#next chapter of rock candy is like

[bubooo]

ugh wtf is motivation

[rcvcgers]

ok so, we both know im totally smitten with your work, rotten apples (ps, chapter five gave me LIFE.) but i was wondering if i could request a smedium (small/medium) oneshot/drabble inspired from this :

https://x.com/baobei_beh/status/1894024841482666126?s=46 ( full credits to this artist.)

but with the non mc!reader x caleb from rotten apples trope minus him calling her pipsqeak , def pretty bird in replacement 🙂‍↕️

if not, i totally understand hehe.

ask and you shall receive!

Video Games

A Rotten Apples One Shot

masterlist , series masterlist

18+ MINORS DNI

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: caleb interrupts your gaming weekend. a bet is made!

word count: 1.9k words

warnings: not proofread! caleb's a simp lmfao. i wrote this one go and didn't look back okay i hope y'all enjoy it! gonna tag the rotten apples taglist in the comments!

author's note: thank you for this request! it shall be an official rotten apples one shot/drabble! also yes. reader & caleb are lowkey fwb. deal with it

content warning: reader teases caleb's boner with her feet, kissing, hinted at spice but not full blown smut, oh and she uses her thighs

my rotten apples <3 ; my rotten apples <3: @kebarney , @pinkismyfavcolor , @romils , @erisnxxi , @rik0shii , @reni502 , @spacehopper27 , @llamabois , @likesvader , @pandoras-rabbit , @princessfruit , @lukassafespace , @jexireads , @etsuniiru , @tinnyrabbit , @orianakira , @xiaorixx , @beomluvrr , @sanzy4 , @vickykazuya , @blcknebula , @sleepydang , @flamedancer13 , @gojosbedwarmer , @silmeria-lafleur , @ikiru-wa , @animecrazy76 , @fealy , @i-messed-up-big-time , @motheraiya55 , @vvonunie , @1uv4jiya , @yuuuumii , @okumurarinsbabe , @mcdepressed290 , @luleck , @sanzy4 , @lucifers-silhouette , @crazygirl3001 , @april-likes-smut , @kazbrkker , @l1ttlebabyapple , @writersandroses , @kookie-my-little-sunshine , @curryexpress , @earthykitsunesrain , @militaryapple

You don’t even know how it happened. One moment, you’re alone on your couch playing your favorite game, and the next minute Caleb is at your door with bags of snacks and drinks. You stare at him through the peephole, watching as he rocks back and forth on his feet waiting for your response.

“Pretty bird?” Caleb smiles, leaning in. “I know you’re in there! Open up!”

“Not now, Caleb! I’m busy!” you call back. He rolls his eyes and holds up the bags. You groan and crack the door open, your eyes peeking from the exposed sliver. “What’s in the bags?”

“Let me in and you’ll find out,” Caleb chuckles and leans down to meet your gaze. You narrow your eyes at him, contemplating it for a moment.

Eh, fuck it. What do you have to lose anyways?

You step back and swing the door open, fully revealing your apartment and yourself to Caleb. You wear an oversized hoodie, the hood covering your head, matched with the sweatpants you stole from your mom’s closet when you ran out of her house.

The sight of you made Caleb’s jaw drop. Fuck, you make whatever you wear look so god damn good. He quickly recovers, though, and watches as you left him stranded at the door, walking back to the couch. He scrambles inside, kicking his shoes off, as he makes his way to your kitchen. He sets the bags down on the counter and moves the plethora of snacks he bought.

A variety of chips, chocolate, gummy candies, popcorn, pretzels, and a few tubs of ice cream now litter your counter. Caleb takes his time shoving the ice cream in your stuffed freezer, organizing the snacks into various sized bowls. Using his Evol, he walks towards you, bowls floating behind him, his purple eyes watching as you punch the couch in frustration.

“What’s got you angry?” Caleb asks, the bowls floating onto your empty coffee table. You look up at him, scowl on your face, and point to the television. He turns his head to the side and stares at the “YOU DIED” logo on the screen.

He chuckles and glances back at you, making himself at home on the ground in front of you. Caleb scoots back, the back of his neck pushing through your closed thighs. He’s a determined man, you’ll give him that!

You roll your eyes and open your legs. Why you are doing this? You’ll never know. Perhaps you are in one of those silly goofy moods where you simply do not care to fight.

“Need me to help you out, pretty bird?” Caleb holds his hand up. You roll your eyes and smack it away. You close out of the game and go back to your console’s home screen.

You lean your head over Caleb’s. He tilts his head back right on cue and you fight the urge to push his dark hair out of his face so you can get a better look of his violet eyes. He cocks his head to the side, his charming smile prominent on his face. You roll your eyes and cross your arms over your chest, tearing your gaze off of his face.

“Oh cool! I didn’t know you had this game!” Caleb exclaims. He uses his Evol to grab the extra controller that sits beside your console. He turns it on and opens up the fighting game. You chuckle and sit up, thighs slightly tightening around Caleb’s head.

Oh man, he’s in heaven.

“I’m going to kick your ass!” You use your thighs to yank his head around. He laughs and uses his Evol to avoid the whiplash.

“Straight to shit talking! I love it!” Caleb hooks his arms around your legs. He pinches your calf and you gasp, slapping his head. He winces but laughs some more.

As the game loads, Caleb’s fingers graze up and down your shin. His touch is ticklish. You try to wrestle your leg away from him but he keeps you in place, even being so bold to place a few kisses to your knee. Your eyes glance down and catch a glimpse of his bulge. It’s right there, so how can you not look at it?

You chuckle and stop your movement. Slowly leaning over him, you grab the sides of his head and tilt him up to look at you. A devious smirk spreads across your face.

“Let’s make things interesting, shall we?” Caleb’s eyebrows perk up. You continue, “Whoever loses a round has to take off an item of clothing.”

“Oh?” Caleb hums. You nod. “You better be ready to lose, then!”

“Bitch, please,” you lean down. Your face hovers over his. Your finger slip into his hair and you give it a gentle tug. “I’m wearing layers.”

The first round was too easy for you. You made sure to pick a character that nobody ever used while Caleb chose one of the titular characters. Caleb was cocky at first, as he usually is, and he completely underestimated your ability in the fighting game. He could barely comprehend what was happening. His jaw was on the floor.

Your character performed the perfect fatality. The character on the screen uses their powers to obliterate his, turning his character into nothing but a bloody mess.

Caleb slowly turns, a look of horror fixed on his face. You feign a disinterested yawn and look at your nails. Your gaze flits to his and you smirk.

“Come on, honey,” you use a tender name to ease his pain, “take something off.”

The Colonel is stunned to say the least. He blinks for a few moments and slowly stands up. He looks down at you as you lazily lean into the plush couch cushion. He nods and rests his hands on his hips.

“You got me,” Caleb admits with a breathy chuckle. His hands attach themselves to the hem of his shirt, swiping it over his head, and tossing it to the side. “I’m going to win these next few rounds, though.”

Your breath hitches in your throat. His torso is just…godly. His perfectly sculpted abs taunt you, his happy trail making you drool. Caleb smirks and settles back on the ground and between your legs. You clear your throat and take your controller in your hand once again, pressing the button to start a new round.

It went on like this for the next hour. Between you and Caleb bickering and demanding a redo because of the distractions that the other person made, neither of you realized just how close you were to being naked. Caleb wears just his boxers while you’re in a bra and cotton panties (you weren’t expecting the company, okay? Don’t be mad!).

You poked your finger into his bare chest, huffing and puffing that him using his Evol to hold you still was not fair.

