#now its back to the old stuff oops

[mspainttaz]

official rip to my drawing tablet, goodbye my old friend you never really worked in the first place but illl miss u anyway lol

[meganegatari]

THE WAY YOU WRITE IS JUST SO YUMMM so yeah🧍🏻‍♀️can you write something about streamer ellie <33

☆: IM SO SORRY FOR THE WAIT. definitelyyyy hasn't been...months...anyway. positive this is one of the worse things i've written, but didn't wanna leave you hanging forever! ngl it's pretty filthy..heh.

◇: 18+ pretend those twitch guideline things don't exist. remote control vibrator use, orgasm denial, sub-ish!ellie?? plot twist at the end bc i think im so funny. 1.6k wc. don't mind the layout of this idk what else to do...

You watch your girlfriend stream her game from your fluffy and comfortable spot on your shared bed—you observe how focused she was on her screen, how her skilled fingers were flying across the keyboard and mouse. It would certainly be a shame to disturb her in such a high tension moment but you think it over, running your finger over the small buttons of the sleek little remote in your hand.

"Yeah, yeah, got 'em! Look at that guys, I fuckin’ aced that!" Ellie rejoices in her victory, and gleefully boasts to her viewers, adjusting her microphone closer and leaning back in her chair.

You're glad you were far off camera, her fans didn't even know she was in a relationship—Ellie made it clear she wanted you to be separate from her hobbies, not because she wanted to keep you a secret, but because she wanted to keep you safe. And you enjoyed watching her stream from the sidelines like this, you saw how her personality captivated viewers and how much fun she really was. But you also enjoyed messing with her on the occasion. Like today.

"Can I watch tonight's stream again?" You asked her eagerly. "Yeah, why not? I'll be doing some tournaments and stuff though, so no distractions." Oops. You bit back a laugh. Ellie immediately sussed out the mischievous look on your face and she sighed, expecting the worst.

Then you showed her the box you've been hiding, "Please let's try, I won't click it too much, I promise." She stared at you for a whole minute, maybe more, before sighing and reluctantly agreeing, rubbing her hands all over her face. "God, fine. Just 'cause I love you. Damn you're evil."

Fast forward to now—the device was snugly inserted inside her pretty pussy, tested out to prove it does in fact work, and works well at that.

So off Ellie went to play her game, getting so caught up in everything she seemingly forgot about the device entirely. In between games she was talking to the viewers, reading the chat and joking back and forth. You decided it was a good enough time to click it so you pressed the button, only for a miniscule zap.

She jerked in her seat, gasping, but quickly recovered with a strategic cough. "Phew sorry guys, something got caught in my throat." You saw a bright berry blush spread across her face, and the way she fought to turn and throw a glare at you. This was going to be fun.

"Alright, the next round’s gonna start, we gotta lock in! Hopefully nothing pops up and this goes smoothly. I can taste the win already.” She put a certain warning tone to her voice in the last part of her sentence, you knew it was meant for you, but were you going to listen? Absolutely not. "Oh yeah chat fun fact, this old area of the map was inspired by ancient ruins just of—ah!" As if her body had a mind of its own, she squirmed in her seat and she clapped her hand over her mouth to stifle a moan when you hit it again, but this time you didn't turn it off right away. You kept it going for a few more seconds, to prolong the terribly delicious sensation.

She screwed her eyes shut tightly and held her breath until you turned it off, mumbling to her viewers about "having hiccups". "The game is starting now, so we really gotta get serious." Her voice had an unsteadiness to it only you could hear, she was keeping her composure rather well so far. But likely wouldn't be able to keep up the act for much longer. Even she has her limits.

As her match went on, she got quiet when she was focused, mashing the keys with a speed fast as sound. Of course, you hit it again, just a short one, causing a choked "guh" to escape from her lips and she twitched when you did so, her facade starting to crack. The effort to keep her voice stable was showing, she was huffing and struggling to get her words out clearly, they were laced with obvious irritation.

"Fuck missed the shot, dammit. Yeah I don't know, somethings up today, sorry guys...off my game." You decided to be nice to her until the game ended, not pressing it further or adjusting the intensity. She played for a little while longer before losing the match, leaning forward on the desk with her face in her hands. This was the perfect moment, so you cranked it up, increased the intensity to maximum, and held the button for the longest time yet, making her whine—a low, drawn out sound she couldn't stifle this time.

You could hear lots of messages being sent, pings in rapid succession, they were probably clipping that moment. Perverts, you thought. 

Her chest was noticeably heaving up and down, her legs spread as she rocks her front against the chair, and she kept her head lowered until you decreased the intensity but didn't turn it all the way off. Her hands were shaking, and her face was a vibrant cherry red, the screen even reflected the sparkle of a couple tears in her eyes.

“What? Oh, I'm just so sad about the loss guys, we were so close—hnn- so…so closeahh—I mean, we should've gotten that…” She trailed off, chewing on her bottom lip and tapping her fingers on the desk’s wooden surface. “Y’know what, I'll be right back.” She paused the stream, made triple sure her camera and microphone were turned off, then whipped around in her chair to face you, glaring silver daggers your way.

You just giggled innocently and turned the device off again. “What the fuck is wrong with you, this shit is not- not light on you at all.” Her voice was breaking, her pretty features contorted in a beautifully needy expression, eyebrows furrowed and eyes all watery. Nearly as wet as the mess in her pants. You feigned innocence and shrugged at her, “Well I didn't know it was that strong.” “You knew damn well.” She's fed up with your antics, but you have fun playing with her. She covers her face and leans back in the chair, the embarrassment in her voice the only thing you could hear, “Fuck you...turn it up again, wanna cum.”

You couldn't contain the laugh that burst forth from your chest, then said, “Only if you stream it.” The shock that flickered across her face was priceless, you wish you could have snapped a photo.

“What the fuck do you mean by that, nah forget it.”

“Hey, you gotta finish your stream either way, they're waiting. Would you wanna be so awful and deprive those darlings of your presence?”

You flash her a sugary smile, and she shoots you a murderous look again, before wordlessly scooting back to her setup, fanning herself briefly and readjusting her coppery hair.

Then she turns the stream back on. “Sorry guys, I had to get up for a second. Anyway, let's play one more game. I'm getting kinda tired today. Let's make this one count, lock in like never before.” She takes a deep breath, cracks her knuckles, and begins smacking away at the keyboard buttons. You're able to see the way she looks tense, on edge, anticipating your devilish interruption.

You debate whether you should torture her, but the answer quickly becomes clear. Click.

“Ah—fuck!” She sputters, and roughly slams her fist on the desk. The pleasure was hitting her with full force, she was in her own, lewd, world now. Her head is thrown back, back arched and hips stuttering, the release was about to sneak up on her.

You watch the scenario unfold, licking your lips and pressing your thighs together to deal with the pressure between them. Her unapologetic moans get louder, but for a second she snaps out of the trance to sit back upright, turn the stream off, before the peak hits her like a truck.

“Holy, fu—hah!!” With a squeal she cums, not caring about how fucking loud she was being, wanting to be selfishly absorbed in ecstasy.

She started to jolt around in her seat, the throes of overstimulation making her whimper like an animal in heat, it truly was a sight to behold. You wish you were in between her legs, lapping up her sweetness straight from the source, but in a way, just watching from the sidelines was satisfying enough. You'll clean her up afterward.

Finally you turned it off once and for all, and gazed at her, she was panting heavily, the post-orgasm glow making her rosy skin shimmer in the low light.

“Hmmm, thanks babe, that was so good…” She tried to talk, her head was in the clouds, but she looked at peace.

“You're a whore.” You chortled, and you two shared a laugh.

Although, a flurry of shrill sounds brought you both out of the fantasy. Ping, ping, ping.

Unfortunately she wasn't able to enjoy the aftermath of a mind-numbing session, because her eyes shot open and she began scrambling to find the source of the sound. Your stomach dropped as you watched her panic, her neuroticism infectious.

She looked at you, her eyes wider than saucers, nothing but fear in her voice, “I wasn't able to turn my mic off…”

What was she going to do now?

if you'd like to be tagged in my fics, click here! thank you for reading. asks, reblogs, and comments are appreciated more than you know. ♡

tags: @andersonfilms @ch6douin @aouiaa @sapphic-ovaries @astro-cat2 @paqerings @r3starttt @littlefallenangel111 @sinfulprayerss @lvlymicha @sunnsh1ine @anniee333 @pinkcwake @marsworlddd @caszzine @saturnsdrafts @ashaynep @mascdom @xysbree @liddysflyer @fortune777 @brunaedn @bunnitewsilly @mimasroom2 @deliriousrn @infiniteinquiries @thekill3randthefinalgirl @kissyslut @elliesapple

[theliving-radio]

Sorry If this one is too confusing 😭 

So basically NRC (maybe Ortho too but platonic love) with a s/o that got turned into a cat by a potion mix-up, not naming names Grim and Adeuce 👀 (also, maybe reader could be like a maine coon? Idk but I love the idea of reader was a cat they would be bigger than grim but any cat is cute 😖) but the twist is that s/o is not a normal cat, but actually a flerken (If you don't know what that is, it's basically a space cat from marvel) So when Idia is petting them too aggressive or Floyd is squeezing them too tightly or if anyone is annoying them, they just open their mouth and swallow them up like a fckin snack, and maybe spit them back out when they're in a good mood leaving them so fckin traumatized. And the people witnessing it are like 🧍

I know about the Flerken! I used to be such a huge ass Marvel fan so many years ago! I fell off the band wagon right after Avengers: End Game. I even have an old fanfic posted on Wattpad for Marvel… I… haven’t worked on it in such a long time…

Please don’t attack me lol

Anyway, instead of just every character at once, I did every dorms reaction. Just to add some spice and fun to the mix!

And for the funnies

Warning: human consumption (but not gory or bloody. Just pocket dimension stuff), not part of the Big Brother Malleus writing, can be romantic or platonic (Ortho is clearly platonic)

And I do apologize for taking so long on writing this! Get distracted really easily.

Like REALLY easily. Anyway I hope you enjoy it!

“… Oops?”

Grim had no idea how it happened. He didn’t! You couldn’t possibly blame him for accidentally mixing up your drink with the potion assignment he was supposed to turn in!

But here you guys were, back in Ramshackle. Him looking up at your now fluffy fur body.

Cat.

You were now a cat.

“Listen, I can fix this!”

“Mrep…”

“Don’t doubt me hench… cat?”

Your cat self rolled its eyes and stood up on all fours. Before Grim was able to say anything, you picked him up by the scruff of his neck with your mouth and trotted out of Ramshackle.

The scene looked like a mother cat dragging away her baby kitten.

“MRAH! Let me go! I command it!”

You ignored him and went straight to the mirror chamber, hoping that one of your friends in the dorms will help you.

Heartslabyul

Ace and Deuce started losing their shit as soon as they saw Grim being dragged by a larger cat in the Heartslabyul garden.

“Grim, Who’s the fluffy one?” Deuce covers his mouth to hide his smile.

“Did you finally find your parent figure?” Ace teased.

“CAN IT, ACE!” You plop Grim down and trot over to Deuce who bent down to give you scratches.

Grim dusts himself off, grumbling under his breath. “I could have walked just fine! You didn’t have to drag me all the way here!”

You ignored Grim as you happily laid down in the grass and rolled over. Deuce’s eyes practically sparkled when you presented your belly to him, and he carefully rubbed it, making you purr happily.

“Mrah! Henchmen! Stop being difficult!” Grim shouted, his words causing Deuce to stop giving you pets and Ace to let out a strangled wheeze.

“P-prefect!?”

“Oh Sevens! What did you do this time!?” Ace crouches a bit as he begins laughing once again.

Grim crosses his arms and looks away. “I didn’t do anything! It was… it was them! They shouldn’t leave their stuff around in the first place!”

Offended! Scandalized! Wrong!

You picked yourself up from the grass and walked over to Grim…

Then swatted him.

“MRAH!?” Grim lets out a startled sound as he rubs his head. Before he was able to ask why you did that, you swatted him again. And again. And again.

Ace was on the grass floor laughing his ass off. It was like watching a cat hitting their child if they misbehaved.

“I would assume you’re finished painting the roses.” Ace stops his laughing and looks over to see Riddle, Cater, and Trey walking over. Riddle squints his eyes at the roses, seeing some of them still white and untouched by the crimson red paint.

“D-dorm Leader Riddle! We uh- we actually have a good reason why we aren’t finished!” Deuce tries to explain as he picks you up and shows you to the three upper class-men.

Cater gasps as he takes his phone out, quickly snapping photos of your fluffy figure. You only blinked at him and tilted your head, causing the ginger to squeal. “Oh my Sevens! They are totes adorbs!”

“A cat?! Why is there a cat here?” Riddle asks, his face showing confusion before he lets out a gasp. “The Hedgehogs! Are the hedgehog’s safe?! Did this cat do something!?”

“I’ll go check on them right now-!”

“There is no need to do that!” Deuce cuts Trey off. “This is the Prefect!”

There was a long pause between all the Heartslabyul students. The Three upper class-men processing what the first year just said. Riddle stares at Deuce and Ace before opening his mouth. “… what did you two do?”

Deuce sputters and Ace quickly looked offended. “We didn’t do anything! Grim was the one that did this!”

“Mew.” You let out a small meow and Cater broke out from his shock and started rapidly taking pictures once again.

Riddle groans as he takes a deep breath. Inhale, exhale… he didn’t want to blow his head off in front of the Prefect after all. “Grim, explain to me… what you gave the Prefect.”

“How am I supposed to know?! It’s their fault their water bottle and the potion bottle looked the same!”

“What was the potion you made?” Grim went quiet when Riddle asked the question. The dire-beast mumbles something under his breath and Riddle’s eye twitches. “Repeat that again.”

“It was supposed to be a Sleepy time potion! To help the drinker sleep better!”

“HOW DID YOU FULLY MESS THAT UP?!” Riddle full on shouts at Grim, causing the poor, small feline cat to flinch. “A Sleep potion? You messed up a SLEEP potion???”

“Riddle-,” Trey tries to calm Riddle down, but Riddle fully ignores him.

“In what universe could you possibly mix up a Sleep potion for a transfiguration potion?! And you didn’t even bother to check what you brought first before handing it to the Prefect?!”

Riddle continues going off on Grim, scolding him nonstop.

It was too noisy.

Your maw opens, an eldritch presence unnoticed by the others in the room, solely focused on Riddle. A single pink, flesh like tendril lulls out.

Targeting Riddle.

Nobody was able to progress what happened, it went by so fast. One second Riddle was standing right between Cater and Trey, the next he was gone. All they were able to see was a flash of… something… coming from you.

Deuce was the first one to snap out of it and let out a scream, dropping you in the process. Thank Sevens for cat-like reflexes! You landed perfectly on all hours and grabbed ahold of Grim once again, and bolted out of the Heartslabyul dorm.

Trey blinks at where Riddle was once standing, then the universe snaps him out of it. “W-wait! Hold on!”

“Suddenly… Prefect isn’t as cute as a cat anymore.” Cater spoke up as he watched Trey sprint towards the direction where you left.

“Would they even be considered a cat after what we just saw?! What the hell are they?!”

“I was giving them belly rubs this whole time… they could have eaten me too…” Deuce looks at his own hands in horror. Meanwhile Ace was cursing at the sky, and Cater was swiping through his photos he took of you.

Savanaclaw

Leona let out a loud snort when he saw Grim squirming around and getting dragged by a larger, fluffier cat then him. He had to cover his mouth to hide his smirk that threatened to break across his face.

You decided to try your luck in Savanclaw in hopes maybe Leona would help you out. He was in his third year after all!… even though he’s been held back a few times already due to being lazy and not giving a damn. Either way, you hope the lion beat-man can help.

“Prefect! Stop dragging me! You are the henchman, and I am the great mage! I should not have to be treated like this! And what was that from earlier! Why did you eat him?!”

Leona was on his way out to the botanical gardens to nap and get away from his noisy dorm. Now, he is more interested in what the hell is going on.

“Oui, Grim… who’s your new friend? Did you finally get a parent figure to treat your spoiled hind?” Leona couldn’t help tease the dire-beast as he strode over to the two of you.

When you spotted Leona making his way over to you, you casually dropped Grim off. When he was released, Grim immediately ran and hid behind Leona.

“Oui, what do you think you're doing? Get off.”

“No way! I ain’t getting close to the Prefect, after they turned into that… that thing!”

Leona looks over at your new fluffy body…

You were currently grooming one of your paws and rubbing it against one of your kitty ears.

“You turned the Prefect into a harmless house cat?”

“They ain’t a normal house cat! Nor are they harmless!”

As you were cleaning yourself, you felt a hand grab you from the nape of your neck and pulled you up. Leona held you in front of him and sniffed you… just by your scent alone he was able to confirm it was indeed you. But there was also something off with your scent, something unnatural…

“Housewarden Leona!” Leona pulls you away from him and glances over to where the voice came from, noticing Jack and Ruggie making their way over to him. Ruggie was currently eating a donut that Jack offered him just a while ago. He was even going to offer some to Leona.

“Ah, what’s with the fuzz ball?” Ruggie glances over at you and then see’s Grim hiding behind Leona’s leg, taking a bite from his guilty treat. “And what’s got you so spooked?”

“Leona, is that the prefect?” Jack speaks up.

“You smell them too, right? Yeah it’s them. Putting two and two together, I’m guessing Grim messed up some sort of potion.”

“I didn’t mess anything up!” Grim tries to protest as he looks up at Leona.

Ruggie snickers as he goes to take another bite from his donut… he never got the chance.

You lick your chops, eyes focused on the pastry in Ruggie’s possession. He noticed your intent a second too late, unable to protect his treat as you collect it like picking up a mug before swallowing it whole via tentacle.

Everyone went quiet.

You let out a small burp.

“MY DONUT!”

“THAT'S WHAT YOU'RE CONCERNED ABOUT?!”Jack yells at the Hyena beast-men. “Did you not see what shot out of the Prefect's mouth?!”

“See? See?! I told you!” Grim points his paw at you while looking up at Leona. Meanwhile the Dorm Leader wasn’t sure on what to do in this situation.

Sensing how Leona was unsure what to do, you decided it was time to go.

When you began to approach Grim, he took a step back. “Mrah! You stay away, Henchmen!” Ah, so he was gonna be difficult…

Before Grim was going to protest once more, a single tentacle shoots out of your mouth and grabs him. All three of the Savanaclaw students just watched in horror as you gobbled up Grim.

And went on your merry way.

“… I think I’m just gonna go take a nap in my room.”

“I’m suddenly not hungry anymore…”

“… shouldn’t we go after them?!”

Both Ruggie and Leona walk away from Jack. Not that concerned about what happened, or want to be part of it.

Octavinelle

“Jade?”

“Yes, Azul?”

“Can you explain to me why there is a cat sitting on the lounge bar?”

You sat upon the bar, lounging without a care in the world. When you left Savanaclaw, you hoped that maybe Azul would help out. Unfortunately Jade found you and decided to give you chin scritches.

You really enjoyed those.

Right beside you was a bowl of water and a small plate of cooked mushrooms that Jade really wanted you to try out. He wanted to see if cats could really eat mushrooms. Since you weren’t fully a cat, they should be fine… right?

“I found them in the dorm, they looked so hungry and lost… and I couldn’t just let them be.”

“… so you decided to feed them mushrooms…”

Jade smiles as he watches you sniff your plate before digging in. He’s been watching you eat the Turkey Tail Mushroom for 20 minutes now. This was actually your second plate, and Jade was more than pleased when he saw you scarf down the first.

“These mushrooms better not be harmful! I don’t want a dead animal to scare off our customers.”

“Don’t worry, these types of mushrooms are nonlethal to both dogs and cats.” Jade assures Azul as he gently pets your head, causing you to lean into his touch and purr. Azul only squints his eyes at you, placing his hand on his chin as he comes up with an idea.

“Why don’t we use them to lure in some customers? They seem well behaved.”

