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honey-tongued-devil · 9 months ago

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Arcane characters finding you asleep at their workplace

The devil works hard, but I work a little harder, so I’m back to writing Arcane headcanons a month before season two comes out.

Jayce:

- Strong sense of guilt,

- The first thing that comes to his mind is that you must have waited for him for a long time to fall asleep

- He will make it up to you by trying to cook something for you, stopping to buy your favorite sweets before heading home, and giving you a shoulder massage the moment you sit down somewhere after you wake up.

- The man of the Hamlet-like dilemma: he doesn’t want to wake you, but he also doesn’t want you to be uncomfortable.

- If he has something urgent to do, he’ll try to cover your shoulders with something, even just his jacket, to keep you warm while he finishes only the essentials.

- Once he’s free, he will very gently try to lift you from the chair, apologizing when you wake up and mumble something incoherent.

Viktor:

- In the early years of university, it sometimes happened that he found you in his room asleep, slumped over on a chair or bed with your shoes still on.

- But as the years went by and the lab became his main space, that sight became a constant, repeating at least twice a week.

- He tries to make as little noise as possible, whether with his aides, the door, or the stack of books and notebooks he needs to organize.

- Before getting to work, he leaves the room again to bring you your favorite hot drink with a plastic lid pressed on top, so it doesn’t cool down.

- Then, in complete silence, he works, deciding what to leave for tomorrow and what to do now, so he can finish as soon as possible without delaying too much.

Ekko:

- It’s hard to define what exactly a workplace is for Ekko,

- But he often finds you at the Firelights' tree, in that room that’s supposed to be his, having likely sneaked in through the window to surprise him.

- There are days when he comes back fairly early but stays to tell stories to the kids, and others when things go wrong, and he returns when it’s already dark, and almost everyone is asleep

- Finding you like this always makes him feel the absence of something more stable

- But he shakes his head and quickly pushes aside doubts about his ideals, stepping out of the room again and making more noise as he enters again, so you wake up, and he can pretend to be surprised in front of your open eyes.

- By now, you know he steps out and comes back in, but it makes you smile every single time.

Vander:

- You always sit at a table in the back of the Last Drop to wait for him, trying not to bother him, doodling, doing calculations, or planning something for the next day just to keep yourself entertained.

- But by now, the sound of drunkards and the clinking of coins and glasses have become background noise that helps lull you into a catatonic state.

- Vander usually notices after about an hour that you've fallen asleep; he always keeps an eye on you, but sometimes the customers cause problems.

- He doesn’t like leaving you there, so far away, so he usually waits for a quieter moment to come over, pick you up, and bring you behind the counter, laying you down with your arms and head resting on the wooden bar.

- He knows it’s not a big improvement, but his priority is to keep you safe.

- When he finishes working, he closes the bar without doing the closing duties, sets his alarm for earlier than usual, and carries you to your room in his arms, covering your forehead with kisses.

Silco:

- The problem with Silco finding you asleep in his office is that he rarely arrives alone.

- There’s always either Sevika or at least two other henchmen following him.

- He sighs and sends them away, not without Sevika giving him a provocative look that means everything and nothing.

- He hates those situations because part of him feels a strange warmth at the thought of you sneaking into his office for whatever reason, but on the other hand, he knows it negatively affects his image to be seen as a leader who tolerates certain insubordinations.

- Because sneaking into the kingpin’s office is something that would get almost anyone else outside decapitated. But not you.

- He huffs, pacing the room to deal with both emotions, and when he finally calms down, he approaches you, shaking you slightly to wake you up.

- It’s certainly not the gentlest gesture on his part, but most of the time, it ends with you either going back to sleep in his bed while he works, or sitting on his lap while he flips through papers without paying them much attention.

Jinx:

- She can’t contain her excitement at all. When she notices your figure in her workshop, she always lets out a little happy sound that wakes you up.

- From there, she immediately starts apologizing at least a thousand times, feeling guilty for waking you up but still too happy that you came to visit her.

- She helps you up, talking nonstop about her day and anything that comes to mind as she leads you outside.

- It’s not because she doesn’t want you around, but because she assumes you must be hungry as soon as you wake up, so before you're fully awake, you’ll find yourself at the Last Drop with enough food in front of you to feed her father’s entire gang of henchmen.

- And she will absolutely feed you herself when she sees you haven’t taken a bite in too long, while stealing food here and there and continuing to talk.

Vi:

- For her, too, a "workplace" is a somewhat vague concept,

- But in return, she has her secret spot, where she hides at night and tries to survive when she’s not out on the streets looking for trouble.

- Every time she finds you there, she feels an indescribable pang in her heart.

- She always feels like she’s neglecting the person she loves and failing to make you understand how much she cares about you.

- She always hesitates before waking you up; sometimes she’ll even go change into clean clothes and wash the grime off her hands and face first.

- Then she’ll wake you by sitting next to you, giving you a kiss, calling you by a silly nickname only the two of you know, and rubbing her forehead against yours before asking, with a rhetorical smile,

- "Did you miss me?"

Caitlyn:

- Sometimes you find yourself in the inner waiting room of the precinct, with her colleagues pointing out your body slumped in the chair and raising their eyebrows, teasing her. Other times, you simply sneak into her room, which isn’t much different from the police station anyway.

- Every time, she sighs and gently wakes you, her pale eyes a little sad.

- “Why didn’t you call me?” It doesn’t matter to her that you didn’t want to disturb her, because to her, you’re never a disturbance. It’s not a problem to have you around, even in public. She just feels bad that you waited instead of telling her, so she could have come much sooner.

- She takes you away from the station without any issues, letting you continue resting against her shoulder as a Kiramman private vehicle takes you both to her home.

- If you’re already in her room, she usually changes and lies down next to you, taking the chance to nap together, wrapped in each other's arms.

Mel:

- Falling asleep inside the Senate? Impossible.

- But the keys to her office and her room are always in your pocket, and you usually bring her something to eat when you visit, though by the time you fall asleep, both the coffee and the treats are cold.

- She’s not used to displays of affection, so she stays still for a few seconds before smiling and shaking her head.

- She doesn’t wake you immediately, not because she doesn’t want to, but because if the sound of the door didn’t wake you, you probably need the rest. So she lets you sleep for at least 30 minutes before coming over, brushing your hair behind your ears to wake you, laughing when you lift your head with your eyes still closed.

Sevika:

- The first thing anyone would think is that falling asleep at the Last Drop is extremely dangerous. However, Silco’s henchmen aren’t too different from bipedal dogs by now; they know who you are, recognize your face and scent, and if they notice you’ve fallen asleep somewhere, at least three of them sit at your table to ensure your safety.

- Sevika is always tasked with the worst imaginable jobs—tedious, long, and often dangerous—so when she finally returns, it’s usually either time to open the bar to the public or time to close it.

- Even when she sees you, she can’t come to you right away, so she makes a face at whoever is watching over you, as if urging them to protect you better while she heads into the office.

- Like Silco, part of her feels subconsciously softened by the idea that someone would feel the physical need to be with her so much that they’d wait, sitting until they fell asleep.

- But on the other hand, she’s terrified that someone might see you and come after you to settle personal scores in a cowardly way.

- When she finally comes down, she pulls you into her arms without saying a word, holding you under her large cape as she carries you away.

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ty-bayonet-betteridge · 9 months ago

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the funny thing is, in retrospect, the existence and structure of the Journals is actually one of the areas where Ford is more like Mabel than like Dipper. like. you can buy notebooks in the 1970s-80s. he didn't have to make a fancy maroon custom-bound journal with metal insets and a monocle bookmark and gold leaf on the cover in the shape of his handprint. he also didnt have to format most of his "research log" as a diary and tape/paperclip in photos of everything he could. what im saying is, Mabel and Ford scrapbooking together

#gravity falls #mabel pines #stanford pines

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97linelover · 5 months ago

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Cafe near the base - Jjk

summary: having a small little café near the army base was nothing special, but what if one day a special someone walks in?

content: Idol Jungkook x non Idol reader, fight,angst, happy end,fluff, drama, café setting, fight mentions, discussions

a/n: something about Military Jungkook makes me uuugghhh... I want him.

Y/N wiped her hands on her apron, the smell of freshly brewed coffee mingling with the faint hum of chatter in her cozy café. Nestled near the outskirts of the city, just a short distance from the military base, her café had become a quiet retreat for soldiers and locals alike. She had inherited the place from her late grandfather, who always said, “A warm cup can heal a cold soul.” It was her sanctuary—and, unknowingly, about to become someone else’s.

The bell above the door jingled, signaling a new customer. Y/N glanced up from the counter to see a young man in a plain black hoodie, his dark hair falling over his eyes. He moved with quiet confidence, but there was something unassuming about him that made her immediately feel at ease.

“Welcome,” she said with a small smile. “What can I get you?”

The man looked at the menu board for a moment before responding in a deep, smooth voice. “Just an Americano, please.”

“Coming right up.”

She set to work, glancing at him briefly. He was undeniably handsome, but she didn’t recognize him. To her, he was just another soldier from the base—someone seeking a moment of peace away from their rigorous routines.

He took a seat by the window, his gaze wandering outside. The way he seemed lost in thought piqued her curiosity, but she didn’t want to intrude. When she brought him his coffee, he looked up and offered a faint smile.

“Thank you,” he said softly.

“You’re welcome. First time here?”

He nodded. “Yeah. Just transferred to the base recently. Thought I’d explore the area.”

“Well, welcome to the neighborhood,” she replied warmly. “This place might not look like much, but I promise we have the best coffee around.”

He chuckled, and for a moment, Y/N thought she saw a flash of something—relief? Gratitude?—in his eyes.

“I can tell,” he said, taking a sip. “It’s good.”

From that day, he started coming in regularly. Sometimes he’d sit and read, other times he’d sketch in a small notebook he always carried. He introduced himself simply as Jungkook, and Y/N didn’t pry further. He seemed to enjoy the anonymity her café offered, and she liked the calm presence he brought.

As weeks passed, their conversations grew longer. They talked about everything from their favorite childhood memories to dreams they hadn’t yet chased. Y/N found herself drawn to him—not just his looks, but the quiet depth he carried, like he was hiding a world she couldn’t quite see.

One evening, as the café neared closing time, Jungkook stayed behind to help her clean up. They worked side by side in comfortable silence until he suddenly spoke.

“Do you ever feel like… you want to escape your own life for a while?”

Y/N paused, the question catching her off guard. “I think everyone feels that way sometimes. Why? Do you?”

He hesitated, his eyes searching hers. “Maybe... There’s a lot of pressure in my… job. Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe.”

Y/N frowned, her heart aching at the vulnerability in his voice. “You can always breathe here,” she said gently.

Jungkook smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Thanks, Y/N. That means more than you know.”

What Y/N didn’t know was that the man sweeping her café floor and laughing at her terrible jokes was none other than Jeon Jungkook—the world-famous singer from BTS. The military transfer was a cover for his enlistment, and her café had become his refuge from the spotlight.

As they grew closer, Jungkook found himself torn. He wanted to tell her the truth, but he feared it would change everything. For once, someone saw him as just Jungkook—not the global sensation, not the idol, but a person. And he wasn’t ready to let that go.

One late afternoon, as the golden light spilled through the windows, Y/N handed him a steaming cup of coffee. “You’re kind of mysterious, you know that?” she teased.

“Am I?” he asked, his lips quirking into a small grin.

“Yeah. But I like it. Makes me want to figure you out.”

Jungkook’s chest tightened. He realized then that he’d found something rare in Y/N: a connection untouched by fame or expectations. But the longer he kept his secret, the more he feared what would happen when she discovered who he really was.

For now, he chose to savor the moments—the sound of her laughter, the warmth of her smile, the way her presence made him feel like he could finally breathe.

Over the weeks, Y/N and Jungkook fell into an easy rhythm. Morning coffee runs turned into lingering afternoons, and eventually, late evenings spent talking until the stars dotted the sky. Jungkook began helping her in the café when it got busy, claiming he enjoyed the distraction. Y/N didn’t protest—she liked having him there.

What started as casual conversations about coffee or books had evolved into something much deeper. She found herself laughing more, smiling wider, and looking forward to every moment they spent together. Jungkook’s presence felt like a warm embrace, and though she couldn’t quite put her finger on it, there was something about him that made her feel safe.

One Saturday, as the sun dipped behind the mountains near the base, Jungkook arrived at the café with a friend. The man was shorter, with a bright smile that could light up the room and a laugh that seemed to ripple effortlessly through the air.

“Y/N, this is Jimin,” Jungkook introduced him, looking both amused and slightly exasperated as Jimin practically ran up to her.

“Hi!” Jimin greeted warmly. “I’ve heard so much about you. I just had to see this café that Jungkook never stops talking about.”

Y/N blushed under his cheerful gaze, glancing at Jungkook, who rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. “Oh, really? I hope it lives up to the hype.”

