#Magnetic Recess

[mpcomagnetics]

Magnetic Recess Members

Magnetic Recess Members, Lifting Recess, & Holding Plates Dog Bone Pin Recess Members Designed for the installation of the lifting pin anchors in a steel form using a one-piece urethane recess made to fit all standard size Dog Bone pin inserts. Available with an embedded magnetic base or just the urethane casing to put on a plate. Description Size Part Number Magnetic Dog Bone Recess Member 1…

[nuordiclightingcompany]

What to Know Before Installing Recessed Round LED Downlights 

When considering the installation of Recessed Round LED Downlight, it's essential to understand its design and functionality. These fixtures are embedded into the ceiling, providing a sleek, streamlined finish that suits modern interiors. They are ideal for general ambient lighting and can subtly enhance the room's aesthetics while remaining discreet.

For those seeking a modern and flexible lighting solution, Surface Mounted Magnetic Track Light systems are an excellent option. They offer adjustable lighting with a magnetic mechanism that allows fixtures to be moved or replaced effortlessly along the mounted track. This makes them ideal for dynamic environments like showrooms, galleries, or contemporary living spaces.

Flush spotlights are perfect for targeted illumination, especially when you want to highlight artwork, décor, or architectural details. Their compact and low-profile design allows them to blend seamlessly with the ceiling, offering a minimalist yet functional lighting effect.

Each of these lighting types offers unique benefits. Recessed lights are subtle and clean, track lights are adaptable and modern, and flush spotlights are precise and sleek. Choosing the right one depends on the layout, purpose of the space, and desired visual impact. Looking for quality lighting solutions that are smart, stylish, and built to last? Nuordic has a curated collection and to know more read the full blog here, https://sites.google.com/view/nuordic/What-to-Know-Before-Installing-Recessed-Round-LED-Downlights- 

[glitzlighting]

Elevate your home’s elegance with Recessed Magnetic Track Lights — a sleek, modern lighting solution that adds sophistication, seamless design, and ambient charm to every room effortlessly.

[freakmcnastyy]

Your only owner

Geum Seongjae x f!reader (Pt.1)

Summary: The reader is saved from her miserable life by Seongjae—unaware that a much darker one awaits.

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, sexual innuendos, sadism, family issues, slave-master relationship, murder. (Characters are of legal age.)

Note: This story may contain disturbing themes. If you’re sensitive or underage, I don’t recommend reading it. Check out the fluffier contents on my profile instead!

-> Pt.1 / Pt.2 / Pt.3 / Pt.4

⸻

One of those nights.

When even the streetlights seemed to shiver.

When the wind moved like a ghost between the cracked sidewalks.

When the noise of the city had already given up and all that was left was silence, sitting in some dark truce with the night.

The air was heavy—heavier than the damp walls that lined the alley.

And that alley—broken, crooked, like a scar the city knew existed but didn’t want to look at—twisted quietly away from the main street.

You were there.

Curled up at the corner of that narrow street. Knees pulled to your chest. Back pressed against a crumbling wall.

Your arms were thin. Too light for your body. Too tired.

You were wearing an oversized hoodie, the hood pulled all the way over your head—maybe to hide, maybe to disappear.

Maybe just because you were cold.

There was a cigarette between your fingers.

Unlit.

Just sitting there, resting on the edge of your lips, like anger sitting right on the edge of your pride.

You had a lighter. But you didn’t use it.

You were waiting.

Maybe for something to happen.

Maybe for nothing.

Maybe hoping someone would find you.

Or maybe hoping no one ever would again.

And then you heard footsteps.

That alley wasn’t the kind of place people walked through.

Too quiet. Too dark. Too forgotten.

But that night, a pair of heavy steps echoed through it.

They didn’t tear the silence. They just underlined it.

Someone walking slow. Steady.

Black sneakers. Hands stuffed in his pockets.

His hood was up too.

His head hung low, but his eyes—his eyes were sharp. Scanning. Calm in a way that didn’t match the night.

It was Seongjae.

No one knew what he was doing there. Maybe he just wanted to be alone.

Maybe walking helped him not think.

But his eyes—those cold, unreadable eyes—spotted a small silhouette curled up in the shadows.

Small.

Tense.

But familiar.

You went to the same school.

You were that girl. Always in the back row. Head down when the teacher asked something. The one who never quite blended into the noise at recess.

Maybe he’d heard your name once. Didn’t remember it. But he knew your face.

And now, that face was trying to hide in the dark.

But there was one thing it couldn’t hide—

A bruise.

Right under your eye. Faint, but deep.

The hood couldn’t cover it well enough. Not from him.

He stopped. Just for a second.

Then walked toward you.

Pulled one hand out of his pocket—smooth, almost casual. So effortless it felt… weirdly familiar.

He took out a cigarette. And spoke just one word:

“Got a lighter?”

His voice was flat. Not mocking. Not kind.

Just asking.

You didn’t even think.

You handed it over.

Your fingers trembled. His didn’t.

Seongjae took it, but didn’t light his cigarette.

He crouched slightly. Didn’t say anything to make you lift your head.

He was looking for your eyes. Trying to see your face.

And he did.

“What happened?” he asked. Low.

Not pushy. Not judging.

Just… wanted to know.

You didn’t answer.

You looked away. Swallowed. Stayed silent.

He narrowed his eyes.

Didn’t expect an answer.

Didn’t need one.

He saw it.

Violence.

He took a breath.

Straightened up a little, like something inside him shifted.

Put the cigarette away. Still unlit.

“I can get you out of here.”

It wasn’t a question.

Wasn’t a favor.

Whatever was behind it—intention, plan, trap, loyalty, betrayal—he didn’t say.

He just looked at you.

Steady.

Cold.

But somehow… magnetic.

He’d finally found someone he could drag into his messed-up world.

⸻

It’d only been two weeks since you got out of that hellhole you used to call home.

Fourteen days.

Felt like years.

Felt like you weren’t even the same person anymore.

Like your past was some half-remembered nightmare.

But maybe not.

Because the nightmare still clung to your skin.

The screams still snapped you awake at night.

The slaps still echoed in your ears.

And the weight of shattered furniture still sat heavy in your chest.

But at least you were in different four walls now.

And this time, no one was waiting behind the door.

At least… not yet.

That day, the sky was grey. Seongjae had found you a place.

An apartment. Quiet.

You hadn’t even drawn the curtains all the way.

The place wasn’t bad. Not for a restart.

You were sitting in silence when he came in.

Didn’t knock.

Just walked in like he owned the place.

Like he had a key.

Like he’d been living there for years.

He moved straight to the couch. Didn’t take his jacket off. Just dropped down and kicked his feet up on the table.

Pulled out his lighter. Took a cigarette. Lit it without saying a word.

Took a drag. Let the smoke spread through the room.

Still quiet.

You were sitting across from him.

Folded legs. Eyes fixed on him.

Waiting for something.

Anything.

Why was he here?

What did he want?

And as if he heard your thoughts, he finally spoke.

“Everything’s got a price. You know that, right?”

His voice was cold. Clear. Unapologetic.

You didn’t say anything. Your lips twitched. Eyes narrowed.

But no words came.

Because you knew.

No one—especially not someone like Seongjae—takes a girl off the streets out of kindness.

That place. That fake safety. That shelter that felt like it belonged to you…

It had a price tag.

He started talking.

Tilted the cigarette to the side. Flicked the ash off before it hit the carpet.

“There’s a crew. Union. More like… a system. We give people what they need. They keep their mouths shut.”

You dropped your gaze.

Listened, cautious.

He’d thrown his arm over the back of the couch now, like he was settling in.

“We steal bikes, phones, cars. Strip ‘em. Flip ‘em. Sell ‘em.

Then we steal ‘em back.”

He laughed.

“But that’s not the part that concerns you.”

“We hit up pharmacies. Morphine mostly. Fake IDs. Fake scripts.”

He paused.

The tip of his cigarette glowed faintly.

Then he looked at you.

“You’re clean. No record. No one’s ever seen your name in a file. And even if they did, they wouldn’t care.”

You lifted your head. Eyes wide. Mouth slightly open.

This… this was crime.

But he already knew you’d think that.

“If you’re scared, just say so.

But you owe me.

I saved your life.”

You didn’t answer.

You just nodded.

He looked away. Took one last drag. Then stood up.

“I’ll text you at 9 tomorrow. Be ready.”

And he left.

The door clicked shut.

And for the first time, the street outside felt brighter than the room you were in.

⸻

[09:00 AM]

S: Come downstairs.

You threw on a black oversized jacket. Gray sweats underneath.

Took your heart in your hand and walked down.

Every step felt like it peeled away a version of yourself.

You weren’t that girl from last night anymore.

He was already there.

Leaning against a wall.

Another one of his never-ending cigarettes in his hand.

Head slightly bowed, but his eyes found you the moment you opened the door.

He didn’t smile.

But his voice, sarcastic and dry as ever, cut through the morning chill.

“Sleep well, princess?”

Like this wasn’t a crime.

Like he was just offering a friend some breakfast.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t have to.

He handed you an envelope.

Inside—papers. Lots of them.

Typed. Handwritten. Mixed.

But all fake.

“These are prescriptions,” he said.

“All for different pharmacies. Spread out.

We need to hit all of them today.”

Then he pulled something else out.

An ID. Looked real. Too real.

Your photo.

But the name, birthday, birthplace—none of it was yours.

“You know what to do.”

You nodded slowly.

Your hands trembled slightly as you clutched the papers.

Your fingertips already sweating.

“Be done by six. I’ll send the location. Meet me there.”

He turned and walked away.

⸻

[06:14 PM]

It was evening. The sky had started to bleed red.

You’d hit the last four pharmacies. One by one.

Each one needed a different version of you.

Smile too much—suspicious.

Stay too quiet—suspicious again.

Today, you learned how to smile without using your face.

How to make eye contact without locking eyes.

And most importantly—

How to lie.

You made it to the location.

The metal door was already cracked open.

Seongjae was inside.

Sitting on a black leather couch like a throne.

He saw you the second you walked in.

Got up without a word.

You handed him the bag.

He checked everything.

Didn’t say a word.

No smile. No praise.

But he was clearly satisfied.

He took a step closer.

Raised his hand.

And ran his fingers through your hair.

But it wasn’t affection.

It was ownership.

The kind of touch that says good pet.

Like a master giving a trained animal its reward.

His hand pushed your hair back, palm resting lightly at the back of your head.

“Good girl… my little kitty. I knew I wouldn’t regret choosing you.”

His voice wasn’t warm or cold. But there was something in his tone that burned.

Maybe it was the absence of emotion.

Then he turned away. Placed the medicine next to the other documents.

And without looking back once, moved on to something else.

You thought you’d escaped.

But you’d just sunk deeper into the swamp.

⸻

The sidewalks were empty.

Aside from the soft rustle of fabric inside your coat, there was no sound with each step.

A grocery bag dangled from your hand — filled with discounted essentials, nothing more.

You were walking toward your tiny apartment. Your nose had turned red.

And when you turned the corner, you saw him.

His shirt was stained, jacket half open, eyes completely vacant.

He used to be the man you called “dad.”

But now even that word felt too noble for him.

Just a man. Just a curse.

His hand swung suddenly through the air.

“Ungrateful bitch!”

The slap cracked loud against your left cheek, jerking your head to the side.

A tin can dropped from the bag — its metal echoing as it hit the pavement.

Strands of hair fell over your cheek, hiding the burn,

but they couldn’t hide the fog in your eyes.

He was still yelling.

Disgusting alcohol stench laced his every word like vomit.

“I gave up everything for you! And you abandoned us? Walking around like you’re proud of it!?”

Then your mother appeared.

Hair a mess, eyes sunken deep.

She grabbed his arm — but when her gaze shifted to you, it carried a whole different kind of poison.

“You’re still alive?”

“How do you even make money like this?”

“What are you doing? Selling your body now?”

Those weren’t words.

They were bullets.

They lodged in your throat. Tied up your tongue.

You didn’t answer.

You just stood there.

Then turned away.

Grabbed the grocery bag again.

Didn’t even wipe the sauce on your fingers from the dropped can.

They were still screaming.

Still cursing you.

Your eyes were bloodshot.

⸻

When you opened the door, the lights inside were on.

The TV blared a loud action scene — someone hitting the ground, others shouting.

But what mattered most was this:

Seongjae was there.

Sprawled out on the couch.

Feet on the coffee table, black sweatshirt on.

One leg bent at the knee, the other stretched.

A cigarette in one hand. The remote in the other.

Even after seeing you, he didn’t look away from the screen.

You took off your shoes. Walked to the counter quietly.

Placed the bag down.

You walked over to Seongjae. Slowly. But with a hidden hunger.

Not for approval.

Just… for a place.

A place where you wouldn’t fall apart.

You stood there for a while.

Then he spoke — eyes still on the TV.

His voice was mocking, but low. Like he’d just woken up.

“Want me to kill them?”

“…What?”

He turned his head.

Looked straight at you.

“I saw how they treated you.

The slap.

That woman’s disgusting stare.

The filth that came out of her mouth.

I saw everything.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips.

He pulled his feet off the table.

Still seated, but more upright now.

“Come here.”

It sounded like a command. But he didn’t shout.

He didn’t need to.

He knew you’d come.

And you did.

You knelt before him.

Head lowered — not just downward, but toward him.

He lifted your chin. His hand at the back of your neck, gently guiding you to rest your head on his knee.

He started stroking your hair.

But it wasn’t a lover’s touch.

It was the way an owner pets their cat — not out of love, but control.

His fingers moved through your hair.

The tips of his nails occasionally pressed into your scalp.

Not to soothe — but to remind.

Of your place.

Your role.

After a while, his hand paused.

His fingers gripped your chin.

Lifted your face up to his.

Your eyes were brimming.

But he was unfazed.

In fact, he liked it.

“I’ll kill them.”

“…But in return…”

He didn’t finish.

His gaze roamed your face.

The line of your nose.

The curve of your lips.

The shadows beneath your eyes.

You were beautiful.

“…I’ll think about it,” he said at last.

Then stood up.

Headed for the door.

Leaving behind a cold night.

You were still on your knees.

His scent in your hair.

His fingerprint on the corner of your lip.

You didn't want him to go.

⸻

It was evening.

Pharmacy bags hung from your fingers — heavy not like plastic, but like weapons.

Each from a different store. Different clerk. Different barcode.

But the contents were all the same.

All for him.

Your steps were hesitant, but by now, you were used to it.

When you got off the bus, you saw it across the street — a bowling alley, its neon sign dim and flickering.

The glass door glowed with purple and red lights from inside.

The sound of pins and laughter spilled out into the night.

You pushed the door open.

The heat, the perfume, the sweat — all of it hit you in the face.

You flinched for a second.

Then erased it.

Because he was there.

Leaning against a column by the entrance.

Black T-shirt clinging to him.

Hair slightly tousled.

He wasn’t smoking this time.

But that smug smirk still clung to the edge of his mouth.

His eyes scanned you from head to toe.

He saw the bags.

Said nothing.

Just turned and nodded for you to follow.

You did.

Without asking anything.

You walked past the lanes.

A few teens laughed, bent to throw bowling balls.

At the back, he stopped at a nondescript door.

Pulled out a key.

Unlocked it.

An office.

Leather couch in the corner.

Desk with files stacked in the back.

And a safe.

He shut the door behind you.

You handed him the bags.

He took them.

Moved to the safe behind the desk.

Opened it.

Placed each item carefully inside.

Locked it.

When he turned around, you were still standing there, exactly the same.

He walked up.

Silently.

Stood right in front of you.

Placed his palms on either side of your face.

His fingertips brushed your cheeks.

Tilted your face up slightly.

He stared for a moment.

At the paleness.

The faint bruises underneath.

“Are the scars gone?”

His voice was barely a whisper, but it carried weight.

As if your answer might decide whether you lived or died.

You nodded.

Didn’t say a word.

Seongjae narrowed his gaze.

Suspicious.

Lowered his hand slowly — like he was disgusted.

“Take your top off.”

You flinched a little.

But didn’t step back.

Just stood there.

Tried to say something — but no sound came out.

He didn’t give you time.

Stepped in.

Closed the distance.

Lifted the hem of your sweatshirt.

You looked away.

Arms dropped to your sides.

Like resistance would only make it worse.

Once it was off, the cold bit deep.

His eyes scanned your body.

He walked around you.

When he saw your back, his brows furrowed.

The belt and smoke marks were still there.

Some red. Some yellowing.

But all visible.

He reached out.

Traced them with his fingers.

Pressed lightly.

You flinched.

Your shoulders tightened.

But you made no sound.

The pain… pleased him.

Seongjae stared a moment longer.

Then smiled.

“Even with all these scars… you’ve got a perfect body.”

It sounded like a compliment.

But it wasn’t.

It was a claim.

A filthy kind of ownership.

His eyes gleamed.

He paused.

Slid a hand around your waist.

Caressed it.

“Have you ever slept with anyone before?”

The air in the room thinned.

Your body froze.

You hadn’t expected that.

Your lips parted.

But your voice stuck in your throat.

And then—

The phone rang.

Unknown Caller.

Your hand trembled.

Eyes locked on the screen.

“Answer it.”

A command.

You hesitated.

But your fingers moved like they weren’t even yours.

You lifted the phone to your ear.

“Hello. Good evening,” said the voice — formal and cold.

“We’re contacting you for the identification of two recently recovered unidentified bodies. You have been scheduled for a viewing at the forensic center. Your appointment has been confirmed in the system.”

Your entire world stopped.

Your throat dried up.

Your eyes found Seongjae.

He stood there — hunched slightly, hands in his pockets.

And that familiar, wicked grin spreading across his face.

“Hang up.”

You did.

Hands still trembling.

He tossed your shirt back to you.

“I told you I’d kill them, didn’t I, kitty? I keep my promises.”

You stood still.

For a few seconds.

Right by the door.

Then you walked out.

He followed.

⸻

[Forensics Center]

An attendant checked your ID.

Just nodded.

Then gestured to the corridor.

“Identification room… third door. You’ll go in alone.”

You nodded.

Your steps dragged.

Each one heavier than the last.

When you reached the door, you took a deep breath.

Inside, the lights were dim.

Two bodies under white sheets rested on cold metal tables.

The attendant stood silently in the corner.

You approached.

Slowly.

The sheets were pulled back.

One.

Then the other.

The faces—

Familiar.

And yet now, forever strangers.

⸻

The cold door clicked shut behind you.

Your trembling fingers were still clenched around the phone in your pocket.

You kept trying to scrub what you saw out of your brain—

But it wouldn’t go.

Your eyes automatically found the black car waiting by the road.

A silhouette inside.

Hand resting out the open window—

Seongjae.

The engine was on.

Radio was off.

You walked.

Opened the door.

Slid in without a word.

Closed it softly.

Folded your hands in your lap—

But your fingers were still shaking.

The hum of the engine deepened.

The car began to move.

Seongjae didn’t speak at first.

But he glanced at you from the corner of his eye.

You were shaking.

You were in pain.

And he didn’t care.

He liked you like this.

Minutes passed.

Streets changed.

Lights faded.

Finally, he was the one to break the silence—

On his own terms:

“You happy now?”

There was no curiosity in his tone.

No concern.

You didn’t answer.

Didn’t turn your head.

Just kept staring out the window—

At the dark city.

The night.

Seongjae chuckled quietly.

“Just like I thought…” he said.

Then poured every drop of poison into his words:

“Do you know how easy it is to control someone like you?”

You turned your head toward him.

But he didn’t take his hands off the wheel.

He just kept talking.

“Alone… unloved… starving for touch… desperate for a kind word.”

He smiled.

But it wasn’t warm.

It was the kind of smile a kid gives when they’re playing with a broken toy—

And you were the toy.

“Maybe you call yourself ‘strong.’”

He shrugged.

“But when you do everything I ask…

when you clench your teeth just to stop from crying…

seeing how helpless you really are—

That’s when I love you the most.”

You lowered your head.

Held yourself together.

The car stopped.

Smoothly, without a jolt.

You lifted your eyes.

This place…

Your old home.

The house your parents used to live in.

The place you grew up.

Now empty.

Seongjae turned the key, killing the engine.

But before you could get out, he dropped one more line behind you.

Turned his head.

Looked you straight in the eye.

His lips curled into something almost tender—

But filled with venom.

“You’ve got no one left but me now… kitty~ Better watch your step.”

