspect of Theo was, of course, the prominent mole on his left cheek that stole your attention away from a tight-lipped smile he had thrown your way.

Your immediate reaction was to blush and avert your eyes, but upon glancing back and noticing he was still staring, you offered him a short wave. He nodded in response before turning to Draco and saying something too far away for you to hear.

The next morning, or, perhaps, later that morning is the right expression, you went to breakfast in the Great Hall. Not having eaten dinner the night prior had left you so completely starving. You could’ve eaten a pegasus. You sat down on the edge of the Slytherin table by yourself, and loaded a plate with two eggs, about five slices of bacon (it very well could have been more, your memory isn’t perfect), a piece of toast, and a spoonful of baked beans.

“Where are all your friends?”

You looked up to see Theo standing over you chewing on the end of a breadstick.

“Why do you ask?” you questioned.

“Because you’re sitting here by yourself and it looks a bit pathetic, L/n,” laughed Theo teasingly.

“I don’t really have any friends.”

“Oh,” said Theo, “Sorry I asked.”

You shrugged, and as he glanced to the middle of the table you shoved as much of the baked beans into your mouth as possible, and quickly swallowed them. Merlin’s beard, you were so embarrassed.

“Give me a sec,” he said absentmindedly and you almost thought to use your Legilimency on him, “I’ll be right back.”

He placed his breadstick in front of you as if it were a deposit meant to reassure you that he’d be back, but you weren’t fazed either way. You watched as he jogged over to his group of friends and started chatting with them, but never sat down. With his right hand, he motioned back at you, and you glanced away as the rest of them turned to get a good look at you. Suddenly, you were concerned about how well your makeup was applied, and if your uniform looked good, and if there was still too much food on your plate. And then, all of them stood up with their plates, and followed Theo over to sit around you.

Most of them sat on the other side of the table, but Theo sat next to you, and Blaise by his other side. He introduced you to everyone: Goyle, Crabbe, Draco, Pansy, Daphne, Blaise, himself (“but you know me already,” he’d joked).

“It’s crazy to think we don’t know you despite being in the same house as you for the past six years,” said Daphne and Pansy elbowed her in the waist, sending her a death glare.

“Excuse her,” Pansy smiled awkwardly, “She’s a bitch.”

Your ears tickled at the word. You weren’t used to people calling those they were friends with such vulgar names… You weren’t used to the idea of friends at all.

Draco started rattling off about half-bloods and “that darn Potter,” spurring his friends into a rather heated conversation. They laughed and cackled loudly at each other, entirely easy around you as if it didn’t matter at all that they didn’t know you.

“Is this okay?” Theo asked you in a whisper once the group had moved on to another topic of conversation.

“Yes, this is nice,” you responded with a blush over your cheeks as you tried not to smile, “I don’t remember the last time I spoke to so many people.”

Theo’s eyes softened, glazed with a thin layer of water that informed you of his empathy. He felt your loneliness as if it was his own. The image of a young version of himself locked in his bedroom, wailing for his long deceased mother, flashed in his memories and seeped into your brain. An involuntary consequence of your extraordinary Legilimency talent.

When Saturday finally arrived, you slept in the whole morning. You only awoke at the sound of a knock on your door followed by a series of laughter at ten o’clock. You rolled out of bed, and for a moment stopped in horror of your hair in front of the mirror to quickly tie it up, and then opened the door.

You were surprised to see Pansy and Daphne there, but even more so when Daphne asked, “It’s Hogsmeade day, why aren’t you ready?”

“Huh?” You said, squinting at the light of the hallway.

“Theo sent us up to grab you, get some clothes on and let’s go,” said Pansy as she pushed past you and slipped into your room, Daphne hot on her heel, “Merlin’s beard, there’s absolutely nothing in here.”

“Yeah, uh, I’ve got it all to myself,” you muttered.

“Oh, that’s got to be terribly boring,” said Pansy.

Both of the girls made themselves at home as they rummaged through your drawers looking for something nice to wear. They were both dressed very well themselves, and it made you a little self-conscious to think they were going to see all your cheap clothes.

Pansy threw a sheer white shirt you didn’t know you had and a pair of bootleg jeans onto your bed while Daphne kicked over some matching joggers and a big white handbag you’d stolen from your mother.

“It is terribly boring,” you said.

As the three of you descended the stairs (after you got dressed, of course), you could already hear the sounds of masculine voices teetering on yelling at one another. One of them you knew to be Theo’s, and while you weren’t particularly familiar with them, you were inclined to assume the other two voices were Draco and Blaise. At the bottom step out of the girls’ dormitory hallway, you were proven correct when you saw them bickering like old men at a weekend golf tournament.

