#and its characters and stories and everything

[alwayssassydreamer]

Show Me Your Desire

A/N: so since I've been sick for almost two weeks now I didn't get a whole story done and only managed to scribble some short snippets down and this is the result of me experimenting. I have never done something like this before so here's to the first try. You can thank @hakiofdreams for the character selection and the idea. Its basically one scenario for 5 different characters. Oh and sorry if I messed Lucci, Mihawk and Zoro up I usually don't write for them (and please no more requests for Mihawk and Lucci)

Plot: you ate the Yoku Yoku No Mi - the desire desire devil fruit - that shows you glimpses of someones deepest desires when you touch them. Therefore you made sure to avoid touches and insight into those personal moments. But during a conference things get out of hand.

Warnings: none really, sfw, maybe some slight tinie tiny bit of angst, not proofread and I'm really sorry if it sucks 🙈

Characters: Law; Zoro; Sir Crocodile; Lucci; Mihawk (all separately) x GnReader

Crocodile:

You hadn’t meant to touch him.

The conference room was full of killers, and you had stayed quiet, unreadable as you were told because that was your strength. You were a broker one of the only women allowed in this blood-soaked circle, not because of strength, but because you knew when to keep your damn mouth shut.

Except for when your fingers grazed his.

It had been a fleeting moment someone bumped your chair, your balance faltered, and your hand caught the edge of the armrest next to you. Except it wasn’t empty. Crocodile was already seated there, cigar in hand, gold hook resting on the table.

You touched his skin.

And everything shifted.

The vision hit like a freight ship.

You stood on a sandstorm-swept cliff, wind howling like a banshee. Crocodile was in front of you, bleeding, furious but not at you. "Don’t you dare - don’t you fucking dare leave me," he growled. You took a staggering step toward him. He grabbed your hand pressed his forehead to yours. "You’re all I have left."

And then it was over.

Your fingers recoiled like you’d been burned. Crocodile glanced at you sharply. The eye contact was brief, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. His gaze sharpened, a predator smelling a shift in the wind.

You forced yourself to look away. Pretended to jot notes but your hand, it trembled.

Later that night you were alone on the balcony of the summit villa, nursing a glass of wine and a headache. The sea below was black and endless and you were too lost in thoughts to hear him approach.

"You touched me."

You didn’t look back. “I lost my balance.”

Crocodile exhaled smoke behind you. It curled over your shoulder like a living thing.

"You saw something."

Silence.

He stepped closer. Not enough to touch but enough that you felt it. His presence was heavy, charged.

"Your Devil Fruit," he said slowly. "The rumors are true."

You turned then, eyes meeting his. "You were warned not to touch me."

His lips curled into something like a smirk but there was no humor in it. "I don’t fear little parlor tricks, little flower."

"It’s not a trick. I saw your desire."

You watched his expression and saw a flicker of tension, his jaw tightening, but he said nothing.

You went on anyway. "You don’t want power. Or revenge. You want….someone."

He flicked ash over the railing. "Lust is human." he said calmly, unimpressed even.

"It wasn’t lust."

Now he looked at you fully. Dark eyes, smoldering with something far more dangerous than anger.

"Then you saw too much." Was all he said before he walked away again.

The days that followed were hell.

Crocodile made sure to stay out of "touching range", but he hovered, always in your periphery. Always watching.

You felt it in the way your skin prickled. The way he lingered too long in every meeting. The way he said your name, like it was a secret he refused to keep.

And worse, the way he looked at you now was not indifferent.

You saw it, a piece of him no one else did. Something he buried deep under years of blood and sand and arrogance.

That made you dangerous.

But you couldn’t stop thinking about that vision. Not just what he wanted, but how desperately he wanted it. How broken and raw his voice had been when he said it.

"You’re all I have left."

The breaking point came the next night in the garden.

It was late. You were alone again - or so you thought.

"You don’t sleep much."

You turned. "And you don’t leave me alone." You said glaninc briefly at him.

He looked tired. Less composed. Shirt open at the throat. Cigar forgotten.

"Why?" you asked. "Why do you keep circling me like a hawk?"

"Because you took something from me," he said vpice low as he stepped closer to you.

"What?" You asked blinking confused.

He didn’t answer right away.

Instead, he reached out and this time, he touched you on purpose. Bare fingers, sliding along yours.

Another vision hit:

You, standing in the rain, bloodied, but alive. Him, cupping your cheek with his flesh hand, thumb caressing your skin. His hook protectively at your back like an oath. "I’ll protect you. Even if it kills me."

You gasped as the vision ended.

He didn’t let go. "You saw what I didn’t want anyone to know," he murmured. "That I’m tired of pretending I feel nothing."

"Why me?" you asked voice trembling, body shaking.

A beat of silence.

"Because you didn’t flinch," he said. "Even now, you look at me like I’m still a man."

"Are you?" you asked voice cracking

His lips twitched. "Would it matter?"

You didn’t answer just looked at him and he leaned in. Foreheads so close, breaths warm and mingling.

"You scare the hell out of me," you whispered.

"Good," he said. "That makes us even."

And then he closed the gap between you two. The kiss was a mistake, it was desperate, messy. Like trying to drown a fire and you pushed him away the first time. He let you, smirking, but not too far.

The second kiss wasn’t a mistake as you pulled him back giving in to the temptation, the desire, the need.

They said you tamed a monster.

They were wrong.

He was still a monster.

But now, when he burned the world, he burned it for you.

And when his enemies came too close, they didn’t face a sandstorm.

They faced a man willing to destroy the world just to keep your hands from shaking.

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Mihawk:

You stood in a candle-lit hall surrounded by the most dangerous men on the Grand Line, playing the part of a neutral mediator.

You didn’t expect him to be there or well maybe you did but you had just hoped he wouldn’t.

Dracule Mihawk. The Greatest Swordsman. Dressed in black and crimson, leaning against the far wall like a painting come to life.

He radiated silence. Precision. Control.

You made a point to avoid him after your last encounters with him. But fate didn’t care about your plans.

The chaos began when someone bumped into you, a minor captain, flailing, spilling wine.

You stumbled back and straight into Mihawk.

A bare hand caught your wrist. Just for a second.

And that was all it took for the vision hit you like a blade.

You, barefoot in his castle. Dressed in silk. Standing in front of a fire, wrapped in his coat. Mihawk behind you, eyes unreadable, fingers brushing your jaw. "Stay," he murmured in the dream. It was the most intimate thing you had ever seen from anyone, especially him.

And when you jolted back to reality, his gaze locked on you like he knew.

You quickly pulled away. "I-I’m fine, I’m sorry," you muttered, voice brittle.

He said nothing. But his stare lingered too long.

Later that night, you found yourself alone in the garden beneath the moonlight, trying to slow your racing heart. He found you again, silent as shadow.

"You saw something," Mihawk said, voice low and cutting. Not a question. A fact.

Your mouth went dry.

"I didn’t mean to," you admitted. "It only happens with skin contact."

"Interesting," he replied, stepping closer. "And what did you see?"

You looked up at him. His expression was unreadable. Cold, calculating… but something flickered behind his eyes. Hope? Fear? Annoyance?

"You were… home," you said carefully. "At peace."

That was not entirely a lie. But it also wasn't the whole truth.

But he accepted it. Barely.

"Keep your distance from now on," he said. "I don’t need you reading my mind."

"You think I want to?" you snapped. "I see things I never asked for. Every handshake, every shove, every accidental brush…..it’s a flood of everyone’s secrets. Do you know what that feels like?"

Mihawk’s expression didn’t change.

But his voice softened just slightly. "No. But I understand the cost of power."

He left before you could answer.

Over the next days, he avoided you. And you avoided him.

Except when you didn’t.

He lingered longer during briefings. Sat closer at the table. Your eyes met too often to be coincidence.

And then, it happened again.

A thunderstorm cracked over the island. You slipped on the rain-slick stone and someone caught you…….him again.

The vision rushed in.

You, in his castle again, dinner together, candles lit, a glass of wine before you, untouched because you were busy……kissing him, like it was the end of the world.

You jerked back, breathless, trembling.

He didn’t let go.

"Tell me," he said.

Your voice shook. "You want something you think you’re not allowed to have."

"Because it’s dangerous," he whispered. "Because I always win. And I’m afraid I’d ruin you."

You looked up, and your heart cracked open like a wound.

"Then stop touching me," you said. "Or stop pretending you don’t care."

The summit ended with deals were made and for once no blood spilled. But he didn’t leave.

He found you at the edge of the cliffside the next night. Wind in your hair. Sand crunching beneath your boots.

"I don’t know how to love gently," he said.

You turned. "I don’t need gentle. I need real."

Mihawk reached for you, slowly this time, and you let him. His fingers brushed your cheek, and the vision didn’t hit you like a wave.

This time, it bloomed.

It showed a future. A choice he had made. Not a fantasy, not a secret longing, just him, choosing you.

And for once, you saw your own desire reflected back.

When the vision ended, he looked down at you and he kissed you, it wasn’t fire. It wasn’t war. It was something infinitely more dangerous.

Surrender – him giving in to his desire.

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Lucci:

Lucci sat across from you now at a round conference table. He was silent, unreadable, flanked by the pigeon that watched you just as closely as its master. You kept your gloves on. You’ve heard the stories about CP0’s attack dog. Stoic. Merciless. Efficient.

Everytime you crossed paths with him you were surprised all over with how beautiful he was.

Not soft, never that. But there was a deadly grace in his stillness, the way his eyes rested like the flat of a blade on your skin. It was a look that said he knew what you were. What you were hiding.

You were extra careful. Until the second day of negotiations.

It happened fast. A flash of chaos during the midday meeting, two idiots broke into an argument, and someone flipped the table. You were shoved sideways, stumbling, and reaching out blindly to steady yourself.

Your bare hand crashed into Lucci’s wrist.

Shit.

Your world snapped away and the vision flashed before your eyes, flooding your senses.

Red silk sheets and low candlelight. Lucci was leaning against the headboard, half undressed, but it was not the lust that stole your breath, it was the quiet. You were there, beside him. Sleeping against his chest like you belonged there, his arm around you, watching you, like he was afraid you’d vanish. A calloused hand brushed a strand of hair from your face with infinite care, and in that moment, Lucci, the monster, the cipher, the assassin, looked more vulnerable than anyone you’ve ever seen. He wanted peace. He wanted you. And he’d never allow himself either.

The vision collapsed.

You ripped your hand back like you’ve been burned. Lucci’s expression didn’t change. Not one fraction.

But he knew.

You saw it.

After that you avoided him for the rest of the day. You sat far away from him instead, engaging in dry trade debates you barely heared. But Lucci was never far. Every time you glanced up, he was there in the corner, always watching. Not speaking. Not moving.

You dreamt of the vision that night. Of his hand brushing your cheek. Of a silence that felt like safety only to wake up breathless.

The next morning, he cornered you.

Not roughly, he simply appeared in the hallway outside your suite, leaning against the wall like he belonged there. The hallway was empty and the air was sharp with frost.

"I won’t ask what you saw," he said, his voice low and even, making you tense.

"But I would like to know," he added, stepping forward, "why it disturbed you."

Your throat tightened. "You touched me," you said carefully. "I don’t like that."

"You touched me," he corrected. "The reaction wasn’t fear. It was pity."

That hit a nerve. "So now you read minds too?" You asked a little harshly.

"No," he said, "just yours."

You wanted to deny it. You wanted to insult him. But his tone wasn’t cruel it was…..curious. Cautious, even.

"It’s dangerous for people to know what others want," he grumbled tilting his head, making you clench your fists. "Especially when what they want is you."

The silence between you was suffocating. Your heart hammered behind your ribs like it was trying to escape. "It doesn’t matter," you whispered. "You’ll never act on it."

He took one slow step forward. "You’re right." He said bluntly.

His presence was overwhelming, an aura of silent dominance, raw and coiled. But there was a strange gentleness to it now. A restraint that rattled you more than any threat could.

"You didn’t see a fantasy," he murmured. "You saw a possibility. That’s what’s dangerous."

And with that, he left.

The summit ended with a treaty. You should have felt relieved but instead you felt hollow.

You caught Lucci watching you again as the final ships left the port. His face was unreadable, but his eyes, those dark, unblinking eyes, held something you now understood.

Need. Not obsession, not hunger. Just Need.

You found a note tucked into your room before you left.

"You saw me unarmed. No one else ever has. That should frighten you. But if it doesn’t, come find me. I’ll be waiting. —R.L."

You didn’t sleep that night, you just sat with the letter in your lap, fingers trembling above your gloves.

You’ve always feared touch. But now? You feared the idea of never being touched by him again and so you decided to go after him.

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Zoro:

The room reeked of tension, gunpowder, old grudges, and barely veiled threats. It was supposed to be neutral ground, a temporary truce between pirate factions to discuss territory lines, enjoy the rum and food and make trades and deals. You didn’t trust any of it or them. Especially not the Straw Hats swordsman leaning against the wall like he owned the air around him.

Roronoa Zoro.

You had heard the stories, demon of the East Blue, three swords, no tolerance for weakness. You even saw him once in action and after that had maybe 2 or 3 run ins with him but that was it.

You expected cold glares and muscle-bound not his eyes to linger on you.

So when you handed him some documents for his Captain, Zoro’s hand briefly met yours and you froze as the vision set in slamming into you like cannon fire making your knees buckle under the force of it:

You - bloody, breathing hard, standing between Zoro and a faceless enemy. Your back to him, a sword in your hand, and defiance in your voice. “You’ll go through me first.” His hand wrapped around your wrist, pulling you away out of danger not because he didn’t trust you or because he thought you were weak but because he wanted to protect you to be your shield, to keep you from harm. And then it shifted…..you, in a quiet moment, tucked beside him. Sleeping. His hand buried in your hair, body curled protectively around you, eyes closed but still guarding. He didn’t just want your body. He wanted to protect you, he wanted your loyalty. Your fire. Your presence. He wanted you – all of you.

When you blinked, the vision snapped away. The noise around you from the other pirates was still there. No one noticed, no one paid attention. Except Zoro himself.

His gaze had sharpened and you pulled your hand back fast. Too fast, causing his brow to furrow.

That night you barely slept. The vision kept replaying in your head – how rare it had been. How genuine.

It made no sense. He barely knew you. Why would his desire involve you bleeding for him? Sleeping beside him? Protecting you like you were something sacred?

The next morning you kept catching him watching you after that. Silent. Focused. Not aggressive, but intense.

And you tried to avoid him…..but he didn’t let you.

"Why did you flinch?" he asked, his voice came out of the shadows while you were walking alone, heading back to the guest quarters. He stepped out from between two buildings like he’d been waiting.

"I didn’t," you lied.

He stared at you, then tilted his head. "You looked like you saw a ghost, when we touched."

"I don’t like being touched," you explained forcing a smile.

"Bullshit," he hissed.

"Why do you care?" you asked inhaling sharply.

Zoro’s mouth opened, but he paused because he didn’t have a snarky answer.

"I don’t know," he said, finally. "But I’ve been thinking about it too damn much."

You saw the storm in his eyes and you knew you shouldn’t but he was just as confused and torn as you were and so you told him your secret.

"The Devil Fruit I ate… shows me what people want. If they touch me." You curled your fingers into your gloves. "I don’t mean surface-level stuff. I mean their deepest desire."

"So… you saw mine?" he asked not blinking.

You nodded once.

He looked away. "What was it?"

"I’m not telling you."

"That bad?"

"No. That personal."

"Then I must’ve looked pathetic." He murmured jaw clenching.

You stepped forward, a little closer to him. "No. That’s the problem. You didn’t."

He looked at you then, really looked. "Then what’s the problem?"

You swallowed hard looking at him before answering. "It made me want it too."

Silence.

"What did you see?" he asked again now more persistent.

Your heart hammered. You reached up, tugged one glove off slowly, deliberately.

“Touch me again and find out.”

He stared but then stepped forward.

His hand lifted and for once, it wasn’t a brush, it was a grasp, fingers curling over yours like he needed to hold something steady. Maybe himself.

And you shared the vision with him:

You. His. In every way that mattered. Fighting back to back. Him protecting you. Sleeping side by side. Arguing and laughing and bleeding and living. The sword at your hip matched his. The way he held you wasn’t lust, it was fierce belonging. You weren’t his weakness. You were his anchor.

He dropped your hand like it burned him and backed away a step, breathing hard.

But this time it was you who took a step closer to him. "I saw you," you whispered. "And I didn’t want to run. I wanted to be in that vision."

He blinked once. Then twice.

And suddenly almost out of nowhere he kissed you.

It wasn’t elegant or practiced. It was the kind of kiss you gave when you didn’t have words, when you had seen something terrifying and beautiful and wanted to make it real.

After that you went with him, to stay close, to make the vision, the desire a reality. You never told the others what your fruit did though. You didn’t need to. Zoro never left your side. He didn’t say much but he didn’t need to.

And he always made sure to touch you, your bare skin because he wanted you to see it, see what he wanted, see what he desired, see how much he wanted you.

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Law

Why the hell were you in a room with infamous pirates, locked in a tense alliance negotiation, and thought it was a good idea to be bare-handed?

Your pulse thundered in your ears as you sat at the circular table. Law was directly across from you, arms folded, sharp eyes watching everything. You had met him once before during a cargo handoff and you were sure he didn't remember that. But you did.

