#so perhaps he will catch me in a moment of weakness and convince me to crash. not sure yet. i miss my exs flatmates though lmfao

[darcyolsson]

gonna apply to another room tomorrow......... lets hope i get it so i can get out of here

[lostfracturess]

【 ᴄᴏɴᴄᴇʀɴ ᴀɴᴅ ᴄᴏɴᴛʀᴏʟ 】 ch. 01

"it must be amusing for you." "don't even think for a second that i find it amusing if you get hurt." the seriousness in his tone made you pause. "let's get you home."

x pairing gojo x f!reader (main), fushiguro x f!reader (jjk universe)

x summary you never wanted to become part of the world of jujutsu sorcerers, yet fate had other plans when the one and only satoru gojo took you under his wing at jujutsu high. but as the lines between student and teacher begin to blur, hidden powers surge to life, and a deadly target is set on your head.

x wc 12.5 k

x warnings [18+] this story contains abusive/possessive behavior, (rough) smut, mature themes, self-destructive behavior, (heavy) angst, graphic depictions of violence/injury/combat, character death, suicidal thoughts. reader discretion is advised.

x author's note so exited to start this series!! dive in and let me know what you think—i love hearing your thoughts! & pls like or repost if you enjoyed, it means the world ♡

series masterlist + ao3 + wattpad

next chapter ->

You had always known that Gojo Satoru was a sorcerer feared by many. But it wasn't until that moment, when your blade was easily tossed aside by his bare hands, that it really hit you. He stood before you; signature stupid smile playing on his lips. "I knew you had potential."

The satisfaction in his voice clawed at your ego. No, you couldn't let him have that satisfaction. Not after the grueling effort you had put into this fight. Barely able to breathe, you shot back, "Don't talk shit, Gojo. You're not even trying!"

But you had already reached your limits, perhaps even surpassed them. Your legs trembled with exhaustion, threatening to give way beneath you. You fought to keep your composure, leaning on your knees for support instead of collapsing completely. Gojo lowered his gaze and peered down at you through his sunglasses. His voice dripped with irony, "I don't want to hurt you—yet."

His blue eyes captured yours; making your skin crawl. How can anyone be so arrogant.

Your imagination danced on the edge of danger; picturing what it might feel like to wrap your hands around his neck, tightening your grip just a fraction to erase that stupid smile of his before you sank to the ground.

Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara rushed over to you from the side of the training ground. "Are you all right?"

You gathered what strength you had left and straightened up, trying to hide your weakness, though your trembling form betrayed you. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Gojo held out his hand to help you to your feet, his mocking smile still lingering. You hesitated. Eventually, it was Megumi who reached out to you, and you took his hand without a second thought. As you did, Gojo's eyebrow raised slightly, a silent challenge in his stance.

It was only a few days ago that your world collided with this white-haired, self-satisfied man. Since then, everything had changed. Gojo had invited you to join the Tokyo Jujutsu High—a world you'd wanted to avoid at all costs. However, your acceptance of his offer had marked the beginning of a new chapter in your life. But it had also revealed your own limitations. Painfully clear.

Somehow you wondered if you should have declined it.

"It's pretty impressive how you've picked all this up by yourself," Megumi's words echoed in your mind. Yet, you couldn't help feeling like a fool.

"I'll do my best to catch up with you as soon as possible," you vowed.

"I'm sure you will," Gojo said, his tone surprisingly gentle. Your gazes locked again, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world held its breath. There was an unspoken connection—an invisible force drawing you closer to him. But you fought to resist its allure, trying to convince yourself that it was merely a figment of your imagination.

Gojo finally broke the spell and turned away. "Tomorrow, 6 a.m.—cardio training!" There was a hint of a joke in his voice, though it sounded more like an order. Groans and protests filled the air. "Latecomers do an extra lap!" he declared before he disappeared from sight.

"Ugh, that guy!" Nobara huffed. "As if he's ever an early riser himself." You turned towards her.

"He strolls into our training, what, four hours late?" Nobara complained, rolling her eyes. "Then has the audacity to whine that we're the slow ones. Total jerk."

Yuji placed a hand on her shoulder. "Maybe we should join in—sleep in, stroll in late. He won't even notice."

"Deal!" Nobara agreed eagerly.

Megumi shook his head. "If he catches wind of this, you're dead meat."

They scoffed, dismissing his warning. "Like he'd ever find out."

"Are you scared?" Yuji teased Megumi, giving him a playful nudge.

Megumi finally relented. "Oh, for goodness' sake. Fine, it's a deal. Tomorrow, 8 a.m. sharp."

Nobara countered, grinning mischievously, "Make it ten!"

You did your best to hide the exhaustion racing through your body as the banter between them continued. The adrenaline that fueled your earlier battle with Gojo was fading fast, leaving only the harsh reality of your physical limits. Your legs trembled. The world around you blurred. Your body had reached its breaking point. With a heavy sigh, your strength gave way, and you collapsed to the ground. Gojo's stupid grin still vivid in your mind.

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

Your room felt suffocating after the humbling encounter with Gojo. The four walls closing in as you sought an escape from the restless thoughts in your mind. You couldn't see through his facade, unable to decipher the true meaning behind his words that day—the day he had taken you in and you followed. You blindly followed. You must be utterly foolish, there was no doubt about it. 

Despite your best efforts to cast them aside, the thoughts lingered, an ache in your chest that refused to be dismissed. Sleep eluded you; restlessness drove you out of your room. You wandered aimlessly through the quiet corridors in the midnight silence that contrasted sharply with the school's usual chaos.

In the dimly lit kitchen, you brewed a late-night cup of strong coffee. With each sip, you questioned whether abandoning the fragment of family you had left had been the right desicion. Or, had you blindly entered Satoru Gojo's complicated world in vain? It was a reality where every vulnerability was exposed—a constant reminder of your weakness. Perhaps you weren't capable of saving anyone after all. Was it all a futile endeavor that would ultimately prove Gojo's cautioning correct?

"Little late for a caffeine kick, don't you think?" A voice—all too familiar— broke the stillness.

You turned, heart pounding in your chest, to find Gojo strolling in. There was a weariness in his step. His usually vibrant blue of his eyes dimmed. Shrouded with shadows.

"I suppose I'll be fine", you replied, raising your mug to your lips. "What's your excuse for the midnight stroll?"

Gojo let out a sigh, leaning against the door frame. "Insomnia," he admitted, frustration lacing his words. You took a sip of your coffee, studying the tired lines on his face. "Want one?"

"To worsen the situation?"

"You seem like it couldn't get any worse."

"Charming," he replied, his lips curving into a slight grin. His sharp yet weary eyes locked onto yours, searching and contemplative. After a brief pause, he declined, "Unfortunately, that won't help with the real reason I can't sleep."

"Let me guess—," A sense of unease fluttered in your stomach. "—losing sleep over bearing the title of the world's strongest sorcerer?" You aimed for a playful tone, hoping to cut through the growing tension.

Gojo took a step closer. The weariness on his face becoming more apparent as the gap between you diminished. A soft, teasing chuckle escaped his lips, sending a shiver down your spine. "Imagine thinking that would lose me a wink of sleep."

Oh, he's so full of himself. 

Your fingers unconsciously clenched around your cup. "So, what is it then?"

"Oh, it's you, of course, love."

"Don't talk shit." Your pulse quickened, an accelerating undertow as he breached the last remains of distance. His closeness felt almost suffocating in its intensity, every nerve tingling, acutely aware of the warmth radiating from him, a tangible pressure against your skin.

With deliberate intent, he leaned forward, reaching over you to grab a cup. His chest hovering dangerously close to your face. Enveloped by his proximity, your senses were overwhelmed by the scent of his cologne. Your body involuntarily tensed.

"I know what you want to ask." His form towered above you, yet somehow, it felt like he was enveloping you entirely.

"Don't pretend to know me," a brittle edge sharpened your voice; your frustration at his arrogance boiling over. This man had the audacity to act as though he had you all figured out when he knew next to nothing. However, the subtle brush of Gojo's chest against your shoulder as he took the cup was enough to sent a subtle, stomach-churning twist through your abdomen.

He lingered there, gaze unwavering and intensifying as he leaned closer. The closeness of his face—the warmth of his breath against your skin—setting your heart racing. "Oh love, you're an open book to me."

Time seemed to halt.

"We have a lot in common," he remarked, setting his cup down on the counter you leaned against. His fingers grazed yours ever so slightly—a seemingly casual touch that left a lingering sensation. He rested his hands on the countertop, just inches from yours. Capturing you.

"We're not the same." Your gaze narrowed. "I'm not that arrogant."

"Oh, love, who hurt you?" he mocked. "You talk as if there's a dagger where your heart should be."

"You should know that only to well," you shot back.

Gojo's eyes lingered on yours. His jaw clenched, fingers digging into the hardwood of the counter. Why was he like that. Acting like you're his puppet—acting like he knows you will fall for him. But as soon as the first light of day touches the ground, he pulls away.

He broke the silence. "You should get some rest," he advised. "Don't think I'll go easy in tomorrow's training just because you're the rookie here." He began to turn away, But you weren't finished with him.

"Why did you say that to me on that day?"

He paused. His back turned to you. "I just know you."

This man's arrogance is unmatched.

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

A piercing scream shattered the tranquil pre-dawn silence. The urge to crawl back under the covers was strong, but before you could make up your mind, your bedroom door slammed open with an abrupt force.

"It's 6, training time!" Gojo, already dressed in workout attire, radiated a fierce commitment that rippled through his frame.

"What—?" Your groan, still groggy and barely coherent. Boldly, he marched over to you and yanked the covers away.

"Gojo!!!" Indignation flared as you clutched at your scanty pyjama shorts. Now exposed to his gaze. "Privacy!"

He pulled back. His face flickered with amusement. Still enshrouded in sleep, you grabbed the nearest object and flung it at the intruding teacher. Gojo effortlessly dodged the flying missile, as if he had anticipated your reaction.

"Good morning to you too."

You barely restrained yourself from throwing another object his way. Rubbing your eyes in a futile attempt to focus, you were already plotting various ways to metaphorically kill him in your mind. Clearly, he had reverted to his old childish self after his overbearing behavior the previous night.

He closed the gap and gently brushed a loose strand of hair from your face. His order delivered with a flirtatious edge. "Get ready." And, in a blink, he was gone.

What the hell.

Collapsing back onto your bed, a pillow found its way into your embrace, muffling the scream bubbling from your depths.

What's wrong with this man? 

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

What's wrong with this man? You thought. Again.

The question ran through your mind, fueling frustration and anger even as exhaustion threatened to overwhelm you. Your eyes drifted to Yuji and Nobara, equally sleep-deprived, shuffling the laps around the training ground alongside you in a semi-conscious daze. Despite Gojo's complaints of insomnia just yesterday, his current energy level stood in harsh contrast to your own lethargy. 

The sun rose, drenching the training ground in an unforgiving blaze. Heat surged through your head, and you couldn't discern whether it was due to the scorching heat or the onset of a fever. Just as you were on the brink, Gojo tossed each of you a water bottle. He grinned, as if sadistically relishing your collective exhaustion.

Yuji slumped down beside you; his weariness mirroring your own. It was evident that both of you were unaccustomed to the brutal training. Amidst the agony, a strange sense of satisfaction seeped through you as you accepted that this torment was now your daily reality.

"After a romp through the forest, we can wrap up for the day," Gojo declared. He seemed to genuinely relish watching his students push themselves to their physical limits.

"Well—" Megumi stood up, his sturdy presence cutting through the stifling heat. He brushed off his shorts before addressing you.

"Stick with me, and you won't get lost," he offered gently.

"Get lost?"

"The forest route is pretty winding. It's easy to lose track."

"Ah, got it," you replied, though you secretly doubted that a forest in the heart of Tokyo could be all that difficult to navigate. Megumi offered a hand, his smile reassuring. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed Gojo's scrutinizing gaze lingering on both of you. As you shifted to meet his eyes, he quickly averted his gaze, leaving a sense of unease. Perhaps it was just your imagination. 

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

Fuck.

You were alone. Alone in the forest you thought wouldn't be that difficult to navigate. The irony.

The unexpected toll your lack of stamina took on you was something you hadn't anticipated. How much time had passed since you'd been separated from them? The nagging uncertainty clawed at you as you sank onto a fallen log beside what seemed to be a faint trail through the woods. A heavy moan escaped your lips. "Aw, hell."

"Hold on, guys!" Yuji called out, his voice echoing through the forest, as he realized your absence.

Megumi wiped the sweat from his forehead. "Where did she go?"

"The real question is, how long has she been gone?" Nobara added.

"You two keep moving forward. I'll double back for her," Megumi declared. Without hesitation, he pivoted, retracing the footprints back into the depth of the forest.

Back at the training ground, Yuji and Nobara, their expressions painted with weariness, converged with Gojo. The latter, lounging nonchalantly with a non-alcoholic cocktail perched beside him under a shady umbrella, seemed utterly pleased with himself.

"Asshole," Nobara hissed as she observed him. Yuji quickly filled Gojo in on your misadventure in the forest and Megumi's mission to find you.

"Lost?" Gojo's reply came, unexpectedly zesty as he sprang from his laid-back position. "How can you just lose someone?"

Yuji's eyebrows arched. He couldn't remember Gojo being that enthusiastic the time he got lost in the forest in his early days of training. In fact, Gojo had been seemingly unconcerned back then. He'd wandered aimlessly for hours before eventually escaping the woody maze. Now, witnessing Gojo's fervent reaction to your getting lost, it seemed oddly out of character.

Satoru rubbed the back of his head. His eyebrows furrowed. "I'll go after her."

Navigating through the dense woods—sense of direction completely lost—you aimlessly staggered on. You pondered how the hell you could get stuck in a place like this. Suddenly, a sharp crack of a twig or branch behind you ignited a spark of panic in your bloodstream. You swiveled hastily, twisting your ankle in the process, and tumbled down a slope.

"Carp, Crap, Crap!"

You felt a small stream of blood trickle down your leg, momentarily blurring your vision with discomfort.

This couldn't get any worse.

Leaning back, you assessed your situation, feeling a tidal wave of defeat sweep over you. The forest seemed endless—the amount of time you'd been wandering its dark recesses unclear. The sun, filtering its fading light through the dense leaves, slowly descended toward the horizon. Fatigue washed over you. Heat rose in your skull.

"Just a moment—," you muttered to yourself; fatigue pulling you in.

"What the hell you think you doing?" A voice—achingly familiar—sliced through your hazy awareness. Gradually, your eyes fluttered open.

It got worse.

"Gojo?" Your whisper was frail, barely a ripple in the air.

Of course. It had to be Gojo who found you in that state.

In the next instant, his hand was tenderly pressed against your forehead. His touch causing shivers running through your form as he whispered, "You're burning up."

It was only now that you realized the haze you felt was probably due to a fever setting in. You tried to downplay it. "I got lost," a pathetic excuse for your current dire straits. His eyes closed briefly, releasing a weighted sigh.

"Don't do this to me."

Before you could process his words, he quickly stripped off his jacket. He wrapped it tightly around the bleeding wound on your inner thigh. A wince escaped you as you tried to sit up, desperate to show some semblance of strength.

"I'm fine!" you gasped out. Your swift action rewarded with a searing pain radiating through your skull. At this point, you couldn't decide which was worse—the throbbing headache or the dangerously close proximity of Satoru Gojo's hands between your legs.

"I don't need your help!"

"Oh really?" Gojo's gaze held you prisoner as you strained to remain calm under his unyielding gaze. His fingers clung to your skin—a cruel proximity that made your stomach clench. "You'll have to accept help at some point."

The world seemed to blur for a split second, almost causing you to forget the position of his hands. Your lips parted, but no coherent response found its way out of your throat. A boyish smile played on his lips as he shifted his attention back to securing his jacket more tightly around your injured leg.

"Your ankle is hurt too," he observed, his tone matter-of-fact, though his eyes sparkled with a hint of amusement. It must have been quite a show for him to see you in such a vulnerable state. Weakened and wounded. Particularly after your foolish display of capability when you first met—boldly declaring that you didn't need training at his school. Looking back, it was just ridiculous.

"It must be amusing for you."

He looked at you; somewhat hurt. "Don't even think for a second that I find it amusing if you get hurt." The seriousness in his tone that made you pause.

"Let's get you home," he said after a moment. With effortless strength he lifted you into his arms, causing you to instinctively cling to his neck. As he held you, his eyes never left your face, "Are you all right?"

You nodded. However, your eyes shied away from locking with his, since that meant hovering mere inches from his face. You figured it best to avoid straight-up confronting his features, considering your entire form was already securely wrapped in his arms. Perhaps it was the fever, but you allowed your head to rest on his shoulder. You absorbed the comforting warmth he radiated after what felt like an eternity of lying on the frosty moss. His hands held you tightly, as if afraid you might slip through his fingers again. You found yourself pressed even closer to him, finding comfort in his protective embrace.

"Gojo, why—" you began, but before your words could fully form, they were abruptly interrupted by Megumi's appearance.

"Is everything okay?" His voice echoed from above the embankment.

"She's fine." Gojo's reply was swift. For a fleeting second, you thought you heard a mumbled addition, something whispered for his ears alone. "She's fine, she's with me."

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

The next thing you recalled is waking up in an unfamiliar, sterile room. The orange and red glow of the setting sun softly lit the room. As you cautiously sat up, you noticed bandages tightly wrapped around the entirety of your left ankle. Oddly, it didn't hurt, which made you suspect they must've given you some painkiller. Your slightly blurry vision somewhat confirmed that.

A soft voice cuts through your foggy consciousness, drawing your eyes to the familiar white-haired man seated next to your bed. He looks utterly exhausted. His hair disheveled. Faint dark circles underlining his eyes. You can't help but wonder if he's been sleeping right there in that chair, given the casually thrown blanket on its back.

"You're up?" he asked, his voice betraying his weariness.

"Why are you here, Gojo?"

Your question carried more seriousness than you intended. Or perhaps you intended it to be as serious as it appeared. You had wanted to draw a clear line, emphasizing that it wasn't natural for him to sleep next to you—to watch over you the whole day just because you had a fever and a few bruises.

You didn't want him doing what he was doing. You didn't want him—here. You didn't want what it was inflicting.

"Quite the greeting for your hero, don't you think?" He said with a playful smirk.

A heavy silence enveloped the room. You searched his gaze for any hint of why he was there, though deep down you already knew the answer. But you struggled with it, trying to suppress and deny the truth.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" He asked after a pause.

"Answer my question first."

A spark of amusement lit up his tired eyes—a soft chuckle escaped him.

"What?"

Still chuckling, he managed to say, "I really shouldn't be here." He wiped a tear from the corner of his eye. "Pathetic, right?"

"I just wanted to make sure you're okay," he eventually admitted. But you refused to accept such an obvious lie.

"That's not it—," you urged him to reveal the truth. The truth you didn't even want to hear. But somehow you couldn't stop; couldn't hold it in any longer. His raised eyebrow silently dared you to keep going.

"You shouldn't—" you began, but your voice trailed off—your courage waning. Gojo remained silent. His jaw tightened slightly. "—you shouldn't be here."

He starred at you. His gaze was both intimidating and captivating. Part of you wished to escape the intensity of his gaze, while another part craved it, yearned for his eyes to stay on you. Briefly, your eyes flickered to his lips, still curved in that enigmatic grin. You fleetingly wondered if they belonged to someone else. The thought flickered away as quickly as it came, leaving a strange knot in your stomach.

"If you tell me to leave, I'll leave," he muttered.

With a heavy sigh, he pushed himself up from the chair and in a few steps was beside your bed, sitting down next to you. His closeness enveloped you, leaving every possible answer stuck in your throat.

"Do you want me to leave?" His lips were dangerously close to yours. Your heart raced in your chest, drowning out any rational thought. His cold fingers traced a slow, shivering path along your collarbone. No. But you didn't want to give in—not to him.

"I thought you could read me like an open book?"

"I can." His eyes threatened to consume you, a dangerous desire simmering beneath them. "But I want to hear you say it."

Your pulse quickened, yet defiantly, you tilted your chin up, a subtle challenge. "I won't say it."

A wicked, almost predatory smile gradually tugged at the corners of his lips.

"Stubborn," he observed, his voice husky, layered with a desire that threatened to dissolve the very resolve holding you together. He leaned closer, the faint scent of his cologne mingling with the warmth of his breath against your skin. His lips brushed ever-so-lightly against your cheek. "I like that about you."

You inhaled sharply—a barely perceptible catch in your breath, yet you knew he noticed—he heard. Every muscle in your body was on fire, fighting to hold your resolve, refusing to collapse under the overwhelming attraction that crackled in the air, buzzing and sparking between you like a charged current.

"I won't act on those feelings unless you tell me to," he continued, his fingers now tracing a slow, torturous path across your lips.

Inside, something was screaming, Do it, just do it. But you didn't yield, stuck in your refusal to give in, especially to this arrogant man. You couldn't give him that satisfaction, even though your entire body was begging for it.

Gojo's eyes snapped into sharper focus, flashing with frustration. The unspoken challenge hanging heavy. Abruptly, he leaned back. The string of tension snapping with the motion.

"Time's up," he declared, his voice almost nonchalant. "Gotta go."

And just like that, he was slipping through the door. Your words lagging behind him, unable to reach his departing figure.

No.

Wait.

Should you feel a sense of relief now? Relieved that? Nothing happened ? Or should you have found your voice—spoken your wants?

