#this is only a hope and want and I know it won’t be real but I miss them ok

[jjenthusee]

Like Him

Pairing: AK!Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: What hurts more? The initial burn or what comes after?

A/N: IM BAAAACK and to celebrate i wanted to give u some soul ripping angst as i get back into writing again :D every time i write about AK jason i always think of my pooks @heavysighing-dreamyeyes 💐💐 i hope you all enjoyyyy

Tags: hurt/no comfort, ANGSTTT, warnings: description of injuries, scars

Word Count: 1.2k

Every step was agony. You felt every pull, every pinch, every tense muscle screaming at you to stop.

But you couldn’t risk it.

“Jason, please. Stop walking away from me.”

It was ironic. You are pleading with him to stop moving and to stop emotionally pushing you away. Now he was ignoring you completely.

You were locked away by his goons, tied to a chair for hours while your legs numbed, taking hit after hit to your face that had you dizzy and bruised.

You thought you completely lost it when your long dead friend reappeared to you as the crazed man taking over Gotham City.

It wouldn’t hurt to laugh hysterically after all that was revealed in the last two hours, but pain was keeping you awake and in reality.

You tried to walk behind him, stumbling and irritating the deep ache in your right leg.

Due to your injuries, speed wasn’t an option. Momentum was the real reason why you were still able to practically drag your leg forward. Feeling every streak of sweat prickle down your forehead, sticking your hair to your neck.

You tried to straighten your back, feeling your bones crack as you weakly adjusted to standing upright fully again.

“Look at me.” You spoke with as much precision as you could command your voice to. Trying to pair a steady voice to a feeble stance.

You felt yourself shake from the last remaining strength in your arms and legs as you continued to push a one-sided conversation with Jason.

It was jarring to think you were trying to talk to the Arkham Knight, the one person that was single handedly creating one of the worst nights in Gotham City you’ve had to endure. But you were also talking to your best friend, your boyish childhood savior turned trusted ally. It was a twisted struggle on how to reach out to him, trying to figure out who you were reaching out to.

“Jason—“

“Don’t call me that!” He yelled, the anger reddening his face as he turned his head to you. The visible “J” scarring his face turned to face you directly.

This was the Arkham Knight, the one commanding such a distasteful voice as he peered down at you. Embracing the military grade armor coating his skin.

The scarred skin surrounding the letter was appearing pinker the longer his rage was lingering.

“I am—not your enemy.” You hunched forward, choking rather than breathing in as you spoke while simultaneously trying to balance some of your weight off your weak leg. It hurt like hell as you clenched your jaw to the pain.

“You sound so much like him. I can’t stand to listen to you.” Jason turned his back to you, pacing forward. No visible scar catching your eyes.

“I am not Bruce.” You spit out, feeling blood mix in with the saliva in your mouth.

“‘Course not! But I’m going to fix what he’s done and if you are going to stand in my way, I’ll make sure you won’t be able to interrupt me ever again!” He turned so fast, you blinked as the “J” barely flashed before you, but you only saw his clear, spotless cheek, the side with no scar.

“You don’t mean that.” You exhaled, calmly closing your eyes as you held your side, careful to not press against your bruised ribs. Talking was already irritating them enough.

“What do you know?! You. Don’t. Know. Me. So, stop pretending like you do!”

“You know that’s not true. Ugh—“ You fell to your knee, unable to catch your fall as you banged it into the steel floor. Pain throbbed down to your foot. “It just sounds like you’re trying to convince yourself, not me.” You groaned out, stubbornly not backing down. You may have been on the floor, but you felt higher than Jason was.

“I have nothing to prove, especially not to you.” Jason was ready to pull his opened helmet down, hoping to mask away his face, but it only looked like he was running away.

“Then why am I still not tied to the chair stained with my blood?! Why bother to untie me?” You yelled from your sprawled position, much too vulnerable, but you were heavily pressuring and facing the armored man with enough artillery to take your life away with a simple trigger.

“‘Cause you are useless to me.” Jason started to walk away again. No longer interested in your angry yells.

“It’s ‘cause I mean something to you, Jason!”

“Shut up!” Jason turned and pounded his feet to the ground as he ran back to you. He pulled out his handgun, directly aiming the sight onto you, the end of the barrel covering your entire left eye.

Your eyes widened as you looked into the endless abyss of what became of the Arkham Knight.

Watching his finger itch at the possibility of pressing further and making a choice he could never come back from.

But you saw it.

The look in his eyes.

You met his gaze directly as your eyes relaxed. Glancing at the visible side of Jason’s face with whatever sight you had left in your right eye. The deep “J” also in view. Burning your pupil as you stared up at him but never looking away.

“I never stopped asking Bruce what happened.” You gravely explained, each word ripping into your throat, croaking out every painful word as you watched his face contort the longer you spoke. “Every fucking day, I couldn’t believe that he never found you. I’ve hated Bruce everyday for it. I miss you, Jason.”

The pistol shook. You didn’t know if it was from your eyes watering or from his own emotions, but you leaned forward.

Your back hunched from the painful posture you endured while tied up. Pushing the ache aside, you pressed the muzzle of the gun on your face, your skin sensitive to how hot the barrel was from firing many rounds throughout the night.

The pain seared around your eye, burning into the skin underneath your bottom lashes and eyebrow.

If Jason was scarred, you also wanted to physically burn this night onto your skin.

“Don’t leave. I need you, Jason.” You cried. “You deserve to live. I want to help you live.”

The pain on your face stopped, leaving a burn behind. It pricked your skin relentlessly.

The salty tears burned even more.

As you melted into the floor, your legs hurting, your eye hurting, Jason let the weight of his handgun pull his hand down to his side. Gazing down to you as he watched the gash on your face form.

His stomach twisted severely. He wanted to puke at the brand he made. The same one he gave him.

You may have pushed your face into the muzzle, but Jason held it. He held every gravely second it was pressed into your undamaged, unmarked skin.

Everything he was not.

He reached out his armored hand, extending his fingers to almost touch the swollen skin, but as you hiccuped in a breath to get any air into your lungs, he pulled his hand away. Like he would be burned back.

Jason crouched down to you, getting his face closer to yours, so you could hear him loud and clear.

“Now we’re both mangled.” Jason whispered, watching every twitch of your face as his words split your heart. Feeling his own scar burn as he traced yours with his eyes before he lifted himself back to his full height to walk away. To finish what he started and to ruthlessly leave you ruined by his own words and not your injuries. “Never come back. I never want to see you again.”

[okasuka]

Bruce wayne x readerrr

a/n - i’m bored soooo…..basically bruce is a jealous hoe!!! 🙏🏽🙏🏽 man whore bruce is real

Part 1: Setting the Stage

The Wayne Foundation gala was a grand affair, hosted in one of Gotham’s most opulent hotels. Crystal chandeliers sparkled overhead, reflecting the warm, golden light that bathed the room. Waiters moved seamlessly through the crowd, balancing trays of champagne flutes and hors d’oeuvres, while the murmur of polite conversation mingled with the soft strains of a live orchestra.

You found yourself at the edge of the ballroom, observing the throngs of Gotham’s elite. Socialites, CEOs, and politicians mingled, their designer outfits and glimmering jewelry a testament to their wealth. You couldn’t help but feel slightly out of place among them, though you had to admit you looked stunning in the gown Bruce had chosen for you—a sleek, floor-length piece that hugged your figure perfectly.

Bruce was in his element, weaving through the crowd with the kind of ease that only someone born into Gotham’s upper crust could manage. He looked devastatingly handsome in his perfectly tailored tuxedo, his dark hair swept back and his piercing eyes scanning the room. You were acutely aware of his hand resting on the small of your back, a subtle but deliberate gesture that spoke volumes.

“Relax,” he murmured, leaning in close so that only you could hear him. His deep voice sent a shiver down your spine. “You look like you’re planning your escape.”

You tilted your head up to meet his gaze, giving him a wry smile. “Is it that obvious?”

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and rich. “You’re doing fine. Just stick with me, and you’ll survive.”

“I don’t know how you do this,” you admitted, gesturing subtly to the room full of power players. “All this… posturing.”

“It’s part of the job,” he said simply, his expression unreadable. “But having you here makes it bearable.”

Before you could respond, a group of older men approached, all of them clearly eager to speak with Bruce. You stepped back slightly, not wanting to intrude on the conversation. Bruce’s hand lingered on your back for a moment before he reluctantly let you go.

“Don’t wander too far,” he said softly, his dark eyes locking onto yours.

“I won’t,” you promised, though you weren’t entirely sure where else you’d go.

Part 2: The Invitation

As Bruce began speaking with the group, you drifted toward a quieter corner of the room, your eyes scanning the crowd. You spotted familiar faces here and there—prominent Gothamites whose names were splashed across the society pages. It was a world Bruce belonged to by birthright, but you still felt like an outsider looking in.

Your thoughts were interrupted when a striking blonde woman made her way toward Bruce. She was tall and elegant, her shimmering gown clinging to her figure in a way that left little to the imagination. You watched as she approached him with a confidence that only someone used to getting their way could muster.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said, her voice honeyed and smooth. She placed a hand lightly on his arm, her red lips curving into a practiced smile. “I’ve been hoping to get a moment of your time all evening.”

Bruce turned to her, his expression polite but distant. “Miss…?”

“Charlotte Sterling,” she supplied, her smile widening. “We met at the Metropolis Gala last year. I doubt you’d remember—there were so many people there.”

Bruce inclined his head slightly, a noncommittal acknowledgment. “Of course. Nice to see you again.”

“Would you do me the honor of a dance?” she asked, her hand lingering on his arm. Her tone was light, but the look in her eyes made her intentions clear.

You couldn’t hear Bruce’s response over the noise of the crowd, but you saw the subtle way his body shifted, a polite yet firm rejection in the making. However, Charlotte wasn’t easily deterred. She leaned in closer, her smile turning coquettish as she said something that made Bruce’s jaw tighten.

Your chest tightened as you watched the interaction, jealousy stirring in your gut. You told yourself you had no reason to feel that way—Bruce was here with you, after all. But the sight of the blonde so blatantly vying for his attention made your insecurities bubble to the surface.

Before you could stop yourself, you stepped forward. “It’s just a dance,” you said lightly, drawing both their attention. Your tone was calm, but there was a subtle challenge in your gaze as you looked at Bruce. “Go ahead.”

Bruce’s dark eyes narrowed slightly, and for a moment, you thought he might argue. But then his expression shifted, and he gave you a small, almost imperceptible nod.

“If you insist,” he said, though his voice held a note of reluctance.

Charlotte beamed, clearly pleased with her victory, and led Bruce onto the dance floor. You watched as they moved together, the blonde pressing herself far closer to him than was strictly appropriate. Bruce, for his part, kept his posture rigid, his movements controlled and detached. But the sight still stung.

Part 3: An Unwelcome Distraction

You turned away, determined not to let it bother you. Bruce had made it clear that his interest was in you, not her. But the sight of them together lingered in your mind, feeding your doubts.

“Rough night?” a voice asked, pulling you from your thoughts.

You glanced to your right and saw a man standing beside you, a drink in hand. He was handsome in a polished, generic sort of way, his dark suit tailored to perfection. His smile was charming, but there was an edge of smugness to it that immediately put you on guard.

“Not particularly,” you said coolly, taking a sip of your champagne.

“Could’ve fooled me,” he said, his gaze lingering on you in a way that felt far too familiar. “You looked like you could use a distraction.”

“I’m fine, thank you,” you said, your tone dismissive. But he didn’t take the hint.

“Come on,” he said, his smile widening. “Let me buy you a drink. It’s a party, isn’t it?”

You hesitated, glancing back at the dance floor. Bruce and Charlotte were still dancing, though his attention seemed to be anywhere but on his partner. The man beside you followed your gaze, his smile turning sly.

“Let me guess,” he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially. “Your date ditched you for someone else?”

“That’s not what happened,” you said sharply, your irritation flaring.

“Hey, no judgment,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “His loss, if you ask me.”

You frowned, debating whether to walk away, but the bartender chose that moment to appear, and the man seized the opportunity.

“Two glasses of champagne,” he said smoothly, sliding a bill across the counter.

You sighed, deciding that humoring him for a moment was the easiest way to get rid of him. “Thanks,” you said flatly as he handed you the glass.

“So, what’s your name?” he asked, leaning against the bar as he watched you.

“Not interested,” you said, your patience wearing thin.

“Come on,” he said, his smile unfaltering. “No need to play hard to get.”