[wilwheaton]

Imagine if instead of imposing LIBERATION DAY tariffs, then shifting from a trade war with the whole world to a trade war focused more specifically on China, Trump had done the thing he actually talked about on the campaign trail: 10 percent across the board tariffs on every country. It would have sucked and been stupid. It would have been a magnet for corruption. And to the extent that Trump proceeded corruptly, as he is doing now—offering exemptions to friends and bribers—it would have tested global faith in American trustworthiness. But, for the most part, I suspect the world would have absorbed the blow and hoped for a reprieve in four years. We would have drifted into recession, maybe a deep and long one, but eventually climbed out of it. Trump’s numbers would have dropped steadily. Democrats would have had to decide whether and how to offer relief. It would have been a self-inflicted wound, but a survivable and reversible one. What Trump’s done instead has ramifications far beyond its regressive fiscal impact and the coming blow to aggregate demand. It needs to be stopped not because of the economic harm it will bring to seniors, but because it’s anathema to national values, and threatens to end the American age. We aren’t a mafia state. We don’t have dictators in America, and if anyone tests that principle, we align to stop it, not to make life under it a little less painful.

It's The Tyranny, Stupid - by Brian Beutler - Off Message

[lily-bisque]

part 6 — cherry flavored ៹ series m.list

you were convinced you died and were reborn in eternal damnation because there was absolutely no fucking way you were where you were right now.

just moments ago, sunlight filtered in from your window blinds past your drapes, casting a golden hue on your somnolent figure. your lashes fluttered open, lifting a hand to shield your eyes from the rays and groaning.

grabbing your satin pillow, you shoved it atop your head in an attempt to return to your slumber but then the sound of... heaving (?)  entered your ears.

pathetically sliding the plush pillow from your head and disrupting any semblance of sanctuary you attempted to create, you lifted it to ensure you heard correctly.

yup. someone was in your bathroom and making obscene noises.

glancing at the time, you realized that it was well past noon and you were surprised that you'd slept in so late. dragging yourself from your bed with heavy limbs, you padded out of your bedroom with a stifled yawn and rubbed the sleep from your eyes, adjusting your shorts and graphic tee.

you wondered how much your brother managed to drink after a shift and somehow miss his bathroom in a daze and make a mess of yours. when he recovered you were going to make him scrub every inch 'till it shined.

however, what you didn't expect was to run into an unfortunately familiar mess of unruly pink hair and thick bold lines running across a muscular bareback frame hunched over your toilet.

"...sukuna?"

the sound of retching echoed in the bathroom, his large form bowing and emptying his innards. you scowled a deep displeasure, scrunching your nose from the foul smell.

an incoherent mumble left his lip as he waved a dismissive hand, signaling you to shut the door which you did immediately.

god, how did you forget that he'd crashed on the couch last night?

running a hand down your cheek, you headed to the kitchen, propping open the fridge to grab a gatorade and some bread before shutting it.

the reflection in the steel stared jarringly back at you and the woeful image made you twitch in recognition slightly.

just a little over three months ago, this was the exact same place where sukuna had taken a piece of your innocence. a piece of your dignity. and a piece of your heart.

it'd be stupid to diminish the fact that you had the most overwhelming crush on him for ages as it was a large part of your relationship. anytime your brother made a stupid joke, your gaze would flicker over to sukuna as you laughed to see him grunt in response, the faintest bit of humor coloring his expression.

you couldn't help yourself. he was a ridiculously attractive guy with a mysterious persona despite the fact that he was always around. didn't talk too much and when he did, it was like music to your ears. he had a mellifluous, intimate tone, husky whenever he'd make conversation that drew you in like a magnet.

maybe you were just be an impressionable young girl but the hope that one day he'd see you the way you saw him always lingered in the recesses of your mind. although, the moment that naive hope turned to fruition, it'd been diminished just as quickly.

ripping your gaze from the stainless steel fridge, you felt your eyes pricking with tears that you immediately blinked back. what use was it being hurt by that right now when he had no genuine care for your feelings in any instance? even when he apologized, whose to tell it wasn't coming from a selfish place? it was useless to pine after someone like that.

sorting through your medicine cabinet, you landed on some electrolytes and hangover cures to bring over to him. gathering the supplies you procured, you headed back towards your bathroom and prepared yourself for the smell, a miffed expression already coloring you before your senses caught onto anything.

stepping in, you realized he'd done you the favor, or most likely himself, of propping a window open, no remaining scent of vomit. he was splayed across the side of your bathtub, his bare back resting on the chill of the porcelain with his forearm drapped across his eyes while flushing the toilet.

a concerned cringe crossed your face as you leaned down to push the beverage you'd scavenged for on his lap, immaturely avoiding making skin-to-skin contact with him. lifting his forearm from his eyes, he tilted his head down to meet your gaze, the lingering hangover etched into tight lines across his face to match his face tattoos.

"had quite the night, huh?" you poked, dropping the medicine and plastic covered loaf on the counter and grabbing your toothbrush.

"fuck, i don't even remember half of last night," he grumbled, twisting open the cap to his gatorade.

your head snapped over to him, mouth agape and toothbrush nearly falling out. he doesn't remember...?

"relax. i remember our conversation," he assured, a glint of mishief in his eyes at your surprise.

you scoffed, turning back to your reflection and scrubbing the toothbrush against your teeth harder, toothpaste forming at the seams of your lips. "as if i cared," you mumbled between swipes.

"right," he nodded, leaning up to grab the hangover cure bottle to toss back in a gulp then groaning. "fuck, how old is this thing?"

grinning, you spit up the toothpaste and rinsed your mouth out. "funny. i forgot to check," you giggled, grabbing your facial headband and pushing your hair out of your face.

"fuck is that?" sukuna grumbled with the bitter taste gnawing at his tongue, pushing his disheveled hair from his forehead.

"helps me wash my face," you replied, pumping your cleanser onto your hand and scrubbing your cheeks.

sukuna watched you work in fascination masked with indifference, his eyes tracing your jawline, the butt of your chin, the plush of your lips, the arch of your nose, the flutter of your lashes—it was like you were moving in slow motion.

the domesticity of it all had your heart flutter in the slightest, a bit uneasy with his crimson irises staking you out and gathering an audience. he was seeing a part of you he'd never been privy to. the man was enthralled with every action you made, the way your small hands—small in comparison to his at least—rubbed along your bare skin and the teasing curl of your lip throughout it made his stomach nearly drop.

fuck, how did you look so cute simply washing your face?

he shook his head from his intruding thoughts, seeing you tilt your head in confusion at his change in demeanor.

"weird," he muttered, lying to himself and fumbling with the cap of his beverage.

rolling your eyes, you splashed the cold water on your face and got rid of any leftover suds before finishing up the rest of your skincare. "where on earth is my brother?" you finally questioned, patting moisturizer onto your cheeks.

"the dumbass is volunteering at the food shelter."

turning to look at sukuna, your face was wired in utter confusion. "dumbass why...?"

"because he was my ride back," he shot back, nearly whining while he did so.

you had to turn away to mask the humor teasing your lips. how did such a formidable fortress of a man manage to look so childish sometimes?

"well, good luck with that," you nodded, stepping out of the bathroom. you turned back to comment one last thing as it popped in your mind. "uh, sukuna?"

from the floor with a bleary gaze, he turned to match your eyes with an arched brow, humming in response.

you fiddled with your fingers, wondering if you should even strike up this conversation. was it your incessant curious nature prickling the back of your neck ever since it happened or that same feeling you've shoved away thanks to sukuna's lack of good character?

inhaling, you steeled your nerves and decided to trek on this path anyway. what harm could really be done? "what happened with you and hana yesterday?"

his head cocked to the side, tracing the rim of his bottle neck mindlessly as he watched you, genuine wonder brewing in his eyes as he asked, "who's that?"

your eyebrows damn near hit your hairline as you released a stunned laugh, scanning sukuna's blank expression. "you're not serious, right?"

all you received as a couple of empty blinks, waiting for you to continue as if the answer was obvious.

"you're not helping your case," you muttered, mostly to yourself. "the girl you were all over last night before she slapped you."

shit. the reminder made sukuna grimace, turning away from you as if the memory was physically paining him. "fuck. i forgot about that."

"no way, captain obvious," you enunciated, tone as cold as ice.

sukuna rose to his feet, his socks shuffling against the cold tiles as he splashed water over his face and gargled water before turning to you, leaning against the counter.

he looked to be deep in thought, considering his next choice of words as you crossed your arms, an expectant look on your face.

"she got pissed cause i said another girl's name on accident," he sighed out casually, as if it wasn't the most scandalous piece of information you'd heard in ages.

your jaw fell slack, eyes wide as you processed what he'd just said before a snort left your mouth, immediately smacking your hand over your mouth. "you did what?" you giggled through your parted fingers.

the brute of a man scowled, grabbing his bearings—that looked extremely small in his grasp—and making his way past you. "yeah yeah, laugh all you fuckin' want," he grouched, the irritation clear as day on his face.

"oh i will," you beamed, attempting to match his long strides and peering up at him. "i'm gonna have a fucking field day with this," you giggled out.

his garnet irises flickered down at you, feeling his pulse quicken. there it was. that smile.

"why'd she come over to me though?" you questioned, leaning against the counter.

sukuna shoved his hands in his pockets, "what're you talking about?"

"i dunno, it was weird," you explained, squeezing your bicep as you recalled the moment. "she told me to 'go get my man' before running out. any clue what the fuck that means?"

sukuna inhaled sharply, trying his absolute best to veil his understanding as his fists balled in his pockets. "no clue. she was drunk as fuck at that point, though," he said, plain as day.

"should i be concerned?" you twisted in disgust.

"nah. if anything, she came onto me," he grit out, his teeth clenching. why was he even discussing this with you? fuck.

he plopped down at the kitchen island, tearing open the wrapper securing the loaf of bread and biting into a slice. "got a spare toothbrush?" he quiered, his voice muffled.

however, you were on cloud nine suddenly as you brushed off the girls comment and focused on what was important, sukuna's ridicule. you were nearly bouncing off the walls with the newly found gossip that made sukuna's life just a little bit more miserable and missing anything that was coming from his lips. "and she fucking slapped you, man. that had to have hurt," you jeered at the thought, keeling over from how hard your stomach muscles were contracting due to your boisterous laugh.

though sukuna didn't want to admit it, he enjoyed seeing you genuinely smile. even if he was the butt of the joke. he eyed the crease of your eyelids when your smile reached your eyes, tears streaming down the seams and cascading down the apple's of your cheeks when the situation became too comical.

he enjoyed the way you paraded around when you were having a good time, you had to be bouncing on your feet and holding your stomach when it hurt too bad.

he's absolutely dumbfounded as to how he's been blessed with such a situation once again. to be sitting in your apartment and for the tension to not be palpable.

to not be worrying about the fact that he hurt you, or the fact that the two of you may never speak to one another again.

it gave him an undeserved hope, a quiet longing, to continue to be around you.

maybe this was the last time the stars would align in his favor when it came to you. his best friend's little sister who managed to stick out of the crowd.

what is he even thinking? was this his lust talking?

no, it couldn't be. he'd gotten his dick wet plenty enough ever since that night but no one had him spun like a wind-up toy like you did.

this was something more. he wasn't sure if he wanted to pose such a possibility, something he'd pushed down for quite some time and felt it rising to a feverous temperature.

he liked to be around you. he liked to hear you talk about literally anything, liked to hear you laugh even at him, liked to see you smile.

at the realization, he could feel his hands turn clammy, the bile in his throat salting his tongue and his skin paling.

"earth to sukuna, helloooooo," you drawled out, snapping your fingers in front of his face.

"huh?" he paused his racing thoughts to meet your gaze.

you sighed, stepping over to the stove and setting the kettle up to make yourself tea. "i asked you a question."

"oh, yeah. sorry. what'd you ask?"

peering over your shoulder, you furrowed your brows and stared at him. "who was the girl?"

"what? what girl?"

"god, you are on a roll today, sukuna," you said, impatient, tossing a teabag into your mug.

he huffed, picking at the bread he was holding. "what the fuck are you even talking about?"

"i'm talking about the girl you've been depressed over or whatever. the name you'd managed to utter while kissing another girl, the girl that turned you into the certified hardened asshole you are," you clarified, sliding your hands into your shorts pockets.

it was like the pieces of the puzzle were slowly being connected, the bigger picture almost being displayed.

sukuna was an asshole around girls, it was a known fact. a known player. though, you never really stumbled upon the matter of why. why did he treat girl's like shit, time and time again?

after hearing the news of last night, it made somewhat of sense. though it wasn't justification for his actions or an excuse, it was a reason. maybe a lifetime ago, he'd had his heart broken by a girl that made him stone cold.

in a way, it humanized him for you. made him look somewhat... pitiful. he was a man who didn't know how to properly control his emotions and resorted to untimely, undeserved outbursts, way too many one night stands and even more substace abuse. the guy had it bad.

possibly one day, in the very far away future, you'd set aside your pettiness and offer him a shoulder to lean on, but for now all you would do was give it to him straight as he stared at you dumbfounded while you held a smirk that looked like you'd had him all figured out.

"honestly," you said, hearing the kettle reach a boiling point with a whistling noise and turning to pour it into your mug, multi-tasking. "you should figure out whatever feelings you've managed to bury about this girl. the shit you're doing now," you cocked your head and frowned, bringing the mug up to your lips. "it's not healthy."

sukuna opened his mouth to reply, but no words came out. for one, how on earth did he manage to put himself in the position where the one girl who was the source of his issues was lecturing him about his love life, all while being blissfully unaware of the fact that you were the sole entity plaguing his mind.

"i'm right, aren't i?" you simpered after a sip that nearly scalded your tongue. "i'm only saying this as a girl that's been victim of your crimes. you really gotta sort yourself out. this new disheveled, emotional baggage, grump-a-thon look you've got going on? not working in your favor."

sukuna huffed, a bark of laughter leaving his lips despite his unrelenting nerves, shoving aside your comments. "really? and what about my look isn't to your liking?"

you choked on a sip, setting your glass down and averting your gaze, your cheeks heating from his allusive comment. "wouldn't you like to know?"

rising from his seat, he made his way around the island to loom over you. he crossed his arms over his chest, an all-too serious expression masking his face. "yeah," he replied, voice an octave lower than it had been just moments ago. "i would."

your arms tensed up, shuffling backwards until the small of your back hit the edge of the counter, a yelp leaving your lips. he continued sizing you up, the feeling of being a caged animal all too evident.

before you could even attempt to formulate a response, the door swung open, both of your heads flying towards the sound.

your brother padded in, sliding his coat off and shuffling his shoes off while he made his way in, rescuing you from your demise.

sukuna took a few steps back from you, as if he hadn't been damn near crawling upon you seconds ago, making you scoff at his cowardice. what a man.

"christ, you're still here?" your brother shot at sukuna, setting his briefcase upon the kitchen counter.

sukuna rolled his eyes. "just leaving," he grunted, already making his way out of the kitchen.

your brother arched a brow, following his retreating figure. "don't forget the banquet tomorrow!"

another grunt in response.

"what's up his ass today?" your brother asked, making himself comfortable on a stool.

"when is something not up his ass?" you teased, making him a cup of tea as well. "also, what banquet are you guys talking about?"

"thanks," he said, sliding the mug to himself, before explaining. apparently, there was a banquet being hosted by your brother's job site, offering an array of internship opportunites for students. your brother managed to land sukuna a spot, and he could meet with ton's of corporate bosses or people looking to invest in sukuna.

you'd known his major had been business, alongside your brother, but you'd heard mentions of his interest in the food business. that was all the knowledge you had.

"problem is," your brother said, biting into his leftover lunch, a caprese sandwich. "he needs to find a plus one by tomorrow."

you tilted your head, propping your elbows on the counter. "why would he need a plus-one?"

"it looks good, so they say. a lot of these guys in the business are traditionalist assholes, so when they see a guy sporting a hot chick on their arm, they think the guy's trustworthy, worth investing in."

you nodded, your eyes squinting. "ya' know, men and logic really don't intermix," you teased, poking your brother's arm.

he sighed, dragging a hand through his hair. "thank god i could land a date, i thought i'd have to start groveling." he bit his lip, still looking concerned. "i've got no idea what sukuna's gonna do, honestly. i just told him this morning before i left."

speak of the devil, he paced his way back into the room from your bathroom with a towel slung across his waist and a toothbrush in his mouth. fuck, he raided your stash of fancy toothbrushes.

"what're you two thinkin' about so hard?" he mumbled through toothpaste, stepping past you to shuffle through a cabinet and pulling the blender out.

"just about how you're screwed for the banquet," you jeered, doing everything humanly possible not to admire the way the water cascaded down every ridge and crevice of his prominent abs. you were slightly concerned as to how he took a shower so quickly, and how he felt so comfortable using your shower, obviously acquainted with your shower controls. 

"like hell i am," he pushed back, grabbing a container of protein powder. the proximity between the two of you had a flush creeping up the back of your neck to warm your cheeks.

"oh really? so humor me, then. who's your hot date?" you chaffed back, eager for his reply despite the lack of distance from his wet form.

he bit the inside of his cheek, an annoyed smirk on his face as you cornered him, slowly bobbing his head as he accepted his fate. "think you know fuckin' everything," he muttered, scooping out powder into the blender.

you beamed in victory, turning back to your brother who seemed to be deep in thought. he then snapped his fingers, a lightbulb and font spelling out EUREKA! practically forming at the top of his head. "i've got it."

sukuna and you exchanged a glance, before turning back to him and replying in unison, "got what?"

"your date! i got it figured out. you," he said, pointing to you, "can be his fake chick."

your eyes widened at the propisition, a dumbfounded laugh leaving your lips. "hold up, what?"

"it's perfect! this guy is hopeless when it comes to romantics and you know him well enough to pass as a partner. though, some might question it if you two aren't romantic..." he trailed off, rubbing his chin in thought.

another look was exchanged with sukuna, this one absolutely palpable with tension. your brother had zero idea of the things that went down between the two of you, so his solution was coming from a place of innocence.

but you and sukuna? attending a banquet together and pretending to be a couple? no way in hell was that happening.

"funny," you teased, a drawn out laugh leaving your lips that had the two men pass a confused glance in your direction. "you're kidding, right?"

"oh, i'm dead serious. c'mon, sis. i know you aren't getting anything out of this but-"

"but what? i am quite literally getting nothing out of this. it's not my problem, not my solution," you shrugged, folding your arms over your chest as you put up a defensive stance.

sukuna stayed quiet, shuffling where he stood. he didn't want to make you uncomfortable with the concept of pretending to even stomach him for a night, nonetheless dressing up and putting on a show for an audience. it wouldn't be fair to you.

however, he did like the idea of the proximity for an evening. to see you dolled up for him, not actually for him but sort of, and with your arm slung around his, sending faux looks of love in his direction.

is he crazy to imagine it? all whilst not understanding why he wanted this so badly? possibly.

"i'll do anything," he blurted out, shocked at himself for his honesty.

you and your brother cast him a strange look, then exchanged said strange look before you replied. "huh?"

"sorry. didn't mean for it to sound... i mean, i really need this. i'll pay you back however, whatever you need," he stammered out and you swear that the sukuna you know is tied up somewhere else and this was a doppelganger, and not quite literally begging you right now.

"...anything?" you asked, biting your lip in thought.

"anything." he parroted, his tone final.

the possibility of ryomen sukuna being indebted to you made your heart skip a beat... with malice. you hated the guys guts honestly but knowing that a free evening of yours could turn into profit by being eye-candy, you'd be crazy to turn it down.

"fuck it. let's do it."

and the deal was done. you were ryomen sukuna's date tomorrow night. with fine print reading the terms and conditions, but nonetheless, it was happening.

៹ next part

taglist (open—ask to be added or removed): @poopooindamouf @yuaisen @ariskywlkr @sukubusss @your-mum3000 @noooo-onee @simpforyoubitch @emoedgylord @gojosatorusprettyprincess @nappingmoon @simplyraeblue @i7ghoul @notasimp56785 @sleepybunnysub @emmenic726 @00frenchfries00 @p1nkfl0wers @waterfal-ling @zeunys

[starsinthesky5]

need a blurb of songbirds bestie and joe fighting for her attention/love

a/n: we’ll dive deeper into her and her best friends dynamic in the fics! but here’s a little blurb

───────⋆⋅☆⋅⋆───────

“so, who loves you more?” her best friend asked dramatically, flopping across her lap on the couch like she was auditioning for a romcom. “me, who’s known you since you wore butterfly clips and sang britney spears at recess? or your quarterback over there who thinks a grand romantic gesture is letting you pick the movie and the snacks?”.