The weight of the uncertainty bore down, unbearably so. He was gone, and the anticipation that had swelled within you slowly faded. Your hand, trembling, found your lips, as if trying to preserve the lingering essence of his proximity. Damn it. This can't be happening. You can't allow yourself to fall for your him—especially not him.

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

Sunlight peeked through the curtains, dragging you out of your dreams back into the harsh reality. You groaned, blinking against the bright morning light. Memories of last night with Gojo crept into your consciousness. Every word, every charged glance, played over in your mind. The unanswered 'what ifs' circling like vultures.

The nurse's appearance rustled you from your thoughts. After ensuring you were armed with painkillers and adorned with a stern string of warnings to prioritize rest and healing, she left you alone to battle with the thoughts that threatened to consume you. 

With Shoko inaccessible, tucked away in a meeting in Kyoto, the painkillers and rest would have to suffice, at least for now. But even a mere glance at the pill bottle sent you back into a haze.

For at least one day, you reluctantly followed the nurse's advice. Your room overlooked the school courtyard, and through the window you could see the other students practicing diligently. However, every attempt to sneak a peek over the windowsill was met with a scowl from none other than Gojo. His gaze bored into you, as if he could see through your attempts to defy the doctor's orders.

"Rest!" he shouted at you, his voice carrying a tone of authority that sent shivers down your spine. You quickly backed away from the window. Your heart pounding as you sought refuge behind the closed curtains. 

But you can't afford to rest—not fall further behind than you already are. 

Though your ankle was no longer swollen, it still hurt. So did your inner thigh injury. Still, the pain was bearable—a constant reminder of your weakness. You hated it. How pathetic you appeared compared to your peers. Damn it. You weren't here to bask in rest and recovery.

Fuck this shit.

You knew of an abandoned training room on the far east of the school grounds. That night, you made it your secret training spot to practice the movements you'd observed earlier in the day, determined not to fall behind.

It was oddly amusing. This dissonance between willingly risking your life on the line during missions and the near imprisonment in the infirmary for something as relatively minor as a sprained ankle while on school grounds. Yet, that night, your resolve was ironclad, unyielding against the sharp pain that shot through your ankle with every step.

Agian. Again. Again.

You forged ahead. Each motion meticulously crafted in a relentless pursuit of perfection. Repetition became your ally, forms executed over and over again, each one a bit sharper, a bit closer to flawless precision. Your mind drowned out everything but the training.

Yet it wasn't enough. 

Still not perfect. 

Again. 

Suddenly, the training room door burst open, slamming violently against the wall. Does this man not know how to open a door like a normal human being?

"Didn't I tell you to rest?" The voice, undeniably Gojo's, pierces the stillness.

"I can't fall behind."

Why is he even here? Is he stalking you or what?

"I told you to rest," his voice laced with anger—unfamiliar and unsettling—ricochets against the walls of the dusty room. But you didn't stop.

"That woman," he hissed. In the blink of an eye, he was standing in front of you. Your katana, paralyzed mid-swing by his unyielding grip, halts you, forcing your form into an unwanted pause.

"Gojo!"

"You're of no use to anyone injured!" Gojo's voice echoed. His grip on the katana firm but not threatening. 

The room fell into stillness.

His crystal blue eyes held yours. There was something unsettling in them. Was it anger? Concern? His gaze paused you for a moment, but anger quickly replaced it.

"Stop pretending you care about me, Gojo," you snapped.

Effortlessly, Gojo claimed the katana and tossed it aside. The metallic sound of its collision sharp in the empty air. With a single, deliberate step, he bridged the physical distance between you—a mere breath away. His proximity dangerously close.

"How can I not care," his eyes narrowed. "—especially when you look at me with those sad, pretty eyes."

"Don't act like you know my story."

"Oh, I do!" He shot back; his voice sharp. "—yours is a classic story of tragedy—a life marred by loss, seeking not vengeance against the world or its curses, but against yourself—"

"Enough!"

"—because you think you're too weak!—" His verbal onslaught persisted. "—you couldn't protect them, so now you're punishing yourself, aren't you?"

"Stop it already!"

"—you're chasing self-destruction as atonement." 

His words were finely-honed—cutting. The atmosphere crackling with each uttered syllable, neither willing to back down as emotions boiled over.

"You know next to nothing!"

"Oh love, I see it! I know it!" Gojo pressed further. "I'm trying to save you from yourself!"

Your fists clenched. "I don't need saving, especially not from you!"

You both paused to catch a breath, letting the heated argument fade away. It was as if an unspoken agreement to pause was made, and in that instant, all the stubborn resistance fell away. The tension lightened and, for a brief moment, you both let your guard down, replacing the previous anger.

"From the moment I first saw you, I knew—" Gojo's words trailed softly, barely more than a whisper. His fingers delicately swept a stray of hair from your shoulders. His touch, gentle and uncharacteristically tender.

"I knew what you were suffering," he murmured, his words torturing you, "—you had that look in your eyes that I know only too well."

You don't know me.

Your heart raced. You felt the heat of his presence on your skin—too close to your skin. You almost had to lean back to avoid feeling his breath on your lips. Silence enveloped him. His gaze anchored to yours. Longing and hesitation flickered in his eyes. 

His hand moved from your shoulder to your cheek, sending shivers cascading with every tender touch. "Those damn pretty sad eyes," he whispered. Your knees threatened to give way, the pain in your ankle dissolving into the distant consciousness.

"Satoru," you whispered, your voice barely audible as you longed for him to bridge the last inch that separated you. Your stomach tightened as the tension between you reached an unbearable peak. "What's stopping you?"

His eyes flashed, dancing between your lips and your gaze, silent desire boldly painted across his features. It was as if an invisible force anchored his focus to your mouth, a force against which he strenuously battled. A shaky exhale slipped from him. His frame visibly quivering, caught in a tangle of longing and restraint.

"I told you I won't act on these feelings unless you tell me to," he hissed against your lips. It was a breathless, heart-pounding closeness in which the warmth of your shared breaths mingled.

I can't. 

No. 

I can't. 

But you wanted to.

Fuck how bad you wanted to.

Yet, silence lingered. Your words lost—unspoken. 

But he saw it. Within the depths of your gaze, he saw your inner struggle, a silent war waged against yourself. And then he turned away. His posture stiffened, suggesting an inability or unwillingness to witness your turmoil any longer. The atmosphere changed, palpably altering the space between you both.

"I'm sorry," he began, uttering words that seemed to pain him as they spilled forth, "This is quite inappropriate of me."

Sorrow pierced your heart, acknowledging the potential of what could have been, now slipping through your fingers. His restraint cast a bitter aftertaste into the air, mingling with the still-lingering, undeniable pull that had initially drawn you together.

"Let's end this," he declared. It was a bittersweet end to a moment filled with longing, leaving you both with a lingering ache in your hearts, pondering over the alternate paths your relationship might have ventured down, given different circumstances.

"Satoru, wait—," your whisper barely tiptoed into the atmosphere, a delicate plea in its undertones. This resistance, the internal battle to admit that you want him, seemed almost a tangible pain running, threading through every fiber of your being.

"Go back to bed and rest," his words were cold. Without meeting your eyes, he turned and then left. His retreating footsteps echoed in the empty space.

He was gone. 

And yet he took something invaluable with him. It struck you then, like a relentless tide battering the coast—you were in love with him. A love you'd refused to confess, and now it was exacting its price—costing you everything. 

Now it was too late. The pain in your chest was unbearable. Your heart had become a prisoner to him, and there was nothing you could do to change that.

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

Another week passed, each day without Satoru's training sessions bringing you an unexpected sense of relief. The prospect of avoiding him had now become your silver lining, offering you a chance to breathe without the intensity of his presence bearing down on you. As you returned to the training grounds and joined your fellow teammates, you made an effort to maintain a facade of normalcy, concealing the inner conflict that still lingered beneath the surface.

Back to business.

Though it felt anything but normal. Every fiber of your being fought to avoid his gaze, to keep your distance from him as much as possible. However, given that he was your teacher, the task was almost impossible. You couldn't help but notice his every move, his every glance, the way his aura effortlessly commanded attention. 

Despite your best efforts to focus on your training, your thoughts frequently strayed to the white-haired man who had turned your world upside down. However, his ability to act as if nothing between you two had happened sliced through you more deeply than anticipated.

Megumi seemed to sense the tension surrounding you. After the training session, he took you aside, "Is something wrong?" he asked, his voice genuinely worried.

You tried to brush it off, thinking of a logical explanation. "No, it's nothing," you replied, although it was far from the truth. Being around Satoru was unbearable.

"it seems like you're not exactly at ease around Gojo?" 

You shifted uncomfortably, "No, it's not like that," you replied, although it was precisely that. Damn it, could the others already sense it? You really weren't cut out for acting. Sensing your discomfort, he took a step back, realizing he might be prying too much.

"Sorry, forget it," they said gently, snapping you out of your thoughts. "I didn't mean to pry." You offered a strained smile, but it did little to mask your feelings, and he could tell.

After a moment, he changed the subject. "Have you seen the new movie coming out this week?" he asked, shifting the conversation to a lighter topic. "I really wanted to see it, but I guess the others aren't interested," he looked a bit embarrassed, his eyes averted as he continued. "It's an arthouse movie, so I understand if you don't want to see it either—"

"Yes!" you practically shouted, surprising him and even catching yourself off guard with the overwhelming enthusiasm in your response. The sheer excitement in your answer startled him, but he couldn't hide the subtle smile that tugged at his lips.

"So, Friday night?"

You nodded with a sense of anticipation, contemplating whether this could indeed be considered a date. You undeniably liked Megumi, there was no question about it, but Satoru's lingering presence still held a significant place in your thoughts and emotions. Whatever his intentions were in asking you out, you were determined to savor the moment and use it as a welcome distraction from the ever-present specter of Satoru.

The week raced by, and the anticipation of the upcoming movie date with Megumi was a delightful respite from Satoru—or, at the very least, a fleeting escape. 

You had taken extra care in selecting your outfit for the occasion. Granted, it was just a trip to the cinema, and the dim lighting would shroud most details, but that hardly mattered. You wanted to feel pretty, if only for your own sake—and, naturally, for Megumi. Standing before the mirror, you painstakingly fine-tuned the last wisps of your hair when a message from him bathed your phone's screen in a soft glow.

"I'll be waiting outside the dormitory."

A subtle smile curved the corners of your lips as you retrieved your bag, your steps carrying you downstairs with an air of confidence. However, fate had a surprise in store for you as you descended the stairs, your world colliding with an unforeseen obstacle. 

Satoru stood mere steps below, an inscrutable barrier in your path, showing no signs of yielding. Your heart skipped a beat as your gaze locked with his, momentarily stealing your breath. You attempted to avert your eyes and continue on your way, but he remained resolute, refusing to release you from his hold. This can't be real.

"This is ridiculous, Satoru," you said, anger dripping from your voice. His arm formed an unyielding blockade, his hand clinging to the stair railing.

Raising an eyebrow, he can't suppress a slight smirk. "Oh, 'Satoru' is it?"

"Perhaps 'jerk' would be more fitting," you lock eyes with him, your stare unwavering, his smirk vanishing.

He leaned in, narrowing the gap, his words a sultry whisper against your defiance. "Stubborn as always, huh?" His eyes linger over your form, protective, possessive even. "But I can't allow you to leave with him, not looking like—this."

"Your insecurity is showing."

A silent clash of wills ensues, gazes locked in a wordless combat. How could this man have the audacity to leave you languishing in vain, only to come back, causing chaos within you once more?

"Do you really want to go—with him?" he asked, his voice suddenly soft but tinged with darkness, a tone impossible to ignore. Reluctantly, you met his gaze once more. His usually bright blue eyes now looked tired and dull. 

"Yes, I do."

"You're lying."

"I'm not," you replied, avoiding his gaze.

His grip on the railing tightened, his fingers whitening with the force of his grasp. His eyes bored into yours, unrelenting. "You can't even look me in the eye when you say that."

"What do you want from me, Satoru?"

He continued to draw nearer, his arms closing around you until you had no choice but to lean against the stair railing, seeking any distance you could find. "You know what I want" he shot back sharply, his steps closing the distance between you. You could already feel the reassuring warmth of his body, a sensation you had missed painfully. Satoru's gaze lingering on your eyes, then descending to your lips before returning to meet your gaze.

"I can't give you that, you know that."

"That's not fair," he said softly, his lips almost brushing against yours. "Why must you be the one I can't resist?" His voice trailed off. You were only centimetres away from him, and the proximity was almost unbearable. Yet you couldn't move away, trapped in the magnetic field of his presence.

A tempest of frustration swirled within, grappling with the unfairness of it all. Somehow, two souls stumbled upon each other, yet faltered at acknowledging their own feelings, straining to shroud them. Maybe it was fear, maybe something else—but why? Why did he persist, nudging you towards confession, acknowledging that undeniable something, that magnetic pull that irresistibly drew you together? He wanted your confession. But voicing it meant a point of no return, and that path was littered with trouble.

Yet, an undeniable, searing ache, an insatiable yearning, had been quietly brewing from that very first encounter. You could feel the warmth radiating from him, a bewitching heat you'd covertly longed for. His eyes, alight with a ravenous kind of wanting, delicately traced every curve and nuance of your face, engraving each detail as if to preserve it within his very being.

Then a voice called your name, like a saving grace in this moment. Megumi rounded the corner, and peripherally you perceived him, while your gaze stubbornly remained tethered to Satoru. You caught a flicker of change in Satoru's expression. And, reluctantly, he let you walk away.

You made your way towards Megumi, who was visibly stunned by the unusually intimate scene he'd stumbled upon between you and Satoru. Your heart pounded fiercely, the ghost of Satoru's warm breath still haunting your lips. "Don't ask," you uttered quickly, seizing Megumi's wrist and pulling him along with you.

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

Satoru's been absent for a stretch now, and the void, bereft of any news about him, nags at you like an itch forever just out of reach. Weeks have slipped by since that painful moment on the stairs, and his face has been absent since.

While you grapple with the suddenness of his leaving, Yuji, Nobara, and Megumi seem remarkably unbothered. To them, Satoru vanishing on some mission or another secretive undertaking is nothing new. But for you, it's a whole different story. You can't push away the persistent worry that perhaps, his departure has something to do with you.

Memories of him rewind and play back in your mind. Those eyes of Satoru, deep pools that kept their secrets well. His hair, a cascade of silver under the morning sun's tender kiss. Every detail, every secret exchange of looks, every hushed word—it all reverberates through your thoughts.

"Why didn't he take us with him?" Yuji's lament yanked you back to the here and now, his question lingering heavily in the room.

Your head tilted slightly, thoughts swirling around the question. Indeed, it's been an age since you and Satoru teamed up for a mission, especially a demanding one. Recently, your assigned missions have been relatively straightforward, almost as though fate decided you needed to be consumed with other matters—such as your personal life, which has been in a troubled state since your last encounter with the white-haired sorcerer.

"He must have his reasons," Megumi responded, his tone carrying a nuance of comprehension that only further piqued your interest about Satoru's whereabouts.

After that date—or whatever that was—you and Megumi had developed a closer friendship. The times shared together evolved into treasured recollections, and, unknowingly, Megumi became your comfort, a diversion from the turmoil that was Satoru Gojo.

The initial escape from your thoughts about Satoru proved fleeting. In the first few weeks following his disappearance, your mind relentlesslyrevolved around him, despite your best efforts to suppress those thoughts. But as the months rolled on, the fervor of your emotions began to wane. Six months down the line, memories of Satoru seemed to recede into the backdrop. However, it had become unusual for him to be absent for such prolonged periods. The school concocted various imaginative excuses for his extended disappearances, but your attention to them had long since dwindled.

In a sense, his absence became a bittersweet relief. The agony of his presence, laced with unresolved feelings and lingering tension, was replaced by a serene calm. Breathing became a little easier without his looming presence subtly permeating every moment.

"Move over!" Nobara snapped at Yuji, who was hogging more than his fair share of space in front of the bonfire. The tail end of summer was nearing, and the school had arranged a bonfire to herald the onset of autumn.

You and your squad picked a spot distanced from the main throng. As the night unfolded, the levels of alcohol imbibed seemed to surge, and it was both hilarious and slightly alarming to witness your typically stoic superiors in such an unruly condition. Especially Yuji and Nobara appeared to have delved a tad too much into their beverages, with their speech beginning to blur.

Only Megumi and you kept things a bit restrained, partly out of necessity, because someone had to keep tabs on the others. This wasn't the first time a boozy get-together might devolve into scuffles or something worse.

"Come on, have another!" Nobara slurred, trying to coax Megumi, who declined with a courteous shake of his head.

"You're no fun!" she scowled, eyeing you with your water glass. "Both of you!"

"Somebody's got to keep an eye on you, especially when you're this plastered," you responded, a hint of dutifulness in your tone, considering the lively bonfire nearby.

She took an additional gulp from her glass, mumbling to herself, "You two act like an old married couple."

The comment threw you for a loop. Were you two actually that close? The idea stuck with you, even as Yuji jumped in, your unease evidently clear. "Why don't you two go out on a date?" he blurted, suddenly turning your relationship into the new subject of discussion.

Megumi, picking up on your discomfort, stepped in. "Stop spouting nonsense. Have some water," he voiced, a twinge of irritation lacing his words.

Megumi shifted towards you, a comforting expression in his eyes. "Ignore them," he suggested, and you managed a fragile smile in thanks. He tried to steer the conversation elsewhere, but before he could, Maki wandered over, delivering news that thrust your heart into a fleeting panic.

"Did you hear that Gojo's back in town?" Maki tossed the words into the space between you, and they hung there, pulling a tangible tension down around the group.

What?

"He's back? How do you know?" Megumi asked. Maki simply shrugged, her face hinting at the confidential nature of the information. "Guess it's supposed to be a secret."

"A secret?" Yuji jumped in, his expression one of outright disbelief. "Why would his return be under wraps?" Nobara piped up with her own musings. "It's not like he's ever been one to keep things low-key."

Maki responded with a flicker of irritation. "Don't ask me, hat's just what I've heard," she retorted before making herself comfortable with the group.

A whirlwind of thoughts began to spiral in your mind. Satoru was back? For how long? Why hadn't he made his way back to school? Where in the world had he been? Anxiety flowed through your veins, your throat constricting and fingers chilling in response.

"I need to—uh, grab a drink," you mumbled, desperate for an excuse to have a minute alone to gather your thoughts, justifying your abrupt leaving. Maki released a weary sigh, and given the inebriated state of the rest, they probably didn't fully grasp your sudden shift, so you swiftly made your exit from the group.

"I'll check on her," Megumi stated, his concern readily apparent. Maki showed a practiced nonchalance as Megumi rose and trailed after you.

Distancing yourself from the bonfire's warmth, you sought seclusion away from the prying eyes and merry sounds of the gathering. Your pace quickened, almost to a fledgling run, as though trying to escape something invisible yet pervasive.

Megumi managed to catch up with you, his sturdy grip encircling your wrist gently. "Are you all right?" As you turned towards him, you couldn't quite mask the frightened look etched into your features.

"What wrong?"

"I just need some fresh air," your voice betrayed you, fluttering unsteadily. Megumi's gaze, unyielding and firm, penetrated your facade. "Don't give me that crap," he responded with unwavering firmness. "I know something went down with Gojo."

Your heartbeat staggered, skipping its rhythmic pace momentarily. He knew? But to what extent? Panic began swelling within your chest. "No, all's good," you stammered, your voice fluttering like a lone leaf caught in a tempest. 

Megumi's eyes softened, his breath escaping in a sharp exhale. "You want to see him?" His words, a gentle whisper, hovered in the chilly air between you.

"See him?" Confusion replaced your fear. The possibility hadn't even occurred to you, and you wondered what Megumi was alluding to.

"I knew he was back since yesterday. I didn't tell you because I had no idea what was going on." 

Your eyes lingered on him, unable to process the flood of thoughts and feelings this revelation had unleashed. It had been an eternity since you'd laid eyes on Satoru, since his voice had caressed your ears, or you'd shared words with him. The mere inkling of his return rendered you motionless. 

"You don't need to spell it out. It's not my place," Megumi continued, infusing empathy into his voice. "I'll slide you his address. You navigate from there."

With a swift glance at his phone, Megumi dispatched a message to you, delivering the address.

"Why are you doing this for me?"

"You're my friend," he declared briefly, his gaze steadfast, anchoring into your eyes. "You matter to me."

Megumi.

"Do you want me to come with you?"

You took a heartbeat to contemplate, then gently shook your head. "No, I'll be fine," you affirmed. Megumi responded with a supportive grin. "But I'll give him hell if he hurt you again," he appended, a speck of protective fervor dancing in his tone. It was enough to coax a small, genuine chuckle from you, "Thank you."

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

The rain was relentless, pouring down like a deluge. The campfire must have gone out long ago, you thought as you followed the route through the downpour on your smartphone. Strands of wet hair clung to your face despite your best efforts to brush them away. You barely noticed the cold rain, your mind focused on one thing—Satoru Gojo.

Finally, you arrived at a massive building in the heart of Tokyo. You entered the large lobby of the new building and searched for Satoru's name in the elevator directory. "At the top, then," you muttered to yourself. It struck you that Satoru must have had considerable wealth to afford an apartment in such a prime location, let alone the penthouse.

The lift ride to the top took only a few seconds, but it felt like an agonising eternity. Doubts and fears swirled inside you. Was he even there? What if he didn't want to see you? But now it was too late—the lift doors slid open and at the end of the corridor you saw his nameplate on the wall. With every ounce of courage you could muster, you pressed the doorbell and brushed the wet strands of hair from your face. Moments later, the door swung open, revealing the person you had both longed for and tried to forget.