Before you could respond, a familiar voice cut through the noise, low and dangerous. “She’s with me.”

Part 4: The Confrontation

You turned at the sound of Bruce’s voice, your breath catching at the sight of him. He stood a few feet away, his imposing presence enough to send a ripple through the surrounding crowd. His expression was stony, his dark eyes fixed on the man beside you with a glare that could cut steel. The easygoing charm Bruce often displayed in public was gone, replaced by a simmering intensity that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end.

The man beside you blinked in surprise but recovered quickly, his confidence undeterred. “Oh, I didn’t realize,” he said smoothly, though there was a slight edge to his tone. “She didn’t mention she was taken.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to you for a brief moment before returning to the man. “She shouldn’t have to,” he said coldly. “Now, I suggest you walk away.”

The man hesitated, his eyes darting between you and Bruce. You could see the calculation in his gaze, weighing his options. Eventually, he shrugged, raising his hands in mock surrender. “Relax, man. No harm done.” He smirked at you, his tone turning smug. “Enjoy your night.”

As he walked away, Bruce stepped closer, his tall frame towering over you. His hand found your arm, his grip firm but not painful. “Are you okay?” he asked, his voice softer now but still laced with tension.

“I’m fine,” you said, though your heart was still racing. “He was just being annoying.”

Bruce’s eyes searched yours, as if trying to gauge whether you were telling the truth. Satisfied, he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly. But his hand remained on your arm, grounding you.

“I shouldn’t have left you alone,” he muttered, almost to himself. “That won’t happen again.”

You frowned, sensing the guilt behind his words. “Bruce, it’s not your fault. I’m not some helpless damsel. I can handle myself.”

His lips quirked up in a faint smile, but there was no humor in it. “I know you can,” he said quietly. “But I don’t like seeing other men trying to take what’s mine.”

The possessiveness in his tone made your cheeks flush, though you weren’t sure if it was from irritation or something else entirely. “I’m not a possession, Bruce,” you said, your voice firm.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his brows furrowing. “I just—” He stopped himself, his jaw tightening as he struggled to find the right words. Finally, he shook his head. “Forget it.”

You sighed, your irritation fading as you saw the vulnerability beneath his carefully controlled exterior. “It’s okay,” you said gently, placing a hand on his chest. “I get it.”

He covered your hand with his, his touch warm and steady. For a moment, the rest of the room seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of you. But then a voice broke the spell.

“Bruce,” Charlotte said, appearing at his side with a curious expression. “I was wondering where you ran off to.”

You stiffened, your hand dropping from Bruce’s chest as Charlotte’s sharp gaze flicked to you. She didn’t bother hiding her disdain, her red lips curving into a thin smile. “I see you found your… companion.”

“Charlotte,” Bruce said curtly, his tone clipped. “Excuse us.”

But she didn’t budge, her smile widening. “Don’t be rude, Bruce. Aren’t you going to introduce us?”

Your lips pressed into a thin line, and you glanced at Bruce, wondering how he would handle this. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before responding.

“This is Y/N,” he said, his voice steady. “She’s with me.”

The simplicity of his statement shouldn’t have affected you as much as it did, but the way he said it—firm, unwavering—sent a warmth spreading through your chest.

Charlotte raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow, clearly unimpressed. “I see,” she said, her tone dripping with condescension. “Well, it was lovely meeting you, Y/N. Enjoy the rest of your evening.”

With that, she turned on her heel and walked away, her head held high. You exhaled quietly, relieved to see her go.

“Sorry about that,” Bruce said, his hand finding the small of your back once more. “She’s… persistent.”

“You don’t say,” you replied dryly, earning a faint smirk from him.

Part 5: The Dance Floor

“Come on,” Bruce said suddenly, taking your hand. “Let’s dance.”

You blinked up at him in surprise. “You hate dancing.”

“I’ll make an exception,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument.

Before you could protest, he was leading you onto the dance floor. The orchestra was playing a slow, romantic melody, and couples swayed gracefully around you. Bruce pulled you close, his hand settling on your waist while the other clasped yours.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you said softly, feeling self-conscious under his intense gaze.

“Yes, I did,” he replied, his voice low. “I needed to remind everyone who you’re here with.”

You rolled your eyes, though you couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips. “You’re impossible.”

His lips quirked up in response. “And yet, here you are.”

The two of you moved in sync, his steps smooth and confident despite his earlier claim of hating to dance. His grip on you was firm but gentle, and you felt yourself relax in his arms. For a moment, it felt like you were the only two people in the room.

“Y/N,” he said quietly, breaking the silence.

“Yeah?”

His gaze softened, and his voice dropped even lower. “You’re the only one I care about in this room. You know that, right?”

The vulnerability in his tone caught you off guard, and you felt your heart swell. “I know,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “And I feel the same way.”

His grip on your waist tightened slightly, as if he couldn’t bear the thought of letting you go. “Good.”

Part 6: The Public Declaration

As the song came to an end, you noticed people staring—not just at you and Bruce, but at something behind you. Turning your head slightly, you saw the man from earlier standing at the edge of the dance floor, his eyes fixed on you with a look that could only be described as smug.

Bruce followed your gaze, and his expression darkened instantly. Without a word, he released your hand and strode toward the man, his movements deliberate and controlled.

“Bruce,” you called after him, but he didn’t stop.

The man noticed Bruce approaching and raised an eyebrow, clearly amused. “Can I help you?” he asked, his tone dripping with mock innocence.

“You’re done here,” Bruce said coldly, his voice low enough that only those nearby could hear.

The man smirked, clearly enjoying the challenge. “Relax, Wayne. It’s a free country. I’m just having a good time.”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you thought he might throw a punch. But instead, he turned back to you, his dark eyes burning with determination. He crossed the distance between you in three long strides, and before you could say a word, he cupped your face in his hands and kissed you.

The kiss was intense, possessive, and left no room for doubt. You felt the heat of his lips, the press of his body against yours, and the undeniable message he was sending to everyone in the room. When he finally pulled back, the room was silent, all eyes on the two of you.

“She’s mine,” Bruce said firmly, his voice carrying across the room. “And that’s not going to change.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. In that moment, nothing else mattered but him.

Part 7: The Aftermath

A stunned silence hung over the ballroom. The weight of Bruce’s words—and his public display of affection—seemed to freeze everyone in place. You could feel dozens of eyes on you, whispers beginning to ripple through the crowd like an electric current.

Bruce, however, seemed entirely unbothered. His hand found yours again, his grip firm and possessive as he led you off the dance floor without a second glance at the stunned onlookers. The man who had been hitting on you earlier had disappeared, likely realizing there was no room for negotiation.

“Bruce,” you hissed under your breath, your heart still racing. “What was that?”

He didn’t answer until you were out of earshot of most of the crowd, pulling you into a quieter corner near the tall, gilded windows that overlooked Gotham’s skyline. Even then, his gaze remained fixed on you, dark and intense.

“What was what?” he asked, his voice deceptively calm.

“You know what I mean,” you shot back, gesturing toward the dance floor. “That kiss! The whole ‘she’s mine’ thing! Everyone saw.”

“Good,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Let them see.”

You stared at him, equal parts exasperated and flustered. “Bruce, you don’t have to prove anything to anyone. I wasn’t going anywhere.”

He stepped closer, his broad shoulders blocking out the rest of the room. “It’s not about proving anything,” he said quietly, his voice carrying a dangerous edge. “It’s about making it clear. I won’t have anyone thinking they can come between us. Not him, not Charlotte, not anyone.”

You searched his face, trying to read the emotions swirling beneath his carefully controlled exterior. There was jealousy there, yes, but also something deeper—fear, perhaps? The idea that he could lose you seemed to unnerve him more than he was willing to admit.

“You didn’t have to do all that,” you said softly, your tone gentler now. “I already chose you, Bruce. I always will.”

His expression softened slightly, though the tension in his jaw remained. “You don’t understand,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ve lost too many people I care about. I can’t lose you, too.”

Your chest tightened at the raw vulnerability in his words. You reached up to cup his face, your fingers brushing against the faint stubble on his jaw. “You’re not going to lose me,” you said firmly. “But you have to trust me, Bruce. I can handle myself.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly as if drawing strength from you. “I do trust you,” he murmured. “It’s everyone else I don’t trust.”

You smiled faintly, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “I noticed.”

Part 8: The Gossip and the Retreat

Before Bruce could respond, a familiar figure approached—the head of the Wayne Foundation, a sharp-eyed woman named Evelyn who always seemed to be juggling a thousand tasks at once. Her expression was carefully neutral, though you could see the curiosity lurking behind her professional demeanor.

“Mr. Wayne,” she said politely, her gaze flicking to you for a brief moment before returning to him. “I hate to interrupt, but the press is starting to ask questions.”

Bruce straightened, his businesslike mask sliding into place with practiced ease. “Let them ask,” he said coolly. “They’ll get the same answer as everyone else.”

Evelyn raised an eyebrow but didn’t push further. “Understood. Shall I handle the follow-up?”

Bruce nodded. “Yes. Make it clear this isn’t up for discussion.”

“Of course,” Evelyn said smoothly before turning to leave, her heels clicking against the polished floor.

You exhaled, glancing around the room. The whispers hadn’t stopped, and you could feel the weight of countless stares on your back. “We’re going to be the talk of Gotham by morning,” you muttered.

Bruce’s lips twitched into a faint smirk. “Let them talk.”

“You’re impossible,” you said, shaking your head.

“And yet, here you are,” he said, echoing your earlier words with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension between you easing slightly. “Let’s get out of here,” you said. “I’ve had enough of being a spectacle for one night.”

Bruce didn’t hesitate. “Let’s go.”

Part 9: The Car Ride

The car ride back to Wayne Manor was quiet, the hum of the engine and the soft rustle of the city outside the only sounds. You sat beside Bruce in the backseat, the close confines of the car making his presence feel even more intense. He hadn’t let go of your hand since you left the gala, his thumb tracing absent circles on your skin.

“Are you mad?” he asked suddenly, breaking the silence.

You turned to him, startled by the question. “What?”

“About what I did back there,” he clarified, his tone unusually uncertain. “If I embarrassed you—”

“You didn’t embarrass me,” you said quickly, cutting him off. “I was surprised, sure, but… I wasn’t mad.”

He studied you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Good.”

“Bruce,” you said softly, leaning closer. “You don’t have to be so afraid of losing me. I’m not going anywhere. You know that, right?”

His grip on your hand tightened slightly. “It’s hard for me to believe that sometimes,” he admitted, his voice quiet. “When you care about someone, it feels like you’re just waiting for the moment they’ll be taken away.”

Your heart ached at the pain in his voice. You knew he wasn’t just talking about you—he was thinking about his parents, about everyone he’d lost over the years. You reached up to touch his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you repeated firmly. “You don’t have to do this alone anymore, Bruce. I’m here, and I’m staying.”

For a long moment, he didn’t respond, his dark eyes searching yours. Then, without warning, he pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly against him. You could feel the tension in his body slowly ebbing away as he buried his face in your hair.

“I don’t deserve you,” he murmured, his voice barely audible.

“You deserve more than you think,” you whispered back, your arms wrapping around him.

The car pulled up to Wayne Manor, but neither of you moved to get out right away. For the first time that night, the world outside felt distant and unimportant. All that mattered was the two of you, together in the quiet of the moment.

Part 10: Arrival at Wayne Manor

The grand gates of Wayne Manor opened slowly, the sleek black car gliding up the winding driveway. The tension from the night had eased, but there was still a quiet intensity in the air between you and Bruce. He held the door open for you as you stepped out, his hand lightly resting on your lower back as he guided you inside.

Alfred was waiting in the foyer, his ever-composed expression giving way to a subtle smirk as he took in your intertwined hands. “Ah, Master Wayne, Miss Y/N,” he greeted warmly. “I trust the gala was… eventful?”

Bruce’s jaw tightened, but you beat him to it, flashing Alfred a weary smile. “You could say that,” you said, shrugging off your coat. “Let’s just say we made a bit of an impression.”

Alfred’s gaze flicked to Bruce, his eyes twinkling with quiet amusement. “I take it the city’s socialites will have plenty to discuss over breakfast tomorrow?”

Bruce grunted noncommittally, steering you toward the living room. “Good night, Alfred.”

“Good night, sir. Miss Y/N.” Alfred’s voice carried the faintest hint of teasing as he disappeared down the hall.