“hey,” joe called from the kitchen, scoffing as he opened the fridge. “i made her that confectioner's popcorn from disney last week. from scratch,”.

“you mean, you hit the button on the air popper and threw some m&m’s in?” her bestie fired back with a grin.

joe sauntered over, two waters in hand—one of which he passed to her with a low, “hydration, baby,” and a smirk that made her stomach flip. he leaned down, kissed her temple, and shot her bestie a look. “who holds her when she can’t sleep? who drives to three different stores because she’s craving that specific type of sourdough bread?”

“who plucked her eyebrows before her first date with you?” her best friend snapped, lifting her chin. “who held her hair while she cried over you that one time you forgot her birthday week started two days early?.”

joe winced. “low blow,”.

she giggled, head dropping against joe’s side while her best friend playfully clutched her hand. “he doesn’t deserve you,” she whispered loudly. “you’re radiant. powerful. glittery. too good for football,”.

joe narrowed his eyes. “she literally watched all 22 of my throws last week and called out the coverage shifts,”.

“because she’s smart,” her bestie deadpanned. “you’re just pretty,”.

joe raised a brow. “so are you. so is she,”.

“thank you,” her best friend beamed, before turning back to her with a pout. “but seriously—if i wore pads and a helmet, would you love me more?”.

“you’re ridiculous. both of you,” she laughed, head shaking as they each clung to her like human magnets.

“and yet,” her best friend said sweetly, “you love it. you love us fighting for you,”.

joe’s hand was already sliding to her waist. “yeah, well,” he murmured low in her ear, “she loves me more,”. before she could react, joe tugged her gently up and away from the couch, his fingers laced with hers, leading her toward the hallway with a knowing smirk.

“excuse me—, where are you stealing her to?” her best friend called after them, mock-offended.

“five minutes,” joe called back over his shoulder. “she’s gotta give the boyfriend some attention. for balance,”.

she squealed when he pulled her into the hallway alcove, her back hitting the wall with a soft thud, his broad frame caging her in. he leaned down, voice a low, teasing rumble against her mouth.

“she gets you all day,” joe murmured, nosing at her jaw, lips brushing her skin. “i get you like this,”.

and then he kissed her—slow, deep, and possessive. the kind of kiss meant to be remembered. his hand curled around her jaw, the other sliding just beneath her shirt at her waist, skin on skin. she whimpered, melting against him, fingers clutching the front of his hoodie like it was the only thing holding her up.

he pulled back just enough to whisper against her mouth, “you think she heard that little noise you just made?”.

her breath hitched. “joe…,”.

“mmhm. that’s what i thought,” he grinned, kissed her again, and then smoothed her hair down like nothing had happened.

they returned to the living room like that—her a little flushed, joe smug as hell—while her best friend narrowed her eyes.

“really?” she asked dryly. “you made out in the hallway while i was picking a movie?”.

joe just flopped onto the couch and pulled her into his lap. “you had her all afternoon. fair’s fair,”.

her best friend huffed. “you’re lucky she loves you,”.

“i know,” joe said, grinning against her shoulder.

[choerypetal]

Mon amour / Gambit

summary: a little prompt, of gambit loml who is a brat when it comes to love, after a hards day at work. (also the deadpool hyperfixation is REAL y'all this movie was so good)

ps ; english isn't my first language so i apologize for grammar errors.

enjoy!

“Merde,” 

Gambit's voice echoes in the recesses of your mind, a hauntingly familiar presence. You hear his distinct footsteps approaching, drawing your attention away from whatever occupied you. Gambit, indifferent to your preoccupation, lets out a sigh as he leans in close, his voice a seductive purr, "Mon amour."

He craved attention, no doubt about it, which brought a smirk to your lips. Your eyes stayed fixed on the book you were reading, resisting the distraction of whatever scheme Remy had concocted. But it was obvious—today, he wanted you all to himself. His hands, bloodied and crusted with remnants of his victims, spoke of a hard-fought battle. Growing impatient with your silent treatment, a slight edge of frustration in his voice, he murmured, "Why ignore such beauty?" 

You scoffed, a smirk tugging at the corners of your lips. How thoughtful, you mused, leaning back to meet his gaze. With a pout, you sighed, "Pity," pausing briefly. Remy 1, You 0, he mused with a matching scoff. Rolling your eyes, you continued, "I was going to offer to help you clean up, but..."

"Oh sweetheart, you know you've already lost the bet." You knew it too, of course. Even as you wanted to silence him, you couldn't help but admire and love him. His fingers lightly caressed your waist, tempting you to melt into his embrace. After all, you were his. Undeniably. 

Closing your book, you swiftly tucked it aside and turned to face him, your gaze challenging. You noticed his lips curving into a smirk. "But what?" he asked, his eyes never leaving you, his fingers trailing from your waist to your chin, holding you captive. "But maybe instead... we can still have a little bit of fun?" After a moment of silence, your lips formed into a pout once more. "Pretty please..." Your sweet voice, so magnetic to him, drove him mad as he leaned in, his lips craving yours. “And then after… I can clean us up.” 

Oh, he loved the idea—every bit of it. His purr turned into a heavier groan as his fingers gently gripped your chin. "Oui, ma chérie, I am all yours." When you stood up, wiggling your hips with your hands intertwined with his, Remy's hand delivered a swift, delectable slap to your arse, and he followed you like a lost puppy.

[uses-for-fics]

I’m Yours | Manny Rivera

ft Jack Griffin

YN had been heading to the art room to grab some supplies for a class project. Her students are working on creating a skeletal system out of construction paper, combining biology with hands-on creativity.

As YN rummaged through the art room shelves, she heard a voice behind her. “Need any help?”

Startled, she spinned around to see Manny, a warm smile on his face. Without missing a beat, she blurts, “If I’d known the school board was visiting today, I wouldn’t have left the kids in charge of the classroom!”

Manny raised an eyebrow, chuckling nervously. "Wait… they’re not actually alone, are they?"

She grinned and shook her head. "Relax, they’re at recess. Mr. Gregory offered to watch my class while I grabbed the supplies."

Manny lets out a relieved laugh and glances at the stack of construction paper and glue sticks in her arms. "Need some help with that?"

"Sure," YN replies with a smile, and Manny grabs a few supplies to lighten her load. As they walk back to her classroom, they fall into easy conversation. Manny teases her about her creative lesson plans, and the topic shifts to their dinner plans for that evening.

“I’m excited for tonight,” Manny says, his tone warm. “You’ve been opening up more, and I’m really glad you’re letting me into your space.”

YN smiles softly. “Thanks for being patient with me. It means a lot. You don’t mind taking it slow?”

“Not at all,” he replies sincerely. As they approached her classroom door, YN hesitated, a playful smile tugging at her lips. “Would it be wildly inappropriate if I kissed you at school?”

Manny grins, then gently lifts her hand to his lips, placing a light kiss on it. “How about this for now?” he says, his voice low and affectionate.

YN blushes, their connection palpable even in the brief moment. She opens the door, and they part ways as she prepares to dive back into teaching, already looking forward to the evening ahead.

Later that evening, YN and Manny are enjoying a cozy dinner at her house. The conversation flows easily, with YN recounting her day at school while Manny listens attentively. She giggles as she tells him about a student who glued the construction paper bones to his face instead of the paper skeleton. "But," she laughs, "he got all the bones in the right place, so I gave him a B+ for effort."

Manny chuckles, shaking his head. "That’s one creative way to learn anatomy." As he reaches across the table to hold her hand, YN moves to take his hand in hers but accidentally knocks over his glass of water, spilling it all over his shirt.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry!” she says, jumping up.

“It’s fine,” Manny reassures her, laughing.

“I think I have an oversized tee somewhere,” she says, heading toward her bedroom. "You can change into that." Manny follows her, amused by her flustered energy. While YN rummages through her dresser, she waves toward the closet. “Feel free to look in there if you want to see if anything works for you.”

As she’s searching, Manny calls out, “Hey, I didn’t know you were a cardigan person! This one’s really comfy!” She turns to see him standing shirtless, wearing an old burgundy cardigan that’s clearly a size too big for her. Manny’s grinning, doing a little spin. “Wow, it even fits me!”

YN stares for a moment before rushing over. “Oh no, Manny, not that one. You shouldn’t wear that.”

Feigning offense, he asks, “What, does it look bad on me?”

She sighs, sitting on the edge of her bed. “It’s not that… It was my ex-boyfriend’s. I forgot I even had it.” Manny immediately softens, sitting beside her and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “Want to talk about it?”

She hesitates, then begins to open up. “His name was Jack Griffin. We worked at the same school in Toledo. I taught biology, and he taught AP Bio. He was brash, cynical… and, well, magnetic. It was one of those fiery, all-consuming relationships, but it just wasn’t healthy. He was too controlling, too cynical about everything, and he wanted to move faster than I was ready for. I had to end it. He tried to play it off like it was mutual so he could save face, but…” Her voice trails off, and she shakes her head, embarrassed. “Sorry, I’m saying way too much.”

Manny rubs her shoulder gently. “It’s okay. I’m glad you’re comfortable enough to tell me. That stuff’s important.” He stands up and removes the cardigan, setting it aside. Spotting an oversized tee with a Paddy’s Pub logo, he grins. “This will do nicely.” He pulls it on and stretches his hand out to her. “How about we go finish dinner and watch a movie? Your choice.”

She takes his hand and kisses it softly. “Thank you for being so perfect.” The night ends with the two of them cuddled on her couch, accidentally falling asleep while watching Wallace and Gromit. Plates of half-eaten dessert and a shared blanket are the only witnesses to their growing bond.

[fushiguruuzzzz]

+ EPILOGUE

series mlist

Tags — random timeskip, mentions of alcohol, listened to “Every Breath You Take” while writing this so you should too Words — 1k

The roar of the crowd beneath you was constant and all consuming. Drawing a breath in, nothing but the fresh, barely-there scent of bliss invaded your senses. Allowing your eyes to flutter open, you gazed over a horizon of cheering people and waving arms. It was difficult to count how many people were there. Thousands? Definitely. Every one of them was here for you, for the sound of your voice as well as the tune of your bandmates skilled hands working at their instruments—well, aside from the fangirls. They were just here to see Yuji and Megumi get sweaty under the LEDs.

Nearly two years. It had been almost two years since you were performing in shabby bars, nervously avoiding eye contact with the few drunkards that bothered to watch. In that time you’d moved from little four-walls-and-a-roof establishments to here. Here, on a stage as large as a studio apartment and heaps of people eagerly awaiting your activity. Something about it made warmth bud in your chest, heavy with emotion, yet light with euphoria that made you feel as if you were flying. It was a feeling like no other, beautiful and fulfilling and so intertwined with your being that it was simply unbreakable. It was dense, made you tougher. You weren’t the same girl you were at the beginning of all this, manipulated by her cowardice like a puppet to its master. You stood in front of crowds and beamed, because that’s what your heart was made for in the first place. The only difference was that now, it had been defrosted by gentle hands, the warmth of your lover cradling it with a fondness you didn’t know you were capable of.

Oh, right. Your lover. He was here somewhere, wasn’t he?

A short gander across the front rows brought a pair of attentive, amethyst eyes to your attention. They were glued to you like a magnetic force was holding them, like his entire being was so fixated on you that he just couldn’t peel them off. It seemed he’d learned his lesson the first time; looking away for even a moment was a grave mistake.

I’ll be watching you.

That’s what he’d said, and he stuck to it. Every performance, whether you poured your heart out (singing songs that were about him, but you didn’t mention that) or had tomatoes thrown at you, you were always met with a warm embrace, pink cheeks and eyes that lingered on you like he was a middle schooler with a crush, and the silent assurance that he was so, so proud of you.

Meeting his eyes below, there was an unspoken knowledge settling between you. In the months spent quietly under the stars, in the early mornings curled up on the couch, drunken nights out where you were both so wasted you collapsed—you’d taught each other how to love. Neither of you were all that experienced at this, but sometimes loving someone enough is all that’s needed to teach you how. Sure, his hands still twitched a little when they reached out to you, and maybe you’d stare into the mirror and see that shell of a girl again, but you were always there to take his hand and he never failed to tug you away from the mirror, into his arms instead. It wasn’t always loud affection. Aside from the cheesy comments and playful flirting, it was the low crackling of a campfire that warmed your face but never burned. Loving Toge was waking up in the living room, wrapped in a blanket that hadn’t been there before and a sticky note on your fridge saying ‘be back soon :p’. It was the intimate glances over the roar of the crowd.

You had a warped image of love, but Toge made it his mission to straighten it out, bit by bit.

He stared back at you and grinned, pearly whites peeking out against the darkness. It was a dorky, crooked smile that made the Toge you’d seen in his old family photos come back to life. He wasn’t just your Toge, not then. He was the Toge that played tag at recess and got sad when his sandwiches weren’t cut into hearts, he was the Toge who giggled heartily and who’s eyes glowed like the sun as he stared up at his father like he hung the stars.

His eyes glowed just the same in that moment, and it prompted you to sing just a little louder. Work a little harder. Work hard for him, to feel that swelling in your heart as he told you how good you did.

You never craved attention, you prided yourself on that, but… it felt good when it came from him. You relished in the stability that had become such common practice, it helped you to see the difference between the Inumaki who spilled coffee all over the diner because he heard your name and the Inumaki who helped you write your grocery list on weekends. Maybe they were the same boy, but one was yours. Only one of them stayed after your shows and whooped louder than anyone else, only one of them cheesed at his camera when he brought you on stream, relishing in the fact that he was the only one who got to keep you so close. The latter was the boy who grinned ear to ear as he told people “yeah, that’s my girl.”

He saw the flicker in your eyes, the way they faded into a different, more sentimental universe upon taking in his face—and he knew. He always knew. Your eyes drifted away from him, but your mind didn’t, and he stayed just as he was, hoping to catch even one more glimpse into the windows of your soul. His friends had given up on trying to converse with him, because that would mean looking at them, and that would be breaking his promise again. So no, he’d be watching you. He always was, from when he tripped in front of the diner because he got distracted seeing you near the window to now, and he was sure he’d do it until his eyes no longer let him.

That was a promise. And, like he said, he was done breaking those.

Aaaaand that’s a wrap :) thank you all so much for the support on this series, love u all so bad. Yuji fic, then yuta fic I think??, then this blog is gonna get more haikyuu centric so just a warning

Taglist — closed 50/50

@anotherwriternamedclara @ruruisru @adoresia @auroratumbles @sh0ot1ngst4r @soobin1437 @mystic-megumi @cinnamxnangel @lizbix @s3ns4ti0n4l @anonnieghost @s4toruz @gumims @bubybubsters @k4ss11333 @rreveurdoll @kaged-kitty @rwura @aldebrana @hqnge @good-mourning0 @daisies-and-domming @vi0let-writes @dazaisfavgf @hearts4aloise @coolgirl458 @keyaea @jealovsie @sirenla @academiq @mammoanlmao @moonchhu @ichcocat @blubearxy @hayl09 @q2uq2u @potteraep @fiannee @lailakys @jxisnwaol @treeguzzler @yatiimariiee @zayuriluvs @kr1nqu @cloudxox @azinniyaa @laaalaaaloooppppsiiieeeee @rottingvxmpire @gradmacoco @spkyssn

[katiascraft]

˚⋆𐙚｡“Pueden más que el amor y son más fuertes que el Olimpo” | FC43𖦹.ᡣ𐭩˚

Parings: franco colapinto x argentine!female!reader.

Sipnosis: Dating Franco Colapinto as an Argentine university student is like riding a rollercoaster with your best friend: exhilarating, unpredictable, and occasionally terrifying. And was also never part of her life plan, but somehow it feels like it was written in the stars—or perhaps on a chaotic karting track. From laughing at his chaotic personality to sharing mates in the pitlane, their relationship is a blend of silliness, deep connection, and shared Argentine pride.Their bond is a mix of unfiltered laughter, deep admiration, and that unmistakable Argentine fire. From awkward family dinners to heartfelt moments away from the spotlight, their chemistry shines in every interaction. Here’s how their love story unfolds, the chaos they bring to the F1 paddock, and why she’s become the favorite WAG for her wild energy that matches Franco’s unhinged antics.

Your bond is bigger than love and stronger than the Olympus. ᯓᡣ𐭩

Now playing: “11 y 6” by Fito Paez.

Word count: +3k.

Warnings: dialogues in Spanish but translated. Language. Argentinian slang. Just fluffy fluff I’m not good at writing smut but I guess I’ll have to try someday. Not a native English speaker so there could be (so many) errors. Not proofread.

Face claim: Tuli Acosta.

Author’s note: okay i'm stuck with this trope. I AM SORRY NOT SORRY ACTUALLY. but i hope you like it and enjoy it <3. MAYBE it doesnt make any sence but IM TRYING. There will be mentions of artists/people from Argentina if you wanna look them up. Don’t forget to like, reblog or comment! And follow me so we can be friends :3 (and drink mate together!)

MASTERLIST

A Bond Beyond Words

From the beginning, you instantly had this electric connection. At 16 years old everything is intense but not at this level you thought. It's an indescribable feeling. almost as if you were two magnets pulled together by fate. Franco, with his unshakable optimism and cheeky smile, is the perfect foil to your grounded but equally fiery personality. Growing up together since you were kids, realizing when he was gone in Italy how much you loved him, how traveling during the summer breaks was heartbreaking knowing you couldn't see him until the next recess of the year - 4 months in the future. And when you get to university it gets a little bit more tricky but you try to make it work. No one in the world was more than worthy of your sacrifice studying anywhere at any time just to spend even a few hours with him on the other side of the world.

One night, after a long day of university classes and Franco’s sim racing practice, you decide to call each other. Where he was, it was winter, where you were, it was still summer. He was freezing and you were too hot. When he answered you could see him getting cozy on his bed with the heat on and the hoodie you bought him at a Tan Bionica concert you attended last year. You loved that band. You wanted to cry in that moment of how much you missed him. When he saw you on the other side of the world, in your home, surrounded by books and the sunset illuminating your gorgeous face, he wanted to cry. He missed you like crazy. You looked so beautiful, he only thought about kissing your whole face. You were drinking mate and eating facturas while studying on your balcony in Buenos Aires city. He missed his country so much, especially you and his family. While talking about your days you see his sister in the background that has arrived from paddle practice. His little sister Martina joined the conversation. He felt so full at that moment. How natural it was for you to blend with his family. How deeply and vulnerable and intimate that was to him. He trusted you blindly.

“Sabes que?, [you know what?]” Franco says, getting comfy on his bed, a little sleepy, his voice deep, “yo sería un desastre en la facultad. Como haces para memorizar todo eso?” [i would be a disaster at university. How do you do to remember all that stuff?]

“Probablemente no soportarías ni cursar 2 horas en esta materia o en ninguna en realidad,” [probably you wouldnt last a day] you reply without looking up in a smirk. “Pero lo bueno es que no lo necesitas. Y además, estás demasiado ocupado manejando a más de 250 km por ahora así que” [but good thing is that you dont need to. You are too busy driving cars at 250km per hour so] you finally meet his gaze through the screen. You hear him giggle between his sheets and pillows. He looked so cute. You heart felt so happy and full in that moment. You couldn't be more in love with him.