“It already does,” Jimin said, spinning in a slow circle to take it all in. “I mean, the smell of coffee, the cozy vibe—it’s perfect. No wonder he’s always here.”

“Jimin,” Jungkook muttered, clearly embarrassed, though Y/N noticed the soft fondness in his tone.

The three of them ended up sitting at one of the corner tables after closing. Jimin’s infectious energy filled the room as he teased Jungkook and made Y/N laugh until her stomach hurt. It was the first time she’d seen Jungkook so relaxed, his usual quietness giving way to bursts of laughter and playful jabs at Jimin.

As the evening stretched on, Jimin leaned toward Y/N and said with a wink, “You’ve got no idea how much this guy talks about you at the base. It’s kind of sickening, honestly.”

“Jimin!” Jungkook groaned, his face turning red as Y/N’s eyes widened.

“Oh, come on, Kook,” Jimin said with a laugh. “You’re practically glowing every time you come back from this place.”

Y/N couldn’t help but smile, her heart fluttering. She glanced at Jungkook, who avoided her gaze but couldn’t hide the small, shy smile playing on his lips.

After Jimin left, the two of them stood outside the café under the clear night sky. The air was crisp, and the stars shimmered brightly overhead.

“I’m sorry about Jimin,” Jungkook said, his voice low. “He… has no filter.”

“Don’t apologize,” Y/N said softly, leaning against the doorframe. “I like him. He’s funny. And… he seems to care about you a lot.”

Jungkook nodded, his gaze fixed on the ground. After a moment, he looked up, his dark eyes meeting hers. “Y/N, I—” He hesitated, then shook his head. “Never mind.”

“What is it?” she asked, stepping closer.

He looked at her for a long moment, as if searching for something in her expression. “Nothing. I just… I’m glad I met you.”

Her heart skipped a beat at the sincerity in his voice. “Me too.”

The days turned into weeks, and their connection deepened. Jungkook and Y/N spent more time together, sharing stolen moments in the quiet of the café or walking along the trails near the base. Jimin occasionally joined them, his playful energy balancing the quiet intensity between Y/N and Jungkook.

Still, she remained unaware of who Jungkook truly was. He’d mastered the art of blending in—wearing simple clothes, keeping a low profile, and avoiding anything that might reveal his identity. But with every passing day, his secret weighed heavier on him.

One evening, as they sat on a bench overlooking the city lights, Y/N leaned her head on Jungkook’s shoulder. “You know,” she said, her voice soft, “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re kind, thoughtful, and…” She paused, smiling. “Mysterious.”

Jungkook chuckled, though it lacked his usual lightness. “Mysterious, huh?”

She nodded. “It’s like you’re carrying this big secret. But I don’t mind. I just… I hope you trust me enough to tell me someday.”

He stiffened slightly but quickly relaxed. “I do trust you, Y/N. More than you know.”

For now, he told himself, he could hold onto this. Hold onto her. Because in her eyes, he wasn’t Jungkook the superstar. He was just Jungkook—a man falling hopelessly in love.

When he walked through the door that evening, her heart skipped, as it always did. Jungkook wore his usual black hoodie, his hair slightly messy, and that small, shy smile she had come to adore.

“Hey,” he greeted softly, leaning on the counter. “You okay? You look… distracted.”

Y/N swallowed hard, wiping her hands on her apron before meeting his gaze. “Jungkook, can we talk? Really talk?”

His smile faltered slightly, and she noticed the flicker of concern in his eyes. “Yeah, of course. What’s going on?”

She motioned toward one of the booths in the corner, and he followed her, sitting across from her as she fidgeted with her hands. The words caught in her throat, but she forced herself to push through.

“Jungkook,” she began, her voice trembling, “I don’t know how else to say this, so I’ll just… say it. I’ve fallen for you. I care about you—so much more than I thought possible.”

His eyes widened slightly, and she pressed on before she lost her nerve.

“You’re kind, thoughtful, and you’ve become such a big part of my life. I don’t know what you’re hiding, and I don’t need to know. I just know that I—” Her voice cracked, but she managed to whisper, “I love you.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

Jungkook looked down at the table, his hands clenched into fists. His jaw tightened, and for a moment, Y/N thought he might say something. But he didn’t. Instead, he stood abruptly, his chair scraping against the floor.

“Jungkook?” she asked, her voice breaking.

“I—” He shook his head, avoiding her gaze. “I can’t do this, Y/N. I’m sorry.”

Her heart shattered at his words. “What do you mean? Did I… do something wrong?”

“No.” His voice was strained, his hands trembling as he shoved them into his pockets. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You’re… perfect. But this—us—it can’t happen.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she stood, desperate to understand. “Why? If you feel the same way, why are you pushing me away?”

He looked at her then, his eyes filled with pain. “Because I’m not who you think I am. I can’t give you the life you deserve. And if you knew the truth about me, you’d understand why this has to end.”

“Then tell me,” she pleaded, her voice breaking. “Whatever it is, we can figure it out together.”

But he just shook his head, stepping back toward the door. “I’m sorry, Y/N. I can’t.”

And with that, he walked out, leaving her standing there, tears streaming down her face as the door jingled shut behind him.

For days, Jungkook didn’t come to the café. Y/N tried to focus on her work, but the emptiness he left behind was unbearable. She replayed their conversation over and over in her mind, trying to make sense of it.

What was he hiding? Why couldn’t he trust her?

Jungkook, meanwhile, was drowning in his own turmoil. He stayed on base, avoiding everyone, even Jimin. Every time he closed his eyes, he saw her face—the way she looked at him, her voice when she said she loved him.

He loved her too. He had from the very beginning. But how could he tell her? How could he burden her with the truth? He wasn’t just a soldier stationed at the base. He was Jeon Jungkook, a global superstar whose every move was scrutinized. His life wasn’t his own, and if Y/N knew the truth, her life wouldn’t be hers either.

“You’re an idiot,” Jimin said one evening, barging into Jungkook’s room without knocking.

Jungkook sat on the edge of his bed, his head in his hands. “Don’t start, Jimin.”

“No, I will start,” Jimin snapped, crossing his arms. “You love her, don’t you?”

Jungkook didn’t answer, but the look on his face said enough.

“Then why are you doing this to her? To yourself?”

“Because I’m protecting her!” Jungkook shouted, standing abruptly. “If she knew who I really was, everything would change. She wouldn’t look at me the same way. And even if she did, the world wouldn’t leave her alone. They’d dig into her life, follow her everywhere—she deserves better than that.”

Jimin softened, his expression turning sympathetic. “But don’t you think she should be the one to decide that? You’re not protecting her, Jungkook. You’re just running away.”

Jungkook didn’t respond, his chest heaving as he stared at the floor.

Jimin sighed, placing a hand on his shoulder. “You’re in love with her. And I can tell she’s in love with you. You have something rare, Jungkook. Don’t throw it away because you’re scared.”

But fear was all Jungkook felt. Fear of losing her, fear of hurting her, fear of what the truth might do to the fragile happiness they’d found together.

So he stayed away, even as his heart broke a little more with every passing day.

Jungkook stood outside the café, staring at the familiar wooden door with its chipped paint and small “Open” sign hanging in the window. It was evening, the golden light spilling across the cobblestone street, and the faint scent of coffee lingered in the air.

But the door wouldn’t open.

He’d been coming here every day for the past week, hoping to see her. Every time, he found it locked—or worse, saw the flicker of movement inside as Y/N disappeared into the back, ignoring him completely. She was shutting him out, and he couldn’t blame her.

Jungkook exhaled deeply, his hands tightening into fists. He had no right to feel hurt, not after what he’d done. But the pain in his chest was suffocating. He had never realized how much the café, her smile, and the warmth she brought into his life had meant to him—until he’d lost it all.

That night he had walked away from her, thinking it was the right thing to do. He thought he was protecting her from the chaos of his world. But instead, he had shattered her trust and his own heart.

Inside the café, Y/N leaned against the back door, her hands trembling. She had seen him through the window, standing there like he always did, his dark eyes scanning the room as if he might find her. But she couldn’t face him—not after everything.

How dare he come back after breaking her heart? After leaving her standing there, vulnerable and exposed, as if her feelings meant nothing to him?

She wiped away an angry tear and straightened, forcing herself to focus on cleaning up. She had work to do, and she wasn’t going to let him distract her again.

But even as she moved around the café, stacking chairs and wiping tables, her mind kept drifting back to him. She hated how much she still missed him, how much she still loved him despite everything.

And she hated herself for the part of her that wished he would explain—give her a reason, any reason, to believe that what they’d had wasn’t a lie.

Jungkook stayed outside for hours, leaning against the wall across the street, watching as the lights in the café dimmed one by one. He wanted to knock, to beg her to let him in, but every time he stepped closer, he hesitated.

He thought about her laugh, the way her eyes lit up when she talked about her dreams. He thought about the quiet moments they had shared, the way she had made him feel like he wasn’t Jeon Jungkook, the idol, but just Jungkook—the man.

But now, he was just a stranger to her.

As the last light went out, he whispered into the empty night, “I’m so sorry, Y/N."

But one rainy afternoon, as she stood behind the counter, wiping down mugs, there was a knock at the door. She glanced up and immediately froze.

It was Jungkook.

He stood there, soaked from the rain, his hoodie clinging to him. His hair was plastered to his forehead, and his eyes were red, as if he hadn’t slept. He looked… broken.

“Y/N,” he called through the glass, his voice muffled but desperate. “Please. Just hear me out.”

She stared at him, her heart pounding. For a moment, she almost considered unlocking the door. But then she remembered the pain of him walking away, the emptiness he had left behind.

So she shook her head, turned the sign to “Closed,” and walked to the back, leaving him standing in the rain.

Weeks had passed since Jungkook had stood outside her café, silently pleading for her to let him in. Y/N had kept her distance, her heart wrapped in the protective walls she had built. But no matter how hard she tried to move on, her thoughts always returned to him. His smile, his quiet warmth, the way he had made her feel seen.

One evening, as she closed the café, there was a knock on the door. She froze, expecting to see him again, but this time it wasn’t the rain-soaked figure she had grown used to. It was Jimin.

“Y/N,” he said gently, stepping inside when she hesitated. “Please don’t shut me out too.”

She sighed, setting down the towel she’d been holding. “What do you want, Jimin?”

“I came to speak for him. I know you don’t want to see him, but he’s…” He hesitated, his usually playful demeanor replaced with sincerity. “He’s a mess, Y/N. He’s been hurting, and it’s all because of you.”

“Because of me?” she snapped, anger bubbling to the surface. “He left me, Jimin. He broke my heart.”

“I know,” Jimin said softly, stepping closer. “But do you know why?”

She opened her mouth to retort but stopped. The truth was, she didn’t. He had never given her the answer she deserved.

Jimin smiled sadly. “He’s been scared, Y/N. Not of you, but of himself. Of his world and what it might do to you if you knew who he really was. But he loves you—more than I think he’s ever loved anyone.”

Her heart twisted painfully at his words, and Jimin placed a folded note on the counter. “He asked me to give you this. If you’re ready to listen, meet him tonight.”

She stared at the note long after Jimin had left, her hands trembling as she opened it.

It was simple:

“The park by the hill. 8 PM. Please give me one last chance to show you how much you mean to me. – Jungkook”

Y/N arrived at the park just as the sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of pink and gold. She spotted Jungkook waiting beneath a streetlamp, his hands in his pockets, his gaze distant.

When he saw her, his breath hitched. For a moment, he thought she wouldn’t come. But there she was, standing in front of him, more beautiful than ever.

“Y/N,” he breathed, stepping closer. “Thank you for coming.”

She crossed her arms, trying to mask the whirlwind of emotions she felt. “You said you had something to say. So say it.”

Jungkook nodded, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed. “I’ve been a coward,” he admitted. “I pushed you away because I thought it was the right thing to do. I thought I was protecting you, but all I did was hurt you.”

Tears welled in her eyes, but she held them back. “Why, Jungkook? Why did you leave?”

He hesitated, then reached for her hand. “Because I’m not who you think I am,” he said softly. “I’m not just a soldier. I’m…” He took a deep breath, his voice trembling. “I’m Jeon Jungkook. From BTS.”

Her brow furrowed in confusion. “BTS? The band?”

He nodded, his heart racing. “That’s me. That’s my life. I thought if you knew, it would ruin everything. I didn’t want the attention, the cameras, the chaos, to touch you. But in trying to keep you safe, I lost the one thing that mattered most—us.”

Y/N stared at him, the weight of his confession sinking in. Slowly, she shook her head. “You think I care about any of that?”

He blinked, stunned by her words.

“I don’t care who you are or what you do,” she continued, her voice steady. “I fell in love with you, Jungkook. The man who laughs at my bad jokes, who helps me wipe tables, who makes me feel like I matter. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

Jungkook’s heart swelled, and before he could stop himself, he pulled her into his arms. “I love you, Y/N,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve loved you from the moment I stepped into your café. I’m so sorry for pushing you away.”