Part 11: Unspoken Tensions

You sank onto the plush sofa, kicking off your heels and leaning back with a sigh. Bruce stood nearby, his arms crossed as he watched you. His tuxedo jacket was gone, the first few buttons of his dress shirt undone, making him look less like Gotham’s billionaire playboy and more like the man you knew beneath the mask.

“You’re still brooding,” you pointed out, breaking the silence.

“I don’t brood,” he said automatically, but the slight narrowing of his eyes betrayed him.

You arched an eyebrow. “You’re practically radiating brood, Bruce.”

His lips twitched, but he didn’t quite smile. Instead, he moved to sit beside you, his gaze searching your face. “Did I cross a line tonight?” he asked quietly.

You tilted your head, studying him. “Why are you so worried about that?”

“Because I don’t want to push you away,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I—” He paused, his hands flexing in his lap as if he wasn’t used to saying these kinds of things. “I don’t always know where the line is with you. I’m not used to… this.”

Your expression softened, and you reached for his hand, intertwining your fingers. “Bruce,” you said gently, “you didn’t cross a line. I was surprised, sure, but not upset. I know why you did it.”

His eyes darkened. “That doesn’t make it right.”

You sighed, shifting closer. “Look, I get it. You’ve been through so much, and I know it’s hard for you to let people in. But you don’t have to protect me from everything, Bruce. I’m not going to disappear because of some overconfident guy at a gala.”

He didn’t respond immediately, his gaze fixed on your joined hands. Finally, he said, “You’re the first person who’s ever made me feel like this.”

“Like what?” you prompted, your heart thudding in your chest.

“Like I can breathe,” he said simply. “Like I’m not alone.”

The raw honesty in his words took your breath away. You leaned in, cupping his face in your hands. “You’re not alone,” you said firmly. “Not anymore.”

Part 12: The Kiss Revisited

Bruce’s eyes flicked to your lips, and for a moment, neither of you moved. Then he closed the distance between you, his mouth capturing yours in a kiss that was both tender and possessive. It wasn’t like the kiss at the gala, which had been about making a statement. This was different—deeper, slower, and meant only for you.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer until you were practically in his lap. You could feel the tension in his body, the restrained intensity that always simmered beneath the surface. But there was something else, too—a vulnerability that he rarely let anyone see.

When you finally pulled back, your foreheads resting together, you couldn’t help but smile. “You’re really bad at subtlety, you know that?”

Bruce chuckled softly, a rare sound that made your heart flutter. “I never claimed to be subtle.”

“No kidding,” you teased, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “But I guess I like that about you.”

“Good,” he said, his voice low and rough. “Because I don’t plan on changing.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t hide your grin. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here you are,” he murmured, echoing your earlier words with a smirk.

Part 13: A Quiet Moment

The two of you stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other as the events of the night faded into the background. The crackling fireplace cast a warm glow over the room, and for the first time that evening, you felt completely at ease.

Part 13: A Quiet Moment (Continued)

Bruce’s arms tightened around you, his chin resting on top of your head. “You know I’d do anything to keep you safe,” he said quietly.

“I know,” you replied, your voice soft. “But you don’t have to carry that weight alone. You’re allowed to lean on me too, Bruce.”

He was silent for a moment, as though letting your words sink in. “I’m not used to that,” he admitted. “Depending on someone else.”

You tilted your head to look up at him, your fingers tracing gentle patterns on his chest. “Well, it’s a good thing I’m stubborn,” you said with a small smile. “Because I’m not going anywhere, no matter how hard you try to scare me off.”

A ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “I wasn’t trying to scare you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” you teased lightly, your tone taking the sting out of the words. “But seriously, Bruce. I know you’ve lost a lot. And I know that makes it hard for you to believe that someone might actually stay. But you don’t have to fight so hard to protect me from everything. I’m stronger than I look.”

“I know you are,” he said, his voice full of conviction. “That’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

You blinked, surprised by the rare compliment. “Bruce Wayne, are you getting sentimental on me?”

He chuckled softly, his fingers brushing against your cheek. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Too late,” you said with a grin, leaning up to kiss him again.

Part 14: The Morning After

The next morning, you woke to the soft light of dawn streaming through the floor-to-ceiling windows of Bruce’s bedroom. You stretched lazily, the events of the previous night coming back to you in a rush. The gala, the drama, Bruce’s possessiveness—it all felt like something out of a dream.

You turned to find him already awake, sitting on the edge of the bed with his back to you. He was shirtless, his broad shoulders bathed in the golden morning light. He seemed lost in thought, his gaze fixed on the distant skyline.

“Good morning,” you said, your voice still heavy with sleep.

He turned at the sound of your voice, his expression softening. “Good morning.”

“You’re up early,” you noted, propping yourself up on one elbow. “Couldn’t sleep?”

He shook his head slightly. “Too much on my mind.”

You scooted closer, wrapping your arms around him from behind and resting your chin on his shoulder. “Want to talk about it?”

He hesitated, his jaw tightening briefly before he spoke. “The way I acted last night… it’s been bothering me.”

You frowned, your arms tightening around him. “Bruce, we’ve already talked about this. I wasn’t upset.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “But I can’t stop thinking about how I handled it. I let my emotions get the better of me.”

You pressed a kiss to his shoulder, your lips lingering against his warm skin. “You’re allowed to feel things, Bruce. You’re not a machine.”

He sighed, his hand covering yours where it rested against his chest. “I just don’t want you to think that I don’t trust you. Because I do.”

“I know you do,” you said gently. “And I trust you too. But we’re going to have to work on this together. You can’t keep trying to shield me from everything.”

He turned slightly, his dark eyes meeting yours. “I’m not used to having someone like you in my life,” he admitted. “Someone I care about this much.”

Your heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. You reached up to cup his face, your thumb brushing against his cheek. “You’re not alone anymore, Bruce,” you said softly. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing briefly. “You make it sound so easy.”

“It’s not,” you admitted with a small smile. “But it’s worth it.”

Part 15: Moving Forward

The two of you spent the rest of the morning in quiet companionship, the heavy emotions of the night before slowly giving way to something lighter. Bruce seemed more at ease, his usual guarded demeanor softening in your presence.

Over breakfast, Alfred couldn’t resist making a few dry remarks about the spectacle at the gala, but even he seemed pleased to see Bruce in better spirits.

“You know, sir,” Alfred said as he cleared the dishes, “it’s not every day you publicly declare your affection for someone in front of half of Gotham’s elite. Quite the statement.”

Bruce shot him a withering look, but you just laughed. “I think the headlines are going to have a field day with it.”

“Let them,” Bruce said, his tone resolute. “I don’t care what they say, as long as you know how I feel.”

Your heart swelled at his words, and you reached across the table to take his hand. “I do,” you said softly. “And I feel the same way.”

For the first time, Bruce smiled—a real, genuine smile that lit up his usually stoic face. It was a rare sight, but one that you cherished deeply.

As the day went on, you found yourselves falling into an easy rhythm. Bruce still had his walls, his brooding tendencies, and his fierce protectiveness, but there was a newfound openness in him that gave you hope for the future.

You knew it wouldn’t always be easy. There would be challenges, misunderstandings, and moments of doubt. But as you stood by his side, you couldn’t help but feel that together, you could face anything.

After all, Bruce Wayne wasn’t just the man you loved—he was your partner, your equal, and the person who made you feel like you could take on the world.

And you knew, without a doubt, that he felt the same way about you.

A/N - sorry this was ass guys 😢

[jenosonlywife23]

Title: Breaking Point a/n; sequel to almost

The words hung in the air, jagged and cruel, long after you threw them. You hadn't meant to snap, but Jeno had this way of pushing you to the edge, of standing so close to what you wanted but never giving it to you. And tonight, after weeks of silent yearning and half-truths, you finally broke.

"Why do you keep doing this to me?" Your voice trembled, a sharp edge to your tone. You didn’t bother to hide the way your hands shook.

Jeno froze mid-step, his hoodie halfway unzipped as he turned to look at you, confusion furrowing his brow. "Doing what?" he asked, too casually for the storm brewing between you.

"This!" you exploded, gesturing wildly at the space between you. "Coming here, acting like you—like we—mean something, and then leaving like it’s nothing. Like I’m nothing."

He flinched, the impact of your words visible in the tightening of his jaw, the way his shoulders stiffened. "That’s not fair," he said quietly.

"Isn’t it?" You took a step closer, your chest heaving as the anger poured out of you, the frustration and heartbreak you’d swallowed down for months finally bubbling to the surface. "You keep me here, Jeno. Right here." You pointed to a spot inches from his chest. "Close enough to hope, but not close enough to hold. Do you even care what that does to me?"

His eyes darkened, and for a moment, he didn’t answer. Then, he stepped forward, the distance between you evaporating in a heartbeat.

"You think this doesn’t kill me, too?" he snapped, his voice low and rough. "You think I don’t lie awake at night, wondering if I should just tell you—if I should risk ruining the one good thing in my life because I’m too scared you’ll walk away if I ask for more?"

You blinked, his words hitting like a punch to the chest. "Then why don’t you?"

"Because I don’t want to lose you!" he shouted, his voice breaking at the end. The rawness in his tone made your breath hitch. "Because if I ask for too much, if I mess this up, I don’t know how I’d survive without you."

The air between you felt electric, your emotions sparking off each other in a way that felt both dangerous and inevitable.

"Jeno…" Your voice cracked, softer now, your anger bleeding into something warmer, heavier. "I’m already yours. You just never claimed me."

His eyes widened, and for a moment, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with your words. Then, as if something inside him snapped, he reached for you, his hands cupping your face as he pulled you close.

"Say that again," he murmured, his breath warm against your lips, his voice desperate.

"I’m yours," you repeated, the truth of it unraveling something deep inside you. "I’ve always been yours, Jeno."

He kissed you then—fierce, messy, and full of every unsaid word, every buried feeling that had built between you. It wasn’t gentle or perfect, but it was real, and it was enough to leave you breathless.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours, his voice a whisper. "You don’t know how long I’ve waited to hear you say that."

"Then don’t make me wait anymore," you said softly, your hands clutching the fabric of his hoodie like it was the only thing tethering you to reality.

"I won’t," he promised, his voice steady now. "I’m done running from this. From us."

[theartofwoompwoomp]

I’m falling behind…

Rise Donnie x Reader 

prompt : “I’ve tried everything, but you-you just don’t care !”

————————————————————————

It had been terrible.

Everything went wrong since the moment you awoke. Just remembering it was bringing you a headache.

You massage your forehead trying to soothe the pain a bit. 

It didn’t help that these past few weeks haven’t been any easier, clearly life decided it suddenly wanted to be funny and honestly, you were so sick of its jokes.

But, even though this was all on your plate, you knew that wasn’t the real reason for your current mood. 

It actually had to do with a certain someone.  

Worst part is, this certain someone, is non other your turtle boyfriend.

I mean, you always tried to be understanding. Knowing that sometimes he needs his space and just won’t be able to talk everyday, that’s totally okay with you. 

but him not even responding and leaving you on read when you need his support !?

now that’s a different story 

You’ve tried being reasonable, after all, he is someone of logic who will act accordingly. But this had been different.

he just suddenly decide that ghosting you was the best solution !? 

Now, you had been patient with him. But it’s been two whole months, and you still haven’t seen or heard from him once ! 

And you knew there wasn’t anything particularly wrong. You had been keeping contact with his whole family to make sure he was alright. 

In fact, they didn’t understand his actions any better than you did. 

And when it finally hit three months you decided you waited enough. 

On your way there you messaged April that you’d get in a few minutes, and she confirmed that Donnie was there.

The whole family had a group chat without you or Don so they could usually gossip about y’alls dates and stuff. Though these past few months it’s mainly been used to try to figure out what’s going on.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Why are you all typing suspiciously on your phones at the same time?” 

Snapping the things off and quickly repositioning themselves in the most normal poses. “What are you talking about Don??? We weren’t on our phones.” Leo strains a smile as the sweat drops from his head 

“Yes, and i don’t have eyes. Don’t lie to me Nardo, it’s not funny.” Offended a bit that they were clearlylying to his face. 

Yet the only thing they could think of was buying you more time. They knew nothing was going to improve if these two didn’t speak to each other.

And at that, leo got an idea. 

“Nardo why are you looking at me like that?”  Questioning as his twin goes near him making him back up a bit. “What do ya mean Donnie, I ain’t doing nothing.”

He squints at his brother in distrust, knowing that smirk on his face. “Nardo, what ever you are planning i suggest you refrain this insistence.” 