Your fingers brushed a silver coin on the table.

"Keep your hands still," Law said without looking at you.

You froze, embarrassed. His voice was quiet but stern, laced with a kind of quiet authority that made the others look over.

You retracted your hand and folded it in your lap.

"Don’t be so harsh," one of the other pirates muttered at Law with a grin. "She flinched like you growled."

Law didn’t respond. But his gaze lingered on you a moment longer than necessary.

Hours passed. The summit devolved into shouting, threats, and chest-puffing. You remained silent, observing. Calm. Neutral.

Until someone, an impatient mercenary with more ego than brains, tripped behind your chair.

You reached to steady yourself. Your hand flew out and….Law grabbed your wrist.

The world split open and your vision blurred and suddenly you saw his desire.

A cold room. Snow against steel walls. You, panting, drenched, eyes furious. He reached for you, desperate. A plea in his voice. "Don’t walk away. Stay. Just stay this time." You stood your ground, shaking your head, tears in your eyes. "You don’t need me, Law." His hand cupped your jaw. Gentle. Trembling. "I do. I just don’t know how to say it without destroying you."

The vision snapped shut like a trapdoor and you gasped, ripping your arm away, your knees nearly giving out.

Law’s brows furrowed. "What did you see?" He urged to know.

Shit. He knew.

You didn’t say anything just got up and walked out of the room.

You found him later that night on the edge of the island cliff, the ocean churning below like a storm waiting for permission.

"You didn’t answer my question," he said without turning.

You stayed back. "I didn’t think you’d actually know what my power does."

"I make it a point to know what everyone in the room is capable of," he said. "But I didn’t think you’d use it. Thought you were smarter than that."

"I didn’t mean to."

His head tilted slightly, dark hair blowing in the wind. "Then tell me. What did you see?"

You hesitated for a moment eyes shifting towards the ground. "You… asking me to stay."

He went quiet. So did the wind. And the waves in the ocean beneath it seemed.

"And what did you say?" he asked softly.

"I said you didn’t need me."

His laugh was low, bitter. "Typical. Even in my dreams, I drive people away,"

"No," you said quickly. "That wasn’t….It wasn’t like that. You… You were scared of hurting me. That’s not selfish. That’s human."

Law turned towards you, and for the first time, he looked vulnerable.

"I didn’t want you to see that," he said.

"I didn’t want to see it either," you replied, truth cutting between you. "Because now I can’t stop thinking about it."

He began avoiding you after that, making sure to keep his distance. His eyes were colder, calculations behind every word. But it wasn’t hatred, it was fear. You knew too much now. You had seen a version of him he barely admitted to himself.

And you couldn’t forget it.

You saw it in the way he stared at your hands, never touching you again.

In the way he tensed every time you stood near. He hadn’t spoken of the vision since, but you felt it constantly, the weight of possibility, just out of reach.

Until you broke first.

You cornered him one evening, at the medical bay. Just the two of you, surrounded by clean linens and the quiet hum of solitude.

"I can’t keep pretending I didn’t see it," you said. "Didn’t see what you want."

Law leaned against the counter, silent.

"You want someone who stays," you continued, stepping closer. "You want to let someone in. But you don’t know how. And you’re terrified that if you try, you’ll break them. That I’ll break."

His jaw clenched but you kept going. "I’m not afraid of you, Law. I’m afraid of how much I want to reach for you."

His head lifted, eyes sharp. "Don’t," he said firmly.

"Why not?"

"Because I’m already thinking about what I’d do to keep you."

The confession cracked the silence like thunder. He stepped closer, finally, hand raised, not touching, just hovering near your face.

"I’ve spent years pushing people away because it was easier. Cleaner. You saw what I wanted… and now I can’t stop imagining it."

"Then take it," you whispered. "Just don’t lie to yourself anymore."

And for the first time, he touched you willingly.

No vision came.

Because you didn’t need to see his desire anymore.

You already felt it.

[snowstormarts]

Cuddling time [Date Everything x GN Reader]

Just some cuddling with the boys, headcanons maybe & co. I'm just dipping my claws in the water here so don't expect too much since its been a few years since I last wrote anything really ^^"

Also feel free to send me ideas or requests, I have a hard time coming up ideas to write for (which will be probably a bit obvious, sorry) but have fun reading, reblogs & likes are appreciated

[Feat: Daemon, Chance, Hector, Mateo & Dirk/Clarence]

[Dividers by ithemes]

🐾 Mateo Manta 🐾

- His arms wrap around your waist, they fit perfectly around you as he pulls you closer letting your head rest on his soft, warm chest. Not to mentione that if you're still cold or need something weighted he will gladly share his jacket with you that smells like Vanilla & Tasslehounds

- I headcanon that the Jacket he wears is weighted like a weighted blanket, which can help with his Anxiety

- Once you got all cozy he will tell you about his day, be it the chaos his/the other residents critters have caused while under his care or what new stray he had found. And of course he listens to what you have to share, laughing, nodding along & hugging you when it was an especially hard/overwhelming day. Blocking out all the stress for the time being, letting you be pulled into a wall of pure comfort & safety

- His Critter family is of course, also here in the room, you can't keep them away from you guys. Stitch & Davi sleep at your feet, curled up against each other while Sprite lays on top of Mateos head

🪲☣ Daemon ☣🪲

- Seeing as he is a Game Bug, he hasn't experienced a lot besides breaking a few game scenes and trying to scare you, so when you offered to cuddle with him, he simply just said "sure" and went along with it, not expecting much

- But the second you cuddled up to him on the bed you realized quickly that he was quiet stiff, laying straight on the bed staring up at the ceiling. He wasn't quiet sure what to do seeing as the scrapped files didn't have cuddling codes, so you would need to lend a hand...or two...

- But once he got it down, it was the strangest yet comfiest cuddle session you ever had. Sometimes besides the arms around you midsection you would feel other arms carassing you, massaging your shoulders as you felt his lips on your neck, forehead and back even though he was facing you, never daring to look away from you

- He also produces a silent, whitenoise-humming sound, so if you ever have problems sleeping he's the man to go to...If you can ignore his glowing, white eyes that will stare at you the whole time

🎲 Chance 🎲

- Can be the little or big spoon, he's quiet happy with either or. As a little spoon he will talk about the characters he has for G&G, their storys, motivations, design ideas and so much more. While as a Big spoon he will tell you a story, whatever you want it can be adventurous, a horror story or just a fairytale so you can relax while he fills the silence

- He will always cuddle up to you, either burrying himself into your chest or shoulder or curling himself around you. Cocooning you into a save hold, legs drapped over yours as he rests his forehead against the back of your neck

- Makes the coolest pillowforts, the pillow walls are super sturdy somehow and he even got some fairy lights. Overtime he will build them out to a point where they basically become less of a pillowfort and more of a pillowcave with a secret back entrance & snack hoard

💨❄ Hector ❄💨

- Poor man will be too anxious to leave the attic at first, he showed himself to you and that did help with some of his self-esterm issues but not all of them. So you decided to build a little nest in the attic with him, so you could still get some cuddling experience with him

- He's a great cuddle buddy, he can change his body heat to whatever you desire which means even when it's in the middle of summer you can enjoy a good cuddle session in his arms without breaking a sweat

- He's a small spoon through and through, he curls up into a ball (much like a cat) and gets as close as he can without making you uncomfortable. He will also pull a blanket over himself to stay hidden because of his never ending reddening face [He will be gently teased about it by some of the others in the Attic]

👕🕸 Dirk/Clarence 🫧👕

- Dirk is a chaotic cuddler, he will drap his arm and head over your chest and use you like a cuddly bed plushy. He also sleeps without a shirt on so you can run your fingers across his back, admire the tattoos he has, draw shapes across his body that will have him teasingly ask you what you are doing. Though be warned he will retaliate if you do somehow find a ticklish spot on him, cuddle time can wait that man would be on a tickle war path

- Clarence on the other hand is a more neatly cuddler, he will pull you to his side and let you rest on his shoulder. On the otherside of you is of course the Batman Bodypillow, keeping your back protected from not only the cold but also nightmares [Acording to him at least]

- Dirk always brings a plushy around that you had washed once but never got back, you thought you lost it somehwhere but nope he simply "borrrowed" it and then hid it behind Washford whenever you came around. It was one item that brought him comfort after he and Harper had a rough fight, the lil' guy was basically his vent buddy while he was with her

- He has a solid grip, no matter if he's in a dirty or clean, once he has you in his arms it will be a feat to escape from him. And don't even try waking him up, that man sleeps like a rock...

[shinobicyrus]

I think the Monster of the Week format has a lot of advantages. It forces the writers to be concise, efficient, and tight with their storytelling since it all needs to be contained into a single episode. That said, you can see its flaws when: A). episodes lack coherent continuity (i.e. it's hard to tell when the story has occurred relative to others), and B). when the "monster" has been resolved and everything returns to "normal" afterwards.

There's also the biggest one, in my opinion: C). when they try to tackle subject matter that maybe needs a little more depth and nuance and time to address than a single self-contained episode that is on average 45 minutes with scattered commercial breaks.

Monster of the Week is also the logical format for regular broadcast television, so it makes since that we've been seeing less and less of it in our age of binge-streaming.

Likewise, there are some truly excellent shows with long plotlines and character arcs that are wonderfully done and truly satisfying to watch...but it can also be clear that one of the reasons so many studios have abandoned the MoW format (besides the Netflix-ification of our media) is that they're not willing to support the large writer's rooms, longer seasons, and collaborative storytelling necessary to create the great, efficient writing MoW needs in order to really work.

Neither of these formats are superior, we're just living in an age where most studios are willing to invest less resources into production but are expecting more and more output and profit. You're not gonna have good MoW episodes or long narrative stories that way, especially when shows are going to inevitably get cancelled after their third season so the corporate owners won't have to pay residuals.

i really could write an essay on how shit is that we’ve completely abandoned the monster-of-the-week episode format even when rebooting shows that relied on it to replace them with grimdark edgy plotlines where nothing feels good or accomplished at the end of the day

[bappablipblip]

Some details i liked about kpop demon hunters (SPOILERS)

- the weapons every hunter uses in the movie shimmer like the lines of the honmoon. With every strike, they don’t have perfect action trails, but they’re stripes/lines instead (i saw it when rumi and jinu first interacted alone)

- the story already established that the hunters are very competent at their jobs. Theres no training montage or shenanigans regarding how they balance a daylife/nightlife life style. They dont explore how/why Rumi, Mira, and Zoey were chosen which saves a lot of time. Plus, its literally stated that every hunter is born with a voice that amps up the spirits of those around them.

- ^ adding onto this, the scene on the subway when all the passengers in one car got blipped out of Earth and had their souls snatched. Of course the hunters were disappointed but it wasnt a life altering moment for them. It implies that they’re either used to it, or able to see the bigger picture.

- every song in the movie is very wattpad-esque but it works so well. Its not cringe or annoying at all and is done in a way that doesnt show that this is a kids movie. The lyrics as well are just bars in general.

- one of my favorite lines from the movie is in the song “this is what it sounds like”. When Rumi sings “Darkness and Harmony” which encompasses her entire character. She is part demon part hunter. The demons are always associated with evil, cruelty, and well… darkness. And her powers are most effective when shes singing with her friends or a crowd.

- the way that you cant really tell what Jinu’s true story was because of how manipulative Gwi-Ma was. Was he actually a good son/brother? Or is it true that he’s never done anything for anyone but himself?

- follow up on that last part. Jinu and Rumi’s story is so so good. They dont have anything sexual or outwardly romantic until the song “Free”. But the yearning and tropes of enemies to lovers, forbidden love, and sacrifice are so gut wrenching especially at the end; Jinu’s first act of selflessness was for Rumi.

- sungwon cho as abby saja.

- the character designs, including background characters are so beautiful (loved the ahjumma’s)

- this movie stayed true to korean culture. Food, music, weapons, everything.

- jinu as a character. This is a guy that some may forgive just because of his looks or chemistry with Rumi, but at face value: he constantly killed and stole the souls of the innocent to help feed the flames of Gwi-Ma. His reasoning was because Gwi-Ma is capable of making him forget his past mistakes, abandoning his family. He has his charming moments and definitely appears to be more of a free thinker compared to other demons. He has some semblance of independence from Gwi-Ma, or at the very least still has some passion for life.

[wildflowersandvibranium]

Muscle Memory : Chapter Six

Pairing: CHILDHOOD FRIENDS TO LOVERS Restaurant Owner Bucky Barnes x Cardiac Surgeon Female Reader Alternate Universe

Summary: In a town that never forgets , she thought she could hide the bruises behind a perfect smile and life. But someone from her past sees too much—and remembers everything. sorry its so vague just don't want to give too much away!

Word Count: 2.8k+

Chapter Warnings: Starts off super fluffy and nice then dips into -

Domestic Violence: Emotional abuse & gaslighting , alcohol consumption , psychological trauma , victim-blaming , verbal threats/degradation , physical violence , mental health topics.

If I missed anything let me know!

A/N: hey everyone! a new chapter in only two days eee. This one is a pretty rough one im sorry :( but this story does have a happy ending and i proimse i will not stear you wrong! i hope you enjoy and take care of youselfs xo bbys

also next chapter is our halfway point and as a treat im posting the first teaser for my new series im wiritng rn!! hehe

series master list 💖 main masterlist

chapter five Chapter Six chapter seven coming soon...

If there was one thing that didn't change from the time Y/N knew Wanda Maximoff growing up to knowing her now , was that she was truly incapable of—no matter how she tried—keeping things especially parties small.

So , as the countdown to her and Vision's wedding crept closer and closer , it was inevitable that she'd find an excuse to throw a dinner party.

Not that anyone in their group minded. Especially not when it was hosted in this house.

Wanda and Vision’s place was an architectural day dream , a blend of sleek modern lines softened by vintage details. French styled windows framed the setting sun , and the interior glowed in amber hues. 

The walls were adorned with old and new framed book pages and antique sconces , one room effortlessly flowing into the next. 

An already pre prepared nursery sat quietly off to the right of the upstairs hall , already painted in soft sage and brown tones with a mobile of little animals and characters swaying in the air from the cool breeze of an open window. 

The library across from it was cozy , all dark reddish wood and muted velvet chairs , the air carrying hints of cedar and the waft of old novels. 

The dining room—well , the dining room was the crown jewel of the home: a long hand carved and made rustic table lit with strung lights and flickering floating candles in water-filled mason jars that adorned the table top , the exquisite centerpiece was made of freshly picked eucalyptus and peonies from Wanda’s garden.

It was intimate. Warm and familiar.

When arriving Y/N sat near the middle of the long table , Tyler right at her side arm tucked behind her back or snug to her waist , her hand clenched under the table in his too-tight grip he currently had on her. His palm hadn’t loosened once since they got in the car to head this way.

Directly cross from her sat Bucky. Sam and Inaya had taken their seats beside him , with Clint and Laura next down the lavish table. 

Everyone was deep in their own conversation , it bled into wedding talk , honeymoon destinations and plans and now a friendly dessert table debate.

Wanda , was in a soft black spring dress with a soft gray cardigan draped over her frame standing with an expensive wine bottle in one hand and a dish towel in the other , laughed as Vision brought over the last plate of food announcing:

“No one touch the roasted potatoes just yet,” she said firmly. “They need exactly four minutes to rest or I'll put a spell on you.”

That drew a collective laugh from all ends of the table and room.

Y/N smiled at the joke raising her glass and took a slow long sip of her wine.

If she was being honest , she didn’t even like the taste of wine. Not really. It was too dry and not her usual pick. But it gave her something to do with her hands that kept from making her cuticles bleed by her nervous picking. 

And the warmth it provided dulled the thrum of anxiety in her belly and veins that came with being seated at the same table as Bucky Barnes—with Tyler right next to her.

Bucky , for his part , had also loosened up with a glass of the red lquid. He rarely ever drank—ever cautious of his actions and , ever in control—but something about the mood , the dim flickering lights , the hum of shared memories made it feel safe to have a few sips or maybe a few glasses. 

Just for tonight , he told himself.

At some point during the chatter of lifelong friends and their spouses , the conversation had shifted. 

The newlyweds-to-be were asked about their honeymoon plans or if there were any.

“We’re going to Sicily ,” Wanda smiled , practically glowing as she leaned on Vision. 

“We found a tiny villa , no WiFi or distractions , just sun and lemon trees and Vision shirtless on a beautiful beach.”

Vision smiled modestly blushing at his soon to be wife's comment. “She makes it sound way better than it will be.”

“I don’t know about that Vision,” Inaya said , resting her chin on her hand. “I think it sounds like pure bliss and heaven.”

Sam groaned leaning back in his seat. “When can we go back to Europe again?”

“When someone gets a passport that hasn't been way expired,” she teased , “-and when that same someone doesn't keep leaving a child in my uterus.” 

Y/N laughed loudly with the group at that. 

Her head was beginning to feel a little light , her cheeks warm with that wine buzz. 

She wasn't drunk—yet—but she was definitely tipsy , her tongue was  looser, her chest less tight and angry. 

She’d poured herself a second full glass before the first was even fully empty.

Across the table , Bucky had started the conversation now ,  recounting and recalling the time they’d tried to build his family pet ,  a dog house together when they were about fourteen.