Draco was the first to notice the three of you, and his grey eyes lit up at the sight, “L/n, come settle an argument for us.”

You walked to join the small group and stood beside Theo, your handbag held meekly between your fingers, the nails of which had magenta paint flaking off them.

“Your mate Theo here—” Draco gestured to him with an uninterested hand, and you nearly laughed at the idea that Theo was your mate more than he was any of the others’— “Thinks that we ought to have a Legilimens registry like we have for Animagi. Frankly, I think it’s absolutely blasphemous that we even have one for Animagi; let them run wild, I say! What are your thoughts? Don’t mind the coincidental pun.”

“I’m afraid I’m a bit biased in this conversation,” you spoke quietly.

“How do you mean?”

The faces of the group stared at you with raised brows, and eyes that glistened with interest, and you were red from the attention.

“Well, I’m a Legilimens,” you admitted, “So, I’d have to disagree with you, Theo, for my own sake.”

“Are you really?” Theo asked to break the silence, and you nodded shyly.

“That’s so cool!” Daphne all but squealed, “What number am I thinking of?”

“Seven.”

She brightened with delight, and slapped Pansy’s arm, encouraging her to try your magic out like a little game. Pansy did just that, and you ended up going around the whole group, describing what they were thinking of. Eight. Twelve. Bakery. Seven. And Theo was questioning why you weren’t already on the way to Hogsmeade.

With that final thought, they grew disillusioned by the game, and you began the walk to Hogsmeade.

You’d never been into town with other people before, not that you went much at all. You usually stayed in your room, or wandered the halls, towering over the first and second years who weren’t allowed to go on weekend Hogsmeade trips yet. But there you were, forming one kink in a string of knots engaging in stimulating conversation about the current condition of the world, and even boring conversation about the homework for Defense Against the Dark Arts which, to you, seemed so thrilling even if only for the fact that it was verbal discourse in some form. You’d forgotten what it was to converse with others.

“Is there anywhere you need to go once we get there?” said Theo once you were nearing the end of the path and closing in on the town.

“I would have been awake before Daphne and Pansy got to my room if I planned to go anywhere today,” you joked and he smiled, “If you don’t mind, I might just go wherever you go.”

All he offered in response was a hum, and it left you thinking that you’d somehow made the air around you awkward. You’d later come to learn that he was just like that, never much of a talker if he thought the situation didn’t call for it.

Almost instantly after you passed sign that read ‘Welcome to Hogsmeade,’ the group dispersed, and Theo and yourself were left to do as you pleased.

Your companion, it seemed, didn’t have much he wanted to do either, so he led you to the Three Broomsticks. Kindly, he offered to pay for a butterbeer or two, but you didn’t think you were close enough for that, so you humbly told him it was alright. You sat in relative silence until our drinks arrived when Theo struck up some conversation.

“What have you been doing all these years by yourself, L/n?” He asked.

“I don’t know… Stuff…”

Theo laughed, and you laughed along with him. Your mind was frazzled by the alcohol, which kept refilling itself as you chatted on, and every so often you found thoughts that didn’t belong to you creeping into your mind, but you couldn’t place who they belonged to. It was just the odd word — sad, or pretty, or damned, or Y/n.

“Nott, are you and Malfoy good friends?” You asked.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t we be?”

“You seem to argue quite a bit.”

“He’s just like that,” said Theo, “Likes to start shit for no reason, that one.”

You giggled, and he grinned happily. Another person’s thoughts seeped into yours once again, that time a full sentence: ‘I love her laugh.’

The bell that hung over the entrance to the Three Broomsticks jingled, and though you couldn’t see it behind you, you watched as Theo’s expression morphed into one of guilt. You turned over your shoulder, and made out the figures of the four people who had come with you. Each of them were wearing a disappointed look on their faces.

“What in the name of Merlin are you two doing?” asked Pansy, her tone equal parts concerned and amused.

“Nothing,” said Theo.

“Yeah, if ‘nothing’ is code for drinking all day,” said Blaise, “Snape’s gonna have your asses for this.”

The others guided yourself and Theo back to the castle. Your hand was attached to Pansy’s forearm, Theo’s arm was slung over Draco’s shoulder. By the time you reached the Slytherin common room, You were sober enough to move on your own, and thus, started your way up to your dorm.

“Where are you going?” Theo asked curiously. He was far away enough that you couldn’t smell his breath which stunk like the vomit he’d expelled from his body halfway through the walk back.

“My room,” you said.

“No, no, no.” He shook his head and then closed his eyes from the dizziness. “It’s sleepover night. You have to come to our dorm, I made room for you on my bed.”