“Sucks to suck, pretty bird!” Caleb retorts. He crosses his muscular arms over his skin, a few light and very faint scars scattered across his limb. You gasp and slap his bicep, turning back to the couch and plopping down. You grab his remote and hurl it at him. He catches it with one hand, eyes narrowing while a smirk spreads across his face.

Caleb has you right where he wants you. All annoyed and irritated, willing to win at whatever cost. It’s not too long until he’s going to win, leaving you to drop either your bra or panties.

“Come on, dickhead, I don’t have all day,” you point to the spot in front of you. He obeys but takes his time, earning a small push to side from your foot.

Once he sits down, you make sure to scoot all the way up, your warmth making itself at home on the back of his neck. Caleb gulps, his mind slightly frying. He struggles to pick a character, the heels of your feet sliding up and down his chest, teasing him.

The game begins. The only sounds in your apartment come from the television, your characters grunting and yelling insults, and the sound of furious clicking from the controllers you two hold. The first match goes to Caleb, but it isn’t over yet.

You groan and throw yourself back. Caleb claps his hands and cracks his knuckles, ready to make it a clean sweep.

You move closer to him and move your thighs inward. The fat from your legs pushes into the sides of his face. Caleb groans, a tent forming in his pants. He closes his eyes and grabs your shin just as the next round is set to begin.

“No distractions, remember?” He reminds you. You nod and pull your legs away. Caleb regrets his decision to remind you.

Your characters bounce around the screen. You lean forward and rest your controller on his head, swaying him back and forth. His cock hardens and he fights back the urge to throw the controllers away and take you right here, right now on your couch. You bite your lip and glance down at his lap. You chuckle and inch forward, your feet dropping down to his crotch.

It starts with a gentle tease. Just a poke here and there, mumbling a sorry as your characters throw each other around the map. After a second or two, you slide the sole of your foot over his covered member, slowly moving it up and down.

“Ah — pretty bird, your f—,” Caleb groans and closes his eyes, head rolling back. The friction from your movement is agony. His hips tilt upward, trying to add more pressure.

“I’m what? Fantastic at this game? Thanks, I know,” you innocently giggle and clench your thighs around his head. He drops the controller, body shuddering from pleasure, as your character wins the match with ease.

Your body leaves his, jumping over him. You cheer and jump, clapping and swirling your hips around in a nasty taunt. Caleb watches, his breathing heavy, chest rising and falling at a rapid pace. His eyes fixate on your gyrating hips. He bites his lip and stands up, boner prominent through his tight boxers.

“I won! You lost! Suck it, bitch!” You cheer, finally turning to face him.

Caleb is only a few inches away from you. You can feel the heat radiate off of his body, warming your skin. You look up and unconsciously blush from the close proximity. His Adam’s apple bobs up and down, hands grabbing your hips, drawing you to him.

His stiff cock presses into your warmth. You gasp, breasts pushing into his chest. You take a step backward, the pads of your feet traveling over loose clothing items. Caleb follows you, head leaning down as his lips catch yours into a heated kiss.

Caleb moves you towards your bedroom door. It’s a route he’s memorized in the few times you’ve allowed him into your apartment. Those times were filled with, well, heated moments of passion and sometimes out of pure anger.

You drape your arms around his neck. He picks you up, legs wrapping around his waist. You gasp and pull away from the kiss, looking at him with wide eyes.

“The loser doesn’t get a prize,” you warn, hands moving to his chest fingernails digging in. Caleb smirks, kicking open your bedroom door.

“True…then again, the winner deserves one, don’t you think?”

masterlist of works

[spiderb00]

- Fam out

Sophia Laforteza X Reader 

Synopsis - Sophia loves when you're caring, serious, she LOOOVES ;)

Genre – Fluff, a little suggestive at the end? 

a/n - Was I so excited to write this, for some reason??? I think I also kind of like domestic things, so...  

I think it has a little bit of Yn!Oc in that, I mean, Yn is a little bit based on me and my personality <3

next chapter | F.O Masterlist

The theater was full, people quickly finding their seats, all excited by the movie. Yoonchae was happy to have someone she could share this experience with. The younger girl knew that as soon as she talked to Sophia she would agree to watch the movie instantly, but when Yn agreed to watch the movie with them, Yoonchae was more surprised than ever.   

You've been dating Sophia for one year, Yoonchae has always liked you, despite having similar personalities, you two were very different, Yoonchae thinks the age difference does that. The younger girl knew that you had a somewhat peculiar taste for a 21-year-old girl.   

Yoonchae liked to describe her personality as the "personality of a divorced father", she always said that Sophia's girlfriend liked rock, preferably older bands, wore band shirts, played guitar, loved horror and action movies, and had a vintage car (old) that seemed strangely comfortable to Yoonchae. She would say that you were quiet, a born observer. Yoonchae liked that, she found your personality cozy, even though other people found you scary.   

Yoonchae thought Sophia was happy in her relationship, and boy, could she not be more right. Sophia loved every detail of Yn, she loved you was always attentive, as you always did everything to make everyone comfortable. Sophia noticed every single thing, how you always grabbed the highest things from the shelves when the Kats couldn't reach, and how you always pretended not to care about the "thank you" from the girls, responding only with a brief "Hm".   

Sophia always noticed how you always left a bottle of water nearby at rehearsals you went to attend, or how you always applied the sidewalk rule when you went out for a walk, or how you always made sure Sophia had gotten home before starting the car and going home. Sophia has always noticed everything.  

But sure, her favorite interactions were with Yoonchae, Sophia loves it when you do something for the younger girl, something about it warms your heart. So when you said yes when Yoonchae invited you to watch "inside out 2" your girlfriend was automatically jumping up and smiling silly.  

Everything was cozy, the trip to the cinema in her vintage car – cof cof old cof cof – the smell of popcorn and even the feeling that the choice of seats was perfect, everything seemed extremely domestic to Sophia.  

When the movie started you were super entertained, all the colors and captivating animations held your attention. As the movie played, you noticed that Yoonchae's drink had run out. Looking at the Filipino girl's cup and seeing a good amount of liquid, you decided to get a little more just for the younger girl.   

"Hey, I'll be right back." You say, leaning in and giving Sophia a kiss on the head, leaving before she could say anything.  

After buying the drink and some candy that you think the girls would like, you went back to your seat, trying to be discreet and not get in the way of people.  

"Where have you gone?" Sophia asks as soon as you sit in the armchair.   

"Buy some things."   

You put the drink in Yoonchae's cup holder and hand her one of the candies you bought, knowing that it was her favorite.   

"I bought this for you, you like those, right?" You ask, looking at Sophia, who now had heart eyes.   

"Yes baby, thank you." The Filipino girl says before grabbing the back of your neck and giving you a kiss.   

"Of course, I'm here for that." You say, focusing on the film again, not before intertwining your hand with Sophia's. 

In the car, once again, Sophia felt that feeling, the cozy and domestic environment that she quickly learned to love. Yoonchae and you debated about the movie (More like Yoonchae talking and you agreeing and making comments here and there) while Sophia listened to everything in the passenger seat, scratching your head as you drove to the restaurant.   

When you arrive at the restaurant you unconsciously pull the chair to Yoonchae, doing the same to Sophia and then taking the seat next to your girlfriend. The food came, and you ate it amidst silly conversations and jokes. One of the jokes making Yoonchae laugh and unintentionally hitting the glass of water next to her.   

"Watch your clothes, Yoonchae." Sophia said as she picked up the glass that fell.   

"Oh my god, I'm sorry." The younger girl says as she gets up from her chair so that the water doesn't get on her clothes.   