Just when you heard Azul say that, you sat up and jerked your body a bit. Azul panics, thinking the worst. “Jade, you said those were nonlethal!” The dorm leader looks at Jade, who looked just as confused as they watched you make coughing sounds and your body jerking.

Then you spit out a large hairball.

A hairball that shouldn’t come out of a cat.

Jade and Azul step back as they just stare in shock as Grim was laying on the lounge's bar face down, covered in saliva.

You went back to eating.

Grim lets out a gasp like he’s been holding his breath the whole time he was inside your dimensional body. He was able to breathe just fine, he didn’t have to be so dramatic.

Drama queen.

“Grim?! What in Sevens?!”

“FIX THEM!”

Grim scrabbles to Azul, only for the Octo-mer to back away from the slimy dire-beast.

“I don’t care if I have to sign a contract! Just fix the Prefect!”

“Oya~? Is that the prefect?” Jade looks in amusement as he watches you finish another plate of mushrooms. Maybe he should have given you something… better to eat.

Azul pushes his glasses up as he glances over to you. Grim didn’t turn you into some type of house cat… no, this was more weird than that.

“Eeh~ What’s with the kitty cat?” Before Azul was able to come up with a good idea to turn you back… and to scam Grim… Floyd walked into the lounge.

You looked over at the eel twin and saw his smile widen as he began to approach you.

Red alert!

Danger!

Activate distraction!

Your body starts jerking again and you cough off something much larger. Something more human like…

Floyd stops in his tracks as he watches you cough up a slime covered Riddle. The poor redhead was staring up at the ceiling, his eyes filled with horror and disbelief.

At least he’s more calm now.

Floyd bursts out laughing as he sees Riddle, the laughter causing him to snap out of it and to finally take in his surroundings. Jade was intrigued by events that were unfolding. Azul stared in horror at the slime that was getting all over the lounge floor, wondering if it would stain at all.

Distraction successful!

You take this as your cue to leave, this time not even bringing Grim with you.

“H-hey! Prefect! Get back here!” Azul chases you as soon as you see an opportunity to escape the Ocavinelle dorm.

As you run, all you hear behind you is Floyd laughing at Riddle's misfortune, and Riddle trying to inform Jade on what’s happening with you.

Scarabia

“Jamil! Jamil, look!”

Jamil was currently finishing up the dishes when he heard Kalim come running into the dorm's kitchen. He lets out a sigh, mentally preparing what Kalim was going to show him. When he turned around to face the dorm leader, it wasn’t as bad as he was expecting it to be.

Kalim was holding you out to Jamil, showing you off to his best friend. You slow-blink at Jamil who only stared at you with indifference. When he looks up at Kalim, he just expresses how unimpressed he was.

“I found this cat trying to get into the dorm!”

“… and you just let them in?”

“They might be hungry and are trying to look for food!” Kalim smiles as he changes his position on holding you, now cradling you in his arms.

You weren’t hungry after your mushroom meal, but you were thirsty. Thankfully, Jamil was able to pick up on that and began to prepare of bowl of water for you. Right as he laid it out for you, Kamil was more than happy to put you down right in front of the bowl.

“Can we keep them?”

“Kalim, you don’t need a pet cat. And it would be a terrible idea to keep them in the dorm. Look how thick their fur is, they would overheat, I wouldn't be too surprised if you hadn’t found them, they would have blacked out.”

Jamil's words caused Kalim to deflate just a bit, but he was able to bounce back up. “What if we find them a new home? That way they would be taken care of and be comfortable!”

Jamil already felt a headache starting to form.

In the corner vision, you see something scitter across the kitchen counter. You lick your lips as you pick your head up the water bowl and zeroed in on the small bug…

It was a harmless beetle.

But you knew for a fact that Jamil wouldn’t think so.

When the vice house warden saw your attention drawn away from the water, he looked at what you were staring at… only to tense up when he saw the beetle.

“Kalim…”

“I see it! Don’t worry, I got it!” Kalim was more than happy to help. The sweet sunshine child went to grab a napkin and a glass cup. When Kalim retrieved his items, he turned towards the beetle and slowly began to approach the counter.

But this wasn’t just any type of beetle.

This bitch had wings.

As soon as Kalim made his first step, the thing spread its wings out and started to take off. The house warden let out a startled yelp, and Jamil was ready to scream bloody murder as he grabbed his magic pen.

As much as you would have loved to enjoy this little chaotic show, you didn’t want to be in the crossfire between Jamil and his magic.

Before any spells were casted, you opened your mouth and a large tendril slipped out and grabbed hold of the beetle, and just as quickly… you drew it back in and swallowed the thing.

Like a frog.

Both Kalim and Jamil stared down at you; the silence in the room felt loud.

“Oh! Thank you very much!” Kalim put down his items and picked you up, raising you above his head and spun around. “You wanted to help, didn’t you? That’s so sweet!”

“Kalim! That’s not an ordinary cat! Did you not see what just happen?!”

“I’m gonna name you Froggy!”

You only let out a small burp as Kalim gave you your new name, swaying you side to side.

Jamil was starting to feel that headache. Just when he was about to protest about Kalim keeping the ‘cat’ again, a familiar voice made its way into the Scarabia kitchen.

“Ah, te voilà, trickster!” Rook walks in the kitchen with ease as he strode over to Kalim who was still holding you. Kalim beams as he sees the Pomefiore Vice house warden. “Rook! What a surprise!”

Jamil took you from Kalim and presented you to Rook. “I’m guessing you're here for… this… please take them away from here.”

“Oh, why thank you! Word has spread that the Prefect has turned into an alien-like cat, and I thought it was a perfect opportunity to take them to Roi du Poison.”

“THAT’S THE PREFECT?!” Jamil yells as his headache comes in at full force.

“Oui! I must go now! So thank you!” Rook doesn’t explain anything else as he whisks you away from Scarabia.

Kalim and Jamil just stand there in the kitchen, processing the quick retreat the vice Housewarden of Pomefiore made.

Jamil rubs his temples “ … I’m going to my room and taking a nap.”

“Ah, I’ll get the washcloth.”

Pomefiore

“CUT!”

Vil’s sharp voice echoes throughout the courtyard, making everyone in the Film Club stop what they were doing.

The Film Club was currently doing a short sci-fi horror scene. Vil wanted to give himself and his club members a challenge since sci-fi and horror isn’t their usual go to genre for filming. Thankfully, Ortho and Epel are helpful for stirring them in the correct direction.

“We’ve filmed this scene over and over… yet I feel like something is lacking in this… alien…”

Everyone looks over at one of the actors who was dressed up like a snake-mix-octopus-mix-crocodile.

The actor only gave Vil a little wiggle with his costume.

“Your acting is good, but the costume… I feel like I’m looking at a child's drawing come to life. Where did we get this costume again?”

“This was actually hand made…”

“So it is a child’s drawing come to life… truly a nightmare,” Vil lets out a sigh as he walks over to Ortho to go over the footage they captured. Epel was sitting off to the side to watch how everything was going.

“Roi du Poison!” Members of the Film Club looked over to see Rook. He was practically skipping over to Vil while holding a super fluffy cat. “I have found you an alien!”

Vil blanks as Rook presented you to him. You couldn’t help but slowly blink at Vil and meow at him. He didn’t look all that impressed by seeing you.

“This is a cat, Rook.”

“Oui!”

“Why, in the sevens, would this be an alien? It just looks like an ordinary cat you would find off the street.”

You were more than just a street cat!

Rook was already sensing you wanted to show off that you weren’t just some simple cat, so he took an apple out from under his hat.

Vil was ready to question him before Rook tossed it in the air.

You zeroed in on the fruit and opened your mouth, allowing the tentacle to zip out and take a hold on the apple, and bring it back to you. Students in the Film Club let out a scream as they witnessed the slimy appendage come out of your mouth. Vil didn’t really respond, but he begins to think on how to put you in the movie now.

“House Warden Vil! You have to let them in the short film!” Epel shouts enthusiastically.

“Are they trained?”

“Even better! It's actually the Prefect!” Rook smiles as he announces it was really you.

You nod to confirm it was, and that you understood what was going on.

Vil smiles as he claps his hands together, pleased with the new addition to his short film.

And that’s how you got to be the alien in Vils New Short Film. At first the Club members were a bit weary, but upon learning that you were the Ramshackle Prefect, they fully accepted you instead of just some weird cat Rook found.

Ortho kept staring at you in pure awe when the actors went to the scene to reveal the part of the alien. You let out a hiss and revealed the bunches of tentacles and tendrils, just a cluster of horrors.

Every moment when filming was over, Ortho kept doing scans over your new body. The results he kept getting back were quite curious.

You didn’t turn into an ordinary cat. And Ortho was intrigued by this, even going as far as to send his brother the scans and data he was collecting.

One of the scenes that the club needed to capture was when one of the characters gets taken away from the alien. And you happily delivered it.

By gobbling up your fellow Night Raven Classmate.

Members from the club screamed in horror from behind the scenes as they watched the poor victim be taken away in one gulp. Vil had absolutely no words to say as he watched you target the next sad victim.

“Rook, you mentioned to me offhand that they’ll be ok, right?”

“Oui! The Prefect has taken both Roi de Roses and Monsieur Fuzzball and spit them out in safe conditions!”

Vil raised an eyebrow as he stared at his vice Housewarden, “Define, in your words… ‘Safe conditions’.”

Just when Rook was going to answer Vil, you came padding along.

Then you coughed up the club members.

Both actors just laid there on the ground, looking absolutely wrecked. Meanwhile you just started cleaning yourself.

The Pomefiore Housewarden looked at his own club members with absolute disgust seeing them covered in questionable slime and saliva. “Both of you, shower… Now!” That seemed to have snapped the two members out of their small daze as they scrambled to get up and head to their dorms to freshen up.

“Vil Schoenheit,” Both Vil and Rook turn to see Ortho hovering towards them. “If it’s ok with you, after doing today's scenes, can I take the Prefect? I’ve been doing scans and collecting data on them. I got a message from Idia and he wants to check on them.”

“Well, Idia is more then welcome to have them. We are done for today anyway.” Vil glances over to you.

You were innocently laying on your back waiting for your next victim to pet your tum tum.

“The shots we’ve collected are better than I expected them to be. Prefect,” you pick your head up and look at Vil. “You did fantastic today.”

You slowly blink at him and begin to purr.

Ortho giggles as he moves over to you and gently picks you up. “Come on, Prefect, I’m going to take you to big brother. He’s quite curious about what you turned into… and he wants to play with you.”

You let out a small mew as you let Ortho float away with you. Vil waved Ortho goodbye as he looked over the footage, pleased with the results they got.

Ignihyde

“Wehehehe~ Prefect you have such soft toe beans~” Idia happily let you sit in his lap as he played with your tiny cat paws, he was even taking photos of you from all angles. You didn’t mind, you just sat there peacefully with your eyes closed and your tongue sticking out just a bit.

Ortho giggles as he secretly records his brother playing with you. It was too cute! Plus, their mom has been asking how Idia has been doing, and Idia has been dodging her questioning and all that. Now, Ortho can have something to send to her.

“The Prefect seems to be enjoying themselves, brother! It’s said that cats stick their tongue out when they want to be playful or are relaxed.” Ortho casually mentions the fact as he does another scan over your body. He floats over to Idia and shows him the x-ray scan of your body.

“There’s… no bones.”

“And I don’t seen a stomach anywhere, though I am detecting lots of tunnels reaching to different places.”

“Pocket dimensions,” Idia picks you up, holding you from under your front arms. “Wehehe~ you're an ultra find, Prefect. Like an SSR+ find!” Idia gets off his bed and places you in his gamer chair.

You blink at him with your tongue still out as you relax fully into the soft leather. You watch as Idia taps a few times on his hologram keyboard, pulling up photos from your acting scenes and the x-ray scans Ortho took.

“You can still understand what I’m saying, right? You didn’t turn into just a kitty cat with a smooth brain, right?”

You huff at that and fully sit up, meowing at Idia and flicking your paw at him as if saying “get on with whatever you're gonna say”.

“Perfect. Now, I’m gonna show you what you are… because you look like a cute kitty cat, but that’s your character armor. What you really are-,” Idia motions to his monitor, showing the x-rays. “-is a fleshy alien thing that looks like a large parasite crammed into your cat-like body.”

You stare at the X-ray certain of yourself. It should be concerning really, because how the hell did you turn into that thing? Just a few hours ago you were human, and now you're some type of… alien? Parasite?

Either way you look sick as fuck.

“You don’t seem to be that freaked out,” Ortho floats over to you.

To show you weren’t that troubled by it, you opened your mouth and let out a collage of tentacles. One shoots out to grab Idia’s opened bag of chips, causing the older Shroud to yelp. You bring it back to your mouth and fully consume it, spitting the plastic bag out when you were done with it.

“… make yourself at home I guess.”

“Ah! So you do have a stomach! I can see you digesting the chips!” Ortho exclaimed excitedly.

Ortho sends the X-ray video of you digesting the chips to Idia, making it pop up on one of the monitors. You watched with curiosity. Some would find it disgusting but for you- you just thought it was interesting seeing how your new body functioned.

“Now, I hope you don’t mind if we can do some tests on you, Prefect.” Idia begins putting on his lab gear, carefully watching your reaction.

Ok. Sure. Running some tests wasn't that big of a deal. You weren’t in a rush at the moment, and you were curious about what you are.

That all changed when you saw something that looked like a needle.

Before you had time to back away, Ortho picked you up. And you started yowling, trying to get out of his hold.

“Ah! Prefect, what’s wrong?” Idia turns to see his younger brother struggling to hold you, clearly confused on what got you all fussy.

“Ortho! What happened?!”

“I don't know! They just started acting up!”

Using the wonderful power of cat physics, you're able to escape from the younger Shroud’s hold. Your first instinct was to head towards the door… unfortunately it was closed and you didn’t know how to open doors with your toe beans.

Idia slowly approaches you from behind as you try to find another escape route. Idia then takes the chance to dive down to get you, but you dodge him and begin to scurry around the room. You run from one side to the other, hopping on Idia’s bed and then to his shelf with his Action figures.

“Prefect! You're gonna get hurt!”

“MREOW!” You run across the shelf, knocking down the figurines and making Idia freak out.

“NO! Those are limited edition!” You didn’t listen to Idia’s screams as you practically knocked off every single one of his figurines. You look around trying to find a way out of his room, and that’s when you saw it-

The vent!

A tentacle shoots out from your mouth as you rip the grate off the ceiling. You cast the grate in the general direction of Idia, hearing the sound of what remains of the merchandise fall to the floor. And Idia loud pitch shriek.

You hop onto another shelf and use another tentacle to give you leverage as you swing yourself into the vent. You left Idia and Ortho alone in the room.

Take that! No needles today!

Idia just looks at the mess on his floor, not really sure where to start. Ortho just floats over and pats him on the shoulder, knowing that his older brother was mourning the loss of several of his collectibles.

Diasomnia

When you were able to escape from Idia’s clutches, you immediately went to Diasomnia.

This should have been your first pick! Horton would be happy to help you!

When you entered through the mirror you went straight to the dorm lounge room, ignoring students in the process as they stopped to stare at the fluffy cat walking the halls. Some even tried to pet you or greet you, but you were on a mission!

Being this alien cat was all fun but now, it’s best to go back to living life like a normal human.

“Strange, what’s a cat doing here?” You were ready to ignore the student like you did the others, but this one was quick enough to pick you up.

You were ready to swat at them but stopped when you recognized them. Sebek held you from under your arms as he scrutinized you. “How did you get into Diasomnia?” He asks, and all you do is meow at him.

“No matter! I heard earlier that Master Lilia and Waka-sama were looking for a fluffy cat. Perhaps they were referring to you.”

“Mrew.” Yes! Take me to Horton!

Sebek positions you into a better way where he cradles you into his arms. You start purring immediately, which causes Sebek to stutter. “C-cease your purring! I’m just taking you to Waka-sama and then I'm putting you down!”

No complaints there!

Sebek begins to walk you over to the dorm's lounge room. And you couldn’t help yourself so you started batting at his tie. A few times Sebek scolds you, but doesn't have the heart to stop you.

Oh he would lose his head if he learned it was you, the prefect.

“Ah! Sebek, my boy! You're back, and it seems like you brought a friend!” You perk up hearing Lilia’s voice.

You see Lilia and Malleus sitting on the couch in the lounge, Silver pouring them tea and himself a cup as well. Lilia’s eye practically sparkled when he saw you, vibrating on the spot with excitement.

Oh no.

He knows.

“So you found the Prefect, good work Sebek.” Malleus praises Sebek as he takes a sip of his tea.

Sebek though stopped in his tracks. He was happy to be praised by his young master! But learning that it was you that he was cradling this whole time…

He drops you without thinking.

Silver was ready to take his pen out and have you land safely on the ground, but you landed perfectly fine on all fours.

Thanks to your cat-like reflexes.

“P-prefect?! Why didn’t you say anything?!” Sebek yelled at you. You only give him a glare and start batting at his foot, basically telling him you weren’t happy for the fact he dropped you!

Lilia starts cackling watching the exchange between the two of you. When you were done with fighting Sebek’s shoe, you began your walk over to the couch where everyone seemed to be resting and hop on the coffee table.

You don’t stay there for long until Lilia scoops you in his arms, twirling you around like Kalim did. “Ah! You're just so cute now, Prefect!”

Is he saying you weren’t before?

In response to that, you place your paw on his nose, causing Lilia to laugh more. Malleus hums as he watches, Silver on the other hand was starting to doze off after he took one sip from his tea.

“How long has it been since you transformed, child of man?” Malleus asked as he placed his own teacup and saucer on the coffee table.

You try thinking about how long it’s been. It had to be no more than several hours, right? Then again, you did notice how it was getting darker in the Diasomnia dorm. Didn’t you drink that potion this morning???

“Based on your silence, it’s been a whole day.” Lilia nods to his own conclusion as you try wiggling out of his hold.

A whole day?! Nope! You gotta change NOW!

“Fear not my dear friend,” Malleus gets up from his place from the couch and makes it way over to you and Lilia. Lilia smiles as he holds you out to Malleus.

“Meow?”

“As cute as you are in this form, I would prefer to have my best friend back to normal.” And with that said Malleus places his hand on your head, letting a bright green light come from his hand.

In a blink of an eye, you turn back to normal…

With Lilia still holding you up by under your arms.

“I like to be put down now…”

“Aw, but I’m still having fun!” You let out a shriek as Lilia spins you once again. Malleus couldn’t help but let out a laugh as he watched the two of you.

Silver was fully asleep now, and Sebek only stared at his hands in horror.

“I was cradling them the whole time in their cat form…”

“Were they ever truly a cat though?” Sebek whipped his head to look at Silver who spoke in his sleep.

Nobody truly understood what you were. What you turned into it.

All they hope is that it never happens again…

“Oh gods, my stomach…” you were back in Ramshackle, laying in your bed and holding your stomach. You were feeling such immense pain after leaving Diasomnia. You did eat a lot of things today in that other form, and spitting stuff out as well.

Grim was currently pouring you a glass of Bubble Soda, and set down some crackers by your nightstand… not without swiping some first. “Mrah, Silver told me this would help you with your tummy ache. How you should still eat something along with the medication he gave.” Grim hands you the packet he got from second year.

God bless Silver. Lilia did cook horrible meals, so it made sense Silver would have these on hand.

You thanked Grim as you popped a pill into your mouth and slowly drank the soda Grim messily poured.

He tried.

“I’m really sorry about today… it’s my fault you turned into some weird cat thing…” Grim apologized awkwardly as he sat at the edge of your bed.

You let out a huff and grab the dire beast by the scruff of his neck, making him yelp in surprise as you wrap your arms around him.

“I forgive you, Grim. Don’t sweat it that much, ok? You didn’t know, and you made a mistake, it happens! So don’t beat yourself over it.”

Grim whines from your hug but lets you awayway, wrapping his paws around your neck to hug you back. You also promised yourself that night that you were going to double check everything before you consume it.

Can’t have you turning into an alien cat thing again…

Unless to torture Crowley, then you would be down to do that.