Leo shrugs but not before striking to open a portal right under him, trapping him as he falls into a confined room.

“Sorry Dee, but trust us ! You both need this !” And the portal closed.

———————————————————————

the heck?!

What was his brother thinking?! And what in the world did he mean by both? As far as he can see, he’s the only one in the room.

Well at least he has his phone. 

He kept spamming his family messages, yet wherever leo left him had the absolute worst signal. 

Honestly he was already planning his twin’s murder as he played some offline mobile game.

It wasn’t tell he saw the portal up again he stood up ready to give his brother and earful of his anger. 

“Nardo you crossed the line.” His nose scrunching a bit, “you won’t get away with this.”

But leo never came out the other side.

Instead he was shocked to see the person he hope he never saw again. 

You came through, and the portal closed behind.

All his emotions crashed as reality wrapped around his throat, preventing him to reach out or say anything.

That look on your face was harsh and cold. A lot more empty and tired than what he remembered. 

“What’s wrong Dee? Didn’t like my surprise.” You taunted him. He had expected your attitude, but it still hurt seeing how much you changed because of him. he didn’t plan on seeing you again this way. 

but, maybe you were right,…. maybe it was too late to save anything.

———————————————————————

Masterlist 

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

🎄 Hallmark Christmas Movie AU Part 4 - The End 🎄

(part 1) ❄️(part 2) ❄️(part 3)

Boris and Göran were looking forward to teasing Wille about not spending the night in his own bed, but when Wille gets back with red-rimmed eyes, they know this isn’t a time for jokes. Wille doesn’t even want to go see the play in the evening, but eventually they convince him to go since he worked so hard on the flats. Wille thinks it’s probably his last chance to hear Simon sing, so he agrees.

The play is a smashing success. Everyone loves Wille’s work and especially the changes he made. He’s very proud but it’s marred by how sad he is about Simon. He would hate for their last interaction ever to have been a fight, so he finds him after the show.

“I’m really sorry, Simon. I never meant to hurt you.”

“I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have snapped.”

“I just want you to know you’re the furthest possible thing from inconsequential. I’ll never forget you.”

Simon watches him with sad eyes. “I hope you have a nice Christmas.”

Wille won’t, but that’s beside the point.

“Thank you, Simon. You too.”

And that’s it. A sad ending to the best days of Wille’s life and it’s all his fault, but what can he do? A car is waiting to take him back to Stockholm. He has to go back to his real life.

Only the staff are there to welcome him when he gets back to the palace. His parents and brother are at some function that Wille was allowed to get out of, but that ends now. Official royal engagements are all his life is going to be. The hope of escape is too distant to be of any comfort. It’s almost worse than before, now that he knows how nice life can be. He can’t sleep, tossing and turning in bed. He thinks of Boris and Göran’s quiet domesticity, his conversations with Boris, the way he feels when he’s painting. And Simon. Simon, Simon, Simon.

He dreams of him, too. When he wakes up, he can’t believe he let his chance at happiness go without a fight. It suddenly seems obvious what he has to do if he ever wants to be happy and that he has to do it now, not at some indeterminate, uncertain point in the future that may never come.

He goes to see his mother.

“Why aren’t you getting ready?” she scolds.

“Because I’m not going,” Wille says firmly. He’s not going to the gala, he’s going back to Bjärstad. He’s finally learned what it feels like to be alive and he’s not letting that feeling go. He’s going to withdraw from royal work and relinquish his titles. Yes, he’s serious, and there’s nothing she can say that could sway him. They can discuss the details after the holidays, but his decision won’t change.

Then he walks out of her rooms, grabs his coat and goes to the garage to get his own car. He doesn’t drive often, not since Erik was in an accident that could have ended very badly, but the Queen could stop the royal drivers from taking him, and more importantly, he doesn’t want to arrive like a prince.

The roads are busy and it’s snowing heavily, so the journey takes twice as long as it normally would. It’s dark by the time he gets to Simon’s house, and Simon isn’t home. He must be at his mother’s place already. Wille doesn’t know where Linda lives and has to ask locals for directions. It’s a full-on snowstorm by then and the streets of Bjärstad haven’t been ploughed, so Wille leaves his car where it is and makes his way to the other side of the town on foot.

Linda’s living room is softly lit and full of Christmas decorations and plates of cookies. Simon and Sara are there, as well as Linda’s new husband and his children and Boris and Göran, who are there for end-of-movie reasons. The atmosphere is warm and cosy. The only one who isn’t joining in the fun is Simon, who’s struggling to take part in the conversation. When the doorbell rings, he welcomes the opportunity to get away for a minute and goes to open the door.

He doesn’t know what he expected, but it definitely wasn’t Wille, shivering and nearly covered in snow.

“What are you doing here?”

“I came back. I changed my mind.”

“What about the gala?”

“I’m not going. I’m not doing any of it anymore, Simon. I’m done. I just told my mum.”

Simon is stunned. “What did she say?”

Wille shrugs. “She’ll come around. I hope. But it doesn’t change anything if she doesn’t. I’m done.”

“Did… did you do it because of me? Because I didn’t mean to ask that of you, I don’t want to be the reason why you –”

But Wille is shaking his head vehemently. “No. I did it for my own sake. You were right. I don’t want to do this to myself anymore. I want to have a life I actually like. And I… I’d like you to be part of it. If you’ll have me.”

Simon’s heart is beating so hard he thinks Wille must be able to hear it. “What the hell do you think?”

Wille honestly has no idea, but he’s saved from any doubts by Simon throwing himself in his arms and crushing their mouths together. They kiss in the swirling snow, relieved and happy and so in love they barely feel the icy wind.

“Why are you letting the cold in?” Sara calls from the doorway. “You can do this inside!”

And so they do.

[homestuckreplay]

My First Social Interaction In 413 Years

(page 1040-1051)

THE AIMLESS RENEGADE SHOT AT WV AND PM. I’m furious over this. There will be no forgiveness. But it makes sense that since Jack Noir was recently introduced as a potential villain for the beta kids – certainly for John, as he’s imprisoning his dad – we are getting a villain for the future folks too.

I really like the nervousness between WV and PM (p.1044) which I’m sure could be interpreted as romantic, but I personally see it as the first motions towards truce between these two different sides of a war. This might be the first time either of them has interacted with someone from the other planet in a non-hostile way. They’ve also both been wandering the wasteland without meeting anyone else in person for potentially up to 413 years, so any social interaction is probably nervewracking under those conditions – it’s not like either of them were great at interacting with the kids. These first movements towards friendship between them are very sweet.

PM’s sword is back and so badass. I think real mail workers should also be allowed to carry a sword for self defense. I hope that worm with the mailbox in its jaws is gently holding it for PM and not about to take a chomp, otherwise it’s about to have a bad time.

Page 1041 is drawn in a full color, wide brush scribbly style that was also used on page 1007, but used here for a more landscapey page (plus Jade’s ‘==> cover!’) it looks like a hybrid between the cleaner future style and Jade’s note (p.1038), further blurring the boundaries between the present and the future, between Jade and WV. Although I’m not sure what the ‘<== hurry!’ is doing, as that seems directed to PM, who hasn’t looked at the note yet so can’t be following the order.

This update also introduces some Gender. Jade refers to PM as ‘Miss Mail Lady’, and has previously called WV ‘Mister Mayor’. I think it is a little strange that a chess piece construct has a gender but I respect people’s pronouns. Later, Jade thinks that the other Prospit moon tower only differs from hers as it’s ‘home to a young boy instead of a young girl’, though I’d say the clown presence and the inhabitant being asleep are more striking differences.

@tenaciouschronicler was so right to mention keeping an eye on dichotomies, and that’s definitely a theme I want to write lots about in the future, but I’m especially interested with how dichotomies are set up and then questioned or subverted. We’re seeing this with the art style, with the different timelines, possibly with the light and dark sides of the war, and hopefully with gender (although that could be my personal bias).

I actually forgot to even speculate who or what might be in the other tower, but John being there (in a matching golden outfit!) explains this earlier conversation.

GG: oh gosh john i really want to tell you all this stuff!!! GG: but i cant yet GG: i really think you need to wake up first! EB: huh? GG: well ok not literally GG: well ok maybe KINDA literally!! (p.652)

I think that awake Jade had this conversation with John, because of the Jade inequality where waking Jade seems aware of dream Jade’s existence, but the reverse doesn’t seem true – dream Jade isn’t aware of the finger reminder system (p.777, 1050). Waking Jade wants to explain the difference between these two selves to John, but she thinks John won’t believe her, because John doesn’t know about this alternate version of himself. If the dream self represents the unconscious then perhaps now that he can see the graffiti in his waking room, he’ll be ready to realize this. This means that the previous conversations Jade has with John (p.169, p.293) happen while Jade is asleep – in fact, are presumably about to happen, because she’s about to message John to ask about his present (p.1051).

Which means that the explosion Jade describes on page 169 actually happens on Prospit, possibly as a consequence of the eclipse Jade is nervous about. It also means that there is a version of Bec somewhere on Prospit, as he warns her away from investigating between the two conversations (p.293). This all calls into question my sense that Jade likes to take control of conversations, dispensing information slowly as she knows more than her friends – if her dream self isn’t even aware of her waking self’s life, and if she’s dreaming during roughly half her conversations, her information is a lot more imperfect than I thought. That’s exciting to me, and makes it well worth rereading all of Jade’s conversations and trying to figure out which Jade is talking.

Clearly, John has been within the Medium since before he entered the Medium. How long has he been here, and how does that line up with how long John and Jade have been friends while awake? Did Jade see the kid in the other tower and decide to search for him while awake using some of her powers? Or did John talking to Jade online ‘infect’ him slightly with some of her abilities and pull him under Skaia’s will? Is the whole thing a total coincidence, or is it a “coincidence”, predetermined by Skaia? Which version of Jade – awake or dreaming – was talking to John the first time they met online?

And no shit John is having troubled dreams. There’s an imp on his bed. Specifically, a black chess piece, which is unexpected on Prospit. And his graffiti is also here, so it’s a fair guess he’s dreaming about clowns. I’m thinking about how Prospit is supposed to be the planet of goodness of light, working for the righteous cause of protecting Skaia, but Jade and John both go through some rough stuff. Even if it can’t extend to waking life, I’d expect a place like this to guard its wards from unpleasant dreams, and one single imp doll should not be able to overpower the entire planet. So what’s going on? What are the secret dark sides to this luminous planet?

Page 1051 (below) has to be one of the coolest visual panels so far. The white/blue to black/yellow transition, with Jade hovering bravely between the two planets bringing the colors from the bottom section into the top, and the geometric reflections of Prospit superimposed on the swirling clouds, are all stunning and make the eclipse feel like an important moment.

> Jade: Reminisce about previous eclipse.

[vastpotato]

I write a crazed crack theory/hope for The mag protocol at 3 am… you wanna hear it?:):):)

Jon and Martin survived. The plan worked just as Jon had theorized it would. With Jon gone, the tether was cut and the fears sent away. In the explosion, jon was able to protect Martin (his own connection and domain of the Lonely also most likely saved him) and they were sent to another universe (Somewhere Else)(most likely with all the other fears just greatly weakened and on the edges once more)(they never found bodies)

Martin came through in much better space than jon, (because protected by Jon and Lonely powers) still with powers to some degree and now in a new universe, he has no true ties and doesn’t truly care. What he does care about is Jon. Jon has barely survived through his power in the eye. Not even remotely human anymore, Martin knows the only way jon could possibly survive or grow strong enough to Be once more is through the power of stories. He doesn’t want another mag inst again though so he plans carefully. Two men are out looking for a bit of fun and a good place to tell spooky stories. Martin is able to scare them enough into knowing they MUST come back every year or so with new people to share true stories. Martin takes this as a mercy and some kind of hold still on humanity. (Hence why we hear there is no ‘Martin or jon’. Because there isn’t. Not really anymore anyways. Just husks of the men we knew and loved.) they’re not human anymore. Neither of them. Jon practically IS the Beholding now and martins only true link to humanity still now, is because of and through the husk of the man he loves and his want of him back.