“igual,” his voice softer, “Sos incredible amor. Like... verdaderamente increible. Que puedas balancear tu vida con el estudio y mi locura de agenda, mi terrible talento en la cocina—” you giggled at his comment flustered". [You are amazing love. The fact you can balance your life between my agends and your university schedule, and my terible talent for cooking-]

You interrupt, smirking. “Y terrible asador. Muy decepcionante la verdad. Esperemos que no se filtre a la prensa porque te van a cancelar por decepción a la patria.” [you are the worst at cooking barbecue. Very disappointing for this country]

He laughs, resting his head on the pillow wanting to rest it on your chest and give you a tight hug. Distance was absolute shit. He couldn't wait to see you again in 2 weeks in Las vegas. “Bueno bueno ya se entendió. Pero posta, no se como haces y/n. Tengo mucha suerte de que me ames y me elijas y me soportes.” [alright alright. But for real, I don’t know how you do it. I’m really lucky that you love me and choose me and that you keep up with me] His eyes were hearts and his smile was bright. You blushed by looking at him. You adjusted the laptop. “Te amo fran” you knew, and he knew what those words ment. “Y la verdad que es fácil soportar esto, Franco. Porque sos el amor de mi vida. No importa los malabares que tenga que hacer para que esto funcione. Se que vos harías lo mismo en mi lugar. Ya quiero verte. Que sigas persiguiendo tus sueños. Cómo podría no amarte amor? Te admiro muchísimo, loquito. Estoy muy pero muy muy orgullosa de vos. Me encanta verte brillar y ser feliz. No importa lo que tenga que hacer, lo haria mil veces más si puedo verte ser lo que siempre soñaste y ver como te brillan los ojitos de felicidad” [and ti be honest, it’s so easy to keep up with you. Because you’re the love of my life. It doesn’t matter how much juggling I have to do just to make this work. I know you would do the same for me. How could one not love you? I admire you so much. And im really proud of you. I love to see you shine and be happy. It doesn’t matter what I have to do. I would do it a thousand times if I can see you be the thing you dreamed about and see you shining]

“Te amo boluda, me haces llorar” [I love you, you make me cry] he said teary and even dropping a few tears making you giggled completely down for that man. But how could you not? He is the most amazing person you know.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername made a post

liked by francolapinto, landonorris, yourbff, marcolapinto, and others.

yourusername: me reporto desde el mundo universitario triste y lleno de estrés para decirles que estoy bien pero quisiera estar como franquito la verdad (te extraño mucho @/francolapinto 😭)

[here I report myself from the university world very sad and stressful to tell you I’m okay but I would really like to be like franco to be honest (I miss you so much franco)]

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francolapinto: 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

francolapinto: no podes hacerme esto no ves que recién me levanto y ya estoy llorando otra vez 😭😭😭😭 lo que te extraño lpm [you can’t do this to me. Don’t you see I just woke up and I’m crying again? I miss you so much god]

↳ yourusername: fran 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭

francolapinto: Veni dale no seas mala no hace falta que estudies yo te mantengo!! [come with me. Cmon don’t be mean. You don’t need to satisfy I can spoil you!!]

↳ yourusername: ya tuvimos esta conversación 🙄 [we already had this conversation]

↳ yourusername: déjame ser independiente así después soy yo la que sea millonaria en nuestra relación let me spoil you babygirl 🫦 [let me be independent. So I can be the millionaire one and spoil you baby girl]

↳ francolapinto: hace falta que me expongas públicamente????? Te recuerdo que tu Instagram es público!!?!?! [is it necessary that you expose me? Do I have to remind you your Instagram is public?]

↳ yourusername: upsi

marcolapinto: Venite a casa reinita que te cebo unos mates mientras escuchamos María. Dale que aprobas!!! 🕯️[come home queen that we will drink mate while listening to Maria becerra. You’re gonna do good!]

↳ yourusername: 🏃🏻‍♀️

user366: I must say you are GOALS wtf ur so pretty wtf wtf

user890: FRANCO CAN U FIGHT??????

anibalcolapinto: ❤️

landonorris: hola mujer bonita, cuando vuelves al paddock? Che boludo quiero un mate

↳ franstan: omg not again

↳ y/nstan: the no rizz guy is back

↳ francolapinto: DELETE THIS

↳ georgerussel: I’m sorry bro he just a kid

↳ francolapinto: kid las pelotas [he is not a kid]

lewishamilton: my fav couple

↳ yourusername: KABSKXOHWJSODNS WTF LEWIS TE AMO WTF WHAAATTTTTTTT

↳ francolapinto: conmigo nunca te emocionas así ????? [you never get this excited about me]

↳ yourusername: ACASO SOS 8 VECES CAMPEÓN DEL MUNDO??????? Y TE LLAMAS LEWIS HAMILTON?????? [are you an 8 time world champion called Lewis Hamilton?]

↳ maxveratappen: he is a 7 world champion

↳ yourusername: OMG MAX I DRINK RED BULL EVERYDAY 🧎🏻‍♀️

↳ francolapinto: I can’t take you out anywhere 🤦🏻‍♀️

landonorris: WHY I AM BEING IGNORED GHOSTED BURRIED ALIVE ??????

↳ oscarpiastri: bro

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Chemistry and Admiration

Their chemistry between you two is palpable, and it’s the kind that makes people stop and take notice. You don’t just laugh together— you challenge each other, push each other to be their best. And to be fair, that's what makes you both so obsessed with one another. The love you felt for each other was like a drug. 

At the Williams hospitality building, during practice days your older brother playfully teases Franco about a mistake he made during his last race.

“Boludo, que paso en la curva esa? Te dormiste para frenar. Cuando quieras te reemplazo, en los kartings siempre ganaba yo” [bro, what happened in that corner? You slept on breakers. Whenever you want I can replace you. I always used to win in go karts in our time, anyway] you rolled your eyes at his tease. He was the reason you met franco in the first place back in summer 2019.

Before Franco can reply, you jump in. “dejate de joder. No te das cuenta que la skills de pro se las reserva para ganarte al truco?” [fuck off. Don’t you realized that his pro skills are reserved to win you at truco?]

your brother laughs, but Franco takes your hand under the table, squeezing it. He was laughing as well. Your brother can be a pain in the ass sometimes. 

Later, when you were finally alone, he says, “gracias por cuidarme y defenderme incluso cuando la cago y merezco que tu hermano se cague de risa de mi en mi cara” [thanks for protecting me and defending me even when I fuck up and I deserve your brother making a joke out of me] he says funny and exaggerated. You laugh, shaking your head.

“Para eso estoy fran, la única que se puede meter con mi hombre soy yo misma” [that’s what I’m here for. Me and only me can joke around about my boyfriend] you reply teasing, making him giggle but bring you closer by your waist planting a kiss on your lips. “ a veces te odio” [sometimes I hate you] he joked in your lips making you giggle once more like all the time you are together. “creo que asi funciona, no?” [that’s how it works, right?] you told him to stroke his hair with your fingers wrapped in his arms. You looked at him innocently making him laugh and kissed your cheeks with a million little soft and full of love kisses.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

francolapinto made a post

liked by yourusername, anibalcolapinto, espn, alexalbon and others.

francolapinto: pese a algunos errores obtuvimos un gran resultado. Gracias a todos por bancar como lo hacen,están sorprendiendo al mundo! Orgulloso de ser de donde vengo 🇦🇷 momento de festejar y enfocarse en la siguiente carrera! Vamoooosss

[even tho we committed a few mistakes we got a solid result. Thank you everyone for the support, you are surprising the world with your passion! I’m so proud to come from where I come from. Time to celebrate and then focus on the next race. Let’s go!]

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yourusername: mi país mi país mi país 🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷🇦🇷

yourusername: podes parar de ser tan perfecto???? Dios lo que te amo 😍 [can you stop being so perfect? God I love you so much]

↳ francolapinto: vos sos perfecta mi amor te amo gracias por apoyarme y acompañarme siempre [you are perfect my love. Thank you for your support always]

↳ yourusername: siempre juntos [always together]

↳ francolapinto: siempre [always]

williamsracing: vamos franco!!! was a pleasure to have you @/yourusername !!

↳ yourusername: my pleasure!! You guys are so cool!! Next time we need to play some duki songs! You’ll love them!!! Great to work out!! Like a bad bitch!!! 🤪🥵

↳ williamsracing: 😳

↳ wandanara: you soy una bad bitch!!! Te adoro nena!!! [I am a bad bitch! I adore you girl!]

↳ yourusername: OMG WANDA TE AMO

↳ francolapinto: el crossover del año [the crossover of the year]

↳ yourbff: y vos porque no la estás escuchando gritar me voy a quedar sorda [you wouldn’t believe how loud she is screaming because of this. I will be deaf qny sec]

↳ francolapinto: she’s just a girl

↳ yourusername: girls just wanna have fun!!!!

dukissj: flow carbon el tuyo amigo [serving looks bro]

↳ francolapinto: gracias jefe aprendí de vos [thank you boos. I learned from you]

↳ dukissj: a ser el mejor de todos los tiempos? [to be the best one of all time?]

↳ francolapinto: a ser un novio gansta [to be his gangsta lover (Emilia mernes: novio gangsta)]

↳ yourusername: te amo mi novio gangsta 😍

↳ emiliamernes: 💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

↳ dukissj: 💀

landonorris: if I comment will I still be ignored?

↳ oscarpiastri: bro

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

University Chaos and Long-Distance Struggles

Franco is your biggest cheerleader just like you are of his. He always remembers your exam dates - you didnt know how but he did - always making sure to send you a good luck message and asking how it was whenever he can take his phone back after a really busy day at the simulator. Long distance is not easy at all but somehow you make it work. You know that when you two see each other again it will be all worth it. 

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername uploaded a story

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francolapinto: mentalmente pensando en mi y en cómo te podría hacer sentir si no estuvieras del otro lado del mundo [mentally thinking about me and how I could make you feel if you wouldn’t be on the other side of the world]

yourusername: POR QUE TENES QUE HACERME ACORDAR DE ESO CON LO QUE TE EXTRAÑO FRANCO COLAPINTO [why do you have to do this to me knowing how much I miss you?]

francolapinto: definitivamente necesitas de mi magia para relajar, estás muy estrasada bb [definitely you need my magic to help you relax, you’re so stressed babe]

yourusername: te odio [I hate you]

francolapinto: 😇

francolapinto: cuando vengas tráeme 10 paquetes de don satur dulces y otras 10 saladas. Y pan dulce!!! Sin fruta y con chips de chocolate [when you fly here could you bring 10 packs of sweet don satur cookies and 10 salty ones? And brin pan dulce!! Without fruit I like it with chocolate chips]

francolapinto: NO ME DEJES EN VISTO FLACA [don’t leave on read girl]

yourusername: ESTOY ESTUDIANDO FLACO [im studying bro]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Chaos in the Paddock

When Franco made his way to F1, you became an instant hit among the other drivers and teams. Unlike the polished, camera-ready WAGs typically seen in the paddock, you're refreshingly candid, often seen wearing jeans and an oversized Boca Juniors or the Argentinian national team of football jersey. Your style was just relax and at some point not giving a fuck about royalty and money and status. You felt so much more beautiful with your vans on and baggy clothes. 

But you didn't only stand out because of your “so different” style. Reality was you were as unhinged as your boyfriend. You became the favorite WAG on the internet and the paddock as well. You were sweet to all of the fans and received all of the gifts for Franco you could take in your hands. Always sharing mates with everybody who wanted to join. Taking pics to social media and being hilarious roasting your boyfriend in front of the world. But that was just the way you showed love to each other. It was your code secret language. After the jokes vanish, only love remains between you two. Everyone was obsessed with your interviews just as any fan of the sport. People loved you because you read everything on social media regarding not only your boyfriends but the rest of the drivers. You became an f1 wag voggler on your instagram stories. 

All people at the paddock loved you. You were always there for everyone and anyone who needed a hand at anything. You liked to listen to people when they needed to. Franco knew he had the best comforting person in the world next to him and that made him feel really proud of himself. 

Also, you became a sensation when you started taking to races your pomeranian son called “polito”. You joined Alex and Kika at wags and mothers of dogs. You loved being part of the gang to be honest. 

All of the drivers' girlfriends were so welcoming and fun to be around. You always felt scared to not fit in his world or this world. You were a really private person but you pushed that aside the moment franco got into f1. You wanted nothing but supporting him and if that came along with being not so private anymore you’d take the risk anyway. And so far it worked out perfectly. You feel really comfortable with the life you have now. What scared you it didn't anymore. You were happy. 

One infamous moment happened during a race weekend. You were caught on camera yelling at Franco over team radio after he missed a breaking point in practice. Of course, it went viral.

“¡Qué hacés, boludo! Are you driving or playing Mario Kart?!” You were so competitive as well. You grew up watching and being involved in karting. You desperately wanted Franco to do more than good and that pressure and anxiety also made you iconic for people watching at home. 

The radio went silent before Franco’s sheepish voice replied, “Sorry, babe.”

The fans dubbed you the “Queen of Roasts.” Even Lando Norris couldn’t resist chiming in on media after the race:

“Franco, mate, you’re getting roasted harder than my starts.”

To which Franco replied teasing him, “At least I have someone to roast me, Lando.”

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername made a post

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yourusername: Era mi crush y ahora está conmigo, amor platónico. 'Toy robando, qué afortunada soy. Nunca tuve un novio tan hegemónico. Nadie me hace sentir esta satisfacción. Espero que mi padre nunca escuche esta canción 🎶

[he was my crush and now he’s with me. Platonic love. I’m really lucky I got him. I’ve never had such an hegemonic boyfriend. No one makes me feel this good and satisfied. Hope my dad doesn’t listen to this song]

tagged: dukissj, francolapinto

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emiliamernes: se juntaron nuestros novios gansta ‼️ [our gangsta boyfriends reunited!!]

francolapinto: yo te quiero presumir. nunca nadie me ha querido así 😍 desde que la conocí le cure la cicatriz por que ella es mi novia gansta 😍 [I want to show you off to all the world. No one ever loved me his way. Since I met her I healed her wounds because she is my gangsta girlfriend]

↳ yourusername: TE AMO

user752: omg OMG they are so cute 😭

User1: I must confess I don’t like her at all

user67: clout chaserrrrr zzzzzz

yourbff: que fácil me cambias por ese chiruzo 😔 [you replaced me so easily with that muppet]

↳ yourusername: nunca te cambiaría MI REAL [I would never you’re my real one]

↳ yourbff: nunca nadie te va a amar como yo [no one ever is gonna love you like I do]

↳ francolapinto: ??????? Queres que compitamos? [are you proposing a competition?]

↳ yourbff: como te gusta arruinar momentos felices 🙄 [how you love to ruin good moments]

↳ francolapinto: ya perdiste xd [okay, you already lost]

mariabeccera: con lo que te quiero diría que VOS sos la verdadera NENA DE ARGENTINA bonita [in my opinion you are the real it girl of argentina, babygirl. I love you]

↳ yourusername: dm asap

↳ francolapinto: inviten [invite me]

↳ rei: 🤨

bizarrap: el príncipe y la princesa de argentina 🇦🇷 [the prince and princess of argentina]

↳ yourusername: te amamos gonza ❤️‍🩹

y/nstan: where���s the no rizz at all guy?

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Other Drivers Weigh In

The F1 grid is both entertained and baffled by your relationship. Max Verstappen once remarked, “They’re like a Netflix comedy special. You can’t take your eyes off them.” in one interview. You became the sensation of formula one. It was odd but you followed along just having fun with it.

Charles Leclerc added in his interview after qualifying, “She’s the only person who can keep up with Franco’s energy. Honestly, she’s scarier than his driving.” making the reporter laugh.

Meanwhile, George Russel took every opportunity to tease them. After one race where Franco crashed out, G joked, “Bet she’s gonna give him a lecture in the paddock. Poor kid’s already sweating.”

Yeah we can say you were really passionate and Franco absolutely adored it. 

In another race Oscar Piastri was asked about you as well “well, she is a really good teacher to be honest it's really nice to have her around”

“What did she teach you, oscar?”

“Che boludo, me das un mate? I don't remember what it actually means but something around mate” his accent made the interviewer laugh. Franco, who was being interviewed next to him, laughed so hard. 

“It sounded amazing mate. I will tell y/n to congratulate you” he teased making oscar roll his eyes. 

“And they are both a pain in the ass,” Lando said, coming out of nowhere on Oscar's mic, making everyone laugh.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Family Dynamics

Your families are an integral part of your relationship, and it’s clear that love and respect flow both ways.

Your parents were skeptical at first. A racing driver? That lives on the other side of the world? Really? But Franco won them over the first time he showed up at their house with flowers for your mom and a bottle of wine for your dad. He even attempted to join in on their family’s Sunday asado tradition—though his lack of grilling skills became a running joke.

“A esto le llamas asado?!” [this is what you call barbecue?] your father had laughed, shaking his head as Franco sheepishly handed over the tongs.

“Okay, okay, me dedicare solamente a correr, ya entendi!” [alright, I’ll stick to racing I got it] Franco replied, earning laughter from the whole family.

On the flip side, you’ve become a favorite among Franco’s family. His mom adores you, often calling to check in on your studies or sending care packages from home. His younger sister thinks you’re the coolest person alive and is always pestering you for fashion advice.

“creo que tu mama me ama mas que a vos”, [ I think your mom loves me more than she does love you] you tease one evening.

Franco grins, wrapping an arm around you. “No la culpo. Es impossible no amarte la verdad. Mira esa carita” [I don’t blame her. It’s impossible not to love you. Look at that pretty face] he said grabbing your face and squiz your cheeks playfully.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

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francolapinto: argentina, boca y mi mujer pero en el orden inverso 😇

[argentina, boca and my woman but the other way round]

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bocajuniors: gracias por venir franco! Te esperamos de vuelta! Vamos piloto! 🫡 [thank you for coming franco! We wait for you to come back! Let’s go!]

yourusername: 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦

yourusername: BOCAAAAA BOCAAAAAAA

user34: que hace la china acá???? 🚩🚩🚩🚩 [what is la china Suarez doing here??]

user54: que suerte que tiene esta mina [how lucky she is]

landostan: BEST WAG TO EVER EXIST

cavani: franquito te esperamos!!! Dale campeón!! [franco come back!! Let’s go champion!]

↳ francolapinto: LPM TE AMO

↳ yourusername: gracias por cumplirle el sueño al nene 🥹 [thank you for making the kid’s dream come true]

la12: chifla que te pasamos a buscar!

↳ yourusername: 🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️🏃🏻‍♀️

↳ francolapinto: 🙃

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

yourusername uploaded a story

[transcription: he doesn’t like his smile but for me it’s the most beautiful smile in the world]

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francolapinto: boluda me haces llorar 😭 no me quiero ir mañana lpm te voy a extrañar muchísimo [baby you make me cry. I don’t wanna go tomorrow I will miss you so freaking much]

francolapinto: vos para mi sos la más hermosa del mundo [to me you’re the most beautiful girl in the world]

francolapinto: te acordas cuando me traías flores para cuando ganara las carreras? 🥹 sos la más linda del mundo. Siempre fuiste la más linda del mundo para mi [do you remember how you always brought flowers for me at the race kart just in case I won? You’re the prettiest]

francolapinto: podes salir de la clase y venir a darme un abrazo? Estoy sensible [ can you get out of that zoom meeting and come and give me a hug?? I’m sensitive]

francolapinto: te amo mucho [I love you so much]

francolapinto: TE NECESITO MI MUJER 😭 [I need you my girl]

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

Moments of Quiet Connection

Behind the loud laughs and teasing, there’s a deep, quiet love that anchors your relationship.

After a particularly tough race weekend where Franco didn’t finish, he’s unusually quiet. Back in your hotel room, you find him sitting on the bed, staring at the floor.

“Hey,” you say softly, sitting beside him. “Queres hablar, Fran?” [do you wanna talk?]