“I used to sleep there because he’s got the best mattress out of the three of them, but we figured you might prefer to sleep beside him than Blaise,” Daphne explained.

“Oh,” you breathed, “Do I need to contribute anything?”

You hadn’t had a sleepover before. You didn’t know the proper protocol. You assumed one would need to bring at least their pyjamas and a pillow, maybe some sweets of some kind to share. But Theo shook his head, and you were in the boys’ room before you knew what was happening.

The boys’ dorm room was the opposite of yours. So exquisitely full, and intricately messy. The three beds were all the same size as yours with dark green bed hangings, and each about a metre apart.

Closest to the door and to their small shared bathroom was Theo’s bed. On the right, beside the door to the bathroom, he had a tower of books that acted as a wall. His sheets were black, but his pillows and blanket cover were a dark oceanic blue-green. There wasn’t much room, but you spied a large mess under his bed which you assumed was what he’d removed from the bed to make space. On his bedside table sat a small lamp that provided the only light in the room before Daphne declared it was far too ‘dark and gloomy’ and turned on the central light.

On the floor, directly under the light, there was a large medieval-style rug that bore our house crest, and the others sat on it lazily, ushering you over.

“I need a smoke,” said Draco, and he walked over to the window where the ashtray was.

“Me too,” said Theo as he also moved to the window, “You want one, L/n?”

“I’ve never smoked before.”

“Then I shouldn’t get you in the habit,” he smiled, “It is such a terrible habit to have. Costs more than it’s worth.”

He pulled a box of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Draco, and they both lit them with their wands.

“Does it taste nice?” You asked.

“Not particularly,” said Theo.

“Why do you do it then?”

“You’re so curious, L/n,” Draco teased.

Theo playfully slapped him on the chest, “Leave her alone,” he said, and then turned to you, “I’m an addict.”

“That’s got to be bad for your lungs, Nott,” you frowned, suddenly concerned.

“Don’t you worry about him,” said Pansy, a knowing smirk on her lips that told you she was well aware you’d continue worrying.

The night went on much shorter than you wished for it to. You’d hoped, perhaps too eagerly, that none of you would ever sleep. Far too much did you enjoy being awake with those people who you’d met too late in yout life. You were truly happy to have met them because for all the simple joys you’d managed to discover in your time alone, none were half as happy as those grand joys you found with them

You all took turns getting changed in the small bathroom (Theo lent you a shirt to wear), then you all slid into our respective beds. You were nervous about sleeping beside Theo because, in truth, you didn’t really know him. But he placed a pillow between you, and only faced you for a moment — a moment in which there was a look in his eyes that you couldn’t decipher, a moment in which you attempted to read his mind all too late — and then he kissed his fingers, and he touched them to your head, and he turned the other way.

“Did you sleep well?” Theo said once he noticed you were awake the next morning.

“I’ve never slept beside someone before,” you explained nervously, “I think it was a decent experience. I hope I didn’t move around too much.”

“Not at all, L/n,” he said.

A hum escaped your mouth, and you were acutely aware that Theo was watching you as you stared up at the roof of his room. Painted on it, Sistine Chapel-style, was a beautiful lush green forest.

“L/n. It’s so formal to call you by your surname.” Theo let out a disapproving tut.

“I call you by yours?” You said as you looked at him from the corner of your eye.

“You’re the only one who does.”

“It’s your name!” You raised your voice slightly before lowering it again so as to not wake any of the others up. “What else am I supposed to call you?”

“Theo,” he said, “That’s what everyone calls me.”

“And what false-name shall I bear, then?”

He chuckled quietly as he finally sat up. He raised his long arms in a stretch that exposed the bottom of his stomach and his V-line, and you glanced away until he returned his arms down to a cross in front of his chest. You took notice of his hair, which was awfully messy in the morning, and you thought he should get his hands on a bonnet to take care of it, but then you thought he probably shouldn’t. A silk pillow would’ve done him wonders, though.

“A nickname for Y/n,” said Theo, “How about Y/n/n?”

“I suppose that will do,” you said as nonchalantly as possible, but inside you were screaming with excitement. A nickname! You’d never had a nickname before.

“Oh, you suppose, do you?” he teased.

Your amused smile betrayed your insincere attempt at a pout, “Don’t make fun of me.”

“Don’t let anyone else call you Y/n/n, alright?” said Theo, and you crossed your brows in question, “I want it to be just an us-thing. They can call you your full name at most.”

He was extraordinarily bossy. But it was sweet. Heartwarming, even.

“Wait, but if everyone calls you Theo, I want something just for us, too!” You blushed at how overly familiar that sounded, but Theo’s rosy cheeks filled you with conviction. “How about Teddy?”

Giddily, he smiled at you, “Say it to me in a sentence.”