"Why are you all wet?" the white-haired man asked.

"It's raining," you replied curtly, water droplets glistening on your clothes. Satoru stepped aside and let you in.

"Didn't bring an umbrella?" his question was coupled with a playful smirk as he lobbed a towel in your direction. You caught it, the soft fabric a comforting presence in your hands.

"As if that's what you want to know right now," you countered, emotions churning violently within, far more overwhelming than the rain that had soaked you to the bone.

Standing in the middle of the living room, you could hardly believe the breathtaking view that stretched before you. The massive glass walls offered a panoramic view of more than half of Tokyo. It felt like the perfect place for tourists to view the city from above, although you couldn't begin to imagine the astronomical rent for such an apartment.

Satoru walked around the sofa and sat down, his casual posture a sharp contrast to the tense atmosphere enveloping the room. Lost in the mesmerizing scenery beyond the window, you hadn't noticed that you had been silent for a while. It was he who disrupted it, his voice laced with a teasingly sarcastic undertone. "It's quite inappropriate for a student to bother his teacher in private at home."

"Bother?" You swiveled towards him, an amused twinkle flickering in your gaze. "Certainly. You appear immensely busy, lounging in your sweatpants with chips on your table," you retorted, a playful smirk playing on your lips.

"Unbelievably busy," Satoru shot back, his voice steeped in irony as he leisurely strolled to join you by the window. "In fact, I have been busy avoiding you." The room sank back into an imposing silence, its weight suffocating within the dimly illuminated space.

"Where have you been?" Your inquiry cut through the stillness.

"Were you not planning to take your anger out on me?" Satoru responded, sidestepping your question with ease.

"I am."

Satoru lingered just a step behind you, hands casually tucked into his sweatpants, eyes gazing over the rain-soaked vastness of Tokyo beyond the window. His sheer proximity seemed to suffocate, pressing an invisible weight against your chest.

"I'm so damn angry at you," your admission hung vulnerably in the space between you, your thoughts racing. "And I'm terrified of getting hurt even more."

"Why are you here, then?" His voice was a bare whisper, coarse and soft.

"You know exactly why I'm here," your tone, wavering between resolve and vulnerability, filled the room, "—you've always been able to read me like a book, remember?"

"I know," Satoru replied, and silence enveloped the room once more. It was a kind of silence that, curiously, didn't breed discomfort. Rather, it served as a relief from the bottled up pain you both held, a momentary escape from the heartache of the past, even though confronting it was inevitable. 

His eyes anchored themselves on you. Meanwhile, your eyes lingered on the sprawling city below, watching as rain painted everything with a glossy sheen. You broke the silence first, "I've missed you," each word cut your throat like blades.

"I did the same as you," Satoru finally broke the silence. "—find someone else." His words lingered, offering an unwanted reality for you to digest.

"And how'd that play out for you?"

"Well, here I am, ain't I?" Satoru's retort was playful yet drenched in self-mockery as he took another step towards you, his form casting a looming shadow over you, his breath whispering across your shoulder.

"I realized, after cycling through all those faces, it was your damn face I was searchin' for in every one of them," he confessed, his voice low, burdened with a self-loathing that gripped his words. Exhaling a deep sigh, he ran his fingers through his hair, agitation palpable in his every move. "How messed up is that—"

"Why did it have to end like this?" you wondered aloud, more to yourself, to him, or to the universe, demanding no specific answer.

"Why?" His gaze drifted. "Suppose I'm just a damn coward."

"You're right," your agreement was blunt, unsparing. "So, you're you done with that?"

"Done with what?" Satoru's asked, fingers gently trailing down the side of your neck, causing a cascade of shivers down your spine. In that electrified stillness, the warmth of Satoru's breath against your skin sending a rush of conflicting emotions through you. The proximate intimacy—all too much yet not enough at the same time.

"—done running away,'" you said firmly, turning to face him. His ice-blue eyes locked with yours, burrowing into you with a force that seemed poised to shatter your very core. It had been so long since you had been this close to him, yet it felt instantly right, as if you had never really been apart.

"This is gonna get us into a lot of trouble," he whispered, a solitary finger delicately tracing the contour of your lower lip.

"Don't care," you said, the yearning for that long-overdue kiss evident in your eyes.

"We might catch hell at school for this," he warned, his tone half teasing, half serious, as if trying to persuade you to reconsider your actions. But having walked half of Tokyo under a weeping sky, retreat was not an option. Your heart ached for the kiss you'd craved, the flavor of his lips that had lingered in your dreams.

"I couldn't care less," you breathed out, the sound of your voice almost lost beneath the thunderous beating of your own heart. Satoru's gaze locked with yours, a magnetic pull that left your breath hitching in your chest. His lips, tantalizingly close to yours, promised the allure of a kiss forbidden. Every ounce of reason told you to pull back, to resist the gravitating force between you and Satoru Gojo, yet resistance was futile.

"So, say it," his voice, a commanding whisper. He needed your confirmation, your expressed desire as the only thing capable of holding him back from giving into the longing. He needed to hear you voice your want for him.

"I've wanted you, Satoru—," you breathed, your whisper brushing his lips, "—since the first moment I saw you."

Satoru grinned as he leaned forward, his eyes locked with yours. "What are you doing to me?" he whispered, his voice barely more than a heated murmur before his lips crushed against yours, a teasing promise of what was to come. You felt your heart racing, your body responding to his closeness, the intensity of his gaze. The world seemed to disappear around you, leaving only the two of you in this charged moment.

Satoru's kiss was desperate, a clash of lips and tongues that spoke of a hunger that had been denied for too long. It was a release of all the pent-up feelings that had simmered between you, a passionate declaration of desire mixed with a deep affection that could no longer be ignored.

Satoru's strong fingers closed around your neck, the touch both commanding and intimate, sending a shiver down your spine. With his other hand, he pressed your hip firmly against him, his desire evident in the way his body pressed against yours.

You struggled to catch your breath, the intensity of his kisses leaving you breathless and yearning for more. But in that moment, you found a strange and exhilarating solace in the overwhelming passion that had enveloped you. If this was how it was going to end, if you were going to suffocate in his kisses, it would be a beautiful, evil death, you thought. His lips devoured yours, and as you gasped for breath between heated kisses, you realised that surrendering to this powerful attraction was inevitable.

"You have no idea how long I've waited for this," he confessed, his voice a deep, sensual murmur that sent tingles running along your spine.

Satoru's words hung in the air, heavy with anticipation as he gasped, his breath warm against your ear. His dark eyes bored into yours, a storm of desire and longing swirling within them. The tension in the room crackled with an electric energy and you could feel the magnetic pull between you and Satoru, a force neither of you could resist.

He turned you gently, his fingers grazing your skin like a whisper, and pressed you firmly against the cold windowpane. The cityscape outside seemed to blur as your heart raced in response to the sudden intensity of his touch. Satoru's hands moved from the window to your waist, his touch setting your skin on fire as he pulled you closer, his body pressed against yours, moulding to your contours.

Satoru's touch was both insistent and gentle as he used a firm grip on your hair to tilt your head back, exposing the vulnerable curve of your neck to his relentless kisses. Your breath caught and a sensual moan escaped your parted lips as the soft, heated caress of his mouth traced a trail of fire across your sensitive skin. Your body responded instinctively, seeking his warmth and closeness, pressing against him.

As his lips worked their magic on your neck, you felt a fierce desire build between you, a pull that defied all reason. His hands moved, fingers intertwining with yours, still pressed tightly against the cool window. The contrast between the cold glass and the searing heat of his touch only added to the intensity of the moment.

His body pressed against yours and you could feel the undeniable evidence of his desire, an exciting bulge rubbing against you, sending waves of desire through your body.

Every touch, every kiss, every movement heightened the tension between you and Satoru, a palpable electricity sizzling in the air. The forbidden allure of the moment was intoxicating and you found yourself completely lost in the whirlwind of passion that had swept you both away, knowing that there was no turning back from the depths of desire that had been unleashed.

"Satoru," you moaned, your voice a breathless plea as he tightened his grip around your throat, a mixture of desire and surrender in your eyes. His fingers slid sensuously along your lips, igniting a simmering fire within you that threatened to consume your very being. The growing heat in your body seemed to tear you apart, your every nerve alive with desire. You craved more, yearned for it with an intensity that shook you to your core. For so long you had imagined what it would feel like to be kissed by him, but now that it was happening you couldn't get enough.

In a desperate burst of passion, you broke free of his grip and turned to face him. Despite your determination, he, a head taller and undeniably stronger, effortlessly pinned you back against the window once more. The cool glass pressed against your overheated skin as he pulled you into another rough, consuming kiss, leaving you no room to assert control.

Your fingers instinctively clawed at his shirt, feeling the taut muscles beneath the thin fabric as you gasped for air, the world outside the window a distant blur as your senses were drowned in a whirlwind of sensations and emotions. The fierce urgency of your encounter heightened the tension between you and Satoru, making every stolen moment together an electrifying, unforgettable experience.

His gaze bored into your soul, searching for any hint of surrender, while your heart raced in response to his closeness. You knew that surrendering to him meant losing yourself in the whirlwind of passion that seemed to follow him like a magnetic force, but you were determined not to let go of the reins just yet.

With a gentle but firm push, you held him at arm's length, your hand pressed firmly against his chest. He stared at you, his eyes filled with a mischievous gleam that made your knees tremble. Gojo Satoru was a master at this game of desire and he knew exactly how to keep you on edge.

"Afraid?" he hissed, his voice a seductive melody that sent shivers down your spine. His fingers danced slowly down your arm, teasing your skin as they went. "Or are you just testing how much control you have over me?"

You swallowed hard, trying to regain your composure as he peeled off his shirt with unhurried grace, revealing a chiseled chest that was a masterpiece of temptation.

The tension between you and Satoru escalated as you approached him. "Afraid of you?" you whispered. With a subtle yet bold move, you pushed him backwards, causing him to stumble and fall onto the sofa behind him. "—afraid that you might enjoy it too much to resist," he huffed.

The seconds felt like hours as you held your ground, resisting the magnetic pull that was Gojo Satoru. His grin only deepened, his eyes sparkling with a playful challenge. You couldn't help but admire the confidence he exuded, even as your own resolve wavered.

"Are you?" you hissed, sitting down on his lap. His surprise at your assertiveness only increased the tension between you, but he didn't utter a word of protest, allowing you to straddle his desire-fuelled anticipation.

"God, you're going to be the death of me," Satoru moaned, his breath hitching with every languid up and down movement you made. Satoru surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure, his head falling back as he closed his eyes, savouring every moment of your tantalising touch. His strong hands traced the contours of your body, stoking the fire between you, and soft, uncontrollable moans slipped past his parted lips as you pressed harder against him.

Satoru's gaze met yours, his eyes smoldering with desire as you moved your hips teasingly around his eager shaft.

"I can't hold back any longer," he moaned, his voice filled with longing. "Let me fuck you already."

In response to his passionate plea, you silenced him with a deep, soulful kiss, and that was all the permission he needed. Satoru's hands found your waist and with a swift, intense motion he flipped you onto your back, his powerful presence now towering over you, ready to consume the fierce desire that had built up between you.

Your wrists were locked firmly in his grip, held securely above your head as he pressed your chest against his. His skilled fingers wasted no time in finding their way to your trousers. With a single, purposeful motion, he unfastened them and slid them down, exposing the smoldering passion that had been hidden beneath.

Sator's desire surged with each passing moment, his excitement intensifying as he meticulously, almost agonisingly, traced circles with his skilled fingers over the damp fabric of your underwear. His breath caught at the sight of your outrageous pleasure, his eyes growing increasingly intense.

"I want you so badly," Satoru whispered huskily, his lips trailing along your body, heading south. "Satoru, please," you begged, your voice shaking with frustration. The air was thick with anticipation and you couldn't stand the relentless tension any longer.

But he remained maddeningly patient, his eyes locked with yours, an enigmatic smile playing on his lips. His fingers trailed along the edge of your underwear, tugging teasingly at the fabric before finally relenting and pulling it aside. Your breath caught in your throat as he leaned closer, his hot breath sending shivers through your body.

"Not yet," he murmured, his voice a seductive promise before his lips fell on your throbbing core. A gasp escaped your lips as his tongue met your most sensitive spot and a moan followed as he began a slow, painful exploration.

The sensations were exquisite, his tongue moving languidly, each flick sending waves of pleasure through you. The world seemed to fade away, leaving only the two of you locked in a passionate dance. He began agonisingly slowly, tracing delicate patterns with his tongue that made you arch your back in sweet torment.

As the intensity increased, so did the urgency in your moans. His pace quickened, his movements more fervent, matching the wild rhythm of your own desire. You writhed beneath him, lost in the electrifying connection, your pleas for release growing more desperate as you stood on the brink of an explosive climax.

Satoru's gaze remained fixed on you, his dark eyes burning with desire as he continued to tease you relentlessly, just as eager to drive you to the brink of release.

With every passionate moan that escaped your lips, he couldn't resist any longer. He decided he wanted to be the one to push you over the edge. Two fingers slid inside you, one after the other, causing you to gasp sharply. Your tight, wet heat clenched around his penetrating digits and he couldn't help but moan at the sensation.

"You're so hot," he whispered huskily, his fingers expertly exploring the depths of your desire. He knew exactly where to touch, where to press and how to drive you wild.

His tongue continued its tantalising dance around your swollen clit, his warm breath fanning over your sensitive flesh. The combined assault of his mouth and fingers sent waves of pleasure through your body, building your arousal to a fever pitch. As he slid his fingers along the intimate contours inside you, he zeroed in on that sweet spot that made you arch your back and cry out his name.

"Not yet," he whispered, his breath hot against your clit, sending a shiver down your spine. His lips brushed lightly across your skin as he moved up to you again. Your senses were on fire with desire, your body aching for him.

He reached for something on the coffee table, his movements confident and purposeful. With a quick motion he pulled down his sweatpants, revealing the loose boxers that barely hid his growing erection. The sight of him, so close yet teasingly out of reach, sent a surge of desire through you.

You wanted him with a desperation you didn't know was possible. The circumstances were complicated, teacher and student, a forbidden union that promised trouble. But in this moment, none of that mattered. You were lost in the intensity of your desire, unable to resist the magnetic pull between you.

As your thoughts swirled with the forbidden nature of your liaison, you failed to notice that Satoru had already wrapped himself in a condom and was now positioned at your entrance.

"We can stop anytime," he panted, his voice thick with desire, his dark eyes locked on yours. It was a feeble offer, given the point of no return you'd already reached, but you chose not to respond with words. Instead, you pulled him closer, your lips meeting in a fervent, hungry kiss. It was a passionate affirmation, your answer to his unspoken question.

Satoru seemed to enjoy your reaction and without further hesitation he thrust into you with an urgency that left you gasping for breath. His entry was swift and unyielding, and there was no time to get used to his size. You moaned his name as he pulled you tightly against him, the sensation of his body merging with yours overwhelming your senses.

The intimacy of the moment enveloped you both as he held you in his arms, his thrusts driven by a hunger that had been building for what seemed like an eternity. His moans mingled with yours, a symphony of desire that filled the room as he thrust deeper and harder, as if he'd been longing for this moment for years.

Satoru's snow-white hair cascaded around his face, obscuring his eyes as he continued his relentless rhythm. His forehead pressed gently against yours, and his fingers intertwined with yours as he quickened his pace. You couldn't help but wrap yourself around him, the pleasure overwhelming you as you arched your back off the sofa.

"God," Satoru's desperate moans filled the air, his voice a fervent plea as he plunged deeper into you. His lips sought comfort against your neck, a primal instinct to muffle his own cries of pleasure.

As the heat between you and Satoru increased, you could feel how close you were— and how close he was. He could feel it too, grabbing your jaw with one hand and forcing you to look up at him. To look at him as you came around him. And so did he. You could feel him pouring his load into you, feel the tension release from both of you and fuck did it feel good.

Satoru let go of your jaw and exhaled heavily, "Fuck," he breathed out before his lips curved into a cocky grin. He backed away from you and slowly pulled his length out of you.

He looked at you with those piercing, stormy eyes, a mischievous gleam hidden in their depths. His chest rose and fell with each heavy breath, a testament to the forbidden passion that had ignited between you. A mischievous smile played on his lips as he whispered, his voice laced with danger, "You're really getting me into trouble."

You struggled to catch your breath, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to organise the chaotic whirlwind of emotions swirling around you. Yes, he was your teacher, and while the consequences of this illicit rendezvous loomed in the back of your mind, you couldn't deny the overwhelming pull that drew you closer.

In the hazy aftermath, you found yourself staring at him through heavy-lidded eyes, his piercing, icy blue gaze locked with yours. "As if you're going to follow rules," you teased, your voice barely above a whisper as you tried to regain your composure.

Satoru couldn't help but chuckle, a deep, seductive sound. "You're right about that," he admitted, his voice laced with a dangerous edge that sent a thrill through you. His hand reached out to brush a stray strand of hair from your face, his fingers tracing a tantalising path along your skin. You knew you were playing with fire, but at that moment you couldn't bring yourself to care.

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

You awoke in the middle of the night, your heart still racing. The room was shrouded in shadows, but your senses were sharply aware of the man lying beside you in bed—Satoru Gojo. With the utmost caution, you slipped from under the sheets, your every movement seemingly unnoticed by his tranquil form. Moonlight filtered through the curtains, casting a faint glow on his chiseled features. Satoru appeared to be in a deep sleep as you made your way to the kitchen.

You grabbed a glass and filled it with water, thinking about how you'd ended up here. The living room, still in disarray from your heady night, served as a reminder of what had happened just hours before. You hadn't bothered to tidy up—it was as if you'd left a trail of your intimacy for everyone to see. Your smartphone interrupted your thoughts, the screen flashed with a message from Megumi.

"Everything okay? You with Gojo?"

A tender smile played on your lips as you replied, "I'm fine. I'm with Satoru."

His reply came swift, "I'm glad you're safe," warming a little corner of your heart with its sincerity.

Megumi, with his soft and ever-supportive nature, was like a comfy pillow that was always there. Even though he might've not been the biggest fanof your whole situation with Satoru, he stuck around, always keeping an eye out for you.

You tiptoed back into the bedroom, chilly nighttime breezes whispering in through the open window. Satoru didn't stir, lost deep in his dreams. The thing between you and Gojo Satoru was like this wild, magnetic pull, ticking and tocking, drawing you in closer, second by second.

However, underneath the gentle glow of the moon, spilling into the quiet room, you wondered: just how much more wild and heady could this secret thing between you two get? Thoughts about what's next cast long shadows across your mind, but you shushed them for now. Tomorrow might be a day for doubts and facing the consequences, but tonight, tonight was all yours.

next chapter ->

[rememberwren]

A Dichotomy of Thought || 2

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four

Simon thinks of a way for you to make up to them almost hitting Johnny with your car.

#

It’s not all blackness. There are white days.

White nights, too. Just not in the way Johnny might have hoped for. Instead, the blinding glare of sun on snow makes his eyes water. His sunglasses have been dislodged in the crash, lost somewhere. His arm, too. Fire crackles, the sound dampened by the snow. His leg is crushed beneath a piece of scrap metal that’s been bent like a twig, and all around him is the smell: smoke and gas and blood.

Ghost is there, too. Ghost peeking up out of the snow, his white camouflage and Johnny’s double vision disguising him until only the black outline of his mask is visible over the glare of all-else. Johnny blinks hard but Ghost only ever swims into focus for a moment. Around the edges of his vision, it’s all darkness, darkness.

“Where you been?” Johnny croaks, tasting blood.

“Been here all this time,” Ghost says, mask flexing where his jaw moves.

Johnny wakes up then. Because Ghost wasn’t there, and that detail is enough to break through the all’s-well fog that seems to lay over dreams like a fine mist. If Ghost had been there, it’s likely that he would have been lost like the rest of the crew. Then what would Johnny have left? An artificial knee; a weak arm; headaches twice a day. Everything a boy could have ever dreamed of.

Johnny wakes from these white dreams with his heart pounding, Simon’s hand on his shoulder urging him awake. Simon isn’t sleeping these days—at least not when Johnny might catch him in the act.

An hour before sunrise, the sky the same color as a fresh bruise, Johnny croaks out in the darkness of their bedroom: “C’n we have eggs for brekkie?”

#

Johnny used to do all the cooking, back in the Before times as Simon has taken to calling them in his mind, but Simon is a quick learner; he always has been. It’s one of the (many) reasons why he had managed to move up through the ranks in the military so quickly. When he has a problem, he develops a narrow-minded focus that has been referred to more than once as a ‘dog with a bone’ mentality.

But he’s learning that Johnny is not a problem that he can fix.

Simon becomes excellent at seeing everything and nothing at once. His head is expertly turned to keep his lover only in the periphery of his vision. In that way, he pretends not to see the way Johnny first goes to the counter, intending to shift himself up and sit on it the way he used to in the old days before the helicopter went down. He’s almost there when he must remember that he has only one arm, one weak arm. One throbbing leg. Perhaps he could scramble up onto the counter like old times, but perhaps he couldn’t, and his pride is too beaten to take the risk. So he goes to the kitchen table, the one made of mismatched chairs and scratched oak wood, and Simon has to pretend that he doesn’t see the way Johnny struggles to even pull his chair out.