He sighs. “Siento que decepcioné a todos. Al equipo, a los fans… a vos” [I feel I let everyone down. The team, the fans… you] his voice shaky and his eyes teary.

you take his hand, squeezing it. “Franco, no decepcionaste a nadie. Y Menos que menos a mi Fran. Está bien equivocarse y tener días de mierda. No siempre se puede ganar y hacer todo bien. Es mejor darse contra la pared mil veces que ganar siempre. Lo que paso hoy solo te va a hacer más fuerte. No te presiones, ser perfecto es aburrido. Ya vendran dias mejores. El talento está en vos y eso es todo lo que importa, si?” [franco you didn’t let anyone down. It’s okay to commit mistakes and have shitty days. It’s not about winning all the time and be perfect. Better is to lose so you can learn from it and keep growing. I know the better days will come. You have talent and that’s all that matters okay? You’re good my love]

He looks at you, his eyes glassy more than before. “Solo quiero que se sientan orgullosos de mí. Que te sientas orgullosa de mi, no quiero decepcionarte” [I just really want them to feel proud of me. I want you to be proud of me, I don’t wanna let you down]

“Amor, estoy mas que orgullosa de vos, no digas eso” you say, voice steady. “Desde el momento uno. Todos los días de mi vida. Me explota el corazón de orgullo por vos franco. ¿Viste dónde estás? Este es tu sueño y lo lograste. No hay sentimiento mas grande que sienta que el que siento cuando te veo en ese auto. Cada vez que te pones ese traje y tu nombre sale en la pantalla. No tenes idea de lo orgullosa que estoy de vos y de lo que te admiro y te amo” [babe, I’m more than proud of you. Since day one. Have you seen where you at now? This was you’re dream and now it’s your reality. There’s not a bigger feeling in me than the one I feel every time I see you get in that car and drive, every time you fit yourself in your suit. You don’t really know how proud I am of you and how much I admire you and love you fran] his face now with tears. His arms wrap around you in a tight hug hiding his face in your neck looking for comfort that you gave for sure.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

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francolapinto: feliz cumpleaños a la persona más hermosa que la vida me presento. Gracias por existir y encargarte de hacerme el hombre más feliz del mundo, cuidarme y asegurarte de que estoy bien. Gracias por apoyarme en esta locura de carrera que elegí. Gracias por entender y no juzgarme, por escucharme y limpiarme los mocos cuando lo necesite. Por ser tan empatica y amorosa. Nunca dejes de ser quien sos y de brillar más que el sol. El mundo tiene mucha suerte de conocerte, de que hayas nacido, de que ames como amas. Gracias por ser la mejor mamá que nuestro hijo polito podría tener jamás. Para mi sos la mejor del mundo. Tu calidad humana supera cualquier estándar. Te amo con todo mi corazón y/n. Espero que tengas un día lleno de amor y risas. Y que te den los mil abrazos que yo muero por darte pero no puedo. Gracias por aceptar las bases y condiciones de mi vida y aun así hacer que lo difícil parezca tan fácil. Gracias por subirte a cada avión y estudiar en los hospitalities. Gracias por las flores que me llevas desde que nos conocemos. Quiero que seas la más feliz del mundo porque es lo minimo que te mereces. Gracias por ser lo amorosa que sos con toda mi familia, con mis amigos, con cualquier persona que se te acerque. Sos increíble. Te amo te amo te amo te amo. Ya quiero abrazarte. Prontito nos veremos mi amor. Feliz cumple

[happy birthday to the most beautiful person life brought me. Thank you for existing and taking care to make me feel the luckiest man alive, looking after me and make sure I’m okay. Thank you for supporting me in my crazy career. Thank you for understanding and not judging, for listening and be the shoulder to cry on. Thank you for your compassion, sympathy and warmness. Don’t ever stop being so you and shining more than the sun. The world is really lucky to have you in it. We are all so lucky you were created, born, and by the way you love. Thank you for being the best mum our son polito could ask for. To me you are the best in the world. You human quality as a person breaks any standar. I love you with my whole heart y/n. Hope you have a great day filled with love and laughter and the million hugs I’m dying to give you but I can’t. Thank you for accepting me and making the longs distance shit be so easy. Thank you for the flowers you always bring for me. I want you to be the happiest in the world because that’s the minimum you deserve. Thank you for being so lovely with my family and friends and any person that meets you. You are magical. I love you. I want to hug you so bad. We will meet soon again my love. Happy bday]

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yourusername: FLACO 😭 lo que te amo no lo puedo ni expresar. Gracias por amarme como lo haces. Con vos soy la mas feliz del mundo ❤️‍🩹 [I can’t not even express how much I love you. Thank you for loving me the way you do. With you I’m the happiest in the world]

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‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

How Franco Talks About Her

Franco is unabashedly in love, and it shows in how he talks about you —whether it’s to his family, teammates, or the press.

During a team dinner, his engineer jokes, “How does she even deal with you, Franco?”

Franco grins, not missing a beat. “She’s the only person who can out-chaos me. And trust me, that’s saying something.”

In interviews, his admiration for her is evident.

“She’s my anchor,” he says, his voice tinged with pride. “I can have the worst day on the track, and she’ll find a way to make me laugh or remind me why I love racing. And the way she balances her own goals? It’s inspiring. I don’t know how she does it, but she makes me want to be better—on and off the track.”

Everyone was in love with him. But fortunately, he was only yours.

And you were the best team of the paddok.

‧₊˚ ☁️⋅♡𓂃 ࣪ ִֶָ☾.

The Future

Though your lives are hectic, you’re already dreaming of the future. Over mate on a quiet Sunday morning back in argentina, Franco muses, “un dia, cuando todo esté sentado, me encantaría quetengamos una casita acá cerca de mis papás y tus papás. Para estar tranquilos. Podriamos darle un hermanito a polito tambien. qué te parece?” [one day, when everything it’s already settled, I would love to have a house here close to our parents. You know, a place where we can relax and be ourself, what do you think?]

You look at him, your heart swelling and smiling widley. “Obvio que sí. Pero yo decoro, tu depto si no fuera por mi podria ser una sala de enfermeria” you tease. [of course I would love to. But I will take care of designing and decorating because if it wasn’t for me your apartment could be a nurse room]

“dale,” he says, grinning. [deal]

Your love is a testament to the beauty of finding someone who matches your energy, celebrates your victories, and holds your hand through the challenges. For Franco and you, life isn’t about the finish line—it’s about enjoying every chaotic, beautiful lap together.

Your love is bigger than love itself and stronger than the olympus and everyone could see it.

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

hope you liked it guys! if you have any ideas just send them straight into my inbox! thanks for reading. Feedback is always very welcome!

mwak mwak mwak 💌 -cate

[mononijikayu]

ghost of you — geto suguru.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder. Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

GENRE: Hidden Inventory Arc - JJK 0, 2006/2007 - 2017;

WARNING/s: Angst, Romance, Pining, Grief, Mourning, Death, Depiction of Trauma, Depiction of Death, Depiction of Grief, Depiction of Blood, Depiction of Corpses, Depiction of Injury, Depiction of Curses, Depiction of Dreams and Nightmares, Reminiscing, Language;

masterlist

listen: ghost of you by my chemical romance

note: this is how im dealing with my failings in class. im sick too but i wanted to cry, so i wrote this!!! ramadan mubarak to those celebrating!!! i love you all!!!

HE THINKS THAT HE’S ABOUT TO LOSE HIS MIND. Night after night, Geto Suguru found himself ensnared in the clutches of a restless sleep, his subconscious a battleground where turmoil reigned supreme. Sleep, once a sanctuary from the trials of the waking world, had become a rare and fleeting commodity for him. Each night, he descended into the depths of slumber with a weariness that weighed heavily on his weary soul.

But even in the refuge of sleep, there was no respite from the torment that plagued his restless mind. As he drifted into the realm of dreams, he was met with a relentless onslaught of visions that offered no solace, no reprieve. The awakening, when it inevitably came, was always abrupt, tearing him away from the illusory tranquility of his dreams with a merciless force.

With each night that passed, Suguru's weary eyes would flutter open, revealing puffy lids stained with the remnants of tears shed in the throes of sleep. The contrast between the serenity of his dreams and the harsh reality of his waking world was stark, a cruel reminder of the tumultuous nature of his existence.

His heart, a relentless drumbeat in the silence of the night, served as a constant reminder of the vivid images that lingered in his mind long after the dream had dissipated. The dreams felt real, tangible, as if he could reach out and touch the ephemeral figures that inhabited them. And you, in particular, felt more real than ever before, a spectral presence that haunted his every thought.

In his dreams, you were within his grasp, your presence a beacon of warmth and vitality that seemed to defy the confines of mortality. Your smile, so vibrant and alive, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that pierced through the shadows of his restless mind.

But alongside the fleeting moments of solace came the nightmarish visions that haunted him without fail. The memory of Toji Fushiguro, the man who had wrought untold devastation upon your life, upon his life, lingered like a malevolent specter in the recesses of his mind. It was that man that had robbed him of life. The image of Toji's vicious gaze as he looked upon your lifeless form, a cruel reminder of the brutality of fate, haunted Suguru's dreams with an unrelenting intensity.

He called your name over and over.

He watched you turn your back at him.

Each time, his heart seeps with horror.

“Suguru, get out!” You rush from the entrance, getting his attention. His eyes blinked before he could even react. He looks at you, with your disheveled look, exhausted from keeping the entrance safe. “Now!”

Your desperate cry pierced through the chaos, urging him to run, to escape the impending danger. But he was frozen in place, his muscles refusing to respond to the command of his racing mind.

He could see the determination etched into your features as you rushed towards the young girl, summoning your own cursed creatures in a futile attempt to protect her. But in the face of the Sorcerer Killer's relentless speed, your efforts seemed futile.

Time slowed to a crawl as Suguru's heart pounded against his chest, each beat echoing the terror and helplessness consuming him. He screamed your name, reaching out to you with a desperation he had never known before. But his movements were sluggish, as if he were trapped in a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

Amanai Riko's screams echoed in the air as you wrapped your arms around her, shielding her from the impending danger. Suguru's breath caught in his throat as he watched in horror, knowing that he was powerless to stop the inevitable.

The sound of gunfire shattered the silence, the bullets tearing through the air with deadly precision. Two shots rang out, each one a death knell that reverberated through Suguru's soul.

Blood sprayed into the air, painting a macabre tableau of violence and despair. Your body convulsed as the bullets found their mark, your once-vibrant eyes now vacant and lifeless. You choked on your own blood, your ghostly visage haunting Suguru's nightmares for years to come.

Even in your final moments, you clung to Riko, offering what little comfort you could in the face of such senseless brutality. But it was a futile gesture, as both your bodies crumpled to the ground, lifeless and broken, a stark reminder of the cruel reality of their world.

“Okay, job’s done.” The dark haired man retorts, walking towards Suguru with a nonchalant look on his face. Nothing made him more angry, he thinks. Nothing in him was more devoid of life than in that moment. 

He stares at both of you and Riko.

He takes a breath. 

He turns to the man.

“Why are you here?” was all he could muster out of him, his dark purple pupils dilated in bitter anguish as you laid there, lifeless, the girl you were so desperate to protect, still wrapped around your cold, blood arms. 

“Oh, that.” The man grinned back at him, scratching his head with his armed hand. “That’s simple. Because I killed Gojo Satoru.”

He wasn’t sure what else to do. 

His rainbow dragon summoned.

His cursed energy bursted out of him.

His glare was pulsing with hatred.

“I see.” He says ever so bitterly, coldly. “Then die!”

Each dream began with your warmth enveloping him, igniting a fire within his soul that burned with a fervor unmatched by anything in the waking world. Your vibrant presence, etched into the very fabric of his being, illuminated the darkness of his subconscious with a radiance that defied the confines of mortality. Every detail of your existence was etched into his memory with an indelible permanence, a testament to the profound impact you had on his life.

In his dreams, he would see you adorned in your Jujutsu uniform, the epitome of elegance and grace as you moved with a fluidity that mesmerized all who beheld you. Each time, it’s like that day he met you, Shoko and Satoru all over again. How kindly you smiled at him. Greeting him with every sense of wonder.

Nothing could compare to the way your face lit up with a radiant glow whenever you caught sight of him and Satoru, your eyes alight with an adoration that spoke volumes of the love you held for them both. The adoring gazes of those who surrounded you, drawn to the magnetic allure of your presence, only served to amplify the aura of warmth and joy that surrounded you wherever you went.

You had a gift, a rare ability to make everyone around you feel like life was worth living, each and every time you graced them with your presence. You breathed life into every room you entered, infusing it with a sense of vitality and purpose that was as intoxicating as it was irresistible. And to Suguru, you were the embodiment of that beauty, a vision of unparalleled grace and elegance that left him breathless with longing.

But beneath the surface of this idyllic tableau of love and adoration lay a deep well of sorrow and longing that threatened to engulf Suguru's fragile heart. Because every dream ended with the same way. His guilt eating up and him. Every dream ended with you losing your life, with him losing you. And him, being too slow, too useless, too careless. The pain in his chest was palpable as he watched you over and over, knowing that you were no longer his to cherish. You haunted him, continually.

But he wouldn’t have it any other way.

Because you weren’t here with him.

All he could do was let him be haunted.

All he could do was let himself mourn.

All he could do was see the ghost of you.

HE DIDN’T REALIZE THAT HE HAD CURSED YOU. In the depths of Suguru's heart, a relentless denial gripped him with an iron fist, refusing to accept the crushing reality of your absence. He couldn't comprehend how he managed to carry on, nor could he grasp the reason behind his persistent refusal to acknowledge the truth. Yet, in the recesses of his soul, he harbored an unwavering certainty that you were still with him, your presence lingering like an indelible imprint on his consciousness.

The mere thought of your demise was inconceivable to Suguru, a notion he vehemently rejected with every fiber of his being. Even as he cradled your lifeless form in his arms, the weight of your absence pressing down on him like an insurmountable burden, he couldn't fathom a world without you breathing, without your laughter filling the air.

The memory of that fateful moment, when the sound of clapping mingled with the echo of your blood staining the pavement, haunted him relentlessly. It was a nightmare he couldn't escape, a grim reality that overshadowed every waking moment, gnawing at the edges of his sanity.

Even when he stood before Satoru, who held the lifeless body of Amanai Riko in his arms, the juxtaposition of death and despair surrounding them like a shroud, Suguru's mind rebelled against the notion of your absence. The image of your mangled face, revealed to Shoko as she trembled with unspoken grief, pierced Suguru's soul like a dagger, a stark reminder of the cruel fate that had torn you away from him.

But amidst the suffocating grip of denial, there lingered a beacon of solace – the memory of the day before, when both of you stood by the sea, basking in the warmth of each other's company. That precious moment played on an endless loop in Suguru's mind, a sanctuary of peace amidst the chaos of his shattered reality, a reminder of the love and joy you brought into his life.

In the tumultuous depths of his soul, Suguru clung to that memory with unwavering resolve, refusing to let go of the hope that one day, somehow, you would return to him, breathing life back into his shattered world.

That serene afternoon spent in your company felt like an eternity, a timeless moment etched into Suguru's memory. He could still recall the sensation of the sun's warmth enveloping his skin as he lay with his head nestled in your lap, the rhythmic motion of your fingers gently combing through his hair like a soothing melody.

The gentle caress of the wind against the backdrop of the sea created a symphony of tranquility, a scene of unparalleled beauty that seemed to exist outside of time itself. In that moment, there was no past or future, only the present, filled with the warmth of your love.

"You know," You teased, your playful grin lighting up your features, "You're lucky I'm not like Satoru. Otherwise, I might just shave your head when you fall asleep like this."

Suguru chuckled, his eyes still closed as he basked in the comfort of your presence. "You wouldn't dare. You love my hair too much."

Your laughter was like a sweet melody, a harmonious blend of joy and affection that resonated in Suguru's soul. "You caught me," You admitted, your fingers continuing their gentle movements through his hair. "I couldn't bear to part with those luscious locks of yours."

“Hm, it's why I maintain it for you.”

“Liar, you maintain it for yourself.” You retorted back at him, teasingly. “Well, other than that, for your boyfriend, Satoru.”

Opening his eyes, Suguru met your gaze, captivated by the love and warmth that radiated from your eyes. "You're one of a kind, my love," he murmured softly, reaching up to intertwined his fingers with yours. His chest rambling with laughter. “Satoru wouldn’t oppose those words, I like to think.”

You grinned back at him. “No, he’d be very flattered.”

He smiled, squeezing your palm. “Too bad you already captured me, my love.”

"And you're stuck with me," You replied with a mischievous grin, gently squeezing his hand. "For better or for worse."

"And for bitter or for worse, too," Suguru vowed solemnly, his voice filled with unwavering determination. “You and me.”

Your laughter echoed in the air, a symphony of happiness that danced around them. "That's a promise, hm?"

"It is!" Suguru affirmed, a smile spreading across his face as he felt a surge of warmth fill his heart. In that moment, surrounded by the warmth of your love and the echo of your laughter, he knew that he’d fall in love with you, over and over again.

In the aftermath of the tragedy that had torn you away from him, Suguru clung to your lifeless body with a tenacity born of desperation. He couldn't bear the thought of surrendering you to the authorities, not even to Shoko, who trembled with sorrow as she stood before him, her eyes filled with unspoken grief.

Instead, Suguru laid your body down gently on your dorm bed, heedless of the blood stains that marred the once-peaceful sanctuary where you had shared countless intimate moments together. "You belong here," he murmured softly, his voice choked with emotion, "Safe and far from harm."

For days, Suguru remained by your side, tending to your lifeless form with a tenderness that belied the anguish raging within him. "I'll take care of you," he whispered, his fingers tracing the contours of your face as if trying to etch your features into his memory forever.

As Satoru arrived, his usually jovial demeanor replaced with a heavy cloak of grief, Suguru's facade of stoicism cracked under the weight of his anguish. His heart, already battered and bruised, seemed to shatter into a million pieces as he watched Yaga and Shoko carry your lifeless body away, leaving him alone with the echo of his torment.

"How could you let this happen?" Suguru's voice rang out, filled with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. Each word was laced with a pain so profound that it seemed to reverberate through the room, echoing the depths of his despair.

Satoru's response was a whispered apology, his voice heavy with guilt and sorrow. The weight of his words hung in the air like a tangible presence, a silent acknowledgment of the mistakes made and the lives lost as a result.

“Suguru,” Satoru began, his voice barely above a whisper, his eyes reflecting a myriad of complex emotions. But amidst the sorrow and regret, Suguru could see the unmistakable glimmer of guilt that lingered in his best friend's gaze. It was a guilt that cut deeper than any blade, a burden that Satoru carried with him like a heavy chain around his neck.

The apology hung in the air, a fragile thread that seemed to stretch and strain under the weight of their shared grief. Suguru's heart ached with the weight of it all, the pain of loss and betrayal mingling together in a tumultuous storm of emotions.

In that moment, as they stood amidst the wreckage of their shattered lives, Suguru realized that forgiveness would not come easy. The wounds were too fresh, the pain too raw. But buried beneath the layers of grief and anger, there remained a glimmer of hope – a flicker of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them both.

Satoru's shoulders sagged under the weight of Suguru's accusation, his usual confidence crumbling in the face of his friend's anguish. "I... I don't know, Suguru," he admitted, his voice wavering with emotion. "I thought we had everything under control. I never imagined..."

Suguru's gaze bore into him, a mix of disbelief and sorrow etched into his features. "You never imagined?" he repeated, his voice hollow with pain. "You promised me you'd keep my love safe, Satoru. You promised."

Gojo Satoru's eyes mirrored the grief that threatened to consume Suguru. "I know," he whispered, his voice choked with sorrow. "I know, and I'm sorry. I never meant for any of this to happen. I would give anything to go back and change it, Suguru. Anything."

The room fell silent, the weight of their words hanging heavy in the air like a thick fog. Suguru's heart ached with a longing for the past, for a time when you were still alive and everything felt right in the world. “Apologies....it wouldn't bring Riko-chan....it wouldn't bring my love back. It wouldn’t bring them back.”

“I know.” His best friend responded back to him, his eyes lowering down to the pavement. “I know.”

He just let Suguru cry.

And he just held him.

But he knew it wasn’t enough.

It would never be enough.

As the days turned into weeks, the weight of grief and loss pressed down on Geto Suguru like an unrelenting force of nature. Surrounded by the very space that bore witness to a lifetime of shared memories between him and you, Suguru found himself drowning in bitterness and despair.

But his anguish only deepened when he discovered the truth – that your death, and the death of Amanai Riko, had been in vain. The realization that your sacrifices had been rendered meaningless, that another Star Plasma Vessel existed and remained to be found, fueled the flames of his anger and resentment.

Your deaths were not just tragedies; they were senseless, cruel acts of fate that left Suguru grappling with the unbearable weight of injustice. The quiet anger that simmered beneath his grief now boiled over, consuming him with a fiery intensity that threatened to consume everything in its path.

He was angry – angry at the world, angry at fate, angry at himself for not being able to protect you. He was bitter – bitter at the cruel twist of fate that robbed him of a future with you, bitter at the injustice of a world that could take away something so precious with such callous disregard.

In the midst of his despair, Suguru found himself grappling with a profound sense of loss – not just the loss of you, but the loss of the life they could have had together. It was a wound that cut deep, leaving him scarred and broken, forever haunted by the specter of what could have been.

"I can't do this without you," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, as he traced the outline of your bed with trembling fingers.

Amidst the suffocating darkness that threatened to consume him, Suguru clung to a memory that flickered like a solitary flame in the blackness of his despair. It was a memory of a night shrouded in chaos and bloodshed, a night when he had unleashed the full force of his cursed power upon a village that dared to defy him.

In the midst of the carnage, as screams echoed through the air and flames licked at the sky, Suguru found himself face to face with a man brandishing a dull blade, his eyes filled with a murderous rage. It was a scene straight out of his nightmares, a reminder of the violence and destruction that had become his reality.

But then, amidst the chaos and despair, he saw you – a specter of the past, with eyes as cold and dead as the winter night itself. In that fleeting moment of recognition, Suguru reached out to you, his hand trembling with a desperation he could not conceal.