“No joke ,” he said , lifting his fork from his plate with emphasis, “she tried to nail the boards into a piece of wood that was warped and wasn’t even remotely usable.”

“I was testing the materials ,” Y/N defended herself , giggling.

“You then hit your finger with the hammer stumbling backwards landing right on your butt and screamed,” Bucky added, teasing her more and more, “but the only thing you broke was the sandwich you’d hidden from me in your back jeans pocket.”

Sam snorted. “Wait , she…you had a sandwich in your pocket?”

Y/N was full-on belly laughing now thanks to her lightheadedness and ease. “I always had snacks on me , okay? You can’t build memories on an empty stomach.”

The group laughed loudly with her. Even Wanda half in the conversation half , refilling glasses and snacking on roasted almonds , chuckled at her friend.

Tyler , however, sat utterly quiet.

Not smiling. Not speaking.

Almost seeming invisible.

The laughter around the table continued , flowing freely like the wine that was endless. 

Every shared story seemed to stretch back into a time when things were easier. When love didn’t quite hurt. When home wasn’t as dangerous.

Bucky noticed it. 

How Y/N leaned into those memories like a lifeline gripping onto them , her eyes brighter , her body and guard down and  looser. 

Her smile was more real than he’d seen in the weeks she had been back.

She looked at him across from the table , once or twice , longer than necessary but shorter than they both wanted.

 The kind of looks and glances old friends shared. 

The kind that said we’ve been through it. The kind that asked: Do you still remember who and how I am?

He did.

Of course he did.

She was still his girl , the one with the broken sandwich and scraped bloody knees , the one who memorized the stars and used sarcasm like armor. Even if she'd forgotten herself in the mirror Tyler made her use , he hadn’t. 

He couldn’t.

At one point, Bucky quietly pushed , sliding the cheese platter a little closer to her , seeing there were only a few of the smoked gouda slices left , knowing it was her favorite. 

She didn’t say thank you , didn’t need to. 

Their eyes met with a glowing smile on both of their faces. 

That was enough.

And Tyler had caught right on it.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

More wine was of course poured. Someone—probably Vision turned on soft jazz as it flowed through the house speakers. 

Dessert was offered and greatly accepted—mini chocolate tortes topped with cold fresh whipped cream.

Eventually , after Sam and Inaya said their goodbyes with Inaya having an early shift in the morning , and Sam , of course, insisted on escorting her out –they moved to the living room and started a simple game of cards. 

Something easy. Something casual. Fun.

Y/N was perched and settled on the couch legs tucked up underneath her , Tyler beside her , Bucky across parallel to the coffee table. 

The others fanned out around the room with drinks and some still with dessert still in hand.

 It was lighthearted , a little loud, and full of teasing jabs about who cheated at Uno and who hoarded all the wild cards.

But then as Clint placed a green four card…Y/N dropped Tyler’s hand.

She hadn’t even realized she’d done it. Her laughter from Bucky’s sarcastic comment about Clint’s bad hand still hung in the air when she just… let go.

Maybe it was her tipsy comfort. Maybe it was instinct clawing.

But the absence of her hand in his did not go unnoticed.

His grip had been controlling and sweaty. And when she let go, dropping it on the table in front of the others , that loss of the ownership he felt was everything.

Tyler’s jaw tightened hard, grinding his jaw. His hand found her bare thigh under the table and clamped down roughly , thumb pressing against the soft skin near her knee bruising the supple flesh there.

Y/N winced. Her back stiffened and jolted slightly.

And in that second—the laughter and safety faded from her eyes.

She tried to breathe normally. To smile. But the look Tyler gave her as she glanced from his grip on her to his gaze… it was the look of a man who would not forget this. 

Would not forgive it.

She felt instantly sick.

Across the table , Bucky's gaze sharpened , the mirth in his features cooling instantly. 

He’d seen the subtle wince. The flicker of fear.

His grip on his cards in hand tightened.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

When finishing the game after many , many long hectic rounds everyone began to bid their goodbyes , Tyler practically dragged Y/N out by her elbow the moment people were busy picking up and walking out. Not even allowing her to say goodbye to her friends.

The car ride home was deathly silent. Eerie.

The kind of silence that screamed without a word having to be spoken. 

That familiar eeriness clawed at her and made every mile on the way home stretch into an eternity.

She sat still , her body rigid and tight in the passenger seat. 

Her fingers trembled, shaking in her lap , curled twisting tightly together. 

She didn’t dare speak. Not with the way Tyler was gripping the wheel and in control of the moving vehicle , white-knuckled ,  his jaw locked and twitching under his skin. 

The muscle tick in his temple pulse and pounded in time with the rage she could feel radiating off him like a heatwave.

The second they turned into the driveway , her breath hitched.

She already knew , and accepted. Braced herself.

She didn’t need the slamming of the car door or the quick , pounding footsteps up the front porch to tell her this night would not end quietly.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

As soon as she stepped inside their home anc kicked her shoes off closing the door behind her, it began.

“You think I didn’t see you?” Tyler’s voice snapped like a whip. “You think I’m stupid?”

She flinched at his voice , recoiling slightly as he tossed his keys onto the table so hard they slid off and clattered to the floor. 

He was already pacing , hands gesturing wildly , words slurred just enough to show how much wine he’d also taken in. He definitely shouldn't have been driving.

“You were laughing. Laughing with him like I wasn’t even there,” he spat voice breaking. “You embarrassed me.”

“I wasn’t—Tyler, I wasn’t trying to—”

“Oh, don’t give me that innocent pathetic act now,” he snarled , getting in her face , breathing on her nose as she closed her eyes tight. 

“You were all over him with your stupid giggling and whispering and touching.”

“I didn’t touch him,” she said quickly trying to use her voice to soothe the storm beginning to spin out of control.

 “I was just being friendly. You know I haven’t seen Bucky in years , I was just catching up. That’s all.”

“Liar!” he roared.

Her knees buckled slightly at the volume. “Please… please don’t—”

He grabbed her by the wrist so fast she didn’t have time to react or move. 

“You don’t tell me what to do. You don’t get to act like some flirtatious little slut in front of all our friends and then lie to my face!”

“I wasn’t—” she tried , her voice cracking , the panic rising fast now, crawling up her throat like bile as hot tears pooled in her eyes. “I didn’t—Tyler, please—”

“You love him , don’t you?” he hissed then began to laugh dryly.

“That’s what this is. You’ve always loved him. You’ve never stopped. You were thinking about him the whole time we were there werent you. Every time you smiled, it was for him wasn't it…..”

“WASN'T IT?!” He shoved her hard , sending her backwards.

She hit the wall with a sickening thud , her shoulder scraping against the sharp edge of the doorframe and the picture above fell and shattered at her feet.

“Tyler!” she gasped , pain shooting down her back and head.

He stalked forward , his face twisted in pure fury. 

“You’re mine. Mine. You hear me? You’re lucky someone like me even wants you. You think he’d take you back after knowing what you’ve become?”

“I didn’t do anything—” she sobbed , trying to push herself up slipping on glass as it dug into her palms.

“You’re disgusting ,” he snapped. “God , you make me sick. Don’t forget who takes care of you. Don’t forget who loves you. No one else will. Not after finding out what you are.”

Her head spun , vision blurring with tears as they poured down her cheeks.

“I love you,” he said sharply , grabbing her jaw in his hand. “Say it back.”

She didn’t. Couldn’t just cry out sobbing, turning into an almost wheeze.

“SAY IT BACK!”

“…I love you,” she whispered , barely audible. 

Not because it was true—but because she was so and entirely afraid of him at that moment. 

He stared at her for a long moment scoffing as she kneeled before him.

Then he dropped his grip and stepped back like nothing had happened.

“I’m going to bed,” he muttered. “Don’t follow me.”

She didn't look up ; she stayed still on the floor, chest heaving.

The pain was spreading out now , her back , her shoulder , her cheek. 

She wasn’t sure where she’d been hurt the worst. Her body? Her heart? Mind?

Everything just ached.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

The silence after he left was impossibly louder than his screams had ever been.

She curled in on herself on the living room floor , her sobs barely making it past her throat. Her hand trembled as she reached for the throw blanket on the couch and pulled it down , wrapping it around herself.

And somehow, the worst part wasn’t even the pain , the blood or anything remotely physical.

It was the guilt.

Guilt that clung to her skin like lingering cigarette smoke. 

Because she’d laughed with Bucky. Because she’d let herself forget—just for a moment—what her life really was. Because when he looked at her like she was still someone worth caring about , she’d wanted to believe it.

She hated him–Bucky for it.

Because it made this hurt more. He had tricked her.

⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

Her fingers curled around the edge of the couch cushion as she dragged herself up , slowly , gingerly , her body sore and heavy. 

She winced feeling the glass in her knees and hands but just brushed off whatever she could off her skin and laid down pulling the blanket tighter around her shoulders , knees drawn to her chest.

She cried for a long time. Her voice was raw and missing.

And when she couldn’t cry or wince anymore , when her throat was gravelly and her face sticky flooded with tears , she stared at the ceiling fan as it spun.

As Tyler’s voice fills her mind.

“You’re mine.”

“No one else will love you.”

“He doesn’t want you.”

“He never did.”

And the worst part was—Some part of her believed it.

-end

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[sowerpatch]

terms of play [chapter 4 - technical foul]

Paige Bueckers x Azzi Fudd

Summary: Azzi Fudd built the Golden Valkyries on a dare, but drafting Paige Bueckers was all strategy. Fresh off an NCAA title, Paige is everything the team needs—and everything Azzi shouldn’t want.

Officially, it’s all business. Unofficially, it’s glances that linger too long and touches that mean too much.

Author's note: this is an AU where Azzi owns the Golden State Valkyries and drafts Paige. Azzi's family are all original characters. Also, Azzi is three years older than Paige.

*CHAPTER LIST HERE*

Chapter Summary: Azzi keeps her world controlled. The draft is just days away, and everything is in place—except her. Paige still lingers in the corners of her thoughts, uninvited and impossible to ignore.  

When they meet again under city lights and camera flashes, the air between them shifts. What was once a maybe becomes something charged, dangerous—and marked by a revelation Paige never saw coming. 

Warning: The man is still here.

Word count: 5,352

Azzi’s condo, San Francisco. March 2025. 

San Francisco was growing louder by the day. 

It began subtly, just a few banners draped across downtown intersections, bold streaks of purple with gold lettering that shimmered in the late afternoon sun. 

Then came the bus stop ads, flashes of the Valkyries crest rotating between digital weather reports and local event promos. 

Even the Golden Gate Bridge pulsed with purple and gold one weekend, its towers casting shadows in the team’s rising legacy. 

Along the freeway, billboards lined up in rhythm, each stamped with the same emblem, the same declaration. 

Golden State Valkyries. 

By week’s end, the campaign had taken over. 

Shop windows in the Mission bled team colors. Coffee sleeves carried the crest. Local papers ran cover stories. Even radio hosts found ways to wedge the team into weather segments and morning banter. 

The city didn’t just notice. It absorbed the momentum like weather moving through its streets. 

Amidst all the chaos outside, Azzi shut everything out unless it was absolutely necessary. 

Her phone buzzed again on the kitchen counter, sharp against the marble. 

She knew it was Jake. The unanswered messages were piling up.  

But guilt had a funny way of tying itself to desire, and lately, she’d been spending her attention elsewhere. 

And that attention, that distraction, was now appearing across San Francisco too. 

Posters. Murals. Quick sketches on walls near her building. 

Paige Bueckers’ face, everywhere, woven into the city’s mounting anticipation for the draft. 

She leaned against the kitchen counter and stared outside.  

A billboard blinked from across the street. The city didn’t wait quietly. It built pressure. It ran with a pulse. 

Azzi pressed her fingers against her temple. The headache had settled in early and stayed. She wasn’t sure when it would leave. 

The excitement didn’t touch her. 

She just wanted stillness.  

Azzi checked the time and made her way to her home office. Less than five minutes. 

Her laptop sat open on the desk in front of her, camera angled, mic tested, background blurred just enough to keep the room from feeling too personal.  

The meeting link was already up. Blue and waiting. She hadn’t clicked it yet. 

Most of the team was out in the field today.  

Media walkthroughs, sponsorship check-ins, logistics runs across the city.  

A virtual check-in made more sense than dragging everyone back into the office. Still, the thought of staring into a screen for the next hour added weight behind her eyes. 

She adjusted the light on her desk. Soft, clean, good enough for the frame.  

A chime went off—one minute to the hour. She reached for her mouse, clicked into the meeting, and waited for the faces to load. 

The meeting opened smoothly, each face joining one by one. A round of greetings passed between departments. A few short exchanges, the kind that softened the start.  

Azzi listened, nodded where needed, let them have a moment before she began. 

She thanked them first. For their time. For the work that had carried them this far. No dramatics. Just a clear recognition of what they’d built together. 

The team was close now. Just a few weeks from the start of the season, and everything around them was beginning to lock into place.  

The pieces they’d spent almost a year shaping were real now, seen and felt across the city.  

She spoke to that momentum, not with excitement but with clarity. The work wasn’t done yet. 

Azzi moved through her notes without looking down. 

Marketing and PR were her first instructions. All visuals needed to be finalized for draft day. That included press kits, digital banners, welcome assets for the draftees. She wanted everything aligned, nothing waiting until the last minute. Once the names were called, the materials had to be ready to go live. 

She turned next to admin and sales. Merchandise needed to be prepared in full. The team gear, fanwear, signage. Sizes confirmed, quantities rechecked. She didn’t want follow-up emails or missing shipments. Everything should be in motion before the picks were even made. 

Then, she paused. 

Her eyes moved to three windows on the screen. The general manager. The head coach. And the scouting director, Kaitlyn Chen. 

“The three of you are going to Tampa,” Azzi said. 

 Her voice didn’t rise. It didn’t need to. 

 “You’ll talk to her in person. Let Paige know the team is serious. She’s our priority. She should hear that directly from us.” 

 They nodded. No questions, no back-and-forth. 

 Azzi gave a small nod in return, then shifted to the next item on the agenda. 

- 

The Westin Tampa Bay, Tampa. April 2025. 

The win over USC still lived in her body. Not the noise of it, just the weight. UConn was heading to the championship, and the air around the team had shifted. Three days to recover, to prepare. Not much room for anything else. 

Paige had already showered. Her hoodie was zipped, shoes on, hair pulled back in a loose tie. She stood by the hotel room window with her phone in hand, thumb hovering over the screen before unlocking it again. 

The message was still there. Her agent had sent it the night before. 

Valkyries want to meet you at 9. Conference room, third floor. Hotel arranged the space. Should be simple. 

Simple. She had read it twice already, but this time it stayed a little longer in her hands. 

Plenty of teams had reached out already. Calls, texts, emails. Some sent video breakdowns. Some wanted dinners. Some had asked her to fly out weeks ago.  

But this—this was the one she had been waiting for.  

Golden State. The Valkyries.  

She didn’t say it out loud, but the pull had always been there. Something about it felt right. 

She checked the time. Eight fifty. Ten minutes. Right on pace. 

The elevator ride was brief. No music, just the soft shift of floors. Paige kept her eyes ahead, jaw relaxed, hands easy in her pockets.  

Her body felt light in the wrong ways. That strange middle space between adrenaline and come-down. Winning had done its job. This was something else. 

Her agent stood just outside the door. One glance, one nod. 

"Right on time," the agent said to her, then knocked once. 

The door opened with purpose. A man in a black suit greeted them, posture straight, hands folded in front of him with practiced ease. He gave a small nod, then stepped aside to let them in. 

Paige followed, her attention shifting as they entered. The room was simple. A round conference table sat in the center, surrounded by clean lines and soft lighting. A pitcher of water rested beside stacked folders, nothing extravagant but everything intentional. 

Then she saw her. 

Lisa Leslie stood at the head of the table, a calm command in the way she held herself. The tailored navy blazer, the unshakable focus in her eyes. Paige had seen her in highlights, documentaries, interviews. Seeing her in person, here, in this room, was something else entirely. 

She felt it in her chest. 

Lisa stepped forward with a smile that didn’t try too hard. "Hello Paige. It’s nice to meet you. I’m Lisa Leslie, General Manager of the Valkyries.” Her voice carried the weight of it.  

Paige’s mind was catching up to what had just been said.  

She hadn’t known. Articles speculated, but none confirmed. Lisa Leslie. GM. 

She reached for her handshake. Her grip held steady, but there was heat under her skin. 

Lisa then turned slightly, gesturing to the two women seated at her side. 

"This is Natalie Nakase, our head coach." 

Natalie gave a firm nod. Her suit was sharp, her expression steady. She sat tall, assessing without judgment, with an ease earned through experience. 

"And Kaitlyn Chen, scouting director." 

Kaitlyn smiled. There was a calm alertness in her eyes, a quiet kind of sharp that took in every detail. Youthful, polished, confident. 

Paige took her seat across from them after shaking their hands.  

The air in the room had shifted. Every face around the table held purpose. She sank into the moment, shoulders easing back, ready now in a way she hadn’t been before. 

They started with small talk. 

Congratulations came first. Natalie offered a brief but sincere nod toward UConn’s win. Kaitlyn smiled as she mentioned the fourth-quarter run. Lisa leaned forward with a glint of something warm in her tone. 

“Championship game in three days,” she said. “Big stage. You looked locked in last night.” 