As the first drops of rain began to fall, Y/N looked up at him, her tears mixing with the soft drizzle. “Then don’t push me away again.”

He smiled, his hand cupping her cheek as he leaned down, their lips meeting in a kiss that felt like the world had stopped spinning. The rain poured around them, but neither of them cared.

They danced under the streetlamp, soaked but laughing, their hearts finally beating in sync. They kissed again and again, neither wanting the night to end.

For the first time, Jungkook wasn’t afraid. He wasn’t hiding. He was simply a man in love, and for the first time in a long time, he felt free.

And Y/N, standing there in his arms, knew that no matter what came next, they would face it together.

The day of Jungkook’s discharge came with clear blue skies and the kind of warmth that hinted at the arrival of spring. The military base was bustling with activity—friends, family, and fans gathered to celebrate the soldiers returning to civilian life. Y/N stood at a distance, hidden near the edge of the park overlooking the base.

She couldn’t get closer, not with the security stationed everywhere. The crowd of people hoping to catch a glimpse of Jungkook was overwhelming, and Y/N knew she didn’t belong there. She wasn’t a part of his world—not the world that demanded the constant flashing of cameras and the protective presence of bodyguards.

Still, she couldn’t help but watch.

From afar, she saw him standing tall in his uniform, surrounded by his bandmates and a sea of fans. His smile was bright, his hand raised in a wave, but she knew him well enough to see the weariness behind it.

Y/N’s heart swelled with pride as she took it all in. He had worked so hard, given so much of himself, and she loved him for every part of it. But she also felt the ache—the deep, quiet pain of knowing she couldn’t be there beside him.

As the ceremony wrapped up and the crowd began to disperse, she turned to leave, her chest tight. She had seen enough. She had come to support him, even if it was from a distance.

But just as she stepped away, a familiar voice called out.

“Y/N!”

She froze, her breath hitching. When she turned, there he was—Jungkook, running toward her, his uniform slightly wrinkled and his hair falling messily over his forehead.

“Jungkook, what are you doing?” she asked, glancing nervously at the base behind him. “Aren’t you supposed to be with your team? With the fans?”

“They can wait,” he said, stopping in front of her, slightly out of breath. “You can’t.”

Her eyes widened as he reached for her hands, his grip firm but trembling. “I saw you standing there, Y/N. I knew you’d come.”

“I couldn’t stay away,” she admitted softly. “I’m so proud of you, Jungkook. But… this isn’t my place. I don’t belong here.”

His face fell, and he shook his head. “Don’t say that. You belong with me.”

She bit her lip, her eyes searching his. “Do I? Jungkook, look at your life. Look at everything that comes with it. I don’t know if I can—”

He cut her off, his voice low and filled with pain. “I know. That’s why I need to tell you something.”

Her stomach twisted as he let go of her hands, stepping back slightly.

“I love you, Y/N. I always will. But my life—it’s not easy. It’s cameras, schedules, people watching my every move. It’s exhausting, and it’s lonely, and it’s not fair to you.”

Tears filled her eyes, but she refused to let them fall. “So what are you saying, Jungkook?”

He swallowed hard, his own eyes glistening. “I’m saying I can’t drag you into this. I can’t ask you to give up your peace, your freedom, for a life that will never feel truly yours.”

Her heart broke at his words, but deep down, she understood. She had seen the way his world operated, the constant pressure and scrutiny. It wasn’t the quiet life they had shared at the café, the one that had felt so natural, so right.

“So this is it?” she whispered, her voice trembling.

He stepped closer, cupping her face with his hands. “If I could choose any life, Y/N, it would be with you. But I can’t change who I am, and I won’t let my life ruin yours.”

The tears spilled over as she nodded, her hands resting on his. “I hate this, but… I understand.”

They stood there for what felt like an eternity, the weight of their unspoken love hanging heavy in the air. Finally, Jungkook leaned down, pressing a soft, lingering kiss to her forehead.

“You’ve made me happier than I ever thought I could be,” he whispered. “Thank you for everything.”

She closed her eyes, committing the feel of his touch to memory. “And you’ve made me feel more alive than I ever thought possible.”

As he pulled away, their gazes locked one last time. Then, without another word, he turned and walked back toward the base, his shoulders heavy with the weight of what he was leaving behind.

Y/N watched him go, her heart breaking with every step he took. But she stayed strong, knowing that sometimes, love meant letting go—even when it was the hardest thing in the world.

And as the sun set behind the mountains, she whispered into the quiet air, “Goodbye, Jungkook. I’ll always love you.”

It had been two years since Y/N had left the small café near the military base behind, two years since she had last seen Jungkook. In that time, she had built a new life for herself, pouring her heart into her dream of opening a café in Seoul.

Her new café, The Golden Bean, had quickly become a neighborhood favorite. It was cozy, tucked between tall buildings, with large windows that let in the sunlight. She loved it here—the bustling streets of Seoul, the friendly locals who had become regulars, and the sense of pride she felt every time someone complimented her coffee or her pastries.

But there were moments when her mind would wander back to him. Jungkook. The boy with the soft eyes and the tender smile who had stolen her heart. She had watched him grow from afar, his career reaching new heights. His face was on billboards, his voice on every radio station. He was bigger than ever, and yet he still felt like the boy she had danced with in the rain.

One quiet afternoon, Y/N decided to close the café early and take a walk through the nearby park. The air was crisp, the sun warm on her face as she strolled beneath the cherry blossom trees, their petals fluttering down like soft snow.

She was lost in thought, admiring the beauty around her, when she heard the sound of fast footsteps and the heavy breathing of someone running. Before she could react, a Dobermann came bounding toward her, its tongue lolling and tail wagging.

“Whoa, hey there!” she laughed, crouching down as the dog nearly toppled her over. The dog’s fur was soft beneath her hands, and its dark brown eyes sparkled with mischief as it licked her cheek.

She giggled, rubbing its ears. “You’re a friendly one, aren’t you?”

“Bam! Stop it!”

The familiar voice froze her in place. Slowly, Y/N looked up, her heart pounding.

There he was.

Jungkook stood a few feet away, his dark hair slightly messy, wearing a simple hoodie and joggers. His chest rose and fell as he caught his breath, his wide eyes fixed on her.

“Y/N?" he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Her hands fell away from Bam as she straightened, her breath catching. “Jungkook…”

For a moment, neither of them moved, the world around them fading into the background. It felt like time had stopped, like the universe had conspired to bring them together again.

“I—I didn’t expect to see you here,” he stammered, stepping closer.

“Me neither,” she said, her voice soft. She glanced down at the dog. “Bam’s yours?”

He nodded, smiling nervously. “Yeah, he’s my boy. He got loose during our run. Sorry if he bothered you.”

She shook her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “He didn’t. He’s sweet.”

Jungkook’s gaze softened, and for a moment, they simply looked at each other, the years of distance melting away. Finally, he broke the silence.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice gentle.

“I’m… good,” she said, and it wasn’t a lie. “I opened a café here in Seoul.”

His eyes lit up with pride. “That’s amazing, Y/N. I always knew you’d do it.”

She felt a pang in her chest at his words, the warmth of his support washing over her. “And you… You’ve been doing incredible things. I’ve seen you everywhere.”

Jungkook’s smile faltered slightly, and he rubbed the back of his neck. “Yeah, it’s been… a lot. But it doesn’t feel as good as it should.”

“Why not?”

He hesitated, then met her eyes, his voice raw. “Because you weren’t there to share it with me.”

Her breath hitched, her heart pounding as his words hung in the air.

“Y/N,” he continued, stepping closer. “I thought I was doing the right thing by letting you go, by keeping you away from my crazy life. But not a day has gone by where I haven’t missed you. Seeing you here, now—it feels like fate.”

She stared at him, her emotions swirling in her chest. “Jungkook, your life is so different from mine. It’s—”

“I don’t care,” he said firmly, cutting her off. “I’ve had all the success I could ever dream of, but none of it means anything without you. I’ve learned that the hard way.”

Tears welled in her eyes as she looked at him, his expression filled with a vulnerability she hadn’t seen before.

“Y/N,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I love you. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Her heart felt like it might burst. Slowly, she reached out, her fingers brushing against his. “I’ve missed you, Jungkook. So much.”

He took her hand, his grip warm and steady. “Then let me prove to you that we can make this work. I’ll do whatever it takes. Just… don’t walk away again.”

She smiled through her tears, nodding as she stepped closer. “I won’t.”

As the cherry blossoms fell around them, Jungkook pulled her into his arms, holding her as if he’d never let go again. Bam barked happily, circling around them as they laughed through their tears.

And in that moment, beneath the trees and the open sky, it felt like everything had fallen into place—like they had found their way back to where they were always meant to be.

#kpop #jungkook #jk #jungkook angst #love #happy #ff #au #jungkook x reader #jungkook au #bts #bts au

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eloquentlytired · 9 months ago

Text

old!logan howlett x fem reader

18+ mdni

the taxi driver

pairing: old!logan howlett x fem reader word count: 3k tags: taxi driver logan - build up - eventual smut - large age gap ( reader in/over mid 20s and logan in his 50s ) - singular mention of thr0wing up and dr*gging - savior logan - some surface wounds - logan loves calling u sweet girl and sweetheart author's note: i wrote this hurriedly bc in case u havent noticed my blog has been full of old logan for a reason.. i too have become addicted w him- reblogs and likes are very welcome! ^_^

ৎৎৎ

“where to, sweetheart?” logan asks and you speak your address to him so softly that he almost misses it.

the drive is smooth and there's no real disturbance except some distant honking.

when the light is red and the cars remain static, he gazes at you through the review mirror. there’s a notebook in your lap which you seem to write in frantically. it is almost amusing how fast you're doing it too; the words probably look like childish scribbling.

“that pencil must be suffering.” his gruff voice makes you jump a little and you look up at him, feeling your skin grow warm when you realize what he means.

“it does. I gathered a whole collection of tortured pencils after getting into university.”

your reply amuses him even further and he offers a low hum as he starts the car again as soon as the light turns green. when logan finally takes you home, you hand him the money and wish him a good day.

“be good to your pencils.” is all the older driver offers before nodding at you.

the next time you see him, you're running late and there are tears in your eyes. tears that soon start falling when logan asks what happened.

you're glad it's him — you didn't want to be crying in front of a total stranger. he was a stranger but kind of familiar?

you wipe your cheeks and tell him you're in a hurry to go to university.

he drives fast but carefully — and he's sharp with it too.

“you’re absolute gold,mister.” you whisper stunned because this man has driven you five minutes early to your exam; if it was another driver he'd surely not give a fuck to be fast.

as always you hand him the money and you thoughtlessly press a kiss on his cheek while speaking so many thank yous to him.

“go. ace that exam.” logan offers a sympathetic look before you're running off to the gates.

he has no clue about the faint mark of lipstick that's tattooed on his cheek until his next customer points it out. there's some embarrassment there but also a smile that ghosts over his mouth as he wipes it away.

“third time's a charm.” you say smiling when you enter logan’s taxi. again.

he's just in time after you called; the weather will evidently grow bad and you're in no mood to be walking or waiting for some different transportation to take you home.

logan shares a faint smile with you; it's rare but it's there.

“where we going this time, sweet girl?” he asks and peers at you from the review mirror. his eyes always hold some sort of intensity that makes you shift in your seat. he notices but says nothing.

“just my home.” you reply dumbly and logan simply stares at you, unable to suppress that smile of his.

you realize how dumb your answer is because why would he remember your address? it's been a while and he has tons of customers everyday.

“gosh,I'm an idiot. my address—”

he surprises you by driving off absurdly, the motion startling you and making you grip the door. logan chuckles and shakes his head. “i know.”

oh. he does remember. you pray to reach your house before the upcoming thunderstorm but life has cursed you and the road is packed with unmoving cars. you will be stuck in there for a while for sure.

when the first thunder strikes, you yelp and cover your ears with your hands. you and logan stare at each other through the review mirror and you mumble a soft apology to him. all he wants to do is run his fingers through your hair and tell you it'll be okay.

another thunder roars and you helplessly pull your knees to your chest while resting your chin on top of them. logan deciphers the situation and before he's in the unpleasant moment of having your poor self break down, he reaches for the radio.

his favorite station is always on, he's at an age where he suffers from anything bass boosted or heavy. the jazz music that drowns the car is loud but not unpleasant. you stare at him surprised and when you realize he's done it for you, so you won't be scared, you smile so widely.

you can't talk since the music is loud but logan asks if this is okay with a nod and you nod back, still smiling. thank you, you mouth and he turns his head just a little to wink — nothing weird or bad. he just wants you to laugh again and you do.

“thank you once again,mister.” you mumble when he parks right outside of your home. logan gives his usual hum and turns to look at you again, his eyes regarding you with affection.