"I need you," he whispered into the void, his voice thick with emotion. In that moment, he realized that even in death, you would always be there to defend him, to stand by his side through the darkest of times.

In the depths of his despair, Suguru's mind replayed the events of that fateful night with agonizing clarity. The memory of your sudden appearance, like a specter from the past, haunted him relentlessly, its impact both comforting and terrifying in equal measure.

As the man raised his blade, a glint of malice in his eyes, Suguru watched in stunned disbelief as you intervened, your ethereal form moving with an otherworldly grace. Tears streamed down your face, a silent testament to the grief and anguish that engulfed you both.

In that fleeting moment, as your cold hand met his trembling one, Suguru was overcome by a torrent of emotions – grief, longing, and a profound sense of loss. But amidst the chaos and turmoil, there was also a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, your presence would guide him through the darkness, offering solace and strength in the face of unimaginable hardship.

You couldn’t speak, your voice silenced by the cruel hand of fate. Yet in that moment, words were unnecessary. Your mere presence was enough to soothe Suguru's tormented soul, offering him a lifeline amidst the darkness that threatened to consume him.

Because you were here, tangible and real, your touch and gaze a balm to his wounded spirit. In that moment, nothing else mattered – not the burning village, nor the screams of the innocent, nor the sorrow that engulfed them both. Only you, alive and with him, mattered.

"Welcome home, my love," Suguru whispered to you, his voice barely above a whisper, his touch gentle as he brushed your hair out of your face. In that moment, surrounded by the remnants of their shared past, Suguru found solace in the simple act of being with you, his anchor in a sea of chaos and despair.

He regretted nothing.

Not this moment.

No, not even you.

Never you.

HE HAD NO REGRETS, NOT EVEN BY THE END.You watched from the shadows, your ethereal presence a silent observer in the midst of the unfolding drama. Suguru had never wanted you near the battle. He had kept you out of it. But he supposed, as you dwelled through the walls, familiar to the cursed echoes of your mind—you were just returning home.The moon hung low in the sky, its pale light casting long shadows over the desolate landscape. As the first rays of dawn began to paint the horizon with streaks of gold and orange, the world seemed to hold its breath in anticipation.

Your eyes, cold and ghostly, flickered with an otherworldly intensity as you surveyed the scene before you. Two figures stood facing each other amidst the quiet stillness of the night – one bathed in the soft glow of the moon, the other shrouded in the darkness of the shadows. Geto Suguru leaned against the familiar wall, his form hunched over in pain as he clutched his armless shoulder, blood seeping through his fingers in a steady stream. Despite the agony etched into his features, he remained steadfast, his resolve unyielding even in the face of death.

You blinked, your expression inscrutable as you watched Suguru's suffering unfold before you. There was a sense of detachment in your gaze, as if you were merely a spectator to the tragic spectacle playing out before you. The sun began to lower, its golden rays piercing through the darkness with a gentle warmth that belied the chaos of the moment. The world seemed to slowly descend to the slumber, the birds flying past as they chased against the shadows eating away into darkness.

And yet, amidst the beauty of that blue hour, there was an undeniable sense of foreboding in the air. This was not how he was expecting to go, but he supposed he had no other way but to live through it, with what he had left. The silent standoff between the two figures spoke volumes, a silent testament to the turmoil and conflict that raged within their hearts.

You stood silently, your presence a silent sentinel amidst the chaos, your eyes never wavering from the scene unfolding before you. As Suguru and the other figure faced each other in a silent battle of wills, you remained a silent witness to the unfolding drama, your ghostly eyes reflecting the weight of the world on your shoulders.

"You're late, Satoru," Suguru let out a voice tinged with resignation and a hint of bitterness.

Satoru Gojo stood before them, a towering figure even in the midst of turmoil, his usual blindfold gone to reveal the intensity of his gaze. His eyes, unobscured by the fabric that usually concealed them, bore into Suguru and the ethereal figure standing beside him, a silent testament to the gravity of the situation unfolding before them.

As Suguru and Satoru faced each other, a silent exchange passed between them, Satoru's expression remained stoic yet filled with an unspoken sorrow. It had been so long since he had last seen the figure beside Suguru, and this was not the reunion he had envisioned. But there was no surprise in his gaze, no hint of shock at the sight before him. He had long ago come to accept the unexpected twists and turns of fate, the unpredictable nature of love and loss.

Every essence of love, Satoru knew, carried with it a burden of its own – a weight that could either uplift or crush the soul. His love for Suguru, his steadfast friendship that had endured for nearly a decade, had been his anchor in the storm, the guiding light that had sustained him through even the darkest of times. And he was certain that Suguru's love for the figure beside him, ever-present yet so tragically unfulfilled, had likewise kept him tethered to this world, even as death loomed ever closer.

As Satoru turned his head to look at the figure beside Suguru, a wave of bittersweet memories washed over him. It had been too long since he had last seen you, too long since they had last stood together as allies in the fight against darkness. And now, as he gazed upon your lifeless form, he couldn't help but feel a pang of regret – regret for all the lost time, all the missed opportunities, and all the words left unspoken. You were chained to this life, out of love. And you probably knew that too well. 

Amidst the sorrow and regret, there remained a glimmer of hope – a belief that even in death, their love would endure, a beacon of light in the darkness that threatened to consume them all. Yet he wouldn’t want it to continue. This was already a nightmare. These moments were already haunting ghosts. And as Satoru stood before them, his heart heavy with grief yet filled with a quiet determination, he knew that he would do whatever it took to set them free from the chains of their past, to grant them the peace and solace they so rightfully deserved.

"To think you'd be the one here at my end," Suguru replied, his voice betraying none of the turmoil swirling within him. Yet he smiled, a genuine expression of warmth and understanding that seemed to contradict the gravity of the situation.

Suguru Geto, his expression stoic and unreadable, met Satoru's gaze with a steely resolve. There was a time when closeness existed between them, a bond forged through shared experiences and unwavering trust. But now, that bond lay fractured and strained, buried beneath the weight of their conflicting ideologies and diverging paths.

"Is my family safe?" Suguru demanded, his tone tinged with a shallow breath of concern. He glanced at the figure standing beside him, your dead, cold eyes betraying a silent worry that mirrored his own. Nanako and Mimiko, the twins who had become like family to them, were undoubtedly on both your minds. Suguru knew that your concern for their safety mirrored his own, even if you couldn't voice it aloud.

Satoru nodded solemnly. "Every last one of them managed to escape," he confirmed, his voice tinged with regret. "The ones in Kyoto were under your orders, too, right?"

Suguru's lips curved into a bitter smile. "Yeah," he acknowledged. "Unlike you, I'm a kind man."

The tension between them hung heavy in the air, suffocating and palpable. Suguru broke the silence once more, his voice steady and unwavering. "You sent those two assuming that I'd defeat them, didn't you?" he questioned, his tone accusing yet tinged with resignation.

Suguru's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing in response. "To set Okkotsu off," he whispered, his voice laced with bitter amusement. Satoru's eyes remained steadfast, reflecting the resolve of a man driven by his convictions.

"I trusted you," Satoru interjected, his voice tinged with a note of disappointment. "Trusted that a man as principled as you wouldn't kill off young sorcerers without a reason."

"Trust, huh?" Suguru mused, his smile tinged with wistfulness. He glanced at the figure beside him, your cold, dead eyes mirroring his own emotions. "I didn't think I still had any of that left… after everything I’ve been through."

With a resigned sigh, Suguru retrieved a small object from the folds of his clothes and extended it towards Satoru. "Return this for me, will you?" he requested, his voice tinged with finality.

Satoru accepted the object, his fingers closing around it with a sense of inevitability. "Was the elementary school your doing, too?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity and disbelief.

Suguru met his gaze, his expression inscrutable. "Yeah," he admitted quietly.

Their eyes met in a silent exchange of understanding and regret, the weight of their shared history hanging heavy between them. Satoru took a step forward, his gaze piercing through the darkness to meet Suguru's gaze head-on. 

"Do you have any last words?" he inquired, his voice soft yet tinged with melancholy.

Suguru's lips twitched into a bitter smile, his gaze unfaltering. "No matter what anyone says," he began, his voice tinged with resignation. "I hate those monkeys. But I never held any hatred for those in Jujutsu High. I just couldn't wear a heartfelt smile in this world. Not after…"

He turned towards you, his expression filled with an unspoken longing and regret. You looked back at him, confusion etched into your features. But he smiled at you, urging you closer with a silent gesture.

"I hope you can forgive me," Suguru whispered to you, his hand reaching out to touch your face gently. A tear fell from your eyes, a silent acknowledgment of the pain and loss they had both endured. "And I hope you will meet me soon. The real you. Wherever this death leads me. I hope you can love me again. Like you used to.”

"You need to do it, Suguru," Satoru urged, his voice filled with a sense of sorrow. One that Suguru cannot comprehend. One that was buried for ten years. “Now.”

Suguru wiped the lone tear away, his expression solemn yet resolute. "I know."

"Suguru," Gojo Satoru called out, his voice echoing with the weight of their shared history and the unspoken promise of redemption. "We'll meet again someday, right?"

His words were a whispered prayer, a plea for forgiveness and understanding that he never thought he'd utter. Each syllable hung heavy in the air, pregnant with the weight of their past and the uncertainty of their future.

Suguru looked at him with surprise, his expression a mixture of disbelief and resignation. And then, as if released from the shackles of his own sorrow, a laugh bellowed from him, echoing through the desolate landscape like a beacon of hope amidst the darkness. He smiled at Satoru, a genuine smile that reached his eyes despite the pain and regret that lingered there.

"At least curse me a little bit, in the end," Suguru teased lowly, his voice tinged with a sense of camaraderie that belied the gravity of the moment. It was a moment of levity amidst the heaviness of their shared grief, a fleeting glimpse of the bond that had once united them in friendship and camaraderie.

And then, as if on cue, your voice pierced through the silence, your words whispered softly yet audibly into the night air. "Go...od...bye," you murmured, your lips forming the words with a sense of finality that hung heavy in the air like a shroud. It was not strangled. But rather, warm. As warm as it used to be when you were alive. 

They both looked at you, their hearts heavy with sorrow and regret, yet filled with a quiet understanding and acceptance. Your smile, though fleeting, filled the space between them with warmth and reassurance, a silent reminder that even in death, love endures.

As your body started to fade into the ether, a silent farewell etched into the depths of your soul, Suguru reached out to them one last time. His hand extended toward Satoru, a gesture of farewell and gratitude for their shared moments of joy and sorrow. And in that fleeting moment, surrounded by the echoes of their shared past and the promise of a brighter future, they reached back, their hands intertwined in a silent vow of eternal remembrance and love.

Satoru watched as your body disappeared, wisps of what had been blowing into the wind like cherry blossoms in the summer breeze. His gaze shifted to Suguru, a bittersweet smile playing at the corners of his lips. It was a smile of contentment, of freedom finally achieved. Because he knew, deep down, that he would meet you soon. And in that moment, he felt no regrets, no sorrow, only the quiet acceptance of what was to come.

“I’ll do it once,” Satoru whispered to Suguru, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sorry.”

Suguru's smile widened, a sense of peace washing over him as he closed his eyes. He resigned himself to his fate. “Between you and me, Satoru,” he whispered back, his voice filled with a sense of finality. “There was never any need for thanks or apologies. I’m ready to go. I’ve been ready for ten years. All I want is to smile genuinely again.” 

And with those words hanging in the air like a silent promise, Suguru took one final breath, his spirit soaring free from the shackles of his earthly existence. He didn’t need to use his powers, Satoru thinks. He was already gone. Far too gone. And as he faded into the unknown, a sense of tranquility settled over the desolate landscape, one that had ever been so familiar. So full of memories of the four of you in your blue summer. It was now his turn, he supposed. To live with the ghosts of you and Suguru, for as long as he lives. 

As Geto Suguru's spirit faded into the unknown, Gojo Satoru stood in the quiet stillness of the brisk sunset turning deeply into the darkened night. He stood before his best friend’s body, letting a sense of peace settle over him like a comforting embrace. He watched as Suguru's essence dissipated into the ether, a gentle smile gracing his lips as he whispered a silent farewell to his dear friend.

In the moments that followed, Gojo Satoru felt a profound sense of closure wash over him, a weight lifted from his weary soul. For so long, he had carried the burden of their shared past, the guilt and regret weighing heavily on his heart. But now, as Suguru's spirit ascended to a higher plane, he knew that their journey together had come to an end. And now Suguru's journey began. You both were together now, that’s what he hoped for. Suguru was smiling beside you. That you both were waiting for him and Shoko. That’s what he wants to believe.

As the last traces of Suguru's presence faded from the air, Satoru closed his eyes, allowing himself to bask in the quiet tranquility of the night. In that moment, he felt a sense of gratitude for the time they had shared, for the laughter and tears, the joy and sorrow that had defined their friendship.

The tears fell from blue eyes easily.

He choked on his sobs, his head down.

It was never going to be easy for him.

He had to move forward, all he could do.

He had to live, for you and Suguru.

[nuordiclightingcompany]

Is a Magnetic Track Lighting System Right for Your Living Room or Kitchen?

Some lights just look good. Others do a great job. And sometimes, you find one that does both. That’s where magnetic lighting comes in—a smart, stylish way to light up your home that’s catching on fast. Whether you're redoing your kitchen, upgrading your living room, or just curious about new lighting trends, this one’s worth a closer look. Let’s talk about how a magnetic track lighting system can work for your space, and why it might just be the flexible upgrade your home needs.

What Is Magnetic Track Lighting? 

Think of it like Lego for lights. A magnetic track lighting system lets you attach, move, and change light fixtures easily along a sleek track, without tools or wiring each time. The system works using magnets that snap lights into place, giving you total freedom to position lights exactly where you want them. This makes it a dream setup for homeowners who like to switch things around, whether it’s the furniture layout or the mood of the room. You don’t have to stick with one fixed lighting layout anymore.

Great for Kitchens That Need Focus and Flexibility 

Kitchens are busy places. One corner might need bright light for chopping veggies, while another calls for soft lighting over the dining table. That’s why a magnetic track light makes a lot of sense here. It’s easy to adjust the lights when your needs change, like hosting a dinner, baking late at night, or just setting a calmer mood in the evening. You can point lights at your countertops, shelves, or even artwork, all from the same track. And if you ever move things around (like getting that new kitchen island), you can move the lights too, no electrician needed.

A Sleek Choice for Living Rooms

The living room is one of the most-used areas in any home. It’s also where lighting can make or break the look. Harsh lights can feel cold, while poorly placed lamps leave dark corners. That’s where a magnetic system really shines. With clean lines and modern design, these lights look like they belong in high-end spaces, but they’re practical too. Whether you're highlighting a bookshelf, a photo wall, or just want ambient glow while watching TV, magnetic lights give you plenty of control without cluttering up your ceiling.

Combining with Recessed Lighting

Some rooms do well with a mix of lighting types. If you’re thinking about a layered lighting setup, Recessed Round downlights are a great addition. They sit flush with the ceiling and offer soft, even light that works well with track lights. Recessed lights are great for general lighting across the room, while magnetic track lights can add accents or task lighting. Together, they make a full, flexible system that works for everything—from parties to movie nights.

How to Choose the Right Setup for Your Home

Before buying anything, take a look at your space. Do you want all-over brightness, or do you need light in certain spots? Do you like to redecorate often, or do you keep your setup the same? Magnetic lights are perfect for people who want options. You can start small and add more lights as needed. They work well in both new builds and renovations, and they can be installed on ceilings or walls. If you already have recessed lights, you can even combine the two for a more custom look. And the best part? You won’t be stuck with your choices—you can move or remove lights as your space evolves.

A Smart Lighting Upgrade 

Lighting can totally change how your space feels. With magnetic track systems, you get something that looks great, adapts easily, and adds real value to your home. They're modern, but not overly complicated. Stylish, but still functional. And most importantly, they work the way you want them to. Whether you’re cooking, reading, hosting friends, or just relaxing, having the right light in the right place can make all the difference.

Conclusion: So, Is It Right for Your Space? 

If you’re looking for lighting that fits your lifestyle, not the other way around, a magnetic track system could be exactly what you need. It’s easy to use, looks clean, and gives you control like never before. And when paired with other options like recessed lights, the effect is even better. Looking for quality lighting solutions that are smart, stylish, and built to last? Nuordic has a curated collection of magnetic track systems and recessed downlights designed for modern homes. Explore the collection today and bring flexibility and function into every corner of your space.

[cherryberry-sugarandspice]

Magneto As A Loving Husband

Erik Magnus Lehnsherr would be the world's best husband. He's dedicated, loving, and his family is his entire world. Before he discovered his magnetic powers, I've seen how Magda and Anya meant so much to him. So, these are just my head canons of him as a loving husband and father <3

The moment Erik laid his eyes on you, he forgot how to breathe. He couldn't believe someone so beautiful exists. He didn't think it was possible, except it was, because you exist. He was immediately smitten and after a couple years of dating, you two were married.

Erik is a bit of a old school man. He prefers for you to stay at home while he works and brings home the money. He'd want you to spend the money he made, because he works hard for his wife to live comfortably and he wants to spoil you.

Date nights almost every night (before having kids). He'll take you out for a nightly stroll, his arm wrapped around your waist and you two will have to take breaks so he could drown you in kisses and compliments. He'll save up his money to take you out to an expensive restaurant and buy you your favorite jewelry and a beautiful new dress for you to wear. Seeing your beauty makes him fall in love all over again.

Erik found you beautiful no matter what. Whether you're snoring loudly, drool trickling down your chin, one eye lid half open or dressed up for him- you're a sight to behold. He could stare at you for hours and never get enough. He fears of forgetting how beautiful you are.

Erik is the type of man to surprise you with breakfast in bed. He'll make you your favorite breakfast, a fresh cup of brewed coffee, and carry the tray to the bedroom to surprise you. He'll brush his knuckles along your cheek, whispering how beautiful you are. He loves you so much.

He'll write you poems declaring his undying love. Paint your image on a canvas to hang up on the wall. Surprise you with gifts and flowers and chocolates. His heart is yours and yours alone.

The moment he returns from work Erik is in search of you. He wraps his arms around your waist and sways you from side to side, face buried in the crook of your neck. He murmurs how much he's missed you and hates that he has to be away from you, his loving wife that he adores so much and wouldn't change a thing about you.

You fall pregnant? Oh, he's the happiest man on the world! He'll pick you up and spin you around, tears in his eyes as he exclaims how happy he is. Erik is attacking you with his lips, kissing you all over your face and neck and than dropping down to his knees to kiss you all over your stomach. He wraps his arms around your waist and refuses to let go, his smile never wavering.

During your nine months of pregnancy, he's the most supportive husband. Wakes up at 2am to retrieve whatever foods you're craving. Massage your swollen ankles. Attend every doctor appointment. Build the crib and dressers. Help paint the walls and decorate the nursery. Builds you the most comfortable rocking chair for you to sit on.

He never leaves your side during labor. He didn't care how long it took. You needed him and he was there. Erik cried when your first child was born and he couldn't stop praising and thanking you. You demanded the world's greasiest burger (since you couldn't eat while in labor) and he got you whatever you wanted.

Erik is the best father to all of your children. He's attentive, he tries to make it to school events straight after work or tries to work around his schedule. Teaches the children how to ride a bike. Plays catch. He listens to them ramble on about school and what games they played at recess. Helps them with their homework. He has a bad habit of spoiling his children and giving in to whatever they demand. They already have so many toys and he knows he shouldn't buy them anymore, but he can't bring himself to tell them no. They're his babies and it's his duty as a father to spoil his babies.

Every day before leaving for work, he'll help you get the kids ready for school and give them hugs before he leaves. Erik will hug you and hold you in his arms for a moment, cheek pressed against your forehead as he mumbles how much he loves and adores you and thanking you for making him a father. He wouldn't know what to do without his family.

His family means the world to him. He'll die for his family. He loves going out on family outings. Vacations. Family photos to print and frame on the walls. Everything he does, everything he sacrifices, it's for them. To ensure his wife and children live happy and comfortably.

[sunsets-and-crows]

I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 7

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 6.2K

- - -

Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut: mutual masturbation. Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind. Sylus being hot and a menace. TRIGGER WARNING: stalking and dubious consent. Graphic deptictions of violence.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

All that work on your apartment had certainly paid off and you had managed to keep it relatively clean and tidy over the past few weeks. Coming home made you feel like you had accomplished something. A feeling you craved recently, the thrill of a win. It was something that was severely lacking in your professional life.