In the “huh. Are you still listening?” We can hear that it’s obviously Martin. (Ofc duh, no one could forget the huggable voice) but. The tone has changed slightly. It’s more confidence, you can obviously tell he’s smirking behind the recorder (is that because he knows with the recorders coming back, things are once again set in motion? Or is it that Jon’s finally come back enough to be of interest to the Web once more?) but there’s something coy in his tone. He knows this recorder showing up means something is coming and in his voice seems to have lost the stutter, teddy bear tone in exchange for something much closer to that of a timbre jon took on in s5. Martin now has a confidence to him that we almost never saw in TMA

In TMP we might just see the duo as the villains or fears plaguing the new mcs lives. The crew come in contact with them in some form of way but we now -have- nothing- to -lose duo. They’ve already killed each other, watched their world burn. And all without knowing if what they did and sacrificed was even worth it or did anything. That’s enough there to break any person. But even Martin in the new world-is alone and growing stronger with his own power because of it. He’s bringing stories for Jon to get stronger with. The two are growing in power. Maybe not quickly. But growing nonetheless.

(Please let us see an absolute crazed jon. A jon who hasn’t even truly Been in the world for an unknown amount of time. A jon who’s been driven mad from teetering on the edge of existing and nothingness. A jon who can hear the voice of the man he loves. Heard how he cries out and grows frustrated at his own attempts but can do nothing to soothe him. A jon who’s finally been brought back enough to embrace the one he loves but it’s too late and the man’s grown bitter from his time alone and failed tries. A jon who has had to listen to these mortals blab on and on over things that don’t truly feed him. A jon who had so much power and walked his world as a god only to have fallen so far. A jon who used to be able to See nearly anything and everything at will only to be unable to see his own hands in front of him. A jon who can see the way the love of his life cries for him day after day after day. A jon who was so mighty and all Seeing who now can see nothing. Who is forced to survive off of hearing moments alone. A jon who is so broken by his past actions and unknowing if his own world is safe. If the people he fought so hard for are even alive. A jon who goes mad because he doesn’t Know anything anymore. Give me a jon who is so simply broken he does not care for the humanity in front of him. A jon who stares down at the vermin at his feet who dared to keep their stories from him and forced his love to suffer longer. Give me a mad broken jon. )

[joestarfucker420]

going from being ashton all week to being my legal name again is honestly one of the worst feelings in the world

[yuribalisms]

Essentially what it is all boiling down to is I have fully realized I am bad at being a person, that will always be true, and I don’t know how to handle that

[whimsyprinx]

time to make a realistic set of goals for 2023 i guess

[red-and-white-and-black-and-gold]

Fucked around, made a bracket for the MLS Cup playoffs. Columbus for the back to back championship, you heard it here first folks!

[maskedbyghost]

lets continue our talk about situationship!Simon, where this bitch grovels for monthssss

_______________________________________________

situationship!simon starts sending you text messages. before you could expect something like "you up?" or "come to my office.", but after you broke things off with him, simon started sending you heartfelt text messages, apologizing for his past behavior. “i’ve been thinking a lot about what happened between us,” he texted one night. “i realize now how much i hurt you, and i’m truly sorry, love. i understand if you need space, but i wanted you to know how much i regret everything.”

along with his messages, simon started sending you small but meaningful gifts. he remembered how you’d joked about his tea obsession once and that you’d mentioned you only liked chamomile. to your surprise, he found the best brand of chamomile tea and even packed it in a nice box before delivering it to your room.

he even started to open up more. during a late-night phone call, where you could clearly hear that he was drunk, simon said that he started seeing a therapist. “i’m workin on understandin my issues and changin for the better. i want to be better, not just for you love, but for myself. i hope you can see that i’m tryin to change.”

when you asked him to stop calling you love, he refused. “i can’t help it. you’re mine in a way no one else could be, and i don’t want to pretend otherwise.”

as simon keeps showing up with gifts and heartfelt messages, you can’t help but wonder if he’s being real or if he’s just trying to win you back before breaking your heart again.

you still go on dates with other people, and simon is tormented every time he sees you leaving the base in those pretty dresses—dresses he wishes were just for him. he follows you, quietly lurking in the corners of the restaurants or bars where you’re out with your dates. oddly enough, most of the guys you go out with either get transferred to another base or stop calling you after just one date, and you’re doing your best not to blame simon for it. but you know it's him. and he is not sorry at all.

almost every day, simon texts you, asking you out on dates and planning special things for the who of you. all you have to do is say yes, but each time, you refuse. it breaks his heart every time, but it also makes him more determined to try even harder. he knows he deserves this treatment from you.

back when you and simon used to train together on base, it was a special routine you both enjoyed. now, you’ve started asking other guys to help you with exercises, and it drives him wild with jealousy. watching their hands on you makes him see red. after your training sessions with them, simon invites these guys to spar with him. it quickly becomes clear that he’s using these sparring matches as a chance to take out his frustration and anger, landing a few extra hits just to make his point.

despite everything, you still won’t budge, and it’s only making simon more frustrated. the truth is, it’s becoming harder and harder for you to resist him. his persistence is wearing you down, and the more he pushes, the more you find yourself struggling to stay strong.

simon invites you to one of his therapy sessions, saying his therapist thinks it would be helpful for him and his progress. during the session, he opens up about his struggles and insecurities, laying everything bare. as he talks, you start to feel sympathy for him. it’s clear he’s determined to change and work on himself, and you see how genuine his efforts are.

one night, you were preparing tea in the kitchen when a girl you know from the base asked for simon’s number. she mentioned she was interested in him, which made you jealous. you snapped at her, making it clear that he would never be interested in a girl like her. simon overheard the whole thing and couldn’t help but smirk to himself. it was clear you still had feelings for him, and he took a bit of satisfaction in that.

later that night he sent one simple message to you: "that's my girl. i belong to you, and you only."

after that message, simon stepped up his game. he started sending you lots of sweet texts and little gifts, and even took care of some of your paperwork. it was hard to ignore how much he was trying, and you found it tougher to resist him as he kept showing you how much he cared.

a few months after managing to ignore simon as best as you could, you caught a nasty cold and were stuck in your room. you only texted price to let him know you needed a few days off because you were sick, and got back in your bed trying to sleep that cold off. a few hours later, as you were still trying to fall asleep, you heard your door open. simon walked in, carrying a bunch of bags, a worried look on his face.

“i came as soon as I could,” simon said, worry in his voice. “i brought you soup and medicine.”

simon didn’t leave your side for days. he only went back to his room to grab more clothes and shower. he was insistent on helping you with everything, even assisting you with your showers in the most respectful way possible of course. he’d sit in a chair next to your bed, and you felt a pang of guilt seeing how much he was giving up for you. you even tried to convince him to go get some rest, but despite your protests, he somehow ended up in your bed, gently spooning you as you slept.

simon would whisper sweet things in your hair, thinking you were asleep. you heard every word as he softly talked about how much he missed you, how sorry he was for everything, and how he wanted to make things right. even though you were sick and exhausted, his words touched you deeply.

once you were feeling better, you found simon sitting alone in a common room, lost in thought. you approached him quietly and gently kissed the side of his face. with a soft smile, you whispered, “take me on that date you promised.”

_______________________________________________

@daydreamerwoah

[kentopedia]

nanami kento, who hates dating, and didn’t do much of it in his early twenties. but now, he’s almost thirty, watching all the people he works with settle down, have kids, and he thinks he wants that. so he might as well try.

so satoru sets him up on a few dates — friends of friends, he calls them. and at the end of every one of the dinners, kento goes home empty, exhausted, because he knows what they want is not the same.

still; he thinks maybe he’s being a little self-destructive, maybe too picky, maybe he just got so used to being alone. with satoru’s insistence, he gives all the women another call, invites them over to his apartment.

the first time was a disaster… kento had barely set the dinner on the table before his cat had hissed at her, scratched her down the arm in a thin gash. and though it did draw blood, it was hardly enough to warrant that reaction.

he didn’t even try to stop her as she picked up her bag and left, huffing like she’d been morally offend. kento, though, could only smile to himself in amusement.

because maybe kento was a poor judge of character, a man who was secretly hoping nothing would pan out — but his cat could certainly tell the good from the bad.

it became a little game to him, after that. seeing if anyone could win his pet over, and if they could, perhaps they were the one. his darling animal was a fickle thing anyway. a bit too defensive, quick to bite anything threatening after years on the streets.

naturally, no one came back twice.

he was close to giving up, accepting his solitude because he was tired of empty conversations over dinner. but then, he ventured out over the weekend to a new coffee shop, during hours he normally didn’t spend out of his home, and met you.

though you only talked for a moment, kento felt like maybe he’d known you in a past life. a part of him thought maybe it was strange, the way he kept coming back to talk to you, catching you at the end of your shift to see if you wanted to grab a coffee sometime.

by the second date, kento started to think you could turn out to be his best friend.

by the third date, kento wondered if soulmates were real.

on the fourth date, almost two months later, an appropriate time to get to know someone when you were as reserved as kento, he invited you over for dinner. it was, perhaps, the final confirmation he needed to let himself be with you.

he let you through the door, smiling softly as you told him about the book you were reading, and hung his coat on the rack. a moment later, you stopped, distracted, hands covering your mouth in a gasp.

“kento! she’s the cutest cat i’ve ever seen, you didn’t even show me pictures!” you exclaim, and, a few feet away, crouched down. “look at her pretty eyes…”

“careful,” kento said, “she’s not very—“

but the cat approached your outstretched hand, sniffed once, before letting you scratch her under her chin, purring loud enough for kento to hear across the room.

“shes such a sweetheart, you told me she was mean!” you smiled, making a cooing noise as you threaded your fingers through her fur. “kento’s a liar, isn’t he… you’re so precious.”

a few moments later, she snapped her jaw at you in a biting motion, and you only laughed, withdrawing your hand. “alright, i get it, i won’t bother you anymore.”

though she still brushed against your legs, just as she did kento’s, and seemed to communicate some sort of message to him.

“do you want any help cooking?” you ask, tucking your hair behind your ears. “i’m a disaster in the kitchen, but—“

“sure,” kento said, his chest tightening as he blinked back at you, only in his apartment for minutes and already looking as at home there. he wondered if it was possible to fall in love so quickly. “but only if you want to.”

[nereidprinc3ss]

no sweeter innocence (than our gentle sin)

in which spencer reid is gentle with overwhelmed fem!reader after sex

18+ (fluff, implied intimacy) warnings/tags: it's just aftercare, but like psychological aftercare, implied intimacy duh, vague descriptions of sex but nothing explicit, hurt/comfort without the hurt, allusions to postcoital dysphoria, reader cries but its not really sad, spencer reid is so kind i wish men were real, i think that is all a/n: guess who wrote an entirely different thing instead of touching her wips..... AGAIN...... this bitch cant do anything omggg!! but this was based on a request so go me also what a strange time to be posting but it's only 1k words and nobody can stop me

“Hey. Are you with me, angel?”

You blink your eyes open in the dark room—reorienting yourself to the tangle of your bodies. How many minutes has it been?

“Hm?”

He chuckles—a quick huff from his nose as he brings a hand up to push hair from your face. 

“I asked you if you’re with me.”

It takes you a moment to answer. You’re still trying to make sense of where you are in space, each sensation coming back to you one by one—the weight and pressure of him against you, the slip of cotton sheets and a cool breeze from the cracked window over your heated sticky skin. 

“Oh.”

It’s not much of an answer and your voice is small. For a moment he lets it sit, cupping your warm cheek. Your eyes flutter shut again. His voice comes gentler, dipped in concern. 

“You okay?”

This time you don’t try to speak. Your tongue is like a lead weight in your mouth and your brain is running on dial-up. The best you can do is to cling to him, hiding your face in the curve of his neck and hoping he’ll understand that your firm hold on him is a request for him to tighten his own arms around you, until you’re sure you won’t float away. He reciprocates and it makes you feel more secure immediately. 

“Can you answer me?” He murmurs, all sweet solicitation, lips brushing the top of your head in this new airtight position. And then, a moment later— “Baby. I wanna hear your voice.”

“Mhm,” you manage. 

Spencer rewards you by rubbing your back in slow circles. His hand feels nice on your bare skin. The way you love him is too big for words. It could make you cry. 

“Wasn’t too much? You’re not hurting anywhere?”

You shake your head and try to ignore the ache in your bones when you can’t seem to get him close enough. 

“Mm-mm.”

It’s not entirely true—your legs are sore, but it’s nothing that needs tending to, and your lower back is a bit crampy, but he’s already working on that. 

He hums. “You’re pretty out of it, sweet girl. What’s going on with you?”