"It's okay Yoonchae, it was just water. And the glass didn't break, I'm just going to ask the waiter to clean it, you can sit in my seat while I call the waiter, okay?"

Very interested in calling the waiter to clean up the mess on the table, you unfortunately missed the look that Sophia was giving you, but if someone who was around saw it, that person could tell that it was like a jaguar ready to attack her prey. 

You threw yourself on the bed next to Sophia with a sigh, the day had been fun and you were ready to rest. After leaving Yoonchae at home with the Kats, Sophia insisted that she would sleep at your house, you didn't question it, after all she could stay the night whenever she wanted, no matter how different something seemed.   

"Tired?"  

"A little, but nothing out of the ordinary. Did you have fun?" you asked, crossing your hands under your head and looking at the black-haired girl.  

"Yes, it was the best day," she said. "But it's about to get better." 

Sophia mounted on your waist with a smile on her face, legs on either side of your body, taking you completely by surprise.   

"With you everything always gets better." 

__________________

yes, they are Yoonchae's mothers... that's it :/

[legendofmorons]

Written in the stars (forever on loop) chapter one - we're not in Kansas anymore

Pairing: eventual poly! Chain x reader, platonic Wind & Reader

Rating: T (cursing)

Summary: You find yourself in a strange world with a familiar set of men that have some ridiculous names. You are left wondering why they are all so... strange towards you. Between a strange dream and the chain's own angst, there's a lot happening.

Warnings: cursing,

Other: I'm so excited to get this story rolling! If I missed anything, please let me know.

Series masterpost | next chapter

You come to awareness while a man hovers over you, which is pretty concerning since you were locking your front door.

Everything in your head feels weird, like it's coated in cotton candy.

You blinked, and then you were sprawled on the ground with a man hovering over you!

The man has dirty blond hair and a kind face.

He has pointed ears?!

Why does he have pointy ears?

They don't look clipped they look like natural elf ears.

You yelp, scrambling back in a horrible crab walk.

"What the fuck?!" You demand breathlessly.

Your heart is beating in your ears as you try to make sense of things. Your mind keeps focusing on the pointy ears.

"Easy, it's okay. You're safe." The man says, hands up so you can see he's not a threat. (His voice strains a little, but you don't really latch onto it.)

The gesture with his hands held up would work better if you knew where you were, and he didn't have a sword strapped to his back.

"Who are you?" You ask, hand landing on a small rock.

You grip the rock, deciding it can be a weapon if you need it to be. Hopefully.

"I'm Sky." The man introduces with a soft tone.

You stare at him, breathing slowly as you try to calm down. Finally, you ask, "Where am I?"

He gives a sympathetic smile. "We're not sure. You fell out of a portal not too long after we did."

"We?"

Sky gestures to the right.

You look, finding eight more males all looking armed to at least the waist if not the teeth.

"I'm dreaming." You decide out loud.

Sky chuckles, "I don't think you are."

"I really hope I am. Otherwise, I'm in trouble." You groan.

"Well, either way, how about we get some foo in you? Wild made some stew."

You sigh, letting go of the rock and getting to your feet. You brush yourself off as well.

"Thank you." You say.

He nods, "Of course. Come on, let's go introduce you to the others."

Sky leads you to the group he motioned to earlier. He moves with an earned confidence that seems out of place without a suit of armor, but that's not important.

You immediately feel uneasy.

It's not anything the group does it's just the fact that there are eight of them. (Nine including Sky.) They are all pretty well armed. There is one if you and you are- not well armed.

You are in a graphic t-shirt, and the closest thing to a weapon you have is your fists.

They all look a little familiar, but that isn't too important. Not now.

The youngest is actually kind of cute in a pirate gremlin kid way. Wavy blond hair and a blue shit (tunic?) And if course pointy ears.

You take in the rest of the group, noticing that they are all blond exceptions for one, and two of them have face markings. (Possibly face tattoos?)

Two have obvious armor and. A few more seem to have on chain mail.

Wow, okay.

Who needs chain mail in this day and age?

"Hey, good to see you awake!" The youngest grins at you.

"Thanks?" You manage.

He almost makes you think of Wind Waker Link.

Wait!

They all look like different Links!

Are you in Hyrule?!

Also, what are they all doing together?

What is going on?

"I made stew if you want some." Says the one that looks like Breath of the Wild Link. He isn't looking at you, actively staring into a pot instead.

You fix a polite smile in place. "Thank you."

"Are you okay? You fell out of the sky." The brown haired man that might be from the first two Zelda titles asks. He looks at you like you have two heads, but if you really fell from the sky... that makes sense. (Right?)

"I what?!" You gasp.

How could you fall out of the sky?

"Do you have a concussion?" Asks the man with the scarf cape thing. He looks at you with pinched brows.

"I hope not?"

Sky pats your shoulder. "I'm sure you're okay. The first portal is the most disorienting."

Someone hands you a bowl of stew.

"Thank you."

"Of course. I feel like you're probably stuck with us for a little bit since you fell through a portal." The most heavily armored says.

Is that... the Hero's Shade?

This is officially either some weird dream, a hallucination, or you are the least favorite of some deity somewhere.

"Well... Nice to meet you?" You say weakly before you introduce yourself.

At the sound of your name, the entire group goes still for a moment. Well, all of them but Wind, who smiles.

They look pained for a second, but they recover quickly. Though the one with a blue hat and no pants looks annoyed at everything.

"I'm Wind." The youngest offers first with a smile.

The shortest looks over next. "I'm Four."

"I'm Twilight." Says the man in the pelt.

The man with the scarf gives a charming and pained smile. "I'm Warriors."

"I'm Hyrule." The man with the brown hair says, looking away from you.

These are the most bizarre names you've heard in a while. Who names their kid Four? Or Warriors?

That just seems cruel.

"I'm Time." The tallest says, his gaze weighty as it lingers on your face.

"I'm Wild." The man with long hair says. He still won't look at you.

The last one, the man with the blue hat, sighs heavily, "Legend."

"Nice to meet you all?" You offer.

Silently, you promise yourself that if you're ever responsible for naming a child you won't stick them with a number or a job title as a name.

Sky smiles at you weakly. "You weren't prepared for an adventure were you?"

"No." You say.

Not prepared is a kind way to put it.

You just count yourself lucky you aren't in pajamas right now.

This is going to be a long day.

-------

Legend is ready to scream. He doesn't care if it's rational either. He deserves to be able to scream after literally everything he's gone through.

First of all, they watch someone fall out of a portal in the sky. Great. Perfect even.

Then, the person happens to look uncannily like the love of his life that died soon after his many adventures. (Soon after an argument where he had been so snappish with them.)

That's just his luck. Par for the course even.

But then, of course, you sound like the lost love.

You have the same name.

This is either a cruel trick or an uncanny coincidence.

Legend hopes it's the second one.

Knowing his luck, though, it's the first. This is almost certainly some cruel trick, because Hylia is a bitch.

He watches you the whole day, from his spot by the impromptu fire. They set up camp after meeting you to try to get you settled into the group.

You are... woefully unprepared.

He feels a little pity for you, everything else aside. He remembers the way that starting with nothing feels.

He remembers how disorienting it can be to get thrown to the deep end of adventure.

You sit by Sky, seemingly a little more comfortable with the man.

The chilly air has earned you one of Wild's extra cloaks, which had been a fight on it's own. You had to be talked into even accepting the damn thing.

It was a strange interaction since Wild wouldn't look at you.

Legend watches you, the way you try to make sense of things. It's familiar.

He looks away, turning instead to look at Warriors who's trying to get Wild and Wind to come down from the trees.

"What of your Hyrule?" Sky asks.