“see ya, sweet girl.” he says and you lean forward with purpose this time to press another kiss on his cheek. logan says nothing as he watches you go and by the time he gets another customer notifying him of the lipstick mark, he doesn't clean it up.

“what the fuck happened?” logan growls and he looks at the backseat where you're sitting, crying your eyes out. this was probably the second time he asks you something like that.

you don't reply and it worries him to his core.

“sweetheart.” you feel a calloused palm press on your knee and it momentarily distracts you from crying. you look at logan’s hand, the one he's outstretched to touch you.

your tears filled eyes stare at him for a long time before you tell him everything. “they put something in my drink. the ice in my drink..it just..and then everything began spinning so I left—" you mumbled in panic between intense sobs.

logan felt his blood boiling. “who? tell me who.”

after a few moments of convincing you reveal it to him — what the man looks like, what he's wearing and where he's sitting. logan enters the bar he's just picked you up from and you wait in the backseat of his taxi. silently and anxiously.

logan returns moments later and your heart raises to your throat. you can barely speak as you take in his bloodied sight — the blood on his shirt and knuckles, the cut he's sporting under his eye and a bruise that occupies the side of his jaw. but whatever blood is on his shirt doesn't belong to him.

“you should've seen the other guy.” logan says and he's smiling, and then you're smiling too.

you're throwing up in the middle of nowhere as logan holds your hair back with a single hand while his other hand strokes your middle. once you're done, he gives you a few tissues and reassuring words.

“it’s good you threw that shit out yar system, sweetheart. ya did good.” and the praise makes your heart throb. logan shakes his head as you stammer out a few apologies about dragging him around like this — he is glad to have helped. he is glad it was him you called and not another.

you two find a convenience store on your way back and decide to take a break. he watches with amusement as the first thing you do is buy toothpaste and a toothbrush while he takes care of some other needs — like water and something for you to snack on after everything.

he is waiting, sitting on his car hood when you return from the bathroom. you smile at him and he feels relieved to see you doing better than those few hours ago when he found you. to his surprise you sit by his side, your arms touching.

“thank you for everything. I feel like you're my guardian angel at this point.” he simply shakes his head while shoving his hands in his pockets.

“i’m no guardian. just a driver.” logan replies and his eyes find yours as you chew on the crackers he's bought you.

he stares at your wide eyes, your pouty cheeks and those lips that have occupied his cheek twice. logan shamelessly thinks he wants them a third time on him.

when the night breeze gets too much for your exposed shoulders, he's taking off his jacket without a second thought and putting it around you. you lean on him wordlessly and logan doesn't push you off. one of his arms settle around you before his calloused palm pulls you close by your shoulder.

“mister?” you call out and look up at him, your cheek squishing against his shoulder.

“spill it, sweetheart.” he says in a gruff voice.

“you never told me your name.” and logan realizes you're right — he should've introduced himself sometime ago, right? “it’s logan.” he says after sometime of simply staring at you.

“logan.” you repeat and if it was possible he'd melt right there and then because of how gentle you are with speaking his name.

he doesn't expect you to block his entrance when he's heading for the driver's seat. your eyes stare up at him, sparkling and pleading, and logan is a weak man. he curses himself.

“logan.” you moan softly as he kisses your throat while hovering over you in the backseat of his taxi. logan wants nothing more than to take you but he also wants to be slow — to be kind with you. what have you done to him?

he asks your permission for every piece of clothing he wishes to remove and you kiss his face every time for it.

when you're both bare — minus logan’s trousers which simply pool around his ankles — he worships you like no one else has done before.

logan presses passionate and possessive kisses at the center of your throat, then the space between your breasts before going further down. “o-oh.” when his beard scratches against your navel, your whimpers grow louder and he can sense how sensitive you are. he can smell the heat on you too.

“so sweet.” your thighs are on his shoulders as his face disappears between them. your entire body trembles while logan devours the weeping storm in between your legs, his tongue licking at your folds like a starved man before he's wrapping his lips around your clit.

it's a lot and you simply grip his hair while crying out. logan grunts and sucks on that sensitive bud hungrily before sliding his tongue low to your entrance. he gives it a rough lick before pulling away to create some space for his hand.

the slide of his first finger is smooth because you're dripping for him, all over, and he praises himself for holding back.

when he adds the third finger and goes knuckles deep inside you, he feels your gummy walls clenching around him so tight. logan curls his fingers and you shudder, your thighs trembling on top of his shoulders.

“please—” you whimper and he's grinning at you while thrusting his fingers in and out of your hole. the sweat that slowly forms at your nape does not bother you. the only thing bothering you is that logan isn’t fucking you yet — with something more than his fingers.

“please what, sweet girl?” he asks and you draw a sharp breath when he flicks your clit with his tongue while driving his fingers deeper into your pussy.

you flutter around him and whine. “fuck me. please fuck me.”

logan is fixated on your eyes as you straddle him and sink down his cock. you react at the same time, groaning, as the thickness penetrates you and stretches you out endlessly.

you sway your hips once experimentally then twice and you already feel so full.

“logan.” you moan and your hands grip his shoulders for support.

“come ‘ere, sweet girl.” he grumbles and slides both of his hands around your thighs, squeezing them hard.

you're confused at first until he's leaning his face forward and kissing you. there's a fondness in your heart when that beard brushes against your cheeks and you smile before returning the kiss; it's passionate but slow. patient. exactly how you'd been with each other until now.

you do most of the work raising your hips until only the head of his cock is nestled within you and then you fall back down, taking him in deeper than ever. you bounce on his lap and when logan slaps your ass with his hands, your walls tighten around his cock.

he does it again. and again. until he knows your skin has grown tender beneath his hands and aching. he can tell by the way you whimper into his shoulder as you ride him, your buttocks slamming against his hips.

"you on the pill, sweetheart?" logan has to ask for obvious reasons. you nod and his cock throbs inside you as something in him snaps. his fingers dig into the sensitive skin of your ass and he slightly raises his hips from the seat as he takes control of the situation. he slams his hips against your own, his heavy balls colliding with your skin. you moan into his shoulder as your body jolts with each thrust you receive below you. "logan!" you sob when the head of his cock assaults your sweet spot repeatedly and his grasp on your asscheeks tightens; you're sure you'll bruise by that type of hold.

logan can't remember the last time he's acted like this; his current age didn't exactly allow him to have fun like he once did. but right now he was going into a frenzy with you, burying his face between your bouncy breasts and licking the space there. his thrusts were rough and hurried, your clit brushing against his pubic hair, the sensation causing your pussy to clench even tighter around his thick girth. "won't last, sweetheart." he warns you and you place your hands on the seat behind him as you start bouncing on his cock again, moving opposite logan's thrusts.

he comes with a growl, his chest vibrating as he does, and you follow right after as your weeping pussy comes around him with a rare tremble. you feel everything; the way he empties himself inside you and slides impossibly deeper as if his solid purpose is to fill your womp with his seed. the way he grows soft inside your cunt and slowly slips his cock out. the way his cum dribbles out of your gaping entrance, probably staining him and the seat. he doesn't care.

"everything alright, sweet girl?" logan asks, one of his hands caressing your buttocks while the other settles over your cheek. you look at him, all spent and pretty, your eyes unable to stay open for long. logan faintly smiles and presses a loving kiss on your forehead while swiping his thumb across your cheek.

"sleepy." you explain in a single word and he hums. you stay still as logan drapes his jacket over you for the second time that night. the heat his body radiates and the gentle rumble of his chest lulls you to sleep. and as that soft caressing on your hair continues, logan contemplates what to buy you for breakfast.

#logan howlett x reader #old logan #james logan howlett #logan howlett smut #wolverine #wolverine smut #wolverine x reader #old man logan x reader #old logan howlett x reader #x men #hugh jackman #hugh jackman x reader #Spotify

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madschiavelique · 6 months ago

Text

﹒ ✦ 𝐀 𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐖𝐍 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐍𝐊 : 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟖 — 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐏𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐜𝐥𝐞𝐬

✦﹒ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 : reader is pushing herself a bit too hard while studying for the exams, so sky calls in for reinforcement (jayce and viktor)

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 : some angst, more banter, viktor ain't having none of reader's bullshit

✦﹒ 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓 : 5,4k

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 : okay so this has some kind of underlying brat!reader x dom!viktor dynamics ngl but no smut obviously! just lots of innuendos hihi

✦﹒ 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐎𝐅𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐁𝐘 : the lovely @yaffles-world

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑𝐃 ．．𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓．．𝐌𝐘 𝐊𝐎-𝐅𝐈

✦﹒ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 : @doctorho @6selkie @yunloyal @kryscent @hypocritic-trash-baby @kapitankarate @a-lovers-card @ababanerb @lolixsstuff @forget-me-not-my-dear @smolanchovy @shugar0cone0alt @harrys--ferret-blog @suuummerrr @stillinracooncity @noxturnalmoth @dlbitch @cloufire @csolya @kathyholdsagrudge @furblrwurblr

You buried your nose and mouth in your elbow, a coughing fit taking hold of you until your lungs vibrated and echoed in your chest. You huffed, bringing your forehead to your hand as you swallowed. Your throat ached, but despite the pain, you kept going.

"If we follow Nesvor's principle on the calculation of energical stabilisation between a trajectory force and the Von Gasan Indicator of a speeding particle, we can deduce that x..."

You continued your recitation, your voice hoarse and your mind acting mechanically.

A week had passed since Professor Heimerdinger's announcement, and you had been studying non-stop.

You'd spent your first weekend working between customers at the café, your own cups piling up in the corner of the storeroom while your breaks were spent re-reading your notes and starting your revision sheets between your sandwich and your shots of espresso.

You'd underline, highlight, circle, synthesise, frantically searching your notes for formulas and key words to incorporate into your sheets until your fingertips were covered in neon yellow and black ink when you gave customers their orders.

When classes arrived on Mondays, Sky woke up at her usual time while you were already awake above your desk, the light dimmed as you transcribed your Practice of Elemental Alloys lessons.

"You're awake already?" she grumbled, rubbing her eyes.

"Made some coffee," you replied, simply, as her eyes returned to the coffee pot, half empty already.

"Oh, nice." She articulated before getting up, bringing her body without connecting her tired neurons by pouring herself a cup.

It wasn't until she reached the shuttle stop that she considered the fact that you'd never gone to bed the night before. She watched you, concerned, as your eyes were riveted on your sheets, rereading them, your lips forming the words written on them without any sound coming out.

The first lesson came, and you were attentive, noting down almost every word the teacher said with a speed that Sky didn't even think possible, using your own unintelligible shorthand. You took part in every question, as if you'd already done the same lesson three times.

When the break came, you didn't even get a word in edgeways as you got out your flask to pour yourself another coffee, eating your lunch without much interest, your eyes never leaving the multitudes of lines in your lessons.

When evening came, you almost rushed to your desk, pulling out all your notebooks and sheets of paper to grab another revision sheet and get straight down to work.

When she called you for dinner, you'd simply tell her you weren't finished, that you'd eat later, and she'd left you a plate in the fridge.

While Sky tucked herself under her blanket, ready to sleep, you were still at your desk, hunched over your notes.

And when morning came and she woke up, there you were, sitting at your desk, your back bent like a wilting flower. When she opened the fridge door to get herself a juice, she found the plate. Untouched – it hadn't moved a millimetre.

It was at this point that she really started to worry.

"You didn't eat?" she asked.

"Didn't what?" you repeated, turning your head only when the silence had stretched out for a few seconds and your eyes went from Sky to the open fridge door. You raised your eyebrows. "Ah, no," you replied with a small smile as you turned back to your notes. "Forgot."

"Did you.. go to sleep?" she questioned.

"Yeah, around one in the morning. Woke up at five." you explained, twirling your pen in your hand as you tried to absorb information from another class.

"That's four hours of sleep." Sky chuckled, slightly nervous at the news. "How much did you sleep the previous night?"

You smiled, tired. "Don't worry, Sky. I'm fine." You pointed with your chin to the kitchen worktop. "Made some coffee."

She sighed, taking one of the tupperware containers from the cupboards to transfer the contents of your plate and save it for lunch. She did her best, however, to ignore your little coughs and sniffs.

Noon came, and you hardly ate anything. You had only taken a few mouthfuls, absent-mindedly immersed in notes on another subject.

Had you eaten breakfast? How much coffee had you had? Had you really slept a bit last night, or had you lied so as not to worry Sky?

Another evening followed the same pattern, and another day dawned without you moving from your desk. Dark circles were beginning to form under your eyes, your lips seemed less coloured and more chapped, your complexion lightened.

You were shaking slightly, your body growing more and more tired. You were already coughing more frankly, covering yourself with an indoor scarf as Sky's eyes drifted more and more towards your bin, which was filling up with tissues.

You looked like a zombie, barely lucid, mechanical in your movements as you pressed your fingers to your forehead.