[pyrrhiccomedy]

I am genuinely so proud of my wife for becoming a crafts person over the last few years.

Like, I was always a crafts person. I was an arts and crafts kid. My parents sent me to classes or summer camps or after-school clubs pretty much continuously from when I was about 5 years old, and over the years I did metalsmithing, stained glass, polymer clay sculpting, loom weaving, oil painting, charcoal drawing, clothes-making & tailoring, carpentry, woodcarving, macrame, miniatures, beading, jewelry-making, basket weaving, leatherworking, paper-making, bookbinding, papier mache, decoupage, sand sculpting, and probably more that I'm forgetting. There was never a day in my life while I was growing up when my entire bedroom floor wasn't taken up by 2-5 different ongoing art projects. As an adult, it's given me the firm confidence that I can walk up to pretty much any crafting skill, and get the hang of it, and enjoy doing it.

My wife never had that. She wrote, but that was really her only artistic outlet. Art & craftsmanship were just not any of her business. She always expressed admiration for my gumption when it came to making things with my hands, usually with a "bigger idiots than me have done it" attitude, but she was certain she'd be bad at it if she tried it, and that she wouldn't have fun. As evidence, she would offer every time in her life when she had attempted to learn a craft, and didn't have fun, and all the Arts And Crafts kids picked it up a lot faster than her.

Which like - yeah! Learning how to do a new craft is a skill all on its own! Fine motor control is a skill developed over time! So is spatial reasoning, and materials intuition! She wasn't just 'trying to learn wreath-making,' or whatever, she was trying to learn how to learn how to make something with her hands AND wreath-making, at the same time, so of course it would take her longer than the kids who already had the first part, and of course it would be more frustrating for her. I knew she wasn't uniquely bad at crafts: she just didn't know how to approach picking them up, because she was never encouraged to learn.

And then the pandemic hit.

And while we were all trapped inside and going insane in new and exciting ways to all of us, she tentatively decided to pick up embroidery. She probably wouldn't stick with it, she explained: she'd probably be bad at it. It probably wouldn't be fun. But she thought embroidery was pretty, and literally what else did she have going on?

And then she did stick with it. For over a year. And she got pretty good at it! She embellished a baseball hat for her sister with cactuses and wildflowers from where they grew up which came out adorable. She made an embroidered portrait of one of our friends' cat that they still have displayed in their entryway. And she discovered - and remarked on it often, with mild surprise - that she was having fun. She'd say a lot of stuff like "this stitch was so frustrating at first, but now that I get it I really like doing it," or "I kept getting this tangled but I've figured it out now. I just needed to relax."

Then she took up pottery. We did that as a couple for about a year, too. Now she's a knitter.

And it's just been so great, to see her eyes light up when she sees a sweater she likes, and hear her say, "I could make that!" She's slowly let go of the perfectionism that I think holds a lot of people back from doing crafts: that dismay when you make a mistake which leads to discarding a whole project, or starting something over. More and more she's taking on the veteran crafter attitude of "oops lol, whatever I'll just keep going." She's picking things up faster. She's taking pleasure in learning incremental steps. She's started to see crafting as something that relaxes and engages her, instead of as something inherently frustrating. I've gotten to watch her learn to find joy in making something with her hands. I always knew she was creative and artistic and capable of learning how to do anything. It's been so much fun to watch her start to take that on as part of how she sees herself.

We have this running joke about how she will prematurely declare herself to be in an era. Like, she'll go swimming twice and announce that she's now in her "swimming era," and then never go swimming again. Or she'll make one smoothie, buy a bunch of fruit, and declare that we are now in a "smoothie era," and then a week later we have to throw out a bunch of fruit that's gone bad.

The other day (while she was knitting, and I was sitting on the couch next to her doing crochet), she went, "I feel like I've gotten - like, I'm a bit crafty these days, I think. Like, I've done a couple of different crafts, and gotten pretty good at them. I think this is now, kind of, you know...something that I can say that I do."

I supplied that I would even go so far as to say that she was in her "crafting era."

Her eyes widened. "It's an era?"

I pointed out that it was something she'd been doing pretty much continuously for the last three and a half years. That feels like the start of an era to me.

"Yes," she decided. "It's an era. This is my crafts era. I'm a crafts person now."

She's planning to make me a sweater with a duck on it for fall.

[nanamisgirly]

PLEASE, STAY

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

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

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

word count ᥫ᭡。13k

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it didn't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

this is going to be a long, long week.

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

and yet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

and that goddamn smirk.

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

twice, three times.

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

and then— clapping. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

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

the gala is tomorrow. 

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

fucking hell.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

or at least, you try.

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

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

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

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

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

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

a shadow of a smile tugs at your lips. 

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

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

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

focus.

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

your stomach knots. “who was with him?”

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

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

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

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

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

and your blood turns to ice.

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

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

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

your grip tightens around your own gun.

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

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

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

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

one breath. one shot. 

you step out. aim. fire

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

and gojo moves.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it happens fast. too fast.

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

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

the man crumples.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

it isn't. 

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

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

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

but then— 

he takes a step forward.

and another.

until there's barely any space left between you.

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

your heart clenches at the quiet honesty in his voice.

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

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

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

gojo looks wrecked. completely and utterly undone.

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

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

but then— he breaks. 

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

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

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

and just like that, nothing else matters.

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

gojo doesn't let go.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

──────-ˋˏ ༻❁༺ ˎˊ-

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

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

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

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

you whimper, nodding, your knees already weak.

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

“satoru—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

it's sloppy, desperate, obscene.

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

“t-too much—” your body is trembling.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“bed. now.” 

except… you don't make it to the bed…

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

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

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

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

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

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

he loses his patience. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“come here, wife.”

( ˘͈ ᵕ ˘͈♡)

[cosmicpearlz]

halloween is cool

summary: jude hadn’t really thought twice about spooky season or halloween.. well until you came along.

pairing: jude bellingham x reader

a/n: slightly projecting on this one because halloween/spooky szn is possibly my favorite holiday

october. the month of everything spooky and filled with autumn like colors. it's possibly your favorite month to ever exist. loving the pumpkins, the slight chill that graced the air, and the halloween decor. let's not forget that it happens to be sweater weather too.

"baby! baby! baby!" your cheery voice rang through the house. jude could almost picture the smile that resided on your face. a smile itching its way onto his, as your footsteps became closer.

"yes m'love?" you sit next to him on the couch with a bounce, beaming from ear to ear.

"it's october."

"the first of the month to be exact."

"well, aren't you excited?"

"for what?" you gasp dramatically at his question and stare at him with wide eyes. jude finds it harder to contain the smile that wanted to come out and rest on his face.

"it's spooky season."

"i know baby."

"we should be celebrating. why aren't you happy about the best time of the year?" your eyebrows furrowed and jude's heart couldn't take how cute you looked. he loved seeing you so passion and happy about something.

"never really thought twice about it," he says, while shrugging his shoulders. a moment of silence passes by the two of you. then it hit you. a grin replaces the smile that rested on your face just a few minutes ago.

"can we decorate the house?"

"whatever you want baby. we can go shopping for some stuff tomorrow after training." you excitedly squealed and jumped into his arms. the boy barely having time to catch you but still wrapping his arms around you tightly. laughter fills the living room as you pressed kisses all over his face.

-

over the next couple of days, you were determined to turn the house into halloween theme for the season. from pumpkins that sat in front of the door to the skeletons that hung in the living room and kitchen. little touches of orange and black and the fake spiderwebs filled the house as well. the decorations weren't over the top, but it made the house fit more in tune with october.

"we should plan a halloween party or have matching costumes! or maybe both." you wrap your arms around his was it. hugging him from the back.

"what happened to good morning? how was your sleep babe?"

"oops, sorry. good morning my love, how was your sleep?" you lean on your tiptoes to kiss his cheek. jude chuckles quietly to himself, you feel the vibrations of his laughter being that you were still pressed up against his back.

"it was alright, i couldn't sleep much. so, i started cleaning the house a bit. how'd you sleep darling?" he turns around to face you. his hands now resting on your hips. fingertips lightly brushing the bare skin that peeked out from your sleep shirt. your arms find their place around his neck and give him a smile.

"wow, i can't believe you actually cleaned the house. they get so old," you say with fake sniffles to tease him. jude playfully rolls his eyes and pulls you closer to him. "i slept well though. i will say, i did miss seeing your pretty face in bed when i woke up."

"you flirt."

"only for you bellingham," you winked and press a kiss to his lips.

"we can go right back to bed if you keep acting like this," he bites his lip, gazing into your eyes. you shake your head and laugh.

"you freak."

"only for you darling."

"you didn't give me an answer to my suggestions."

"baby, wasn't decorating the house enough?"

"no."

"seriously?"

"seriously jude." he stares you down as if waiting for you to suddenly change your mind. "oh c'mon, work with me here!" you whined and pouted your bottom lip. jude groans and closes his eyes.

"i hate when you give me puppy dog eyes with that adorable pout of yours. i can never say no to you! you're cheating."

"it's not cheating love. it's called knowing how to get your boyfriend to say yes to your amazingly cool ideas." you took it a step further and batted your eyelashes. jude smile grows watching you attempt anything to get your way. you both knew that it was gonna work anyway.

"how about we compromise?"

"what are we compromising?" you lift an eyebrow in question.

"ditch the halloween party but we can do the matching-"

"deal."

"you didn't even let me finish." you both burst into laughter.

"all i heard was a yes, so consider me happy."

"i'm glad you're happy baby. all i ever want to do is make you happy. even if it means catering to your weird obsession with halloween."

"heyyy! it's not weird. halloween is cool baby. get with the program."

"yeah yeah, whatever you say m'love."

jude pulls you even closer to him. fronts pressing against each other. leaning down, he connects his lips to yours in a passionate kiss. preferring to take his time with the kiss rather than rushing it. it was slow and full of love. making your heartbeat just a bit faster than it normally does. the only thing that runs through the boy's head is how much he loved you and getting to spend mornings like this with you was the best feeling. little did he know, you were thinking the exact same.

[ladykailitha]

The Caged Bird Still Sings Part 13

Hello!!! We are back for another lovely chapter of this fic. It's still going strong and I have hit Act 3. I don't know how many chapters of that there will be, but I'm to the happy parts of the story. So yay!!!

In this we find out who our little elf is, and Steve makes an instant friend. Then he tries sushi with disastrous results.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Pt 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12

~

Steve watched as she turned in slow motion and her eyes go wide. She then threw her hands over her eyes.

“I’m sorry to disturb you!” she shrieked. “Please put your shirt back on!”

He huffed out a laugh and then went over to the dresser and pulled out a old t-shirt. “There, I’m all dressed. Now tell me who you are.”

“I’m Robin Buckley!” she squeaked. “I’m sixteen and about to enter my senior year of high school, my Uncle Justin got me the job as a PA for the band Corroded Coffin, but my mom was worried about the band taking advantage of me, so she insisted I stay in Hawkins. Which worked out great because I got the task of sneaking stuff in your hotel room, which is also great because I’m super stealthy!”

Steve smiled, immediately taking a liking to her. “Wow that was a lot. Nice to finally put a name and a face to the person who keeps sneaking into my room while I’m showering.”

Robin blinked for a minute before she realized the implication of that. “Oh shit! You must have thought I was a creep or something. God, I’m so sorry!”

“Something like that,” Steve said, tilting his head and chuckling. “But now that I’ve met you, it’ll be easier to drop stuff off whenever and not have to wait for me to be gone or out of the main room.”

“You don’t mind that I can just walk in?” she asked in confusion.

Steve shrugged. “The cleaning staff do it all the time. Unless I put out the tag that says do not disturb, they just come in to do their job. That’s how I made friends with Carla and Juan. They’re teaching me Spanish!”

Robin blinked at him for a moment. “You’re learning Spanish from the cleaning crew?”

He walked up and flopped on the sofa, kicking his feet up. “Juan is teaching me all the swear words first.”

“Wow,” she said, sinking into a nearby chair. “Don’t you have other friends that come see you?”

Steve shook his head. “All my friends abandoned me when my dad caught me and my boyfriend on the sofa making out. I can’t tell anyone else where I am because my dad could find me and beat the shit out of me for not leaving town like he wanted.”

“Wait...” Robin said, “Are you Steve Harrington?”

He reared his head back in confusion. “I mean yeah, weren’t you told who I was?”

She got up and pushed his feet to the floor to sit on the sofa next to him. “Holy shit, dude. No one knows where you’ve been. There have rumors about you still being seen around town, but your like a local cryptid or some shit. All anyone knows is that you’ve been laying low.”

Steve sat up straight. “Wait, really?” He burst out laughing. “I guess being registered at the hotel as Steve Munson is really doing its job.”

“Yeah,” Robin said enthusiastically, “even my mom thinks your his cousin. She’s been broadly hinting that I should accidentally meet you so you can date me.” She snorted. “Which even if you weren’t over eighteen, sorry you’re not my type.”

“Yeah, what is your type?” Steve asked. Robin pursed her lips and looked up. “Come on, who am I going to tell? Eddie and the band are about to be out of communication because they’re traveling out of country.”

“Girls.”

He snorted and then snapped his mouth shut. “Sorry. Um...like I just told you I was caught with my boyfriend and you were worried about telling me you like girls?”

She blinked at him for a moment and then gave a snort of her own. “Oops!”

Steve shook his head. “Hopeless. Just a couple of baby gays in the most backwater town in the whole fucking state. At least you can tell your mom that you’re not my type.”

“That’s true,” Robin said cocking her head to the side. “She didn’t want me traveling with the band because she was afraid that they would prey on a teenage girl. Like I feel like I would be safer with them then some stranger in a hotel room, but...” she shrugged.

“Mom logic,” Steve said, nodding, “can’t argue with it and can’t make it make sense either.”

Robin threw her arms in the air. “Exactly!” She looked around the room and spotted the presents she was supposed to have leaving for him.

“The presents!”

“The shower!” Steve shouted at the same time and they both went running. Steve to the bathroom to turn of the water and Robin to grab the boxes from the sidebar.

They met back in the middle. Robin shoved the boxes at him.

“I want to know what’s in them,” she said brazenly. “I’m not allowed to peek and I really want to know about everything Eddie Munson is sending you.”

Steve laughed and shook his head. “It could be sex toys you know. Are you sure you want to see what’s in here?”

“Yes!” she huffed and smacked his arm. “Now open it!”

Steve opened the first box and inside was a beautiful yellow floor length robe with a note that said, ‘For that hot divorceé look!’

Robin raised an eyebrow at him. “Care to explain that one?”

“I was feeling down a couple of days ago because I was bored,” Steve explained trying not to laugh, “I said I felt like a divorceé who had taken her husband to the cleaners, but now was only left with riches and no company.”

She looked around the fancy hotel room like she was properly seeing it for the first time. She took in all the brass fittings, black marble, and leather furniture. It was pretty, but it was very much not a place someone lived in, only visited.

She couldn’t imagine staying here for as long as Steve had been here. “Oh.”

Steve shifted in his seat, suddenly feeling uncomfortable with her pity. So he opened the other present. It was a much smaller box, he had wanted to open the big one first because he guessed it was probably clothes.

Inside was small golden music box that when he opened it it had a little yellow bird singing “Birdhouse in Your Soul” by They Might Be Giants. Only blue canary was swapped for yellow, mangling the song a little, but Steve was touched.

“What is with all the yellow stuff especially the yellow birds?” Robin asked as he handed it to her. She had spotted a lot of them as she looked around the room.

Steve laughed and told her about how he met Eddie, highlighting especially the part about wearing yellow in the middle of a metal concert.

“Oh my god!” Robin said roaring with laughter, “I think I would have shriveled up and died of sheer embarrassment if that was me.”

“That would assume I had any dignity at that point,” Steve pointed out. “My dad had tossed me out, I lost my job, and all my friends. If there were better places to get drunk in this god forsaken town, I would have gone there.”

“Have you tried getting another job?” she asked, tilting her head the side. “Like they can’t all be afraid of your dad.”

He just shrugged. “I guess I never thought about it, really. Just been trying to keep away from him.”

“But he’s been out of town for a couple of weeks, right?” Robin pressed. “Do you really think he’s going to come back and hound you just for trying to get a job?”

Steve shrugged again. “You don’t know my dad. His colleagues call him Mad Dog because he’s as tenacious as a bulldog and twice as mean. If he gets it into his head that I must be ran out of town, he’s going to do whatever he can to make it happen. He only left town because Chief Hopper stonewalled him.”

Robin wrinkled her nose but didn’t say anything.

Steve showed her all the other presents Eddie had gotten him and she was delighted with each one. But especially the necklace.

“Well now there are two birds in this cuckoo nest,” Robin said proudly. “Robin and Canary.” She held out her hand and Steve took it with a smile.

“So does this mean you won’t be sneaking around my hotel room from now on?” he asked with a lopsided grin.

She burst out laughing. “I might do a little sneaking for old times sake, but yeah. I’ll make sure to announce my presence from now on.”

“Good,” Steve said with a huff. “Get out of here so I can shower.”

She laughingly did as she was told, Steve shaking his head the whole time.

~

After Steve got out of his shower and bathrobe secured tightly at his waist, he sat down with the want ads. He had long since gotten a subscription to the newspaper for the movie times and funny pages. But now he could use it to see if anyone was hiring.

Because as much of a loud mouth asshole, Tommy had been, he had a point. He couldn’t just sit around and wait to be be rescued by Eddie. There was no guarantee that Eddie would continue to fund Steve’s life style after the band returned from their tour.

He flopped on the bed with a red pen and the newspaper open in front of him. He scoffed when he saw that Family Video was still looking to replace him, even though it had been six weeks since they fired him.

He really didn’t know how to do much. His main jobs had been being a lifeguard at the rec center and the Family Video job his dad forced him to take so that he could ‘learn how to be productive in society’ or whatever bullshit he had spouted at the time.

So he immediately disregarded anything that required typing or phone skills. With it being summer again, he could probably get his old job back at the rec center but then he would most certainly run afoul more Hank Tippets of the world. Which would be more trouble than it was worth.

There was the new mall.

Maybe he could find work there. He circled a couple of other places but decided his best bet would be the mall. He threw the newspaper aside and rolled over on his back.

He was hungry and tired and just wanted to forget about everything for awhile. So he got up and ordered food. This time was going for something different. Sushi. If he didn’t like it he could always order something else.

Steve needed to try other things and if it wasn’t on his dime or his parents forcing him to try it, why not? He couldn’t do raw oysters. But that was probably because he was six at the time and his mother forced him to try it.

Never doing that again.

He also ordered an appetizer just to double hedge his bets. He knew from the description that it was raw fish and rice. He wasn’t going into this completely blind.

The sushi arrived with his weird side of garlic mashed potatoes. Sue him, the potatoes were his comfort food. They were almost as good as the ones as his Auntie Sophie made. The recipe his mother would kill to get her hands on. And probably tried.

Look, he tried. He tried them with the brown liquid-y stuff, the red paste, and green goo. The green goo made his mouth burn like nothing he had ever experienced in his life. If he hadn’t tried the red paste first, he would have assumed it was all that bad.

So he tossed the rest of the sushi back on the trolley and begged for them to take it away and replace it with ice cream. Anything to stop the burning.

Eddie tried to be sympathetic when Steve told him that night, but Steve could tell the other man was trying so hard not to laugh.

Never again.