Spencer is always careful with you. He’d never hurt you, or sacrifice your comfort for his pleasure. That said, he’s just as passionate as you are. The stretch of your arms above your head is still fresh in your mind—the ghost of his grip, pressing your wrists into the mattress, or pushing your leg up, or pulling you exactly where he wanted you by the hips. It’s all wonderful, and you never feel safer than you do when you’re with him, but it doesn’t make you feel any less vulnerable, any less raw, after all is said and done. Maybe it’s precisely because you trust him so much that you’re so sensitive afterward. But he never, ever makes you feel bad for having an intense reaction to an intense experience. He always meets you where you’re at. That in itself makes you emotional. Spencer is different than any of the partners you’d had before. 

Again, he’s patient as you try to process his question and work up a response. Maybe a minute later, you’re breathing out something that feels true. 

“Overwhelmed.”

The word is a tap against glass you didn’t know was there until it’s fracturing like a spiderweb. With no warning, and for no good reason, you find yourself choked up. 

“Oh,” he says, sympathetic and drawn out as understanding sets in. “Do you need me to back off for a minute?”

You squeeze him even fiercer and shake your head, unable to stop the tears from drawing their shiny paths down your cheeks and sinking into the weave of the pillow case. 

“Shh. You’re okay,” he murmurs, quiet and slow and almost sing-songy as he smooths your hair, though you know he doesn’t really expect you to stop crying. “You’re okay, pretty. Remember what I said about all the hormonal shifts in your body after you come?”

Once more you nod against him with a small, shuddering sniffle. 

“And how sometimes your body regulates by crying? Kind of like a… a reset button?”

“Mhm.”

“Mhm.” He shifts from rubbing your back to tracing light lines in shapeless patterns with the blunt edges of his nails, and your breath catches before you’re melting in his hold. “It’s okay to have big or confusing feelings after sex. It’s actually really common. I just want you to be honest with me about those feelings, right? So we can keep you safe?”

“Right.”

“Would you tell me if you were hurting, or if something I did or said was bothering you?”

“Yes.”

If you were looking at him you know he’d be smiling ever so slightly at your monosyllabic responses, charting an upward path with his hand and pushing it through your hair at the nape of your neck. “You can just nod, baby. You don’t have to talk. I know you’re tired.”

You make a small noise of gratitude and nuzzle closer, feeling better as the tears slow, quickly as they’d come. 

“Do you want a bath in a little while?”

Another nod. He scratches at your scalp. “Okay. We’ll do a bath, and then dinner, and then I’m finally going to make you watch that documentary about Helvetica. It’s a little outdated, and there are a few basic errors about the origin and development of the font as well as misinformation about the typeface subgroup in general, but I can amend those as we watch and afterward we can read the director’s tenth anniversary statement. I was waiting to read it until we watched it together.”

Spencer knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that you’ll fall asleep ten minutes in, curled up on the couch under a blanket in your biggest hoodie with your head on his lap and his hand in your hair, just like this. 

He’s actually really looking forward to it.

[pedroscurls]

in every lifetime

summary: you lost logan in this universe. logan lost you in his. what happens when you both see each other again, but realize that you're both from different worlds? pairing: logan howlett x fem!reader warnings: post deadpool & wolverine ("worst" logan!variant), angst (mentions of death, loss from both reader and logan), no use of y/n. word count: 2.1k a/n: this is my first logan fic, so if anything is ooc, i'm sorry in advanced! just like everyone else, i've been obsessed with hugh jackman / logan after watching deadpool & wolverine (if it isn't obvious lol)... i had the song 'unchained melody' in mind when writing this story because whenever i hear it, i think of logan for some reason lol (tried to embed it but it didn't work, but i'd highly recommend listening to the song while reading this!) anyway, hope you enjoy! next part.

“I’ll be back.”

“But what if–”

“I always come back, bub.” Logan’s looking down at you, hand cupping your cheek. In moments like this, you can see the age in his features. The crows feet at the corners of his eyes. The gray in his hair and beard. 

“Logan…” Tears sting your eyes. You know he has to leave, has to go help Charles, but there’s a feeling deep in your gut that knows that if he goes, he isn't coming back. 

“Wait for me, then.” He says, dipping down to gently peck your lips. “Okay? Wait for me.” 

“Logan,” you repeat. “What do I do if I– if I lose you?” 

There’s a feeling in the pit of Logan’s stomach, a sense of dread and fear that he’s only ever felt when you were concerned. This feels a lot like a goodbye… That maybe if he does go, he won’t come back. And the thought alone scares him. He never used to have to think about the possibility of dying, his regenerative powers always healing him in record time, but he knows that he doesn’t heal as quickly as before. He feels more pain now than he ever had. And he knows he’s sick, knows that the adamantium that once gave him strength is now slowly making him weaker.

But now, the thought of dying… It fucking scared him. It scared him to think that he’d leave you here, all alone, grieving him. He had never thought he’d be deserving of someone like you, to be loved and taken care of so gently, so sweetly, so patiently. Even with all of the baggage he carried, you never pushed. He knew, right off the bat, that you deserved someone so much better than him, but you stayed. 

Through it all, you stayed. 

And Logan would forever be grateful. After everything he’s been through, the things he’s seen, the things he had to do, the people he’s lost, you gave him a life that was finally worth living. 

“Then, you move on, darlin’.” Logan finally answers. 

“And if I can’t?” 

“You’ll have to.” 

“I don’t… I don’t want you to go, but I know that you have to. Charles needs you and–”

“I love you with every fiber of my being, baby,” Logan interjects. “And I will love you in every lifetime.” 

And that was almost a year ago. The moment he stopped calling, you knew that was it. That he either got into some real trouble or… Or that he was no longer here. It wasn’t until a young girl named Laura showed up on your doorstep, holding his dog tags that your assumptions were correct. 

You had fallen to your knees, a sob escaping your lips, as you felt your world come crashing down. Logan’s death had left a gaping hole in your heart, in your life, and everywhere you looked and everywhere you went, all you could see was him. 

You learned from Laura that during his last moments, he had told her to come and find you, that you would take care of her and give her a good life. Whenever you were around her, you tried to be strong, tried to put on a brave front, but behind closed doors, you were a complete mess. There were days where you didn’t want to get out of bed, didn’t want to eat; you just wanted the pain to stop. Every night, whenever you closed your eyes, you forced yourself to sleep because that was the only place where you could be with him. 

In your dreams, he was alive. 

In your dreams, he had made it back home.

In your dreams, he was here with you, helping raise Laura. 

And every time you woke up, you were welcomed with the sudden reality that he wasn’t alive. He wasn’t coming back home. He wasn’t ever going to be here with you to help raise Laura. 

Logan was dead and now, you had to try and learn how to move on. 

For yourself.

For Laura.

For Logan. 

—

He didn’t know what he was doing here, why he agreed to stay with Wade because it was driving him crazy. This wasn’t even his timeline; he wasn’t even meant to be here. Despite saving Wade’s timeline, Logan still found it hard to fit in. He tried to keep Wade and every single one of his friends at an arm's distance because he knows what happens to people he cares about. 

But the more time he spent around them, the more he felt at ease. Logan would be lying if he said he was waiting for the other shoe to drop, but when Laura mentioned your name at one of Wade’s family dinners, his heart skipped a beat. When he realized he would be able to stay in this timeline, you were all he could think about. 

Logan wondered if you existed in this world and what he would do if you did. So, when Laura casually said your name, his head turned around so quickly that he felt dizzy. There were so many things he regretted in his own timeline, but you were his biggest regret. 

Just like he failed the other X-men, Logan had failed you too. You had been there with the other X-men, trying to warn them of a planned attack and ended up getting caught in the crossfire. You had called out for him, just like Scott, like Charles, like Storm. 

He managed to get to you before you had taken your last breath, holding you in his arms. Logan begged and begged for you to fight, that he’d do things right from now on as long as you just held on, but you were losing so much blood and Logan couldn’t stop it. 

Even then, when you had every right to be angry with him, you gazed up at him with an understanding look on your face. You had always been so patient and kind, so sweet and considerate. You had made him so happy and it scared him, which ultimately ended in pushing you away because he didn’t think he was deserving of it. Of you. 

“I love you, Logan,” you had said, wincing at the pain. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m–” Logan felt a sob catch in his throat, tears stinging his eyes as he looked down at you. “Please, baby, please please please, don’t–”

“I–” you coughed, eyes fluttering as you felt the pain overcome your entire body. “I will love you in every lifetime, Logan.” And then, you took your last breath, eyes falling shut and body falling limp in his arms. 

Since then, Logan drank himself day after day, from dawn to dusk. The alcohol never truly helped, his regenerative powers sobering him so fast, but with every swig of liquor, it burned. And he spent years bringing pain unto others, including himself. 

That was, until he met Wade who had given him a chance, a reason to fight for something… To not turn his back on someone who relied on him. A chance for redemption, to finally make things right. 

“So, will you meet her?” Laura asks, holding Dogpool in her arms as she gazes up at Logan. “She– She used to be with this universe’s Logan and…”

“No chance, kid.” Logan interrupts, shaking his head. “I’m not him.” 

“Did you have someone like her in yours?” she asks. “She’s always put me first, always made sure I was taken care of even when she didn’t have to, when she was grieving. And I think–” Laura sighs. “I think if she knows that some version of you is alive, it would make her real happy.”

“I’m not him,” Logan growls, feeling his irritation spike. “‘Sides, she’s better off without me.” He stands from the table and walks out into Wade’s balcony to get some fresh air, shutting the door behind him as he leans against the railing.

“But she’s coming tonight,” Laura finally says, long after Logan’s walked away.

Throughout the rest of the dinner, Logan remains outside. He can hear the muffled laughter coming from inside and it only angered him because it was just another confirmation that he didn’t belong here. He’s already on his fourth bottle of beer when he hears a familiar voice, smells a recognizable scent. He turns slightly and catches you stepping into Wade’s apartment, an arm slinging over Laura’s shoulders so casually, so maternally. 

He feels his heart rate pick up. Your smile still lights up a room and he can’t help but his lips turning upwards at the sight. With his enhanced hearing, Logan can hear your voice and he shuts his eyes for a moment, tuning all of his attention on you until you’re the only one he hears. 

Then, he hears your laugh and he lets out a sigh. He never thought he’d be able to hear that again, but his eyes shoot open when he hears you say his name. There’s a shocked tone in your voice, laced with sadness and hope. It all but crushes him because he knows that you’re probably expecting someone else, expecting this world’s Logan and he doesn’t want to disappoint you. Not again. He doesn’t think he’d be able to handle it if he were to hurt you again. 

But when he looks at you, his breath catches in his throat when your eyes meet his. Logan notices the surprise look on your face, but before he could try and escape, you’re already walking towards him. When you open the door and step out with him, your scent fills his senses and it makes him dizzy, like he can’t fully concentrate. 

“You…” he hears you say, voice unsteady. “You’re not… I’m–” you sigh and shake your head. 

“I know who you are,” Logan finally says, his own voice shaky. 

Your hands reach out for him, but stopping halfway when you realize this isn’t your Logan. This is not the same man who died all those years ago. This is some version of him – much younger, less wrinkles and gray hairs in his hair and beard, but he still has that same look on his face. The scowl. 

“From Laura?” you ask hesitantly. 

“From my universe,” Logan answers. 

“There– There’s a version of me in your universe?” 

“There was.”

“And what happened to me?” 

Logan’s jaw tightens. “The same thing that happened to your Logan in this universe.”

“Oh.” Your face drops, eyes softening. “I’m sorry,” you whisper. 

Logan wants to run far from here, far from you because he feels himself yearning for more. He almost forgot how it felt like to be near you, to be inches away that he can just reach out and pull you into his arms. Your eyes captivate him, the kindness it expresses makes him feel like he matters. You had always made him feel that way that even through all of his anger, through all of the walls he put up, you showed him that he was deserving of something good. Even if he didn’t believe it himself. 

And you… You were the best thing to ever happen to him.

“Don’t know why you’re apologizin’,” Logan mutters. 

There’s an uncomfortable silence that engulfs the both of you. He can see the tears threatening to spill over, can see the way your lower lip is beginning to tremble and he has this sudden urge to console you, to wipe away the tears that have now fallen down your cheeks. 

“I’m sorry,” you repeat, bringing your hands up to wipe away the tears that seem to be trickling down your face nonstop. “I just– Losing my Logan just crushed me and I don’t think I’ve ever recovered.” 

My Logan. 

Logan can practically feel his heart beating in his chest. This isn’t a conversation that he thought he would be having and certainly not with someone he loved and died because of him. 

“That’s okay,” Logan responds quietly, his tone softening. “I don’t think it’s easy to recover from losing someone you love.”