You frown, your voice drawing Legend's eyes.

"I'm not from Hyrule." You say, sounding like the notion is absurd.

Sky nods thoughtfully. "You must be from somewhere else, like me. Where are you from?"

You tell them, naming a place they've never heard of.

Legend dosen’t know where that is... but it sounds nice in your achingly familiar voice.

He's tempted to pretend that you are the reincarnation of his lover. He really is.

He won't, though. That's unfair to you and his lost lover both.

He can't help the glare he sends you. It isn't your fault, but the pain makes him want to glare.

Legend watches you in stilted moments. Wondering how you can so closely resemble his lost love and yet not be them?

If you were... If you were his lover, you would be here at his side, telling him sweet nothings instead of allowing stilted converstions with Sky and Wind.

Legend is sure this is a punishment.

What he wouldn't give to speak to his lover one last time. (To make up that argument to them. To hold them-)

He turns his gaze to Hyrule beside him, who is also watching you with knit brows and thin lips.

"Hyrule?" Legend asks.

Hyrule turns his eyes to his predecessor, gaze glassy with unshed tears. "They look just like my lover... Legend... You see it, right?"

The knowledge of a lover that reincarnates with every cycle of the triforce is taught to children. The part that isn't taught is that the lover never lives long enough.

Every hero is the same soul reincarnated. Every version of the lover is lost too soon.

Legend knows Wind hasn't lost his version of the lover because he isn't looking at you the way the others do.

"I see it." Legend says weakly.

Hyrule swallows. "When does it stop hurting?"

"Never." The veteran manages. "We never stop missing them."

"They look the same every time..."

"I know."

Hyrule takes a shaky breath. "Wind dosen’t know what he's in for... does he?"

Legend shakes his head. "No."

"Should... we tell him?"

"No. That will just ruin the time he has left with them.

Hyrule nods. "Okay."

Legend takes a slow breath. For all that the heroes share the same soul, they feel more like brothers to each other than copies of a person.

There are similarities.

To see any of his brothers hurt is a shot to Legend's heart.

To see Hyrule, his direct successor, hurt? It's cruel.

Hyrule gives a wet, shaking laugh as he leans against Legend. "I miss them, Legend. I miss them every day."

"I know... I miss them too."

Hyrule sighs softly. "I see them in my dreams."

"Me too."

"They'd be telling us we shouldn't live our lives missing them."

"Easier said, then done."

"Tell me about it."

Legend wraps an arm about Hyrule's shoulders. He pulls the traveler closer, silent in his comforting of the other.

Hyrule just leans into it.

They close their eyes, trying to focus on the evening air instead of you.

-------

You settle into the older bedroll you were given after convincing Wild to keep his new one and let you use the old one instead of the other way around. Your mind is loud and busy at the moment.

You are decidedly in Hyrule. You are in the world of the Legend of Zelda.

This is absolutely insane.

You would think this is all some weird dream, but it feels entirely too real.real.

The others have all gone to he'd except for Time, the oldest being on watch first tonight.

You lay near Sky for tonight, the least intimidated by him simply by virtue of having talked to him the most so far.

Sky has his back to you, curling up into a ball.

Time is by the fire, scanning over the group every so often.

You can see Wind sprawled across Wild and Twilight. It's a little funny. The sailor has a blanket thrown across him.

The fire crackles gently. A beacon to draw your attention over and over.

You can't make sense of any of this.

Meeting the character of a whole franchise you've always loved is... rather surreal.

You would even go so far as to say it's a dream come true? Maybe?

It's something you doubt you can ever forget at the very least.

Life will certainly never be the same.

You close your eyes with the intention to sleep.

-------

You're ready to scream. This is the fifth time Link has run off because of some hero bullshit without even saying bye.

You aren't mad he's doing his (unfair) job. You're mad he never lets you know!

The problem is that you never know when he will leave. You don't know if he's out to visit someone or if you should be waiting for him to return in a box.

Living like this is exhausting.

All you want is for him to do better about telling you. He could leave a note, and that would be enough!

Nights full of pacing and worry leave a lot to be desired.

You glance to the table, spotting the red carnations and sighing. The flowers you were given last week are wilting.

Link is still gone. It's been a week, and you haven't heard anything.

The door opens, and you turn, eyes landing on Link. His red tunic has certainly seen better days.

He looks- rough. Bruises, scrapes, dirt, mud, and who knows what else scatter across him.

For a moment, there is only relief.

"Link!" You gasp.

Link looks at you, eyes as beautiful as they are resigned. "Angel."

"Where have you been?! I was so worried!" You cry, crossing the room to check on him.

You move to cradle his face, running your thumbs over his cheek bones. His skin is cold in your hands.

"I've been doing hero shit." Link huffs, pushing your hands away. "Just- leave me alone."

You choke, stepping back. "You just got home."

"Yeah." Link says tightly.

"Can you at least tell me if you're okay? I've been worried sick!"

"You don't need to worry! Leave me alone!"

"I- What the hell Link? All I'm asking is if you're injured?!"

Link storms off with a growl.

You grit your teeth. You know he has bad days. Everyone does. You know he gets grumpy even towards you sometimes. But this is too much

You need some air. You need a walk.

You leave your home, rain pouring. It dosen’t matter. You just need to think.

Rain pours and thunder cracks with lightning.

Worries from the last several days loosen and tighten in quick secession.

Nothing matters.

You just need to focus on breathing.

Calmer heads and all that.

Link will calm down, you know this. He always calms down.

That dosen’t make it easier to deal with the way he snaps at you.

Honestly, you probably should have left him alone the first time he asked. He set a boundary, but in all honesty, your worry made it hard to see that.

You will have to apologize and work on doing better.

For now, though, you're going to focus on centering yourself and giving him the space he needs.

Hopefully, he forgives you.

You hear the monster before you see them. Low sounds.

Terror bolts up your spine -

-------

You jolt awake, breathless as you whip your head around. Blurry vision latching onto the low fire that is almost all embers.

You swallow hard.

Breathing. You need to do that.

Deep breath in.

Slow breath out.

You focus on slowing your breathing as you try to come back from whatever that dream was.

It's wild what brains can do.

It's strange you had a dream about Legend.

Weirder is that it feels... like a memory.

Nightmares can be so bizarre.

"Hey," Wind says from the fire.

You look over, blinking a few times. "Hi?"

"You okay?"

"Yeah... just- rough dreams." You say.

It's strange to admit that. It's strange to be asked anything by Wind.

Why is he even up?

Watch.

You remember now.

He's up for watch.

Wind nods, "That sucks. You gonna be okay to sleep?"

"I think so." You say without thinking about it.

There is no reason to possibly burden the kid.

Laying back down, you stare up at the stars and try to settle down enough to sleep. There's something in your mind saying you will need it.

-----

Next chapter

[ma1dita]

don't blame the kids

a 'partners in crime' installment - luke castellan x dionysus!reader prev -> not your goddess | next -> trouble's coming for you words: 7.6k summary: (established relationship (kinda lol)) The one where you both chaperone a trip to Mount Olympus. The Olympians are bigger gossips than you thought they'd be. (Luke Castellan x fem!Dionysus!reader) a/n: the Chapter—set during the winter solstice; tldr: your dads are besties + hera is a good judge of character.... more d & trouble as requested, enjoy! eh ill edit this once i get back from class later tonight, taglist & ao3 update to be posted then as well

—

Your head falls against the metal of the school bus with an audible thunk. The sound of discordant cackles wakes you up from a dreamless sleep, making you jam your mouth shut and feel your spit go stale on this chilly winter morning.

“Rough night?” 