Paige let the praise settle in her chest. It didn’t swell, didn’t distract. Just landed and stayed. 

Lisa continued. “We’ll keep this quick. This won’t take away from your focus—we know what’s at stake for you right now. But with the draft coming fast, we wanted to make ourselves known. Let you know we’re watching. We’re interested. If all goes to plan, we want you as our number one.” 

There it was. Clean, direct.  

Paige felt her jaw shift slightly, but she kept her expression steady. Her voice came out even. 

“Appreciate you saying that. Means a lot.” 

Lisa gave a short nod. Kaitlyn jotted something in her notebook. Natalie leaned back in her seat. 

The meeting stayed short, just as promised. Logistics were touched on lightly. A few expectations, a couple of questions. Then the conversation softened again as they began to wrap. 

Before they stood, Paige glanced up from the table. 

“Can I ask something?” 

Lisa raised a brow, open to it.  

“The owner,” she said. “Still a mystery?” 

A faint smile pulled at Kaitlyn’s lips. “You’ll meet them on draft day,” she said. “For now, you’ve got a title game to win. Focus on getting that chip first.” 

Paige gave a small laugh through her nose and leaned back in her chair. 

“Yeah. One thing at a time.” 

The meeting ended soon after. Hands were shaken again, final glances exchanged. Paige walked out with her agent beside her, her steps even, her mind sharper than when she’d come in. 

- 

Fudd Holdings, San Francisco. April 2025. 

The door opened with a soft click. 

Nika walked in, a folder tucked under one arm. She crossed the room with her usual ease, setting the file down in front of Azzi’s desk. 

“Final paperwork from the Stevenson deal,” she said. “All signed. Transfer cleared yesterday.” 

Azzi glanced at the folder, then opened it. A skim of the summary page told her everything she needed. Numbers aligned. Timelines confirmed. 

“That one moved faster than expected,” Azzi said. 

“Owner didn’t want to sit on it,” Nika replied. “Said she was already looking at properties in Sausalito. Big plans. You know how they get.” 

Azzi gave a nod, eyes scanning one more page before closing the folder. 

“Keep eyes on the zoning notices. She might try to flip it into commercial space.” 

“Already flagged it,” Nika said. 

They paused, the rhythm of their exchange smooth and practiced. 

Nika leaned back slightly, arms crossing. “How are you feeling? Draft’s in three days.” 

Azzi didn’t look up right away. She slid the folder to one side of her desk before speaking. 

“I’m flying to New York tomorrow morning. Ines handled the logistics—hotel, transfers, security.” 

“She’s efficient,” Nika said. 

“She’s excellent,” Azzi corrected. “She even pulled together the after party. Tight guest list. Private venue. It’s solid.” 

Nika raised an eyebrow, curious. “You going?” 

Azzi lifted her eyes then, expression unreadable for a moment. 

“Haven’t decided,” she said. “Let’s see how the night goes.” 

Nika lingered near the desk, arms still crossed, the edge of a grin pulling at her cheek. 

“So what’s the plan, then?” she asked. “Grand entrance? Flashy dress? I still can’t believe you managed to bribe the league into keeping your name off every pre-draft press kit. Impressive, really.” 

Azzi gave her a look—flat, almost amused. 

“That wasn’t bribery,” she said. “It was negotiation. And it gave me a migraine.” 

Nika scoffed. “A migraine you bought your way out of.” 

Azzi leaned back in her chair, eyes drifting to the framed skyline beyond the glass. 

“They wouldn’t stop pressing for a feature. Something glossy. They wanted to make it a story—who’s behind the Valkyries, what kind of owner she’ll be. I told them if they want a story, they can wait for a championship. I’m not a headline.” 

“Well,” Nika said, voice light, “you’ll still have to walk through that ballroom eventually.” 

Azzi didn’t answer right away. She drew in a breath, slow and thoughtful, her fingers absently toying with the edge of her desk. 

“I don’t know yet.” 

Nika tilted her head. “That’s unlike you.” 

Azzi didn’t say anything. Her mind had drifted elsewhere. 

That night had stayed with her longer than it should have.  

Paige standing at the end of the kitchen counter, the paper bag crinkling in her hand, the unmistakable scent of fried food slipping past her usual defenses.  

Azzi hadn’t eaten fast food in years, hadn’t even thought about it. But when Paige held the box of chicken tenders out to her, something inside her softened. She took one without hesitation. Then another. 

They didn’t talk about anything important.  

Paige had joked about sauce ratios, about soggy fries, about how she didn’t trust places that didn’t give extra napkins.  

Azzi remembered snorting through every ridiculous thing Paige said.  

The night ended without fanfare. Paige had a flight to catch in the morning. Azzi had deadlines.  

But later, in her room, a notification lit up her screen. It was from her official Instagram account. 

Just a good night. A few emojis.    And the mistakenly @paigebueckers in the username on top. 

There was no follow. She understood the effects it will cost once the public gets a hold of Paige following the Azzi Fudd.  

Azzi had stared at Paige's message longer than she wanted to admit. She didn’t reply. Not because she didn’t want to, but because something about it made her hesitate. The simplicity of it. The warmth. And the complication that was starting to brew. 

She left it on read. 

And then she ignored the itch to reread it the next day. And the next. 

She hadn’t told anyone. Not even Nika, who always pried without pushing.  

The door knocked once, firm and polite, before easing open.  

Ines stepped in, tablet in hand, her voice level. “Excuse me, Ms. Fudd. Mr. Jacob Williams is here to see you.” 

Azzi’s spine straightened before she could stop herself. The name pressed against something inside her chest. Guilt. Heavy, immediate. It sank low and hard.  

She had been ignoring him. The calls. The messages. Each one rationalized away under the weight of schedules and season prep. That had always worked before. Until now. 

She nodded once, slow. “Okay.” 

“Well, he must miss you a lot for him to fly and see you on a busy Friday morning.” Nika stood, brushing a crease from her pants. “I should go anyway. Early flight tomorrow?” 

“Morning,” Azzi said. “Everything’s already arranged.” 

“Good. Enjoy New York. And the draft.” Nika gave her a look, half-meaning, half-knowing. “Try to show up for the after party. You deserve to.” 

Azzi managed a small smile. “I’ll see what I can do.” 

When the door clicked shut behind her, Azzi turned to Ines. “Let him in. And clear my afternoon, please.” 

“Yes, ma’am.” 

Azzi sat still, her hands folded together as she waited, the weight of her choices pressing in from all sides.  

Work, she told herself again. It’s always about work. 

But the voice inside her stayed. The quiet one. The one she had kept buried ever since a girl with a messy ponytail handed her a box of fries. 

-    Jake’s hotel room, San Francisco. April 2024. 

Azzi rose from the bed, moving slowly, carefully untangling herself from the sheets. The room was dim, painted in the cool gray of early morning.  

She found her clothes where they had fallen—her blouse draped over the chair, her jeans on the floor by the window. She pulled them on one by one, wordless, each motion deliberate. 

Behind her, the sheets shifted.  

Jake’s voice came out rough with sleep. “Where are you going?” 

She didn’t turn around. Just reached for her watch, fastening it around her wrist. “Home,” she said. “I have an early flight.” 

He sighed. Not loud. But long enough for her to feel the weight of it press between them. 

She had thought maybe this would help. That giving him the night would ease the slow unraveling between them. That sex, tender and familiar, would hold them together a little longer. But it hadn’t. Not really. 

“When am I going to see you again?” he asked. 

Azzi paused at the foot of the bed, her back still to him. “I don’t know,” she said honestly. “Once the draft’s done, we roll straight into the season. I might not even have time to breathe.” 

There was a stretch of silence, and then his voice, soft. “Okay. I get it. I support you.” 

The words were kind. Too kind. They only made it worse. 

She finally looked over at him—half-buried in the covers, eyes soft, wanting something she wasn’t sure she could keep giving. A life she was slowly stepping out of. 

Guilt gathered in her chest. Heavy and slow-burning. She hated the transaction she had reduced this to. 

A few hours in a bed to make up for absence. A kiss goodbye instead of real time. And still she left, never knowing when she’d be back. 

Azzi picked up her bag and slung it over her shoulder. 

“Sleep in,” she said, her voice low. “I’ll text you when I land.” 

He nodded. She was already halfway out the door. 

- 

The Ritz-Carlton, New York. April 2024. 

Azzi sat in stillness, high above Manhattan, the city glittering beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows of her penthouse. The television glowed across the room, casting flickers of light over the sleek marble and muted furniture.  

She had muted every call, silenced every alert. Her laptop was open beside her, phone faced up but untouched.  

This moment didn’t require action. Lisa had everything handled. 

She had submitted her preferences days ago. Paige was number one on her board. Lisa knew that. The entire room did. The call had already been made. 

But Azzi stayed watching. She told herself it was due diligence. 

On the screen, the event hall swelled with applause. The commissioner stepped forward.  

The words were official, proud, final: 

“With the first pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft, the Golden State Valkyries select… Paige Bueckers from the University of Connecticut.” 

Azzi’s breath halted, just for a second. 

The camera swept over the crowd, cutting to Paige as she stood from her seat at the front. She rose with ease, calm under the lights, her name echoing through the room as applause built around her.  

The moment wrapped itself around her like it had always belonged to her. She hugged her mom, then her dad, then her coach—her expression composed but unmistakably full. There was a shimmer in her eyes, unshed tears she wasn’t going to let fall. 

And then Azzi saw the change of outfit. It was different from what she wore during the red carpet.    A tailored black suit, sleek and sharp. The blazer shimmered subtly beneath the lights, cut low and left undone, exposing bare skin beneath it—no shirt, just a string of pearls draped delicately across her collarbone.  

She moved like she wasn’t fully aware of the effect she had. Or maybe she was and didn’t care. Either way, it worked. Too well. 

Azzi watched, still. Her hands curled slightly against her knees. 

When Paige took the stage, shook the commissioner’s hand, and pulled the Valkyries cap over her blonde hair, the crowd roared. Cameras flashed.  

Paige turned toward them, smiling with that barely-there smirk—something between confidence and defiance—and lifted the jersey. 

Azzi felt her pulse climb. 

She didn’t shift in her seat. Didn’t blink. Just let herself feel it: the burn of attraction, the warmth coiled low in her abdomen, the unwelcome ache of wanting.  

Paige didn’t look like a rookie in that moment. She looked untouchable. Bold. A little smug. 

Azzi hated that it worked on her. 

She should have looked away.  

She didn’t. 

The lights had softened by the time Paige stepped into the curtained side hallway, Valkyries cap still angled slightly off-center on her head.

Holly Rowe waited there with a practiced smile, mic in hand, the red carpet rolled out for post-pick interviews. 

“First pick in the 2025 WNBA Draft,” Holly began, grinning at the camera, then back to Paige. “How does it feel?” 

Paige tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, the edge of her smile still lingering from the stage. “It’s surreal,” she said, voice steady. “I’ve dreamed of this moment since I was a kid. It means everything.” 

Holly nodded. “You’re headed to the Bay Area—are you excited for the move?” 

Paige laughed softly, glancing off-camera for a second. “It’s not a Minnesota winter, but I’ll take the cool summers.” 

The room chuckled with her. 

“Well, San Francisco’s been ready for you for months,” Holly said. “The fanbase is electric already.” 

“I’m ready to play for them. Ready to put in the work and grow with the team.” 

Holly smiled, then leaned in slightly, her tone shifting toward warmth. “You’re going from UConn, one of the most established programs in college basketball, to the newest team in the league. That’s a big transition. What’s your mindset heading into that?” 

Paige didn’t hesitate. “I like challenges. I always have. And I believe in the Valkyries. Everyone in that organization—from the top down—I know they’ll take care of me.” 

Holly’s smirk curved sharp, playful. She dipped her chin and said with a wink, “Oh, you will be taken care of, for sure.” 

Paige blinked, lips parting just slightly. There was a glint in her eye—brief, startled, maybe intrigued—but she caught herself, smiled again, and looked straight into the camera as the mic dipped away. 

Azzi didn’t flinch when her phone buzzed again. It had been vibrating on and off since the draft began, but this one lit up with the name she’d been waiting for. 

Lisa: Package is secured. 

She let the message sit on her screen for a moment, chest rising with a breath that didn’t quite make it out. Then she locked the phone and placed it back on the table beside her untouched wine. 

The rest of the draft unfolded without surprises. Efficient. Predictable. Seamless. Just as she had helped plan. 

Here and there, the camera returned to Paige. It always did. There was something magnetic about her, something the production team couldn’t resist—even in a room full of future stars. 

They cut to her when Aubrey Griffin’s name was called by the Lynx. Paige had jumped out of her seat, yelling something unheard over the crowd, clapping until her hands turned red. Later, when Aliyah Edwards went to the Mystics, she threw both arms around two UConn teammates like they’d all just won a national championship. 

Azzi stood slowly, every movement deliberate, and crossed to her closet. 

The black dress waited for her like a promise. 

She reached for it—then paused. 

She turned back to the screen. 

Right on cue, the camera found Paige again. 

Three different team caps were stacked crookedly on her head, her teammates cracking up beside her. Paige beamed, squinting into the lights, shoulders shaking with laughter. And then, with a careless shrug, two of the caps tumbled to the floor. 

Only the Valkyries cap stayed put. 

Azzi’s breath hitched at the sight and the realization that came like an avalanche. 

On screen, Paige leaned down and scooped up the fallen caps with a grin but never put them back on. Instead, she adjusted the Valkyries one with both hands, fingers tightening the fit. Then she looked straight into the camera lens, caught it like she always caught the pass—effortless, inevitable. 

And she smiled. 

Raised her hand and flashed a peace sign, like she didn’t have a single care in the world.    It was like water thrown against Azzi's face—sudden, bracing, impossible to ignore.  

She stood still, the room hushed except for the faint sound of post-draft interviews playing on the TV.  

This would be the night everything shifted.  

The night she buried the guilt under polished professionalism.  

The night Paige would become strictly, entirely, pure business. 

The night she officially owned Paige Bueckers. 

- 

A luxurious rooftop bar, Manhattan. April 2025. 

The draft had gone smoothly. Seamless. Every name called on cue, every handshake caught under perfect lighting. 

Now the city glowed from above. 

The after-party stretched across a rooftop bar in Manhattan, glass and steel wrapping around the night sky. Velvet ropes, warm lighting, cold drinks—every detail intentional. Music pulsed in a steady rhythm beneath the hum of conversation. 

Paige arrived just past ten, camera flashes greeting her before the elevator doors had fully opened. Someone handed her a drink. Someone else pulled her in for a photo. Her name echoed between conversations, her smile landing on every lens with practiced ease. 

She moved through the crowd with the ease of someone used to being watched. 

Not far from the bar, she found Kiki Iriafen and Aziaha James deep in conversation. The three of them linked up quickly, laughter slipping through the buzz as they swapped reactions to the draft and what the next few months might look like. 

“Okay, this party?” Kiki said, eyes wide as she scanned the rooftop. “It’s giving rich rich.” 

“Not even subtle about it,” Aziaha added. “Look at the centerpiece on that dessert table. That's a sculpture made out of chocolate. Who does that?” 

Paige glanced down at her drink. Crystal glass, heavy in her hand. “This cocktail has, like, smoke in it. Why is it fogging up like a science project?” 

“Because it cost more than my rent,” Kiki deadpanned. 

They laughed, and then paused when a familiar face walked by—an actor, someone who had just starred in a Netflix thriller. A few feet away, a retired Olympian talked to a former WNBA MVP. A well-known singer stood near the DJ booth, nodding along to the beat like she owned the place. 

“The owner really went all out,” Kate Martin said as she joined them, her voice pitched with half disbelief. “Vegas was great, but this is another level.” 

"A beautiful arrangement of flowers was already in my suite when I arrived,” Kiki muttered. “And the gift bags? Bro. I thought it was fake.” 

“It’s not fake,” Aziaha said, sipping. “It’s just ridiculous.” 

“I still can’t believe this is happening,” Kate added, looking around the rooftop. “Feels like a setup. Like—are we getting hazed?” 

“Still haven’t seen the mysterious owner,” Kiki said. “Think we’re just going to play for a ghost?” 

Paige raised a brow. “They’ve kept everything locked down. Even the coaching staff won’t say a name.” 

Kate leaned against the railing. “I heard they’re giving a speech later tonight. Just a short one. Inaugural something.” 

Before any of them could respond, Coach Nakase appeared beside them. Sharp blazer, calm voice. 

“Good evening, ladies! Congratulations and Welcome to the team,” she said, eyes scanning the group. “Owner will be giving a short welcome speech later. Better not miss it.” 

Then she nodded and moved on, already pulled toward another conversation. 

They watched her go, the space between them charged with something unspoken. 

Paige glanced around the rooftop again, suddenly more curious than she wanted to admit. 

Paige’s gaze drifted across the rooftop, skimming past conversations and camera flashes, until it caught on someone standing alone by the balcony. 

Azzi Fudd. 

Framed by the skyline, she looked like she belonged to it—effortless, distant, composed. The black gown draped over her figure in clean, sculpted folds, dipping low at the front and falling soft around her legs.  

Under the lights, the fabric caught just enough sheen to trace the shape of her body, the edges clinging in ways Paige couldn’t look away from. Her hair fell smooth over her shoulders, her face unreadable as she watched the city. 