You frowned, but obeyed, “I like being your friend, Teddy. — How was that?” He nodded happily, “You say one for mine, now.”

He thought for a moment, trying to decide on a sentence to say.

“Read my mind, Y/n/n.”

Always, he had to boss you around. But, again, you really didn’t care. It was just nice to have someone to boss you around. To think that only at the beginning of that week, you had no friends at all… Now you had so many, and all thanks to destiny. All thanks to your Teddy.

A breath, and then you forced your way into his mind. There was a picture there waiting for you, a memory from Monday. A memory of you, except, you seemed to glow. You’d seen yourself in a million mirrors and memories over the course of your life, but never had you looked so beautiful. And then, there were words.

“I’d like to go on a date with you, Y/n/n.”

Your eyes snapped open as you left his thoughts to belong to him alone.

“What?” You asked, your ears red.

“I think you’re absolutely brilliant, Y/n/n. Please, go on a date with me?” Theo smiled.

He inched closer until your noses touched and you could barely tell each others’ features apart. Each of you were just blurs of colour.

“I’d love to go on a date with you, Teddy.”

[kjsfandoms]

Too Good

Eddie Munson x reader

Description: When drunk at a party, the only one Y/N wants right now is her ex-boyfriend, Eddie Munson.

Word count: 2.0k

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This is not how you planned for your night to go. Drunk at a party, you stumble your way through the crowd in search of Robin with another drink in your hand. You knew it was a mistake to drink this much, but these past few weeks have been hell and you just needed the distraction. Why have they been hell you may ask? Eddie Munson, your boyfriend of just over 7 months, dumped you. And why? You don’t even know. So when invited by Steve and Robin to go to a party, who would you be to deny?

Stumbling into the kitchen you lean onto a counter and continue to look around for Robin who has yet been nowhere to be seen. Then your drunken mind remembers you saw Robin staring down Vickie earlier, so you doubt you’d see her anytime soon. But at this point you’re so drunk and can’t even stand properly- swinging side to side as your drink splashes around in your red solo cup. You find a bar stool and sit down and start to stare off into the distance. Your mind starts to wander off to Eddie. Why did he break up with you? Did he even love you? But you came here to forget that, so no more wasting time thinking about him and possibly even missing him. You stood back up and walked back out to the main room to dance with some strangers. 

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God knows how long you’ve been dancing at this point. Your vision is blurry and your hearing is going in and out. ‘Yup, I’ve had way too much to drink.’ you think to yourself. You don’t feel good at all at this point. You attempt to stumble outside in search for some fresh air but there are just too many people here. As your body is being pushed side to side by the fellow people dancing, you feel a hand on a shoulder. You turn to see that that hand belongs to Gareth. “Holy shit, Y/N, are you okay? You look wrecked.” You mumble out some words in response that you yourself can’t even understand as you let him walk you over to a couch and set you down. “How much have you had to drink?” Looking up at him with drunken eyes, you manage to reply with, “Too much.” “No shit, I can tell.” At this point you’re scared, you can’t see or hear anything and it’s making you panic. You’re out of your right mind and you know it, especially when you mutter out the words, “Where’s Eddie?”. This somewhat shocks Gareth as he knows everything that went down between you two. “Eddie isn’t here Y/N. It’s just me and Jeff.” He says as he holds you up steady by your shoulders. “I want Eddie.” Gareth sighs as he says, “Okay stay here. I’ll call him.” 

Under different circumstances Gareth would not be running to the house phone to call Eddie for you. Even though Eddie is his best friend, he is definitely on Y/N’s side of things. But Y/N is clearly out of her senses and surely the friends she came here with are as well, so what choice does he have? He dials Eddie’s number as fast as he can and waits for an answer. On the fourth ring, he hears a “Hello?”. 

“Hey, man, it’s Gareth. I’m at that dumb house party me and Jeff went to and, uh, I need you to drive down here.”

“What for?”

“Y/N.” 

As soon as Eddie hears that name his heart drops. As much as he hates to admit it, you’re still on his mind. The phone call falls silent for a moment as Eddie falls deep into thought. “Eddie? You still there? I’m serious, dude, she needs you here.” That’s all the words Eddie needs as he quickly puts on his leather jacket and says, “I’m on my way.”

The entire ride there Eddie’s heart is pounding. He hasn’t seen you since the breakup and you made sure of it. You avoided him at all cost and he won’t deny that that did hurt, but he knows it’s deserved. Sweaty hands grip his steering wheel as he pulls up to the party. He gets out and spots Jeff standing outside. “Finally, man, you’re here.” “Why exactly am I here?” “Did Gareth not tell you? Y/N is drunk off her mind. So drunk that she’s been asking for you.” This shocked Eddie to the core. You still thought about him? Enough to ask for him while drunk? He then nervously walks in with Jeff as he leads them to where Gareth and you are sitting. 