You had started to fall seriously ill. The lack of sleep combined with your diet of mostly coffee and energy bars was beginning to be too much for your body to cope with. You wouldn't even have been surprised if you'd managed to lose a kilo since you started studying.

As Friday drew to a close and you were mindlessly dropping things off at your desk, Sky pulled out the shopping bag for a refill.

"Need anything?"

You didn't turn, gathering up your revision kit, clearing your nearly-breaking throat to answer her. "We're running low on coffee, I think."

She sighed. You were completely locked in this state. No matter how many dishes she prepared to give you extra time to study, it seemed she couldn't reach you, couldn't make you understand that at this rate you were going to get worse.

"I'm going to the library," you said, leaving almost as soon as you'd got in.

"Okay. Well... good luck," she answered, before you stepped through the door.

You only hummed an absent "mhm" as you left. Sky picked up a shopping bag, thinking for a moment before stepping out of the door a little later in turn. She wasn't going to make a simple trip to the shop, not when you had to be reasoned with and she had no influence on what you had to hear.

So she went down the stairs, and instead of going through the doors to get out of the dormitories, she continued on to one of the lower flats.

She knocked on the door, waiting a moment and thinking about what to say, hoping they'd be here.

It opened to Jayce.

"Sky?" He said, obviously surprised to see her here like this.

She took a deep breath. "Is Viktor here as well?"

Jayce, still confused, opened his door fully to reveal Viktor sitting on his bed reading his notes. She huffed – Viktor at least had the decency to revise without exceeding the limits of what a body could tolerate.

Her eyes returned to Jayce as Viktor broke his eyes away from his notes to rest on her.

"Can I talk to you guys for a minute?"

They exchanged worried glances, Jayce opening the door a little wider to let her in.

"What's the matter?" Asked Viktor, turning to sit on the edge of his bed.

"It's..." she stared at the floor for a moment, searching for words before uttering your name. Viktor's eyebrows furrowed, his interest clearly piqued. "She's sick."

"Sick?" Jayce repeated, having never before associated your name and that word together in all the time he'd known you.

"Since Heimerdinger announced the finals, she's been working like her life depends on it. She barely speaks, she doesn't eat, and I've started doubting if she even sleeps." She crossed her arms over her chest, her fingers firmly gripping the flesh of her elbow. "She's been coughing, I haven't been able to have her take her temperature... She's getting worse by the day. At this rhythm I fear she could get worse."

Viktor stood up, pressing on his cane to adjust himself and move towards Sky. "Have you voiced your concerns to her ?"

"I did," she confirmed, nodding, "but she won't listen to me. That's why I came to see you."

"Us?" Jayce repeated, surprised.

"Yes. You've known her for longer than I do," she said, turning to Jayce, "I'm sure she'll listen to you."

"I don't know if I can make her listen to reason," he sighed.

Her eyes darted from Jayce to Viktor. "I'm sure she'll listen to you both."

"Both of us?" Viktor asked, arching his eyebrows.

She pressed her lips into a thin line. "You may not realise it, Viktor, but she has a lot of admiration for you."

He gave a laugh that was almost accompanied by his eyes rolling heavenward. "Miss Young, I don't think admiration is really the word for the situation."

"She won't admit it to herself." Sky sighed. "At least not right now. But she admires you, Viktor. She respects you. If there's one person who can change her mind or even make her realise how impossible her condition is, it's you."

Viktor's lips parted for a moment, surprised by the news, before they closed again and the muscle in his jaw tightened. "Should we go and see her now?"

"She's gone to the library. I'm not even sure she can find the strength to walk anymore."

Jayce and Viktor exchanged a knowing glance, and nodded.

Your eyes were starting to blur as you tried to read the jumble of letters forming supposed sentences over and over again.

"If we follow Nesvor's principle on the calculation of energical stabilisation... If we follow... If we..."

You felt your eyelids twitch, closing them for a moment to try and calm the incessant buzzing. Your eyes stung, your nose ran, your throat hurt with every swallow. You shook your head, trying to regain your composure and read the formulas you should know so well.

You heard your name called and turned to Jayce. He looked worried, examining you for a moment. Beside him was Viktor, his eyebrows noticeably knit. You sighed, your eyes returning with great difficulty to your endless lines of text.

"What do you want?" The question was cold between your lips, your throat itching as the sudden effort to speak caused you to cough more.

"Can we talk?" Jayce asked, stepping forward slightly with Viktor to face you.

You cleared your throat, your face tightening at the discomfort of the gesture. "I can't even express to you how much I would rather do literally anything else."

Jayce breathed in, sensing that the conversation wasn't going to be easy.

"You're sick, you have to get some rest-"

"I'll rest when the exams are done." Your glassy eyes turned to meet Jayce's.

Viktor huffed. "This is ridiculous."

You pouted, feeling too tired for this stupid game. "You're ridiculous."

Viktor seemed surprised, not by your remark, but by the weakness in it. You were always used to coming up with an elaborate response to his remarks, and now you were simply saying this?

You had disappointed him, you suspected, and your heart twisted slightly at the idea.

I can't be disappointed, you thought. Because if I disappoint them, I'm nothing.

"The fridge and the streetlight will both find something more studious to do than waste my time," you managed to mumble uneasily, your head hurting horribly as you shivered.

"How do you find the strength to have things to say when you're in such a pitiful state, Miss?" Viktor asked ironically.

"Let go of me," you breathed, sniffing and biting your cheek. Your jaw was so heavy it felt like lead weights had been hung on every tooth.

Viktor leaned in slightly towards you, Jayce standing back.

"How am I supposed to fight fair with you if you're not healthy?" His voice was softer, more tender. Concerned.

"And how am I supposed to stand up to you if I don't study?" Your cheeks were hot, fatigue tugging at every limb.

"It's not studying," he said as you met his gaze, "it's a relentlessness that's slowly killing you."

Why was he making all this effort for you? Why had he taken his precious time to come and talk to you? Was he trying to dissuade you from revising? Was this another strategy so that he could outdo you?

Feverish thoughts flooded your cotton-filled head.

"Do you doubt me that much?" You asked, bringing your tired eyes to his. "Am I a burden to you?"

His eyes widened, lips parted as silence returned to the room.

He thought so, didn't he? He didn't dare say it out loud, but surely he was thinking it. You followed him like a bad shadow all the time, you must have been unbearable.

You must have been a disappointment.

"That's what you think, isn't it?"

His jaw clenched, and your eyes were ready to prepare their tears, your nose stinging like you'd eaten too much mustard.

"You never had the time to really stop and care for yourself, have you?"

His voice was amber, fluid and vaporous as he delivered such bitter words to you.

"Why would you even care?" you chuckled, squeezing your eyes tightly shut as his vision blurred not with tears but with fatigue.

"I like you way more than my urge to hate you."

The sentence pierced your heart, your eyes widening for a moment to catch the truth that was nestled in his. He wasn't lying to you, was he? He wasn't just saying that to please you and prevent you from getting any more upset? After all, since when did Viktor say anything to please you? It didn't make sense.

You shook your head and stood up from your table, staggering as you tried to gather your things. "I'm going to study somewhere where neither of you will annoy me."

"Stop this." Jayce almost grumbled. "You shouldn't be doing anything in this sta..."

But Jayce's voice was beginning to fade dangerously as black flies began to fill your vision. Your body felt so heavy, getting up had been a mistake. Your head was spinning violently, the world seemed unstable and rocking to and fro.

You felt yourself falling backwards, and a hard, warm surface caught you as two hands grabbed your arms.

You heard your name being called – Jayce's voice no doubt. Everything was so blurred that it was impossible to tell where your body ended and the world began. You reopened your eyes weakly to see Viktor approach you with a worried look.

You were too weak to move, barely able to keep your eyes open.

He moved his hand closer to you, placing it on your forehead. His fingers were cold, long and soft against your skin. You closed your eyes at the sensation, trying hard not to tremble.

"Miss," Viktor said, his voice sounding concerned, "you're... burning."

You shivered, a small film of sweat covering your forehead as you felt your hair stick to your skin. You were so cold, trying to come back to reality, to steady yourself.

"But Nesvor's prince, Nesvor's prince..." You ranted deliriously.

"Let's take her back." Jayce said, you deduced his voice through the blur.

You simply felt hands on the back of your knees and your back before everything went black.

You kept waking up and going back to sleep, sometimes seeing light, sometimes hearing snatches of conversation, but you couldn't work out whether they belonged to dreams or reality.

"... You've got to get some sleep." Said a voice.

"Sleep can wait." Said another.

"Just... don't pull all nighters like her okay? I know her state is... but don't forget to... care... too..."

In this constant state between sleep and fever dream, you were cold. Sometimes you felt things. The cool sensation of a glass against your lips and the horrible taste of a mixture you couldn't quite work out, spreading down your throat and into your mouth.

The conversations seemed impossible to link together, to put in chronological order.

"... Think she'll get through?’

"... will take no time... medicine..."

You felt your chest rise every time you coughed, wincing at the sensation. You could barely feel the blanket covering you, as if you'd been covered with nothing more than a drape and left with nothing else.

Sometimes you managed to mumble, to talk to yourself in delirious dreams.

"I have to get back..." you breathed. "Studying, I have to."

You dreamt that your body was smaller, your limbs weak, your hair sticking to your forehead as you breathed hard. Everything around you was dark, a dull thud in the background of a crowd.

You felt a cold cloth on your forehead and chattered your teeth.

"Shh..." you heard. "It'll pass."

You wanted to curl into yourself, to find a warmth in the half-light that would envelop you, comfort you, reassure you.

"It'll be alright." In their battle against sleep, your eyes roamed the damp walls of a cellar where the orange light of candles was reflected. "It'll be over soon."

You wanted to take every flame in the room and gather them close to your heart, coat yourself in their warmth, wrap yourself in them and never have to tremble so pathetically again.

The voice in the dream was right. You opened your eyes with difficulty, still blurred, squeezing them until your nose wrinkled before you opened them again.

You weren't in a cave, you didn't have any cold, wet wipes on your forehead, no candles reflecting faintly off any rock walls.

You were in your flat, lying in bed, no longer shivering from the cold. You turned your head towards the window, watching the sun filtering through the panes.

How long had you slept? A night? An eternity? You couldn't place yourself.

You breathed a sigh, turning your head towards the rest of the room in the half-light, when your eyes fell on your bed.

Sitting there on a chair, someone had fallen asleep on your sheets. A ribbon of sunlight passing through the thin curtains of the windows was tracing across his brown hair and his closed eyes.

Viktor.

He was gracefully asleep, his head turned towards you on his crossed arms. He seemed peaceful at first glance, except for the frown that creased his forehead.

Why was he there? What was he doing at your bedside? What was he dreaming about, to make his eyebrows furrow like that?

You sat up in silence, moving slowly, not wanting to wake him. You watched him for a moment, silently contemplating the tiny specks of dust in the air passing through the gold ray.

Tentatively, you moved your hand closer, and it too entered the beam of sunlight, bathing it in a pleasant warmth.

What is he dreaming about?

You hesitated for a moment before, almost by instinct, you gently pressed your index finger between his eyebrows. You didn't really know why you were doing this, how long had it pained you to see him in any discomfort?

What is he dreaming about?

His frown disappeared under your fingers, like an eraser removing a cross-out. He looked so serene there, bathed in the sun glow. Did he sometimes think that the sky over Piltover was too big for the trickle of light you had in the bowels of Zaun?

What is he dreaming about?

His eyes opened slowly, the sun shining on the honey of his iris as they went from staring into space to landing on you.

He sighed, not moving from his current position, cheek resting on his arm as he looked at you quietly for a moment of silence.

"You're awake," he murmured, his voice numb with sleep.

"You were asleep," you answered in a voice just as small, regaining the use of a throat that hurt less but was still unpleasant.

What were you dreaming about? you wondered, hoping that he would tell you on his own, that he would confide in you. But he said nothing, just stared at you. You couldn't make out his expression, couldn't tell what he was thinking, and you finally understood the frustration he felt when he tried to find you out.

You looked around the rest of the room as you gradually woke up. You were safely in your room, the chair from your desk missing as Viktor sat on it. Sky wasn't there.

"Why are you here?" you asked.

He exhaled, raising his crossed arms as one of them came towards you. You moved your head back but your pillow prevented you from moving any further. Two of his fingers touched your forehead. They were warm, the residual heat of sleep still enveloping them. He sighed, bringing his hand up to rest his chin on his palm, pressing his two fingers from your forehead against his cheekbone.

"You are ill." He explained. "I was just making sure this would stop."

You gazed at him, not saying a thing.

"When I was still in Zaun, I used to be just like you. I used to go days without sleeping, without eating, doing whatever I could to prepare for the exams. I know what it's like to push yourself too hard to achieve something higher than yourself. But destroying yourself before you reach your goal is no way to enjoy the taste of victory."

You pursed your lips, straightening slightly and bringing your legs towards you, cross-legged.

"Why did you do this?" You asked, puzzled. "Why did you help me?"