She didn’t look like someone attending a party. She looked like someone who owned it. 

There was something about her—regal but untouched, powerful without trying. The kind of presence that demanded attention without asking for it.  

And still, even in all of that, Azzi looked a little out of place. Not uncomfortable, but apart. Like she didn’t need to be there, yet everything in the room revolved around her anyway. 

Paige couldn’t tell what she was thinking, only that she wanted to get close enough to find out. 

She stood for a moment, just watching.    Then, she adjusted her vest, ran a hand through her hair, and made her way over. 

“You always lurk at the edge of parties like a Bond villain, or is tonight just special?” Paige asked, stopping beside her. 

Azzi didn’t look over. 

Paige grinned. “If you’re trying to brood, you should know you’re doing it really well. Like, ten out of ten. Very mysterious. Very don’t-touch-me energy.” 

That got her a glance. Nothing more. Azzi’s face was unreadable, sharp as glass under moonlight. Controlled. 

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Paige added, dropping her tone just slightly. “Last time I saw you, you were stealing fries. Now look at you. Black dress, city view, probably breaking hearts without even trying.” 

Azzi’s reply came cool and clipped. “You talk like this to everyone?” 

“Only the ones who ghost me after midnight takeout.” 

A flicker. Azzi blinked once, slow. 

“I DM’d you,” Paige said, shrugging. “You left me on read. That hurt, by the way. Took me a whole hour to recover.” 

Azzi turned back toward the skyline, silent. 

Paige leaned closer, lowering her voice. “I was gonna send a follow-up chicken emoji. Felt too vulnerable.” 

Azzi exhaled—but whether it was a sigh or a stifled laugh, Paige couldn’t tell. She studied her again, closer now. 

“You look good,” Paige said, honestly this time. “Like… dangerous.” 

Azzi didn’t answer. But she hadn’t walked away either. 

“You’re hard to read,” Paige murmured. 

“That’s intentional.” 

Paige smirked. “Then you should know I read between lines.” 

Azzi’s fingers tightened around her glass. A slow burn crept up her chest.  

Paige was wearing trouble like it came tailored—crisp white vest, that chain at her collarbone, eyes too clear for their own good. She was temptation in slow motion. 

“You know, for someone who plays the ice queen so well, you sure didn't mind sharing the fries that night.” 

Azzi didn’t look at her, but Paige saw it—the subtle shift in her jaw, the way her grip on the glass changed. That flicker of memory hit. Harder than she probably meant it to. 

“I’ve been thinking,” Paige said, stepping a little closer, just enough for her voice to brush against Azzi’s neck. “If I brought takeout again, would you let me stay past the last bite?” 

Azzi’s gaze flicked to her. Calm. Sharp. 

“Are you always this persistent?” 

“Only when the reward’s worth it.” 

Paige let her eyes sweep down the line of Azzi’s dress, the slit that showed off a long leg and the kind of control that didn’t ask for attention but took it anyway. 

“You dress like that to test me? Coz that looks really sinful tonight and  I—” 

“There you are,” Lisa Leslie said as she stepped in, her timing sharp enough to slice through whatever tension had been building between them.  

Her eyes flicked between them, a knowing glint in her smile. 

“I see introductions have been made. Our number one pick, and our lovely owner.” 

Paige froze, lips parting. But Lisa had already turned to go. 

“They’re calling you in fifteen,” she said to Azzi over her shoulder. “Try not to disappear again.” 

Then she was gone, swallowed by the crowd and the music. 

Silence. 

A heartbeat. 

And then, “YOU OWN THE TEAM?!” 

[starpeachjelly]

Kindred Spirits ₊˚⊹⋆

Prologue.

summary: Love and deepspace, a game that you played in your past life. As for your current life? You're living in none other than Linkon city, a city from the aforementioned game.

warnings: Brief mentions of death.

word count: 1.2k

author's note: Officially making this a full fledged fanfic! I'm still super nervous about sharing my writing, but hopefully i'll get less anxious as time goes on. Not beta read sorry for any spelling mistakes. <3

You're eleven when the chronorift catastrophe happens. On that same day you get you get the memories of your old life back. It's an emotional roller coaster. The grief of your own death. The excitement and thrill of being in the game you had loved so much. The dread of realizing you'll have to experience being a teenager all over again.

It takes a while for you to calm down, but when you do, you decide on an important decision. You are going to live a normal life. You do *not* want to get in the way of what fate has planned for the characters of this world. Of course you would have loved to meet them, but you love being alive more.

Your normal life falls apart less than a week later.

She looks just like how you created her, only younger. Caleb and Josephine are standing right beside her. You stare in silence, too stunned to speak. You don't know what to do, your mind and heart are racing. You think about excusing yourself, but before you can speak your mother tells you to go play with the new neighbours. She's already ushering you out the door, not even giving you the chance to object.

The way she looks at you leaves you feeling uneasy. It's as if she knows your thoughts. You half expect her to tell you that you don't belong. Instead she greets you with a wide grin as she tells you her name.

Caleb introduces himself next. You know how much he's suffered, yet you wouldn't be able to tell based on the warmth his smile radiates.

You introduce yourself next, silently hoping you don't look as nervous as you feel. But the second you say your name, she grabs your hand and drags you to go play with Caleb following close behind.

After that day you try to avoid them both as best you can, still determined to keep your distance as to not affect the story this world has planned for her. But no matter how hard you try she always seems to find her way back to you.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you hear her call your name from across the street. You watch as her hand slips out of Caleb's to reach for yours instead, asking if you want to walk to school together. You instinctively glance at Caleb who's wearing the same warm smile from your first meeting. However, you're not oblivious to the subtle annoyance in his eyes.

You're about to politely decline her offer, looking back at her with her wide hopeful eyes and bright smile… You end up walking to school together.

Lunch rolls around and she's quick to sit next to you even though you're sitting with your friends. You're all older than her by a few years, yet she doesn't seem out of place. Her confidence is admirable, endearing even. But you're still worried about how she seems to be growing so fond of you so quickly. At least this time Caleb is busy with his own friends, which means you don't have to be subjected to any more jealous staring.

When school ends a small body wraps its arms around one of yours the moment you step foot outside the building. You look down to see her once again staring up at you with her big ol' eyes. The same eyes you remember spending an embarrassing amount of time customizing. She's asking you to come back home with her to help her on her homework.

Before you can answer a sudden chill runs down your spine. You don't even need to turn your gaze to know who's staring at you. You try to tell her that Caleb should help her instead. After all he is her best friend, and you two still don't know each other very well. (She doesn't know you well. But you know everything about her thanks to your love of a 3D dating sim.) Your suggestion falls on deaf ears. There's nothing you can do as she drags you home with surprising strength for an eight year old.

The next day you try leaving for school early. She manages to catch up to you before you're even a block away from your home.

You make sure to sit between two friends during lunch. Your butt barely has time to hit your seat before one of them gets invited to sit with her crush, leaving an empty seat behind. The spot immediately gets filled by a tinier body.

School ends, you hide in the bathroom until you're sure the majority of the students have left. You creek open the door and peer into the hallway, all you see are few teachers and a couple students. There's no sign of her. Slowly, hesitantly, you make your way to your locker. For once you've successfully managed to avoid her. A wave of relief washes over you as you put in your locker combination and swing open the door.

You grab your gym clothes, lunch bag, homework… One good thing about gaining your memory back is that elementary schoolwork is a breeze. Your heart drops to your ass when you close the door to reveal her waving at you from down the hall.

The possibility of her stalking you crosses your mind after the third week of her showing up wherever you are. Unfortunately the probabilities of an eight year old stalking you is incredibly low. It's also hard to believe she would do something so sinister when seems so innocent and harmless.

Every time you look at her your heart aches. Partly in fear of not knowing what's going to happen if she keeps clinging to you like this. But also because you keep thinking of everything she's gone through, and all the hardships she still has yet to face.

Eventually, when weeks turn into months, you come to accept the fact that no matter how hard you try you won't be able to avoid her. Worry and paranoia still cling to you. It's hard not to feel anxious when you don't know how your unexpected presence will impact the story.

Despite your apprehension you find yourself enjoying the time you spend with her. It's as if you're kindred spirits. When she laughs you can't help be laugh as well. When she cries you feel your heart ache. Everything she feels, you feel too.

On one random night you find yourself mourning your previous life. Sure your past life hadn't been perfect, but that doesn't stop you from missing those you were close with. You wonder how they're doing, if they miss you as much as you miss them. Yes, you love your new family and friends. Even so, there's a sense of loneliness that has weighed heavy on your heart ever since you regained your memories.

The next day you're caught off guard when she pulls you into an unexpected hug on your walk to school. When you look at her you see the glint of unshed tears in her eyes. She doesn't say anything. Unspoken words hang between the two of you. It slowly dawns you. A she hold you tight, you realize now that she also feels what you feel.

tag list: @chocochip-gaia , @plzdonutpercieveme

[crazykinkiwi]

Two-faced | Twisted Oneshots

Pairing: Yandere!Gojo Satoru x Cursed!Reader

Genre: Dark fiction, Psychological horror, Yandere, Obsession, Power imbalance

Word count: 5.6k

Warnings: Dark content, non-con/dub-con implications, psychological manipulation, emotional abuse, obsession, stalking, gaslighting, captivity themes, toxic dynamics, restraint, power imbalance, trauma, suicidal thoughts, guilt-tripping, threat of violence, yandere behavior, horror elements.

Please DO NOT read if you're sensitive to these topics.

AN: This story contains extremely dark psychological themes centered around a yandere version of Gojo Satoru. If you are uncomfortable with possessive obsession, emotional manipulation, or toxic character behavior, please proceed with caution or skip this entirely. Reader discretion is strongly advised.

Masterlist

You were always... strange.

Not loud. Not bad. Just strange.

Other kids had scraped knees and silly games. You had quiet eyes, an empty lunchbox, and the constant feeling of being watched—even when no one was around. The adults noticed it too. Their smiles always trembled around you. They never touched you. They never let their children sit beside you in class. And you—too young to understand cruelty—began to wonder if maybe it was your clothes. Or your face.

“Mom…” you’d whispered once, tugging softly on her sleeve while she read some heavy book in the living room. “Am I... weird?”

She didn’t look up. Just kept flipping a page, her eyes sharp and cold behind her glasses.

Then, without even a pause, she muttered, “Shut the fuck up.”

You flinched.

You were six.

It wasn’t the first time, and it wouldn’t be the last.

But then—that day came.

---

The morning had started like any other. You’d spilled a bit of water, and that was apparently enough.

“You useless freak,” she hissed, storming from the kitchen, hair still wet, eyes blazing. “Can’t even hold a damn glass right?”

You clutched your only friend—a little white plush rabbit with one ear half-torn. You held it tight against your chest, its fur pressed to your trembling fingers as she stalked closer.

“Oh? Hiding behind that again?” She snatched the toy from your arms.

“Wait—!”

You lunged, too late.

RIP.

The seam split with a savage tear as your mother’s nails dug through your only friend—ripping it in half. Fluffy white stuffing exploded from its belly and drifted to the floor like snowflakes.

You froze.

A breath caught in your throat, and your fingers trembled in the air where your rabbit used to be.

Then—her voice.

“Just die already,” she spat, voice trembling with venom. “You cursed little monster. You should’ve never been born.”

You didn’t speak.

You couldn’t.

Your lips parted, but no sound came. The words didn’t reach you. Not fully. They felt… distant. Like they were traveling underwater.

Then her hand lifted.

You saw it rise above you—fingers tense, palm wide.

Ready to hit.

You winced, eyes clenching shut on instinct.

But the slap never landed.

Instead—everything stopped.

The room’s light flickered.

The air thickened—heavy and wrong. A pulse throbbed in your ears, low and monstrous.

Thump… thump…

Your eyes snapped open.

The world was bleeding.

Not just the floor or the walls—the air itself.

A dull red fog oozed in from the corners of the room, swallowing everything. You couldn’t see your mother’s face anymore. Just her outline, trembling… twitching.

And behind you—no, within you—something stirred.

Something ancient.

Something starving.

You didn’t feel your heartbeat anymore. Just the hiss of air breaking apart, the static in your skull, and the wet, squelching sound of something moving in the shadows behind your back.

And then—

A scream.

Your mother’s voice cracked the air.

It didn’t last long.

There was a sickening crunch. Bone. Flesh. Something torn like paper. Then silence.

You didn’t dare turn around.

The smell reached you first—iron and meat.

Your knees buckled.

The red fog pulsed once, as if it were breathing, then slowly began to fade.

You blinked—hard. Your lashes were wet with tears and dust.

And then… you saw it.

A splatter of blood where your mother stood.

And the walls—painted in streaks of crimson.

There was no body.

Only—

A shadow on the ceiling, like a handprint left by something that should not exist.

Somewhere beyond the hallway, your father’s voice rose—panicked. Neighbors shouted. Someone banged on the door.

But none of it mattered.

Everything had already ended.

You’d forgotten what warmth felt like.

No home. No family. No name you dared use.

You had become a ghost, drifting through towns, hiding beneath oversized hoods and shadows. But no matter where you ran—they found you. The cursed creatures. The ones no one else could see.

They whispered your name like it was a prayer and a curse all at once.

And this time—you couldn’t run fast enough.

Your body crashed against the wet alley ground, ribs aching, blood pooling beneath your fingertips.

Breath… hard to catch.Vision… dim.

“Finally…” you whispered, closing your eyes. “Maybe it’s over...”

But fate had one more trick.

A voice.

A man’s voice. Casual. Careless. And amused.

“Oh? Poor you,” it drawled. “Got caught this time, huh?”

Your eyes fluttered. Black boots stepped into your fading vision. And above them—

A man.

Tall. White-haired.

A blindfold covered his eyes. And he was smiling.

“Guess I showed up just in time.” He crouched beside you, tilting his head like you were a puzzle. “Still breathing, though. Tough little thing.”

You tried to speak—but your throat burned.

“No need to talk.” He slid his arms under your broken body with terrifying ease. “Don't worry... I'll patch you up.”

The last thing you felt was his scent—fresh, cool like winter sky—and the warmth of being lifted.

Then, the world went black.

—

It had been a month since you joined Jujutsu High.

Not because you wanted to.

But because Satoru Gojo said so.

You hadn’t even been conscious for the full conversation—just scattered memories of drifting in and out of sleep, a fuzzy voice humming some annoyingly upbeat tune, a cold cloth on your forehead… and then finally, the flicker of a black blindfold as he leaned down with that lazy grin and said,

"You’re lucky I found you first, y’know. Otherwise… tsk. Can’t even imagine the mess.”

You didn’t know why he bothered.

You weren’t strong. You weren’t even sure what you were.

When you finally gathered enough courage to ask him, “Why me?”

He just tilted his head, like it was a dumb question, and chuckled softly,

"You’ll know.”

No answers.

Just that maddening voice and an even more maddening smirk.

So you stopped asking.

Not like he’d ever explain anything seriously.

But strangely… being here didn’t feel so bad.

For the first time in your life, people actually talked to you. Not with suspicion or fear, not with that distant look adults always wore back then—as if you were something filthy they accidentally stepped on.

Here, the students greeted you with normal smiles. Some joked. Others nodded silently but without malice. You weren’t “the cursed girl” anymore.

You were just… someone.

Someone who existed.

That was new.

Of course, the nervousness never fully left. Especially not with a certain white-haired menace constantly around.

Satoru Gojo.

He never gave you peace.

From the moment you stepped into the training grounds, he’d pop up beside you out of nowhere—grinning, nudging, teasing.

“Come on, new kid! Put some muscle into that swing!”

“That kick was embarrassing. Wanna try aiming anywhere near the target this time?”

Or, with a laugh, “Aw, don’t pout! You’re gonna make me feel bad.”

You didn’t even realize when it started becoming bearable.

When his voice stopped making your stomach twist with dread… and instead, brought that small flutter of—something else.

You still rolled your eyes at his jokes.

You still told him to shut up (politely… most of the time).

But deep down, a small warmth had settled.

Not quite friendship. Not quite anything.

Just something that reminded you what it felt like… to not be so alone.

And Gojo? He didn’t seem to mind you growing comfortable.

In fact, he seemed to enjoy it too much.

His teasing got bolder.

He’d ruffle your hair mercilessly until it resembled a bird’s nest.

“Cute,” he’d say with a smirk. “It suits you—wild and confused.”

He’d bump into your shoulder randomly while walking, knowing you’d stumble back because of how massive he was compared to you—and he’d laugh when you glared at him for it.

"Woops. Didn’t see you there, shortie.”

Now, you were training in the empty courtyard—just you and him.

No curses. No real fights. Just basic drills.

Satoru leaned lazily against a tree, arms crossed, watching you with an amused tilt of his head. You were sweating, focusing hard on each punch and footwork combo he showed you, though somewhere in your chest a small thought nagged:

Was this enough?

Just physical strikes?

No cursed energy. No exorcising. No missions.

You’d been here for weeks and hadn’t fought a single real curse yet.

Maybe you weren’t ready.

Maybe you’d never be.

Lost in thought, you missed the cue.

Your fist faltered in the air—too slow.

Before you could pull back, a strong hand caught your wrist—firm, warm, but not painful.

You flinched.

“Daydreaming already, princess?” he teased, a smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. “What are you gonna do without me?~”

You frowned, yanking your hand back.