~

Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24

Tag List: CLOSED

1- @rozzieroos @itsall-taken @redfreckledwolf @zerokrox-blog @beelze-the-bubkiss

2- @gregre369 ​@a-little-unsteddie @chaosgremlinmunson @messrs-weasley @cryptid-system

3- @maya-custodios-dionach @goodolefashionedloverboi @val-from-lawrence @carlyv @wonderland-girl143-blog

4- @irregular-child @bookbinderbitch @bookworm0690 @forgottenkanji

5- @anne-bennett-cosplayer @yikes-a-bee @awkwardgravity1 @littlewildflowerkitten @genderless-spoon

6- @dragonmama76 @ellietheasexylibrarian @thedragonsaunt @useless-nb-bisexual @disrespectedgoatman

7- @counting-dollars-counting-stars @tinyplanet95 @ravenfrog @swimmingbirdrunningrock @lingeringmirth

8- @gutterflower77 @a-lovely-craziness @just-a-tiny-void @w1ll0wtr33 @sticknpokelightningbolt

9- @scoops-aboy86 @kurofuckingshi16 @watermelonmite @eyehartart @dreamercec

10- @little-birch-boy @yearningagain @micheledawn1975 @blondie1006 @sadisticaltarts

[white-wolf-buckaroo]

Where the Flowers Don't Grow - Chapter 13

Word Count: 6k oops

Warnings: basically everything you should be warned about with TLOU, honestly, and some harder stuff that is also implied in the show and also implied here (implied rape/non-con)

Notes: I want to apologize before hand for what's gonna happen here/be talked about here. Although I had this outcome planned very early on into writing this story, I won't deny it still hurt to make someone go through this. All of this said, chapter warnings: implied rape/non-con.

Fic Masterlist

Joel had a bad feeling.

The kind that sat in his gut like rot, twisting with every step he took through the snow-covered forest. His breath came out ragged, each exhale a hiss of pain and panic as he trudged through the knee-deep drifts. A snowstorm was picking up fast—whiteout conditions just minutes away—but he didn’t slow down. Couldn’t. Not when every instinct screamed that something was wrong.

The cold bit at his fingers, and paint tugged at his every step coming from his poorly healed wound. The girls had kept him alive, though. He was proud of them. So fucking proud. Still, his body screamed to rest—but he didn’t stop.

Because Ellie was out here. Faith was out here. And he had to find them.

He had failed enough people in this life. He wouldn’t fail them too.

The rifle on his back shifted as he climbed the hill overlooking a frozen lake, snow crunching underfoot. His right hand pressed into his wound to keep the pressure steady, while the right shielded his eyes from the whipping wind. Shapes loomed out of the snow—cabins, houses—half-buried in white, sagging under the weight of winter.

His heart stuttered.

Silver Lake.

It had to be. God, please let it be.

He pushed toward the cabins by the shore, passing half-buried canoes and rotting picnic tables. Everything looked still. Dead. The kind of quiet that screamed at the back of his skull. And then—

Blood.

A trail, smeared across the snow, not fresh but not old either. Leading straight into the cabin ahead.

Joel’s breath caught in his throat. He didn’t hesitate.

He raised his rifle and smashed the lock with a crack that echoed through the trees. The door creaked open with a reluctant groan, and the moment he stepped inside, he was hit with the sharp scent of mold and rot.

And something else. Something metallic. Blood.

He turned his flashlight on, and its beam cut across the room—shelves of junk, stacks of boxes, rusted tools—and then landed on the far wall.

Two backpacks.

He stumbled forward, fell to his knees.

Ellie’s. Green canvas, battered and worn, with that stupid pink alien plush hanging from the zipper like a guardian. And beside it, Faith’s. Brown and weathered, the leather straps cracked from wear. Joel’s fingers trembled as he opened it—and there it was.

Monica’s journal. Her mom’s. Faith’s most precious possession.

She never would’ve left without it.

He held it between his fingers tightly for a few seconds, head bowed, eyes closed against the wave of relief that hit him—but it was fleeting. Because if they left the bags… they were still somewhere here, but definitely not safe.

A new kind of fear took hold. Sharper. Wilder. He stood again, swaying slightly, the flashlight’s beam jerking as he caught sight of the blood trail again, winding deeper into the cabin.

Joel followed, every step like walking toward a nightmare.

He reached a pair of old double doors and shoved them open with his shoulder.

The room beyond was freezing. His flashlight flicked across the space— —and froze.

Two horses.

Their horses.

Frozen stiff on the ground, blood pooled beneath them. Joel clenched his jaw as bile rose in his throat.

God.

His girls. They’d ridden away, hadn’t they? Tried to escape. But they’d gotten to them. And now their animals were dead.

But the girls… They couldn’t. They weren’t. He refused to believe that.

His light moved further, scanning the corners, until—

Something behind a pile of overturned canoes caught his eye. He stepped closer, the beam quivering in his grip, and—

Stopped.

Three human bodies. Hanging upside down. Bloodied. Skinned. Beheaded.

The colour drained from Joel’s face. His stomach lurched, and he staggered back against the wall, a low sound catching in his throat. Not from pain this time, but from horror.

His knees almost gave out. His mind raced with images—Ellie, Faith, their faces pale, their bodies—

No.

No.

They weren’t here. They weren’t them. These were men.

These poor souls weren’t his girls.

But it was a warning.

A sign.

A fucking message.

Someone had brought people here to die like cattle. To be carved up and stored like meat. And if they’d done that to their own people—

What the hell could they have done to Ellie and Faith?

He tore his gaze away, his vision swimming, his mind racing through images he didn’t want to see — Ellie’s smile, Faith’s stubborn glare, both of them laughing over dinner by the fire.

This was a nightmare.

And someone had taken them into it.

Joel’s breath came in ragged gasps. Pain screamed from his stomach, but he barely felt it now. His grip tightened around the rifle.

Whoever had done this… whoever had touched his girls…

He would make them pay.

(…)

Ellie had no idea how long she’d been alone for.

Could’ve been an hour. Maybe more. Maybe less. Time had stopped meaning anything the second the door slammed shut when David took Faith away.

She’d screamed until her throat was raw, kicked the door, thrown herself at it like it could break under the weight of her fury.

But it hadn’t. And no one had come.

Now the silence felt louder than her own thoughts — and those were loud enough already.

She paced around the cage, one arm wrapped around her ribs like she could hold herself together, the other dragging along the iron mesh as she walked in tight, frantic circles. Back and forth. Round and round.

Now all Ellie had was the silence.

And her thoughts.

Faith.

Where was she? What had David done to her?

She had a bad feeling. An idea of what he… of what he could’ve…

She blinked fast, swallowed the lump in her throat. Couldn’t cry. Crying wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t get her out, wouldn’t help Faith. Wouldn’t keep either of them alive.

"Come on, come on..." she muttered under her breath, forcing her body to move. She held onto the iron mesh again, searching for any loose points, nails scraping against grime and frost. She had to find something. Anything.

She kept her ears tuned, alert for footsteps, voices, anything. But the silence stretched on. Her fingers ached. The skin split under her nails, blood warm against the cold. Still, she twisted on a screw, trying to break it off.

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about her. Don’t think about—

But she couldn’t stop.

Faith, crying out, reaching for Ellie as they dragged her away.

Faith, always trying to be brave, even when her hands shook.

Faith, who had made her laugh in the dark, who had laughed at her dumb jokes and whispered secrets through walls of fear. Who had showed up one day in her life, just like that. Ellie couldn’t imagine not having her around anymore. She didn’t want to. She wasn’t just some other girl. Not anymore.

She was to Ellie what she imagined family to be like.

Ellie squeezed her eyes shut, biting down a sob. She gave the bolt another savage twist — and it came loose, falling to the floor with a soft, metallic clink.

Her breath caught.

One down. She scanned the mesh, found another loose one, started working on it.

Come on, come on…

She could hear her own pulse pounding in her ears.

And under that… something else.

A creak. A shift of wind.

She froze. Waited.

Nothing.

She went back to work. Didn’t stop. Couldn’t stop. Not when Faith could be—

Don’t think about it.

The second screw was almost loose when she heard it.

Footsteps.

Fast. Heavy. Not the slow, calculated tread she’d come to dread. These were rushing. Urgent.

The footsteps got louder.

Not calm. Not in control. Something was wrong.

Keys rattled. Someone was unlocking the door.

Ellie held her breath.

David swung the door open, followed by his partner, James, walking to Ellie’s cage with a fast pace, keys in hand.

She backed away instantly, putting as much distance as she could between her and the door he was unlocking.

James lunged himself at her first.

Everything in Ellie exploded at once — rage, terror, instinct. She screamed. “NO! NO! GET OFF OF ME!”

She lashed out wildly, fists and knees and elbows, kicking, biting, fighting like her life depended on it — because it did. They were grabbing her now, trying to subdue her. David’s hands were cold and strong and wrong, and she twisted away just in time for his knee to slam straight into her stomach.

White-hot pain. The air was gone.

She crumpled forward with a strangled gasp, and they lifted her like dead weight, dragging her out of the cage and pulling her up onto the prep table.

“Wait—wait, wait, wait—” she begged, voice cracking as they threw her on the table.

“Shut up!” David’s voice was venom now, unhinged and angry.

“Don’t!” Ellie pleaded, her voice breaking. “Don’t do it! Please, don’t do it!”

But she could see it. He wasn’t listening. He wasn’t going to stop. He picked up a kitchen knife off the table, a meat cleaver, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

David’s face was calm in a way that made Ellie sick — serene, even, like he was just doing what had to be done. Like this was righteous.

“You had your chance,” he said. “How did you put it earlier? Tiny little pieces?”

He raised the knife.

And Ellie did the only thing she could think of. The only thing that might buy her one more second.

“I’m infected!” she screamed.

Time broke.

David froze, the knife still raised above her. James faltered beside him, confused.

“I’m infected,” Ellie said again, quieter, breathless now. “…And now so are you.”

Her eyes locked with David’s — then dropped pointedly to his hand.

The one she’d bitten during the struggle. The skin there was broken. Bloody teeth marks stared back at him.

“Roll up my sleeve,” she said, heart racing so fast it made her dizzy. “Look at it. Fucking look at it!”

For a second, no one moved.

Then David exhaled through his nose, hard, and stabbed the knife into the table beside her head, the blade slicing into the wood an inch from her face. Ellie flinched, turning her face away.

David grabbed her arm roughly and yanked up her sleeve.

His hand stilled.

There it was. The bite. Dark, healed—but wrong. Too real.

He looked at James.

The man was pale, sweating, eyes darting from the mark to David’s face.

“What did you say?” Ellie muttered, her voice low now — full of spite. “Everything happens for a reason, right?” She twisted the knife with every word. “That’s what you get for hurting Faith.”

David’s lips parted slightly, like he wanted to argue — wanted to tell himself this was a lie. James was shaking his head like he could undo what just happened.

“David—” he said, panic blooming in his voice.

“No,” David shook his head, more to himself than anyone. “No, she would’ve turned by now. This isn’t real. It’s not—”

But Ellie saw the doubt in his eyes. Saw the fear. And fear made people sloppy.

She didn’t hesitate.

The knife was still buried in the table next to her. She grabbed it with her free hand, ripped it free, and slammed it straight into James’s neck before either man could react.

His eyes went wide. A sick, wet sound filled the air. Blood gushed from the wound as he stumbled back, grabbing at the knife with a useless hand, falling hard.

Ellie didn’t stay to watch.

She jumped off the table, hitting the floor hard and sprinting for the door.

David shouted something behind her — something furious and inhuman — and the next second gunshots rang out. One. Two. Three.

The bullets tore past her, one close enough she felt the air shift against her cheek.

But she didn’t stop. She couldn’t.

The door was still unlocked. And she ran.

Ran like hell, down the corridor, boots skidding on the icy floor, lungs burning.

She made it through an empty kitchen, and then out to a dining hall, also empty. She saw a door, she’d never been so happy for seeing a door before, and she ran to it, but it was locked. She could see outside through the door’s glasses, seeing everything snowed under, shockingly calm compared to the rush she was going through.

She couldn’t open it. She needed something, anything.

Not only to open the door, but to defend herself from when David came after her.

Ellie ran back to the kitchen and found some embers with some unburned wood inside. He grabbed a log that was within reach, lit at the other end, and went back to the dining room, hiding.

He didn’t take long.

She didn’t wait long, too.

She shot up from her hiding spot, facing him, and threw the log at him. He dug, dodging it, and it fell behind him close to a window. Its curtains lit up with the log, and a few seconds later fire began to spread through the fabric.

The dining hall had wooden panels on the walls, wooden chairs and wooden tables. It was a fucking matchbox that would quickly burn down.

He didn’t care.

His only goal right now, was to make Ellie pay.

David walked around the room, looking for her, holding the knife he had torn out of James’ throat, still dripping with his partner’s blood even now.

“There’s no way out, Ellie,” he said. “The doors are locked. And I have the keys.”

So she knew how to get out now.

“Ellie?” he asked again, watching as the flames quickly spread up to the ceiling, eating the wooden beams. “Ellie!”

He called out for her again, humming her name as if they were playing hide and seek.

It was more like hide and kill, though.

“I know you’re not infected. No one infected fights this hard to stay alive!”

She had made it behind a bar counter, crawling around looking for anything she could use as a weapon. She could still hear him talking:

“So how did you do it? What’s the secret? Or are you just that fucking special?”

He had lost all composure now.

“No one likes being humiliated, Ellie!” he spat. Especially not him. “You don’t know how good I am! You don’t know what I could’ve given you! If you had just… let me!”

Ellie had found a knife. It was smaller than David’s, but it had a sharp point and a good grip. It was her best chance. Probably her only one.

If he wouldn’t kill her, if she didn’t make it out on time, the fire would certainly end her.

“Well, I have news for you,” he said then, faking calmness again. “Neither one of us is dying today. Not even your friend! Faith, was it? She’s still alive!” he looked around, trying to spot Ellie, but she didn’t move. She was listening, though, clinging to every word.

Faith was alive.

Could Ellie believe him?

She wasn’t sure. She clang to the hope, though, and the strength it gave her.

“You see, I’ve changed my mind,” he followed. “I’ve decided you do need a father. You and Faith. She’s had her round of discipline already… A few more and who knows? I’m gonna keep you both… And I’m gonna teach you.”

Not fucking happening.

Ellie realized he was close. Closer than she thought. She peaked around the corner, and saw him there, standing a few feet away with his back turned to her as he hummed her name again.

Let’s get over with this.

She lunged at him with the knife raised. He turned barely a second before she made it close enough to him to stab him in the stomach with the knife. He still managed to grab her by her shoulders and throw her on the ground face down, her already bloody nose staining the red carpet with more red droplets.

“Fuck!” he muttered. David pressed his hand to his side, his fingers now red too with his own blood.

He looked at Ellie on the floor, panting, breathing heavily, and hit her in the middle with his foot when she tried to crawl away.

Ellie yelped in pain and turned on her back and lay then on her side, clutching her middle, but David quickly lay her back up, straddling her and covering her with his body, holding her hands above her head as he brought his face close to her.

She screamed. She screamed so loud it made her own ears hurt. He didn’t move.

“Oh… I thought you already knew,” he mocked, holding her down. “The fighting is the part I like the most.”

Ellie sobbed and wailed as he pushed further down on her.

“Don’t be afraid,” he told her, his lips curved into a wicked smile. “There’s no fear in love.”

He released one of her hands to move his own down between them. Ellie didn’t give him a chance to try anything else as she reached blindly for the knife, David’s, that she had spotted earlier under a table, the one they were next to, where she had tried to crawl at when David had pushed her down.

She got a hold of it, and she didn’t think twice.

With a scream she slashed him in the face with it, pushing him away as he screamed in pain.

He fell back, Ellie free now, and she quickly walked over to him, having him now under her.

She slammed the blade down.

And then she did it again.

And again.

And again.

So many times she lost count, her voice hoarse from screaming, her eyes burning from the tears, her lungs out of air with the ever growing cloud of smoke rising from the fire surrounding her.

His face became the punching bag for everyone that had been taken from her.

She didn’t stop until he was dead.

And still, there wasn’t any relief. Just… what remained.

David was dead.

He couldn’t hurt her anymore.

But Ellie was still shaking, even as she snapped out of her state and grabbed his keys, running to the doors to finally make it out of there.

(…)

The wind had finally died down.

The storm had passed, but it had left everything quiet — too quiet — like the world was holding its breath.

Joel pushed through the snowdrift outside the cabin, blood crusted on his knuckles, cold air biting at his cheeks. He was carrying the girls’ backpacks with him, trying to find them. His breath came in harsh, uneven pulls, but he barely felt it. The horror of what he’d found inside — those bodies, strung up like meat — still clung to him, made his stomach churn. Made the edges of his vision tighten with fury and dread.

What kind of monsters were these people?

What had they done to the girls?

He couldn’t think about that. Not yet. He couldn’t afford to.

Ellie. Faith.

He kept their names on loop in his head, like a prayer. If he stopped repeating it, if he let doubt creep in, the fear would paralyze him.

Ellie. Faith. Ellie. Faith.

God, he needed that. Faith. He had it, he held onto it as strong as he could, as hard as he hadn’t in years.

Then he saw it — smoke curling into the pale grey sky like a signal flare, rising from a building near the lake. One of the larger ones. The roof sagged under the weight of snow, but fire now poured from a broken window, the scent of burning wood thick in the air.

And then he saw her.

His heart nearly stopped.

A figure staggered out of the building — clothes bloodied, hair a mess. For a split second, she looked like a ghost. A shadow. But he knew that shape. That hair. The way she moved, even as she stumbled through the snow — half-defiant, half-ready to fall apart.

Ellie.

He didn’t think. His feet were already moving, crunching across the snow, stumbling, slipping — didn’t matter. His chest was tight with panic, with relief, with too many things at once.

He stretched his arms out to her, needing to hold her, needing to know she was real. When she felt him, though, she screamed in fear.

“NO!” she yelled. “Get off of me! Get off! GET OFF!”

He turned her around to face him as she tried to move away, still screaming and kicking and trying to break free from his hold.

“It’s me!” he said. “It’s me! Ellie, it’s me!”

He held her face between his hands. She had blood all over her forehead, cheeks and chin, some hers, most David’s.

“Hey, look,” his voice got softer, lighter, calmer. Not like David’s, no. In a peaceful way, warm and soothing. “It’s me. It’s me.”

Ellie calmed down, focusing her eyes on Joel’s. Her voice wavered in broken whispers, her breathing fast and uneven, her body still controlled by the shock and panic.

“He…” she couldn’t form a sentence. “He…”

“It’s okay,” whispered Joel. “It’s okay, it’s okay…”

Ellie melted into him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he held her up, burying her face into the crook of his neck as he kept muttering ‘it’s okay’ again and again into her ear.

“It’s okay,” he repeated. “It’s okay, baby girl. I got you… I got you.”

Joel held her like she was the only thing anchoring him to the earth.

“You’re safe,” he said into her hair, rocking them gently as if it could make her believe it. “You’re safe now. I’m here. I got you, baby girl. I got you.”

When she pulled away, he quickly took his backpack off and removed his winter coat, wrapping it around Ellie’s small trembling form.

He had never seen her like this, not this vulnerable, not this fragile, not this… young.

She held onto the jacket as he put it around her, looking at him, then at his hands, then to the ground where his backpack lay, next to two others he had dropped to hold her: her own, and Faith’s.

“… Joel –” she tried to speak, but her throat hurt from screaming. So she pushed through the pain. “Joel, she…”

He knew instantly who she was talking about. When he’d seen Ellie wandering through the snow alone, he hadn’t thought twice about getting to her, but in the back of his mind, a question bloomed: why was she alone? Where was Faith?

“Ellie, tell me,” he put his hands on her shoulders gently, scared she’d flinch away again, but she didn’t. She trusted him, more than anyone. “Where is she? Where’s Faith?”

She didn’t have the strength to speak.

Instead, tears welled up in her eyes as she turned her face to the cabin that was burning down to the ground because of a fire she had started herself.

(…)

The room was dark.

A heavy kind of dark — not just from the absence of light, but the weight of what had happened inside it. An old office, maybe once important, now forgotten. The shadows stretched long across the floor, only the dim flicker of light coming through the nearly shut curtains on the window behind the bureau.

She lay there, behind the desk. Curled up. Still. Small.

Faith.

Her arms were wrapped around herself, fists clenched tightly in the sleeves of her cream sweater — the one she'd gotten back in Jackson. She’d loved that sweater. It had been soft, warm, just her size. She remembered smiling when she’d first put it on, thinking how comfortable it was.

It wasn’t cozy anymore.

There was blood on it. Stiff where it had dried over her ribs and across the hem. Some of it was from her leg — the wound still throbbing, still warm with the pulse of her body. But not all of it.