Jeff and Eddie walk up to the couch where you and Gareth sit. He leans down in front of you and looks you in the eyes for the first time in weeks. “Hey, Y/N. You ready to go home?” Your drunken eyes meet his and you immediately melt. You hate to admit how much you’ve missed him. Seeing those eyes again is enough to make you fall in love all over again. You nod your head in response and let him help you off the couch. He walks you to his van and helps you into the passenger seat. Once he’s in his seat and starts pulling out, you mumble, “Don’t wanna go home.” He looks over at you with confusion and asks, “Well where do you wanna go sweetheart? It’s one in the morning, you’re drunk, and need to lay down.” 

“Your place.”

His breath catches in his throat at your response and awkwardly responds, “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Y/N.”

“Please, Eds. My mom will kill me.” Your drunk self whines, as you lazily look over at him. Though even while drunk, you notice the way his face reacted to the nickname.

With a deep sigh, “Fine, sweetheart.”

For you, the car ride to his place felt like a few minutes as you were dozed off half the time, but as for Eddie, it felt like an eternity. His eyes wouldn’t stop traveling over to you and how beautiful you looked even while this drunk. It reminded him of why he even dumped you in the first place. You’re too perfect for him. He thought you deserved better, not some third senior-trailer junkie who doesn’t have a real job besides selling drugs to high schoolers. You deserved the world and he just couldn’t give that to you. 

Eventually he pulled into the trailer park and parks his car next to his trailer. The slam of his door wakes you up and you notice Eddie walking to the passenger to help you out. He opens the door and helps you stand onto your feet and leads you inside. You immediately plop onto the couch as Eddie takes off his jacket and hangs it onto the arm of the couch. “Let’s get you to bed.” He helps you stand up again and walks you to his bedroom where you go to lay down. He leaves his room to run to his bathroom real quick to grab the makeup remover from his cabinet that you left there months ago. He heads back into his room and sits next to you on the edge of his bed. “Just gonna take your makeup off, love.” Once it’s all off you start to attempt to wiggle yourself out of your black jean shorts. Eddie takes notice and even though you guys are no longer together, he knows how much you hate sleeping in jeans. So with a sigh he helps you undo them and slide them off. “Can I sleep in one of your shirts?” You ask with a pout as you look up at him from your spot on the bed. And how could Eddie ever say no to the girl he loves? “Of course.” He says as he sits up and grabs your favorite Black Sabbath t-shirt of his. You slip out of your shirt but struggle with your bra. Once again, he notices and offers to help. You accept and let him effortlessly unclip it and slide the straps down your arms and then continue to slip the t-shirt over your head. 

You let your head hit his pillow and let him pull the blanket over your body. He starts to leave for the couch but you grab his wrist before he even gets the chance. “Stay.” Eddie looks down at you and just stands there for a good few seconds. “Please. I want you here with me.” And those six words were enough to convince him. He slides out of his own jeans and lays in bed beside you. You almost immediately cling to his side to cuddle him. He prays that you can’t hear how hard his heart is beating at the moment. Having you in his bed again felt so surreal. But he tries not to overthink it as he knows once you wake up and become sober you’re gonna realize the drunk mistake you made and immediately leave. 

He’s close to falling asleep until he hears you mumble, “I missed you.” into his chest. He didn’t think his heart could beat any faster but here we are. “You’re drunk, Y/N. You don’t mean that. I hurt you.”

“Why did you hurt me? I didn’t do anything.” He can hear that Y/N is close to tears and lets out yet another sigh.

“We’re too different.”

At that, you start to sober up and sit up onto your elbow and look over at him. “What makes you think that?”

He as well sits up and replies, “You’re you, Y/N, and I’m me. You’re so smart and beautiful and I’m just some loser who got lucky and met you. Dumb luck. You’re too good for me. You deserve someone better. Someone who can give you the world.”

“But, Eddie, you are my world. I don’t want or need someone better when I have you in front of me. If I thought you were no good for me I wouldn’t have even started dating you in the first place. I love you for who you are. Sure you have your struggles, but I know one day you’re gonna make it through them. One day you’re gonna make it out of this trailer park. One day you’re gonna be one of the biggest rockstars the world has ever known. And one day you’ll finally have the life you deserve.” 

Eddie falls quiet as he looks over at you with watery eyes. He never would’ve believed that someone would ever think that highly of him. His whole life he has been seen as less and even though he has grown to be used to it, there was still always a pit of insecurity hiding there. So hearing the words come from the person he is still in love with, even while they’re drunk, truly opens his mind. Maybe he is worth more than what he thinks he is.