You sank into the couch, curling your legs beneath you and sighed. The glowing screen of your hunters watch blinked with unanswered messages from Captain Jenna, requests for updates and overdue mission reports. Your brow furrowed. It tugged at the edges of your mind, the crippling weight of your unfulfilled responsibilities, forgotten in favour of something far more enticing and consuming. It wasn’t that you didn’t care about your job - you did - but Sylus demanded your focus. You’d chosen him, his world, over everything else.

Your mind drifted, unbidden, to that first interaction with him. That moment when his sharp, crimson gaze met yours, the world narrowed into a single, razor-sharp focus. His presence had a gravity to it, one that tugged at you and refused to let go. 

His voice was low and smooth, like the richness of honey cut with smokey bourbon, dangerous and oh so hot. It wasn’t just his words that lingered - it was how his focus seemed to never waver from you. He hadn’t glanced at the other bartender or the sea of high society swirling around him. No, in that moment, all his attention had been on you, as if you were the only person in the room. Your vision narrowed, the noise of the function fading into a muted hum. You barely remembered making the damn drink now, but you’d never forget the way his fingers had brushed yours, a fleeting touch that sent a shiver down your spine. The memory of him burned into the recesses of your mind.

Your fingers absently traced the rim of a half-empty mug on the table. The coffee had gone cold hours ago, but you hadn’t noticed. All you could think about was how to move forward, how to make him come to you, the logistics of the safe house, the sedative, all of it was giving you a headache.

Then, the knock came.

It was sharp and sudden, reverberating through the stillness and jolting you out of your stream of thought. It took you a moment to register your next move; you rarely had visitors - anyone in your life knew better than to show up unannounced. This knock, however, didn’t feel like someone dropping by for tea. It was deliberate, insistent. You tried to recall whether you were expecting anyone. The answer was no. And yet, the knock came again - firm, deliberate.

You padded over to the door, your bare feet against the polished floor. When you peeked through the peephole, the sight of Zayne standing there only added to your confusion. His expression was calm, but his eyes - sharp, clinical, and far too observant - betrayed a flicker of concern.

“Dr. Zayne?” you murmured, opening the door just wide enough to meet his gaze.

“Hello Y/N,” his brow furrowed slightly, his voice soft yet laced with familiarity. “You’ve been neglecting your health, I see. It seems a certain someone has missed three of her appointments. I was worried.” 

You pulled the door open further, revealing Zayne’s familiar face - a mix of mild relief and disappointment etched into his features. His clean-cut appearance, the briefcase, and the small crease in his brow all pointed to the purpose of his visit.

“I thought you were avoiding me,” he began, stepping inside uninvited but not unwelcome. “Or perhaps… you’ve developed an aversion to Akso Hospital itself?” His voice carried a teasing edge, but the concern underneath was undeniable.

A pang of guilt twisted in your chest as you moved aside to let him in. “Dr Zayne… I’m sorry. I didn’t realise I’d missed so many appointments,” you admitted, your voice softening. “I’ve just been... busy. I have a rather long running mission”

“Hmmm… busy enough to miss three follow-ups in a row?” He raised an eyebrow, folding his arms as he scanned the room with a quick, discerning glance. His eyes lingered for a moment on the meticulously arranged papers and the spotless surroundings. “You don’t look busy. You look... preoccupied.”

You couldn’t argue with that. Instead, you sighed and gestured toward the couch. “Do you want tea or coffee? Or should I just brace myself for the lecture?”

His lips quirked upward in a half-smile as he set his bag down. “Neither, thank you. I’m here to check on you, not interrogate you. However, let me be clear - I am disappointed. Missing appointments, while usual for you, is irresponsible.”

You sank into the armchair across from him, fiddling with the edge of your sleeve. “I know, I didn’t mean to worry you. I’ve been distracted, that’s all.”

Zayne crouched beside you, his expression softening. “Distracted or not, you know your health comes first. Especially with your protocore syndrome, it’s not sensible to let your health suffer.” He leaned back slightly, his gaze direct. “How have you been feeling? Any pain? Fatigue?”

You shook your head quickly. “Nothing unusual. Honestly, I’ve been fine.”

Zayne studied you for a moment, clearly unconvinced. Without another word, he reached for his bag and pulled out a stethoscope. “Well, fine or not, I’ve come to conduct your check-up. You know the drill.”

You hesitated as he gestured for you to undo the top buttons of your shirt. These moments always felt a little... strange. Vulnerable. This was Zayne - your friend, someone you trusted implicitly.  You nodded before complying, tugging the fabric open just enough to expose the The skin he needed to get to.

Zayne’s brow furrowed as he looked at you, “A few more please,” he said, taking note of your reluctance, “it’s necessary for me to check, there’s no need to be shy,” Zayne said, but he could still see your reluctance.

You took a deep breath, you should’ve been used to these appointments by now, they all followed the same routine. Maybe it was the difference in location that had you more on edge than usual.

Zayne looked at you, noticed how your hands were basically frozen in their place and sighed. “Let me help,” He said with a smile, reaching for your buttons. Your face flushed further but you were grateful for the help at least. Thank god you didn’t have any neighbours that could see in. 

Zayne smiled as he moved closer and pressed the stethoscope against your chest, listening intently. Even you could tell how your pulse increased at the proximity. Why were you nervous about this? 

Zayne listened intently to the sound of your heartbeat and the faint hum of the protocore embedded in it, making a few notes as he took various different measurements. Blood pressure, reflex tests, everything. With each one you felt your anxiety ease a little more,, the familiar routine comforting, along with the way Zayne maintained his professionalism.

“It seems that the protocore is stable,” he murmured after a moment, but the tension in his shoulders didn’t ease. “For now. But if you keep skipping appointments, we might not catch something early next time.”

You nodded, swallowing back another wave of guilt. “I promise I won’t miss another one.”

He straightened, pulling back and returning the stethoscope to his bag. “Good. Because if you make me come all the way out here again, I’ll start billing you for house calls.” His tone was light, but the warning behind it was real.

You offered a small smile, grateful for his persistence even as it pricked at your conscience. “Thanks, Zayne. For checking on me.”

“Of course,” he said, his expression softening again. “Just don’t make it a habit, okay? I’m your doctor and your friend, not your babysitter.”

You chuckled faintly, though the sound lacked its usual mirth. “Deal.”

As Zayne stood gathering his things, his gaze caught on something to the side of the room. You froze as his brow furrowed and he stepped toward the wall where your meticulously arranged pinboard hung, its tangled web of connections, locations, and photos betraying just how deeply you’d thrown yourself into your work - or rather, into Sylus.

He leaned closer, his eyes darting between the scattered notes and images. “Is this your current case?” he asked, his tone cautious, though there was a flicker of genuine curiosity. His finger hovered over a cluster of photos, and then he let out a small puff of a laugh. ‘Are these… his hands?’ he asked, glancing at you with genuine confusion and a hint of amusement. ‘I have to ask: why so many? This looks more like an art portfolio than evidence.”

Your stomach dropped, and a nervous laugh escaped before you could stop it. “Oh, uh…” You scrambled for an explanation, your mind racing. “Fingerprints! Yes, that's right, I’m… mapping his fingerprints to link him to... certain crimes. He has, uh, made it difficult to find them and put them in the database and, well, um, it’s a key piece of evidence.”

Zayne raised an eyebrow, glancing back at you with a mix of skepticism and amusement. “Fingerprints. Right.” He pointed to a particularly zoomed-in image of Sylus’ hands resting on a table, his fingers long and elegant. “These look more like glamour shots.”

Your cheeks burned, and you quickly moved past him, standing between him and the pinboard. “It’s… important for the investigation. Really! And it’s kind of confidential and besides, you wouldn’t understand - it’s a hunter thing.”

He chuckled, surrendering and taking a step back. “If you say so. I think it looks more like an art project than an investigation, but I’m sure you hunters have your reasons.” His tone was lighthearted, but you could feel the weight of his curiosity lingering.

Desperate to shift the conversation, you turned and gestured toward the couch. “Anyway, let’s get back to the important stuff—my health, right? Nothing too concerning, right?”

Zayne shook his head with a faint smirk, letting it slide as he moved back to his bag. “Fine, I’ll let it go. A certain someone is clearly a dedicated worker,” He said with a small grin.

“Zayne! Stop!” you warned him, a true smile breaking out across your face. 

“Ahh, there she is,” Zayne smiled at seeing your smile properly for the first time since he arrived. “You look a lot brighter when you smile, I’ve missed seeing you happy.” he said, moving towards the door. “Please take care of yourself, Y/N. I’ll send a text reminder about your next appointment.”

The smile stayed on your face as you said goodbye to Zayne, with a promise to attend your next appointment. 

From his home office in the N109 zone, Sylus sat in almost darkness, the light of his screens casting sharp long shadows across his angular features, highlighting his menacing aura and intensity. Mephisto’s feed demanded his full, undivided attention. The mechanical crow  had perched itself neatly outside your apartment window, its cameras zooming in on you and the man that had just arrived. The poor thing had become so used to its daily task of watching you that it had built its own little nest to rest in, right outside your window.  

Sylus’ brow furrowed further, a deep frown marring his beautiful features as he watched the scene unfolding. Truly, he thought Xavier would be his biggest problem, but this was beyond anything he thought he would be able to deal with. His hands were clenched into tight fists. Not only was there a man in your apartment, but he was sitting far too closely for Sylus’ liking.

The man - Zayne, as Sylus had gleaned from the immediate deep dive he took into your files - moved with an ease that set Sylus’ teeth on edge. His sharp features, composed demeanor, and natural confidence grated against Sylus’ already fraying patience. What annoyed him most, though, was the familiarity with which Zayne seemed to occupy your space.

Sylus’ eyes darkened when Zayne leaned closer. The man’s hand hovering near yours as he reached into his bag, and the faintest brush of contact sent a hot spike of anger through Sylus. Too familiar, he thought, his fingers curling tightly around the edge of his desk. It couldn’t get any worse than this, Sylus thought. 

Except it did, it got much worse. Sylus watched helplessly as you unbuttoned your top button, the beautiful look on your face that happened when you were embarrassed or shy, it wrecked him through and through. You were acting coyly around this man. 

When Zayne’s hand moved toward your chest, Sylus’ nearly lost it altogether. His vision tunneled,  his breath hitched as Zayne undid the first button of your shirt, then the second. His jaw clenched as the glimpse of your skin made his possessiveness roar to life. The sight  of you like that, the intimacy - it was his, it belonged to Sylus. What the hell were you doing?

His hand moved instinctively to his phone. All it would take was a simple call to his people, and this man, this rival, would be gone, just another problem erased from the board. Sylus’ lips parted, the beginnings of an order forming on his tongue. Why aren’t you stopping him? Why aren’t you saying anything? The fire in his chest turned to molten fury, burning away any rational thought.

And then he saw it: the cold gleam of a stethoscope as Zayne looped it over his neck.

Sylus stilled, the haze of jealousy giving way to sharp realization. The tension in his shoulders eased, but the fire simmered just beneath the surface. A doctor. His crimson eyes flicked back to the screen, tracking Zayne’s every move with hawk-like precision.

The stethoscope pressed against your chest, and Zayne’s focus shifted to your heartbeat, his expression calm and professional. But Sylus wasn’t soothed. His grip on the desk tightened as he fought to suppress the irrational urge to interfere. Even with the truth laid bare, he couldn’t erase the image of Zayne’s hands unbuttoning your shirt.

When Zayne finished his examination and turned to the pinboard on your wall, Sylus’ lips curled into a dark, knowing smirk. The doctor’s composed expression faltered slightly as his eyes scanned the photos. Sylus leaned closer to the screen, his amusement growing as Zayne stopped on a particular section.

A few words were shared between you both and Sylus found himself again regretful that he hadn’t placed a voice recorder in your apartment yet. He would have loved to hear your explanation for those pictures.

Zayne lingered by the door, offering a few final words before stepping out. Sylus exhaled slowly, the tension in his chest giving way to a quieter, colder sort of possessiveness. His crimson gaze lingered on the screen, watching as you visibly relaxed in Zayne’s absence.

Mephisto chirped softly, its small mechanical movements drawing Sylus’ attention briefly. The crow tilted its head, as though sharing its master’s disdain. Sylus’ lips quirked into a faint smile as his eyes returned to the screen, softening slightly at the sight of you.

“You don’t even realize, do you?” Sylus muttered, his voice carrying an edge of frustration as he stared at the screen. For a fleeting moment, he wondered if he was overreacting - but the memory of Zayne’s hand on your buttons quickly doused any self-reflection. “How close he was to death,’ he whispered, leaning back in his chair, ‘and how far I’ll go to keep you.’”

The feed flickered, but Sylus remained frozen in place, his focus still entirely on you. Even with the distance between you, his mind was set. You were his - completely, irrevocably his - and he would have to find a way to make sure the world would know it.

You stared at your hunter's watch, the blinking notifications finally registering in your mind as something that needed to be dealt with. The small screen whipped up and projected an endless list of overdue mission updates, missed check-ins, and at least two formal reprimands that you caught a glimpse of. It was a grim reminder of how much you’d been neglecting your duties.

One particular message blinked persistently on the interface, the sharp, clinical text casting a pale glow against your wrist. A formal meeting request from Captain Jenna. Your stomach dropped, the weight of weeks of neglected responsibilities slamming into you with a vengeance. You stared at it, unblinking, as if doing so would somehow make it into disappearing.

You couldn’t avoid this - not anymore. You’d been sloppy, you'd let this slip too far! Your fingers hesitated to tap the confirmation, knowing that this wouldn’t just be a progress update; it was a reckoning. You were fucking doomed.

You paced the small confines of your apartment, as your mind raced. What excuse would work? What could you possibly say to justify the radio silence, the missed reports, the lack of even a semblance of professional courtesy and respect for procedure? 

Deep undercover, your brain supplied, but you dismissed it just as quickly. If you’d been deep undercover, there would’ve been notes - coded updates, encrypted transmissions, something. There was a procedure for that, embedded training and you couldn’t just say you forgot about it.

Captured, you thought next. Maybe you could spin a tale about being ambushed in the field and taken somewhere. Some wild story about your escape? That would mean explaining the lack of an incident report, or worse, trying to fake one. Jenna was sharp, she was also meticulous; she’d see through it in an instant.

You groaned, rubbing at your temples, your thoughts spiraling. Nothing made enough sense, no excuse would be able to satisfy her. But Jenna was reasonable, right? She trusted you, right? She’d assigned you this mission because she believed in your capabilities, right? Jenna would understand if you explained that you’d needed to go silent, that Sylus was an unpredictable target who demanded your full focus. Maybe you could frame it as a necessary risk - one taken for the greater good of the mission.

Yes. That had to work. Jenna wasn’t like the others at The Hunter’s Association; She saw your potential, respected your instincts. She’d give you a chance to explain yourself, and she would understand, right?

Your fingers finally moved to tap the confirmation on your watch. The meeting request blinked out, replaced by the details: Captain Jenna’s office, 3:00 pm sharp. It left you with… just under 2 hours to get yourself ready for what was likely to be more uncomfortable than any battle with a wanderer. 

The pang of nerves in your chest mounted higher and higher, your stomach twisting in knots. You knew that if you walked into that meeting this anxious, Captain Jenna would lose all faith in you. You evened out your breathing, trying to force yourself to calm down. Repeating the things you knew to be true: It’s just a meeting, you've had plenty of them, it was going to be fine! However, as you gathered your things and prepared to leave, the creeping unease didn’t dissipate, a nagging whisper in the back of your mind that no amount of rationalising could quiet.

You’d been in Captain Jenna’s office so many times now, you were used to the precision, the unyielding brutalism of the space. It so clearly reflected the woman herself. The walls, a pristine white broken only by a single mounted display screen andvarious awards the Captain had achieved throughout her career as a hunter. Each one, a stark reminder of just how formidable the woman sat across from you was. Not that you needed the reminder of course. There were only a few personal touches here and there, a family photo behind her desk, a singular cup of coffee, and a heated seat pad. Everything screamed meticulous organisation. 

You sat stiffly in the chair opposite her desk. Had the chair always been so cold and unforgiving? Had the edges of it always been quite this uncomfortable? Or was it just the atmosphere in the room that was making you so uncomfortable?

Jenna hadn’t spoken yet, her sharp eyes fixed on the glowing interface of her data pad. The silence stretched, taught, like a wire about to snap. 

She set the tablet down, just as you felt like you were going to set yourself on fire to be free of the torturous silence. When she looked up, her expression was almost  unreadable, a mask of professionalism - one that had been honed over years of leadership and an exemplary record. But there was something in her eyes - a flicker of disappointment that cut deeper than any reprimand. You were going to throw up, you were sure of it. There was no possible way that she would understand just how much your priorities had changed.

“You’ve been off the grid,” she said, her voice calm but carrying an edge of accusation “Weeks of silence, no reports, no updates. Do you have any idea how this reflects on me?”

Fuck! Your mouth went dry. “Captain, I-”

“Save it,” she interrupted, raising a hand. Her tone wasn’t harsh, it left no room for argument. “I vouched for you. I told the higher-ups, my bosses, that you were the best person for this job, that your instincts were unmatched, that you could handle the pressure. And now I’m left explaining why my most trusted hunter has gone dark, not a lick of communication for over three weeks.” She sat back and let out a sigh, looking at you expectantly.

Her words hit like a physical blow, and you shifted uncomfortably under her gaze. Where was the courage that you mustered up when you shot that guy? You could really do with it now. You couldn’t decide which was scarier, that incident or this conversation right here, right now. “I can explain,” you began, your voice faltering. “Sylus - he’s… unpredictable, unlike any other target I've dealt with before. I- I guess had to go off the grid to get closer to him, to gain his trust. It was necessary for- for the mission,” You said, the words sounding less than convincing.

“Necessary?” Jenna leaned back in her chair, her eyes narrowing. She paused and the silence made you feel sick, then she spoke and you felt even worse, “Then where are your case notes, the progress logs, the surveillance reports? If you were so deep undercover, why didn’t I see anything at all from you? The last log I have is from your first time using your alias, which was weeks ago. Do you know how bad this looks, for both of us?”

Was it unprofessional to throw up all over a set of case logs?

You grimaced as your mind scrambled for an answer. She wasn’t wrong - she never was - there was no paper trail, no evidence of your “progress”. All you had was your obsession, the tangled web of plans and emotions that had consumed you. None of that would hold up under Jenna’s scrutiny. In fact, it was more likely to get you fired and locked up in a mental institution if you were honest. At least you were self aware.

“I—” you started, but Jenna cut you off again, her tone softening just slightly.

“I don’t think you understand how serious this is,” she said, her voice quieter now. “This isn’t just about you. Your lack of communication doesn’t just put the mission at risk - it puts me at risk. My reputation, my credibility. I put my faith in you, and you’ve given me nothing in return.”

You opened your mouth to protest, but the words died on your tongue. What could you say? That she was wrong? That you hadn’t failed her? Even you couldn’t believe that anymore.

Jenna sighed, the sound heavy with weariness. “The higher-ups have decided to reassign the case,” she said, her words landing like a punch to the gut. “Effective immediately.”

Your heart stopped. “What?” you breathed, the single word laced with disbelief. “You’re… taking me off the case?”

“I didn’t have a choice,” Jenna said, her voice firm but tinged with regret. “I fought for you. I told them you just needed time, but the longer you stayed silent, the harder it became to defend you. They think you’re too deep in this, that your judgment is compromised. And after seeing your lack of communication, I can’t say I entirely disagree.”

She’d lost faith in you, that much was clear, but had you really fucked up this spectacularly?. This couldn’t be happening. They couldn’t take you off the case yet! You had to do something.

“I can fix this,” you said desperately, leaning forward in your chair. “I just need more time. Please, Captain, you know I can handle this. I can back date my logs with my personal notes, or I ca-”

But Jenna shook her head, her expression resolute. “This isn’t about whether or not you can handle it. It’s about trust. And right now, the higher-ups don’t trust you and to be honest, neither do I right now.”

The finality in her words was like a punch to the gut. You sat back, numb, as Jenna picked up her tablet again, her attention already shifting to the next task on her endless list. The meeting was over, she was going to dismiss you without even hearing you out. Not that you had anything to counter her points with though, you were in far too deep, and your judgement was compromised.

“Turn in your files by the end of the day,” she said, her tone clipped. “Your replacement will be briefed tomorrow and you will have to be there. You will be placed on desk work for the foreseeable future, until you can prove that you're ready to be back out in the field.”