Keeping your cool despite the pounding headache, you mumble out an incoherent reply to your younger brother, whichever one he was. The old leather seat sighs as one of them sits down, the added weight jostling your legs as you groan and open your eyes to see two blond heads staring at your tired form. One of them peers from over the seat in front while the other leans over your lap, rifling through your backpack for snacks—there’s no such thing as personal space with these two for siblings.

You blink slowly as your vision clears, the cold grayscale interior of the bus still too bright on your eyes.

It’s too early for this shit.

“You’re talking to yourself again,” Pollux grins, noticing briefly that you’ve made an internal thought external. He hands his twin a granola bar from your backpack and leans back against your shoulder.

“Need this weekend to be over already,” you mumble, “just wanna sleep a bit longer and forget all of this. You two helping me later or are you gonna do that juggling bit again with the bottles of ambrosia?”

“Too bad it’s just begun,” Castor chuckles, before flopping back into his seat, then calling out, “and we’re playing the water glasses, thought it would make dad laugh—HEY!“ You tossed your water bottle at him and missed only because he conjured it into his hand and not your intended target of his skull. 

“We’ll be around if you need an extra hand up there,” Pollux murmurs over a hot chip, the crunch reverberating into your ear, “Are we gonna talk about why your boyfriend is on the opposite end of the bus?” Or why he didn’t come to cabin 12 last night… The stealth of sons of Hermes aside, the twins always know when he drops by— Luke usually leaves bags of stolen candy and tiny trinkets tied to their doorknobs when they lose teeth. To be honest, they’ve known the tooth fairy hasn’t existed since they were ten, but Pollux has one last molar he was looking forward to cashing in for a Push-pop.

“Nope.”

“Good talk,” he nods, before belching so loudly you shove him into the aisle, “Ow!”

The rest of the bus is filled with quiet chatter and excitement as you decide to take the chance and get up to survey the handful of campers who join you for the winter solstice. Some of the younger ones are crammed like sardines with bobbing heads as the bumps and turns of the Long Island Expressway rock them in and out of sleep, which is a privilege you were just robbed of. The others that are still excited to see their godrents move animatedly as they clamber over each other and practice their performances for later, a dissonant symphony of prose and instruments out of tune, vines growing from the Demeters’ row, and multiple charcoal pencils rolling along the floor towards the driver sitting up front.

There’s only so much you can hide on a bus, and now that you’re awake…

“Beck!” you hiss as the smell of burning hair wafts through the enclosed space, “No fire on the bus!” The dark-skinned boy looks at you sheepishly, fanning his younger sibling’s singed eyebrows and cracking open a window. Ironically (no pun intended, but while we’re here, ha!) Hephaestus will love his kids even if all of Olympus goes up in smoke. You wish you could say the same for the rest of your campers. The ones left to consider—like those of Hermes, watch the blur of the road whizz past their peripherals, lacking their usual sense of merriment and mischief in knowing their father will be a no-show even on the one day a year they’re allowed to visit. Though a worthless trip off the island is way better than cleaning wine glasses with the nymphs—to them, kitchen duty ends when one’s fingers are about to fall off the bone. 

Making a mental tally of your kids in case any of them have decided to fall out of the vehicle during your much needed break (demigods can get into twice the amount of trouble mortals can in half the time after all), you notice Annie’s waving you over towards her and her seatmate who is coincidentally the only person you wish would drop into the East River.

You make your way over feeling like you’re walking to your death, with your knees buckling with the movements of the bus, momentarily stumbling to a stop in front of their row and conjuring a juice box for Annie with a small smile. Your boyfriend(? — could you still call him that? You remember falling asleep in the storage room counting the sleeping bags, waking up in your bed alone and not much else) looks up at you expectantly as if you’re the one who should have something to say now. You avert your eyes quickly. 

Even on the shortest day of the year, being under his gaze makes time pass slowly like being dipped in molasses. The feeling sits at your throat uncomfortably, and your resolve makes your stomach feel like an endless pit.

“Yeah, Annie?” you say simply. You don’t mean to, but the smile on your face fades ever so slightly. They both notice and don’t say anything—one in contemplation and the other in disappointment. 

“You look awful.”

Okay, what the fuck. Between the thousand-yard stare you gave your wall this morning and the amount of time you spent slathering makeup on at the crack-ass of dawn, you would think that at least your eyebags were concealed enough.

But Annabeth Chase is nothing if not honest, and even if you were the best actress she’s ever met (which you are), there is no way of hiding heartbreak. 

Can you call this that? 

Heartbreak. 

You’re still unsure of if it’s really over—can you say that Luke broke your heart if there’s no way of being certain? What is a break, anyway? Are there terms and conditions you should follow? Is this the part where you two just never talk again and it’ll always feel like this?

But if the boy sitting across from you broke your heart, you think you’d be able to tell—so let the evidence show (or lack thereof) that you’re pretty sure he took it with him, wordlessly and selfishly like a son of Hermes would. With no remorse. 

Let’s not call this heartbreak then. Perhaps the more accurate word to describe your expression is despondence—he chips away at you further with how he looks at you now. Luke catches himself admiring the way you’ve done your hair and the glitter on your eyelids and then honey meets amethyst as your eyes lock. In between an obvious sigh and the way you bite your tongue, he realizes that despite your beauty always rivaling that of Aphrodite (at least in his honest opinion), there’s something hollow in the way you look back at him this morning. He doesn’t know how to feel about that either. 

You both didn’t end off on a good note yesterday—and that much, plus the rare occasion of sleeping alone in the months you two have been together was disconcerting, to say the least. 

“Thanks for that. If that’s all, I’m gonna go back to my seat,” you deadpan, turning back towards the front of the bus. 

You can’t even look at him, you realize. In the almost five years you’ve known Luke Castellan, your favorite thing to do was just look at him, from the way his nose scrunches when he laughs, to the fluttering of his eyelashes when he gets tired, because one of the easiest parts of loving him was by just watching him to see if he was looking right back at you.

And you can’t even do that, because it comes with a whole bunch of feelings you have no time to unpack right now. You decide to focus on the scar that spreads across his cheek instead when Luke calls your attention back towards them. He says your name so softly you almost miss it, gentle, like how someone talks to a child. It’s infuriating.

“I thought you were driving the bus today?” 

Somehow a simple interaction like this feels like the hardest performance of your life. Breakups never came easy, but dear gods, why right before the winter solstice of all days— you mumble a reply so quietly even Annabeth leans a bit closer to hear, “Didn’t sleep well. Big day today.” You brace against the seatback in front of them, tightening your core as the bus whips around a bend.

“Thought it’d be safer if I got one of the satyrs. Had to promise him unlimited access to the kitchens for a month though.”

Almost slamming into a full stop, your eyes widen as your body hits leather, properly leaning over the both of them as the daughter of Athena holds onto your leg and one of Luke’s hands grabs your arm.

“Gods. Look how that’s going,” the younger girl jokes, before looking up again to see her brother and you staring at each other motionlessly. Everything goes quiet—you don’t hear screaming campers or see Clarisse shaking one of her younger siblings upside down for a candy bar. Your knees shake slightly under the weight you figuratively carry on your shoulders. How will you show face to the gods when you can’t even keep a smile steady?

Time stops for a moment, and if it’s only been 12 hours, you’ve already lost count— but its felt like a lifetime since he held you like he might still care. It’s hard to tell, the both of you are too stubborn and it reminds you of a time when all of your conversations went like this—vitriol and annoyance leaking from each word, but at least when you were fourteen it felt like the build up to something great.