He gave a little laugh that made him sway on the balance of his hand.

“Because someone once said that they had this old human thing called 'free will',” he smiled, ”and mine dictated to me that I had to get you to rest.”

You chuckled, lowering your eyes to your hands, bringing your fingers together and beginning to triturate them mechanically.

“But... why?” You kept coming back to this question, trying to find out what his real motives were.

“Can't have my best rival sick while she goes against me now, can I?”

My best rival; the appellation made you feel all funny in your tummy, or maybe that was just your symptoms.

You glanced at the window, the sun still splitting a blond line across your blanket.

“How long have I been sleeping?”

Viktor's shoulders relaxed. “You've been in and out of sleep since we brought you back from the library yesterday.”

“Yesterday?” You choked.

You'd found yourself at the library at around seven-thirty, and if the sun was already up...

“What time is it?” But a far more distressing realization dawned on you. “Oh fuck, I have to get to work.”

You straightened up, already pulling on your comforter to try and get up. But Viktor straightened, sitting down on your bed as he placed his hands on your comforter, at the same height as your hips.

You frowned, recoiling as your head hurt.

“No.” He said simply.

You sat up, confused.

“What do you mean 'no'?”

He didn't move, keeping his hands on your blanket. “Sky went to them and told them you would be taking the day off due to your health.”

“What?” You saidas if someone had just punched you in the stomach and the shock had expelled that simple word. “But-”

“No ‘but’,” he remarked firmly, carefully relocating your cover on top of you. “You are staying in bed today. End of discussion.”

You chuckled, apprehensive to respond to this, but Viktor gave you a simple look, the kind of glance that firmly underlines 'you don't want to fight me on this.'

You crossed your arms over your chest. “I still have to study.”

He shook his head slightly, chin high. “Don't care. You are resting today.”

“And what if I don't rest?” you asked, arching an incredulous eyebrow.

He let out an arrogant huff. “Want me to call Jayce? I might not have his strength, but I have enough determination for the both of us.”

You bit your cheek, pouting. “You can't pin me to bed all day long.”

He chuckled, almost darkly. “It's cute that you think I'm not capable of it.”

You inhaled heavily. “Can't run after me so you're just going to tie me to my bed, is that it?” You almost spat.

He seemed very amused by your remark, happy even. “You're giving me ideas.”

You'd recovered your rebuttal, and that seemed to reassure and satisfy him.

“How are you feeling?” He asked before reaching for his cane resting against the wall next to your head.

“Sore throat, sore head, sore all over.” You sighed, drawing your knees together in front of you until you rested your head against them.

You could hear him getting up, his cane tapping against the floor of your apartment like a new sound catalogued to his name. “Sky should be here soon, she's gone to the pharmacy.”

You turned your head to the side, watching him. He'd reached the sink, turned on the worktop light, taken an empty glass between his long slender fingers.

"Are you going to fill me full of pills?" You asked, tiredly.

He cut a packet of medicine in half, wedging it between his teeth and tearing the slit in the paper. He poured the contents into the glass before running it under water. He had rolled up his sleeves, the light over the worktop highlighting his silhouette. You let your eyes wander lasciviously over his forearms as he took a spoon to stir the whitish mixture.

"We've had a doctor in the meantime." He put the spoon down on the worktop, picked up his cane and came over to you. "He prescribed a treatment. I had a few sachets of the same medicine left in my things so we used them on you." He sat down on the bed, handing you the glass. "Sky's gone to get some more.’

"What about Jayce?"

"Gone to see Selene," He replied, pushing the glass a little closer to you. "Drink this."

Your mouth fell open in shock.

"What?"

You'd never told Jayce, or Sky. Only Viktor knew.

"You told them about Selene?!" You raised your voice, regretting it as you began to cough.

Viktor sighed, bringing the glass back in front of you. "Drink this, and then we'll talk."

You were about to answer, but the words melted off your tongue like butter when Viktor spoke again. "Don't argue with me."

You looked at him for a moment, frustrated, before bringing both hands to the glass. You reached for it, your fingers brushing against his for a moment.

You brought the mixture close to your nose, the smell making your whole face pucker. You exchanged a glance with Viktor, who nodded to encourage you not to worry too much about it.

"Till the very last drop," he said, spacing each word carefully.

You huffed, taking one last look at the contents before bringing it to your lips, frowning immediately as you took your first sip. You remembered the taste; you'd drunk it between fever dreams.

You swallowed the last mouthful with great difficulty, passing Viktor an empty glass as you pressed the back of your free hand to your mouth. He seemed amused, rising again to refill your glass with clean water that didn't taste atrocious.

"Why did you tell them about her?" You asked, still annoyed.

"Selene is your legal guardian, she deserves to know the state you're in." He refilled the glass, bringing it back to you. "And besides, she's the one person in your circle who knows the most about you."

"You didn't need to tell them about her…" you grumbled as you took the glass with much less suspicion than before.

Whose job had it been to give you the treatment while you slept?

He sighed quietly. He didn't seem to have missed your stubbornness. Or maybe he was just tired. You turned to him. You'd woken up with him at your bedside. Had he been watching over you? You took a sip from the glass of water, an immensely diluted remnant of the remaining treatment swirling in it.

"The medicine," you begun hesitantly, "were you the one giving it to me while I was asleep?"

He breathed in gently, his eyes dropping to the glass you were holding for a moment, tilting his head to one side as his lips parted. But his sentence never came as the apartment door opened on Sky.

Viktor got up from the bed, moving away as Sky put the shopping bag on the table before coming towards you, all smiles.

"You're awake!" She exclaimed. "How are you feeling ?"

Your eyes drifted to Viktor, who had walked straight over to the packet Sky had left on the table and checked its contents.

"Better," you admitted, your eyes drifting back to the glass, your thumb caressing the outline.

"Um, Miss Young?" Viktor asked, the latter turning to him as you followed her gaze. "You know how to administer the treatment. Make sure to give her the next one in five hours from now." He moved towards the door. "If she resists..." He turned to you, giving you a knowing look before returning to Sky's. "Come to us. We'll take care of it."

He gave you one last look before walking out, leaving you and Sky alone with a few hundred questions.

"How did the night go?" You asked, unable to stay still, your desire to know stronger than your tiredness.

"The guys... Viktor was amazing," she admitted. "They brought you back here; Jayce was a bit panicked." You both smiled. “Viktor had the situation under control."

You remained silent, waiting for Sky to continue her recounting.

"He immediately asked about all your symptoms in detail, calmly telling Jayce to go and get some of his own medicine from their flat. If you'd seen the way Jayce rushed down the corridor..." She laughed, and you imagined the scene perfectly, smiling back. "Viktor never left your side."

You breathed in, thinking back over the snatches of conversation, putting together the fragmented pieces of a blurred memory. Sleep can wait. It was Viktor's accent.

"He gave you each dose of medicine, every five hours, sharp. Like clockwork. I don't even know if he slept." She stood up, heading for the bag.

"Wow," you breathed, "Viktor did... all this? For me?"

You couldn't believe it. How could he have gone to so much trouble, spent so much time making sure you got better?

“See,” Sky smiled as she came over to you, bringing a pastry with her, "he isn't that bad.’’ She handed you the delicacy. "Here, a treat from Emeline. I swear I thought all her freckles were going to fall from her face when she heard you were sick."

You took the sweet in your hands, smiling at it: your favourite order from her. Sky stood up again, heading for the worktop.

"Hey, Sky?" She turned to you, and you saw a slight fatigue on her face. Poor thing must have spent half her night listening to you rave in your sleep and coughing your lungs out. "Thank you – for all of this."

She smiled, relieved. "You would have done the same for me."

And it was true. In the quartet you all formed, you would have done the same, even for Jayce, even for Viktor. She turned again, moving on as you took a mouthful of your pastry.

After the vile taste of the medicine, you had heaven on your tongue. You savoured it for a moment, your head turning towards your bedside table until you found your tarot deck.

You shuffled a few cards, cutting as usual, and turned the deck over to reveal the Knight of Pentacles. You picked up the little booklet, flipping through until you found the page.

You began to read the key words, and felt your cheeks flush as you glanced at Sky to make sure she was busy. When that proved to be the case, you went back over the lines: Physical and sensual. Introspective. Slow energy with incredible results.

Sensual?

The Knight of the Pentacles carries the slowest energy in the game. He stares at the pentacle in his hand as he considers his next move. Will he plant it like a seed in the freshly ploughed field beside him, or will he slip it into his pocket and ride off into the sunset? It is all about plotting and planning the future.

A knight... representing Viktor?

You closed the little manual, your eyes staring into space.

What was he dreaming about?

✦﹒ 𝐍𝐄𝐗𝐓 𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑

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arcprintindia · 2 years ago

Text

Custom Notebooks: The Perfect Personalized Companion

In today's digital age, where technology has become an integral part of our lives, there's something special about putting pen to paper. Custom notebooks offer a unique and personalized way to capture our thoughts, ideas, and memories. Whether you're a student, a creative professional, or simply someone who enjoys journaling, custom notebooks provide a tangible and expressive medium to express yourself. In this article, we will delve into the world of custom notebooks, exploring their versatility, benefits, and how they can be customized to suit your individual style and needs.

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Conclusion

In a world filled with digital noise, custom notebooks provide a refreshing and personal way to engage with your thoughts and ideas. From personalization and durability to organization and productivity, custom notebooks offer numerous benefits. They serve as an extension of your creativity, allowing you to express yourself and leave a lasting impression. So, why wait? Embrace the world of custom notebooks and discover the joy of writing in a truly personalized way.

#custom notebooks #personalized notebooks #custom notebook cover #notebook print

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myficsareset · 2 years ago

Note

Love at first sight with Luffy

Love at First Sight (Luffy x Reader)

A/N : I don't know if this was exactly what you wanted but I hope you'll like it anyway ! Sorry if there's a few mistakes, English is not my first language and I was kinda tired writing this but it was really great to write ! Let me know if you'd like a part 2 !

As you were busy taking orders in the little restaurant you worked in, you heard the door open and turned your head when you heard a bunch of people talking loudly. There were five people now standing at the entrance of the restaurant and you thought that they made quite an interesting group.

As you looked at them, your gaze was immediatly drawn to a young man, a boy that stood among them, wearing a strawhat that covered brown curls. He had a huge grin on his face and was scanning the place, probably looking for a free table.

You stared at him for a few minutes, completly forgetting that you actually had work to do and that part of your job included welcoming new customers.

You hadn't met many people in your life, since you never had the opportunity to leave the small island where you lived, but this young man was probably the cutest you had ever layed eyes upon. There was just something about him that made you impossible to look away.

The brown haired finally turned his head in your direction and you were met by beautiful brown eyes, sparkling with joy and something else you couldn't quite put a name on. The boy had lost his smile and was now looking at you with such wide eyes that you started to feel weird. Your hand tightened on your notebook as your felt your cheeks starting to flush.

A green haired man nudged the straw hat boy who immediately broke eye contact. Your looked away and took a deep breath as if you breath had been taken away.

You opened your notebook, deciding that it was time to go back to work and went to the counter to pass the new orders to your colleagues. You still felt a little weird because of what had just happened but you decided to ignore it and to look around for more orders to take.

You noticed that the only new customers in the restaurant were the group with the strawhat boy.

Your heart started to race when you saw him sitting at the table a few meters away from you, talking cheerfully to his mates. Were you actually going to approach him ? Yes, because it was your job. Why were you so nervous about this anyway ?

You took a deep breath as you made your way to the table and once again your eyes met with the boy, making you instantly blush.

"Hello, what-what can I get for you ?" you asked, looking at him and trying not to show that you were actually very flustered.

The more you looked at him and the more familiar he felt to you. It was a weird feeling but it was actually very nice.

The boy had opened wide eyes and was staring at you without saying anything.

"I didn't know he could stop talking." the green haired man said sarcastically.

"Luffy ? The waitress is talking to you." said a girl with orange hair.

Luffy. So that was his name. You didn't know why but hearing his name felt like music to your ears and you couldn't help but smile a little.

Your cheeks flushed even more as you kept looking at the boy in front of you, who seemed to be totally lost in his thoughts.

He was really beautiful.

Luffy blinked and got back to reality, but he still looked at you like no one had ever looked at you before. His gaze felt warm and gentle, but also very intense.

"Were going to take a bit of everything." he said with that same smile he had earlier, but this time it was clearly addressed to you.

A warmth started spreading through your whole body and you couldn't help but smile back at him, also a little surprised by his request.

His smile felt warm in your heart and somewhat familiar. He really did have a beautiful smile.

Your eyes simply couldn't look away as your thoughts started to race in your head. You had never felt anything like this before.

What was happening to you ?

"Someone's hungry." you replied after a few seconds, both amused and surprised to see that he had ordered the whole menu.

The boy smiled.

"I'm the future king of the pirates so I need to eat enough food !" he said with that same smile plastered on his face.