“Did you– Did you love me in your universe?” 

Logan nods slowly, tightening his jaw as he gazes down at you. “With every fiber of my being.” 

Your eyes widen and stare up at him. This might be a different Logan, but hearing those words again just brings you back to the moment you last saw your Logan before he left to go take care of Charles. 

“Did you love me in yours?” Logan asks hesitantly.

You nod instantly, tears trickling down your cheek as you stare up at him. “I’d love you in every lifetime.” 

Logan feels his own set of tears pool at the corners of his eyes and he moves a hand to rest on the railing, fingers lightly brushing against yours as he stares into your eyes. 

“I’m not him,” he whispers. 

“I know,” you say quietly. “And I’m not her.” 

[fvsm4x]

#MAYBE IN ANOTHER LIFE? [Gojo Satoru]

SUMMARY: Your boyfriend, who you loved more than anything, who was your will to live, broke up with you.

— C.W: ex-boyfriend! Gojo satoru x depressed! female reader , dark themes , slightly geto suguru x female reader , no curses au.

— WORD COUNT: 5.3k+

NEXT

„I think we should break up.“

Gojo’s words hung in the air, as he looked into your eyes.

Your heart skipped a beat, and you fought to keep the tears at bay. You desperately tried to maintain your composure, not wanting to show Gojo just how deeply his words had wounded you.

“Why? What happened?“ You managed to ask, your voice trembling.

Gojo’s gaze softened, but his eyes held a distant look, as if his mind was already elsewhere. “I’ve found someone else,” he admitted, his words like a dagger to your fragile heart.

A whirlwind of emotions engulfed your thoughts. Insecurity, confusion, and a deep sense of betrayal washed over you. You had always known Gojo was popular, surrounded by women who seemed to possess an otherworldly beauty that you could only dream of. But you had hoped that your connection would be strong enough to withstand any external temptations.

As tears welled up in your eyes, you couldn’t help but question your own worth. Gojo had been your beacon of light, the one who had brought joy and stability into your chaotic world. You had believed that your love was strong enough to overcome any obstacles.

But now, faced with the harsh reality of Gojo’s confession, your insecurities resurfaced with a vengeance.

How could Gojo have led you on, making you believe that your love was real, only to discard you so easily for someone else?

But despite the storm of emotions raging within you, you knew that you had to find the strength to let Gojo go. You couldn’t force someone to love you, no matter how much you wanted to.

And so, with a heavy heart and tears streaming down your face, you whispered, “If that’s what you truly want, then I won’t stand in your way.”

You wiped away your tears and caught Gojo’s gaze. His eyes were filled with regret and sadness, and you could see the pain he felt in his expression. It was as if he realized the gravity of his decision and the hurt he had caused you.

“I’m so sorry,” Gojo whispered, his voice filled with genuine remorse. “I never wanted to hurt you. It’s not about your worth or how you compare to anyone else. It’s about me and my own shortcomings.”

You looked at him, surprised by his words.

“I understand,” you replied softly, your voice filled with a mix of sadness and acceptance. “I know I can’t change your feelings or make you stay. I’ll start packing my things so you can have your apartment back.”

As you rose from the plush couch, your footsteps echoed through the spacious apartment, the sound muffled by the thick carpet beneath your feet. With a heavy heart, you made your way to the bedroom you had once shared with Gojo. The room seemed to hold its breath, as if aware of the impending change that would soon occur.

You opened the grand closet, its ornate doors revealing a collection of clothes and personal belongings. The air was filled with a bittersweet nostalgia as you carefully selected each item, their presence a testament to the love and happiness you had once shared. The room seemed to whisper your name, its walls bearing witness to the countless moments of joy and intimacy that had unfolded within its confines.

As you held each cherished possession in your hands, memories flooded your mind like a river. The soft touch of Gojo's hand, the warmth of his embrace, and the laughter that had once filled the room. Each item carried a weight of emotions, a reminder of the love you had believed to be unbreakable.

Gojo, sitting on the edge of the bed, watched you with a pained expression. The reality of the situation seemed to settle in, and he realized the depth of the connection he was severing. The room felt colder, emotions hanging thick in the air.

As you folded your clothes and placed them in a suitcase, Gojo finally spoke again, his voice carrying a tinge of regret. "I never wanted it to come to this, Y/n. You deserve happiness, and I hope you find it even if it's without me."

His words lingered, a bittersweet acknowledgment of the end. The room, once filled with shared laughter and intimate moments, now felt like a haunting memory. The pain was palpable, and you couldn't help but wonder if it would ever subside.

As you zipped up your suitcase, Gojo approached, his hand hesitating in the air as if unsure whether to touch you.

He gently brushed away a tear that rolled down your cheek.

"I'm truly sorry," he murmured,

With your suitcase in hand, you stood near the doorway, taking one last look at the place that had been your shared sanctuary. It was a goodbye to not only Gojo but also to the dreams you had woven together.

As you walked out, Gojo remained in the room, the emptiness echoing the void left by the shattered relationship. The door closed behind you, sealing the end of a chapter that had once promised forever.

-

In the days that followed, the task of finding a new place to call home became increasingly overwhelming. The once vibrant city, which had once been a source of shared dreams and promises, now seemed indifferent to your struggles. Each apartment viewing brought with it a fresh wave of emotions, serving as a painful reminder of the life you had envisioned with Gojo.

In the midst of this turmoil, old habits resurfaced. You found yourself reaching for cigarettes and turning to alcohol as a means of coping.

It was disheartening, as you had believed that these vices were behind you after Gojo entered your life and seemingly fixed all your problems. But now, they have reappeared, threatening to consume you once again.

What made matters worse was the lack of support you had. There were no parents to lean on, no friends to turn to for help. You were left to navigate this challenging situation all on your own, starting from scratch.

Before meeting Gojo, you had worked countless jobs to pay your bills and support your studies, scraping by with whatever little money you had.

The weight of it all was taking its toll on you. You felt yourself falling apart, the stress and uncertainty chipping away at your resolve.

But then, Gojo appeared, and your life took an unexpected turn. It was as if the universe had conspired to bring the two of you together. The first time you laid eyes on him was when you were working as a waitress at a cozy bakery. As he walked in, time seemed to stand still. Your heart skipped a beat as you took in his striking features.

His vibrant blue eyes, reminiscent of a clear summer sky, held a depth that drew you in. His snow-white hair and lashes added an ethereal touch to his already captivating appearance. And when he smiled, it was as if the whole room lit up with warmth and charm. You were instantly captivated by his presence, unable to tear your gaze away.

To your surprise, Gojo noticed your lingering glances and, with a confident stride, approached the counter where you were working. He invited you to join him, and you couldn’t resist the opportunity to spend more time with this enigmatic man. As you sat together, indulging in delectable desserts, the hours seemed to melt away in a blur of laughter and shared stories.

Days turned into weeks, and Gojo became a regular at the bakery, always seeking your company. The two of you would engage in deep conversations that spanned a wide range of topics, from the trivial to the profound. Each interaction only deepened your connection, and before you knew it, you found yourself falling for him.

However, amidst the blossoming romance, a nagging doubt lingered in the back of your mind. You couldn’t help but notice the parade of women that seemed to surround Gojo. He would visit the bakery at least twice a week, each time accompanied by a different woman. They would engage in affectionate displays, acting as if they were a couple.

As you observed these interactions, a wave of insecurity washed over you. Comparisons became inevitable, and you couldn’t help but feel inadequate in comparison to these stunning women. Their flawless skin, plump breasts, and alluring curves seemed to highlight your own perceived shortcomings. Their beauty was undeniable, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you would ever measure up.

But despite these doubts, Gojo continued to seek your company, showing genuine interest in your thoughts, dreams, and aspirations. His actions spoke louder than words, and you began to question your own self-doubt. Perhaps there was more to this connection than meets the eye.

Maybe, just maybe, Gojo saw something in you that went beyond physical appearances.

Motivated by this newfound hope, you made a conscious effort to break free from your bad habits. Weeks turned into months, and Gojo continued to visit the bakery every day just to see you.

However, one day, something special happened. Gojo waited patiently for you to finish your shift and then walked you back to the motel where you were staying. It was during this walk that he truly realized how difficult your life actually was.

Seeing you work tirelessly, with dark circles under your eyes and wearing the same clothes day after day, Gojo couldn’t bear to see you living in such difficult conditions. He noticed the presence of alcohol and cigarettes in your room and insisted that you stay with him instead. He wanted to provide you with a better life, free from the struggles you had been facing.

And so, you took up Gojo’s offer and moved in with him.

And that's when you became a couple.

But after two years of being in a relationship with Gojo, he found someone else. The person who used to hold you in his arms, whisper sweet words of love, and make you feel like the most important person in his life was now directing those affectionate gestures towards someone else.

You didn’t want to let him go. The thought of losing him was devastating. However, you also understood that you couldn’t force him to stay with you if his heart was no longer fully committed. Questions swirled in your mind. Did you do something wrong? Were you not exciting enough for him anymore? Was there something else that led him to find someone new?

Despite the heartache, one thing remained certain- your love for Gojo would never fade. The pain of knowing that he loved someone else, someone who wasn’t you, was excruciating. No one could ever replace the way Gojo had changed you, the way he had touched your heart and made you feel alive.

You sat alone in the dimly lit motel room, a bottle of liquor in hand, you sought solace in the numbing effects of alcohol. The pain in your heart seemed unbearable, and you hoped that drowning your sorrows would provide temporary relief.

The room felt suffocating. Each sip of the bitter liquid seemed to momentarily wash away the ache, but deep down, you knew it was only a temporary escape. The truth remained that Gojo had moved on, and you were left grappling with the shattered pieces of your heart.

With a heavy sigh, you placed the half-empty bottle on the grimy nightstand and slowly rose from the disheveled bed. Your footsteps carried you towards the suitcase, which stood dutifully beside a small table, as you rummaged through its contents in search of something comfortable to wear for the night. The weight of your emotions bore down on you, causing you to push up your hoodie, removing it with a forceful toss onto the nearby chair, as you attempted to regain control over your tears.

The question echoed in your mind once again, piercing through the haze of confusion and hurt. How could he do this to you? The betrayal felt like a knife twisting in your heart, leaving you gasping for air amidst the waves of anguish.

You made your way towards the mirror. Your reflection stared back at you, a vulnerable and exposed version of yourself. The longer you gazed upon your topless form, the deeper the sadness seeped into your being. Your hand instinctively reached out, fingers grazing the surface of your bare stomach, as if trying to grasp the weight.

Could it be that your weight gain was the reason behind his abandonment? Did he no longer desire to be with you because of the changes in your body? The thought gnawed at your self-esteem, fueling the belief that the girl he now chose to be with possessed a flat stomach, a flawless figure, and enviable curves. Qualities that you, in your own eyes, did not possess.

Feeling the ache in your stomach intensify, you released your grip and turned your attention back to the task at hand. Pulling out a set of comfortable pajamas from your suitcase, you quickly changed into them, hoping that the soft fabric would provide some comfort amidst the chaos of your emotions.

As you lay down on the bed, the worn-out mattress offering little respite, your mind raced with thoughts of the uncertain future that lay before you. The realization hit hard – you would have to find a job, and fast. The fear of being kicked out of the motel, with nowhere else to go, loomed over you like a dark cloud.

You lay there, staring at the ceiling, your mind began to form a plan. You closed your eyes, the weight of exhaustion finally settling upon you.

-

Days turned into nights, and nights into days as you tirelessly searched for a job. The motel room became a temporary refuge, a place where you could rest your weary body and gather your thoughts before facing the world again. And then, finally, your efforts paid off.

You received a call from the bakery where you had once worked, offering you a position. Excitement and relief flooded through you as you accepted the job. It was a familiar place,

The first day back at the bakery was filled with a mix of nervousness and anticipation. As you stepped through the familiar doors, the scent of freshly baked bread enveloped you. The warm smiles and greetings from your former colleagues made you feel instantly welcome, as if you had never left.

You returned to your old position as a waitress and memories of Gojo lingered in the back of your mind. It had been a while since you had seen him, and you had made peace with the fact that he no longer wanted anything to do with you.

You let out a sigh as you walked over to the table where some guests were seated. Taking their orders, you jotted them down on a small notepad and headed towards the counter to place it.

As you turned around, the door opened, and there stood Gojo Satoru, looking as charming as ever. His eyes scanned the room until they landed on you, and a smile instantly spread across his face. He waved at you, and for a moment, your heart skipped a beat.