Some of it was his, from when she had managed to scratch him when she tried to fight him off.

Most of it was hers, from when he managed to overpower her.

Her pants were soaked through at the thigh from her still fresh wound. Her knees ached from trying to crawl away. Her fingers were raw, nails broken and caked with blood from the door she’d tried to claw at when he’d—

She squeezed her eyes shut.

Don’t think. Don’t go back. Don’t remember.

Her hair lay messy across the floor, stuck to her face in places. Her cheeks were streaked with dry tears and dried blood, and her lips were cracked from cold air and silence.

The room was silent now too. She liked it that way. Quiet meant he wasn’t here.

Her body had gone still a long time ago. Stillness helped. Made her invisible. She imagined she was somewhere else. Somewhere far. Somewhere warm.

And in that place — in a forest she ran through in her mind, where she felt most at peace and at ease, she saw her mom.

Monica.

She remembered her voice. Not a specific sentence, not even a full specific memory. Just a sound. A hum, a laugh. A soft call of her name on a quiet morning.

She remembered her mom’s hands. The way they’d braid her hair gently. The way they’d hold her face when she was scared or sick or had a bad dream.

She wanted that now.

She wanted her mom to find her, curl up beside her, pull her out of this awful place and tell her it wasn’t her fault.

That she wasn’t ruined.

That she was still herself.

That everything was going to be okay.

Faith didn’t cry anymore. She had run out of that. The tears had dried, and the sobs had gotten stuck somewhere deep inside her throat and chest where she couldn’t get them out. There was only the quiet now. The hum of the wind outside.

She’d heard someone shouting, not too long ago. More than one person, screaming, howling, and then… Silence again. Faith had stayed there, still, behind the desk. Curled tight like she could disappear into herself.

She didn’t know what time it was.

She didn’t know if Ellie had gotten away.

She didn’t know if she’d ever leave this place. But God, she hoped Ellie had. That she’d run, fast and wild, the way she always did when she was mad or scared or being brave — and she was always being brave.

Faith closed her eyes tighter, breathing shallow and slow.

Please let her have made it out. Let her find him.

Joel.

His name cracked open something in her chest. Something deeper than pain.

She thought of him, remembering him — not as some towering figure with a gun, not just as the man who always stood between them and danger — but as home. As the closest thing she had felt to safety since everything had fallen apart.

She remembered the way his voice softened when he talked to them, especially when he didn’t think they noticed. The way he’d hand her a blanket in the middle of the night without a word. The way his eyes would flick between her and Ellie when he was worried, and try not to let it show.

She remembered the house in Jackson, the one they’d stayed at for a night. It was a bit older, it looked worn down, and it needed some love, sure… but it was just like themselves, right? In a way, the three of them were also worn down and in the need of love. Of someone to come home to.

They could live there. All three of them. In that creaky blue house with the wooden creaky stairs. It was warm, and quiet, and full of things that had belonged to someone else — someone who had lived a normal life once.

She thought of having her own room. One next to Ellie’s. Both near Joel’s.

She imagined how Ellie would decorate her room, maybe hanging up posters if they ever found some. She’d have dinosaur figures and drawings hung on the walls, and maybe they could find some of those… fairy lights things, to hang around the room.

Faith would love to have a room with a big wide window to sit at and look outside. She wished to find a camera someday, to take pictures of everything she thought was beautiful. Pictures of everyone she loved, so she would never forget their faces. She’d hang the pictures in her room, so she’d always have them close.

It was only a dream. A childish one, maybe. But real.

Waking up in her own room. Breakfast with them in the morning. Doing… whatever normal teenagers did. Even if the world was broken.

Even if things like normal didn’t really exist anymore.

She’d listen to music with Ellie — anything Ellie would want her to listen to, she would. She’d make that effort for her.

She remembered Ellie’s laugh when she had found her listening to music, back in that yellow room in the house in Jackson. How she’d laughed endearingly when Faith didn’t know who the singers were, as if she’d know a band that had existed decades ago just by their name.

And now, that same song she’d been listening to drifted into her head again.

God. It was so stupid. So fitting.

“So when you’re near me, darling, can’t you hear me…”

She let the words hum past her lips, so low it was almost nothing. A whisper against the silence. A joke, almost, except there was no one to laugh.

She remembered Dahlia then, too. Her little sister.

Dahlia had always hummed — everywhere, any time. While brushing her teeth. During dinner. While trekking through the forest. She used to drive Faith crazy with it.

And now it was the only thing she wanted to hear.

She sang another line, barely audible, voice cracked and dry:

“The love you gave me nothing else can save me…”

Her throat closed. Her lips trembled.

She bit them.

Stillness.

Still.

She pulled her knees tighter to her chest. The desk felt like a shield. A barrier. Like if she didn’t move, if she kept pretending… maybe she wouldn’t be here.

Maybe she’d be in Jackson.

In that blue house.

Joel would be brewing coffee in the mornings. Ellie would complain about the smell. She’d be laughing. She’d be warm. Her sweater would still be clean.

And no one would ever look at her like David had.

No one would ever touch her again like David had.

“When you’re gone… How can I even try to go on?” she hummed the last lines she remembered, her eyes falling shut. “When you’re gone… though I try, how can I carry on?”

(…)

The building was burning.

Not just smoke curling out the roof — flames were clawing their way up the wood, licking through shattered windows and doorways like the whole place had been soaked in vengeance.

“Faith was here,” Ellie said again, voice hoarse. “He took her. I don’t know where.”

Joel didn’t answer. Didn’t need to know who this ‘he’ was, not now. He just moved faster, eyes sharp as they rounded the back of the building. Ellie followed, bloodied and frantic, limping slightly and still shaken, but determined to find Faith.

Back here, the fire hadn’t reached as strong. Not yet.

The snow on the ground melted in streaks near the back wall, where heat bled through the old timber. Joel’s eyes landed on a door — rusted handle, paint peeling off in flakes, likely once for kitchen staff. It looked barely used in years.

He tried it.

Locked. Or jammed.

Joel gritted his teeth and backed up a step. Then slammed into it with his shoulder once. Twice.

On the third hit, the metal shrieked — and gave way. The door swung open, smoke rolling out in a low cloud.

A tiled hallway stretched before them, haze already beginning to settle at the ceiling. There were two doors — one straight ahead, one to the right.

He didn’t wait.

He pulled his gun out as he dropped their backpacks to the floor, nodded for Ellie to stay close, and moved fast.

The first door was open.

An office, maybe — long abandoned, papers scattered, light filtering in through broken glass. Empty. He didn’t linger.

He turned and pushed the other door open.

This one groaned.

Joel stepped into the dark room, Ellie at his heels, the door creaking open with a groan that felt too loud in the choking silence. His eyes adjusted quickly — low light, dust, and something metallic lingering in the air.

Then he saw it.

A pair of feet, boots he recognized, half-hidden behind an old wooden desk. Still. Unmoving.

His stomach turned before he even got closer.

He moved slowly, carefully. Ellie hung back at the doorway, her breath shallow and fast. Joel rounded the desk.

And stopped cold.

“Jesus.”

Faith was there. Curled tight on her side like she’d been trying to disappear into herself. Her sweater was bloodied and torn at one shoulder, the fabric jagged, stretched. One sleeve had slipped halfway down her arm. Her jeans were unbuttoned, the zipper pulled down just enough to tell the story without needing words. Blood — dark, dried — trailed from her temple into her hairline. Her lip was split. A wound on her thigh was still bleeding an angry red. Her fingers were dug into the fabric of her shirt, clutching it closed like she’d tried to hold herself together and run out of strength halfway through.

Joel’s vision swam.

His whole body locked. No sound. Just the roar of blood in his ears.

He crouched slowly, the weight of it crushing him.

Ellie was behind him now, whispering Faith’s name, but Joel couldn’t look away. Not yet.

Because he knew.

He didn’t want to. He didn’t want to believe what he was seeing — what those torn clothes and bruises and that faraway, frozen stillness meant — but he knew. It landed in his gut like a lead weight, thick and nauseating.

The girl was still breathing, barely. But her eyes were shut, her lashes trembling with some silent storm she was trapped inside. She was humming, he realized distantly. Quietly. A song, maybe. Her lips moved like she was praying, or begging, or both.

“Faith…” Joel’s voice cracked, almost whimpered. He hadn’t heard himself sound like that in years.

She didn’t react.

He reached a hand out, but stopped just short of her shoulder. The skin there was bruised. Ugly and fresh purple finger prints.

His throat closed.

A heat rose in his chest that had nothing to do with the fire outside. He swallowed it down hard.

“Faith,” he said, barely a whisper now. “It’s me. It’s Joel. I’m here.”

At that, her breath hitched. Barely. A flicker.

Her eyes opened, just a sliver. Cloudy. Dazed. But she saw him.

And something in her broke.

A sound came from her — not words. Just something raw and cracked and too deep to name after which her tears began to fall.

Joel didn’t hesitate.

He slid his arms under her gently, like she might shatter, and gathered her close. He didn’t care about the pain in his side, only about the weight of her in his arms. Small, hurt, but now safe.

Her body was stiff at first, then gave out all at once, slumping into his chest, her hands clutching weakly at his jacket with her torn bloodied nails. Her face pressed into him, hiding, as if the world behind her still had claws.

“I got you,” he murmured, his voice shaking, tears slipping down his own cheeks. He held her tightly against him as her body shook with broken sobs, one arm under her knees and the other cradling her head close, pressing his cheek against her hairline. “I got you, baby. I got you now, baby girl. I got you, I got you.”

Ellie was crying quietly behind him. He couldn’t even turn to look.

Joel stood with Faith in his arms, holding her as close as he could. Ellie clung to his side as they made their way back out to the snow, away from the smoke and the flames and the horror within.

Finally, finally back together again.

Next Chapter

Taglist: @kitdjarin1@christinamadsen@abtjudex@hongjoong-titties@cokoladasljesnjakom@puppi-sonnenschein@elisha-chloe@wwefan2002@hello-lisa1026

[myfriendpokey]

tunnel notes

i wrote some extra little notes and thoughts for the bonus tunnels in anthology of the killer, and then removed them before release; i didn't like the prescriptive feeling of leaving that stuff in the "final package" as if it was something people should feel obligated to engage with. but as of today it's been 30 days since the loader came out, so i figured i'd dump some of them online, for the benefit of whoever is interested in these things.

History: HISTORY IS A NIGHTMARE FROM WHICH I AM TRYING TO AWAKE is one of many famous zingers given to Stephen in Ulysses and I’ve always wondered if it’s especially Irish as a sentiment, Ireland sort of feeling like the “Oops! All Peasants” edition of European history as a whole – same misery, exploitation and death minus the occasional episodes of feudal colour or triumphant empire-building that seem to make the past tolerable for other people, and give them their own sense of demarcated time. But then I’ve never been much good on Irish history, which has always just felt like an interminable, indistinguishable series of massacres and betrayals and missed shots. Was I not paying attention or was this how it was taught in school? Well, it would have fit the style at the time – I was born in 1989, smack at the start of the famous end of history era. The 90s in Ireland meant the peace process and infusion of American capital to our backwards shores, all the more reason to cosign the idea of an abrupt and permanent break with a history notably lacking in the non-depressing or picturesque. All our history textbooks seemed to trail off at the point we’d joined the EEA. And even as this new modernity just started seeming like the monstrous antiquity dressed up in different clothes – hooded prisoners transported to torture sites through Shannon airport, our patchy social infrastructure dismantled by burghers, ghost estates and half-completed monuments scattered around like the ruin theory of value with more leprechaun imagery – there was still a sense that any change was off the table. You didn’t want to drag us back into history, did you? History seemed to have “ended” in the same sense Freddy Krueger did – done away with in ways that none of the grown-ups ever wanted to talk about, and now officially a non-presence, even if all the kids in town were mysteriously disappearing.

--

Art: One reason I wanted to do an episodic series is just to see what would turn up, if any recurring interests would build despite a minimum of planning. One of the themes turned out to be, “art” – or specifically modernist art – and I am curious about why that would be. A recurring tendency in modernism was the idea that only by destroying the world as it currently existed could we clear space for anything better to emerge. Under the cobblestones, the beach! But this was always attended by a kind of fear: that clearing away the old structures would just allow something even worse to emerge, unmasked. Under the cobblestones, more corpses! And that the bleakest tendencies of the period would now run free without even the emptiest symbolic constraints to chafe against. Max Ernst’s painting of the fascist victory in Spain, of a huge, grinning oaf rampaging over the landscape like a kaiju while a miserable birdlike figure remains haplessly grafted to its leg – is titled both “The Angel Of Hearth And Home” and “The Triumph Of Surrealism”. As if to suggest that these are each the same thing, as though a cause of creative liberation worth devoting your life to and an empty cliché of domestic repression had so little light between them as to not even be worth the effort of distinguishing.

Part of the reason works like that make their way into the games in little ways is because I just like them, and go back to thinking about them. But the status of modernism in the 21st century is an odd one; the most tentative and inventive parts got dropped, while the brashest and stupidest aspects curdled into a kind of official state ideology – the idea of “creative destruction”, which just seems to mean a vague sense that it’s punk rock to create ridesharing apps. The monkey’s paw curled and the emptiest version of the modernist credo became something we all have to live with.. and yet I still can’t help but be moved by the source works and the goofy, ridiculous temerity of that wish to transfigure the world. sometimes it feels like only way to keep faith with those ideas is to travesty them, to try returning to them some of that sense of fear and doubt without which they just sound like so many web design agency manifestos. Kept alive in the breast of so many grimacing waxworks, underground.

Another reason to put this stuff in a horror game: to try getting at that feeling in a dream of looking in the eyes of people you know, people you love, and seeing nothing there anymore, seeing them look right past you. An earlier horror game idea I used to think about would have ended with the protagonist being dismembered and eaten by Gertrude Stein.

--

The moral: I’ve seen people express a sense, now, that merely working in the negative is not enough; to just outline what’s bad without also trying to give a vision of the good, some glimpsed utopia to shoot for. For the benefit of these people here is an epilogue. Imagine it’s the future and the long nightmare of prehistory is over; history proper unfolds as the full expression of human powers unhindered by material subjugation. Some students are given an assignment by a professor to investigate the meaning of a term that no longer exists, the meaning of horror. Well, the students do their best: they watch lots of old movies, put on rubber masks, comb through old fragments of the world that was. They’re enjoying themselves and that enjoyment warps the process, they keep drifting into pleasure, unsure what’s meant to be funny and what’s not. They get lost, get confused, lose the thread, famous faces appear under the wrong names, espousing things that are the opposite of whatever they believed. In the end they all have to admit defeat: they hand in their assignment with a note saying that in the new world, we can’t even imagine what horror may have been. The professor reads their findings, nods, and gives them all an F. No moral.

[image source: James Ensor, "The Intrigue"]

[purpleknighty]

Do I Wanna Know?

Pairing: Agent!Haerin x Agent!Fem!Reader

Summary: Now a rouge spy, fleeing from the old agency you once worked for, you find yourself at a familiar doorstep you never thought you’d see again.

Warnings/tags: violence, mentions of blood and injuries, small angst, enemies to lovers(?), reader and haerin are off and on, heavy emphasis on communication, misunderstandings(?), tell me if I missed anything else

Tonight has been shit, nothing has worked out in your favor, everything keeps getting worse and worse.

At first, you assumed it was very badly timed coincidences. You walk into a bar for starters, college students being the loudest customers there. 20 minutes into enjoying your drink, a suspicious group of men walk in, eyeing you up and down.

They whisper among each other, stealing glances at your seated frame, but you feel their eyes on the back of your head.

You keep calm, waiting to see who makes the first move. The men do, and as they itch closer, you realize they look like agents that you use to work with.

Fuck that.

You pay for the two drinks you had, a gin tonic and a strawberry sunset, bolting out the doors with the group falling after you.

It becomes an annoying game of cat and mouse, the racing after your car, the unnecessary shooting, the rookie mistakes they keep making, it was all just headache inducing.

That same group purposely took a different route to corner you, five guys in black suits coming out to bring you back to headquarters.

You denied their request upon getting out the car, not caring about how wanted you are within the agency, how much of a target is on your back or how much money the higher uppers are offering these stupid rookies to bring you back.

You could give two shits about it.

Your refusal results in an all-out-brawl, which was very unfair in your case, five guys all jumping one person? Now that’s just plain dirty. You win through experience but you don’t leave the battlefield unscathed, one of those bastard had slashed you with his knife, adding another wound that needs to heal.

At this point, wounded, bleeding and tired and the clock passing midnight. It was best to go home and clean up before resting.

But somehow, your body goes on autopilot. Foot pressing on the gas, hands turning the steering wheel into a familiar place, onto a familiar road and oops, now you’re standing at a familiar doorstep.

This is a bad idea. You should turn back around. It’s all the blood loss getting to your head.

Despite the voices telling you to not follow through, you do it anyways. Knocking with your free hand as the other presses a flimsy cloth over your cut to stop the bleeding.

You wait a few seconds before doing it again, ignoring how slowly you’re starting to become dizzy and lightheaded. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all.

Passing out in front of your enemy’s(?) doorstep isn’t a good look on you or anyone.

As you’re about to give up, grumbling curses under your breath, the door opens. A set of cat eyes stare through the cracked door, suspicious but upon seeing your silhouette, the door flys open.

There, she stands in all her sleepy glory. Hair slightly disheveled, sleep shorts with a tank top on adores her body and cat eyes that still make your heart flutter and chest tighten.

Yup, it’s definitely the blood loss now.

“What happened?” She breaks the silence, dark eyes sinking in your injured frame. White shirt now stained red from your blood and others, dark jeans covered in dirt from all the times you were thrown into the ground of that god-awful alleyway.

A dry chuckle leaves your lips, causing you to cough up. “You know,” A half-smile finds its way onto your face. “Being hunted all night, the fun stuff.”

Haerin huffs, making sure the coast is clear by looking down her hallway. Seeing no one but you and her awake at this hour, she gently pulls you in.

“Let’s..” She pauses, eyes lingering on you. “Let’s get you cleaned up so you can get out of my house.”

Wow, such a friendly welcoming.

You hiss at the pain, hands gripping the armrest at your sides. You can never get use to this, snitches. No matter how many wounds you have received as your time as an agent, you will never get use to getting snitches.

Your head falls back to lay on the headrest of the office chair, a sigh of relief can be heard, aware this painful procedure is done and over with.

“How did this happen?” Haerin speaks softly, fingertip lightly circling and messaging around the wound as to not hurt you.

You ignore the groan that threatens to spill from your throat, ignoring the feeling of desire everytime you look at Haerin.

You know you can’t have her but that’s what keeps pulling you in, what keeps making you come back.

You run a hand through your hair, utterly exhausted. “Rookie agents were sent after me. Found my ass in a bar downtown.”

You watch Haerin’s brows frown, almost like she’s lost in thought before collecting herself and standing up from her kneeling position.

“Why are you here? You are a target, coming here makes me an enemy as well, you know?” The cat-eyed girl looks back over her shoulder, only to shake her head at seeing you once again, this time bruised and wounded.

“I work for the same agency that’s after you, Y/n. A hefty amount of money is being offered to whoever can successfully bring you back, dead or alive.”

The raven haired traces her pointer finger over the barrel of your pistol that lays unsupervised on her desk, petite fingers are quick to grab the gun, now your own weapon is being pointed at you.

“I could kill you right now. You’re tired, open, and vulnerable. I could end this nuisance and bring you back to headquarters myself.”

She’s right, Haerin could kill you right now and you wouldn’t have the energy to fight back. Your knife is too on her desk but she stands right next to it which puts you at an disadvantage, and she knows you have a big slash on the side of your stomach, another disadvantage to you.

Your life on the line, the barrel to your gun in point blank range to your face, you should be scared.. but you’re not.

You can’t stop thinking about how the moonlight makes Haerin the most beautiful woman alive, even more than she already is. Cat eyes that keep you hooked, a smile or grin or smirk that makes you weak in the knees, or a laugh that makes you wish things were different.