But what happens after great is exhausted? The comedown is a terse conversation that almost flies over Annabeth’s head—said in a way that adults do when everything is veiled and heavy, not meant to be seen by prying eyes and younger hearts. 

“I didn’t mean for it to turn out this way,” Luke mutters from beside her. You retract your arm like you’ve been burned and shake your head, “Well, it did.”

The wise girl starts to put the dots together, face scrunching as she deciphers the hidden meaning behind your exchange. She should’ve known Luke didn’t actually want to sit with her and talk about her latest chess match—the son of Hermes loves a good game but has no interest if he’s not the one winning. They both watch you rush back to your seat, the swaying of the bus pushing you farther and faster until you fall away out of sight. 

When she gathers her thoughts, the words lay heavy on her tongue like a hot iron until she spits it out at her older brother. Annabeth Chase sparingly cusses, you see, mostly under her breath and really only when she’s stumped by a situation, especially since she’s only just turned eleven a few months ago—but she looks at him like a foreign object she doesn’t know how to dissect.

“You’ve got nerve, Luke. How do you always fuck up this bad?” Her dark braids drag over her shoulder as she turns to look the other way, away from him.

Luke swallows dryly, biting down on the flesh of his cheek. Between his plan for today and his impeccable timing of monumentally screwing up his relationship with you? 

It’s like Annabeth hit the nail on the head, and he couldn’t agree more.

—

“Alright, places everyone,” you drone, tapping your pen against your clipboard like a gavel before a session in court. The Hall of Gods is just as unruly as your campers when you don’t water down the juice boxes, you realize—Olympians are mulling about the throne room, chattering and making it known that they’d rather be doing who knows what on the only day of the year that it’s mandatory for them to be parents. You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as you silently agree—there are much better uses of your time that you can think of right now, like making sure to hand Michael his epi-pen before lunch and hoping Connor and Travis aren’t scamming every seller blind at the street-markets of Olympus.

Everyone else is enjoying their free time and you’re…here, watching Apollo, god of music and truth, annoy his twin by sending birds to fly circles around her head. 

Cacophonous laughter startles you, turning to see Hades watching the chaos with his arms crossed over his chest. Draped in black, his chill expression looms over the papers in your hand as he peers at the schedule.

“Siblings, am I right? Sorry you have to deal with mine.”

“Divine Hades,” you bow your head slightly, “they’re erecting your pedestal for the solstice as we speak, I apologize in behalf of—”

He waves a hand dismissively, “No need, child. I know you’re just doing your job. I can wait.”

“Well, I can’t if they’re all acting like children,” you mutter, the both of you watching Zeus bicker with Hera with increasing volume before she storms out, not before addressing the god of the Underworld with a nod.

And he smirks, letting out another laugh that the sound of it quiets the Olympians and sends them towards their seats like obedient students in a classroom. The nymphs are finished pushing the newly-fashioned slab of a throne into position, twelve turning into thirteen and Hades makes his way over as well, gesturing back at you, “Remind me of your name again?”

You say it calmly, clicking your pen. Your dad is sprawled out on his throne, legs over the side as he stares at the ceiling, “Alright princess—let’s get this show on the road.”

“Will we be waiting for…” your voice trails off, briefly looking towards the door.

“Nonsense. I’m sure you can brief her afterwards,” Zeus booms, and you swallow. There goes your lunch break.

“Of course. And Hermes?” You ask, eyes flickering to the only empty seat.

“Working.”

Clearing your throat, you stand tall to address the deities in the room and though you can’t look any of them in the eye, (besides your father that’s already guzzling his fourth cup of ambrosia at eleven in the morning, but you're not any better---you're on your third can of Redbull) it does not deter you from what you came here to accomplish. Might as well do the job well if there’s nothing else to look forward to for today.

You go over the schedule of events like an automated system, not stopping even when Ares starts sighing at the end of your sentences and Demeter sends daggers toward Hades with her eyes. It’s enough to wonder why those without children present today even stay. Formalities, you presume.

“Any questions? Good, I’ll see you all in here at four o’clock,” you quickly say, not giving them a chance to interject—spinning on your heel to walk out of there with even a shrivel left of your patience. 

You find yourself running through your list again by the time you reach the end of the hall: you need to grab the tapestry that cabin 6 wove for their mother’s shrine from the bus, Lee needs help bringing in the harp after lunch, and your brothers need enough wine glasses to fill with water for their performance since they haven’t mastered the conjuring trick so well yet.

Her presence imposes itself upon you before you spot her perched next to the windowsill—the queen of the gods is not meant to be a decorative wallflower, after all. 

“D-divine Hera,” you stutter and stop short, “Would you have a moment to go over the schedule?”

“I know the schedule, child. I’ve been here longer than you. What is it, your fourth year running this thing?” She’s expressionless, maybe even a bit bored with the topic as she looks down at you. You stare at the peacock feather shawl that hangs off her shoulders.

“Third, ma’am.”

Hera smiles (or at least it sounds like she is, talking to her has always felt like twirling on a minefield), “It doesn’t surprise me that all of this falls on a woman. Where’s your husband?”

“My what?” 

You don’t mean to, but your knee-jerk reaction is to look her in the eye and the both of you are surprised by that. Hera’s perfectly arched brows are sky high now, but you haven’t been incinerated yet, so you can deduce that she might like you (or is still contemplating the matter), “The one with the pretty face, such a shame about that scar. You two were inseparable last year, I just assumed…”

With a face on fire, you clear your throat, “Oh. Luke and I aren’t…” Your eyes press closed, hot-red embarrassment brimming into tears you don’t expect to surface. Another reminder that he’s not your…anything right now.

“Mm,” she hums thoughtfully, “Sometimes I forget what year it is. Human societal norms and all that.”

A soft wind billows through the open air, and you hug the clipboard to your chest. You are not about to trauma dump on Hera. Though in a way, she might understand you more than you think.

“I sent him away, I guess. Sometimes it’s much easier to do things alone,” but even you don’t sound convinced. The side of Hera’s lip quirk upwards and she looks at you knowingly, “I agree. Though I guess there are worse things in life than sharing the hard parts with someone you love.” 

Looking down at your shoes, you’re not sure of what else to say. It reminds Hera of her and her husband, before time complicated everything. In the early years, every obstacle feels world-ending until it passes and all you can do is laugh with the person who was by your side. 

“I don’t have to be there later, don’t I?” the queen of the gods mutters. You shrug. Your opinion doesn’t matter, clearly, because she continues, “I don’t have any children in the show that are performing but…I want to be there.”

“I get that,” you say awkwardly, shaking your head to not fumble this conversation further, but she smiles, patting your shoulder as she walks past—it almost feels like a blessing. 

Or maybe she wasn’t even listening to you at all. 

She stops at the end of the hall.

“Trust is a fickle thing, child. It has more value once it’s been broken, and rebuilding it takes two sets of hands. Catch and fall, push and pull, go and follow.” Hera looks back at you again, her white dress swishing at her hips, “Do you agree?”

“I guess.” 

The queen of the gods looks at you thoughtfully, a girl humbly offering her heart out to her divine presence and wanting her partner, a son of Hermes at that— over any glory Olympus can provide. 

Oh, to be young and in love—it makes one invincible.

“Then I hope he makes it worth your while.”

She leaves you to your thoughts and they echo to meet her like a bittersweet greeting. Hera smiles, seeing them run through your head like a video on loop—replacing bloodied bandages in a dark train car, glitter and giggles in a locked room, burnt chocolate chip cookies, and face masks in the dim light of a bathroom. 

The ritual of marriage has definitely changed over the millennia the goddess has lived through, but what you and Luke share is what she considers to be its truest form—that of two souls choosing one another over and over.