Grab it from the middle, Johnny, he wants to say, but he doesn’t. Help is not wanted here. Help is the opposite of helpful. Already the frustration is building behind Soap’s eyes like a balloon filled with too much air, latex creaking, ready to pop at a moment’s notice or less and send all that fury rushing out. Simon can take it. He can take it—but he dreads it.

It’s not him, he tells himself, scrambling an egg in the pan. It’s the pain. It’s the fear. It’s poisoning his boy’s head, and he doesn’t know how to help. Doesn’t know what to do except endure. Put his head down and barrel through the storm and pray that when he comes out on the other side, Johnny is still there with him.

Johnny has his head in his hand when Simon sets the plate in front of him, the eggs cut into bite sized pieces—and that’s a battle they’ve already fought a thousand times before Simon could convince Johnny to just accept his help, just let me cut up your fucking food Johnny for fuck’s sake let me do it so you don’t starve yourself to death.

It’s familiar to fight beside Johnny; it’s surreal to fight against him.

“Thank yeh,” Johnny mutters morosely. He perks up a little when Simon adds two pale green ovals to the table beside his orange juice, marked with 33’s. He takes those first, on an empty stomach no less, but drains the glass of orange juice which Simon figures is better than nothing.

“How’s your pain?”

“A five maybe.”

Simon internally adds two. There was a pain chart posted up in Johnny’s hospital room in the ICU: a barrage of circular faces displaying the spectrum from peace to agony. Little tears had been coming out of the corners of the face’s eyes at the SEVEN marker, its color just beginning to turn a fiery red. It’s been three months since they were stuck in that tiny, hellish room, but whenever Johnny gives a number for his pain, the chart is the first thing Simon thinks of.

The two eat together. Afterwards, Simon takes the dishes to the sink.

“Let me help.”

Simon doesn’t bother telling him no. When Johnny gets an idea in his head, for worse or for better, it’s better to let him see it through. Even if it inevitably ends in rage.

Simon takes his time washing each individual dish, making sure not to have too many dishes waiting to be rinsed at once, even if it means polishing the same fork over and over while Johnny struggles to relearn doing anything with his non-dominant arm. His crutch is propped up against the corner where the counter turns, watching them.

Their shoulders brush. Johnny looks up at him with pupils blown wide and then ducks his head, nuzzling his temple against Simon’s jaw. It’s the most affection they’ve shown each other in weeks.

“‘m sorry for how it’s been lately,” he says, water dripping off his elbow and onto the floor. “How I’ve been. A right angel, aren’t I?”

“Always.” Angels make him think of death, and death still makes him think of Johnny. How fucking close he came to scattering his lover’s ashes instead of passing him dishes to be rinsed. He tells Johnny the same thing he tells himself: “Things will get better. You get stronger every day.”

Johnny laughs weakly. “My arse.”

“It’s a fine arse.”

“Better ‘n fine. Jesus fucking Christ, this is harder than it looks,” Johnny says. He’s breaking out in a sweat, turning over his clean juice glass beneath the clear stream of water. Part of that sweat is pain, part exertion.

“You’re doing—“

The glass slips from Johnny’s fingers, and he tries to catch it with a hand that’s no longer there. It shatters against the laminate flooring, scattering glass like a bomb scattering shrapnel. They both stare long enough for a single beat of their hearts before Johnny brings his good fist (his only fist—Simon has taken to calling it his Good Fist in his mind) down on the lip of the sink, bellowing a curse that probably has the neighbors jerking in fright.

“Just a glass,” says Simon. But he knows better. “Come here. Don’t step in it. Y’re barefoot.”

He guides Johnny out of the danger zone and into the living room, pausing only to backtrack for his crutch when he notices the way his lover struggles to walk a straight line.

Simon gives him the remote and sweeps up the glass. By the time he comes back into the living room, Johnny is asleep, head back against the headrest of the couch. If it weren’t for the soft snores, Simon would feel the need to check if he were dead.

#

Simon sits in the armchair with a book in his lap. The words swim on the pages. He has never been this tired in his life; not even on missions where sleep seemed contraindicated. But behind his eyelids he sees a car bearing down on his Johnny, and stupid, foolish Johnny stepping out to meet it. He can’t even step out onto the balcony for a cigarette, not without worrying that when he comes back he’ll find—

A slamming of a door startles Simon awake from where he had begun to drift into a nightmare. Glancing toward Johnny first to make sure Soap hadn’t woken—and he hadn’t, though his head had fallen into an uncomfortable position that would surely leave him with a crick in his neck—he gives a dark glare toward the door.

Ever since the old man in the apartment beside them had died, it had been a never ending parade of fuck-ups in and out of the place.

Being angry is addictive. He finds himself wanting to feed his fuse, putting his book down and going to the door and throwing it open, ready to leave a lasting impression on any misfortunate soul left in the hallway.

Figures it would be you.

Your eye looks better today. It is less swollen, less pink. You’re sitting slumped against the door of 7C, ready to fall backwards should it open too abruptly, but at the sound of Simon’s door opening, you jerk yourself into a standing position

You gape in horror at the sight of him, and Simon gets a sick sense of pleasure from it. Make that equal parts pleasure and guilt (he usually doesn’t get off on frightening women, though it happens more often than he intends it to). He glances towards his door, peeking in through the crack to spy Johnny’s slumped, sleeping figure, assuring himself that it’s still there.

“You…live here?” You point at 5C, from which Simon has just exited.

“No. I broke in,” he deadpans.

“Is he okay? The…the guy I almost—“

“He’s fine.” Truth is, he’s so far from fine that Simon doesn’t think he could find fine with a map and a compass. But technically from her standpoint, it is true. She didn’t hit Johnny. If Johnny hadn’t stepped out in front of her, they never would have come so close in the first place. But clearly she doesn’t know that, and Simon isn’t going to tell her.

“Thank God,” you mutter, fresh sorrow in your warbling voice. “Tell him I’m so sorry. Again.”

“Shouldn’t be driving like that,” Simon says, while he’s in the habit of being a dick. He nods his chin towards your face. “Can you even see?”

“Better today,” you admit. “Please, if there’s anything I can ever do to make it up to him, and to you, let me know—“

And suddenly, like rays of light spilling down from parted clouds, he knows what he wants. What is within your power to give him, that is.

“Give me five minutes,” Simon says.

He watches a series of complex emotions flit across your face. He’s never been good at reading people; he doesn’t know what any of them mean. At length, your shoulders lift toward your ears as you steel yourself. You say: “You’ll have to talk to my boyfriend first.”

“For five minutes?” Simon asks, glancing back at the apartment door as if Johnny is liable to be standing there. He lowers his voice a little. “I just want one fucking cigarette without worrying about him taking a swan dive off the balcony. Please.”

You give him another strange look. But this time something that he says has gotten through to you. Looking every bit like a woman being coaxed to the gallows, you ask: “Five minutes…and all I have to do is what? Watch him?”

“Yes. He took two oxy at breakfast, he should be out for a while. Five minutes, you have my word. Give me your phone.”

“I don’t have one.”

Who doesn’t have a fucking phone? he wants to ask, frustration rising sharp and noxious in the back of his throat, but he doesn’t. He works his own phone free from his pocket. There isn’t any passcode on it, no thumbprint requirement or otherwise. He’s never kept secrets from Johnny.

“You know what a seizure looks like?”

“No,” you admit, mouth slipping into a comfortable frown.

“You’d recognize it if you saw it. Call an ambulance.”

“Is that—could he—?”

“He could. But he won’t. Five minutes.” Then, because he’s a piece of shit and because he can tell you’re thinking of chickening out: “You owe us.”

That steeliness appears back in your eyes. You nod grimly, clutching his phone in your hand, and go to slip past him into the apartment. But first…

Simon grips your wrist. His grip is gentle, but it has you going stiff and still all over, like a rabbit in a dog’s jowls. Playing dead, you are. Then he whispers: “That’s my boy in there. You do anything to hurt him or get any funny ideas, I’ll break your legs off. ‘m I clear?”

“You’re clear,” you whisper, voice in that strange warble again. This time you wait for him to nod his head in permission before slipping past him into the apartment, shutting the door behind you with a quiet click.

#

It is strange, being in someone else’s space. Eager as you are to intrude as little as possible (you’re more than happy to assuage the guilt that has roosted something foul in your belly since yesterday’s near accident in the parking lot), you can’t help but snoop. It’s human of you. Somehow, after everything, you are still human.

There are photographs on the walls of strangers: pretty girls who share a familial resemblance with their arms around each other; men in combat fatigues with weapons slung across their shoulders; a young blond boy and a German Shepherd. The space is tidy and small, a mirror image of your own apartment next door with the kitchen on the south side and the living area to the north instead of the other way around. The scent of breakfast clings to the air, and there are clean dishes drying in the dish rack.

On the couch is a man, his head lolled forward until his chin rests against his chest. He snores softly. Dressed in loose fitting pants and a t-shirt, his crutch rests against the couch. His right arm is missing.

You can barely breathe for how badly you don’t want to wake him. You can’t help but trace your eyes over his features though: the arch of his cheekbones, the lines of his jaws, the fullness of his mouth. There are scars along his temple, a livid purple in the morning light that streams in through the window.

He’s drooling on his shirt.

“I’m so sorry,” you whisper. He flinches in his sleep, and it sobers you. No more talking. The last thing you wanted him to do was to wake and catch you looming over him. You can almost hear his rough, accented voice: Did Jesus send ye? Did He tell ye to finish the fucking job and do me in?

You have just made a second near-silent circuit of the apartment when the door opens and the larger man re-enters, slightly out of breath. You glance down at his phone and see that only three minutes have passed. Stepping out into the hallway, he gives the sleeping man a lingering glance before following after you.

“You’re early.”

“Yeah, well. Couldn’t relax for fuck all. Thanks anyway.” You can’t help but take note of this man’s exhaustion: the solid darkness beneath his drooping eyes, the way his huge form seems to sag in on itself. It doesn’t take a psychic or a sleuth to put together that he hasn’t been resting, and you can guess why.

“You need your rest too,” you remind him.

“Thanks for the tip.” He says it with all the charm he might say, Fuck off.

You lift your hands in the universal sign of surrender. Message received. You’d overstepped enough with your car. The last thing he needed was advice from you. Glancing toward your apartment door, that old phrase comes into your head “No good deed goes unpunished”. But if all punishments are for good deeds, you must have been a saint in a past life.

Still, you find yourself offering: “If you ever want me to watch him again while you smoke or shower or nap or something. You know where I’m at.”

He stares at you. His eyes are so dark, you can barely tell pupil from iris. He’s not conventionally handsome—not the way the other man is, perhaps—but he is striking: brow low and strong, eyes dark like coffee without cream, mouth full and unhappy. Like Nietzsche said, you look into him and he looks into you. Then he nods, and without even telling you his name, disappears back into his apartment.

You stare for a long moment, feeling oddly bereft at the abrupt ending to this communication. Eventually, you try the doorknob on 7C.

Still locked.

[mango-bango-bby]

🍭- "I didn't mean to scare you baby"

With yandere dad! Gojo × toddler! reader

Following that one fic, Mahito secretly playing with gojo's child, but with this it's already night time any reader still plays with mahito/little harmless curses in the garden, y/n giggling and getting startled by her dad

Please do this if you're not tired and if you already have the time! No pressure mango ;)😌

-💎 anon

I hope for you to have a good day Mangoooo!!! :>>>>>💗💗

♡ Behind the Bushes ♡

(A/N: You all seem to love my platonic!Gojo because I’ve got a ton of platonic!Gojo requests!! I hope you like this, I didn’t have Gojo see Mahito because if he saw a curse talking to him kid... oh it’s going down 😰😰 Also I think I’m gonna make a separate masterlist for dad Gojo because I have so many requests for dad Gojo lol)

Content Warning ⚠️: Yandere, platonic yandere, child!reader, attempted kidnapping

Summary: You try to go out at night to play with your new friend, only for your dad to catch you (Platonic!Yandere!Gojo x Child!Reader)

Masterlist ➸ ♡

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

You loved playing outside. It was pretty normal, especially because you were a toddler. There wasn’t a day that went by were you didn’t run around the garden, or play with your toys outside, or even just sit on the grass and hum to yourself. Of course though you only played outside while your father could be with you.

You had figured out though recently that if you went outside at night, there was a man who would come play with you. He would play games with you and talk to you through the fence. His name was Mahito, though he made it a point to you that you don’t tell your father, Gojo, that he was your friend as if you did he wouldn’t be able to visit you anymore. So you didn’t tell Gojo about it, you kept sneaking out in the night to sit and talk with him.

Gojo yawned as he walked past your room, glancing in. He stops for a moment noticing that you’re not in your bed. You’re not... in your bed. “Y/n?” He calls out a sing song voice, assuming you simply stayed up to play with your dolls or perhaps you wanted to play hide and seek. “Come out, you little gremlin, it’s time to go to bed” He says, continuing to search throughout the house for you. Until he heard you giggle.

Not uncommon but it was strange mostly because it sounded as if you were outside. “Y/n!” Gojo yells, watching you jump and turn away from the gate you were clearly about to open and walk through. You jump back a little, not expecting your father to have caught you.

“What were you thinking?!” He yells completely worried for you. It was safe to say he was quite protective over you. So seeing you clearly trying to leave in the middle of the night was scary to him. His face immediately falls upon seeing your bottom lip begin to wobble. “I didn't mean to scare you, baby” He coos, swooping you up into his arms. “You don’t have to cry” he says, watching the way you glance over to the gate.

Mahito isn’t there anymore. Before your father came out, he had convinced you to break the rules and leave the garden to go with him to a park. That was until Gojo came outside. “You’re going to kill me one day” Gojo sighs dramatically, the stress from the situation leaving.

You don’t speak when he carries you back to your room. You only let out quiet sobs. You didn’t like getting in trouble. Of course, Gojo was absolutely weak for you so the worst that would happen was no TV or taking away a toy or two. “You can’t do that, you scared me so bad” he sighs, as he places you down into your bed.

“You could be really hurt” He says, watching you bury yourself into your blankets. “There’s a lot of bad people who could hurt you. Or even worse, curses that could hurt you or take you away from me” Gojo continues watching your guilty look in your eyes. “You have to stay with me so I can protect you because you’re just my little baby” He says, watching you nod. He smiles a bit watching you burst out into laughter as he tickled your stomach.

He just needed to keep you safe, and to do that you needed to be with him. Always.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Thank you for reading, darling!!

[arcaneillusion]

Before she was "mad”, Annie Cresta was a Career.

Although Annie is generally depicted as someone who has always been a relatively timid (or even 'weak') character, I think there is a far more convincing argument to be made for Annie being a Career tribute. For the sake of organisation (and preserving my sanity), I've split this into three main points: the purpose of Annie's character, misconceptions about the 70th Hunger Games and the likelihood of Finnick being a Career compared to Annie.

(Note: this ended up being a lot longer than intended, so uhh... sorry in advance.)

The purpose of Annie's character, and how this relates to her being a Career:

Given that District 4 is a Career district, it is not entirely beyond the realm of possibility that Annie received some form of training prior to her Games. It is also worth noting that she was 18 at the time of the 70th Hunger Games (according to the Hunger Games Exhibition, Annie was 23 during the events of Catching Fire, thus making her 18 years old at the time she was reaped). So you have a girl from a Career district who is reaped at the age that Careers tend to volunteer. Of course, this could just be a coincidence - Annie's name would've been in the reaping bowl 7 times by this point (assuming she hadn't applied for tesserae), so it could've just been poor luck that she was chosen. However, I think it's important to consider the purpose of Annie's character when pursuing this line of argument.

One of the most significant aspects of her character is how deeply she is affected by the Hunger Games. Although Suzanne Collins very clearly demonstrates how the Games affect the victors in various ways, Annie can potentially be seen as the personification of this trauma. Almost every time she is mentioned or is present in a scene, the impact the Games had on her is also brought to the reader's attention. During the reaping for the Quarter Quell - the first time her character is mentioned - Annie is described as being "hysterical".

The next significant mention of her is during the jabberjay attack in the arena, and Peeta subsequently refers to her as "the one who went mad".

Annie's character is inextricably tied to her trauma - it haunts the narrative of every scene she appears in. In Mockingjay, for example, Finnick’s suggestion to Peeta (that he simply ask someone for help if he is unsure about whether something is real or not) is inspired by Annie’s response to her own trauma. Even in more lighthearted moments such as after Annie and Finnick's wedding, the Games' influence on her is both alluded to and stated outright. For instance, she is described as being "lost in some daze of happiness", then revealed to be prone to flashbacks / disassociation.

On its own, the phrase “lost in some daze” does not seem to carry too much weight; but given that the words most frequently used to describe Annie are "mad", "unstable", "strange" and now (even in a moment of relative peace and joy) "lost" and in a "daze", it only strengthens the idea that as a result of her Games Annie is, as some might say, not quite all there. Almost every mention of her is tied to the impact the Games had on her. Perhaps even more compelling is a throwaway comment made by Johanna:

Although Johanna is acknowledging that the Games changed all of the victors in some way, there is an implication that Annie's transformation was the most dramatic. "Don't get me started" - as if the Games changed Annie so thoroughly, so completely that hardly anything of the person she was before remains. In short, Annie's character can be seen as a symbol of how the Games (or traumatic experiences in general) can change a person.

So what does this have to do with Annie being a Career?

Assuming that this is the purpose of her character, then Annie herself must have been irrevocably changed by the Games in order for this narrative to work. If Annie had always been a rather timid, 'fragile' character, the difference between who she was before vs after the Games would not be as stark (that is not to say she would not still be traumatised, only that this imagined version of who she was before the Games is not all that different to the person Katniss is introduced to in the trilogy). However, if Annie were to have been a Career, this would further emphasise the theme of how trauma can change a person and make this message all the more impactful.

Picture Annie as a cunning, skilled fighter. Imagine her as being adept at strategising and familiar enough with combat that she can remain level-headed during high-stress situations. Think of her as a tribute that many people were betting on to win - they were that confident in her abilities as a Career. Envision her as being bloodthirsty, prideful - honoured to represent her district and bring it glory. Annie with a sense of superiority and overconfidence, possessing a tendency to underestimate her opponents. Annie with her district partner, who she had known and trained with for years, and trusted enough to know that he would not turn on her before the time came when they had no choice but to go their separate ways.

Now imagine the character we are introduced to in Catching Fire - the "hysterical young woman" whom everyone believes to be "mad". Annie, who seems to lose her hold on reality every now and then, closing her eyes and covering her ears, falling into a state that seemingly only Finnick can pull her out of. Picture the devastation she must have felt when she saw her district partner - someone she trusted deeply and had come to care for - be decapitated right before her eyes. The realisation that no one can truly win in the arena, that she is just a pawn in a game so much larger than herself, and all of her training meant nothing: She would likely die anyway. The despair, the terror, the betrayal, the powerlessness - it shattered her.

To see a victor go from being a calculated killer to a mere shadow of her former self would do more than drive home Annie's role as the personification of trauma and its consequences: It would make the sheer barbarity and inhumanity of the Games all the more apparent.

Misconceptions about the 70th Hunger Games:

Admittedly, not very much is known about the 70th Games, but we do have enough information to put together a very, very vague timeline of events. At some point during her Games, Annie witnessed her district partner getting beheaded, an event that was (understandably) extremely traumatising. This led Annie to isolate herself for the rest of the Games, a strategy that we can assume worked reasonably well... until an earthquake caused a dam to break and flooded the arena. Being from District 4, Annie was an exceptionally strong swimmer. In the words of The Hunger Games: Tribute Guide, citizens of District 4 "can swim like fish themselves." This would ultimately lead Annie to be crowned as victor of the 70th Hunger Games, as she was able to save herself while the remaining tributes drowned.

A common argument against the idea that Annie could be a Career is that all she did was hide for the majority of the Games until the earthquake hit. However, I believe this to be based on a misunderstanding of the events outlined above. Once again, there is very limited information available about Annie's Games. That being said, whilst we know that at some point in the Games Annie isolated herself, we do not know when this was. It is entirely possible that Annie was an active member of the Career pack for a period of time, even if it was only for a few days. Only when her district partner was killed did she go into hiding - and, again, we have no indication of when that was. For all we know, that could've happened a few days before the earthquake broke the dam and flooded the arena, meaning Annie would've been part of the Career pack for the majority of the Games; perhaps it happened only a few days into the Games. The point is (like so much else about Annie) we do not know.

I will concede that because of the lack of information about the 70th Hunger Games, it is of course possible that Annie had no involvement with the Career pack, did not come into conflict with any other tributes, and won purely because she was a strong swimmer. However, based on everything I discussed in the previous section (Annie being from a Career district, reaped at the age Careers tend to volunteer, the purpose of her character as a symbol of trauma, emphasising the barbarity of the Games, etc.) I think it makes far more sense for Annie to have been a member of the Career pack. Ultimately, there is no solid reason, no hard evidence in canon, to suggest that Annie was not a Career tribute. If anything, the details we are aware of all seem to support the idea of her being one.

Finnick Odair — a volunteer, or simply out of luck?

As a quick side note: I do acknowledge that most of the points I have raised are largely based on assumptions. Assumptions supported by canon, but assumptions nonetheless. Having said that, there is one final topic to be explored in the case for Annie being a Career - and that is Finnick Odair.

A simple comparison between Annie and Finnick highlights Annie as the far more likely Career tribute of the pair. Indeed, there is arguably more evidence (however tenuous) to suggest that Annie was a Career than Finnick was. I am hardly the first person to point this out, but I do think it is worth mentioning and is quite interesting to consider.