“Don’t call me that.”

But your voice wasn’t angry—more… flustered.

Gojo stepped closer, leaning just slightly into your space, his blindfold hiding those eyes but you felt him watching. The smirk on his lips widened.

Then—

He paused.

Just for a second.

Because you looked away—cheeks burning, brows furrowed, fists clenched.

You weren’t even sure why you were blushing so hard. Maybe it was the training. Maybe it was the way his voice dropped on that last word.

Or maybe it was just him.

Stupid Satoru Gojo.

You sucked in a sharp breath and looked up suddenly, frustration spilling out of you.

“Stop staring at me!”

He blinked.

Then—

Laughed.

Hard.

His laughter echoed across the empty yard, echoing like chimes in the wind. You wanted to scream. Or disappear.

His hand clapped gently on your back as he wheezed, “God, your face! That was adorable. Don’t tell me you’re one of those girls who blush when someone flirts a little.”

“I’m not blushing,” you muttered.

“Oh no, of course not,” he grinned, obviously lying. “It’s just the heat. Definitely not me. Right?”

You hmphed, refusing to look at him again.

Gojo chuckled again, slower this time. “You’re fun,” he murmured, almost like it wasn’t meant to be heard.

You heard it anyway.

And as you stared down at your fists, you thought to yourself—

He doesn’t know a thing…

Stupid.

—

Another day passed, quiet and gray like most.

You were heading back to your dorm, your steps soft on the stone path leading through the Jujutsu High campus. The sun had just begun to dip lower, casting long shadows, the trees whispering in the gentle breeze.

As usual, you kept your gaze lowered, your hands tucked inside your sleeves.

But then you spotted them.

The three most well-known first-years—Yuji Itadori, Nobara Kugisaki, and Megumi Fushiguro—chatting and walking ahead.

You thought of taking the long way around.

Maybe they wouldn’t notice.

Maybe—

“Yo!!” a cheerful voice cut through the silence. “Aren’t you the new student??”

You blinked, freezing in place as Yuji jogged over with the biggest grin you’d ever seen. “Come hang out with us!”

Your heart skipped, nerves fluttering violently in your stomach.

“M-Me?” you asked, almost pointing to yourself. “Is… is that okay?”

Yuji didn’t even hesitate.

“I don’t mind! What about you?” He turned to Nobara with a casual shrug.

Nobara glanced over, giving you a once-over, then shrugged too. “I don’t mind either. Come on.”

Yuji grinned and turned to Megumi, who was tapping away on his phone, barely listening.

“He also doesn’t mind!!” Yuji declared, hands on his hips like a proud host. “Now come on, let’s go already!”

You didn’t have the strength to say no.

So you nodded.

—

You didn’t even realize how much you had missed this: simple, human moments.

They took you to the newly opened food arcade just off campus, where a few local shops had set up outside. It was loud, colorful, filled with laughter, the scent of fried things and sweet things and unfamiliar things all wrapped into one.

Yuji dragged everyone toward a stall selling fried mochi-on-a-stick, excitedly debating which dipping sauce was best. Nobara pretended to be annoyed but still snatched a bite. Megumi grumbled something under his breath about cavities and walked three steps behind.

You laughed softly—not loud enough for anyone to hear. But it was a laugh.

And while they were arguing about who should pay, your eyes wandered.

Across the path, under golden lights, was a dessert shop.

Small, quiet… but inside, rows and rows of sweets sparkled behind the glass.

There were so many kinds—flaky pastries, glossy jellies, round colorful candies—and then your gaze stopped on a brown-colored dessert, simple but rich-looking. It looked soft, sweet, dense. You didn’t even know its name.

Your feet paused as you stared, unaware how close your face had gotten to the glass.

You hadn’t seen things like this growing up.

You never had treats like that at home. Not unless you found them at some festival. And even then, they were gone before you got one.

You were so lost in thought, so still, that you didn’t notice the others had kept walking.

“Hey!” Yuji called, waving his arms. “Come on!”

You blinked and turned quickly. “S-sorry!” you stammered, hurrying back.

They waited for you.

No one got annoyed.

And you… you held onto that, quietly.

—

Time passed quickly.

Evening had set in, the skies painted in watercolor purples and oranges.

As they reached the school gates, Yuji threw his arms up with a laugh. “That was so fun today! Let’s do this again sometime!”

Nobara rolled her eyes. “Next time, I’m picking where we eat.”

Megumi just exhaled. “Next time… maybe no fried mochi.”

You gave a tiny nod, eyes lowered again as warmth flickered quietly in your chest.

Then—

A voice, smooth and smug, cut through the chatter.

"And here I was looking for my students.”

You turned, heart skipping.

There he was.

Satoru Gojo, grinning, hands in his pockets like always.

Yuji cheered, “Gojo-sensei!”

The others lit up, talking over each other as they updated him on what they did. He laughed, joked, teased Nobara about her shopping bag, nudged Megumi’s shoulder, and ruffled Yuji’s hair.

You just stood there.

Quiet.

Unsure.

You had nothing to say.

Nothing to offer.

But then, without a word, Gojo suddenly stepped forward—right in front of you—and lifted a small white paper bag up to your face.

“Saw you drooling over it,” he said nonchalantly, “so... here.”

You blined, confused. Slowly, you reached out and opened the bag—

Inside sat that same brown dessert you’d stared at through the glass.

Your chest tightened.

“Huh…?” you breathed, eyes wide.

“Got one for everyone,” Gojo said with a lazy grin, turning to hand Yuji a colorful box, then Nobara a ribbon-tied bag, and even Megumi something simpler wrapped in parchment.

They all cheered, thanked him, laughed again.

And your heart sank a little.

Of course.

He was just being nice. To everyone.

You weren’t special.

Just another person he picked up along the way.

But why did it hurt?

Why did your chest feel so tight over just one kind gesture?

Maybe because no one else ever did it.

Maybe because you were so starved for affection that even crumbs felt like a feast.

You swallowed, curling your fingers tightly around the bag.

“…Thanks,” you whispered.

It was so soft, almost no one heard it.

But he did.

Your feet turned before you could stop them, body retreating toward the dorms.

You didn’t look back.

Didn’t want to.

But behind you, as the sky deepened and the others chattered, Gojo watched you go, his expression unreadable.

No one could ever tell what was behind that blindfold.

But maybe—just maybe—he watched you a little longer than necessary.

—

The next training day came like any other.

Bright skies.

Chatter in the distance.

Gojo standing in the field, arms crossed, blindfold in place, the usual lazy grin playing on his lips.

But you?

You stayed quiet.

You didn’t meet his eyes—or rather, his blindfold. You didn’t laugh at his jokes, didn’t follow his gestures. You stood stiffly beside Yuji and Nobara, eyes fixed on the ground, pretending like you didn’t feel the weight of Gojo’s presence behind you.

You were avoiding him.

And he didn’t seem to notice.

Not at first.

Because he was his usual self—cheerful, annoying, larger than life.

Until suddenly, right in the middle of the warm-up, his voice dropped.

"You. Use your power.”

You blinked.

“…Huh?”

He tilted his head, grin gone. “Use. Your. Power.”

The world felt very quiet then. The others turned, attention flicking toward you. Your heart stuttered.

“I… I don’t understand,” you whispered.

Gojo stared.

No teasing in his voice. No lightness in his tone.

Just sharp, cold words that sliced clean through.

"How are you going to survive if you keep being this dumb?”

Your breath caught. “Learn from the others. Or you’ll just be a burden.”

It felt like a slap.

From him.

From Gojo.

Your lips parted, but nothing came out.

Not an excuse. Not a sound.

He looked away like he was already tired of the conversation. Yuji scratched the back of his head, trying to lighten the mood. Nobara just shifted awkwardly. Megumi looked away.

You just stood there, frozen.

Hurt.

Silent.

Gojo, as if trying to move past it, nudged your arm lightly with his elbow. His tone flipped again, playful.

“Come on, don’t just stand like a ghost. Let’s go—”

“I’m… not feeling well.”

You cut him off.

Your voice was low, trembling.

And without waiting for permission, you turned and walked off the field.

Behind you, silence.

Until Gojo finally glanced your way.

—

You hadn’t planned to cry.

You hated crying.

But back in your dorm room, alone with the door shut and the lights off, your shoulders shook quietly. His words echoed again and again in your head—

"Dumb."

"Burden."

"Learn from others."

Just like everyone else.

Even he thought so now.

Even he—

A sudden knock startled you.

“Open the door,” Gojo’s voice called, muffled by wood. “Come on. What’s wrong?”

You swallowed hard, dragging the blanket tighter around yourself.

Another knock.

“…Is this how you respect your teacher?”

You winced.

He didn’t know.

He didn’t realize what those words did.

Silence stretched.

Then finally… you stood.

The door creaked open slowly.

Gojo stood there, one hand in his pocket, the other lazily propped against the doorframe. His blindfold sat snugly in place, as always, but his smile?

Mocking. Playful. “What happened, huh?” he teased. “Your poor heart got hurt or something?”

“Did I break the little newbie already?”

Your fists clenched tightly at your sides.

You wanted to scream.

You wanted to shove him away.

But your voice cracked instead.

“…I hate you.”

Gojo’s smirk paused.

You didn’t stop.

“I hate you… I hate you,” you mumbled again, your throat closing up. “Why did you say those things…? I don’t like it… I really don’t…”

Tears slipped past your lashes, hot and embarrassing.

Gojo’s expression shifted—subtle, unreadable.

He leaned in slowly, crouching a little to your level, tilting his head. “Really?” he asked, voice quieter now. “You hate.me?”

You froze.

The words burned on your tongue.

You couldn’t say them again.

You didn’t mean them.

You didn’t want to hate him.

So, through blurry eyes and trembling lips, you shook your head.

“…No.”

Gojo blinked.

Then, softly, almost coaxing.“Then?"

Your fingers trembled.

You looked down, unable to meet his eyes, even if they were hidden.

Your voice barely made it past your throat. Just a breath. Just a whisper.

“…I like you…”

So quiet.

Only you were supposed to hear it.

But he did.

He heard everything.

The smile on his face didn't return right away.

He just looked at you, unblinking, as if seeing something in you he hadn’t expected.

Something soft. Raw. Real.

And you—stupid, fragile you—wished you could take it back.

If only you didn’t say it.

If only....

You blinked, your vision slowly coming into focus. The first thing you saw was Satoru's face, contorted in a wild grin above you. The second thing you registered was the sensation of something thick and hard sliding in and out of you, stretching you deliciously.

"Ah, you're finally awake," Satoru purred, giving a particularly sharp thrust that made you gasp. "I was starting to think I'd fucked you into a coma."

You tried to form a response, but all that came out was a low, wanton moan as Satoru hit a particularly sensitive spot inside you. Your mind felt hazy, your body pliant and responsive under his rough handling.

"That's right, moan for me," Satoru growled, picking up the pace of his thrusts. "This is what you wanted, isn't it? To feel my cock splitting you open?"

You could only whimper in agreement, too lost in pleasure to protest his crude words. Satoru chuckled darkly, bending down to nip at your earlobe.

"You're so tight, princess. So fucking perfect. I knew you'd be a good little fuck toy for me."

His words should have angered you, but they only served to turn you on more. You arched your back, pushing your hips up to meet his thrusts, silently begging for more. Satoru obliged, slamming into you with brutal force, each thrust driving you closer to the edge.

"Fuck, I'm going to fill you up," he groaned, his movements becoming erratic. "You're going to take every last drop of my cum like a good girl."

Your words came out weak, breathy, barely a protest against Satoru's onslaught. "I...I said I like you...not this-"

He just laughed, a harsh, mocking sound. "Sounds the same to me, princess. You can't back out now."

Gripping your hips tighter, Satoru drove into you with renewed vigor, chasing his release. You tried to crawl away, but he easily overpowered you, forcing you down onto the bed. His strong arms wrapped around your throat, cutting off your air supply.

"Running off already?" he murmured, his hot breath ghosting over your ear. "I don't think so."

You could only whimper, feeling his grip tighten around your neck as he thrust harder, faster. His teeth sank into your earlobe, sending jolts of pain and pleasure through you.

"Fuck, I'm close," Satoru groaned, his hips stuttering. "Gonna fill this tight little cunt with my cum..."

With a final brutal thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he spilled his seed. Through the haze of pain and pleasure, you heard him whisper in your ear, "I'll lock you in my domain if I have to..."

Your vision started to dim, black spots dancing across your eyes as Satoru's grip on your throat remained unyielding. The last thing you felt before everything went black was Satoru's softening cock still inside you, a physical reminder of his ownership over your body and mind.

You didn’t know what to do after that day.

Everything felt off—unreal, like you were stuck in a fog that wouldn’t lift. The walls of your dorm felt tighter, the air heavier, your own skin unfamiliar. But what disturbed you the most wasn't just what happened... it was him.

Because nothing had changed.

Satoru Gojo, your mentor—the strongest, the loudest, the most unpredictable man in Jujutsu High—still acted like the same old fool in front of everyone. That same blinding smile. That same easy swagger. That same lazy tone as he joked around the other students, ruffling hair, cracking bad puns, pretending like the world didn’t weigh on his shoulders.Your classmates didn't notice. Why would they? Gojo made sure the world only saw what he wanted them to see.

And you… you had long learned to stay quiet.

But in private...

He wasn’t the same.

He’d show up—unannounced, uninvited—at your door, late at night or after training. And behind closed doors, that goofy smile would linger... but the look in his eyes was different. Sharper. Darker. Like he was watching you struggle just to breathe under the weight of it all—and enjoying it.

You tried, once, to tell him to stop. Voice shaking. Barely audible.

But he just tilted his head, blinked slowly behind the blindfold, and said,

"That’s how you thank your saviour? After everything I’ve done for you?"

—

Until today.

You were walking through the hallway on your way to class, same as always, eyes down, arms hugging your books close like a shield. That’s when you saw someone you didn’t recognize—

A tall man, sharp and stiff in his dark suit. Blond hair neatly combed. His aura quiet, firm, but unsettling.

He looked like someone who didn’t tolerate nonsense.

You slowed without realizing, gaze locking with his as you passed. Something in your chest stirred.

And then it clicked.

Nanami.

You’d heard about him. Gojo mentioned him once. The ex-salaryman sorcerer. Older. Smarter. Respected.

Different.

You quickly dipped your head in greeting, about to walk away when a voice—low, quiet, but unmistakably firm—called out behind you.

“He’s not teaching you.”

You froze.

“Satoru. He’s not guiding you. He’s leading you... somewhere else entirely.”

You didn’t turn.

You didn’t speak.

You’d known for months now, hadn’t you?

The silence between you two hung in the air. Nanami didn’t press for a reply. You didn’t offer one.

After a moment, you heard his shoes shift on the polished floor as he turned to leave.

But then—

One last sentence, muttered so plainly it nearly knocked the air from your lungs.

“That mutt is crazy in the head. You should’ve died that day.”

You blinked.

Something behind your eyes stung.

But no words came out.

Did it hurt?

Maybe.

Maybe not.

Maybe it just… confirmed what you already feared. What you already whispered to yourself in the dark when he wasn’t around.

That your life wasn’t saved.

It was stolen.

Twisted.

And reshaped into something unrecognizable.

You stared ahead, motionless, a single thought looping again and again like a curse in your head:

“If only I had died in that alley…”

“At least then, it wouldn’t hurt like this.”

—

The dorm room was dimly lit, the only sound the soft ticking of a clock on the wall. You sat on the edge of your bed, hands clasped tightly in your lap as you waited, heart pounding in your chest. A soft knock at the door made you jump, but you knew who it was. With a heavy sigh, you pushed yourself up and crossed to the door, unlocking it with trembling fingers.

Satoru grinned down at you as you opened the door, his blue eyes glinting with amusement. "Took you long enough, princess," he drawled, stepping into your room uninvited. "Here I was freezing to death in the hall."

"I'm tired," you muttered, trying to close the door, but Satoru's hand shot out, stopping you. His grin faded.

"Tired? Or just done with me?" His voice was low, dangerous. He forced the door open and stalked into your room, backing you up until you stumbled onto the bed. "I saw you with Nanami earlier," he said, looming over you. "Have you decided to change mentors? Found someone else to satisfy you?"

"No!" you cried, but Satoru just laughed.

"Liar." He grabbed your shoulders roughly, his fingers digging into your skin. "Why do you want to know about your power? So you can abandon me and leave?"

You were stunned by his words, by the sudden crack in his icy facade. "No, I..." You swallowed hard. "Why won't you tell me? Why are you doing this to me?"

Satoru released you abruptly and turned away. "Because I saved you," he said coldly. "I can do whatever I want with you. And as for your power?" He whirled back to face you, eyes blazing. "I won't let you burn the damn world and leave me behind!"

You stared at him, mouth agape. "I... I will kill you..."

He barked out a harsh laugh. "Oh sure, princess. You'll kill me. How are you going to do that exactly?"

—

Satoru's body was hot and hard against yours as he pressed you into the mattress, his hips snapping forward with a force that stole your breath. You cried out, the pleasure bordering on pain as he filled you completely.

"Was this your plan, princess? To distract me with your sweet little cunt?" He sneered, his hips slapping against yours mercilessly. "But all you can do is moan like the desperate slut you are."