—

There’s not a lot of things that can make the herald of Olympus stop in his tracks. He holds as many titles as the letters that fly through his fingertips—though Hermes delivers mail with gratifying ease. The job has always been second nature; being a father…not so much.

But all the power in the world cannot compensate for the fact that you cannot save your children from themselves.

So when he sees you leaning against one of the ornate marble doors outside the Hall of Gods that afternoon, he wills himself to join you in real time. Infinite versions of himself scatter across the Earth with every second that passes. But you look familiar, and well, the trickster loves solving a good puzzle.

“I know you,” he says matter of factly, yet he can’t put his finger on it. His voice is deep, like a howling wind; it blows your hair back even when he stands still in front of you. Your gaze lifts from your clipboard to travel across his face briefly, but you don’t look him in the eye. You can’t even if you wanted to—incineration by divine form and all, so you weren’t about to test your luck with him. Tempting though—you’ve heard enough about Luke’s father to want to burn holes through the god’s head like he could yours.

“Shouldn’t you be inside with the other campers for the rest of the show?” Hermes prompts again, despite your silence. He is the god of communication after all. But there’s not a single thing you could think of telling him besides, “Shouldn’t you? Your kids have been waiting all year to see you.” Mortal lifetimes pass in the blink of an immortal’s eye—but he can’t spare a few minutes to see his kids? Hermes shrugs, like it’s nothing of the sort. Nothing he can do about it. Olympus takes priority. 

“The work never stops. You would know that.”

There’s a startling shriek that escapes from the seam of the doorway as little Will Solace shuffles through the doorway shyly. He tugs at your sleeve, keeping his head bowed and mumbles your name, “Where’s the bathroom?” The god replies to the kid instead, looking at the tiny fractals of light that reflect off the boy’s hair, “Uhhh…down the stairs and to the left, fourth door.”

“Need me to go with you buddy?”

He squeezes your hand and shakes his head, undeterred by the fact he interrupted your conversation with an Olympian, instead going to hop down the stairs without looking at either of you, “Miranda tried to sing again. She should really just stick to plants.” 

Perhaps the presence of gods isn't as impressive to a mortal when their godrent regularly visits them.

“So why exactly did you want to speak with me?”

You cross your arms and lean against the cool wall and wonder why Luke’s dad is still in front of you. After all, he has to have better things to do than make conversation with a moping girl with a workload stacked to the heavens.

Hermes repeats your name slowly as if he’s memorizing the way it sounds coming off his lips, “You look a little lost. So much so that it made me take a moment here with you.”

“I’m right where I need to be unfortunately, so…thanks but no thanks.” He’s the god of many domains—finding lost things being one of them, good luck being another, among the others. He can feel—actually, he knows that you’re searching for something even if you yourself don’t know what it is. The force that summons him to you feels thick, like quicksand that pulls him in planting his winged feet to the ground. Hermes observes your standoffish attitude and wonders if he’s offended you somehow. 

Pushing down the yearning you feel for his son who sits inside the marble doors, you wonder if it would’ve hurt less had Hermes not made your want known to you, an ugly, embarrassing thing that feels like a lump in your throat. His caduceus vibrates loudly in his pocket and with a sleight of hand it appears in front of him, clacking buttons. It’s annoying to be treated like an inconvenience, especially in a time of need. Like father, like son, you suppose.

But unfortunately he’s right. You’re a lost little thing, mind scrambled from this hellish week and where you left off with Luke. You want him with you in all senses of the term, both right now as you glare at his father and in the way one breathes air through their lungs—autonomic, because you simply can't help it. Hermes looks at you again, scratching at his ear as if everything about standing in front of you is making his ears ring, “Who do you belong to again?” He’s trying to remember where he’s seen you before. The sound of trumpets pierce your ears when the door opens again, this time Castor catching his breath as he calls your name, “Hey. Where’s the little pipsqueak? 7’s going on soon.” Everyone seems to know you except him. 

How intriguing.

Rolling your eyes, you grumble, “Bathroom. Go back inside Cas.”

“See that’s the problem, Luke asked me where you are, should I tell him you’re…” The blond looks at who you’re speaking to and swallows, “busy?”

“That’s it. You’re Luke’s girl—” the frown that deepens on your face makes him pause, “I thought your name was Trouble?” The god looks even more confused, scratching his goatee—his son, through his nightly devotions, has asked for a lot of things from him in his short lifetime. The realization comes to the forefront of Hermes’ mind like a thumbtack pierced through a map as you respond. 

“Sometimes.”

In the past year, Luke’s narrowed it down to two things: to guide him onto the right path in life and to make sure you live well enough to be on it with him. That’s what was sacred to him—but Hermes could only see himself fulfilling one of them, if we’re being honest here: an unfortunate trick of the trade.

You grimace—maybe being in there and facing Luke would be better than having this conversation with his deadbeat dad.

“Only with him,” Castor smirks, and you shove your brother towards the stairs to go find Will. 

“How did you know that, anyway?”

Hermes chuckles, looking you up and down as if seeing you clearly for the first time, “His thoughts are even louder than yours. Even though he probably has nothing nice to say about me, he thinks about you all the time, that son of mine.”

“And what do you do then? Let it fall on deaf ears?”

“Listen, I’m not allowed to meddle,” he murmurs, a twitching hand ghosting over your shoulder. He wonders if can offer comfort —you know Luke better than the idea he has of him in his head, the glimpses of his son’s life that he’s allowed himself to see. You’ve been there these past few years to live it with him. Hermes swallows, retracting his arm to put it back against his side. The door swings open again—and it’s your father this time, cradling a wine glass that fills with ambrosia when he swirls it in his grasp.

“Kid, what’s the holdup—where’s the little sunspot and Thing 2?” Mr. D raises his glass with a grin, clapping his best friend on the back— “Hermes, my friend. Making a pit stop?” 

This just got even weirder—your head starts to spin a bit. 

Talk about a nightmare blunt rotation.

Between their lighthearted banter, Will and Castor skipping up the stairs towards you, and Pollux popping his head out of the doorway to yank the glass out of your dad’s hand (“SISSY! He’s drinking my musical instrument!”), you shut your eyes to center yourself. This might be the worst day of your life. Chaos becomes you and your blood is boiling at being surrounded by too many men when the only one you care about won’t even lo—

“Kid, you okay?”

Breathing heavily, you don’t realize you’ve clenched your hands into tight fists, and your dad doesn't know what to do. There's a thought that passes his mind as swiftly as his friend can scale the world that Luke would know what to do. Mr. D doesn't mean to, but he scoffs under his breath, shaking hand extending to reach out to an equally trembling shoulder and you flinch before it makes contact. 

"M'fine, I just need a second to think."

Pressing your palms into the pits of your eyes, your father watches you inhale a breath that seems to calm the storm brewing in your core, even for a moment, “Cas, take Will inside for his cabin’s performance. D, next time, don’t touch things that aren’t yours,” you say calmly as you conjure another glass of water and hand it to Pollux, not before taking a few sips to steady your resolve and perfect the tone of the vibrations. 

Sip. 

Too sharp. 

Sip. 

Perfect.

Putting the now fully functional instrument of water in your brother’s hand, he happily walks back through the door and now you’re just left with two gods that look at you somewhat impressed. 

“Can I help you with anything else, or are you both just going to waste my time?” Tapping your foot, your face is expressionless again, any previous traces of emotion wiped clean.