The two main points of this discussion are 1) the age of the tributes and 2) Finnick's weapon of choice.

Firstly, we know that Annie was 18 when she was reaped for the Games and that Finnick was 14. Given that District 4 is a Career district, it doesn't really make sense for Finnick to have volunteered as at this age since he would be at a significant disadvantage. One of the first things we learn about Finnick is that he was the youngest victor, meaning that before the 65th Games nobody his age had survived the arena. Entering the Games as a 14 year old was just as much a death sentence as entering it at 12 or 13. There is of course the possibility that another 14 year old had won before and Finnick was simply younger by a few months; but even so, we can assume that it was a rare occurrence for anyone under the age of 15 to survive.

Why would a 14 year old boy, who (if he'd even been training in the first place) likely had not completed his training, volunteer for the Games? Why would he volunteer at an age when he was so unlikely to win, especially when Career tributes are known to volunteer at 18, meaning he would be so much younger than his fiercest, most lethal competitors? Why not wait until he was 18 and had the best chances of winning he could hope for? With this in mind, it seems far more likely that Finnick was just another kid who was unlucky enough to have the entry slip with his name on it selected.

What makes less sense is why, in a Career district, no one would have volunteered in his place. I've seen so many possible theories for this, some going with the idea that Finnick was a volunteer and either had very little training (with there being some other motivator for why he volunteered) or had received a good amount of training and was, for one reason or another, chosen to be D4's male tribute for that year. Others follow the theory that Finnick was not a Career, and it was merely a string of unfortunate events that led to nobody volunteering to take his place - for example, there being some sort of tragedy that left District 4 without any Careers-in-training. Once again (take a shot every time I say this lmfao) we do not know the specific circumstances surrounding the reaping for the 65th Hunger Games. However, based on what we can piece together, it makes far less sense, given his age, for Finnick to have been a Career. On the contrary, Annie's age at the time of her Games makes for a much more convincing argument in favour of her being a Career.

As for Finnick's weapon, it has frequently been pointed out that a trident is a strange weapon for a Career to be adept at using. Why would Finnick's training dedicate so much time to becoming skilled with a weapon that is so unlikely to be available at the Cornucopia? Instead, perhaps Finnick simply knew how to use the trident because he was a spear-fisher's son from the district that specialises in fishing.

Moreover, we are told that Finnick was adept at using spears and knives. These are weapons you would expect a Career to have been trained to use, but since District 4's industry is fishing it is entirely possible that Finnick knew how to use these tools simply because he had often worked with them before.

I do think this point about Finnick's weapon is a slightly weaker argument than the one concerning his age. Finnick may have been taught to wield spears and knives during his training as a Career, with it still being possible that he knew how to use the trident due to D4's major industry being fishing - a trade he almost certainly was familiar with, even if only slightly. In the case against Finnick being a Career, I would argue that his age at the time of the 65th Hunger Games is the most compelling point. Of course, there is no reason why Annie and Finnick couldn't have both been Careers. The reason for this comparison is simply to highlight that there is as much evidence to suggest that Annie was a Career as there is to suggest Finnick was. And in some ways, Finnick being a Career raises more questions and doubts than Annie being one does.

TL;DR:

Annie Cresta should not be overlooked just because she does not fit the stereotype of a 'strong' character. If anything, her instability due to the Games is all the more reason to suggest she was a Career. The point of her character is to show how the Games (or traumatic experiences in general) affect those who endure them, so Annie must have left the arena as a completely different person to who she was when she entered it. Most of what we know in canon seems to indicate that she was a Career; in fact, there is potentially a stronger case to be made for Annie being a Career than Finnick. Since we know so little of Annie Cresta much is left up to the interpretation of the reader, but this does not negate the fact it makes more sense for Annie to have been a Career based on the details we do have.

[simplydannie]

During the times Veneer freed Floyd only for Floyd to run straight back to him, did Floyd find Veneer having a breakdown after receiving one too many beatings from one of the Mistress' goons?

Oh he definitely did! And this was right after the Bergens REALLY let Veneer have it.

Floyd was set free… again.

The little Troll was half way out when a burning sensation tugged at his heart…Veneer. This was the third time, and always, Floyd managed to go back. He could leave them at the hands of that evil woman, he almost did once… he couldn’t do it again.

With a heavy sigh, Floyd turned back around and headed back straight to Veneer.

Veneer had been beaten up before. It was nothing new. If it was bullies at school, it was the thugs of the under city that would completely pound him. They’d always assume he was weak, but he never fought back, especially now, because he knew his sisters life was on the line.

The Bergens left him on the floor, blood coming from his nose and mouth, his eye swelling up in pain. He looked towards the doorway as Velvet watched him, a frown on her face, crossed arms, she avoided his gaze.

“I had to let him go. It was the right thing to do.” He told her. She didn’t answer for a moment. “Please say something?”

“…. You ruined it…. You ruined it again.” Was all she said before walking away. Lump formed in his throat. Tears began to form but stung his bruised eyes. Veneer tried to stand and follow after her, but he was to weak this time. The Bergens really did a number. All he could do was crawl. Veneer crawled to the bathroom. Using the sink, he lifted himself to take a look in the mirror…. His face was bruised, his needles shut, blood staining his face… how could he keep on doing this?

The tears escaped him as he allowed himself to fall back to the ground, hugging his knees… he wanted somebody, he wanted Velvet, his parents, he wanted to Floyd… he wanted to be comforted. He just couldn’t take it anymore, his body couldn’t take it anymore, he physically and mentally couldn’t take it anymore. And it’s as if Velvet wasn’t even there. She let them beat him, she’d only stare with distant eyes, a pink hue always glowing….what happened to her? Sometimes he would look at her and it’s as if she wasn’t even there, as if something had replaced her. Was he like that sometimes? Is that what happened when he lost control that one day and captured Floyd? So many questions and thoughts swirled his head….He was just so tired. Veneer lay on the floor hugging himself tightly, he body shaking from the cold, pain, and tears that escaped him.

Floyd made his way through the vents of the facility. Perhaps he convince Veneer this time to leave with him, but it would be hard. He’d never leave without Velvet. Something changed in her…something eating from the inside out. He’d see it in Veneer sometimes, but he wasn’t to far gone….

He could hear screams and shouts through the air vents: The Mistress. She was angry, “Did you give him pain? Did you beat him senseless?” She shouted to her Bergens.

“Yes m’am.”

“Killed him. You should’ve just killed him! I am tired of this! He’s let the damn Troll out once to many times!” She sat her desk staring at the wall, “They ask me if it was a good idea bringing those two in. But so far, they’ve been the only ones to withstand the Troll poison and its effect…”

Floyd crept closer as he heard the mention of the twins, his ears perked up to catch every word.

“Other candidates are probably stronger Mistress.” Gruff commented.

“No..No the other’s have tested candidate after candidate. These two…they are definitely something. One is for them to survive so long alone in the under city. It’s proving effective. Veneer is resilient though. Somehow he’s strong enough to overcome the effects. That’s something definitely worth noting, but if he keeps screwing up, I’m afraid he wont see the end of day…”

Vennie, Floyd took off running in search of Veneer. He figured he’d probably be in the same room he had set Floyd free in, if the Bergens didn’t drag him away somewhere that is. Floyd ran to the room he thought he see Veneer in…He peeked through..empty.

“Where’s they drag you off too Vennie?” The little Troll was about to run off when he heard the cries coming from the bathroom. Using his hair, Floyd lowered himself to the ground. He waited a moment to make sure no distant sounds were coming, to make sure it was safe. After a moment, Floyd ran to the restroom…it was slightly opened. Peeking through, his heart shattered. Veneer was laying on the ground, hugging his knees, tears streaming down his face. His body shaking as he couldn’t control his sobs.

“Vennie?” Floyd approached the Rageon slowly, but Veneer didn’t hear. He continued to cry..

“….I want mom… I want dad….I want to go home” He heard him say in between his sobs. Floyd saw that Veneer couldn’t take it anymore… he was starting to see Under Rageous as home. That place wasn’t home, it was hell. Floyd walked to the Rageon and placed his small hand on Veneers arm. The Rageon felt the touch, and opened his one eye that wasn’t swollen.

“Oh Vennie. What did they do? Those monsters..” Floyd murmured.

“You need to go.” Veneer said.

“No. I can’t. Not like this. You need me here. I’m here for you. You got that.” Floyd said.

“But if they find you…”

“Let them. I’ll even walk back into the diamond willingly. Make it seemed that you changed your mind and caught me again.”

“But Floyd…”

“Stop it and just listen to me please.” Floyd stretched at his arms as far as he could. Embracing the top of the Rageons head, “just stay quiet for a while okay. I’m here.” Veneer squeezed his eyes shut, taking in the Trolls small touch. He began to cry again, but not because of hurt anymore, because relief and comfort… because Floyd was there, a familiarity. The anguish Veneer once felt suddenly washed away. He sighed in relief, allowing the stress to finally leave him. “That’s right. I’m right here. I’m not leaving you… not again.”

Floyd rested his little head on top of Veneers. The Rageons breathing slowed as he finally felt peaceful. Veneer allowed himself to close his eyes and slowly drift to sleep. He knew he had to face Mistress again. He knew they would be back in square one once Floyd was back in the diamond. But for now, Veneer allowed himself this moment to just rest and be in the comfort of someone he cared about… and who cared for him….

… everything else, they could figure out later.

[liviusofpella]

The Lover's Caress

Pairing: Tyril x f!human!MC (Reyna) Book: Blades of Light and Shadow 2, chapter 2 Word count: 1940 Rating: M Warnings: emotional hurt, marked sexual content within the fic Category: angst A/n: this is for the girlies who needed to see Tyril bawl his eyes out at the sight of MC Tag list: @lxdy-starfury @starlight-starfury @watatsumi-island @sophie-summer @brycesgirl @lilyoffandoms @choicesficwriterscreations @choicesbookclub

The clock tower showed just four minutes after four in the morning as Tyril and Reyna reached her chamber and unwillingly unlaced their hands.

"I hope you will stay? I can't open a portal for you to go back to Undermount," Reyna started as her fingers nimbly worked with the matches to light the candles on the night stands. Despite the sun already rising, dark rain clouds obstructed the light, plunging the city in gloomy darkness. "Not that I'd want to, anyway."

"I intend to watch over you constantly lest you were to disappear again."

“Nonsense, you need to rest. When was the last time you got a proper night’s rest?”

Tyril shrugged his shoulders indiscernibly. Just as Reyna was about to scold him for not taking care of himself, the match burned her fingers.

“Blast!”

"Allow me," he uttered lowly before catching her wrist and bringing the burned fingers to his lips. Having whispered a short spell, Tyril touched the sore area and a wave of soothing coolness hugged the wound. Under his scrutinizing gaze, Reyna was suddenly overcome with shyness and lowered her gaze. 

"I knew having a skilled mage by my side would come in handy," she joked. “Thank you. We should probably get some rest. May I?” 

Reyna’s fingers quickly undid the intricate fastening of Tyril’s clothes and as he stood in front of her in nothing but his undergarments, her brows knitted.

“That’s new,” she noticed, touching a purplish scar on the plane of his chest. 

“A close encounter with a succubus.”

Reyna quirked an eyebrow. “Succubus? The seductive she-devil succubus?”

“She was said to be in possession of a long-lost spell book, I had hoped that perhaps she would help me open a portal.”

“And how exactly did you play to convince her?”

“With threats.”

"That's why you ended up with a wound on your chest? What did she strike you with, a hacksaw?" 

Tyril sighed quietly upon realizing that it was not jealousy speaking through his beloved but worry. "I underestimated the risk."

"Just like you did with the fluria? And this?” she pointed to a cut just above his hip. “It's also fresh."

"A basilisk. They're rumoured to have the ability to cross realms."

"And you attacked it alone," he nodded. "You were trying to get hurt, weren't you?"

While Tyril desperately searched for the right words, Reyna took a moment to study his face in the warm candlelight. There were visible dark spots under his eyes, his cheekbones and jawline seemed a bit sharper, indicating a weight loss, and as her eyes slid lower, she also noticed how much more defined his muscles had become. He must have been hunting for a while, many more creatures than he would ever admit to her.

"I was trying to be punished."

“Tyril—”

“Reyna, you don’t understand. You were gone for a year. They took you from right under my nose, and I did nothing to stop them. You were gone for a year and I never even got a single promising lead. I am sorry I couldn't do more to help you," he whispered, dropping his gaze to her cheek, which he stroked with a thumb. "Please forgive me—"

"You need to forgive yourself, Tyril," she interrupted, her hand cupping his cheek. "It was you who gave me the strength to fight, the thought of never seeing your face again helped me get off my knees and run even though my whole body burned with pain. So thank you."

His eyes glistened and she continued.

"I think I heard you, when I was still weak and befuddled."

Tyril felt his heart skip a beat. "Perhaps Gods heard my prayers after all."

"You prayed for me?"

"Of course," he assured immediately, and a tear rolled down his cheek. "I was utterly desperate, submerged in books I held onto the faintest hope, I begged scholars and mages for help, but nobody even dared to hope. It was Adrina who suggested I should reconnect with the Gods. On my knees, I prayed for forgiveness and pleaded for help for months."

Reyna bit her lip, emotions too overwhelming to allow even the quietest words to leave her mouth without breaking into a million pieces. However, seeing how Tyril allowed his grief and loneliness to leave his body in the waves of tears, her own dam broke and soon only the quiet sniffling of two entwined lovers could be heard. 

"Gods, I have missed you so much," the elf mumbled into her hair before pressing his lips to her temple, long and hard, and shut his eyes tightly, afraid she'd disappear if he opened them, just as had happened several times. "The thought of never seeing you again, never holding your hand, was driving me mad. I have grieved while still hoping, still searching for a way to bring you back, but I hit a damn wall every time. I— I have been truly awful to my family this year, Reyna, because all that mattered was getting to you as fast as possible—" 

Tyril's voice suddenly broke and Reyna, as if finally understanding the full scope of the effects her absence had on her partner, felt her heart break. Her hand soothingly caressed the back of his head, while her tears pooled in the crook of his neck. 

"I was afraid I'd lost you to the Shadows as well," he whispered. "And I was ready to lose myself just to get you back."

“If it’s any consolation, it only felt like a couple of days for me,” Reyna uttered quietly once they both calmed down. Tyril’s embrace loosened slightly, and he pulled back just enough to see her face. 

“That’s good. I’d hate for you to feel so lonely and helpless in the Shadow Realm for a year.”

The couple timidly smiled at each other, and once Reyna’s fingers wiped the remaining evidence of anguish off his face, Tyril suggested lying down.

As if nothing ever happened, Tyril took his place on the right side of the mattress while Reyna straddled him and rested her head on his shoulder, enjoying the warmth of his embrace. Just like they did the night before everything changed.

In complete silence only interrupted by regular pattering of the rain against the window, they listened to each other's breaths, caressing each other’s skin and kissing every now and again. Reyna smiled as his thumb began drawing small circles on her bare thigh. She took in the sight in front of her, still afraid that if she blinked, he'd disappear. The mere suggestion of waking up in Valax’s laboratory again sent an uncomfortable wave of shivers down her back.

"You look so beautiful like this," she whispered, her hands journeying across his chiselled stomach and chest, marvelling at the smoothness of his pale skin. Under her fingers, she felt his pounding heart and quickened breath, and she only smiled wider. In the early morning sun, Tyril's noble features softened, making him look like the young, exhausted man he was.

"I suppose happiness looks good on everybody."

"Nobody wears it like you do, Lord Starfury," she whispered against his lips before capturing them in a soft kiss, and within seconds she welcomed his tongue on her lower lip. 

Deftly sliding the strap of her bra off her shoulder, Tyril kissed her collarbone, first on the right side, then repeated the action on the left, soon unclasping the garment and letting it fall to the floor. 

“At long last,” he hummed in between the sloppy kisses. Reyna smiled blissfully.

Before long, the last pieces of clothing fell to the ground and Reyna, still straddling half-sitting Tyril slowly lowered herself onto him with a quiet moan.

"I have yearned to hear you make that sound again," he gasped, one of his hands tightening on Reyna's hip while the other caressed her back, pulling her closer. 

Contrary to her mind, her body felt their prolonged separation. Each touch would send a wave of shivers through her body, each bounce of her thighs pulling out soft moans from her throat. Soon they found their rhythm and the room reverberated with a blend of the couple's whimpers and ragged breaths.

As the urge to be in control for the first time in months grew, Tyril switched their position and rolled on top of Reyna, who, afraid to let him go, wrapped her legs around his waist. His lips then focused on Reyna's neck, leaving love bite after love bite in their wake, earning him a pull at his hair and increasingly louder moans.

"Please, don't ever leave me again," he huffed, pleadingly. Feeling her climax approaching, he kissed her again, sucking on her lower lip long enough to leave a tiny red bruise as his hand blindly searched for hers to lock their fingers together.  

Groaning, Reyna clenched her fingers around Tyril’s, leaving half moon marks over his knuckles. She looked at him from under her lashes—the image of her partner, flushed, sweaty, whimpering proved to be the final straw that sent her over the edge. Following suit, the elf hid his face in the crook of Reyna’s neck, his hips still lazily moving.

“I’ll always fight my way back to you, Tyril.”

The wind outside picked up, howling mournfully through the city lanes and alleyways. Blissfully spent, the couple cuddled under the duvet.

“I’ve heard you and Kade got to know each other better in my absence,” Reyna mumbled sleepily, resting her head on Tyril’s shoulder. The elf hummed. “I’m glad.”

“Bonding with your brother was the only good thing to happen this past year.”

“Has he told you all the embarrassing stories?”

Tyril smirked at the memory. “A few.”

"Rest assured that I will have my revenge."

"You already know my most humiliating story, bringing shame upon my House is impossible to top."

"Personally, I believe stepping on your date's dress and causing her to fall into mud at her own Ancestral Masquerade is much more embarrassing," she chuckled while Tyril's eyes widened in shock. 

"How do you know about it?"

"Your sister is an excellent conversationalist, did you know that?" 

Tyril shook his head disapprovingly. “Tarnishing the reputation of House Starfury like that.”

“I like your new hairstyle, it really shows off your pretty face,” she complimented and raised her head to check whether she’d get the reaction she hoped for from him. Shortly, a dark purple blush flowered on his cheeks.

“I— Ahem, I’m glad it’s to your liking,” he stuttered. 

“I’m also impressed by your musculature, you really put in some work when I was away,” she teased, making Tyril chuckle, still visibly embarrassed. “Oh, how I missed those dimples!”

“Please stop,” the elf pleaded, snaking an arm around Reyna’s bare stomach as she leant over and kissed his dimples, then the tip of his nose, chin, and finally his lips. Their kiss was interrupted by a loud thunder that made Reyna jump away, scared. She nervously looked around the room, expecting the worst, but everything was exactly the same. 

She felt Tyril’s palm cupping her cheek, and she unwillingly stopped scanning the room to look at his face. 

“You’re safe, Reyna. It’s alright, you’re safe. I’m with you.”

She nodded absent-mindedly. It took her a moment to shake off the images of Ashen soldiers, and she blinked repeatedly when the initial panic subsided. Tyril was looking at her worriedly, gently stroking her cheek, and Reyna focused on the way the candlelight glistened in his baby blue eyes.

“You’re safe.”

“I know. You’re with me.”

Tyril nodded and pressed his lips to her temple. “I’m with you.” 

[lotarclasspects]

What is a "Mythological Role" Truly?

The idea for this post came to me out of the blue. But lately, in my quest to go back to the comic and build my own theories about Classpects and what they are, checking to make sure my beliefs are founded in evidence/direct from the source so on and so forth. I'm up to Act 5 at the moment. But what really captured my interest was, yes the classes and how they present, but also. What a Mythological Role really is.