You wished you and Haerin met under different circumstances.

Maybe then things could’ve worked out better between you two.

“Then kill me. You have the opportunity, Haerin. Take it.”

She sighs, arms dropping, a small smile graces her pretty lips.

“You’re so stupid, dingus.”

God, you love when she calls you that.

Miss it even.

A dorky smile breaks out before you can stop it, eyes filled with so much emotion for the cat-eyed woman. You just hope the dimmed moonlight doesn’t expose too much.

Then a harsh jolt of pain flashes up your spine from a simple gesture, reminding you of the real reason why you’re here, why you’re sitting in Haerin’s apartment to begin with.

It ruins the mood greatly.

You go to stand up, abruptly becoming lightheaded and close to losing your balance. Haerin’s eyes widen in worry, rushing to your side as you try to re-focus your vision.

“Sorry,” You murmur, seeing the slight mess you made. “Stood up too quickly.” Haerin frowns, eyes glancing up to your face then back down to your cut.

She bites her lip before speaking, “Stay.” She says it so softly that it scratches your brain in a way that just feels right. “You’re injured.. stay for the night.”

She shyly finishes, not sure if her hands on your arms are there to keep you or her steady, you don’t mind the warmth though.

The request feels tempting, is this how Eve felt when the snake whispered for her to eat the forbidden fruit?

Inner conflict arose, your heart tells you to do it, take her up on her offer. Once in a lifetime opportunity, but your mind says no. It’ll feel good in the moment, but will it help you in the long run?

Haerin is already breaking protocols, giving aid to someone the higher ups deem to be an enemy. If they catch wind of this.. Haerin might be outcasted, thrown out of the agency and ending up in the same situation you’re in.

A wanted agent, a criminal who’s on the run from an organization that’s wants you dead.

Yeah, this was a bad idea after all.

You forcefully have to pull yourself away Haerin’s grasp, choosing to ignore the look of disappointment that comes across her face.

“Where you going?” She breaks the silence, voice quiet, watching your back muscles flex as you reach out for your ruined shirt.

“Leaving.”

Cat eyes stare daggers into you, brows now stuck in a permanent frown.

“Why? I said you can stay for the night.” The feeling of annoyance seeps into your veins, wondering why Haerin’s starting this now.

“No reason. I’m just getting myself out of your hair.”

She stops you from grabbing your gun, the small puddle of annoyance expanding from the action. A sigh of frustration slips pass your lips, running a hand through your hair.

“Haerin.”

“Stay, Y/n. You’re injured.”

“That hasn’t stopped me before.”

“Well, I’m stopping you now.”

Your eye twitches, why won’t she let you leave? She’s let you walked out on multiple occasions, but why now? Why stop you now?

You scoff, now isn’t the time for your emotions to get in the way. You shove past her, grabbing what belongs to you from her desk and making your way through her bedroom door.

But Haerin isn’t one to give up easily (one of many traits that you love about her) and forcefully grabs onto your forearm, halting you for putting your shoes on.

“Haerin- I swear to god—“ But you stop upon looking back at her. Now there’s a clear look of sadness, dark brown eyes are slightly teary and her grip tightens on your skin.

She looks so small and fragile, so vulnerable and soft. Even through your shoving and pushing, Haerin has always been gentle and patient.

Never one to swear, even when upset or angry. Always polite and quiet.

You still can’t fathom why she chose to become an agent with her shy and timid demeanor.

“Please..”

Her voice cracks, trying to push back the sniffles and tears that threaten to fall.

“Stay.. please..”

Her pleads and begs get muffled and drowned out by your lips. Her broken voice echoing through the empty walls of her apartment, almost as if it’s haunting and taunting your very existence.

Your hand finds way to the back of her head, burying itself in her silky locks. The other placed on her waist to pull her closer, needing her scent to linger on your skin.

This kiss feels different, like there’s a hidden message behind it. A message Haerin can’t express with words but can convey with body language.

You pull back when oxygen becomes a problem, your warm breath fanning over her lips and your heat engulfing her into a comforting embrace.

“I’ve missed you..” She whispers, finally spilling. Her palms rest above your chest before scrunching the ruined fabric in her grasp.

“I’ve been worried after everything happened.. I got even more worried when Headquarter started sending agents after you..”

She pauses, observing you quietly as she continues to talk.

It’s one of those rare moments when Haerin talks and never stops.

“Was it really that bad?”

You shrug, not wanting to think about how chaotic your life has been since and focus more on the woman in your arms.

“I broke protocol, and I mean a bunch of them too when I was working. The higher ups have always been strict about their rules.”

She nuzzles into your neck, the act resembling a cat. Your heart speeds up, pumping and butterflies forming.

“You went MIA for months..” You crack a small smile at her voice.

“Had to keep a low profile. Didn’t wanna die so early into my retirement.”

You go to move, which prompts the brunette to cling on to you tighter. God, she’s gonna be the death of you.

“Relax, kitty.” You press a reassuring kiss to her temple, the brief smell of her shampoo easily evaporates any worries you might’ve had for the night.

“Just going to take my shoes off, I’m not going anywhere.”

She smiles into your neck, looking up at you through her lashes, cat eyes instantly turning you smitten. A faint blush creeps over her cheeks and up to the tips of her ears.

Attractive, ethereal, magnificent, beautiful.

Kang Haerin makes you feel alive.

You let your emotions win once again that night, choosing to bask in what it would feel like to fall in love with Haerin without death knocking at your front door.

And honestly.. now you don’t wanna know.

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

Do you think of me sometimes? (of who I could've been?)

let the endless sea call out to you (let the rising tide guide you home) - series masterlist here

pairing: miya osamu x reader, implied miya osamu x reader x suna rintarou (gender neutral, no use of y/n)

length: 1.8k

genre: pirate au !! fluff, comfort

warnings: it's about uuuh who you are and who you could've been, and can you ever really change, and is it a sin to let the old you die, you know all the good fun stuff

a/n: hey so I fell so so in love with this fic I wrote for the hq event that it's its own series now. oops but I couldn't help it and there'll be more

"You know, if you keep sneaking up here, I'll have no reason to keep paying my crew," you say dryly as you step up to the helm, watching the way Osamu leans against the wheel and steers idly. "Where is Aran, anyway?"

"I gave him a break," Osamu says rather sheepishly, smiling at you under the dim light of the moon. You just tip your head back as he watches you, eyeing the wide, endless night sky and the stars that wink in and out of existence.

"It's the middle of the night, pet," you say kindly. Osamu turns away from you, slouching further over the large wheel of your ship as he steers with practiced ease.

"I just couldn't sleep. I didn't mean to wake you," he offers softly, a thin excuse tossed out into the endless night between the two of you.

"It's easy to notice when one of you ends up missing from bed," you say simply, but Osamu shoots you a bemused look. "Rin's a light sleeper. He noticed and woke me up," you admit.

"Ah," Osamu can't help but huff out a laugh. "Should've known."

"You've been disappearing a lot these days, pet," you say gently - and it's not an accusation, too veiled in love to be one. He shrinks back like it is, though, looking away from you as you lean against the railing of the upper deck with your arms crossed. 

"I told you, I just haven't been sleeping well."

"There's usually a reason for that," you press. Osamu scoffs, a bit more antagonising than he typically is.

"You this pushy with all your crew?" he quips, and the mild look of bemusement that flashes across your face has him facing away from you again.

"Do you still need me to say it? Even now?" you muse. 

"I don't need anything," he scowls. You take it as confirmation of your hunch.

"You're not some crew member, Osamu," you say lowly. The use of his name, so rare coming from you, has him straightening and looking at you with wide eyes. "You never have been. I'm not ordering you to tell me. I'm… asking. Because I care for you. If you don't want me to know… Well, it's for you to decide."

Osamu stares at you as you speak, his brows furrowing as you offer rare reassurance. You're unfamiliar with it, he knows - so used to being sturdy, to loving silently. Most of the time, he wishes that you'd tell him how you feel a bit more freely. But then, in moments like these, he finds that it's the rareness that makes it easier to cling to. He finds it easier to find assurance in your stance and loyalty in your love.

Your hand covers his where it grips onto the wheel, your skin warm and calloused against the back of his hand as you guide his steering, bringing him back to the present moment. He knows you must really be worried - knows he must really look rattled, because there's no tease or quip from you as he jumps and blushes at the contact. You're still stoic, your eyes trained on the endless stretch of the horizon as you steer him in the right direction, just as you always have.

"It's stupid," he mumbles under his breath, leading you to tilt your head slightly in thought.

"Worries often are. That doesn't make them less real."

"I'm… homesick," Osamu admits, the words foreign and bitter on his tongue as he speaks. It makes you pause, makes you pull your hand away from his and leave him in the cold, the darkness of night wrapping around him a little bit tighter than before. 

"Ah," you offer, your voice sounding odd. He blinks at it, looking up at you and startling at what seems like guilt flitting through your gaze.

"It's not like that," he says quickly. "It's not - I'm not -"

"It's ok, pet," you offer quietly. "I understand." 

"You… do?" he blinks in bewilderment. You look away from him, out into the rolling waves of the sea over the edge of the ship railing, watching the ripples of the changing tides.

"This has always been my home," you say quietly, a reminder of the distance between the two of you. "There's nothing out there for me to miss. It's all… right here. But you… You lost -" you catch yourself, your jaw clenching. "We took that away from you, didn't we?"

"I don't regret choosing this life," Osamu assures quickly. "I - I wanted this, remember? I'm happy here."

"Have you been happy lately?" you comment gently, your eyes sharp as they flit across his face. 

"I've just been… thinking too much. That's all," he answers sullenly. You stay silent, an ever-sturdy presence next to him as he tries to navigate the waters. It's odd, he finds, to feel so lost amongst the waves. "About… home."

"Where you grew up?"

"Yes, that too," he muses. You straighten a bit at that, something that seems startlingly close to hope flashing across your face. "I don't think I'm the same person now that I was back then."

"No, you're certainly not," you say dryly, and a smile twitches the corner of your lips. You remember it well, of course - the pampered, delicate little nobleman who stood on your ship, shivering against the cold of the unknown. It's difficult sometimes, you find, to reconcile him with the man who stands before you now - back straight and tall, shoulders broadened from the work of running the ship, his skin bronzed and his hair bleached from the sun. His hands, as they slide across the wood of the helm, calloused and rough from years at sea. 

"Is it a bad thing?" Osamu asks quietly, and your eyes flit to him at the meekness in his voice.

"What? To be changed?" you ask. He nods with an uncertainty that's so rarely found in his demeanour these days. "It's not, pet. That's what life does. None of us are getting out of this unchanged."

"I think of him sometimes," he blurts out, and you cock your head to the side. "Of… me," Osamu clarifies, shifting on his feet. "Of, uh, the person that I… could've been, I guess. The person I would've become if I'd stayed at home."

"Someone completely different, I reckon," you muse gently, and you put your hand over his on the wheel again. You don't push, though - you don't guide him in any direction. He doesn't really need that these days, you've found. "We all have people we could've been… things we could've become."

"Do you ever think of it?" he asks. You sigh in thought, your breath curling in front of the two of you in the crisp night air. 

"My options were… a bit slimmer than yours, you have to remember," you point out. 

"That's what I mean, though," he stresses. "I could've… I don't know. I don't know." You stay silent for a moment at Osamu's apparent stress, letting him grip onto the wheel until his knuckles pale as he grapples with whatever's going on inside him. The waves of the sea rock the boat slightly and he remains unwavered, his legs having adapted to the ever-present motion long ago. Overhead, the stars shift in the night sky and he follows their course steadily, sure of himself these days in a way that you know he wouldn't have been if he'd stayed on the shore.

"Do you want to go back, Osamu?" you ask quietly, and his gaze snaps to you like you've slapped him.

"No!' he stresses. "I was miserable there, you know that. Why would I want to… why would I go back to that?"

"Because it was home to you once… and that doesn't go away."

"It's not home to me anymore," he almost whines, the frustration of it all bubbling up as a rougher wave tips the ship slightly, the two of you leaning into each other against the movement.

"No… but we're all creatures of the past," you respond easily. "Some of us more than others."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"There's not much past to look back on out here," you explain, unbothered by his biting tone, your eyes trained on the endless line of the horizon, nothing but blues and blacks drifting in every direction. "It's easy to let it all fall away. On land… not so much." Osamu pauses at your words, something bitter and panicky swirling in his gut at the perceived implication of your words.

"Will I… ever really belong here?" he asks, the words almost choked as he says them. You look at him like you love him, and he has to take a breath and remind himself that you do.

"Do you feel like you belong here?"

"Sometimes," he admits. "But not like you."

"We all come from somewhere," you say easily, and Osamu takes the small bit of comfort where he can. "And we all miss the past. It's the most human thing we do - to always want what we can never get back."

Osamu hums in understanding, his brows furrowed as he turns it all over and over and over in his mind, what he is and what he could've been dizzying against the endless backdrop of the darkened sea. You nudge one of his hands out of the way gently for a moment just so that you can stand between him and the wheel, placing your hands atop his again to steer.

"I can do it myself by now," he murmurs, leaning his chin onto your shoulder as he steps closer to press his chest against your back.

"I know you can. But you don't have to… and it doesn't hurt to have some help every now and then," you respond softly, and he presses a kiss to the skin of your neck as he feels your voice wrap around him - cherishes your tone as something that he only gets to hear when no one else is around.

"You're lucky no one else is awake," you murmur, and Osamu smiles against your cheek, knowing that you'd never let your crew see you like this.

"I am lucky," he agrees, and your hands tighten over his on the helm, the weight of what he's left unspoken heavy against the two of you. "And I'm grateful."

"You have nothing to thank me for."

"You showed me my home," he points out.

"That was a long time ago," you counter.

"I meant tonight," he corrects gently, and then grins as heat rises to your cheeks. 

"You could always find your own way home, pet. You don't need me for that."

"No," he agrees quietly, and the sea breeze blows gently past, the salt sticking to his skin as the wind ruffles his hair. "But it's nice to not have to do it alone."

[joenotexotic99]

Idk if you're still making this, but I want to let you know that we're waiting for BoB Lovetropes p2. My suggestions: Toye, Eugene, Malarkey, Guarnere, Luz, Sobel. Hope you're doing okay <3

A/n: I've been dealing with some stuff lately and now finally have a little time to catch up on old stuff. I also want to apologize anon I couldn't bring myself to soble. Sorry couldn't do it.

-Warnings: fluff, tiny bit of language, got wayyy to carried away with malarkey’s, oops. Might have to turn that into its own thing, if it's not already. Luz is slightly spicy, nothing crazy but you cant miss it.-

Masterlist

Joe Toye

-grumpy vs sunshine trope. Omggggg, the idea of this has me kicking my feet and giggling. Joe Toye is rough around the edges, tough skin. You, on the other hand, have always been the positive one, keeping the people around you spirits high. Being an optimist of sorts. Maybe not cheerful, but you could definitely make someone's day. Yet behind his grumpy facade, he can't help but notice your unwavering optimism. He wasn't opposed to love; he just never expected to be swept off his feet so quickly by one person. Your personality was anything but the same. Never in a million years did he think he was going to fall in love with a bright and shiny person, which was the exact reason why he loved you so much. You two were like night and day. You were the beacon of light in all the darkness. I feel like Toye would also be super protective over you. Kinda the same vibe as liebgott. But that's for another time. 

“Is that a smile I see on your face toye?” “I'm one lucky bastard you realize that?”

Eugene roe

-office romance/forced proximity. I didn't exactly know what to call this one. Both you and Roe are Easy Company medics. Gene from the start, harbord a crush on you. And mean big time crush. Thinking about you, he got butterflies in his stomach. You both spent significant time together. Typically, the only times you were separated is when you were attending to fellow paratroopers. Bastogne was a turning point. You were in a jeep headed to the church, your hand and a cloth being the soul thing keeping a man alive. You almost made it before the church burst into flames. When Gene heard what happened, he got the first ride possible to bastogne. When he saw you, hand now on a clearly dead man, he took you into his arms, relived that you were alive and mostly ok. He brought you back to the Adrennes forest. As usual, you spent the night in genes fox hole. The only difference was you both saw what was right in front of you for the first time and kissed. It wasn't until Austria that he gave you a promise ring where he promised to spend and devote the rest of his life with you.

“you make me the happiest man you know that y/n?”

“Tell me that again at our wedding”

Donald Malarkey 

-friends to lovers? Maybe a sprinkle of enemies to lovers?? I don't know but here me out. So you join the paratroopers as a female, the reason you got in was from connections in the army. Seeing how even if you are the most talented female there is, it's still the 40s here. I wouldn't think that the Toccoa men would flat out bully you, but would more just not believe in you. Probably leave you out of a lot of things. Kind of just pretend you weren't there. But not malarkey. He saw something in you that the rest didn't. Honestly he was shocked to see how they treated you. You were the best paratrooper there was in this company. You stood your ground. You met and exceeded in all categories. Passed each test with flying colors. You also were able to do it with the most incredible smile. As much as you disliked it, he stood up for you. Complimented and congratulated you when you did well. You really liked him. He was cute, kind, and not a douche wad. But sadly, most guys here if they weren't mean, they were trying to get Into your pants. As much as you wouldn't mind that with malarkey, you weren't here for that. One day in Aldbourne England you had enough. You weren't going to get swooned into bed and he had to know it. When you had a spare moment you grabbed him and pulled him aside and told him to stop. He was bewildered that this is how you perceived him. He explained to you that was not his intention. You could hear the sincerity of his voice. He meant it. This was the start of your friendship. You both were like a thing but not? Kinda a situationship. But it wasn't official until Haguenau. The effects of war painted across your faces. In one of the houses you laid in one of the beds, trying for the hundredth time to get some rest to no avail. He came and found you. There was little and a lot to say. Instead he kissed you. The past two years of friendship melted instantly into a lifetime of love. 

“god i've wanted you to do that for a long time”

“What happened to ‘I'm not here for a relationship’?”

“shut the fuck up and kiss me again would ya”

William Guarnere

- Enemies to lovers. Come on, this is so perfect. Guarnere is a natural bully. He bullies everybody all the time, but you? He loves bullying you. He always has an insult special for you up his sleeve. However, that's a lie. He hates it to his core. You are the sweetest person ever. All he wants to do is not bully you. He's somewhere in the middle of liebgott and Speers. He doesn't want to be seen as weak. He has this demnor he feels the need to uphold and that everybody around him expects. Not some ooey gooey man. Even though if he could, he'd probably worship you. You were perfect in his eyes. He hates himself more and more, but the more he digs himself into this hole, the harder it is for him to get out. He finally cracks when someone else makes a particular mean stab at you one day at a bar in holland. He can hate himself all he fucking wants for bullying you. But somebody else is doing it? Hurting you? Not going to happen. He breaks his nose, jaw, maybe a rib or two, black eye and busted lip, all before he could get ripped off this guy. You get wind of this later. Within minutes you're confronting him. Before he shuts you up with a kiss.

“I thought you hated me”

“Hate you? No, For fuckes sake sweetheart, I'm in love with you”

George Luz

-meet cute. You originally met just before you signed up to be paratroopers. And I mean just before. You were getting blood work done to test how fit you were to fight.  As you waited in the lobby to fill out paperwork, you went to reach for your pen. That's when you realized it wasn't there. It just so happens that a very cute guy next to you had an extra with him. You quickly filled the paper and exchanged names and conversations. On the way home you couldn't get him out of your head. So couldn't he. Later when you were assigned to easy company you found the one and only George luz. The same extremely handsome guy at the clinic. He immediately recognized you. How could he not? Your face and laugh had been at the front of his thoughts a lot lately. You tried to keep both of your composure during Toccoa seeing how you didn't want to get into any trouble. But that all fell apart after one weekend with a pass and some alcohol. Kisses were shared, clothes were shed and hands roamed. After that night you made it official. Luz also started writing his vows.