You stood on shaky legs, the reality of the situation making you nauseous. Would you be able to continue with your plan? You couldn’t abandon Sylus now, not with all you had sacrificed for him. You’d have to think things through once your head was a little more clear. 

As you stepped out of Captain Jenna’s office, her words hung over you like a storm cloud. The hallway, usually a place you barely noticed, now felt impossibly long. Your boots clicked against the polished floor, the sound echoing back at you in the unnerving silence. 

Two hunters stood near the mission board ahead, their conversation halting the moment you came into view. Were they always this quiet, or was it just for you? Their eyes flicked toward you, brief but piercing, as though they could see right through you - through your failure, through your obsession. You swallowed hard and kept your gaze forward, but the shame burned hot across your cheeks.

They couldn’t know. They didn’t know. Still, the feeling of their judgment lingered like a second skin. Could they see the mess you’d become? Did they know how deeply you’d fallen into Sylus’ orbit, how you’d let everything else, all your responsibilities, fade into the background? 

Every step away from Jenna’s office felt heavier than the last, the paranoia clawing at the edges of your mind. You were losing control - no, you’d already lost it. And now, as the sterile hallways loomed over you, the world felt just as suffocating as Jenna’s office had.

Sylus’ evenings were always spent the same way, it had become a kind of ritual to him over the past few weeks. He would spend the whole entire day waiting for this moment. Every second of his work, every conversation with his subordinates, every deal struck - all led up to the quiet solace of the evening, where he could settle in and watch you. The moment where he could see you, scheming and planning to make him yours, oblivious to how you’d already captured him in your scheming little web. Silly thing, you didn’t realise he already belonged to you, as much as you belonged to him. 

Mephisto delivered the feed to him each evening like a little gift and Sylus would pour over every second. The way your brow furrowed when you were deep in thought, the way your lips curved as you scribbled notes or adjusted your collection of all things him. It was intoxicating, the way you were so effortless in your devotion to him. This nightly ritual was his escape, his indulgence - and now it was ruined.

Flipping through the feed, there were no glimpses of you in the N109 zone, no sign of you tracing his movements or carefully trailing his steps. Even the burn of his whiskey turned acrid in his throat, as though your absence had soured the very air around him. His sweetness was gone. No hints of your presence in his territory. It was as though you’d vanished into thin air.

His irritation built and built as he continued searching, until the crows cameras finally caught you. What he saw did little to soothe his anger, the only consolation was that it was you, finally you. What they’d reduced you to, however, was almost insulting. You were seated stiffly at a desk in the sterile bleakness of the Hunter’s Association, your expression tight with boredom and frustration as your fingers tapped against your keyboard. The mountain of paperwork threatened to overwhelm you and hide you from his watchful gaze, but most aggravating was the harsh pale light that lit your face. You were daylight incarnate, a fiery warmth that burned so brightly, and yet they had locked you in this cage of artificial fluorescence, trying to snuff you out. 

Sylus’ crimson eyes narrowed as he realised what the situation meant. Desk work. They’d pulled you from the field, from him entirely. The Hunter’s Association had clipped your wings and buried you under bureaucratic nonsense. His sharp smile twisted into something darker as his finger steepled under his jaw.

The last time you had taken such a beak, he’d discovered another man - Xavier - had tried to take you from him. Now he watched as that same man stole glances at you through your glass office door. The sight burned in his chest, the memory still raw. What if it happened again? What if your attention shifted to someone else while he was here, stuck watching you from the shadows? What if this time, someone succeeded in taking you away from him? You belonged to him, and this separation felt like a violation, one he wouldn’t be able to forgive the Association for.

Hadn’t he already been patient enough? He’d let you play your little game, let you think you were the one chasing him. But now? Now you were slipping through his fingers, and every second spent apart gnawed at him like a wound that wouldn’t heal.

The only salve to this was that penthouse. His penthouse that he had designed specifically for you. You still had it, still visited it at least twice a week. That was the one thread of comfort he clung to - that you still gravitated toward something that tied you to him, but it wasn’t enough. 

Sylus leaned back again, his eyes dark with thought. Was this how it would be now? Forced to watch you from the shadows, knowing the Hunter’s Association had ripped you away from him? No. That wasn’t acceptable. He wouldn't allow it. You were made for him, made to be by his side, not buried under stacks of meaningless reports. 

How could he bring you back to him? The idea of forcing your return flickered briefly in his mind, but he dismissed it just as quickly. He didn’t just want your presence - he wanted your devotion, your obsession. He craved the way you chased after him with that determination and fire. He wanted you to come back willingly, to crave his attention as much as he craved yours. 

The Association had made their move, but they didn't know who they were dealing with. There was no chance that he’d just sit back and let them dictate the terms of your connection. If anything, this only made him more determined. 

Mephisto chirped softly, the sound pulling him from his thoughts. Sylus smirked faintly, though his crimson eyes still burned with intensity as they stayed fixed on the screen.

The plan was forming already, each piece sliding into place in his mind. He wasn’t going to lose you, not to the Association, not to some other man, and certainly not to the mundane drudgery they’d condemned you to. He’d bring you back to him, one way or another. You were his, and he would stop at nothing to have you.

The shadows in Sylus’ office seemed deeper than usual. Perhaps it was their boss's already dreary mood that had Luke and Kieran on edge but either way, they knew they would have to tread carefully. The twins entered his office with a quiet knock at the door and a respectful nod of their heads in Sylus’ direction. The pair, usually brimming with a quiet, sardonic energy when alone, moved with an unusual restraint in the presence of their boss, exchanging a wary glance through their crow masks before stepping further into the room. They were being careful and almost hesitant and such a detail was not lost on the leader of Onychinus. 

Sylus didn’t lift his head to greet them. His back remained facing them as he poured himself a glass of whiskey, the amber liquid catching in the faint glow of the sconce lamps and the computer screen in front of him. The tension in the room was palpable, the majority emanating from the man himself and even the mechanical crow chirped uneasily from his perch in the corner of the room. 

“Speak,” Sylus said flatly, his voice low and sharp enough to make the air in the room seem thinner.

Luke stepped forward first, his voice measured. “We’ve noticed some changes, sir. The hunter, your Miss Hunter, hasn't been spotted in the N109 zone for several days.”

“She’s not tailing us anymore. Or you,” Kieran added quietly. 

Sylus’ hand stilled over the glass, his grip tightening imperceptibly. The weight of their words pressed against his chest, but he didn’t move or speak. There was more, he was certain of it, more that they weren’t saying. The two men exchanged another glance, clearly aware that they’d just lit the fuse on a powder keg.

“And?” Sylus prompted, his tone colder now, sharper.

Luke hesitated, shifting slightly under the weight of his boss’ crimson gaze as Sylus turned to face them, his expression unreadable. “Another hunter seems to have taken her place. Different approach, different methods, nowhere near as nice to the locals.”

Kieran cut in, his voice softer, almost cautious. “They’re not as... competent, though. Not like her.”

Sylus’ jaw tightened, the glass still in his hand as his mind raced. Was it too dramatic to throw the thing at the wall? He took a deep breath pinching the bridge of his nose. He’s expected something would change, for you to need time to catch up on the work he’d since found out you had completely neglected in favour of him - that had been quite the welcome surprise. But this? To replace you? To send someone else after him? It wasn't just frustrating, it was downright maddening. 

“Hmmm,” Sylus took a sip of his whiskey, missing the sweetness of you in his world. 

The twins shifted uncomfortably as Sylus’ silence enveloped the room, doing nothing to quell the tension of the room. 

“And how have you responded?” Sylus finally said, his voice low. His eyes flicked between the masked men, daring them to offer him anything except the truth.

“Well, sir, it’s been easy to keep on top of them,” Luke said carefully, his hands clasped behind his back as if to ward off any sudden outburst. “We’ve been keeping tabs. This new hunter... they’re not making much progress so far.”

Sylus exhaled sharply, the tension in his shoulders visible even beneath the fabric of his tailored blazer. He leaned back against the desk, his fingers tapping against the glass in his hand as his mind worked. The Hunter’s Association thought they could simply replace you, as if you were a damaged cog in their machine. They had no idea how lucky they were to have you. They’d made a grave mistake, and now he had to make it right.

“Fine,” he said after a long moment, his voice steady but filled with a dangerous edge. “If they want to send someone else, let them. But they’ll find nothing. No leads, no witnesses, no trails. Is that clear?”

Luke and Kieran nodded, their posture tense but obedient. Sylus straightened, his crimson eyes burning with purpose. “Spread the word. No one in the N109 zone speaks to this new hunter. Not a scrap of information. If they ask questions, they get silence. And anyone who does give them information will absolutely pay for it,” The threat was clear as it hung in the air.

Kieran tilted his head slightly, his voice cautious. “And Miss Hunter, sir? What about her?”

Sylus’ expression darkened, his grip tightening on the glass. “She’ll come back to me,” he said with quiet certainty, his voice laced with something deeper, possessive. “One way or another.”

The room fell silent again as Luke and Kieran nodded, their masked faces giving nothing away. As they turned to leave, Sylus’ gaze returned to the screens, his focus narrowing on the image of you at your desk, your expression weary but determined.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

I'm so sorry for the delay in getting this chapter out! This month has been completly crazy!

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback on this  ❥

[gurokiitty]

hii!! i love all of ur writing and headcannons so much, would there be any chance you could write about strade kidnapping reader who just so happens to be a virgin? he knows about this thanks to some talking beforehand at the bar and later brings it up. he ends up taking their virginity (unwanted hehe) thanks a lot if u write this !! 🙈🙈🙈 feel free to change the consent !!

a/n: tysm! as a certified virgin™️, yes i can!!! <3 hope you enjoy :3

IN THE WOLF'S DEN

{ strade x virgin! gn! reader }

word count: 2.2k

warnings/tags: NSFW (graphic), NONCON, build-up, brief alcohol use, kidnapping, violence, knifeplay, blood and injury, licking and biting, mild corruption themes, loss of virginity, creampie.

Your fingers glide along the rim of your glass, tracing patterns in the condensation that pools beneath your touch. Amidst the cacophony of voices in the bar, his presence stands out, a solitary figure who commands your attention. He emerges from the crowd, his sharp features softened by the warm lights, and his eyes gleam with a dangerous allure, drawing you in with each step he takes. He slides onto the stool beside you, effortlessly claiming the space as his own.

"Name's Strade," he offers, his voice smooth and accented. You introduce yourself in return, feeling the weight of his gaze as you shift nervously in your seat.

"You look like you have something on your mind," he observes, taking a sip of his drink. You're taken aback by his directness, but something about him draws you in, a magnetic pull you find impossible to resist.

You swallow, nerves dancing beneath your skin as you meet his gaze. His presence is overwhelming, yet oddly comforting. "I guess so," you confess, your voice barely above a whisper, "but it's nothing I'd share with a stranger."

His chuckle ripples through the air, a low sound that sets your pulse alight. "Ah, but aren't strangers the best confidants? No judgments, no preconceptions."

His words resonate within you, coaxing a nod of agreement. "I suppose you're right," you concede, turning your gaze back to him.

You begin to open up, sharing things you've never told any stranger before. You tell him that you're alone, that your family lives in a different city, that you feel the most lonely you have in your adult life. The words spill freely from your lips and he listens with an intensity that both unnerves and excites you. And then, almost as an afterthought, you confess a truth you've kept hidden for so long— the truth of your virginity.

Strade's reaction is immediate, his lips curling into a wolfish grin. "A virgin," he muses, his voice edged with amusement, "how intriguing."

A flush blooms across your cheeks, a blend of embarrassment and exhilaration at his reaction. Your fingers linger on the rim of your near-empty glass, his gaze holding you captive.

"In what way?" you ask, a small thrill pulsing through your veins.

Leaning closer, his smile widens, a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "It's not every day you find someone so… untouched. It makes you unique, like a rare gem."

Your pulse quickens at his words, but before you can respond, the bartender interrupts; a temporary reprieve. You hastily order another drink, the liquid a balm for your nerves.

As the night wears on, you lose yourself in conversation, the sounds of the other patrons fading into insignificance. Only when the bar begins to empty does reality come crashing and you realize it's time to part ways.

"I should get going," you say, pushing yourself away from the bar. "I have an early morning." Before you can take another step, he's beside you, his hand grazing yours in a tantalizing caress. "Allow me to walk you to your car," he offers, his eyes twinkling with a dangerous glint.

There's part of you that hesitates, a silent warning echoing in the recesses of your mind; but the pull of his presence is undeniable, drawing you into his orbit once more.

The streets are quiet as you make your way through the night, the only sound is the soft shuffle of your footsteps on the pavement. You steal glances at him out of the corner of your eye, his silhouette a dark shadow against the moonlit sky.

As you round a corner into a dimly lit alley, the air suddenly thickens with an ominous tension. Your heart quickens its pace, a silent drumbeat of warning, and in an instant, he's upon you, pinning you against the rough surface of the alley wall. His grip is firm, almost bruising, as he leans in close, his hot breath fanning across your face.

"Don't make a sound," Strade whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. His smile, once charming and enticing, now twists into something dangerous; like a predator revelling in its prey.

Panic surges within you as you struggle against his hold, your pleas swallowed by the gaping alley. With a sickening thud, your head meets brick and stars explode behind your eyelids as darkness descends like a shroud.

You awaken to the unforgiving glare of fluorescent lights, your head pounding with a dull, insistent ache. Disoriented, you blink against the harsh brightness, your surroundings slowly emerging from the haze. No longer are you in the alley; instead, you find yourself in a musty basement, the air thick with the scent of damp and decay.

Your heart lurches as you shift, feeling a cold metal pole press into your back and your arms bound tightly behind it. Panic claws at your insides, fueling a desperate struggle against the restraints.

"Ah, you're awake already?" Strade's voice cuts through the silence like a blade, sending a shiver down your spine. You turn your head to see him descending the stairs with an unsettling grace, his silhouette looming like a spectre in the dim, flickering light.

"Wha— What's going on?" you stammer, your voice trembling with fear.

He chuckles, a sound devoid of warmth, as he crouches to meet your gaze. "You don't remember? Our chat was going so well... You opened up to me about so many things,"

Dread coils in the pit of your stomach as your naivety sinks in like a lead weight. "Please, let me go," you plead, shrinking back against the cold metal pole, trying to distance yourself from him.

But he only smiles in response, seemingly unmoved by your desperation. "I wanted to get to know you on a more... intimate level," He explains, his tone disturbingly casual. "So I took you home."

Your breath catches in your throat as he moves closer, the heat of his body an unwelcome presence. With a swift motion, he withdraws a knife from his belt, the blade gleaming in the dim light.

"Please," you whimper again, tears clouding your vision. "I'll do anything, just let me go."

Strade laughs, the sound echoing in the confines of the basement. "Anything, huh?" he muses, that menacing smile still etched on his face. "Well then."

He places the knife on the floor and leans into you, his body pressing intimately against yours. He's so close you can smell him— a dreadful blend of sweat and petroleum invading your senses. Rough hands reach for the ropes binding your wrists, causing you to flinch. With deft movements, he begins to untie the knots, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that makes your stomach churn.

The ropes fall away, and you gasp in relief, only to feel his hands seize your shoulders, shoving you back against the pole. Strade retrieves his knife and kneels before you, his bulky frame illuminated by the overhead lights.

"Now," he commands, gesturing with the blade, "strip."

You swallow hard, bile rising in the back of your throat as you meet his gaze. Slowly, with trembling hands, you begin to remove your clothes, the fabric rustling loudly in the silence of the basement.

Strade watches you intently, his eyes devouring every inch of exposed skin. You strip down to your underwear, your clothes a crumpled heap at your feet. The cool air of the basement chills your skin, and you curl into yourself, attempting to shield your body from his invasive gaze. He steps closer, his free hand brushing across your cheek.

"Have you ever stripped naked for anyone before?" he asks, almost tauntingly, his face mere inches from yours. You shake your head, your voice barely a whisper. "N-No," you manage to croak out, the response hanging between you.

Strade chuckles as if amused by your innocence. "I figured as much," he sneers, "A virgin in every sense."

He watches your reaction with a sadistic delight, savouring your fear— your vulnerability, as you shrink further into yourself.

"Aww, you're trembling," he observes, his eyes raking over your quivering form. "Niedlich."

With a sudden, brutal motion, he grabs your ankles, dragging you forward until you're sprawled on the ground before him. He crawls over you, his weight pressing heavily, the knife still firmly in his grasp.

Strade brings the knife to your chest, the cold steel kissing your skin before biting in with a sharp sting. You gasp, a cry of pain escaping your lips as the red line blossoms with warm, crimson buds. His eyes gleam with sadistic delight, his thumb pressing into the wound and smearing the blood across your skin.

"So cute," he repeats, his lips curving into a predatory smile. "I could just devour you whole!"

His tongue flicks out to trace a wet, humid stripe along your jaw, his putrid saliva mingling with your tears. "Hah... You taste sweeter than I imagined, Liebling," he purrs, and you shudder beneath him, the sensation both revolting and terrifying. His fingers then trail down your stomach, his touch like a brand against your skin.

"But you forgot something," he breathes, forcing your trembling knees apart.

Your blood runs cold as he carves a delicate line along your abdomen with the knife. He stops just below your navel and flattens the blade against your stomach, sliding it beneath your underwear. His movements are slow, deliberate, and you can feel the blade prodding the delicate skin of your groin.

Strade's breathing is quick and shallow, his breath warm across your face as the flush of excitement tints his cheeks. "Don't squirm too much," he whispers, his voice trembling with anticipation.

Without looking down, he begins to slice through the fabric of your underwear, the knife gliding effortlessly through the thin material. The sound of ripping cloth fills the silence, mingling with the rapid beat of your heart. As the last shred of fabric falls away, your body is laid bare, exposed and vulnerable beneath him.

He runs the flat of the blade over your abdomen once more, a sadistic smile spreading across his face as he revels in your fear. "So rein," he murmurs, more to himself than to you. "So unbroken. It's almost a shame." He leans in closer, his lips brushing against your ear as he speaks, "but not quite."

As Strade sheaths the knife, you attempt to pull yourself away, the concrete chafing your palms with each drag. He follows close behind you, his cruel smile unwavering. Your heart is pounding in your ears as you desperately try to crawl faster, but it's futile. His hand clamps down on your waist with a bruising grip, yanking you back towards him.

You cry out in terror and frustration, the sound echoing in the desolate basement. He flips you onto your wounded stomach, your skin scraping painfully against the floor. With a sadistic grin, Strade forces your head down, pressing your cheek into the rough concrete. It bites harshly into your skin, and you can feel your tears mingling with the grime.

The metallic clink of a belt buckle sends a fresh wave of fear through you, and the sound of a zipper follows soon after. Your breath comes in ragged gasps as he positions himself between your legs, his weight pressing down on you. His hands roam over your body, squeezing and kneading, leaving blooms of purple on your tender skin.

His grin widens as he leans in, panting. "This may... sting a little," he taunts, his voice sticky against your ear.

"No! Wait!" you cry, your voice cracking with desperation. Your pleas are met with cold indifference as he slams into you, his cock worming past the resisting tissue and resting deep inside. A searing pain rips through your body, and you scream, the sound raw and guttural.

"Mmm, perfekt..." he huffs, revelling in your agony.

You choke on your sobs, the foreign sensation warm and heavy, and tearing with force. Something warm and wet trickles down your thighs, coating them—and him— in a cherry-red sheen. With each brutal thrust, your cheek grates against the rough concrete floor, the blistering ache engulfing your pleas. Strade shows no mercy, his movements relentless and punishing, each gasp and flinch you make fueling his perverse excitement.

"That's it," he breathes, heavy and strained. "Scream for me."

The pain blurs into a surreal haze, your mewls crumbling into incoherent moans and whimpers. Strade's weight is suffocating and his flesh is damp against yours; a clammy, sweaty layer uniting you both. His breath is hot and heavy as it mingles with the nauseating wet slapping between you.

His teeth drag threateningly along your shoulder as his thrusts become more frenzied. He curses against your skin before biting down hard on your neck with a sudden, primal urge. You yelp in pain and he cums, the warm spurts seeping deep inside your body.

Strade chuckles breathlessly as he pushes himself off of you, his eyes heavy and pupils dilated.

Your own eyes flutter open, puffy and glossed with tears as you roll over, curling into yourself on the unforgiving concrete. Through the haze, you dimly register the traces of your spit and blood splattered beside your face; the rough surface glittering almost beautifully under the light.