It seems simple, on the surface. And I suppose it is. But in its simplicity, are layers and layers of philosophy. They all tie into ideas of "The Ultimate Self", a person's greatest potential. Consistent across every timeline and universe, so that the two are inseparable from a character's Personhood. A lot of Homestuck is like that, and I think at least for me, that's why I like it so much. What struck me most, began with how Vriska describes what Sburb itself is, in a conversation with John. That how the game itself, planets, and by extension classpect all suit themselves to the needs of the society of the children playing the game, but in a way also captures their potential. Taking them as children, the ideas and concepts which build the Universe giving rise to a new one. Destruction of the planet of origin and potential futures, all for Skaia's Ultimate Alchemy. Perhaps this is what Rose mentions, when she says the Gods convinced her that Skaia was an "evil" entity. Whilst Kanaya, connected to the concepts of Procreation, believes it to be only good, tasked with one clear and ultimate purpose. Anyway. Vriska talks to John, about how she was shaped by her society. How she was afraid of it, and excited by aspects of it, at times. But is ultimately thankful the game "Gave [Her] a purpose, which lead about creating [the humans]" And then she says this. =>

What captured my eye most, was "Because we got that chance, it means we'll never actually get to come of age and enter troll society and see if we got what it takes" That's kind of the spirit of Sburb, isn't it. It has people enter right at the moment of their greatest potential, when they truly begin to Grow Up, mentally etc. In this train of thought, the Mythological Role is also described (By Rose) as being representative of the journey they'd need to take to reach their greatest personal potentials, specified by Class. The Page class as we know is likened to the "Boy Skylark" FLARP class which is characterised by "Very weak, and a long path to mastery". Rose mentions her planet has "Everything a growing Seer could possibly need". She specifies Seer, rather than "Light Player"or Her specifically. She then says to John that his planet probably has everything he needs to grow as an "Heir" too. Again, specifying the class. It seems, that classes are decided for players sort of as the How of growing up. Everyone reaches mastery eventually, but what is the process to do so, and what does mastery look like for Them. But where does Aspect come into it? There are two conversations which catch my eye in regards to this. The first, is the very first time Aradia is shown in the comic after her revival into the God Tiers. She begins her role as Grim Reaper, and walks with Dave as he gathers that he is actually dead and not dreaming. She says she regrets not talking to him more, and that "

It seems to imply that assuming commonality based on Class alone, though, would be misleading. Class is the process, and Aspect is the overall role and theme. Kanaya and Jade also talk about how "their Role is effectively the same". In the same conversation that she likens the Sylph and Witch class, actually. But despite the idea that they might be opposites, it implies that despite the differences of their Classes, what they can do, and what their position is in Sburb, is ultimately much more similar than it is different. Aradia also says something interesting regarding Aspects in this same conversation. When she describes them sharing the Time aspect as "A game, - that we happen to be best at. but when all the games are back in the cupboard everyone is about the same"

It implies, not only akin to real life where Everyone kind of ends up on the same page after they reach adulthood, but that your Aspect. YOUR Aspect, which Sburb chooses for you, is not necessarily something you just Do. Not one of the many things you do, but the one you are Best at. that You are the best at, compared to others. I know with many people analysing themselves or characters there is a tendency to be like "but i do a lot of things, many of them could apply to me". And whilst "the one you are best at" here seems to garner additional context upon like significant themes in the lives of the characters, etc. It's implying heavily, that it is something, out of all of the Aspects, that you have the most potential of mastering the Best. Not necessarily at the current moment, but when all is said and done. There is a third conversation which I have not screenshotted yet, too. When Kanaya and Karkat are in Echidna's lair. And she talks about how she and Echidna talked about "A lot of things". The crux of the conversation is Echidna assessing their worth of inheriting the new universe. And whether they'd be prepared to accept the responsibility. Kanaya, as the person responsible for the Procreation, and Karkat as a moral/spiritual leader for their people. She mentions in this conversation, that being a hero of Space never really had much impact on her and she didn't really get it, until she understood it meant more than "physical space for stars and planets to occupy". She talks and asks Karkat, if there's a concept that has been with him always, which entices him, and scares him a little bit. For her, it would be "Procreation" which is explicitly tied to the true grand meaning of the Space aspect. Karkat then says "I DUNNO. BLOOD I GUESS" and describes his feelings on that, comparing his past ideas of Leadership to his current ones in another "I'm not your leader i'm your friend" conversation which we see in both session leaders and Blood/Breath players. But since, in this conversation, their Aspects are both explicitly mentioned, and when Karkat is prompted even though he doesn't really know why, when asked for the thing, the Significant theme in his life which scares him and entices him, he chooses Blood.... It adds more depth and context to what an Aspect actually represents for a person. And a Class too. Since all have many facets. My current theory might be, that an Aspect, in its many, many facets. Some or all, are ones that are most prominent in a person's life and personality. The grand, leading themes that you're kind of drawn to even when you're not trying to. And the thing that, compared to all others, even if You don't know it, you're the best at. The Class, then. Is more about. Think of a person, their likes, dislikes, skills. Everything that makes them Them, when they're feeling the most themself. The Class describes what they need to do to grow into the most Them they can be, even if it's not what society deems to be "Good".

Vriska, before, is many things. She feels regret, pride, sadness, and has a great ego. But I think we can all agree, that even though her Alternate self felt bad, she was heavily influenced by others to be there. She began looking like Meenah, doubting herself, accepting Irrelevance. But when Vriska has been the MOST herself, the most Vriska, it has been when she's been taking the Luck, all of it. In the above conversation with John she talks about finding true strength, not the fakey kind, to do what she needs to do. And that she wants to do it for her friends too, (despite being a very active class) She says verbatim "If I don't do it, who will?". Which also alerts me to the fact that there is far more to the classes than simply abiding by the Active/Passive scale for their Entire context, on a basis of "selfish or not selfish". But all of this leads back into the concept of Ultimate Self. Classpects are consistent across every iteration of a person, so what does that really mean? In an unrelated conversation, I was talking to a friend about Classes and Aspects because they wanted help with finding theirs. And I was talking about Vriska and how messed up her life was and how complex her way of thinking was, shortly after I was explaining how rare and what a special circumstance it is for the Lord class is to exist. Like total and complete force of will, and a Willingness, to completely master their entire aspect. And my friend said "vriska could be a lord" and my first thought (i didn't say this) but it was "But . She isn't though. And she can't be" Nowhere in any universe would Vriska ever be a Lord. Because. She just isn't. She can act like one. She can act controlling and high and mighty above her means. She can be meek, she can be insecure and indecisive. But she will not be acting like Her. She is the Thief of Light, and she will never, and can never be a Lord because it's not a title you achieve, or something you can change, it's just describing what a person is, has be, could be, and will be, at their most Themselves. But that's the key- it's limited in scope with only 168 options for all players who could ever possibly Play the game in all of creation. But it's not a limit, or a restriction. It's not a title you choose, or advance through. It's a title given, based on who you are, fundamentally. That a person (character) earns by virtue of being themselves. To grow into, and through. Rather than anything ranked. All that said, this reminds me, though of like. People as little kids. They are so young, they have all the potential in the world. But even children as young as 4 and 5 and even 3. Some are shy, some are confident, some are brave, some are cautious. Some would prefer to scour as may books that fit on the bookshelf than go to a party. Some kids would rather hang out with their friends than struggle with book stuff. And who they are then, grows into who they become. But the seeds of who they become, and how, are still present even at young ages. Not as a barrier, or a way to hold them back. But just in the sense of... when you really pay attention to a child's personality, it's usually far less of a surprise to see the person they grow into. The same could be said of teenagers and adults. And I think this, or some concept of this, of Self, of being. Something that persists despite all choices and paths, is one of the main concepts in Homestuck relating to the Ultimate Self, And how the Ultimate Self relates to the choosing of Sburb to a Mythological Role. -teapotTrickster

[in-need-of-gally-content]

|Chapter•Twenty•Two|

•|Masterlist|•

With a full plate in his hand, (M/n) sat on a log along with Gally, watching the ongoing fights from afar, chugging their drinks and joking with each other.

For a while, the Glade was buzzing with energy and laughter, but slowly, everything began to slow and calm down, more guys eating or simply chilling by the bonfire, and (M/n) remembered a song. He couldn't stop himself from humming it for a few seconds, before quietly singing the lyrics, catching Gally's attention.

His green eyes stared at him, a smile starting to grow on his face, and he soon realized he recognized the song, beginning to sing alongside (M/n). He turned to look at Gally, slightly surprised that he would know the song, and together they sang, getting louder and louder, wide smiles on their faces as those around looked at them.

A few frowned for a moment, before the happy vibes of Gally and (M/n) made a grin appear on their faces, joining them in their song.

It wasn't long before practically the whole Glade was singing, their voices filling the silence of the night. And while everyone was cheerfully singing to their hearts' content, (M/n) was completely unaware of the way Alby was looking at him, a deep frown on his face and his body tense, arms crossed over his chest as his mind overworked itself to understand why.

Why did (M/n)'s voice sound exactly the same as theirs?

///////

(M/n) chuckled when Winston told him how the twins weren't nearly as weak as Lucas was when it came to working at the Blood House with him, and even though he didn't mind the help from them as he actually could use the extra two pairs of hands, he was kinda sad that he couldn't bully them enough to make them barf.

He added that both of them were quite quick learners, and rarely complained about doing something. One inconvenient thing was how they had to always be together. They were supposed to work different jobs on their first day, but they refused to be separated for longer than ten minutes, and in the end, Alby couldn't be bothered to have them abide by the rules.

He had other matters to worry about. And they were doing a good job, so why bother with them?

With heavy steps, Alby approached (M/n) as he talked to Winston, both of them were on a small break from work, and they were enjoying some time to talk before having to go back. Alby stopped in front of them, and their talking began to slow down by the second, staring up at the Leader from their spot on the ground.

For a moment Winston thought he had done something to anger Alby, especially with the way he looked at him, but his stare was soon directed toward (M/n), who involuntarily tried to make himself look smaller.

"Come with me, (M/n)." And he just turned around to leave.

(M/n) felt as if he couldn't breathe, his mind going a hundred miles an hour as he struggled to find in his brain the memory of what he could've done to make Alby mad at him, but anything could have been the trigger.

Did he get called out for eating the last cookie? Maybe someone had seen him drawing obscene images on Stan's face while he slept? Perhaps he farted too loud he made someone go deaf?!

Anything could be used against him, and he wasn't sure if he was ready to take what Alby wanted to scold him for.

"I'll be praying for you, greenbean, but just know... You've been a mighty friend of mine," he looked at Winston, who looked defeated at the news of Alby being mad at (M/n), who frowned and began standing on his feet, feeling like his legs were jelly, ready to give up at any given moment.

On the way to the Homestead, he was wondering if he could gamble with his punishment, maybe try to convince Alby that he had nothing to do with the dicks and boobs drawn on Stan and blame an innocent bystander. Or he could take the blame and avoid angering Alby even more.

Either way, a punishment was sure to soon come flying his way.

(M/n)'s whole body was tense and he was sure he wasn't breathing, dreading having to walk into the Gathering room. He could've run, but even if he wanted to, where could he go? There was nowhere to hide, so he decided to welcome hell with a hug, as if greeting an old friend.

Life was good while it lasted, despite all.

As soon as he stepped foot inside the room, he turned around, ready to get on his knees to plead for forgiveness, begging Alby to have mercy on his soul, that he just wanted something sweet and he didn't know that the last cookie was his.

He was almost committed to doing all that, but Alby spoke first.

"Can you tell me if there's anything you can remember from before waking up in the Box?" (M/n)'s mind stopped working, feeling unsettled at the sudden quietness inside his skull, the overthinking voice completely gone now that Alby asked him a direct question.

"From... Before?" He managed to stutter, and Alby nodded, crossing his arms and walking over to sit on his chair, signalling for (M/n) to do the same.

He tried to ignore the fact that he was sitting on Gally's chair and decided to focus on the matter at hand, picking the honest side of the story.

"Well, I've... Had a few dreams ever since I got here, or I thought... They were dreams, at least, but I'm not sure if they're more than that or not..." Alby nodded at the answer he got, reading (M/n)'s body language and knowing he was being honest, at the very least.

"Nothing in specific?" He added, not trying to pressure (M/n) into talking if he didn't want to.

"I remember... Being surrounded by people wearing lab coats, and blurry faces," with this, Alby was satisfied, at least he now knew that everyone had seen the same thing before, even if it was only one time.

He stood up and walked to the door, "Well, thank you for being honest with me, (M/n), you can leave."

(M/n) felt as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders and chest, his body feeling lighter and his breathing going back to normal. He stood up and showed a small smile at Alby before walking out of the Gathering room and out of the Homestead.

What was all that about? Was he supposed to be honest about the matter? And why would Alby-

"Oh-! You're alive!" Winston's voice snapped him out of his thoughts.

In front of him, were Winston and Gally, both of their expression relaxing into one of relief, and (M/n) almost laughed at how dramatic they were being.

"Why wouldn't I be?" Both Keepers looked at him as if he was the one gone crazy and exaggerating, instead of them.

"Alby came up to you and took you to the Homestead, that's enough reason for us to believe you were gonna die there, bean," Gally added, making big motions with his hands to get his point across.

"Maybe, but I don't get in trouble, nor do I get caught," he responded with a smirk, shrugging it off as if it was nothing. Both of them sighed, and Winston tapped his shoulder a few times.

"Just know Gally was ready to fight Alby if he did something to you," Gally glared at Winston, his eyes wide as a dark blush began creeping rapidly up his face. He looked ready to square up and fight the shorter Keeper, but Winston was quicker and he ran away before Gally could get ahold of him.

Unknowingly to him, (M/n) was looking at him with a soft, love-filled look in his (e/c) eyes and a small pout on his lips, moved by the thought of Gally coming to his rescue in case he needed it.

And now the blond had no idea what to do, his face was burning and his heart was about to burst out of his chest. He was gonna make sure that Winston would get extra work, how dare he call him out like that? In front of his crush?! He felt like he wanted to bury his head in the dirt.

"Listen, uh- about what Winston said-," his nervous stutter got interrupted by the sudden feeling of arms wrapped around him from behind, surprising and flustering him, "B-bean...?"

"You really are my knight in shining armor, aren't you, Gally?" (M/n)'s deep and hoarse voice so close to his ear made his body get covered in goosebumps, and soon, there was a feeling of something (warm/cold) holding his hand, "Now let's go, there's still work to do."

(M/n) began dragging him along, heading toward the rest Builders who had just come back from their break. Gally stared at (M/n), walking in front of him and holding his hand, making sure he wouldn't stay behind, and he smiled. The brightest smile he'd ever worn on his face, and those around them got to witness, except for (M/n), the very cause of said smile.

//////

With the hours going past, and having work to do, (M/n)'s mind remained busy for the most part, which he was thankful for, he didn't want to sour anyone's mood with this sudden change of attitude, so he really appreciated having something to do that would distract him enough. Even if it was only for a while.

On the other side, he had been able to see the twins around, helping others after having been dismissed by Winston for the day and instead of resting or playing around, they were giving a hand to anyone who wanted or required help, and (M/n) heard, from those walking and working around them, how they were so nice and kind to everyone.

Hearing that made a small smile pull his lips up, feeling just a little bit hopeful at the thought of the twins being actually good guys, and how maybe, just maybe, he could be safe around them, how he could be himself and be their friend, they did seem kind of cool to him too. Even so, (M/n) had to remind himself to not raise his expectations too much, or the fall would be that much harder and painful.

Which was hard when dinner time came around, the greenies were making everyone around them laugh and smile brightly. (M/n) didn't mind the loudness, he actually enjoyed having background noise to focus on, worked pretty well as a distraction to him, whilst on the other hand Gally was kind of annoyed, but he could easily ignore them.

"So, what was that with Alby earlier?" He asked while raising his fork to get more food in his mouth, and (M/n) blinked, detaching his hearing from the few tables away from him.

"Oh, uh... He asked me if I had any memories from before coming to the Glade..." he answered absentmindedly, taking some food himself as his stomach growled from hunger.

Gally waited for him to add something else after his voice trailed on, but nothing, "Do you?" He hesitated slightly as he asked, and (M/n) looked up at him, a blank stare in his eyes.

"I've had dreams ever since I've come here, but not... Anything significant, nope," and he went back to eating.

Gally felt there was something going on, but he wasn't sure how to articulate his question in a way that wouldn't make it sound too obvious what he was trying to get into, and the booming laughter kind of distracted him and pissed him off.

"Why do they have to be so shucking loud?" He mumbled, immediately after hearing the soft chuckle (M/n) released. His head was tilted down, but Gally saw the way his shoulders shook in contained laughter, and he snickered back.

"They sure are bloody loud," Gally couldn't help but laugh just a little bit louder at the sound of (M/n)'s voice saying 'bloody', it was cuter than he ever thought a word could sound, and despite that, (M/n) managed.

The rest of their dinner went by, and soon enough, it was time to say 'good night'.

And while alone in his room, (M/n)'s mind wandered all night, remembering Alby's question, and what he had answered. Were his dreams just... Dreams? Or was there something else he wasn't fully grasping? Well, whatever it was, it became very painful, very quickly.

He stayed awake the majority of the night without meaning to, trying to remember anything, even the slightest detail, like a face or a name that was unrelated to the rest of the guys in the Glade, but that only resulted in a headache, which only got worse the more he tried to force his memory to come back.

But rather than just being unable to remember, it felt more like... Something was preventing him from doing so, and at some point, a horrible throbbing pain made him clutch his head in his hand, a loud and steady beeping sound bouncing off the walls of his skull.

"W.I.C.K.E.D is good."

That stupid phrase again...

"Bullshit," he muttered with gritted teeth, turning around on his bed and closing his eyes, forcing himself to fall asleep, despite the headache he had.

//////

A few days have passed and...

There goes all of his hopes of the twins being nice guys to him.

They were only nice to those they thought were "cool" enough to be treated nicely. And (M/n) wasn't part of that group of people.

His hopes had been buried deep under klunk. And now the twins were being little klunkheads.

(M/n) huffed and dropped his head on the table, startling a few at his sudden action and the loud sound bone against wood made. Gally frowned, knowing that probably hurt, and he placed his hand on top of (M/n)'s head, gently touching his hair.

"Hey, you good? Wanna talk?" He felt (M/n) shifting under his touch, and Gally watched how he soon had his chin on the wood, staring up at him with a defeated look in his eyes. He would've hugged him tightly, if he wasn't distracted by the thought of how uncomfortable that position probably was for his neck and back.

"I'm just powering through a pretty bad-" there suddenly was a cheering so loud it could've busted everyone's eardrums off, everybody flinched at the pain inflected to their ears, and they looked at the source of the sound. A few stared, confused, while others like (M/n), glared at them and tried to ignore them, but that was impossible because it just kept going, seemingly getting louder and louder.

"Let's get you guys to the name wall!" Every pair of eyes watched how Stan dragged the twins out of the Homestead, followed by the rest of the Sloppers, one after the other, like little ducklings following their mama duck.

The greenies were still on their job trials, however, they had become good friends with that particular group of guys, which was actually a pretty good explanation of why they acted the way they did with him.

(M/n) rolled his eyes and sat upright for a moment before resting his head on his hands, placed under his chin as his blinking slowed down. He started thinking, and wondered why did the Sloppers -or the majority of them- hated his existence, and he couldn't understand why, he hadn't done anything to them, or more like he had not been the first one to do it at least, because he did win a fight against their Keeper even after he had cheated.

He really couldn't care less about who were the guys responsible for what happened, (M/n) had decided to enjoy the peaceful days he got, but sadly, he could see how those days were gonna be gone soon.

//////

This was more annoying than he expected, and it exasperated him. Maybe the twins weren't saying anything sexist or offensive his way, but they were getting on (M/n)'s last nerve.

They were being plain bullies, the non-verbal type of bully. Constantly, one or the other, sometimes even both, would constantly push (M/n), make him trip or even punch him, immediately claiming that everything was an accident and that he was the one overreacting.

At first, (M/n) didn't pay it much attention and really thought they were accidents, but soon he realized they weren't, however, he kept his cool and assumed it'd blow off soon, what they wanted was a reaction out of him and he wasn't gonna give them that. Ignoring them seemed to be the best option for now.

But today they were being particularly bad, making (M/n) get to the point of going to Minho before dinner and asking him if he could go in the Maze with him tomorrow.

"Well, I don't mind, but did anything happen? You argued with Gally, or is it something else?" (M/n) sighed at how sharp Minho was, he knew something was bothering him, they had become pretty good friends after all.

"No, I... It's nothing like that but, the twins are just a little too annoying and I don't want to... Do something to them, you know," Minho frowned in the direction the greenies were, finishing up their job at the Gardens, he knew damn well appearances could be deceiving, but those two seemed genuinely nice and kind.

And he trusted (M/n) more than the greenies whom he only met four days ago.

"And I won't bother you, I can just... Walk around the front...?" (M/n) added hesitantly when Minho stayed quiet for a little bit longer than usual.

The Keeper chuckled and nodded, "You can come with me and Ben tomorrow, (M/n), don't worry."

And he smiled back in relief, getting up and making his way to Gally. He had to tell him he wouldn't be working tomorrow and would be heading out with the Runners, as his Keeper, Gally had to know.

And well, he wasn't the happiest about it, but when (M/n) mentioned 'twins' he understood why he wanted to leave for a few hours, so he couldn't hold him back from going into the Maze, and even if he did, (M/n) would simply convince him that he will be safe.

So before bed, Gally wrapped his arms loosely around (M/n)'s shudders, placing his chin on the crown of his head, "Be careful out there, bean."

A smile grew on (M/n)'s face, and he nodded against Gally's chest.

"You know I will, big guy."

//////

It was early morning in the Glade, and the Maze Doors were just opening.

(M/n) walked up to Minho and Ben, who were waiting for him, while rubbing his eyes and yawning, making both of them smile and hold back a chuckle, they also noticed the straps across his chest, holding his journal and Polaroid camera, but didn't say anything about it.

"You sure you can come with us?" Minho asked playfully as they began walking through the pathway of the Doors.

(M/n) sideyed him, and smirked, "If anything I'll just stay back for a bit, I'm not planning on staying for too long, Min."

And with an agreement nod, they began their daily activities of running the Maze.

While Minho and Ben ran ahead of him, (M/n) was walking, observing the stone walls covered in ivy, gracing the scratch marks and holes made in them.

He knew what Grievers were, yet he hadn't seen one, everyone feared them and wanted to avoid any kind of close encounter with them, and (M/n) wondered how they were. Did they look gross? Were they big? Why are they here, in the Maze?

Could they stop them?

His mind wandered for a few minutes and when he looked forward again, he realized that both Runners had disappeared from his field of vision, which he wasn't bothered by, he wanted to enjoy the quietness, so he was gonna do that.

(M/n) walked around a while longer, taking pics that made the Maze look relatively nice, and soon found a wall practically covered in ivy, and significantly lower than most walls. He gripped the ivy and tested its strength, it could hold his weight pretty nicely, so he started climbing up it, reaching the top after some hard work. He sighed and laid back on the cold stone, squinting his eyes at the bright reflection of the sun on the blue sky despite being in the shadow.