You tried to bite back the desperate moans that threatened to spill from your lips, but it was futile. Satoru's thrusts were hitting something deep inside you, pleasure building to a painful peak. Your hands flew up as if to ward off the sensations, but you knew it was useless. This monster was going to ruin you.

You gasped as you felt a dark shadow gathering behind you, a presence you'd long sensed but never dared to acknowledge. It was rising up, summoned by your pain and despair. But before you could fully register its form, Satoru's hand cracked across your face, sending stars exploding across your vision.

You cried out in shock and pain, tears spilling down your cheeks. Satoru just grinned, a wild, manic grin that made your blood run cold. "Oopsie," he cooed mockingly. "Do that again and I'll slice your pretty little throat from ear to ear. How's that sound, princess?"

Whimpering, you raked your nails down Satoru's abs, leaving red welts in their wake. "Stop!" you gasped out. "It's too much... I can't..."

But Satoru just laughed, a harsh, brutal sound. "Can't or won't? Too fucking bad, princess. I'm not done with you yet."

He sped up his thrusts, each one hitting so deep it felt like he was splitting you in half. You tried to beg him to stop, but all that came out was garbled nonsense. The world started to fade, your vision going dark around the edges. Some distant part of you knew you were hitting your limit, but Satoru showed no mercy.

The last thing you saw before blacking out was Satoru's face, twisted in cruel amusement as he fucked you into oblivion.

—

You woke with a violent jolt, your breath catching in your throat as an explosion of pain ripped through your skull and spread like fire down your spine. The agony was so sharp, so sudden, that for a moment you couldn’t even cry out—you could only gasp, paralyzed, choking on air. Your vision swam as your eyes fluttered open, the world around you a disorienting blur of blackness. There was no ceiling, no walls, no light source—just an endless void pressing in on you from all sides. Even the ground beneath you felt… wrong. It wasn’t solid. It pulsed faintly under your body, as if you were lying on something alive, something that breathed in sync with your own shallow gasps.

Floating. You were floating.

That’s when the cold truth hit, sinking into your bones with a weight heavier than gravity—this wasn’t a dream. No comforting fade-in of consciousness, no blurry recollection of how you got here. Just this place. This cold, weightless, alien place. Real. Horribly real.

You screamed. You didn’t care how loud, didn’t care if your throat tore from the effort. But your screams bounced off invisible walls and curled back toward you, distorted and warped like mockery made of sound. They didn’t bring help. Only silence. Only fear.

You tried to move—to push yourself up, to crawl, to run—but your limbs were dead weight. Every muscle felt like it was submerged in syrup, your nerves too dull to obey. Panic rose sharp in your chest, your breath coming faster, faster—until your eyes caught something.

Him.

He was there.

Satoru.

Kneeling calmly a few feet away, looking completely untouched by the nightmare that had swallowed you whole. His trademark white hair glowed faintly against the surrounding darkness, that cursed blindfold still resting over his eyes. And that grin—the infuriating, maddening grin curved across his face like a blade dipped in honey.

"Shhh," he whispered, voice sickeningly sweet as he reached toward you, his fingers brushing your cheek with a mockery of tenderness. "Don't be scared, princess."

You flinched.

"You're safe here with me," he murmured, his voice laced with something unreadable. "No one will hurt you now."

Your lips trembled. "W-Where... where is this place?" you choked out, struggling to hold back the rising bile in your throat. Every part of you screamed to run, to claw your way out, but your body wouldn’t move. Wouldn’t listen.

Satoru laughed quietly, as if amused by your question, his head tilting slightly. He glanced around as if surveying his throne room before looking back at you. His smile twisted.

"Pretty tough for you to digest, huh?" he said softly, a dark chuckle bubbling in his throat. "It's my domain."

You stared at him, frozen. The words didn’t register—not fully. Not until he reached up slowly, deliberately, and pulled down his blindfold.

Those eyes—brilliant, blinding blue—met yours, and in them was no trace of the man you once knew. No gentleness. No warmth. Just something fraying at the edges. Something cracked. Wild. Obsessive.

"You thought I was joking," he said, eyes narrowing with a glint of madness. "When I said I’d lock you in my domain if I had to."

Your mouth opened, but no words came. Horror pooled inside you, thick and suffocating. He had meant it. Every word. The betrayal stung worse than the pain in your head—because beneath all that madness, part of you had trusted him once.

He leaned closer, the grin slowly fading into something softer. More intimate. Crueler.

And then—he kissed your forehead as he whispered.

"Welcome home, princess..."

[softlyopulent-if]

Thank you for the writing update, I'm very much looking forward to it!! And, just letting you know — it's wonderful to see you still around, even if it's just through reblogs 💙 I've always been fond of your game, as well as your interactions with your readers. Good luck with everything!

Thank you so much babe! Once I get this rewrite done I really wanna start answering character asks again. Its been a while and the way I wanted the story originally has changed, and the characters have a bit too. I’ll post more detailed about what that means soon! Thank you for the kind words <3

[sepublic]

But yeah, this episode… I’ve heard each one is about a different character more or less but I find myself oscillating on which one this is about? But in the end I think I lean more towards Ragatha just for the framing of that ending and how she can do everything right and still fail and the growing resentment that comes when she does exactly what people ask her to do and is still ignored for that misogynistic fuckwit.

Because in the end I suppose Jax being ‘sympathetic’ to Pomni while the actual nature of his story is left unexplained is because it’s ultimately a plot device to rile up Ragatha’s feelings and give us insight into how she tries her best only to be contrasted with Jax doing the bare minimum and being more rewarded for it than she ever has. I wonder if there is a thing to be said about misogyny and how this woman tries her best and is still glossed over some dickish guy just because he’s emotionally damaged as if she doesn’t have a much more explicit trauma mentioned.

Ragatha deserves to go apeshit and I can see her abstracting. Pomniiiii how could you forget Ragatha after what you learned the prior episodes!!! Deadass I suspect this series is kinda building up to Pomni and Ragatha’s dynamic as such a huge thing and how it’s one of the first things we see. It’s already underlying a lot of stories in subtle ways like with Pomni looking back at Ragatha in the last episode as she learns to let Gummigoo go and try to remember her friend more.

But Gooseworx wasn’t kidding Ragatha does get the rotten luck. If she abstracts because of the contradictory message of everyone telling her to do X only to subtly castigate Ragatha for doing X, while Jax does Y as he’s told and then he’s rewarded. If the characters realize that for all of Ragatha’s faults that were actually pretty minor, the monster she becomes is the monster they made. Then this whole story is representative of how society fails women who do exactly what they’re told. /hj Goose said they wanted this story to convey loneliness and tbh I think that ending with Ragatha, really Rag’s character as a whole, possibly most captures that theme.

And it’s interesting; I thought from Jax mentioning Ragatha losing her effect on Pomni at the beginning meant this would be a Ragatha episode. But then Jax got centered more and I considered otherwise? But now I realize it really was to highlight Ragatha’s sense of alienation at this narrative and in-universe shift of focus from her. And I love that trope; The story on its surface is about Character X but in the end it’s really about Character Y.

[dark-lord-of-awesomeness]

I'm just picturing the ending 'choosing scene' from a standard dating sim(standard for villainess manga) where the datable one picks who they go with, and its just. the cat. the cat won the dating sim. POV of outside player(flash to video game options), its gotta be a joke ending! But you play through all the endings, and every time. the f-ing cat gets to sail away into the sunset.Finally, you unlock the secret character. Its the cat, instead of a dating sim, in an epic battle for reality against bill cipher. true ending: cat turns human brother. Cat and scientist sail off into the sunset as epic platonic brothers.

six months later bonus cutscene: ford wakes up in dead of night, bolts to brother goes 'WERE THEY FLIRTING W/ ME???'

'yes, and if i'm lucky someday age will wipe the memory from my mind of them licking their lips as you wash the car.'

*Stares in horror as Stan goes back to sleep*

Anon you are so correct in every way. Dating Sim Ford is the gotcha game of being filled with unlockable romantic scenes and always ends with the cat winning.

So i have never played a dating sim due to my aversion to The Romance, but I have played Stardew Valley due to my love of sorting things, putting things into chests, watching number go up, and hoarding. The first time I ever played I did a Romance as The Thing To Do (Tragic really, falling into the trap of too many adults these days). The moment Krobus became roommate material my eyes never strayed let me tell you.

Anyway that is to say, All i can see is someone buying, like, Gravity Falls, the game where you're a reclusive scientist in the woods, cataloging the mysteries and slowly making connections and learning more about your characters history. Story starts out with your Big Idea, and there's a mix of discovery game play, filling out your compendium full of strange creatures and trying to tie them together, and romance.

You play the game, you romance the basic options, Fiddleford the college roommate, Carla the high school brothers sweetheart, various townsfolk, and for those who hardcore work on the mystery aspect you can unlock Bill as a romance option. You put work into getting the affection rating up, you put in so much time and effort into discovering all the tricks and secret scenes, the end of the game rolls around, time for Ford to pick his date (or whatever, idk), and instead of getting another cute cut scene between him and your favorite romantic option he chooses the cat and sails off into the sunset.

Has to be a gag right? The cats cute, it must have a secret affection rating that can get higher than everyone else, you'll just play again, give the cat the bare minimum attention (because if you don't the game becomes more difficult as it attacks you and bullies you into following healthy habits). Get to the end, time for the date and!

Its the cat again?

you play again, suffer through full neglecting the cat. The other characters will pick up the slack on needs if you do, so its fine. Get to the end and!

The cat ran off, and Ford abandons everything to go look for it? What?

Over and over, different tactics, watching others play through the game, but its always the cat who wins in the end. The romance thing must be a scam! Until you finally learn there's a secret character, so you do everything you can to unlock them and play and!

Its the fucking cat again. You hate this thing. You've spent weeks of your life sunk into the game, and its beaten you every time.

Except now the game changes entirely. This is no longer a fun dating and exploration game but a full horror one. The cat has internal dialog that shows its far more intelligent than normal, has opinions on all the other characters, and hates all the flirting going around. The cat wasn't a fun gimmick interrupting confessions, it was actively sabotaging your game play, and now you're doing it. And its not fun or cute, its terrifying because Bill the funky demonic love interest is fully evil and out to kill it. Play through as a tiny cat trying to survive the demon while keeping the suitors out of the house or they'll distract Ford and allow the demon to kill you.

It takes way longer to get through a full game because its so, so easy to beef it as a cat, but you did it! You've defeated the demon, saved the day! Might have lost interest in the romance thing at this point, but if not maybe now you can try again?

Wrong. New ending the cat is actually Fords brother who's missing status the rest of the game was subtley tragic and everyone assumed was dead. Bros sail off, bonds of brotherhood winning every time. And it turns out that even if you the player knew this was a romance game Ford the character did not. End credits show a reverse affection meter that Ford has had for all the characters through all your game play and while it can get high it has never once gotten to romantic levels, and the romantic level is actually locked. You cannot get your character interested in anyone in this game, and in fact the cat starts out with the highest affection rate on Fords end and cannot go down. Anyone uninterested in the romance aspect would never notice this as a thing.

You never had a chance. This game played you. The cat played you.

I would love this game. Not sure about anyone else though.

[call-me-strega]

Imma bout to rant abt K-pop Demon Hunters again. This is your spoiler warning turn back now!!

Hot Take: Jinu's death was the right conclusion to his character arc

Jinu was a villian in this movie. He doesn't pretend not to be. He helped Gui Ma steal souls and hurt and betrayed Rumi. He's smug, rude, and self-serving. But he also holds a lot of guilt, shame and conflict inside. We see in his backstory how he acted selfish and we know he regrets him because it still haunts it him. Its how Gui Ma manipulates him because he just wants to escape the shame and guilt. As the movie goes on we see him waver in the face of fans who see the best in him and Rumi, who tells him he can be forgiven. When Jinu betrays her he is unsure of himself and his guilt builds even more, pushing him further into Gui Ma's grasp. But when he sees Rumi finally be unashamed, free, and truthful it gives him the push he needs. He has to stop running from the past and holding onto his misery. In order to be free he must forgive himself and atone. When he realizes he goes to protect Rumi and sacrifice himself for her. His sacrifice is the first purely unselfish decision he makes. Parallel to Rumi, Jinu admits his faults to himself and acts in spite of them. It brings his story full circle from abandoning people he loves to giving everything up for someone he cares about. Jinu did bad things. He acknowledges this and repents. His sacrafice allows him to finally move on both metaphorically and literally. He stops being selfish and wallowing in despair and gives his soul selflessly to Rumi. Although it makes me sad I think it was the right move.

[phantombegruvia]

*CW for a little bit of gore at the end*

You Are Cordially Invited

He read the cursive atop the A4 card, before signing the bottom. It was the twelfth time he had done that, and, thankfully, the last. With a sigh, he placed the last of the invites onto the pile and leaned back onto his leather chair.

“Are they ready to be sent, sir?” His butler said, his gruff Glaswegian accent prominent.

Bruce didn't say anything, just silently pushing the pile towards him.

“Is there any reason you chose this.. particular group of people, Master Wayne?” Alfred asked as he leaned forward to pick the invites up, though Bruce noticed his subtle glance at the envelope on the desk.

Bruce grabbed the envelope, and emptied its contents onto the rosewood desk; twelve photographs. Well, eleven photographs and one painting. Two pictures were monotone, the paper yellowed.

Bruce looked at them, twelve faces stared back.

“You know why, Alfred,” Bruce finally responded, his own Scottish accent booming.

Alfred obviously held back an eyeroll, but he finally had the invites in his hands, “of course, sir,” he stated. Bruce ignored the sarcasm that laced his words.

The elderly butler left Bruce's office, and Bruce was finally left alone. He sat in silence for a few long moments before realising that wee Dickie was patrolling alone that night. He should check up on him.

He was about to get up off the rather uncomfortable chair, when the light started to flicker. On. Off. On. Off. On...

Off.

The next time the light turned on, Bruce Wayne was slouched over his rosewood desk, his own batarang embedded into his skull.

**Please read under the cut for more information!

Welcome to the Shoot From The Hip Murder Mystery!

Twelve of your favourite characters have to try and survive Scottish Wayne Manor, while a murderer is at hand.

Everything in this story is dependent on a random wheel or YOU! Your thoughts are the characters thoughts, your feelings are their feelings, your theories are their theories. (reply/reblog your thoughts! You can even put them in my asks box!)

There will be times where you need to choose characters to do certain tasks - depending on the task, certain characters will have more of an advantage, while others will have a disadvantage.

The murderer has been chosen by wheel, and deaths will also be chosen by wheel. Everything else is up to you..

Will you figure out who the murderer is? Can you help them escape the manor before they've all been killed?

Let's see..

The characters:

Esmeralda (Thirsty Vamps | submitted by @rainy-weather-supremacy)

Poppy (The Lighthouse | submitted by @aa0n)

Old Lady Margaery (The Unrelenting Aubergine | submitted by @theblackberryhimself)

Tracy (Susan's Holiday | submitted by @sosbanfach64)

Amanda (Clarissa's DIY Wedding | submitted by @radioroxx)

Helter Skelter (Burglary & Bobsledding | submitted by @solar93)

John Jacob (The Off-Season | submitted by @cook-a-little-chicken)

Derek (The Unrelenting Aubergine | submitted by @cook-a-little-chicken)

Rumpled (Priscilla's Final Petal | submitted by @sosbanfach64)

Tarquin (Lost In Your Eyes | submitted by @sosbanfach64)

Ethel (Sorry About My Nan | submitted by @sosbanfach64)

Juliet (Caesar & Juliet | submitted by @cook-a-little-chicken)

Masterlist (not yet created)

Bare in mind that updates may not be daily, but I will try my hardest :)

This is partially inspired by Escape The Night and @milk-is-stable's Hunger Games fic :)

[ingravinoveritas]

This may be an unpopular opinion, but I have to say it and here seems to be a safe place, so here goes:

With the exception of Bildad and the final 15, Season 2 could have been an email.

Literally. Crowley walks into the bookshop looks at his phone, says to Aziraphale "Apparently Gabriel and Beelzebub ran off together."

Que the metatron and the entire meltdown from there, and the rest of season 2 is finding out wtf and the 90 minute thing is just domestic life at the south downs and smut.

But that's just me.

Hi Anon. Well, I'm glad that you feel my blog is a safe place to share your opinions--that truly does mean a lot to me. I'm not sure how unpopular your opinion is, though, as I've heard others express similar sentiments/dissatisfaction with the second season. (Also "Season 2 could have been an email" just flat-out made me laugh, so thank you for that...)

I think part of the problem with GO 2 is the difference that we see when thinking of GO season 1. Because even though we know who wrote the script, GO 1 is still the product of the book, and so much of that strong voice and world-building feels like it came from Terry Pratchett. There was a unity of vision and place, and the plot (however occasionally convoluted) made sense and advanced with each episode.

With GO 2, though, that unity and voice were noticeably missing. We know that season 2 was meant to be a "transitional" season, to bridge the gap between S1 and the sequel that Terry and NG had planned (that would then become S3). But multiple writers were brought in to write the "mini-sodes" in each episode of S2, and it created a shift in tone that left the season feeling wildly all over the place. These mini-sodes ended up feeling like little more than filler as the larger plot (which was arguably a lot less interesting) plodded on in the background, and the whole season suffered as a result.