Future king of the pirates ? That was really ambitious but you thought it was actually endearing. He had dreams and goals and you thought that it added to his charm. And just by looking at him, you just had the feeling that this boy was capable of doing anything.

"I'll get you plenty of food, don't worry mister future king of the pirates." you said smiling.

His eyes widened at the nickname and you could swear that you saw his cheeks turned a little pink.

Wasn't he adorable ?

You decided to look away and took the orders of his friends, before walking away.

You stopped and leaned against the counter of the bar, trying to regain your composure. You heart was beating like crazy and you just couldn't stop your racing thoughts. Your mind was still thinking about Luffy, that beautiful stranger you had just met and exchanged a few words with.

You felt like you were going crazy but most of all, you felt like you were falling in love.

#luffy x reader #monkey d luffy x reader #opla x reader #one piece live action #one piece x reader #opla #iñaki godoy #opla luffy #opla luffy x reader #one piece netflix #one piece #fluff #opla fluff #luffy fluff

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mw00nie · 24 days ago

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im speaking for the people - we need more producer suguru. oh my god that was beautiful

producer geto headcanons

producer!geto x singer!reader

A/N: i'm running out of ideas, reqs are always open :P

producer!geto who always texts you good morning before your sessions. even if he’s already in the studio, even if you’re arriving fifteen minutes after him. just a simple “morning, sweetheart. tea’s on your desk.” you don’t know when he started calling you that, but it’s stuck.

producer!geto who doesn't disturb you if you fall asleep on the couch while he works. he quietly covers you with his jacket. he started keeping a fleece blanket in the studio since that occurrence.

producer!geto who builds you a custom vocal booth with little things you love: warm lighting, soft rugs, a candle with your favorite scent. “you make your best art when you feel safe,” he says simply. “so let’s build a space that feels like yours.”

producer!geto who keeps a folder on his desktop titled with your name. it’s not just vocal takes. it’s notes you’ve written, demos you never finished, little clips you thought were throwaways. he keeps everything, because none of it is ever wasted to him.

producer!geto who lets you doodle in the margins of his production notebook. It starts as little stars and lyrics, but he never tears out the pages. just keeps flipping to fresh ones and reading over what you left him like it’s treasure.

producer!geto who lets you wear his studio headphones even though they’re his favorite. they slip down your neck, oversized and a little ridiculous on you, but he just smiles and adjusts them gently, brushing his fingers against your cheek. “suits you better anyway.”

producer!geto who never lets you carry heavy gear alone. even if you insist. “that’s cute,” he murmurs, taking the mic case from your hands and brushing his knuckles against yours. “but I’ve got it.”

producer!geto who rubs your shoulders between takes, fingertips slow and careful as he works out the tension in silence. “you carry too much in here,” he says quietly, his hand pressed flat over your upper back. “let me help.”

producer!geto who fucks you like you’re a song he’s been composing in his head for years. every kiss, every thrust. a carefully constructed crescendo. he doesn’t rush. he builds you.

producer!geto who talks you through it with that smooth, low voice like he’s still in the booth coaching you. “that’s it, sweetheart.” “breathe. just like that. nice n slow” “i want to hear how good i make you feel.”

producer!geto who’s into praise more than anything. “so pretty like this.” “you’re doing so good for me.” “this body was made for my hands, wasn’t it?” Always murmured like he’s in awe of you. even when he’s buried deep and trembling with restraint.

producer!geto who eats you out like it’s part of his craft. slow. thorough. intentional. tongue deep and patient, hands gripping your thighs as he murmurs things you can’t fully make out, because he’s more focused on your whimpers than his own breath.

producer!geto who loves recording you (consensual) when you’re at your most wrecked. not for anyone else. just for him. a private loop of your voice breathy, fucked-out, whispering his name like a confession.

producer!geto who takes care of you after like it’s second nature. carries you to the couch, wipes you down with warm towels, tucks you under his jacket. Kisses your forehead and whispers, “You good?” until your breathing steadies — and then some.

producer!geto who always, always holds you after. pulls your body against his, arm slung around your waist, lips brushing the back of your shoulder. "rest, baby," he murmurs. "you gave me everything. let me take care of you now."

#jjk #geto suguru #jjk geto #jjk x reader #jjk smut #geto smut #geto x reader #jujutsu geto #jujutsu kaisen #geto headcanons #jjk suguru #suguru geto x reader #jujutsu kaisen suguru #geto #suguru

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ageingfangirl2 · 2 months ago

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Imagine Being Bonten's Receptionist (Bonten x F Reader) - Tokyo Revengers

PART 12: THANK YOU GIFTS

ONE TWO THREE FOUR FIVE SIX SEVEN EIGHT NINE TEN ELEVEN THIRTEEN

Even though a week had passed since everything was cleared up with your stalker ex, you sit at your desk scratching Bonten behind the ear, thinking that you needed to do something to say thank you to the executives for helping you out of a tough situation when they had better things to do, as criminals. Of course, you couldn’t be obvious because everyone would feel awkward; you needed to be subtle and make each gift meaningful to the executive. Paperwork and emails could wait for the day while you sought out the perfect thank-you gifts.

You know Mikey well enough by now to understand he doesn’t always respond openly to emotions, so you don’t get too sappy with him. One day, when it’s just the two of them, you hand him a small wrapped box containing a vintage toy bike keychain — something simple, nostalgic, and well-made. Attached is a short handwritten note:

‘You’ve let me feel safe without asking for anything in return. Thank you’

Mikey doesn’t say much. He just slips the keychain into his pocket and ruffles your hair as he walks away, a rare softness in his eyes.

For Sanzu, you get something unexpectedly personal: a custom lighter engraved with a fox, clever and sly. It’s sleek, sturdy — something only someone paying real attention would think to give him. When you hand it to him, you just shrug, ‘You kept me laughing when I wanted to fall apart. So…thanks, you psycho.’

He grins, eyes glinting, ‘I don’t know whether to be flattered or offended, but I do like it.’ He flicks it open right then and there, his expression a mix of mischief and something deeper he won’t say out loud.

You know Ran’s a man of aesthetics, so you gift him a pair of sleek, custom cufflinks — one shaped like a snake, the other a rose. You leave them in a small box on his desk with no note. When he finds them, he smirks, already knowing they’re from you.

Later, he swings by your desk, leans on the counter, ‘So what’s this, your way of calling me dangerous but pretty?’

You raise a brow, ‘You said it, not me.’

He chuckles, clearly pleased, ‘You’ve got taste, sweetheart.’

Rindou loves music, so you quietly put together a custom playlist on a USB — stuff he likes, mixed with a few songs that helped you through rough nights. You hand it to him on a day he’s working late, no explanation, just a muttered, ‘Thought you might like these.’

Rindou plugs it in later that night and listens all the way through. He doesn’t say much the next day, but he sets a matching pair of noise-cancelling earbuds on your desk with a casual, ‘You should add more. It was good.’

It’s his version of thank you.

To Kakucho, you give a hand-stitched notebook, its cover embroidered with a discreet phoenix motif. Inside, the first page has a single line written:

‘Because you’re the one who always brings people back from the fire’

You hand it to him one evening while you’re both cleaning up late.

He’s quiet when he reads the first page, fingers brushing the stitching, ‘...You didn’t have to.’

‘I wanted to,’ you reply softly.

He nods once, lips pressing into a rare, quiet smile, ‘I’ll use it well.’

For Koko, you give a custom pen, sleek and high-end, engraved subtly with the word ‘Anchor’

And a note inside the box which reads:

‘You always knew how to find what needed to be found. For others. And me’

You give it to him when no one’s around, not wanting to make a scene.

Koko turns the pen over in his hand, then glances at you, ‘This… isn’t cheap.’

‘Neither is loyalty,’ you reply in a split second.

He gives a soft chuckle, pocketing it, ‘Well played.’

You gift Takeomi a bottle of rare whiskey, the label elegant and minimalist, with a small tag tied to it:

‘For the weight you carry, and the things you never say. I see you’

You leave it on his desk after hours, knowing he’d hate being thanked too directly.

He finds it, reads the note once, then looks out the window for a long time before tucking it away.

The next day, he passes you in the hall, slows his steps just long enough to say, ‘...You’re a good woman. Don’t let this world take that from you.’

To Mochi, you give something simple but deeply thoughtful — a leather card holder, sturdy and cleanly designed, with a hidden pocket inside. Inside the pocket, there’s a small charm — a tiny metal tiger, representing quiet strength.

‘Because even the strong need something to protect them, too’

When you give it to him, you keep it brief, knowing he doesn’t like fuss. He takes it without a word, then gives you a small nod — a rare, silent thanks. Later, when no one’s watching, he moves his ID and keeps the charm right where you put it.

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lamb-hugs · 4 months ago

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soft and cute < 🧁 ~#🤍

adorable craft ideas

Easy (Beginner-friendly, minimal supplies)

Pastel Bead Bracelets – Use stretchy cord and pastel beads for a cute DIY bracelet.

Sticker Collage – Make a pastel babycore-themed collage with stickers and scrapbook paper.

Decorated Hair Clips – Hot glue tiny bows, charms, or pastel cabochons onto plain hair clips.

Cotton Ball Clouds – Glue cotton balls to cardstock and add pastel stars or glitter.

Kawaii Eraser Stamps – Carve simple shapes (like hearts or bunnies) into erasers for cute stamp designs.

DIY Washi Tape Notebooks – Cover a plain notebook in pastel washi tape for an instant makeover.

Pom-Pom Keychains – Make fluffy pastel pom-poms and attach them to a keychain.

Soft Fabric Patches – Cut out pastel felt shapes (hearts, bears, stars) and stitch them onto clothes or bags.

Foam Sticker Decor – Use pastel foam stickers to decorate phone cases, mirrors, or notebooks.

Glittery Babycore Slime – Make pastel-colored slime with glitter and small beads.

Medium (More materials, a little patience)

Mini Clay Charms – Sculpt tiny pastel baby bottles, pacifiers, or teddy bears with polymer clay.

Felt Plushies – Sew small felt plushies like bunnies, lambs, or stars with pastel fabric.

DIY Suncatchers – Use pastel beads and clear glue to make adorable window decorations.

Painted Pastel Mason Jars – Paint mason jars in soft babycore colors for cute storage.

Resin Hair Clips – Create babycore resin hair clips with pastel pigments, glitter, and tiny charms.

Ribbon Embroidery – Stitch small hearts, stars, or clouds onto fabric with pastel ribbon.

DIY Babycore Earrings – Make earrings from pastel charms or shrink plastic designs.

Crochet Babycore Coasters – Crochet simple pastel coasters shaped like hearts or flowers.

Handmade Pastel Candles – Pour pastel wax into cute molds for aesthetic candles.

Cloud Wall Hanging – Use felt, stuffing, and thread to create a soft cloud wall decoration.

Hard (More complex, takes time)

DIY Babycore Dress – Sew a pastel dress with lace, bows, and frills.

Stuffed Animal Customization – Customize plush toys with pastel dyes, bows, and embroidery.

Hand-Painted Shoes – Paint soft babycore patterns onto sneakers or flats.

Decorated Pastel Mirror – Use charms, pearls, and acrylic paint to make a babycore vanity mirror.

Babycore Themed Blanket – Sew or crochet a pastel blanket with soft, fluffy yarn.

Custom Doll Repainting – Repaint dolls with soft babycore-style faces and outfits.

DIY Music Box – Decorate a small jewelry box with pastel paint and add a musical mechanism.

Embroidered Tote Bag – Hand-stitch pastel babycore designs onto a fabric tote bag.

Upcycled Denim Jacket – Add pastel patches, embroidery, or lace to a jacket for a babycore touch.

DIY Canopy Bed Decor – Create a soft, draped canopy with pastel fabrics for a dreamy aesthetic.

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sakuraszn · 3 months ago

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THE SPECTACULAR SPIDER-MAN: GOJO SATORU

ft. spiderman!gojo satoru x fem!reader

summary: gojo satoru is a college student by day and Spider-Man by night, balancing his double life—except when it comes to you, the diner waitress he likes. one night, he saves you from armed robbers and offers to take you home. you enjoy swinging through the city, and when he hints at a classic upside-down kiss, it turns passionate.

If there was one thing Gojo Satoru had mastered in his 20 years of life, it was balance.

A balance between his chaotic college life—where he breezed through exams, skipped lectures, and tormented his professors with his absurdly high grades—and his secret life as Spider-Man, the masked vigilante swinging through Tokyo’s skyline, stopping crime before the cops even had their morning coffee.

His best friend, Geto Suguru, was the only one who knew the truth.

“You’re late again,” Geto muttered, flicking Gojo’s forehead as he collapsed into the seat beside him in their lecture hall. “Lemme guess—saving old ladies and stopping bank robberies?”

Gojo smirked, adjusting his round sunglasses, despite being indoors. “Please, give me some credit. I saved a cat too. Priorities.”