He stayed there for a while, lying on top of the wall, his feet dangling off the edge, he even fell asleep for a while, maybe an hour or two since the shadow the sun casted on him hadn't moved that much. He sat up and stretched, yawning and sighing, feeling just a little bit more relaxed and at ease.

While (M/n) spent time in the Maze, he remained completely unaware of what was going back in the Glade.

[tanoraqui]

#nearly choked on my own spit reading that last part #tolkien# but also to make the crack sad #there's something poetic about Maglor the last Feanorian #his family destroyed by fire #feanor burns alive #Amrod (potentially) burns in Losgar #Maedhros casts himself into flame #and destroyed by darkness #the oath eating them alive #all of them being doomed to the void #and then Maglor the only Feanorian to escape the fire and the darkness #to instead haunt and be haunted by the sea #falling in love with a being of fire and darkness #looking his family's destruction in the eye and saying I forgive you I forgive you you can be more than what you were #and perhaps in the doing so he can learn to forgive himself #and have hope for his family

@erai-crabantaure​ is out here making my crackship in a crack au poetic and giving me feels, while I’m over here like, 

double-date where Dave (the Balrog) is determined to passive-aggressively show Gorthaur that he, Dave, is actually way better at finding and keeping a pet Fëanorian, and also he could totally take Gorthaur in a fight he’s just choosing not to right now; and Annatar is maintaining the pretense of still being Evil and pretending to be above such petty competition, but is 100% rising to the bait because a) nobody out-passive-aggressives the Lord of Gifts and b) his Fëanorian is FAR superior to that beach hobo who could barely even forge a dagger; BUT Annatar is also avoiding eye contact with Maglor because the last time they met was toward the end of the War of Wrath when Maglor technically, arguably, beat him in a Duel of Song (Sauron tried the Tol-in-Gaurhoth Special, ie, grief, guilt, and existential hopelessness, and Maglor was like, “Honey, I live here,” and then Maedhros stabbed Sauron and their backup arrived and Sauron GTFO’d until Eonwë found him.) Celebrimbor is getting increasingly annoyed at a) this whole “pretending to be evil(ly suborned)” gig as well as at Annatar bragging about him (it’s embarrassing and he does it far too much already), and keeps accidentally making eye contact with Maglor while seeking someone to be like, Maiar, amiright? with, then quickly looking away because Evil Uncle, then darting a glance back because he’s increasingly, against his will, a little concerned about Maglor. Maglor meanwhile is quietly eating while 100% convinced that he’s hallucinating; the only question is if it’s all a hallucination or if he really has been captured by a Balrog. Either way, his life is already so terrible that this might as well happen.

(This is like...1/3–1/2way through the 105-minute romcom. About 60% through, Maglor realizes that none of this is a hallucination and immediately tries to rescue Celebrimbor from his entirely content marriage bed what is obviously a fate worse than death. This is how Maglor finds out, though Celebrimbor yelling at him indignantly, about the marriage and also Sauron [allegedly] not being evil anymore, and shortly thereafter has a moment of, “wait, is that an option?” Possibly Dave is simultaneously having the knock-down drag-out brawl with the old Lieutenant of Angband that he’s been itching for, maybe finally incited because he figured out that Sauron was lying to him about still being evil, clearly he’s gone weak, etc etc. That fight definitely ends with Annatar pinned down but baring his teeth in a grin and saying something like, “Yes, you Úmaiar always had more power then I. But do you know what you still lack? The sense of where to apply it.” Then he like snaps a twig and the massive dam they’ve been fighting in front of, which Dave (and Annatar, but mostly Dave) have both been hitting, BURSTS and Dave gets totally quenched.)

...Oh my god at the end Dave has to run through the Grey Havens like they’re an airport to catch Maglor before he gets on a ship sailing West. 

(Will Dave join him on the ship, so that they may both seek healing together? Will Maglor stay, and they’ll both join Celebrimbor&Annatar’s ongoing mission to better mortal-occupied Arda through invention and fair-and-open global trade? Either way, it’ll be covered in the sequel: My Big Fat Fëanorian Wedding! please god let that already be a fic title somewhere)

(Original movie: When Dave Met Maglor? Pretty Balrog? Awake in Eriador? I’m just going through a Top 50 list of romcoms here and spitballing.)

[krikeymate]

I’m sure you’ve written something about this before but what would happen if say Sam’s hallucinations got worse. There’s another ghostface killer after them but Sam can’t differentiate between what’s real and what isn’t, how would they play out?

I feel like I have spoken about this before but for the life of me I can't find the damn post.

I feel like she would certainly get more erratic, more defensive, more protective. More paranoid. She'd begin to question everyone around her. Except Tara, never Tara. People begin to question her sanity, whether she might be doing this. Mindy warns Tara that maybe this time she'll be safer away from Sam. It infuriates her. How dare she suggest such a thing? This isn't Sam's fault, she isn't doing this. She storms away from her.

Ghostface would definitely use Sam's deteriorating mental state to their advantage. More tech, using recordings, perhaps sending ai generated images to her phone of people she loves injured/dead, manips of her in a Ghostface costume/with a bloody knife.

Sam's pacing, muttering to herself frantically, oblivious to her sister trying to call her name. They're not safe, there's danger all around them, and her father won't shut the fuck up. He keeps telling her to take the initiative, to take out all the threats. He keeps asking her if she's just going to stand by and let her little sister get butchered. Again.

"Sam! Sam!" Tara yells, grabbing at her sister's arms.

The movement makes her freeze, she almost lashes out in surprise, but catches herself at the last moment, simply grabbing back at Tara's arm instead.

"What is it," she asks urgently, suddenly on alert. "What's wrong?"

Tara stares back at her with wide eyes, lips downturned. "What's wrong? What's wrong? You're acting like a crazy person, Sam. That's what's wrong!"

Sam feels like she's been punched in the chest. Crazy. Her sister thinks she's crazy?

"I'm worried for you," Tara continues. "Please," she begs, reaching a hand up to cup Sam's cheek. "Tell me what's going on in that head of yours."

Sam turns her head, kissing Tara's palm. "I'm sorry," she whispers. "I didn't mean to scare you, I'm just... trying to process everything."

Tara's eyes soften. "You don't scare me, Sam."

For a moment, Sam's filled with confidence. "We need to leave, we can't stay here anymore. Ghostface is always one step ahead of us, we need to get out of here and tell no one where we're going."

Then it all comes crashing down.

Tara pulls away, frowning. "We can't just disappear, what about Chad and Mindy, what about Danny?"

Sam bites her lip, staring down at her sister intently. "We can't trust them. They... it's too much of a coincidence. The things they know..."

"Sam, of course we can trust them! They're our friends... our family." Tara can't believe what she's hearing.

"You are my family. They... they know where we are, they know our weaknesses, and yet they're always suspiciously absent whenever we're attacked! Ghostface always goes after the people closest to us, so why haven't they been targeted?" Sam doesn't know who's speaking anymore, her, or her father.

"Then trust me! I trust them."

"Because you've got such a great track record with that."

Tara flinches, taking several steps back. It takes a moment for Sam to register the words that came out of her mouth. When it does, her mouth drops open, horrified.

"Tara... I-" Sam reaches out an arm. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that..."

"Then what did you mean?" Despite the tears in Tara's eyes, her voice is steady, she doesn't look away.

Sam steps forward, and when Tara doesn't retreat, she rests her hands on her shoulders. She has to convince her. She doesn't know what she'll do if she doesn't agree to leave with her. They have to leave.

"It's always someone we know, Tara. Always."

Tara looks away, squeezing her eyes shut.

"I'm sorry. I just want to keep you safe. I can't lose you Tara. You're my whole world."

Her sister takes a deep breath before looking back at her. "Fine. But we aren't going to just disappear, okay? The others deserve to know, in case they aren't trying to kill us."

"You can tell them after we've already left, not before."

"Fine."

Tara hopes this helps, that this is what Sam needs.

[cinna-rose]

So I replayed the Baxter dlc and got hit with inspiration. I 100% believe that as soon as Baxter left the restaurant, he was freaking out. So here's my attempt on how that went.

"I'll leave you to catch up and discuss the next steps on your own terms. I will see some or perhaps all of you soon."

"Have a nice evening."

It was as if I was trying to get out of there quickly. Was it because I was trying to run? To avoid the one thing - the one person - that'll always be a cruel reminder of what I've done.

Why?

Why did it have to be him?

Sora Last.

Once I was far from staring eyes, the walls I'd been holding up so well came crashing down instantly. Perfect posture turned into a desperation to keep balance from falling from shock - trying to keep something of stability by holding myself.

To try and protect myself.

How could Sora Last be the one to make me feel so weak - even after five years of distance?

Distance because of me.

It doesn't make sense. How did I get so attached? We were nothing more than a summer fling!? He was supposed to be like all the others - a fun experience for a time before we cut ties. It's the normal for me - and Sora managed to break that.

Who am I kidding? I know why - It's because no one was like him. I hate yet adore how kind he is. Everything that Sora Last is pure kindness. No matter what I did, he never gave me a judgeful look or expected more. Always understanding and empathetic, Sora was someone special.

Someone I could never hope to keep for myself.

No. Sora doesn't need me. He didn't need me then, and he doesn't need me now. Sora seemed to be doing well on his own. He needs someone who can give him everything he wants.

I don't think I ever was that someone for him.

I forced myself out of my thoughts and decided that leaning against a wall and reflecting on the past wouldn't be the best look. I managed to collect myself before actually leaving.

...

Once in the safety of solitude in my apartment, I allowed myself to relax and process the situation.

Sora Last, by chance, was back in my life.

I almost can't believe it, but I can't get what he said out of my head.

"I thought you weren't coming back."

The way he said it, the look in his eyes that had all kinds of emotions inside, and the way he stepped closer. I can't get it out of my head. It was a moment of weakness, yet I can't say that I don't mind seeing him again.

I knew he missed me. There had to be a reason why he kept messaging me after a while. Sora would always say in the guise of checking on me, but that fell apart when their messages would ask for a sign.

Reaching for my phone, I went straight to Sora's number to read through past messages from Sora. They ranged from casual check-ins to pleas to try and talk.

Even after all these years, I could never delete his number. I could come up with reason after reason to convince myself, but I never went through ridding the one connection I had left to Sora - even if I wouldn't dare to meet him halfway.

Yet, I can't help but think I deserved worse from Sora. I hurt him and treated him terribly after everything was over. He didn't act upset - he just smiled and accepted my presence.

I wonder what he was thinking when he saw me again. How is he handling this?

What if this could be another chance?

No.

What Sora and I had is over. There's no point in bringing up old wounds when there's a wedding to focus on. Once this is over, we go our separate ways, and Sora can stay in my memories.

Sora will be okay. He can move on from me. He doesn't need me in his life.

It's better this way.

It's for the both of us.

[ameliawarnerr]

Getaway Car

Chapter 5

Previous Chapter: here

Pairing: Jake x MC

Trope: Enemies to lovers

Overview: To catch a thief, you need to become a thief. So to catch a hacker, you have to become one.

~~~ “I'll work with you and pretend to be your fake girlfriend.” A smile, almost a smirk appears on his lips. “But we need rules.”

He stands up. “Yes, rules and practice.” ~~~

Jake—

My sleep schedule was never ideal and I take the whole blame for that. However when I had time to sleep, I slept like dead. And that was a fact until last night. I grab the cup of hot coffee and perch down on a chair.

I have no idea if she was doing it on purpose. I wouldn't spare a minute of surprise if she was, though. We’d somehow manage to get tangled in the middle of the night, then she'd get possessed by a spirit that I had no idea existed in my house and move away abruptly waking me up. She did it several times. I was half convinced to drop her off the bed and the other half wanted to wrap my hand around her waist so tightly that she wouldn’t be able to get away from me. I ended up doing neither which for me, resulted in ruination of my sleep and a headache.

I take a sip of the coffee, a slight relaxing sensation making me want to throw myself on the couch and restore my energy with a nap. Then a mental list of all things I need to do today displays in front of me as I close my eyes. I sigh and open my eyes.

Moments later, another headache in an eccentric shape and form descends the stairs. Her hair is damp and she's wearing a black t-shirt of mine which I don't recall giving her as it's one of my favourites. It is as catastrophic as the morning itself that she looks horrifyingly captivating in it. The thought concerns me since it is nothing but a plain black t-shirt that doesn't even fit her properly.

Headache. It's the headache messing up with my brain. Or perhaps the type of temptation we feel towards alcohol when we are perfectly aware of the consequences.

Once she makes it to the floor, I spin the chair to face the other way. “How’d you sleep last night?” I ask, sarcasm pouring out my speech.

“Perfectly fine.” Her voice matches my tone. Then, a hand appears from my left, taking the cup from my hand. She walks across the kitchen island and sips the coffee.

I never share my coffee. I wouldn't even share it even with my best friend if I had one. “I guess sharing the bed like two sophisticated adults didn't end up as a good idea for you.” She taunts, quoting me.

I smile. “Well, it turns out we weren't a pair of sophisticated adults, one of us is still fond of childishness.”

She takes another sip. “That being you?”

I was ready with another reply, after all, arguments are my forte. But all the words dry out when she leans over to the surface of the island and my t-shirt fails to cover skin. She places the cup on the surface and pushes it towards me.

She is doing it on purpose, after all. She's no fool. Though it took her a while to realise that our hands tracing each other's skin was not only a moment of weakness for her but also me. Even though I had retreated from her body, I am aware of the part of me that screamed to continue. That part is igniting.

If she wants to play that way, fine. I'm more than happy. I don't fall for her trap, I look straight into her eyes, not allowing my gaze to descend.

“We need to talk about the proposal you spoke of.” She begins.

I continue drinking the coffee. I place the cup back. “Yes, we do. And we will. But don't you wish to have breakfast first?”

“No, I don't have an appetite in the mornings.” She reaches out her hand, the corner of my t-shirt falling off her shoulder in the process. I give her the cup.

She drinks without adjusting the t-shirt.

I stand up, not allowing her the advantage of angle anymore. “Very well. Neither do I. So let's get to it.”

She straightens. All mishieve leaving her body as her eyes become distant. I haven't even revealed a word of my proposal to her and she's already scheming. I wish I could peek into her mind just to know how she does it, locks her emotions behind a door and at that moment, all she cares about is her reasons and rationalities.

I work the same way but my ways of locking away my emotions are merely a result of terrible situations that called for it. The way I scheme now without my heart involved is due to deprivation of my emotions being addressed and my heart being denied time and time again.

At least, we got something in common.

I walk to the living room, thinking of a way to sound as convincing as possible. Because what I am about to reveal to her wasn't in my initial plans and I will not blame her if she thinks all this is a joke.

Bunching the blanket in my hand and keeping it beside me, I settle on the couch. She follows me and perches down opposite to me.

“Does your proposal involve me getting out of this house anytime soon?” She begins.

“Yes and no.” I refrain to explain why and start with my pitch. “I want you to work with me on my final mission.”

Her eyebrows furrow. “Final mission? So I was right about you asking me to work for you.”

“No. I don't want you to work for me. I want you to work with me. Alongside me. Similar to how we did earlier but at the same time, totally different.”

She nods.

I continue, “I have been trying to erase all digital data about me that is available on the Dark Web. I have succeeded in doing so. I had to run errands to every person who knew even a little bit about me and fool them into thinking that I no longer exist. It wasn't difficult, only time consuming. But there remains one place where all the information about me is stored and erasing it from that place isn't going to be as easy.”

“Tell me about the place.” She speaks, her voice catching me off guard. It's all serious without a tinge of childishness to it.

“Yes. Of course.” I fumble a little before gaining composure in my speech again. “There’s an illegal dynastic corporation that keeps information regarding every single more than average hacker on the Dark Web, dead or alive. They’re called—”

“Seraphic, ironically so.”

She's aware of them. Months, she only started hacking months ago and her progress and knowledge is highly impressive.

“Yes. Like I said, it's a dynastic corporation. All the big hands are of their family members.” I pause when she readjusts and runs a hand over the length of her arm.

I grab the blanket from my side, continuing in the process, “I could get rid of my information from them but it seems like they have a personalised software protecting all the files which needs to be taken care of only after I have seen how it works.” I stand up, and offer her the blanket as she takes it. I turn back, walking to my place. “Which means—”

“You need to get involved with them in person.” She says, almost as if talking to herself.

“Exactly. But my forte is hacking and planning. Talking to people, winning their trust and pretending to befriend them to get what I want is something—”

“You’re not capable of.” She cuts me off again only to complete my sentence.

“More or less, yes. But I still need to get involved with them in person but there's no guarantee they'll trust me, therefore, I need you—”

“You need me to engage with them, make them trust us so that you get access to what you desire.”

“Stop finishing my sentences.” I hiss.

“Stop being obvious.” She says as she covers herself with the blanket.

I eye the blanket. “I didn't hear you thanking me.” I comment.

“Perhaps, I didn't then.”

I roll my eyes. I have no idea how we are going to work together. To be honest, that's what I had thought after the first time I texted her. I was proved terribly wrong by our compatibility in investigations. I want to be proven wrong again.

“I’ll provide you with information about each member of the family. While we are working on that, you'll live here and all your expenses will be paid without question.” I offer.

She considers only for a moment before saying, “That's it? That's all I’ll get? You know, there is a threat to my life on getting involved with them. They will kill us the moment they get to know about this. You are well accomplished in escaping and I am not.” She showcases her vulnerability in a way that it sounds like we are talking business. Her demeanour actually changes when talking about business.

“I guarantee you your safety. Shall it come to escaping, we’d run away together. Either that or you'll be the one to escape first.” I assure her receiving a nod from her. “I plan to steal money from them in the same process, depending on how much I manage to get, you'll have a share of it.”

She opens her mouth but stops herself from saying whatever she was going to.

“I didn't know you were the type to hold back.” I speak, trying get her to speak.

She ignores my comment and asks, “What are you planning to do?”

“I told you a minute ago. Do I need to write it down?”

“No,” She glares at me. “You are destroying all your information. This is your final mission.” I don't speak, letting her mind wonder until she comes to the conclusion herself. Her gaze descends as she thinks. Then, she looks at me. “You are escaping. From the Dark Web. For—”

“Forever, yes.” I confirm.

That is why she was such a big obstacle in my plan. She was a time bomb that could go off anytime and become the ruination of my plan. I'd have to collect the pieces and redo it again and again.

When we were working together, she was beside me. Although, I took a step back at the end but it was for her. It was difficult living in my twilight existence where one moment I had to run and the other I had to assure her. So I backed off. I wanted this plan to work out so that I could live a normal life with her. But she didn't have a penny of patience. She took several steps ahead of me and stood against me. And that's when the reason for my plan reshaped and changed. The reason is no longer the existence of someone else. It is for me. I want it to vanish for me, because I don't care if I deserve a normal life. All I care about is that I get to choose if I do deserve it. I choose to take it.

“Escaping where?” She asks, suddenly more interested in the conversation.

“I'll change my identity and settle somewhere isolated, similar to a place like this one but I will not be hiding there. I'll be living there.” I'm no longer looking at her. I feel an ignition in my heart by merely imagining a life where I’d have to care for electricity bills and shit rather than surviving.

Perhaps, she wouldn't have understood it if I had told her this when we were investigating Hannah’s case but after all the abysmal conditions she's been through in search of me, she knows what significance the word living has to it.

Living is unlike existing. Living is the will to explore how it's like to have a safe place to call home, how it feels to have a pet, how it feels to be able to visit places without covering your face. Living is going to bed at night without worrying about getting caught, waking up in the morning with relief rather than dark circles and tiredness.

Living is that piece of jewellery that we see in a shop daily while passing by but can't afford it. I no longer desire passing by with a thought saying ‘maybe someday’, if I cannot afford it, I’ll snatch it.

Then, I look at her. She's lost in thoughts as the blanket falls off her. “Then you'll be free as well.” I tell her.

A pause. She says, “How do we accomplish the plan?”

I stand up and walk towards her until my feet touch hers. I bend and grab the blanket, covering her with it. When my face is inches away from hers, I look into her eyes. “You’d have to pretend to be my girlfriend.”

~~~~~~~~

MC—

This could turn out wrong in uncountable ways. Yet I feel convinced to accept his offer. It's either that or let myself be locked in this asylum of a house until he works out his plan himself.

I have to admit, he has some sort of manipulation skills. I had the feeling that I would be accepting this offer the moment he said he needed me to work with him.

I walk around the kitchen as I mentally list all pros and cons of working with him again. I stop when all I can see are benefits.

It's almost night time and I had asked him for some time to think. I glance at the door to his working room where he is currently sitting. I walk with purpose and knock on the door.

“Come in.” He says and I open the door.

He's sitting on his chair, his eyes glued to the screen. Then he presses a few keys and turns the chair towards me. And

I think the blood under the skin of my cheeks is coming to the surface.

He's wearing glasses.

Glasses that are a bit larger than they need to be.

He brushes his hair back with one hand and I clear my throat.

“I’ve thought about it. And I accept it. I'll work with you and pretend to be your fake girlfriend.” A smile, almost a smirk appears on his lips. “But we need rules.”

He stands up. “Yes, rules and practice.”

Next chapter: here

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

Okay I had no idea it will turn into enemies to lovers AND fake dating. But do I regret it? Absolutely not.

Spice spice spice about to come

Tell me what u think!

Thanks for reading!