You notice his watery eyes and immediately pull him into your chest to hug him. With his head buried into your chest you hear him whisper, “I missed you too.” At his words, you melt. You start to slowly stroke his hair as small tears roll down his face and onto you. “Wayne misses you too. He was pissed when I told him I dumped you.” You let out a small laugh at his words and kiss the top of his head. “I missed Wayne too, and his dumb movie choices.” Eddie let out a laugh as well as he snuggled deeper into you. “I truly am sorry, Y/N. I thought about you everyday and never once did I stop loving you.” 

“Me too, Eddie. Me too.”

Eventually he falls asleep, with you still holding his larger frame. It doesn’t take long for you to fall asleep as well.

—- As Wayne walks into the trailer after working his night shift, he slips off his shoes and places down his bag beside the couch. There he spots Eddie’s leather jacket hanging loosely on the arm of the couch. “Thought I told this boy to stop leaving his stuff around.”, he grumbles. He picks up the jacket and walks down to his nephew's room to hang it up. As he opens the door he stops in his tracks. He looks down at the bed to see Eddie and you. He hangs the jacket up and walks back out with a smile.

[riiwrites]

GOTCHA!

summary : dazai loves pulling the easiest tricks in the book to get you all jumpy. - but what he loves even more is the priceless look on your face!

request : “waa i really want a dazai x reader with a (female) reader who gets scared/flustered/surprised easily ! o(≧▽≦)o it would be so cute..”

genre : pure fluff all around

a/n : hi my beauties, im baaaack! (well, not entirely.) im trying to gain my confidence and motivation when it comes to writing so I hope I don’t disappoint :)

dividers belong to @/cafekitsune !

NOT PROOFREAD!!!

The dark night cast over your apartment complex as you took in the fresh air around you. A deep breath in, a deep breath out. A relaxing routine that soothes you in your days and hours.

You always adored the serene atmosphere that came with you standing outside your few inch balcony. It helped you recollect yourself, lay back, relax, and close your eyes to—

“Boo!”

A scream erupts you, one so loud that all of Yokohama could probably hear as you instantly turn around and swat at whatever’s behind you.

But, you miss miserably, no matter how many hits you threw.

A stomach filled laugh fills your ears as you finally register just who this mysterious man was.

Well, mysterious until you figured out it was your boyfriend.

Your face turns a shade of pink as you cover your face in embarrassment. One, because you let Dazai scare you once again. And two, you’re most definitely getting a noise complaint to your door from your neighbours from the other doors down.

“Ohhh Bella! You ought to know by now not to get all jumpy when you know I just love a good scare!” Dazai says as he lets the last few laughs escape him, now slowing down into light chuckles instead.

To this you groan into your hands, not knowing he’s taking fewer steps closer towards you, lessening the distance between you two.

He takes a moment to look at your hand covered face before gently taking your two cold hands into his own, smirking as he lowers them to reveal your flustered ridden face.

“Why, aren’t you just the reddest tomato of all the crops in Yokohama?” He teased, chuckling as you only turn redder as he lets go of your hands to place his own on your cheeks.

“Yeesh! You’re as warm as a sauna! I could easily use you to warm me up as a radiator!”

“Just. Stop. Talking!!” You whine as he continues his teasing.

There were many instances this similar situation has repeated. Multiple times, and when it did, Dazai ate it all up like it was the first time he had experienced it.

On a hot summers day in the streets of Yokohama, you are talking to a close friend of yours about an upcoming job you are about to start. All wrapped up in your own head as you gush about how excited you are for this new experience.

You were talkative, full of smiles and confidence all up until-

You feel two frail arms wrap around your lower waist, pulling you in from behind as a head lowers itself onto your shoulder.

“What are we talking about over here?” Dazai says, volume at a normal level but since he’s next to your ear, the words go straight to your head as your mind goes all fuzzy.

“Oh! We were just talking about Y/N’s new job coming up! She’s super excited! Right, Y/N?” Your friend turns to you with a smile, but that smile drops once she sees your complete changed expression.

From just 3 seconds, you went from this chatty, confident girl - to a stuttering, flustered pink faced mess all in the span of Dazai showing up.

“U-uh— YEAH! Super- super excited!” You muster out, your breathing shaky as you look to the floor, seeing Dazais arms around your waist.

Dazai smirks and chuckles, looking up to your friend with a teasing grin. “Doesn’t she just look so adorable all flustered?”

At this you feel like you could just curl up and die.

Soon after your friend leaves, leaving you and Dazai to your own devices. He turns to you as you walk hand in hand down the street.