Geto scoffed, flipping through his notebook. “One of these days, you’re gonna get caught. What if someone saw you change? Or what if—”

Gojo stretched his arms, resting his feet on the empty seat in front of him. “Suguru, Suguru, Suguru. My reflexes are impeccable, my technique is flawless, and besides—” he flashed a grin, “—who would suspect a charming, devastatingly handsome college student like me?”

Geto rolled his eyes. “You mean a dumbass who thinks he’s untouchable?”

“Potato, potahto.”

Despite Geto’s constant lectures, Gojo knew he was worried. Not that Gojo would ever stop—because if he did, who else would keep the city safe?

And more importantly, who else would look out for her?

If there was one thing Gojo Satoru had not mastered, it was keeping his feelings in check when it came to you.

You, the girl who worked at the little diner a few blocks from his apartment. You, the only person who made him nervous.

You had the kind of presence that could make the most powerful man weak. Every time Gojo stopped by after patrol, covered in bruises beneath his hoodie, you’d serve him coffee with a teasing smile.

“You look dead,” you said once, setting his cup down.

“Dead handsome?” he replied, resting his chin on his palm.

You laughed, rolling your eyes. “No, just dead. You really need to sleep more, Satoru.”

He loved the way you said his name.

And yet, you had no idea. No idea that the guy who stumbled in at 3 AM was the same Spider-Man who watched over the city. No idea that every time he swung past your apartment, he had to physically restrain himself from stopping by just to say hi.

He could never tell you. Could never risk putting you in danger.

But fate, as always, had other plans.

The night was quiet. Too quiet.

The usual hum of the city—the distant honking of taxis, the chatter of late-night pedestrians, the low hum of neon signs flickering overhead—felt almost subdued, like the city itself was holding its breath.

You were in the middle of wiping down the counter, humming softly to yourself, when the bell above the diner’s door chimed.

A customer? This late?

You turned with a polite smile, but it immediately faltered.

Three men had stepped inside.

They weren’t here for food.

The leader—a tall, broad-shouldered man in a black ski mask—casually locked the front door behind him. The second, lean and jittery, twirled a knife between his fingers. The third, shorter but stockier, pulled a gun from his waistband, holding it loosely in one hand.

Your stomach dropped.

The two customers in the back booth froze. The cashier at the register stiffened, his fingers trembling against the counter.

No one moved.

And then, the gunman spoke.

“Alright,” he drawled, voice thick with amusement, “we’re gonna make this real simple. Wallets, phones—anything valuable. Don’t be stupid, and nobody gets hurt.”

The cashier was the first to react, fumbling to open the register. His hands were shaking so badly that the coins inside rattled.

The guy with the knife sighed dramatically. “C’mon, old man. Speed it up, yeah?” He slammed the blade down into the counter, making you flinch.

You swallowed hard, gripping the rag in your hands like it was some kind of lifeline. Stay calm. Stay smart.

The leader’s gaze swept across the diner lazily—until it landed on you.

And just like that, you knew you were in trouble.

“Hey,” he said, tilting his head. “Look what we got here.”

The way he looked at you made your skin crawl.

His boots thudded against the floor as he strode toward you, slow and deliberate. You took an instinctive step back, only to feel the counter press against your lower back.

“How ‘bout you help us out, sweetheart?” he murmured, reaching out—

But before he could touch you, something slammed against the diner’s front window.

Hard.

The glass rattled under the impact.

Everyone jumped.

“What the hell—?” the gunman snapped, jerking toward the window.

And then, before anyone could process what was happening—

The ceiling exploded.

Or, at least, it felt that way.

A blur of white and blue crashed through the weak plaster above the counter, sending dust and debris raining down. The air shifted—suddenly electric, filled with the unmistakable rush of something big happening.

And then, just as the dust settled, he was there.

Perched on the counter like he belonged there, one hand casually braced against his knee, the other spinning a web between his fingers like he had all the time in the world.

Spider-Man.

“Oh man,” he sighed dramatically, tilting his head. “Y’know, I was just about to grab a burger. But now I gotta deal with this?”

The leader recovered first.

“Kill him,” he snarled.

The gunman didn’t hesitate—he fired.

But Gojo was already moving.

With an effortless flip, he twisted midair, dodging the bullet as it shattered the coffee pot behind him. Before the guy could fire again, Gojo shot a web—yanking the gun clean out of his hands.

“Whoa, now,” he mused, landing gracefully on the floor. “Didn’t your mom ever teach you not to play with guns?”

The knife-wielding thug lunged.

Big mistake.

Gojo caught his wrist mid-swing—fingers tightening just enough to make the guy wince.

“That’s not very nice,” he tsked. Then, before the thug could react, Gojo smoothly twisted his arm, disarming him with zero effort.

The knife clattered to the floor.

The thug barely had time to register what happened before Gojo casually webbed his entire face, yanking him forward and slamming him straight into the counter with enough force to knock him out cold.

The leader cursed and reached for his belt—maybe for another weapon, maybe for his phone—but he never got the chance.

Gojo shot a web, hitting him square in the chest, then yanked—hard.

The guy went flying across the diner, crashing into a booth with a loud oof.

The last thug turned to run.

Gojo let him.

For half a second.

Then, with the ease of someone who had done this a thousand times, he casually shot a web at the guy’s ankle—yanking him off his feet so fast that he faceplanted onto the tile with a dull thud.

And just like that—it was over.

The entire diner was silent.

The cashier stared in open-mouthed shock. The two customers in the back booth clutched each other like they’d just survived the apocalypse.

And you—you could hardly breathe.

Spider-Man—Tokyo’s Spider-Man, the vigilante you’d only ever seen on the news—turned toward you.

“You okay, sweetheart?”

Your lips parted, but no words came out.

“…Holy shit,” you finally breathed.

He grinned beneath his mask. “That’s Spidey-Man to you.”

“…You mean Spider-Man?”

“Yeah, yeah, technicalities.”

And despite everything—the fear, the shock, the sheer insanity of what had just happened—you laughed.

The police arrived within minutes.

Gojo stayed long enough to make sure they arrested the thugs—hanging upside down from the diner’s ceiling as the cops gathered statements.

“Man,” he sighed dramatically. “Y’know, I don’t get paid enough for this.”

“You don’t get paid at all,” the officer muttered, shaking his head as he cuffed one of the unconscious thugs.

Gojo gasped, hand flying to his chest. “How dare you. I get paid in appreciation.”

The officer ignored him.

Eventually, things settled. Statements were taken, evidence was bagged, and the diner emptied out.

And yet—Gojo didn’t leave.

He leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You good?” he asked softly.

You exhaled. “…Yeah. Just… a lot.”

“Yeah,” he agreed, then grinned. “Wanna do something crazy?”

You eyed him warily. “What kind of crazy?”

“The fun kind.”

He held out a hand.

“Let me take you home.”

Your heart skipped.

“…You mean swing me home?”

His grin widened beneath the mask. “Exactly.”

You hesitated. “That’s—”

“Crazy,” he finished for you. “Yeah, yeah. But you love crazy.”

And despite every rational thought in your brain—you took his hand.

The city blurred beneath you—streaks of neon and silver light flashing past as Spider-Man swung effortlessly between buildings, each web shot timed to perfection. The wind roared in your ears, your heart hammering against your ribs as you clung to him, fingers digging into the fabric of his suit, like you were afraid to let go. Your breath was warm against his neck as you clung to him, laughter spilling past your lips in breathless gasps.

Gojo couldn’t stop grinning.

“Still with me?” Gojo’s voice carried over the wind, laced with amusement.

You swallowed hard. “Define with you—because I think I left my soul three blocks back.”

He chuckled, twisting midair, weightless as he flipped over a rooftop.

He chuckled, twisting midair, weightless as he flipped over a rooftop. “That’s normal.”

Normal? NORMAL?

You’d never experienced anything like this. The sheer rush of flying through the sky, the freefall between web swings, the way the city seemed to stretch endlessly beneath you—an ocean of lights, highways, and towering skyscrapers.

It should have been terrifying.

But with him—it wasn’t.

You weren’t sure if it was his grip, unshakable and firm, or the smooth confidence in his movements, but for some reason, you trusted him.

Maybe that was the craziest part of all.

And with that, he shot another web, swinging the two of you higher—so high that for just a moment, it felt like you were weightless.

Your breath caught in your throat.

Then—the drop.

You shrieked, burying your face against his chest as the two of you plummeted between the buildings, only for Gojo to smoothly catch the momentum, twisting the both of you in midair before shooting another web to slow the fall.

He landed smoothly on the rooftop of an old apartment complex, perching on the ledge like he’d done it a million times before. His arms stayed around you, as if savoring the moment before he had to let go.

His laughter rang through the night as he landed gracefully on the fire escape just outside your apartment window, setting you gently on your feet.

Your knees buckled.

Gojo grabbed your waist—steadying you, hands warm and firm.

“Easy there, sweetheart,” he teased, voice thick with amusement. “Did I take your breath away?”

You swatted at his arm, cheeks flushed. “That was terrifying!”

He smirked. “You loved it.”

You opened your mouth—probably to argue—but then stopped, eyes lingering on him.

The city lights cast a glow across his suit, reflecting against the smooth fabric. His silver-white hair peeked from beneath his mask, tousled from the wind. But what made your breath hitch—what made the moment change—was the way he was looking at you.

And suddenly, the adrenaline from earlier shifted into something else.

Something thicker.

Something heavier.

Gojo felt it too.

The way the air between you tightened. The way your lips parted just slightly, like you wanted to say something but forgot how. The way your fingers curled against his chest, like you weren’t sure if you should pull away—or pull him closer.

His pulse spiked.

God, he wanted to kiss you.

He wanted to ruin you.

But he held himself back, watching you with barely contained restraint.

And then—

“…I never got to thank you,” you whispered.

Gojo exhaled slowly. “No need.”

“No, really,” you insisted, meeting his gaze—or at least, where you imagined his gaze would be beneath the mask. “You saved me.”

A beat of silence stretched between you.

Then—softly, teasingly—he said, “Well… if you really wanna thank me, there’s a certain classic move I’ve been dying to try.”

Your breath hitched.

His fingers brushed against the fire escape railing, and before you could ask what he meant, he flipped—swinging himself upside down with effortless control, his body hanging just inches from yours.

Oh.

The upside-down kiss.

Your pulse skyrocketed.

He was so close now—his face perfectly aligned with yours, his mask slightly askew from the movement. His breath was warm against your skin, shallow, like he was waiting.

Like he was hoping.

You reached out slowly, heart pounding, fingers brushing against the edge of his mask.

“…Can I?” you murmured.

Gojo felt his heart stutter.

His lips parted slightly.

“…Yeah,” he murmured.

Your fingers curled under the fabric. Slowly, so agonizingly slowly, you peeled the mask up—just enough to reveal his lips.

And God, his lips.

Soft. Pink. A little too perfect.

Gojo let out a shaky breath.

And then—you kissed him.

And just like that, he was gone.

The moment your lips touched his, everything else—everything—melted away.

The city? Gone. The cold night air? Didn’t exist. The months of agonizing over you, of stealing glances when you weren’t looking, of holding back every instinct that screamed to have you? Irrelevant.

he made a low sound in the back of his throat—like he’d been waiting for this, aching for it.

The kiss started slow—hesitant, careful. But then he tilted his head, deepening it, and suddenly, it wasn’t so innocent anymore.

Your fingers curled into the fabric of his suit, holding onto him as if he might disappear. His lips moved against yours with a teasing slowness, dragging out every second, making you feel him.

But it still wasn’t enough.

He needed more.

He broke away for half a second, just enough to breathe, before diving back in—kissing you harder, drinking in the soft gasp you made as his teeth grazed your bottom lip.

You shivered.

Gojo smirked against your mouth.

Oh, he loved that.

“You like that?” he murmured, voice low, teasing.

Your only answer was a tug on his suit, your fingers curling into the fabric, pulling him against you.

Gojo groaned, tilting his head, slotting his lips against yours perfectly—slow, deep, hungry.

He could’ve stayed there forever.

But then—

A sharp honk from the street below shattered the moment.

You both froze.

And then—laughed.

Breathless, giddy, completely wrecked.

Gojo exhaled, forehead resting against yours.

“…Wanna try that again?” he murmured, smirking.

You laughed, smoothing your hands over his chest. “Maybe next time, Spidey.”

Gojo pulled his mask back down with a dramatic sigh. “Breaking my heart, sweetheart.”

But then you leaned in—pressing one last, soft kiss against his masked lips.

And just like that—he was ruined all over again.

He sighed, tilting his head. “…Yeah, I’m so screwed.”

You grinned. “You love it.”

And dammit—you were right.

And before you could blink, he was gone—leaping off the rooftop, disappearing into the night.

Leaving you standing there, heart pounding, lips tingling, completely ruined.

art credits: aliyahartss

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