The overall problem was that pacing issues meant that it took much too long for us to get essential information, and the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley was almost relegated to the back burner in favor of focusing on Beez/Gabriel. And that, perhaps, is the most egregious issue with S2--that NG had this incredible chemistry between Michael and David that had absolutely made S1 what it was, and all but wasted it with certain writing choices. In fact, much like S1, it was Michael and David who elevated what they were given far beyond what the writing might have allowed.

I am not trying to diminish whatever direction Douglas Mackinnon may have given them, of course, but so much of what we saw--1941 (which is still one of my favorite Ineffable Husbands eras), 1800s Scotland, and everything in the Bildad sequence--came so brilliantly to life because of Michael and David. And in spite of other plot lines and characters (in the case of 1941, the zombie Nazis) threatening to drag it down. So yes, the overall challenge with season 2 seemed to be information being delivered unevenly, over too long a period of time, with too many characters that did not prove consequential to the main story, and with too little payoff in the end.

As for the 90 minute movie, I think now we'll have to have a resolution to the situation with Metatron, which unfortunately will cut into the limited time that we now have. But I would also love to see a focus on domestic life/smut at South Downs, or at least something that takes the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley seriously--which is very much the main thing that is important to so many of us--and uses Michael and David's chemistry to its fullest effect.

Those are my thoughts on season 2, and in response to your ask. Again, I am sure you are not the only one who has felt this way, and hopefully folks will now feel more comfortable sharing their thoughts as well. Thanks for writing in! x

[novasintheroom]

Things I headcanon/think are going to happen in Fields of Mistria (as of June 2025):

Juniper is hiding something when she reads the scrolls of Witchspeak to us. She either isn’t able to translate it (and therefore won’t to save her pride), or is disregarding something in the scrolls and not telling us about it. I think this will be revealed either with the next seal being broken, or a bit later when Things Happen.

The Spirit Priestess is actually evil and it was all a trap to get us to unseal her magic/her master’s magic. I have a theory that Caldarus was originally evil as well, but his memory wipe has made him forget all of that and become good. Either that, or the unknown final character is another dragon, an evil dragon, who we and Caldarus have to fight against. Caldarus does say that our character is the hero of our story, and “every hero needs a villain” or something like that. And adding on to that —

I’ve said this in a previous post, but I do think the final character is another dragon. 1st, I believe they are linked to the dragon statue found in the mines. It looks a bit different than Caldarus’ statue, and only focuses on combat, whereas Caldarus focuses on different “helpful/community” skills — ergo, the final character dragon is evil/focused on themselves and war. The difference between the two would mean they butt heads. We’ve been giving the bad dragon essence the entire time and they are slowly regaining their power alongside Caldarus.

There is going to be a big event/another earthquake that undoes a lot of our work in Mistria (not permanently, I think there’ll be a cutscene showing everyone come together to rebuild everything back to its original state). My thinking goes to a “Boss Battle” where we defeat the final character and they become a part of the community. Then we romance them and kiss mwah mwah mwah

I also think the mystery last character will live in the Western Ruins, where the stairs going up are broken. That would mean one dragon to the left, another dragon to the right in Mistria.

Idk idk i’m just heavily excited about this game and cannot WAIT to see the final/full version!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[whiteraven87]

The Flame That Never Fades - chapter 13 - Too Deep (13/16)

pairing: Toto Wolff x Victoria Lorenz (Original Character)

summary: She's young, fiery, naive and blindly in love. He's older, married, powerful and dangerously irresistible. To him, she was an obsession, an escape, a desire. To her, he was everything. The Flame that Never Fades is a story of forbidden love in the world of Formula 1, born from lust… and ending in something that can never be undone.

warnings: age gap (28 years), forbidden romance, obsession, desire, dark romance, smut, infidelity, emotional manipulation, dominant older man, angst, longing, possessiveness, emotional pain, toxic dynamics, no promise for happy ending.

word count: 37k

read on: AO3 - Wattpad - Tumblr

====================

my other finished fanfiction: The Unstoppable Series - Masterlist [Toto WolffxOC]

====================

chapters until now:

Prologue 1: Middle of the Night 2: Frozen 3: Shameless 4: Lilith 5: Ruthless 6: The Machine 7: Ride 8: No One Like You 9: Sad Girl 10: Summetime Sadness 11: Un-break My Heart 12: Blue Jeans 13: Too Deep

============================

Chapter 13: Too Deep

Some say I'm in it Too deep below you But how can I fix it When I'm wide-eyed in front of you? And I'm caught up within my head Without you in this empty bed, no, no Some say I'm in it Too deep below you Too Deep - Sickotoy, Eva Timush

Two months later, Australian GP – Season Opening

Albert Park Circuit was alive with energy. New colors, new contracts, new hopes. But for fans, journalists, and rivals, one event eclipsed everything else: the debut of Victoria Lorenz with Ferrari.

Her red suit stood in sharp contrast to what they knew. The face remained the same—focused, detached, precise. Yet in her blue eyes, the rebellious fire was gone. In its place burned the flames of determination.

Victoria in red looked like a challenge. And that's exactly how she drove.

The race was brutal. The Mercedes cars pushed hard, Red Bulls refused to back down. Yet it was she who clinched pole position. A perfect start. Aggressive, but without chaos. Cut off from the world, clocking one of the fastest race times. Ferrari's strategy—flawless.

Victory. Her first for the Scuderia.

Standing on the top step of the podium, her face lifted toward the sun, champagne held high, she looked like someone who had reclaimed her strength.

But deep inside — his shadow still lingered.

Toto watched the race from the hospital. He wasn't at the track. Not this time.

Susie had gone into labor the day before. Long. Silent. Intense.

Finally, on Sunday afternoon, his daughter was born.

Tiny, pink, her little fingers curling around his thumb. He looked at her as if witnessing a miracle. As if the chaos of the world had fallen silent, if only for a moment.

"She has your eyes," Susie said with a tired smile.

Toto remained silent. Words escaped him. He didn't cry. But in his gaze there was humility. And tenderness. And an emptiness he could no longer explain.

Because even as he held his child in his arms... his mind was elsewhere.

***

That evening, while Susie slept and the baby lay in the nurse's arms, he turned on his phone and saw a picture from the podium. Victoria in red. Alone. Proud. Sharp as a blade. And next to her—Lewis. With a smile that was no longer just friendly.

Toto stared at it for a long time. And in the silence, he whispered just one thing:

"You won, fiery girl. But I can no longer congratulate you."

When the headlines exploded the next day:

"Ferrari back on top thanks to Victoria Lorenz!"

"A new era for the Scuderia"

"Mercedes defeated by their former star"

Toto turned off his phone and returned to the hospital room.

He kissed his daughter's forehead. And he whispered:

"I don't know how to be a good father to you if my whole heart was left behind. With her."

A few days later

Toto sat in his office at Brackley, at the oak desk that had witnessed the most important decisions of his career. Headlines pulsed on the screen before him.

"New F1 couple? Victoria Lorenz and Lewis Hamilton together?"

"Growing closer in the paddock, secret trips – hidden romance?"

"Champions united – romance of the year?"

Neither of them spoke. Neither denied it. And the world, as always, did the rest.

Toto stared at the screen without blinking, but inside him burned a raging fire.

Each headline was another stab to the heart. He had no right to her. He held no grudge against Lewis. But he felt... jealousy. Not silent. Not pitiful. But burning. Brutal. Possessive.

He closed his eyes.

And then that night came flooding back.

Her body sprawled across this very desk. Her hair cascading like golden threads. Her legs wrapped around his hips. Her nails digging into his shoulders. Her soft moan as he entered her. Deeper. Harder. As he growled through gritted teeth:

"You're mine. Do you hear me? Only mine."

And she... She had looked at him with adoration he would never forget.

In her eyes, he had seen the whole world. She had given herself to him entirely. Without fear. Without hesitation.

And he had destroyed it.

Now he sat in the very spot where he had once gripped her hips, kissed her neck, torn the team hoodie from her, whispered in German all the things he would do to her, and she—trembling but certain—had answered:

"Do it. I want to belong to you."

He clenched his jaw. Leaned back in his chair. Swallowed the bitterness. Because now he saw her by someone else's side. Someone who didn't have to hide. Someone who could hold her hand in front of the cameras. Someone who could laugh with her over lunch. Someone who was light, not shadow.

Toto looked at the screen once more.

The photo. Victoria and Lewis. She in red. He in black. Looking at each other with something resembling peace.

And then, very softly, Toto whispered to himself:

"You're not his. You're still mine. Even if you never come back."

But deep down, he knew:

This time... he had lost everything.

Brackley, evening, Toto's main office

Silence, broken only by the hum of the ventilation. And a tension so thick it could no longer be ignored.

Toto sat behind his desk, his face weary, his brow furrowed, fingers clasped together. When the door closed, he lifted his gaze and met Lewis's stare—hard, unyielding. Without a trace of a smile.

"Sit down," Toto said quietly.

"I'd rather stand," Lewis replied coldly.

A moment of silence. Thick. Sharp as glass.

"What's going on between you and Victoria?" Toto asked at last.

Lewis let out a short laugh. But there was nothing joyful about it.

"You're asking me that now? After everything? You?"

"I have the right to know," Toto answered firmly, though something in his voice faltered. "You're not denying it. And the media—"

"Or maybe it just burns you up that someone else is holding her hand, huh?" Lewis's voice rose like a wave.

Toto stayed silent. But he didn't look away.

"You want to know what's between us?" Lewis continued, stepping closer to the desk with each word. "I'm the one picking her up, Toto. Me. After you left her with nothing."

"I didn't leave her—" Toto began.

"Didn't you?" Lewis cut him off with a fury no one had ever seen in him before. "You screwed her wherever you felt like it, fucked her whenever you wanted. On the desk. In the motorhome. In hotel rooms. You made promises. And then, when she looked at you like you were her whole damn world, like a god... you ran back to your wife. To your perfect little family."

Toto stood up. Tense. Silent. But he didn't deny it.

"She... she knew it wouldn't be easy..." he said, his voice strained.

"She was a girl madly in love!" Lewis shouted. "A young woman you only loved when no one was watching! She deserved everything. And you gave her a night. And a morning after which you disappeared."

Toto turned his gaze away. Something flickered across his face—bitterness. Shame.

"I love her," he finally said quietly. "But I couldn't give her more."

"You didn't want to. Don't lie to yourself."

"Lewis..."

"No. I'm talking now," Lewis's voice trembled. "I saw her crying through the nights. Driving like a maniac, like she wanted to die. I saw her crumpled on the motorhome floor, shaking, broken... because you shattered her."

"And you're the one putting her back together, right?" Toto asked softly, bitterness in his voice.

"I'm trying. I'm not you. I'll never have the look she gave you. But I'm there. Every day. And I won't let you hurt her again."

Toto slowly sat back down, as if the weight of those words had slammed into his chest.

Because no one—no one—had ever told him these things so brutally, so truthfully, right to his face.

Lewis looked at him once more.

"Don't ask me about Victoria again. Don't speak her name. You've done enough."

And he left. And Toto... stayed. Alone. In a silence where every corner of his office still smelled of her body's memory. And he realized that for the first time in his life, he truly knew what it felt like... to lose the person you love.

One Month Later, April, Japanese GP – Evening After the Race

Toto stood in front of her hotel room door, his hand suspended in mid-air. He could still taste the afternoon — the scent of gasoline, the scream over the radio as her Ferrari spun on the wet asphalt and crashed violently into the barrier.

For a moment, the world had stopped.

Now he knew she had made it out. Bruised. Battered. But alive.

He hadn't planned on coming here. He had no right. But he couldn't sleep, breathe, function until he saw her with his own eyes.

The door opened. Victoria stood in the doorway. Dressed only in black, soft, simple lingerie.

Her skin was marred with bruises and scrapes. A bandage wrapped around her hip. A mark from the safety harness etched across her shoulder.

Her eyes were filled with exhaustion. And a wall.

"What do you want?" she asked hoarsely.

Toto swallowed hard. He took a step forward. He didn't speak. He just... looked. At her body. At her wounds. At the trembling in her shoulders she couldn't hide.

"Leave, please," she whispered.

But he was already close. He approached her slowly, as if every movement hurt him. He touched her face. Gently. Her forehead. The line of her jaw.

"I thought I was going to lose you. I thought it was over. And I realized... I can't live without you anymore."

"Don't say that," she whispered, turning her face away. "You have no right. Not after everything."

"I love you, Victoria. I've always loved you. Even when I was a coward. Even when I walked away."

"Toto..." her voice trembled. "Leave me."

"No. Not this time."

He kissed her. First carefully, as if asking for permission. Then fiercely. Deeply. He held her face, her shoulders, kissing her wounds, her neck, the scars of life.

She tried to push him away. Tried to keep up the wall. But the wall cracked.

They sank into each other like drowning souls. He slowly unclasped her bra, brushing every place he touched. With his knee, he parted her thighs, kissing her belly, her arms, every bruised spot with tenderness and fire.

Victoria trembled beneath him, gasping for air between her teeth, whispering his name between spasms. She was wet. Sensitive. Hungry for his presence.

He entered her slowly, resting his forehead against hers.

"I will never leave you again. You are everything. Everything I have."

Victoria clutched at his back, then lifted her hips, taking him in deeper. Her body, despite the pain, responded instantly — it knew him. It had missed him.

They moved together — deep, long, with fire and despair.

Toto caressed her, kissed her, whispered in Polish:

"I love you... my beautiful girl... my wild, fiery girl..."

And she wept. Silently. In ecstasy. In despair.

And when it was over, when they collapsed together, his body still inside hers, his lips on her neck — she said very quietly:

"Leave."

He froze.

"What...?"

"Leave. Please. Now."

Toto lifted his head. He saw the tears in her eyes.

"Don't do this..."

"You already did. You took what you wanted. And you'll go back to Susie. To your children. To your perfect world."

"No... Victoria..."

"Enough. I'm not your toy. I'm not your one-night whore. I love you, do you understand? And it's killing me."

She rose to her feet, naked, trembling with pain but strong.

"Leave. And don't come back. Because I won't survive it a second time."

Toto put on his shirt without a word. He looked at her one last time. At her body. At her tears. At her strength. And he walked out. 

And she slid down to the floor. Naked. Crying. With a body that still smelled of him.

And a heart that no longer believed in anything.

A week later, after the Chinese GP race, Ferrari Garage

Victoria — absent, closed off, a shadow of herself. She didn't answer calls. She didn't reply to messages. In the hotel, she locked herself in her room.

At the track — she performed her duties mechanically. No smiles. No jokes. No fire in her eyes.

Only Lewis dared. He approached her after the briefing. Gently, without pressure.

"Vici... what's going on?"

She lifted her gaze to him. Calm. Lifeless.

"Nothing."

"Don't do this, please. Don't disappear. Don't pretend everything's fine when your whole being is screaming..."

"Lewis... don't ask. I don't want to talk. Just... leave me alone, okay?"

He knew. He didn't need words. He knew. There was an emptiness in her eyes he had never seen before. And anger. But not the explosive kind — the kind that gnawed into your bones.

He left. Straight to the Mercedes motorhome.

Toto was sitting alone, in silence. The desk was empty. The phone — muted. His face pale. His eyes fixed on the window, behind which nothing was happening.

"What the hell did you do to her?" Lewis growled from the doorway. Toto didn't flinch.

"Victoria isn't saying a word. But I know. And I see it. She's like a wreck. And you're sitting here like a corpse, not even trying to fix anything?"

Toto looked up slowly. Not with anger. With... emptiness.

"She told me I destroyed her. And that she wouldn't survive it a second time."

"Then why did you go to her? Why touch her again if you had no intention of staying?"

"Because I love her."

"No, Toto. You need her. But love... love is something more. Loving means not taking everything away when you have nothing to give."

Toto fell silent. He could still hear her words. Still feel her skin, her tears. He knew that this time he had crossed a line there was no coming back from.

Lewis looked at him once more.

"If you hurt her again, I swear to you... you won't even have the chance to regret it."

The door slammed shut. And Toto was left alone.

With the silence that echoed like her tears.

***

Two months had passed.

The paddock had grown used to her emotional absence. At press conferences, she was factual, cold. At briefings — silent. On the track — still flawless, but as if she were driving for someone else. Not for herself.

Yet Victoria felt something changing.

At first, it was exhaustion. Then slight dizziness. Morning nausea she blamed on stress. Until one day, after a training session, she ran to the bathroom and vomited endlessly.

Something inside her froze.

She went to the clinic. Alone. Without telling anyone.

The doctor looked at the ultrasound screen, then at her, and said softly,

"Congratulations. It's a very early pregnancy, but everything looks perfectly fine."

Time stopped. She didn't cry. She didn't react violently.

She walked out of the office like an automaton. She drove in silence.

And then, that same night, she packed her things and disappeared.

On Monday, a brief statement circled the world:

"For personal reasons, Victoria Lorenz is temporarily suspending her career in Formula 1. Ferrari kindly asks for privacy."

She didn't tell Lewis. She didn't say goodbye to the team. She left everything behind — the race suit, the trophies, the starting number.

But one thing she knew for certain: Toto could never find out.

Not about this. Not about the child. Because whatever had once existed between them... no longer did.

And this new life growing silently inside her — it was her choice.

Her path. Her secret.

And maybe, for the first time in her life, she had something that was truly hers.

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Next -> Chapter 14: Into Dust

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