Love ya

;)

[adrikazu]

c/w: raining, waiting for a bus, running home in the rain, visiting your home

5:21 PM

the weather wasn’t treating you right. it was windy, and pouring, and the trees shook and the sky screamed. but you still stood outside, even if you were to catch a cold.

your umbrella was far gone away, and your clothes were drenched. the tiredness was starting to get to you, why were you outside again?

…that’s right. school activities kept everyone after for a while, but it ended up being a struggle, no one noticing the incoming rain. you were waiting at the bus stop, for a train that seemed like it would never arrive.

you took a moment to look at yourself though. your uniform needed a wash for sure, your eyes were glossed with sleepiness. your bag was the only thing that wasn’t drenched in water. buying a water proof backpack surely was the right move.

but that didn’t matter right now. what mattered was your patience running out for this bus, and how you were slowly convincing yourself to just walk home in the pouring rain. your backpack’s chances of water leaking in would rise by a whole lot, the chance of you getting sick would rise a lot too.

but the bus is taking so long…

“Oh wow, that’s a sight.”

you look up, your face turning into a scowl at the comment. but your scowl quickly subsided, and was replaced with a deadpan. your arms were quick to cross.

“Osamu Miya, in the flesh, telling me this is a sight to see.” He grinned tiredly, his umbrella hardly being able to carry all the rain.

“Whaddya doing out here. I thought your club ended early today?” He moved under the bus stop room, to shake off the water on his umbrella. you huffed, your arms dropping.

“I thought so too..” your eyes drifted to him. “Volleyball kept you?” He nodded, his eyes moving to make contact with yours. it made you weak.

“Well? are you waiting for the bus?” He scoffs at you.

“We’re at a bus stop.” You deadpan harder.

“Where’s Atsumu then?? I thought you two went home together.”

The previous chill face he had on quickly began to match yours, and a laugh threatened to escape your mouth, and it did. “He’s staying after for longer, more practice I assume.” You sighed and shook your head.

“He’s gotta get a grip yknow?” Osamu chuckled and shook his head. “Oh for sure, when will that be? No clue.”

Another comfortable silence fell over you two. your attention moved back to the rain and scenery,

Autumn really did have beauty in it’s painful hello, and summer left with a bang when school started again. the orange and red leaves littered the ground, being drowned by the water.

the sky was dark, as it was getting more and more late, the train would not come. traffic maybe? or perhaps it forgot, either way your patience was running thin. and if yours was, osamu’s was definitely long gone.

“Hey aren’t ya tired of waiting for this bus? at this point Atsumu might be comin’ out, s’ that late.” You laughed, and picked up your bag that you put down.

“And hell if i’m waiting to see him. i’m gonna walk home.” Osamu’s jaw dropped. “In this rain?? you’ve lost your mind Y/n.” you cleared your voice.

“it’s either that or I stand here and wait until the next day for a bus.” You two stared at eachother, both considering the options.

But Osamu picked up his bag and umbrella, and chuckled. “You know what? Screw it let’s go.” You laughed loudly, before walking to him.

“Make space under your umbrella let’s go. Do you live on the right side?” He hummed yes. “Alright, let’s go.”

Immediately you felt regret drench you, while so did the rain.

Out running with Osamu to go home, the damn umbrella flew away to god knows where, and now both of you were running in the rain, in whichever direction possible. you could hardly see.

“SAMU LETS GOOO” “WHERE EVEN ARE YOU???” He made out your laugh ahead of him, and picked up the pace. Quickly his laugh started escaping him, and you two ran until you were running past houses.

“OOOHHH HEY I FOUND MINE!!!” He ran after you, not knowing where he even was. you fumbled with the keys, but eventually the door opened and you two stepped inside.

the first thing you did was rub your eyes, then turn on the lights, and then take off your shoes.

Osamu did the same.

You put you and Osamu’s phone to charge, so he could look up his address and find his way home. “Welcome to my humble abode, Samu.” He looked at you jokingly with a face of disappointment, which you complained.

You take off your sweater and bag, placing them down by the door. immediately you walked up the step and into a closet, in search of towels. Osamu stood by the door in his socks, looking like he just stepped out the shower with his unfirom on.

you laugh. “Ya look stupid!!” His eyebrows furrow at you, despite the smile on his face basically shouting out that he’s happy. “You look stupid!” It was your turn to laugh again.

Regardless, you throw him a towel. He raises his eyebrows and squints his eyes as a signal of a thank you, making you chuckle. You grab a towel for yourself too.

Immediately, you sit down on the floor. He follows you and does the same, right infront if you. you lean back into the wall. You sit in silence.

Osamu miya snickers at you, your eyebrow raises. “What?”

“You do look dumb. Your shirts been inside out all day huh?”

Your eyes widen, and quickly putting your arms inside your shirt to turn it around from the inside, making a laugh stifle from Osamu.

You quickly realize that he was lying; he knew you’d be quick to check, and he wanted to annoy you.

“I hate ya, miya.” He pouts jokingly. “No more Osamu?” You laugh at him.

“… I hate you too L/n.” You gasp. “That’s not fair!” He gasps in return. “How come?”

You stop, unable to produce any words. He smiles. “Yeah that’s what i thought.” He chuckles.

The comfortable silence falls back on the both of you. But you’re happy.

“Thank you for keeping me company in the rain, Osamu.” You stop to thank him, even if he came into your house and was mean about it. His thick eyebrows raise, and then fall back down.

“You’re very welcome, Y/n.”

[fanartlover1234]

LITTLE GAMES

Y/n enjoys games but this one gets her in trouble with her boss ( takes place before thomas)

A runner.

You were a runner, you were good at your job but sometimes you prefered doing little games on a run to make it les tiring and boring.

You were also a fan of games outside the maze, during bonfires like beer pong, cause "gallys specal very suspicus moonshine drink pong" is a mouthful or truth or dare, sometimes even a little bet with few gladers from time to time.

Like today, you were at the bonfire, you best friend Newt laughing as you told him the bet you had made with Minho after an accident in the maze when luckly a griever didnt see you but kicked you with his metal leg sending you flying and slashing your arm on a rock and grew uncouncious due to the blow on the back knocking the air out of you.

"So let me see if i understand you, you and Minho made a bet that if he can catch you tomorrow after the sun goes beyond the wall you dont go into the maze untill you heal but if he doesnt"

"I get to go in the next day already"

You had been begging Minho to let you run as you have been dying of doing nothing since the accident so when you proposed the bet to him he wasnf sure knowing you are a good runner but after some convincing he caved in.

Newt was sceptical about the situation, he believed you ofcourse but he also knew that Minho had been in the glade for longer time then you.

"Y'know he is fasted than you right"

"I have a hiding chance"

"Hiding is your only chance"

So here you were a day later hiding behind a hut when you heard a snap behind you turing around you saw ben and the other, leaving only one way for you to run, they didnt chase you, Minho had asked him to help him, he couldnt have the girl he is head over heals for die in the maze.

Y/n knew there was only two hours left, she could do it, she stoped for a moment looking at camp seeinb all the runner except for Minho head to bed before she continued running.

She soon reached the corner of the wall and hit it, she was dead, she knew that much, her only hope was stay low and hope Minho was far away but that hope was crushed when she turned and saw minho blocking the only fully free path for her and they were now surrounded by too many trees for her to properly run from him.

"Looks like you lost"

"Not yet, i can still fight"

Minho pushed off the wall signinb as he looked at her.

"You just dont give up do you" he said as he walked closer to her.

"Never" she said trowing a punch at him but he blocked it he didnt plan to fight her nor did she, she doesnt want to fight him, she grown yo have a crush on him but she couldnt stay another day doing nothing so she trew another punch steping back as Minho still moved towards her but this time catching her wrist while his other hand found her other hand placing tjem together and pinning them above her head oncs the reached the wall.

Making sure she didnt hit her head he bent lowered his hand that held both her wrists behind her head making her arms bend.

He leansd down so he could face her.

"I wo-oww"he yelled out as she bent her wrist so her elbow would hit the side of his head.

He looked at her as she smirked.

He pulled the hand from behind her head and up making her arms straight up, free hamd going on her hip pushing her more into the wall.

Y/n tried kicking him but placed one of his legs between her making sure his upper thigh was not touching her in her private parts but them both knew if she moved she would rub against his leg.

She looked up at him, hus face looking at her his eyes trailing her, she felt her cheeks flush as she suddenly didnt feel so confident anymore, she felt small under his gaze as she looked away from him.

Minho examened her her eyes quickly running over his face her lips parted before the pink shade on her cheeks grew as she averted her gaze, he loved the girl, perhaps too much but seeing her like this so weak and traoed by him shying away from his gaze.

Minho knew her well enough to know that she was most likely the only person who could match his confidence and flirty nature so her shying from him was and unneeded ego boost.

"You lost"

He whispered he could see her rollinb her eyes even if she avoided his.

His hand moved from her hip to her facr gently moving her to look at him her y/e/c eyes looking at him before she moved her face their lips touching just barely but enough for Minho to step back a little.

"I like you" Y/n blurted out.

"Y/n, i like you as well but we cant"

"Why not" even she was suprised by her sudden urge to quit hiding " life moves fast, even here, and if you dont stop for a while you will miss it" Minho looked at the girl " look i have been here for over three years and life was rushing in the same circle over and over but then you came its was like life just stoped for a while okey"

"Y/n"

"I like you Minho, i should of said it faster but i kept disracting myself from it with these stupis games okey, i love you dude"

Minho moved to her again grabing behind her head pulling her in kiss for a few secondd before pulling back "playing too many little games, might get you in trouble, princess"

[smilingformoney]

Sins of the Father

Summary: Snape x OC | Persephone faces a fear, and learns a shocking truth.

Read on Ao3 or below:

July 1999

Persephone took a deep breath and approached the grey-haired man. His back was turned, his attention turned to clearing up his sermon notes, but even after so many years, still she recognised the man who’d raised her.

She cleared her throat. “Hello, father.”

“‘Father’ is Catholic, I’m afraid,” came the reply. “‘Reverend’ is more Anglican, though you can call me –”

He stopped mid-sentence, having turned around, and his eyes widened with shock.

“...Persephone?!”

“Actually, I’ll stick with Father. Persephone’s my name, it might get confusing.”

Several emotions flashed over Reverend Payne’s face in a few moments. The surprise became a twitch of a smile at her joke, then confusion that she was there at all, then finally, relief.

“You’re here!” he breathed. “My word, you’re - you’re here!”

To Persephone’s complete and utter shock, the Reverend threw his arms around her in an embrace.

It was the last thing she’d expected. Disgust that she would dare show her face again, perhaps - or, at best, a disinterest in seeing her again.

She wasn’t sure she recalled him ever hugging her before.

He stepped back to stare at her, as if trying to convince himself she wasn’t an apparition.

“I never thought I’d see you again, my child. What are you - why -?” He stopped himself. “I’m sorry. A thousand questions. Would you like a cup of tea?”

Persephone smiled politely. “Yes, I’d love one, thank you.”

“Of course - let me just get out of my vestments.”

A short while later, Reverend Payne entered the kitchen at the rear of the church to find Persephone had already prepared two cups of tea.

“I remembered where it is,” she said nonchalantly. “Do you still take yours black?”

“Yes, thank you. Come, let’s sit outside, shall we? We have so much catching up to do.”

The cemetery hadn’t changed a bit. The same old weathered bench sat against the stone wall of the church, although it looked to have been repainted.

“Where’s Mother?” Persephone asked as she sat.

The Reverend’s face fell slightly. “She passed,” he replied. “Not long after you left, actually.”

“Oh. I’m sorry.”

To her surprise, Persephone really was sorry to hear her mother had passed so long ago, leaving her father to his own devices.

The Reverend nodded gratefully. “An unfortunate accident at the market. They said a gas pipe exploded… a lot of good people were lost that day.”

Persephone’s heart skipped a beat. Gas pipe explosions were real phenomena, of course… but it was also the usual cover story for Death Eater attacks back then. Explosions without bombs, fires without fuel… gas, like magic, was an invisible assailant, and easily blamed.

“Have you been on your own?” Persephone asked.

“Oh, my, no. I never remarried, but you know well enough that my parishioners are my family. I’ve never wanted for company, though of course I miss Nancy… and you. I have sorely regretted losing you, Persephone. I don’t blame you, of course, for never coming home… but I always wished you would, so I might tell you how very sorry I am. I’ve ruminated and prayed over the years, and I’ve realised just how hard your mother and I were on you. More concerned with our own image than the wellbeing of the child we’d promised to care for. I don’t expect you to forgive me, but… I am glad of this chance to tell you.”

The conversation wasn’t going at all how Persephone had expected. This man was so much older and softer than the man who raised her - already he’d given her both a hug and an apology, neither of which he had ever given before.

“You haven’t asked why I’m here.”

The Reverend chuckled. “I expect you’ll tell me soon enough, dear.”

“Well, someone recently told me something I sorely needed to hear. I’ve always held grudges close to my heart, never letting the anger die down… and I was helped to realise I do it because some part of me believes letting go is weakness. And to be strong I need to learn to forgive.”

“And that starts with me.”

It wasn’t a question; it was a statement of fact, as if it was something he’d accepted a long time ago.

“I didn’t think you’d make it so easy by offering an immediate apology,” she laughed. “I can’t say I immediately forgive you, but… I was only eighteen when I left. Still a child, really. Now I’m forty, and not remotely the girl I was. It would be foolish of me to assume you’re the same man.”

“I hope I’m not,” the Reverend replied with a sigh before sipping his tea thoughtfully. “You’re right, of course. You’re not a girl anymore - you’re older now than your mother and I were when we found you. And of course I don’t expect your forgiveness, Persephone. But perhaps you might allow me the boon of knowing more about you. What has your life been like?”

Persephone laughed. “That’s a big question,” she replied. “I’ve been many things. When I left, I became a spy.”

“A spy?!” The Reverend gasped. “What, for the government?”

“No. Well… not the one you know. The… wizarding government.”

“Ah.”

“You know that wasn’t a school for purification, right? That was a lie. The first big lie I ever told.”

“Yes, a wizarding school. I know. I think I always knew. But, obsessed as I was with my image, so long as we could pretend… I ignored my suspicions. And are you still a spy now?”

“No. I’m more of a… researcher. I study obscure branches of magic and consult with the Ministry when they need my expertise.”

“And… is there a family?”

“Yes. I have three children.”

“Three! Gosh, I’m a grandfather and I had no idea. Boys? Girls? Tell me about them.”

“The oldest is Abigail. She’s nineteen soon. And I have two twins, April and Ariadne - they’re just over six months old now.”

“That’s quite an age gap!”

“Well, a lot happened in between. Their father and I went our separate ways while I was pregnant with Abbie. We reconnected only five years ago.”

The Reverend glanced down at her hands as they held her mug. “You’re married?”

“Yes, we’ve been married just over a year now.”

A glimmer of disapproval flashed across her father’s face, but it soon disappeared.

“Actually, you may be interested to know… do you recall the day you found me, there was a woman at the hospital? Her son was sick and you prayed for him.”

A curious expression crossed the Reverend’s face, and his jaw tightened.

“Yes. I remember Eileen Snape.”

“I married her son.”

The brow that had just furrowed relaxed only to shoot up his forehead.

“The sick boy?”

“Well, he’s not sick anymore. Or a boy. But, yes. A strange coincidence, isn’t it?”

“Well - I -” He blinked rapidly, as if trying to catch up with the neurons firing in his mind. “But how did you meet him?”

“Well, Eileen was actually a witch. Severus is a wizard, and there’s only one wizarding school in the country, so we met there.”

The Reverend let out a sad sigh. “Eileen was a witch?” he enquired.

“She died when Severus was sixteen.”

A great sadness passed over Reverend Payne’s eyes. It was a sadness deeper than empathy for a child losing his mother - as if there were some other reason for him to mourn Eileen Snape.

“And Tobias?”

“In prison.”

“...I see.” The Reverend gazed out across the cemetery thoughtfully. “She named you, you know,” he said. “She had an interest in Greek mythology, and we found you as spring broke, so she suggested Persephone, the goddess of spring.”

He glanced at Persephone, who was frowning.

“How do you know her husband’s name?” she asked. “She didn’t tell you at the hospital. Or that she liked Greek mythology, only that that was where the name came from.”

“You may have been there, but you’re hardly old enough to remember it,” the Reverend admonished.

“Maybe not, but I’ve seen it.”

“How?”

“Magic.”

“You have time travel, do you?”

“No - well, yes, but it’s tightly regulated. I can, however, view people’s memories as accurately as if they were there. I viewed Mother’s memories of finding me after I discovered I was adopted - how could I not? I saw that day. I saw you speaking to Eileen Snape. She never told you her husband’s name.  How do you know?”

Her father sighed. “Well, I suppose you’re more than old enough to know the truth.” He drained his tea, stood and beckoned her to follow.

They began strolling through the cemetery, and after a few moments, the Reverend began to speak.

“After we met at the hospital, Eileen began coming to the church on Sundays, usually with Severus, but Tobias stayed home. In fact, you and Severus met before school - you were playmates in the church nursery, though of course you were both babies - I certainly wouldn’t expect you to remember each other. But you were frequently the only two left, as Eileen would stay late after the sermon; sometimes to pray alone, sometimes to talk. She became a good friend of ours, and after some months of attending the church, she and Severus would visit for Sunday dinner. Again, her husband never came.

When Nancy’s mother became sick, she began to visit her after the sermon, leaving the four of us alone together. Then, one day… Eileen came alone. Tobias refused to allow her to bring Severus to church anymore. A few weeks after that, Nancy began bringing you to see her mother. That left Eileen and I alone.”

Reverend Payne stopped very suddenly. The grave they stood next to, Persephone realised, was newer than the rest. The cemetery had been full for decades even when she was a child - but occasionally space could be found for those with a connection to the church. Those including her mother.

“I am a man of God,” the Reverend said, as if he were reminding himself. “But I am a man. I am weak. The Lord tests me and… I do not always pass.”

He gazed sadly at his wife’s gravestone.

Persephone glanced up. At the end of the pathway, she saw Severus, waiting patiently as he had been at the front gate.

“It was brief,” Reverend Payne continued. “But, I am ashamed to say, more than a single occasion. When Eileen told me she was pregnant, that was the slap in the face, so to say, that I needed. I’m pregnant… the words I always craved to hear from Nancy’s lips, coming from Eileen’s.”

There was a pause.

“Severus has no siblings,” Persephone stated.

“No. The doctor did what was necessary. Nancy never found out. Whether Tobias did, I never knew… I never saw Eileen again after that. By then you were learning to talk, and you’d ask after Severus, but I could only tell you he had left.” He looked up at her, a sad smile on his face. “I’m glad you found him again.”

Persephone’s eyes hadn’t left Severus’ - until now, when she looked at her father with a hard stare.

“He can’t know,” she said quickly. “It would shatter him. Apart from our children, Severus can count on one hand the people he’s loved in his life. The first was his mother. He thought the world of her - he still does, in fact. Ariadne’s middle name is Eileen. Severus cannot know.”

Reverend Payne looked over at Severus. He almost seemed to recognise him, and he smiled.

“Of course. I’d love to meet your husband.”

Persephone gestured for Severus to come over, and he joined them, his face unreadable.

“You must be Severus. Reverend Payne - but you can call me Christopher. I understand we’re family, after all.”

The Reverend smiled and put his hand out. Severus glanced at Persephone, who nodded, and he shook his father-in-law’s hand.

“A pleasure,” he said. He didn’t enquire after her mother.

Persephone had seen a handful of photographs of Eileen Snape. She was the spitting image of Abbie - which meant that, to Reverend Payne, Severus must starkly resemble the woman he’d had an affair with almost forty years ago.

“Father just told me the strangest coincidence!” Persephone said jovially. “I told you that your mother met my parents at hospital when we were both babies, but did you know your mother went to this church for a while after you were born?”

Severus’ raised eyebrows clearly told her that no, he had no idea.

“She brought you along to the church nursery,” Persephone continued. “Apparently we knew each other as babies!”

“Did we now?” Severus said curiously. “That must be why I always felt so drawn to you. I must have imprinted on you.” He turned to the Reverend. “You knew my mother, then?”

“Oh, yes, but not very well, I’m afraid. I mainly remember our meeting at the hospital, fortuitous as it was. She came to the church for a little while after our meeting, but she stopped after some months. Persephone told me she passed when you were still young - I’m truly sorry to hear that, my son.”

Severus blinked - whether he was surprised at the sympathy or being called my son in a tone other than venomous, Persephone wasn’t sure. Perhaps both.

“Father, I’m sure you’re busy today, and this was quite the surprise visit, but perhaps you’d like to come for dinner tonight? I think it’s about time you meet your granddaughters.”

Reverend Payne smiled wide. “Why, my dear, I’d love to.”

After making arrangements, Persephone and Severus left the churchyard to walk an appropriate distance away before apparating.

“I take it that went well,” Severus said once they were out of earshot.

“Nothing as I expected,” Persephone said thoughtfully. “I suppose as time passed I remembered only the key moments… the moments that made me hate him, that made me leave and not look back. And I was young, of course, and I know well enough now that parents hide so much of themselves from their kids. It’s easy to forget your parents are human too.”

“Are you sure you want him for dinner tonight?”

Persephone nodded. “Yes. I want him to meet the girls. I know Abbie will want to meet him.” She chuckled. “Oh, Merlin, he’s going to have his work cut out for him with her.”

“She’s going to absolutely destroy him.”

They both laughed, turned the corner into an alleyway, and disappeared into the air.