“you know I've never felt this way before”

“What the sex or me? Because If it wasn't the sex let me know so we can go again”

“both luz, but I can't turn that offer down now can I”

[niallerspayno]

Gotta Be You - Part 3

Masterlist

As Liam Payne’s little sister, you’ve always lived in the background—quiet, careful, and content to let him take the spotlight. When he joins One Direction, he brings you on tour, hoping you’ll find your place. Instead, you find Niall. He’s sunshine in human form—warm, kind, and instantly drawn to you. But you’re shy, cautious, and terrified of breaking Liam’s one rule: his bandmates are off-limits. Still, Niall waits. As years pass and friendship slowly turns into something more, you start to wonder—could he be your first everything?

Tags: Niall x reader, Liam x sister!reader, angst, slow burn

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4

...

The green room before soundcheck is its usual mix of chaos and calm—Louis and Harry tossing snacks across the couch like they’re in some kind of slow-motion food fight, Zayn nursing a coffee with his hood up, and Liam reviewing setlists with the focus of a man preparing for war.

You’re perched at the end of a bench near Paul’s laptop, pretending to scroll through the updated run-of-show, though your eyes keep flicking up—always landing on Niall.

He’s on the other side of the room, laughing at something Louis said, guitar balanced on his knee. He hasn’t looked at you once. Not in the past ten minutes. Not in the past week.

Not since that night.

Since you slept together.

You’ve kept your distance, and Niall’s let you. Professional. Polite. Distant. But it’s been killing you slowly, and from the looks of him—eyes a bit tired, jaw a bit clenched—it’s not doing him any favors either.

“Right, who’s stealing the mini crisps again?” Louis says, rifling through a bag like it’s a crime scene.

“Wasn’t me,” Harry says, mouth full. “I’ve been on a health kick.”

“Yeah, chewing guilt like bubblegum,” Zayn murmurs from the corner.

Louis looks at Niall. “You’re quiet. You didn’t even fight me for the sour cream ones.”

“I’m pacing myself,” Niall says, strumming absently on his guitar.

“You’ve been pacing yourself all week,” Harry cuts in, tossing a crisp at him. “You and Y/N both. You two barely speak now.”

Your stomach twists.

Liam glances up at that. “Everything alright?”

“Course,” you say quickly, too quickly.

“Right,” Louis adds, grinning. “Just weird when you two usually share snacks like an old married couple. Now it’s like... Cold War levels of tension.”

“I’ve just been busy,” you say. “There’s been... stuff.”

“What kind of stuff?” Harry asks, all casual mischief, then adds with a grin, “Not, like, ‘oops we shagged and now it’s awkward’ kind of stuff, right?”

Your whole body goes still.

Heat rushes to your face. You feel it burn up your neck, your ears.

The room goes quiet—too quiet. Like everyone just felt the shift in the air at the same time.

Zayn’s eyes flick between you and Niall. “Wait… what?”

Niall sets his guitar down a little too carefully. His jaw’s already clenched, but he won’t look at anyone.

Louis exhales slowly, running a hand over his face. “Oh, shit.”

Liam straightens from where he’s sitting, and suddenly the silence has weight. “What did you just say?” he asks Harry, voice low and unreadable.

Harry goes pale. “I—uh…”

“Harry,” Liam says again, sharper this time, voice razor-thin. “What. Did. You. Just. Say.”

Louis winces, muttering under his breath, “Well, that’s it then. He knows.”

Liam’s head snaps toward him. “You knew?”

“I—well—someone forgot to lock the door!” Louis blurts. Then, quickly deflecting, he throws his hands up. “I’m not the one who took your sister's virginity, alright?!”

The room goes dead silent.

Your heart pounds in your ears.

Liam’s eyes flick to Niall. The calm before the storm.

“You did what?” he growls.

Niall rises instinctively, tension written all over his face. “Liam—listen to me—”

“You’re dead.”

“Run, Niall!” Louis shouts.

Niall doesn’t wait for a second warning—he bolts.

Liam’s chair screeches back as he explodes to his feet, fury etched in every step. “I swear to God—”

You and the rest of the boys spill out of the green room in a flurry of limbs and panicked shouting, scrambling after Liam and Niall as chaos erupts backstage.

Down the corridor, Niall and Liam are already dodging startled crew members and weaving around lighting stands and flight cases.

“I trusted you, Niall!” Liam shouts, barreling past a stunned lighting tech.

Niall ducks low and pivots, making a sharp turn—right back toward you.

“He sure moves fast for someone with bad knees,” Louis says with a grin, like this is some twisted version of tag and not a full-on murder attempt.

You, on the other hand, are not grinning.

Your lungs feel like they’re about to collapse. Your stomach’s knotted so tight it hurts.

“ENOUGH!”

The shout cuts through the chaos like a whipcrack.

Everyone skids to a halt.

Paul storms forward, stepping between Liam and Niall with his arms outstretched, voice like steel. “What the hell is going on?”

Liam’s chest is heaving, eyes wild. “Ask him,” he growls, jabbing a finger toward Niall. “Ask your golden boy what he did.”

Paul looks between them, then scans the rest of the group—Zayn standing stiff with his arms crossed, silent and unreadable; Harry and Louis hovering like two kids who just set off fireworks in the school gym; and you, frozen near the back, eyes wide, stomach twisting, trying not to cry or throw up.

Paul’s gaze sharpens. “Someone want to explain?”

There’s a beat of unbearable silence.

Then Louis blurts, “Niall shagged Y/N.”

You suck in a breath like you’ve been slapped.

Paul blinks. “I’m sorry—he what?”

“I—” Niall begins, but Liam lunges again, fury written across his face.

Paul steps in fast, arms outstretched, shoving Liam back with a force that surprises everyone. “Don’t.” His voice cracks like a thunderclap. “You swing at him, and you’re on the next flight home. I mean it, Liam.”

Liam’s chest heaves. He looks like he wants to scream, hit something, do something—but he doesn’t move. His fists stay clenched at his sides, jaw locked.

Paul turns his glare on the rest of the group. “Green room. Now.”

The boys scatter, no one brave enough to argue. Zayn is the last to leave, casting you a brief, unreadable glance before following the others.

Paul keeps one hand firm on Liam’s shoulder, dragging him back down the corridor with low, heated words.

And suddenly it’s just you and Niall—alone in the hallway, the tension still buzzing like static in the air.

Now that he’s not running for his life, Niall turns to you.

And he sees it.

The panic etched across your face. The unshed tears clinging to your lashes. The way your hands tremble as they grip the hem of your shirt like it’s the only thing tethering you to the ground.

“Hey,” he says softly, stepping toward you. “Look at me.”

You lift your gaze, slow and wary, until your eyes finally meet his.

“Breathe, love,” he murmurs, voice low and steady. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”

You shake your head, a choked breath catching in your throat as the first tear escapes. Then another. Your chest rises and falls too fast, panic bubbling up before you can stop it.

Niall doesn’t hesitate.

He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest like it’s instinct—like holding you might fix everything that just broke open.

“Shhh,” he whispers against your hair, his hand cradling the back of your head. “I’ve got you. Just breathe. You’re safe.”

Your fingers twist into his shirt, clinging like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded. He’s warm, steady—solid in a world that suddenly feels like it’s collapsing around you.

“Niall! Y/N—”

Paul’s voice cuts through the hallway like a blade.

You both turn, startled. Paul stops short when he sees you in Niall’s arms, your tear-streaked face pressed against his chest, Niall’s hand gently rubbing your back.

His expression shifts—still stern, but softer now, brows furrowing with concern.

Paul takes a slow step forward, his voice quieter now. “Is she alright?”

Niall glances down at you, still holding you close. “She’s shaken up. Just needs a second.”

Paul exhales through his nose, clearly trying to rein in his frustration. “I figured this tour might be a lot for her, but I didn’t expect this.” He scrubs a hand over his jaw, muttering more to himself than to either of you. “Jesus.”

You finally pull back from Niall, eyes still glassy. “I didn’t mean for this to happen,” you say softly. “I never meant to hurt anyone.”

Paul sighs and crouches a little to meet your eyes. “I know. And I’m not mad at you, alright? But we’ve got a furious brother, a guilty bandmate, and a whole soundcheck on hold while we deal with this. I just need you to come in and talk. We’ll figure out the rest.”

You nod, your voice caught somewhere in your throat as Niall gives your hand another squeeze. The weight of the past week—everything you’ve avoided, everything you’ve feared—sits heavy in your chest as Paul straightens and motions toward the green room door.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s just get through it.”

Niall opens the door for you, his fingers still laced tightly with yours. As you step into the room, the air feels heavier. Stiller. Zayn stands near the wall, arms folded but his gaze calm, unreadable. Harry and Louis are perched on the couch like kids who know they’ve kicked off the biggest storm and are trying not to look guilty about it.

And then there’s Liam.

He’s pacing like a caged animal, shoulders tense, jaw locked tight. The second he sees Niall with his hand in yours, something flickers in his expression—rage, betrayal, disbelief all tangled into one.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he mutters, loud enough for everyone to hear.

“Liam,” Paul warns, already raising a hand, but Liam barrels forward a step.

Niall instinctively shifts, positioning himself just slightly in front of you—not blocking you, but enough that Liam notices. His posture stays calm, but his jaw’s clenched now, his hand still firm in yours.

“You still think it’s a good idea to hold her hand after everything?” Liam bites, voice low and sharp. “After what you did?”

“She’s upset,” Niall replies, tight but steady. “I’m not letting her walk into this alone.”

“Oh, so now you’re her knight in shining armor?” Liam spits, arms gesturing wildly. “Where was all this noble crap before you—?”

“Before I what?” Niall snaps, cutting him off.

The room stills. You flinch.

Niall steps forward, eyes locked on Liam now. “You want to yell at me, go ahead. You want to hit me? Fine. I probably deserve it. But don’t talk about her like she’s some mistake I made.”

“She’s my sister,” Liam growls. “And you—”

“She’s not just your sister,” Niall shoots back, louder now, voice shaking. “She’s a person. And she’s standing right here, terrified, and you haven’t looked at her once. Not really.”

That hits something. Liam’s mouth shuts, just for a second.

Niall doesn’t back off.

“She’s been scared out of her mind all week,” he says, words coming harder now, each one carved out of everything he’s been holding back. “Avoiding me, panicking over what you would think, what this would do to the band, to you. Not once has she thought about herself in any of this. And you yelling like this—like she’s a problem that needs solving—doesn’t help.”

Liam flinches, barely. His fists curl tighter at his sides, but the anger in his face finally starts to crack, replaced by something far more painful—guilt.

“I wasn’t—” he starts, but his voice falters, softer now. “I didn’t mean to scare her.”

“She’s already scared, Liam,” Niall says, quieter now, the sharpness fading into something raw. “Not because of me. Because she loves you. Because disappointing you breaks her.”

Liam finally turns to you. His expression is still tight, but the anger’s drained away, leaving only regret in its place.

“I’m sorry, Y/N,” he says, voice low. “I never meant to scare you.”

You swallow, throat still tight. He gestures to the rest of the room, to the others lingering quietly nearby—Paul watching with wary eyes, Zayn giving you space, Harry and Louis trying to look anywhere but directly at you.

“Do you want to talk,” Liam says, a bit more gently, “away from all this?”

You hesitate, then nod. “Yeah.”

Paul takes one look at you and Liam, reads the tension in your faces, then claps his hands once with authority.

“Alright, that’s enough,” he says firmly. “Rest of you, out. Go set up for soundcheck.”

Harry groans in protest. “But we just got comfortable!”

“Now,” Paul snaps.

Grumbling under their breath, the boys shuffle out one by one—Zayn giving you a subtle nod of support, Harry slinging an arm around Louis as they file out with exaggerated sighs. Niall is the last to leave, his eyes catching yours for just a second. He doesn’t say anything, but you can read the storm of worry on his face. You offer him the faintest nod, and he disappears out the door behind the others.

Paul lingers just long enough to glance at Liam. “Ten minutes,” he says. “Then we need you both out there.”

Liam nods once. “We’ll be quick.”

The door shuts, leaving just the two of you in the green room.

For a moment, neither of you speak.

Then Liam exhales and sinks down onto the couch, elbows on his knees, rubbing at his temples. “You okay?”

You sit across from him, arms wrapped tight around yourself. “I think so.”

He nods, lets the silence sit for a second, then says, “I didn’t mean to make it worse. I just—when Louis said what he said, and then seeing you with Niall…”

“I know,” you murmur. “It was a lot.”

Liam looks up, guilt all over his face. “He’s my best mate. And you’re… you’re everything to me. The thought of something going wrong—of him hurting you, even by accident—it just… I panicked.”

You blink back fresh tears and nod. “I know you didn’t mean to scare me. I just—this whole week, I didn’t know how to face you. I didn’t know how to explain it.”

Liam’s voice is rough now, but steady. “You don’t have to explain anything. I just wish I’d handled it better.”

A silence falls again.

Then you speak, quiet and certain. “It won’t happen again.”

Liam frowns. “What do you mean?”

You swallow hard and force yourself to meet his eyes. “With Niall. We’ll just stay friends. That’s it.”

He hesitates. “Are you sure?”

“I don’t want to hurt either of you,” you say softly. “I want you both in my life. It’s the best way.”

He studies you for a moment, then slowly nods. “It’ll be better this way. I’ve seen how the world treats the girls we date... and I don’t want to see them do that to you.”

You nod, but your throat feels tight.

“Thanks,” you whisper, unsure if you’re thanking him for understanding or for not pushing. Maybe both.

There’s a knock on the door again—firmer this time.

Liam glances toward it, then back at you. “You okay to come out?”

You square your shoulders and rise to your feet. “Yeah. Let’s just get through the day.”

He opens the door, and you both step out into the hallway. The others are already setting up at the far end of the stage, the usual pre-soundcheck chaos buzzing around them. You spot Niall standing near the monitors, talking quietly to a tech—but the second his eyes find yours, he goes still.

You look away first.

And you keep walking.

...

It’s been six months since everything exploded backstage.

Six months since you sat across from Liam and promised him nothing would happen with Niall again.

You’d meant it at the time. Things were too messy. Too raw. And Niall—well, he’d taken the distance without pushing, which somehow made it harder.

Now, you’re back on the road.

You’d just turned twenty a few weeks ago, and the guys had surprised you with a hotel room full of balloons, a cake with far too much icing, and a card signed by the entire crew—including a very pointed "stay out of trouble" scrawl from Liam that made everyone laugh a little too hard.

The new tour leg feels fresh, easier somehow. The routines are familiar, the chaos manageable. And 5 Seconds of Summer are with you again as the opening act, louder and rowdier than ever.

And for once… you’re not just the little sister anymore.

You’re confident, capable, and—much to Liam’s dismay—getting attention.

Especially from Ashton, whose flirting is bold and easy, and Calum, who keeps finding excuses to chat during load-in.

The booth is crowded and buzzing with energy, all nine of you packed in shoulder to shoulder. Louis has taken control, perched on the end like a gremlin king with a pitcher of something suspiciously fluorescent in front of him.

You’re squeezed between Ashton and Calum, and they’re making no secret of the fact that they’re enjoying the view. Calum’s thigh is pressed against yours, warm and solid, and Ashton keeps leaning in to murmur cheeky comments just loud enough to make your cheeks flush and your drink disappear faster than planned.

“You know,” Ashton says, voice low in your ear as he tips his glass toward yours, “if this band thing ever goes under, you could make a killing as a distraction.”

You laugh, biting your lip. “Distraction from what?”

“Sanity,” he grins. “Basic cognitive function.”

Calum snorts beside you, clearly listening in. “Don’t let him flatter you into submission. He’s still recovering from when you beat him at darts last night.”

“She cheated,” Ashton mutters, nudging your knee with his. “I swear she did.”

“I’m just naturally talented,” you shrug, feigning innocence.

From across the booth, Niall watches with a too-still expression, fingers wrapped around his beer bottle. His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you feel the weight of his stare like a tether tugging at you. He hasn’t said much all night—not since you slid into the booth between the 5SOS boys. Not since Ashton slung his arm along the back of the seat behind you.

Next to Niall, Liam is a ticking time bomb in a denim jacket. His eyes haven’t left your side of the booth once.

Louis slaps the table. “Right. Everyone shut up and drink something. It’s time.”

“For what?” Luke asks, already grinning.

“A game, obviously. Drinking game. Never Have I Ever. We’re doing this tour justice or we’re not doing it at all.”

“Oh god,” you mutter under your breath.

“We're in,” Calum smirks, lifting his drink. “Let’s go.”

“No holds barred?” Harry grins.

“Absolutely not,” Paul says from somewhere behind you, likely nursing a headache already.

“Absolutely yes,” Louis says, ignoring him completely. “Alright. I’ll start us off strong. Never have I ever… snogged someone on this tour.”

You pause—barely a beat—before taking a slow sip, heart hammering in your chest.

Ashton glances sideways, amused. “Oh?”

Niall takes a drink too, jaw tight.

Liam doesn't.

The booth goes quiet for half a second too long.

“Alright, alright,” Louis says, waving it off before anyone can question it. “Keep it moving. Calum, your turn.”

“Naughty or nice?” Calum asks, grinning.

You roll your eyes. “Don’t pretend that’s a question.”

He leans closer, breath warm against your cheek. “Never have I ever wanted to kiss the person sitting next to me.”

You freeze.

Ashton raises an eyebrow, clearly playing it cool. Then he drinks. Calum, the cocky bastard, does too. Slowly.

And you—

You hesitate.

Then you drink.

It’s quiet again.

You glance up—and your eyes meet Niall’s. His lips part slightly, surprise and something deeper passing over his face before he quickly looks away, lifting his bottle for a long drink.

The game rolls on—but the tension doesn’t go anywhere.

Harry’s grinning like the chaos feeds him, eyes darting between you, Niall, and the 5SOS boys like he’s watching his favorite soap opera play out in real time. Louis is absolutely no help, tossing in outrageous questions just to stir the pot.

“Never have I ever,” Louis says dramatically, “had a naughty dream about someone at this table.”

Half the table groans.

Zayn drinks without blinking.

Harry downs the rest of his drink with a theatrical flourish. “We’ve all shared bunks, don’t act surprised.”

Calum drinks, no shame.

Ashton raises his brow… and drinks.

And you—god help you—you drink too.

You try not to look at anyone as you do it, but it’s impossible not to feel the way Niall stiffens across from you. He doesn’t say anything, just lifts his bottle and takes a long, deliberate drink like it’s the only thing keeping him seated.

Liam, on the other hand, is less subtle. “Seriously?” he mutters under his breath, voice clipped.

Louis elbows him. “C’mon, Payno, it’s just a game.”

“Yeah,” Harry adds innocently. “A fun game.”

Meanwhile, Ashton takes the opportunity to lean in a little more, his thigh pressed against yours now, his fingers brushing your knee under the table—light, teasing, just enough to make your breath catch.

Calum’s no better. He nudges your other side, murmuring with a smirk, “We’re learning so much about each other tonight.”

You laugh softly, because what else are you supposed to do? You’re sandwiched between two flirty rockstars, your brother is practically vibrating with rage, and the boy you still can’t get over is watching every second like it’s killing him.

Zayn finally speaks, his tone cool and amused. “This game’s gonna end with someone bleeding.”

“Yeah,” Liam mutters, jaw tight. “My money’s on Ashton or Calum.”

Ashton lets out a low laugh, not backing down an inch. “Fair warning—I hit back.”

Liam’s hand tightens around his glass, the muscle in his jaw twitching.

And then Harry, grinning like the absolute menace he is, leans in. “Never have I ever had multiple blokes vying for my attention… while my brother watched.”

Your mouth drops open.

Louis slaps a hand on the table, wheezing. “He actually said it! Oh my God.”

Calum nudges you with a smirk. “You drinking or what?”

You glare at Harry, your face burning. “You’re the worst.”

“I know,” he chirps, raising his glass in a mock toast.

You lift your drink with a sigh and take a long sip, half for the game, half to drown your mortification.

With a sigh, you lift your own drink and take a long sip—part for the game, part to calm your nerves, and part to pretend you don’t feel every eye in the booth watching you.

Then—

Liam’s hands slam down on the table with a sharp thud.

“Alright. That’s enough,” he snaps. “Get your hands off my baby sister before I force them off.”