Beside Gojo stood a breathtakingly beautiful woman, exuding confidence and radiating charm. It was clear why Gojo was drawn to her, and you couldn’t help but feel a pang of jealousy.

With a polite smile, you excused yourself and walked away, seeking solace in the different side of the bakery. Your heart raced as you tried to process the unexpected encounter. The memories of your past relationship flooded back, bringing with them a whirlwind of emotions.

In the safety of the different side, away from prying eyes, you took a deep breath, trying to calm your racing heart.

As you continued your work, serving customers and attending to their needs, you found solace in the routine. The hustle and bustle of the bakery provided a distraction, allowing you to momentarily forget the turmoil that Gojo’s presence had stirred within you.

But deep down, you knew that healing would take time. The wounds were still fresh, and seeing Gojo with someone new had reopened them. Yet, you refused to let it define you.

As you stood behind the counter, your eyes scanned the room, searching for any customer in need of your assistance. However, it seemed that everyone was content, engrossed in their conversations and meals. Your gaze involuntarily shifted towards the table where Gojo sat with his new girlfriend.

You couldn’t help but observe the way Gojo’s eyes sparkled with adoration as he looked at her. The way his face lit up with a blush whenever she smiled at him was a sight you had never witnessed before. It was as if he saw her as a goddess, someone worthy of his utmost devotion and affection.

A pang of jealousy washed over you as you compared Gojo’s current demeanor with how he had looked at you in the past. His eyes had never held that same lovesick gaze when he was with you. It was a bitter realization that he had never regarded you in the same way he now regarded this new woman.

You couldn’t help but wonder what it was about her that captivated Gojo so completely. Was it her radiant smile, her confident aura, or perhaps something deeper that you couldn’t comprehend? Whatever it was, it was clear that Gojo had found someone who made his heart race and his eyes shine with love.

As you continued to observe them from a distance, a mix of emotions swirled within you. Part of you longed for Gojo to look at you with the same intensity, to make you feel like the center of his universe. But another part of you knew that it was time to let go, to accept that Gojo had moved on and found happiness elsewhere.

With a heavy sigh, you turned your attention back to your duties, reminding yourself that your worth was not defined by Gojo’s affections.

You carefully balanced the two deserts and the cup of hot chocolate on your tray, making sure everything was secure. Lost in your thoughts, you absentmindedly glanced at the table number where this order was meant to be served. Without looking up, you started walking towards the designated table, unaware of the impending collision.

Just as you were about to lift your gaze, your body collided with someone, causing your grip on the tray to loosen. The board slipped from your hands, and the cup of hot chocolate tumbled through the air, its contents splattering onto the person you had unintentionally crashed into.

Your eyes widened in shock, and panic surged through your veins as you realized the gravity of the situation. You quickly raised your gaze, meeting the eyes of the person you had accidentally drenched with hot chocolate. And in that moment, your whole world seemed to crumble around you.

It was her. The woman for whom Gojo had left you. The same woman who had stolen his heart and shattered yours in the process. The sight of her standing before you, her face contorted in pain as tears streamed down her cheeks, was like a knife to your heart.

She hissed in pain as the scalding hot chocolate made contact with her skin, desperately trying to wipe away the sticky liquid that clung to her. Your hands trembled as you reached for tissues from a nearby table, desperately attempting to alleviate the discomfort you had caused.

But just as you were about to wipe away the hot chocolate, a forceful hand slapped yours away, taking over the task of cleaning the girl's skin. Startled, you looked up and saw Gojo, his face contorted with fury. His eyebrows knitted together as he witnessed the tears streaming down the girl's face, his protective instincts kicking in.

You stood there, next to Gojo, your voice barely audible as you muttered apologies, trying to explain that it was an accident. But Gojo's anger seemed to drown out your words. He finished wiping away the hot chocolate from the girl's skin and pulled her into his arms, shielding her from any further harm. His gaze shifted towards you, his eyes filled with a mix of disappointment and rage.

"Why would you do that?!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the air. His words pierced through your heart, intensifying the guilt that already weighed heavily upon you. You could see the hurt in his eyes, the pain of betrayal mingling with the anger. But you couldn't find the words to defend yourself, knowing deep down that there was no justification for your actions.

„It was an accident-“

He took a deep breath,"Save it, I know why you did it.“

„Just because I found someone else and that I’m happy with them doesn’t mean that you’ll get to hurt them out of jealousy!“ he spoke

„I thought you were better than that," he said. The girl, still in his arms, chimed in, her voice filled with anger. "Call your manager, you need to be fired!"

Gojo's gaze shifted back to you, his eyes searching for an explanation. The weight of his disappointment and the girl's demand for your termination bore down on you. Panic set in as you realized the implications of losing your job. You couldn't afford to be fired; you needed the money to support yourself.

Desperation filled your voice as you pleaded with Gojo, "Please, don't ask for my manager. It was just an accident. I need this job, I can't afford to lose it." Tears welled up in your eyes as you tried to convey the sincerity of your plea. You knew you had made a mistake, but it was one born out of carelessness, not malice.

You instinctively grabbed Gojos' hand,“Please-!“ you begged, but your hand only got slapped away by the woman in his arms.

„And now you go touching someone’s boyfriend? What‘s wrong with you!“ the girl shouted as she slapped you.

Your head turned to the side from the force of the slap, a surge of pain radiated through your cheek. The impact left your skin hot and flushed, a visible mark of the humiliation you felt. You fought back tears, determined not to let them see your vulnerability.

With trembling hands, you gently placed your palm against your reddened cheek, trying to soothe the pain. Your eyes flickered towards the girl, searching for any sign of remorse or understanding, but all you saw was a cold, dismissive gaze. Her arms crossed defiantly, she demanded that you call for the manager, her voice dripping with disdain.

„Call the manager.“

Desperation welled up within you, and you mustered the courage to speak, your voice quivering with a mix of fear and desperation. "Wait, please! I... I really need this job," you pleaded, hoping that she would see reason, that she would understand the dire circumstances that led you to this moment.

She cut you off, her words sharp and dismissive. "I don't care, call for your manager," she interrupted, her tone leaving no room for negotiation or empathy.

Your gaze shifted towards Gojo, silently pleading for his intervention, for him to vouch for you or at least offer some support. But as you looked into his eyes, you saw a furrowed brow and a hint of disappointment. His voice, barely above a whisper, carried a weight of disbelief and disapproval. "Can't believe you would pull something like that," he murmured, his words landing like a heavy blow to your already wounded heart.

Your hand, still trembling, fell from your cheek as you straighten your posture. With a deep breath, you mustered the strength to bow,

"I'll get t-the manager right away," you said,

With a heavy heart, you turned away from Gojo and the girl, making your way towards the counter to call for the manager.

Your hands trembled slightly as you picked up the phone, dialing the number with shaky fingers. Each ring felt like an eternity, amplifying the anxiety that coursed through your veins. Finally, a voice answered on the other end, and you took a deep breath, trying to steady your voice.

"Hello- this is Y/n L/n from [Bakery]. I... I need to speak with the manager, please," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. The person on the other end assured you that they would connect you, and you waited anxiously, your heart pounding in your chest.

As you waited, your mind raced with thoughts of the consequences that awaited you. Losing this job would mean losing your only source of income, and the financial strain it would bring was overwhelming. You couldn't bear the thought of disappointing your loved ones or struggling to make ends meet.

Finally, the manager's voice came through the line, and you mustered up the courage to explain the situation. You recounted the accident, your sincere apologies, and the girl's demand for your termination. The manager listened attentively, their voice calm and composed as they absorbed the details.

After a brief pause, the manager spoke, their tone firm yet compassionate. "I will come over to assess the situation and speak with all parties involved. Please remain calm and await my arrival."

You took a deep breath, trying to steady your nerves as you hung up the phone.

As you turned around, you noticed Gojo and the girl engaged in a hushed conversation. Their expressions were still filled with anger and disappointment, but there was also a hint of uncertainty. You approached them cautiously, your eyes downcast.

"I've c-called the manager," you said softly,"They will be here soon to address the situation. I... I'm truly sorry for what happened. It was never my intention to cause any harm or distress."

„Sure“ the girl replied.

-

Months had passed since that fateful encounter at the café. You had lost your job, the incident with Gojo and the girl tarnishing your reputation and leading to your dismissal. Now, you found yourself standing by the reception desk of another run-down motel, desperately seeking a place to stay for the night because you got kicked out of the last one.

As you approached the receptionist, a tired-looking man with a permanent scowl on his face, you couldn’t help but feel a pang of anxiety.

“Excuse me,” you began, your voice wavering slightly. “I was wondering if you have any available rooms for tonight?”

The receptionist glanced up from his paperwork, his eyes narrowing as he took in your disheveled appearance. His tone was curt as he replied, “We do have a few rooms left, but I’ll need payment upfront.”

Your heart sank. You had been scraping by, barely making ends meet, and the little money you had left was barely enough to cover your basic necessities.

“I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I don’t have enough money to pay for a room.”

The receptionist’s scowl deepened, his impatience evident. “Look, we can’t just give away rooms for free. If you can’t pay, then I suggest you find somewhere else to go.”

Tears welled up in your eyes as you realized the gravity of the situation. You were alone, with nowhere to turn and no one to rely on. The weight of your mistakes and the consequences they had brought upon you felt suffocating.

With a heavy heart, you turned away from the reception desk, feeling the eyes of the other guests in the lobby on you, judging and pitying your predicament. As you walked towards the exit, a mix of shame and desperation washed over you, threatening to consume your spirit.

Outside, the cold night air greeted you, a stark reminder of your current reality. You stood on the sidewalk, feeling lost and defeated. The world seemed to blur around you as you pondered your next move, wondering how you had ended up in this dire situation.

Suddenly, a voice chimed in from behind, jolting you out of your thoughts. Startled, you turned around to find yourself face to face with Geto, your ex's best friend. His black eyes bore into yours, his raised eyebrows conveying curiosity and surprise. His gaze drifted to the suitcase clutched tightly in your hand, a silent question hanging in the air.

"Geto?" you questioned, your voice tinged with confusion.

A puff of smoke escaped his lips as he exhaled the cigarette between his fingers,"How many times do I have to tell you, you can call me Suguru," he replied,

“Why are you here?” he asked, standing before you and peering into your eyes. But before you could answer, another question slipped from his lips, catching you off guard. “Where is Satoru?”

The realization hit you like a punch to the gut. He didn’t know. How could he not know? Wasn’t he Satoru’s best friend? Shouldn’t he have been informed about the breakup that had occurred just last month? Did Gojo, your ex, not bother to share the news with him?

“Didn’t Satoru tell you?” you asked, breaking eye contact with him, unable to bear his gaze any longer.

“Tell me what?” he questioned. He removed the cigarette from his lips and threw it to the ground, crushing it under his shoe.

“That we broke up,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. As you watched his reaction, you noticed a flicker of surprise in his eyes before he regained his composure.

“You two broke up..?” he questioned,“Since when did you-”

“Last month we broke up,” you interrupted,

“Is there any reason why you two broke up? Everything was good, wasn’t it?” As he placed a comforting hand on your shoulder.

“He…” you hesitated, your gaze shifting to the side. “He found someone else,” you admitted, your lips trembling slightly.

“Oh,” he responded, his hand retracting from your shoulder as he crossed his arms over his chest. His eyes turned towards the night sky, lost in his own thoughts, before refocusing on you. “And why are you here in the middle of the night?” he asked, his gaze scanning you from head to toe, taking in your worn-out clothes. His eyes returned to your face.

“I got kicked out of the motel because I couldn’t pay for it anymore,” you replied,

His brows furrowed,"I'm so sorry to hear that," he said softly,"You shouldn't have to go through this alone."

Without hesitation, he reached out and gently placed a hand on your shoulder. "Listen, I have an idea," he said,"Why don't you come stay with me until you find a job and get back on your feet?"

Surprised by his offer, you looked at him,"I- I can‘t do that-!" you spoke.

A warm smile spread across his face. "Of course you can," he replied. "I have a spare room and it would be my pleasure to help you out. Sometimes, all we need is a little support to get back on track."

„But-!“

„No buts.“

"Thank you," you whispered, "I don't know what to say..."

He smiled warmly, his eyes sparkling,"No need to thank me," he insisted. "We all go through tough times, and sometimes we just need a helping hand. If there's anything else I can do, please don't hesitate to ask."

He took the suitcase from your hand and turned around, walking towards his house. "Let's go," he said, looking back at you.

You nodded and followed after him.

NEXT