“You’re always so nervous when I surprise you, you know?”

You nod, turning to him with a shy smile.

“I know.”

“It’s cute, I like it.” He chuckles as he looks up at the sky. “Maybe I’ll keep doing it.”

“If you do that I think I’ll just die..” You whine to him as he pulls you closer, gasping at your faux confession.

“Well, I may just have to join you~” He says all chirpy. Your eyes widening as you realise what he means.

“Damn it! No! I’m not feeding into your double suicide delusions again!”

One day, as you type on your computer at work you get a sudden text from Dazai.

Dazai <3 : Will be working late tonight! Don’t miss me too muchhh ( ^▽^)σ)~O~)

At this you cock your head to the side slightly and furrow your brows together. But he’s never working late?

Actually, scratch that, he’s never working.

But nonetheless, you shrug and put your phone down, getting back on with your work and not thinking much of it.

A few hours later, you are now outside your apartment door, getting your keys out and jingling it in the lock before opening the door.

As you step in, you’re confused by the complete darkness before you flick the light switch on. It’s normally rather…light, in here. How odd.

However, you decide not to question it as you then remember Dazai was to return home late.

That was until, you hear a sudden noise of shuffling coming from your bedroom.

Your eyes widen as your anxiety instantly spikes. You stare at the door before slowly making your way towards it, grabbing a pan on the kitchen counter before continuing your path.

You hear faint noises coming from the other side of the door. Someone’s here, and it sure as hell ain’t Dazai considering he’s meant to coming home late.

You let out a shaky breath, as you grab the door handle and in one swift motion, you open the door, slamming it off of the wall and stepping in with your pan.

But nobody’s there.

Confused and anxious, you turn the light on and look around frantically, eyes wide in terror as you keep your pan close.

“W-who’s there?! I got a weapon you know!!” You speak out in legitimate fear.

As you’re about to take a step closer, a loud bang interrupts your thoughts and you absolutely scream your whole heart out as you whip your head around, swiping the pan everywhere but the result of the sound.

“Gotcha!!!” Shouts Dazai from infront of you, grinning and laughing as confetti falls from the party poppers. You stand there in complete and utter shock, eyes wide and jaw dropped to a certain inch or two.

“A-are you kidding me?” You ask.

“Nope!” He says with a pop to the ‘p’.

You sigh in defeat, dropping the pan with a loud ‘clang’ and walk over to him, dropping your head to his chest.

On instinct, he wraps his arms around you in a warm hug.

“I’m sorryyyy..” He whispers out.

“No you’re not.” You bark back. “You never are.”

“Yeah you’re right about that.” He shrugs in truth, giggling to himself before pulling you back for him to take a good look at your precious face. “I have a surprise for you.”

“Haven’t you enough surprises for one day?” You groan as he lets go of you and turns to get something out of his pocket, a small velvet like box.

Interest piqued, your eyes widen in curiosity as you take the box from him, staring at it in your hands. Then, you look up at him in slight hesitation.

“This better not jump out at me when I open it.”

To this he chuckles lightly. “No no, bella. Not this time.”

You take his word for it, you always do. You open the box and you let out a small gasp at the shiny ring exposed inside.

“For our 1 year anniversary!” He exclaims.

You furrow your eyebrows in confusion as you look up at him. “But, our anniversary isn’t until-“

“Oh, no no belladonna! Not our relationship anniversary.” He chuckles, and then points a finger up to the sky.

“It’s exactly one year today that I started scaring the living day lights out of you!”

You blink a few times, before replying.

“You seriously keep track of things like that?”

“Yes~ don’t you?”

“No.” You giggle and smile. “But it’s sweet you do.”

He hums and then opens his arms out for a hug, to which you fall right into and melt in his arms, smiling with a full grin and a blushed out face.

“Your reactions are priceless, they make my day worth it.” He whispers to you.

That was his favourite day he scared you, and unbeknownst to him, it was also yours.

TAGLIST : @forgotten-blues @ruru-kiss @texas-bitch-yee @lvstyangel @is-therelife-onmars @101strawberries101 @reesesnieces @suzurans-world @inojuuy @boarcide @kissesmellow21 @aliyahgracedrawing @chuuyathehatrack2 @boredwithwrath @rainy-dazie @lone-ray @ishqani @fun-cats @wefureko-blog @hoicacti @seikkoh @underscoredaniii @monmush @night-dazai @minomikn @pinkdaises @mayaaluvvvv @probablyzombiedinosaurs @rinismahname @starrs20 @just4notherhumanbeing @little-miss-chaoss @drowningfishy @saeandscaralover

i understand its been a while since I’ve uploaded so if you don’t wish to be on my tag list anymore please do contact me to let me know <3

✿ riiwrites ; please please please don’t plagiarise or repost any of my works on any other platforms! especially without crediting!