Ashton, bold as ever, has the audacity to smirk. “I’d like to see you try.”

That does it—Liam surges forward like he’s ready to lunge across the table, but Niall grabs his arm, holding him back.

“Calm down,” Niall says, voice firm but quiet. “You and I both know she’s more than capable of stopping something if she doesn’t want it.”

The table goes quiet.

Your heart skips painfully in your chest.

Because even though it’s true—even though Niall is trying to defend you—his words carry more weight than anyone else at this table realizes. You’re not sure if he meant them as a reminder… or a warning. And either way, they make your stomach twist.

Liam’s jaw clenches. “You think this is funny? Watching her get pawed at like she’s—”

“I’m right here,” you snap before you can stop yourself.

All eyes turn to you. Your cheeks are hot, but your voice holds.

“I’m right here. And I don’t need anyone to speak for me.”

Liam stiffens across the table, and Niall slowly lets go of his arm. You can feel the weight of all of them watching you—Zayn still and unreadable, Harry biting back a grin, Louis caught between amused and nervous.

You push back from the booth, sliding out from between Ashton and Calum. The air feels too thick, your chest too tight, and you need to move, to breathe.

“I’m heading back,” you announce, standing tall even though your pulse is pounding. Then you turn, glance over your shoulder, and add—deliberate and sweet as sugar—“Ashton. Calum. You’re welcome to join me if you’re bored here.”

It’s silent for half a second.

Then—

“Absolutely,” Ashton says, instantly rising from his seat.

Calum chuckles, standing too. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

Liam makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat, but you don’t even look at him. You don’t look at Niall either.

You just walk.

And the sound of your heels against the floor feels like the only thing anchoring you as you head for the exit—Ashton and Calum flanking you like smug shadows.

Zayn leans back in the booth, still watching the space where you disappeared through the door. “Well, she’s definitely not a kid anymore,” he says quietly.

“Nope,” Louis agrees with a soft whistle. “She’s got fangs now.”

Harry raises his glass. “To Y/N. Queen of chaos.”

Liam doesn’t laugh.

He shoves back from the table, the legs of his chair screeching against the floor. His whole body is stiff, his jaw set tight.

Across from him, Niall is still seated, staring at the table like he’s trying to burn a hole through it. His hands are clenched around his drink.

“You happy now?” Liam snaps suddenly. “This what you wanted?”

Niall looks up, slowly. “What?”

“She’s out there with them, Niall. Ashton. Calum.”

“I noticed,” Niall says, voice flat. Then his tone sharpens. “But don’t blame me for this.”

“You changed her,” Liam spits. “After what happened—she’s not the same.”

That’s when Niall stands. Calmly, but with something simmering under the surface.

“I haven’t laid a hand on her in six months,” he says, low and firm. “I backed off when she asked. I’ve done everything you wanted, Liam. I’ve respected her, and I’ve respected you.”

Liam’s jaw clenches, but he doesn’t interrupt.

“And yeah,” Niall adds, his voice quieter now, heavier, “she’s changed. But not because of me. Because you made her feel like she had to. Like she couldn’t feel anything without disappointing someone.”

For a long moment, Liam says nothing. Then, finally—he exhales, some of the heat draining from his face.

“You’re right,” he mutters. “You’re right.”

Niall blinks, caught off guard.

Liam scrubs a hand over his face. “You’re not the one I should be pissed at.”

Zayn raises an eyebrow. “Then who?”

“Ashton,” Liam growls. “And Calum.”

“Oh, I’d love an excuse to hit those two,” Niall says, the corner of his mouth twitching grimly. “They knew exactly what they were doing.”

“They don’t know her,” Liam snaps. “Not like we do. They see someone sweet and pretty and think they can turn it into a game.”

Niall nods once. “Yeah. And I saw the way Calum looked at her like she was already his.”

Liam’s hands ball into fists again. “If they touch her—”

“They won’t,” Niall says, deadly calm now. “Not if I have anything to do with it.”

There’s a beat of silence. Then Louis, trying not to look impressed, says, “Well. That was the most terrifying bonding moment I’ve ever witnessed.”

Zayn snorts softly. “Should we tell Paul the two of you are finally on the same side again?”

“Let’s see if Ashton and Calum survive the night first,” Harry mutters.

Liam and Niall share a look. Not quite friendly, but no longer at war.

The truce is fragile. But it’s there.

And all of them know—this isn’t over.

Not by a long shot.

...

The hotel room is dim and quiet, lit only by the flicker of the movie playing on the TV. You’re perched in the middle of the bed, legs stretched out, the comforter soft beneath you.

Ashton is lying between your legs, his head on your stomach, his body stretched out across the mattress like he owns it. His hair is soft beneath your fingers as you idly thread them through, curling strands around your knuckles. Calum is tucked into your side, arm draped lazily over your waist, head resting just below your shoulder.

It’s comfortable. Safe, even. The kind of warmth that lets you pretend, just for a little while, that things aren’t unraveling behind the scenes.

You laugh at something dumb on the screen, and Ashton hums in response, voice muffled against your shirt. “You’ve got the best laugh.”

“Shut up,” you murmur, still smiling.

“I’m serious,” he says, turning his head just enough to look up at you. “You laugh like someone who’s trying not to.”

You pause at that. Calum shifts beside you, glancing up as well.

“She’s been doing that all night,” Calum says quietly. “Smiling like it’s a job.”

You don’t answer at first. Your fingers still in Ashton’s hair, the weight of their attention suddenly heavier than it was a second ago.

“I’m fine,” you say, but your voice is too soft to sound convincing.

“You don’t have to be,” Ashton replies, surprisingly gentle. “Not with us.”

Calum leans in just a little, his tone softer now. “This about Niall?”

You stiffen.

“Because we get it,” he adds quickly. “We’re not blind. The way he looks at you… the way you look at him.”

You shake your head. “It’s not like that anymore.”

Ashton lets out a slow breath. “Could’ve fooled me.”

You don’t know what to say. The truth is too messy to explain. That you're here with them not because you want to lead anyone on—but because it's easier to flirt and feel pretty than it is to deal with the ache that hasn’t gone away.

“You don’t have to explain it,” Calum says, like he read your mind. “Just... don’t hurt yourself trying to prove you’re over someone when you’re not.”

That hits harder than you expect. You blink up at the ceiling, the movie forgotten, your chest tight again.

Ashton shifts, lifting his head so he can meet your eyes. “Hey.”

You look down at him.

“If you ever need someone who won’t ask for more than you can give,” he says, voice low and sincere, “you’ve got two idiots right here.”

Calum squeezes your side in agreement. “We’re good at being idiots.”

A soft laugh escapes you. It doesn’t fix anything. But it helps.

You nod. “Thanks. For being... safe.”

Ashton smirks, resting his chin lightly against your stomach again. “Safe and stupid. It’s kind of our brand.”

Calum hums in agreement, his thumb brushing absently along your side. “Although… if Liam knew where we were right now, I’m pretty sure we’d be branded something else entirely.”

You snort before you can stop yourself. “Dead?”

“Very,” Calum says solemnly.

“Ashton first, obviously,” Ashton adds casually. “I’ve always been the more punchable one.”

“Yeah, but I’m closer to her,” Calum says, smirking into your shoulder. “Liam’s got eyes. He’s seen this.”

Ashton shifts dramatically, throwing an arm over your thighs. “Guess we’re going together, then.”

You laugh, burying your face in your hand. “You two are ridiculous.”

“No,” Calum says with mock-seriousness. “We’re brave. We’re flirting with Liam Payne’s little sister and living to tell the tale. That’s practically heroic.”

Ashton peers up at you, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Do you think he’s currently sharpening knives? Or polishing his funeral speech?”

“Plotting both,” you say, grinning despite yourself. “While Niall holds him back with a leash and Zayn pretends not to watch.”

Calum chuckles. “Harry and Louis taking bets in the corner.”

There’s a beat of quiet laughter that settles into something softer. You feel the weight of Ashton still curled against you, the steady warmth of Calum at your side. And for a moment, it’s just this—comfort, chaos, and your heart beating a little less painfully.

But the mention of Niall lingers in your head. Just beneath the teasing. Just beneath the smile you’re still half-holding.

Ashton catches the shift in your expression, his voice gentler now. “You miss him?”

You swallow. “Yeah.”

“Have you told him?”

“No.”

“Think you will?”

You hesitate, eyes drifting to the ceiling. “I don’t know.”

Neither of them push you on it.

They just stay close, quiet and steady—two distractions that, for tonight at least, are exactly what you need.

Then—

A knock at the door.

One sharp, deliberate rap. Then another.

You go still.

Ashton lifts his head. “Uh-oh.”

Calum exhales slowly. “Place your bets, mate.”

You don’t move yet. You just stare at the door.

Because somehow, you already know.

It’s not room service.

It’s not Paul.

It’s either your furious brother…

Or the boy you’re still in love with.

...

Part 4

[porschas-palette]

Pinky and the Brain and Animaniacs are taking over my brain again, this hasn't happened on a hyperfixation scale since 2023...HELP

LAB MICE DOODLE DUMP, ENJOY, EAT YOUR FOOD ANIMANIACS FANDOM I KNOW YOU'RE STARVING FOR CONTENT LMAO!!! <3

First time re-drawing them (oops I forgot to colour Brain's nose)

I did character studies on the mice so I could draw them accurately while still remaining in my artstyle (I probably spelled things wrong but idc). Why are they so hard to DRAW 😭 bruuuuh, I'll get the hang of it...

top camera pov lmao

ROMY!!!! For those who don't know, he is Pinky and Brain's canonical biological merged clone/child...not even joking, its canon, I'm serious (Still cant believe this episode was real, watch the episode called "Brinky" for context, he also was in a comic but I forgot which issue). This sucker was the easiest to draw somehow 😭

A summary of what happened (I decided to rewatch random episodes of the series, now I'm back in the fucking building again!!! /snapcube ref)

I have ideas I will provide 0 context for...you'll have to wait and see if I ever carry these ideas to the finish line Ooooo (some probably not, but others yes)

Uninished Storyboards?!?! :O (Song ref, Take over the world, sung at Animaniacs in concert, very cool song I love it). Are the storyboards in order? NOPE :D.

Random ass doodles (can you tell who my favourite characters are...I'll give you a hint, they're gene spliced lab mice hell bent on taking over the world)

(OLD ART BELOW) I used to draw them like this, Brain has a small head wtf, Pinky's eyes have a small gap between them also i gave him extra fluffy ears for fun, and their bodies are too human, not enough mousey proportions. (These are life sized pinky and brain cut outs I made for Halloween in 2021 which I still think is pretty cool despite the older art, they are 4 inches and 6 inches...life sized 😭💖.)

I forgot how large of a scale this hyperfixation is...so be prepared (if I end up posting lots of stuff lol, I post whatever I want here lol)

Don't panic Smg4 fans who follow me! (which might be most of you) I'm still hyped about Smg4 (I'M SO EXCITED FOR THE CURRENT ARC), but you may have to deal with the fact I have a lot of other interests, and I'm remembering how much I LOVE THESE FUCKING LAB MICE (and warner siblings, and all of animaniacs lol). If you guys like these shows too then YIPPEEEEEEE

I love both 90's shows so much. I love Animaniacs, I LOVE Pinky and the brain. And I really like the reboot (despite the few issues it had, still wish they hired Tom Rugger to get involved, HE WASNT EVEN TOLD ABOUT IT till it was too late, bruuuuuuh)

That's all folks!

(Just wanna say real quick, we WON, KETCHUP ENTERTAINMENT HAS SAVED ACME VS COYOTE!!! If they reference acme labs in any way I will explode happily) 😁💖💥

[candiid-caniine]

Hey! Long time no see, i know i said id send you a fantasy i thought you'd like but now ive forgotten almost all of it, oop!

Life happened, and uh, i saw that you mentioned your libido being a bit low, which definitely is my case too (im recovering from depression, now that im okay id love to get my FULL libido back, or at least a good percentage of it) do you have any tips on that?

Also any recs of blogs writing in the same vibe as you? (same-ish kinks would be nice but im specifically looking for queer inclusive stuff!) it makes me 10x hornier than the regular video/photo porn!

Hope you're well, you pathetic little thing!

💫

hi friend!! ugh i feel you. sorry i haven't got any advice on regaining ur libido...we just let mine wax and wane as it will, though denial has been a big help in keeping it steady!

i've heard good things abt ginseng and some other herbs. obvs use at your own risk, mind that some herbal treatments can cross-interact with certain medications, remember that pre-packaged supplement pills are often unregulated and may contain toxins, and be aware that some herbal remedies work better on pw certain anatomy than others, and finally that many herbal remedies considered to increase libido are largely untested on trans folx!

finally, sorry it's taken so long to answer this ask...i'm autistic and have been cataloguing lol. i present to you a list of other blog recs under the cut, organized by general vibe! i've tried to primarily include blogs that do their own posts rather than those who primarily reblog :)

note that my headings may provide some context as to what to expect, but you read at your own risk and each blog will typically have its own trigger warnings addressed in the header/pinned. additionally, i've not tagged some of the ppl below because they prefer that "Men DNI" blogs not interact, and idk if "no cis men" qualifies ahah!

all blogs below are queer- and/or trans-inclusive, if not exclusive! there is no detrans/misgendering, at least I don't think - i don't tend to follow those blogs.

hard kinks (blood, knives, etc; includes primarily-cnc blogs):

@puppy-mommy , who also does general t4t kink content, but does state untagged hard kinks!

@visciousest is someone whose blog i scroll when i'm in a Certain Mood ahah,, i won't elaborate

@hell-hound-bites: just. fuck. would drool on his knife blade.

@snuff-fag: its username should give you fair warning as to how wild its content tends to get, so please browse responsibly.

@condor-bait is taking a break right now, and all my love is with him as he takes care of himself. he made me feel so valid and so fuckable as a young trans person learning to love myself in a new way, and i've always been too shy to tell him how much his content meant to me one-on-one (yes, despite its often-extreme themes!), and he deserves as much time as he needs to heal!

@unwillingfvckpuppy for mostly cnc and medical kinks! if you like his style, but not so much their harder content, he also has a more-tame main blog--i just mainly follow/scroll this one!

@vampvictim: top-tier cnc/intox stuff, plus some great knife/bloodplay :)

@cryptidtid is wonderful and holy shit i follow a lot of hard kink blogs lol. incredible

@cnc-pet: i have been following her for a long ass fucking time lol. they post a lot of really good cnc and stories, but you'll also find a lot of aftercare tips and advice on her blog! i really admire blogs who try to balance horny content with best practices

@dollobotomy

general kinky content:

@excessively-queer . just plain old good shit :) there's a good amt of edging and degradation.

@clouded-king was honestly one of my earlier introductions to the queer/t4t kink community on here and how fucking euphoric it can be :) he posts some hard kinks, but generally it's a balance of a lot of different kinks so read his pinned at your leisure!

@ / cottontailx : just good kinky nsft posts :)

@ / digitalpenetration: often specifically t4t which i love!!

@femmelovefemme can step on me :)

@bigothteddies: could not build this section w/o mentioning him :) they had a big influence on my fantasies for a long time!

@hazelj-xoxo: bigtime want her to cuck me. have followed her across multiple blog deletions lol

@transpidered is forever an icon!

@subspaceemo

@writefinch for great stories and text posts

edging and denial, specifically:

@6irlpet is 1 of my go-to hands-down-pants scroll sessions :)

@droolkink is my inspiration!

@flustersluts does exactly what the name implies lol. a good helping of other kink content too :)

@puppycvnt is a 10/10!

@barkwoofbarkwoofbark: we r denial friends imo!!

@strawbrrysub

@blyssful-abyss

@urhighnessbitch is a big fav <3

non-detrans genderplay:

@butchviolence does amazing butch supremacy stuff and i,,, fucking hell. even just seeing their username puts me in a Particular state of mind ahah. they also post hard kinks so be aware as you proceed!

@mtfdomme: i literally just reblogged from her today lol. tbh i want to be their little stupid pupthing. it's not all transfem supremacy undertones/overtones, but that's what i mainly follow her for, plus just general t4t goodness! also, their general personality? and the way she shuts down people who disrespect their boundaries? huge inspiration for me!

@cuntboydestroyer: take me to the animal shelter and neuter me. good lord.

@the-kind-of-dame is the main inspiration for my recent genderplay post lol

@terfbreaking-tgirl (be warned of dykebreaking if that's an issue for you)

@barbarian-lesbian is my other inspiration for the recent genderplay post

@superiorineveryway

weird asf (/complimentary; my favorite type of shit. robots, ND-focused posts, etc):

@specksizedgoddess has introduced me to things i didn't know, like...existed, and that's saying a lot as one of my special interests is kink! never knew how down bad i was to be a tiny buggirl, nor how much i wanted to be someone's stupid little robot... BIG tw tho: there is snuff and gore content here, so proceed with caution if you don't wanna see that!

@sapphling fucked me up real good with some bird!sub bondage posts awhile back lol

@nobelisha: found them through their ghost cnc post so that's why they're in this category ahah! they don't have a pinned so proceed w awareness :)

@devout-cleric: hierophilia/religion kink, and i'm something of an acolyte of hers :) if you've read this far down you may as well know i'm her Little Lamb anon lol

piss/omo:

@latenightomo

@pissheartmybeloved - their URL makes me crack up every time, plus good content!

@hold-it-a-little-longer - good scenarios/imagines!

@ohmyrashi - (i think) my original intro to omo!

monsterfucking/terato:

@septimus-moonlight was my first real introduction to trans-positive terato and i've never settled for half-fun cis-oriented terato ever since :) mind tags!

@eggedbellies as well!

@bredpun doesn't appear to be active lately but still good for a scroll!

@steamandcream

@of-mutts-and-men

[unexpectedbrickattack]

old. man. yaois.

tiny gnome has very good senses and smells everything so much and so strongly. help him.

actually. going to keep this contained in the post and not in the tags bc its kink stuff and i think it should stay behind a readmore oop

spreading the 'old man engages in freak behavior' agenda...its not even freak behavior it is so tame for other shit i am writing w them LMAO musk is like whatever. its WHATEVER ! (its good) but my homebrew gnomes are based off of rodents and they have heightened senses of smell and hearing because of it and i think it is so funny to give my fave characters the most benign, yet debilitating kinks. Like bro im fine dw also u need to not be right next to me bc im going to go feral and i dont have it in my soul to explain why

i think its sooooo silly to have him already devote so much of his time to peppino and this business and now hes like god. what is that stickman meme picture of someone gripping their leg so hard its bleeding? thats gus hes like in his own hell. i think i wrote it before that peppino is sooooo aware of like. being a sweaty man and it makes him uncomfortable and he tries to avoid it but its like an inevitable facet of life and he deals w it the best he can. hes not smelly hes sweaty n musky and so working in the back w a hot oven means he ends his shifts absolutely drenched and miserable.

and gus is like👁️👁️ but hes a respectable man (tm) and he doesnt openly gawk n fawn. But. He is not shameless; he absolutely steals a shirt or two when he can and works w that for a while. he steals a shirt, keeps it, then rotates it w another shirt and when peppino is like WAA! My shirt !!! where did u disappear to??? Gus has to pretend he didnt snatch it away for like a month like the squirrel he is.

it (the thieving) would start before they get together and he would get caught a little while after they get together. like hey. not that i think that you think im stupid. but um. for like two years my shirts would disappear when u came over. like. after a couple of months it stops being a coincidence. so like. explain urself maybe?? and its definitely like a New feeling for gus, who is generally regarded as a dom (albeit a sweet one) to feel bashful about this but like in timid way that doesnt usually come naturally to him LOL. and i like the idea of peppino being an anxious little freak about soooo many things including sex, but when he gets more comfy w someone hes way more of a dick and blunt asshole (affectionate) and he absolutely would bully gus about this.

okay thats all i got just imagine my vision of gus and his little tail shooting straight up bc hes huffing this fucking shirt before he passes out for the night okay? and avoiding brick the next day bc beast to beast communication is real, okay? for me? thank u ....