[rillian4e]

{Missing you}

ft& Neuvillette, Wriothesley, Alhaitham, Scaramouche

a/n: been so looong since my last post, I'm overwhelmed with exams and having to study😭🫠 trying to become more active as best as I can, so here's a little scenarios of various genshin men missing you and your body.

summary: your lover has been awfully busy these past weeks and you as well which resulted in you two rarely seeing the other, much less spending time with one another. it's late and your boyfriend finds himself desperate for you but you aren't there to help him.

sw: nsfw, fem!reader, afab, jerking off, humping for alhaitham, needy men, a little bit of size kink for wrio's part, slight pet names, lowercase writing etc.

neuvillette who finds himself buried in paperwork in his office inside the palais mermonia but he still cannot get his mind off you, how he wished he had you here with him, cockwarming him on his lap while he worked—simply imagining it makes his pants feel tight, he misses having your warm folds around his shaft, the way you'd always let out the prettiest sounds when he even slightly touched you or raised his hips... he doesn't even realize that he has long forgotten his work, his hand around his cock, spreading the pre over his length as he gave a few pumps making him groan. "hnngh...so hard and you're not here to help me, I am acting in such a vulgar way, it's embarrassing yet...yet I can't get you out of my mind..." he mumbled to himself, fantasizing that it was your lips wrapped around him, sucking him in while playing with his balls while he only fucked himself deeper in your throat, when he came, he opened his eyes to see his hand coated with his cum, "...ah, what a mess, if only you were here to clean it up." finally returning to his senses after he relieved himself, he heard a knock on the door, "monsiuer neuvillette, is everything alright?" he was caught off guard by the question of the melusine behind the door, quickly he composed himself, hoping no one would come in and see him in such an embarrassing situation. "yes, of course. there is nothing to worry about, everything is alright." now he knew he needed to take a break and have you on his lap for real, not just fantasizing about it.

—★°•☆

being the duke meant wriothesley had a lot of responsibilities and he always fulfilled them accordingly but sometimes he was tired of it, spending so many nights here without seeing his pretty angel was unbearable. he missed having you in his arms, your small body pressed against his much bigger one—not to mention having you bent over his desk while he fucked you from behind, squeezing your tits while he rubbed tight circles on your swollen clit. the way you'd always tremble and cry tears of pleasure at him being so big and mean...archons, his cock is already rock hard at the thought of having your little pussy around his length. he is quick to free his cock from his pants, teasing the slit and stroking himself as he imagined everything he'd to you when he and you finally met again. "f-fuck...gonna breed you s' much when i see you...fuck you till you can't think about anything except this dick." he growled as he looked down at his erection, letting out a groan as he reached his climax.

—☆°○★

the ever so stoic and composed alhaitham never thought he'd feel this way, he wasn't the type to be affected by such things yet he couldn't seem to stop finding himself drift his thoughts onto you, he's preoccupied with a big project and the akademiya has only gotten more hectic, so his work hours have increased which is why you two didn't have any time together. when he came home, he felt exhausted but he was so sexually pent up and his cock was already dripping pre-cum. he tried ignoring it but couldn't, so he caved in—calculative as usual, alhaitham knew you had left a pair of panties at his place, it was bad habit of yours to leave your belongings at his house, he'd surely scold you before but now he was glad that you were so careless. sitting himself down he wrapped your panties around his cock, thinking of you and getting off on your smell. the panties did little to soothe his ache for your warm cunt but he'd have to do with what he had. "miss you...miss you so much...wish it was your pussy instead of your panties," he let out little pants alongside groans, his breathing heavy and warm as he came on your underwear.

—★•°☆

who would have thought that the former sixth of the fatui harbingers, the ever so arrogant and prideful, scaramouche, would have such vulgar lewd and dirty fantasies of you, his lover while you're away in another nation. he certainly would never tell you how badly he wants you when you're away, he thinks it's humiliating but doesn't care when he knows you probably feel the same way, when you get back, he will make up for having you not be there for him to fuck and ravage as his possession. his cock hardens at the thought of having you submit to him, cry and lay there helpless as you take what he gives you. even as he pumped his hard erection, his focus went over to you—how would you react if you were here? would you get aroused to see him jerking off so shamelessly? "s-shit...shit, close," he let out a needy whine as his cum spurted out, scaramouche felt better but it wasn't nowhere near as enough, "haa...if only you were here, my pretty and obedient slut..." he sighed as he closed his eyes, thinking of you and when you will be back, hopefully soon because he cannot handle not having you there to relieve his needs.