“Princess, you know you could talk—”

“Nope,” you protest, “Nothing’s wrong at all. Just ready to get this day over with.” It’s rude and to the point, but you have no patience left, “ and all offense D, I’m not gonna talk about my boy problems with you, and especially not you,” you grit pointing at Hermes, “neither of you would get it and I don’t even fully get it, and partially you two are the reason why we’re like this!”

“What did Luke do?” your dad says incredulously, eyebrows furrowing. He’s sobering up from the buckets of ambrosia he’s consumed—itching to find out about what the golden boy could ever do to agitate you like this.

The gods will never know what it feels like to love someone like this—every fiber of your mortal being constantly anticipating an end without knowing when that is. You sigh helplessly, “I don’t even know where to begin.”

“I don’t know who I am without you, and he only knows who he is because of you,” spitting the words out like acid, you seethe, “we’re not exactly normal teenagers, you know, so thanks for that. I can handle it from here.”

And you push past the both of them and walk through the marble doors like nothing even happened.

"Makes sense he'd fall for her," Hermes mumbles, “your girl is a force to be reckoned with.” If not a bit insane like his best friend. 

"Yeah. Just remember I can tear your boy limb from limb. Just because she can handle it doesn't mean she should. Pray your kid fixes it or fucks off. " It’s the truth—poor Penthus was just an example of Dionysus’ contradictory behavior. Ruthless punishments were like a walk in the park for your father. A jilted noise escapes Hermes's throat as if his own truth was trying to claw its way up his esophagus. The future of humanity rests on the shoulders of his favorite son, and for once, the messenger god is still---in fear? Guilt?

His thoughts are still trying to catch up with the rest of his body, but as he watches the door shut softly behind you, his winged shoes start to flap to signal his imminent departure.

“He's a good boy. He knows the worth of being loved by the right person at the right time. If he’s anything like me, he’ll cherish it while it lasts,” Hermes smiles as he fades from view, “and if he’s not like me at all—he’ll make sure it’s forever. But it looks like we’ll be in-laws, bestie!”

Mr. D groans, waving him off and conjuring another glass of ambrosia—when he walks in to rejoin everyone for the show, his boys are killing it on the musical glasses. He surveys the crowd, watching Luke Castellan only have eyes for you even in this dark crowded room.

“Shit.”

—

Nights on Olympus are prettier than what you’re used to. The stars are much closer than they would be if you were still on Earth, and they act as a natural nightlamp hanging over the enchanted ceiling of the ballroom you and your kids occupy for your one night stay. Yawning into your fist, you spot Charlie Beckendorf who’s already fallen asleep directly on top of his sleeping bag, sweatshirt on backwards and tennis shoes still on. Offering to take the last thirty minutes of his shift after watching him nod off earlier against a marble column while doing everything in your power to try to fall asleep was a no-brainer. But now that you were actually wanting to stay awake yourself, your eyelids didn’t seem to want to cooperate. 

Figures. Nothing you ever wanted has ever happened the way you wished for.

Sleep pricks at the corner of your eyes like dust from a sandstorm—presumably Hypnos forcing a hand on you getting rest. Here on Olympus he’s only a few doors away, after all.You rub your knuckles into the sockets of your eyes quite unkindly, hoping it’ll do the job. Even blinking is taking an added effort.

Patting your own cheek lightly to stimulate your senses, you cross your arms and decide to take another lap around the room. The rubber of your boots clomp louder with every shaky step and—

Tap-tap. Tap. T-tap.

D is rapping his knuckles against one of the glass doors on the perimeter like he’s playing the drums.

“Shhhh!”

Arms outstretched, you slip past rows of sleeping children, narrowly missing stretched out arms and fallen backpacks as you glare at him, “Are you trying to wake up all of Olympus?”

He looks at you with amusement, rumpled clothing and looking like a tiny, angry raccoon. You must’ve forgotten to take off your eyeliner, but he doesn’t mention it.

He brandishes two cigarettes in his hand and nods toward a door he left ajar leading onto the sprawling, wrap-around patio. And you swear you start floating towards him like an enticed cartoon character—surely you’re dreaming. 

Is there even a designated smoking area on Olympus?

“How long have you known?” 

The words almost slur out of your mouth as you swipe at his fist like a man starved—Mr.D can’t tell what exactly you’re asking. He’s known you’ve smoked since he found ash in the windowsill of his office. He’d known you and Luke have been having problems since you both started to sit at the opposite sides of the room during counselor meetings. Some things about you are harder to catch onto than others, and Mr. D is known for always being a little late to the party.

Dionysus, the god, was a late arrival to the Pantheon. Him as a father, he’s often late to discerning the happenings in his daughter’s life.  But he’s also known that boy has loved you long before he drunkenly stumbled onto his porch. Could smell it off of him— love makes people do crazy things after all. Out of all of your partners, he always thought the golden boy was just as bad—if not worse than you, gods willing. But you two were good kids, and the thought makes him chuckle, “I’ve always been able to read you, kiddo. I get there eventually.”

“Besides when I first showed up at your doorstep.”

“Shock of my life, actually. And that says a lot. You should be honored,” there’s a stupid smile on your father’s face now as he looks out onto the darkened horizon, glittering city lights on the floating mountain top. Olympus has changed in the years he’s been gone from it without him noticing. He looks over to you and realizes you have too—no longer fourteen with your hair sticky from Kool-aid, or multiple sun-tan tattoos. You always liked making a project out of your boredom.

Laughing gruffly—the base of your throat itches and you surface for air sounding like something being strangled. Blame it on the lack of sleep or teenage angst as he so aptly calls your temper tantrums, but he pulls you in to rub your back, leading you further down the walkway with a shushing, soothing coo as you whine, “What if this is the best I can be?”

“You’re nineteen, princess. A hell of a long way to go. To be honest, it gets worse as the years pass.”

“Fuuuuuuuuuuuck,” you groan, smacking your head against the cool marble. “That's like a blink for you. For me it feels like I’m constantly getting off on the wrong foot. How do you do it?”

He sighs and looks at you—and all of a sudden you see your father’s age in the way he grimaces. Left to do the dirty work, the things the gods don’t want to talk about, meant to endure because every ion of his existence has reeked of resilience. 

Because it’s what’s expected of him. 

You see the resemblance now.

His wrinkles are prominent and eyebags are heavy when he doesn’t fortify the image of a silly asinine man as he lets it all melt away in front of you.

You light a cigarette and puff life into the lit end to burn the other one, breathing out and handing it over. Smoke billows around the two of you as you lean against the marble railing—-but nothing has ever been so clear. It rolls through your lungs, warming you inside and out. You lean your head against his shoulder.

“I think you could shake this whole place up if you wanted to. Never met a more stubborn kid in my life,” your dad mutters, jostling when you elbow him, “I mean it. For a lack of better words, you’re a once in a lifetime kind of girl.” He’s not looking at you, but the sentiment wavers in the air and settles slowly until you learn to appreciate it. 

“You mean that?”

D has had a share of his own struggles, from being ejected from his mother and birthed from Zeus’ thigh, to being curb stomped by Hera herself, and of course the occasional trip to the Underworld. Suddenly your life pales in comparison. 

“Get that look off your face and stop thinking so badly of yourself. Life is not a dress rehearsal—just give it your best. I'll be in the wings for as long as you need me,” he swallows, “If you want that. I’m the only one dealing with this prison sentence, anyway.”

“I would like that.”

The god scratches his neck before dragging his Birkenstocks toward the door, swiveling to point at you, “Get to bed. You've got an early morning tomorrow.”

“I know. Is that an order?” 

“Yeah, twerp,” he mutters, lingering by the glass, “Quitting cold turkey is never fun. Things we lose have a way of coming back to us in the end. I've always been more of the type to go and get it myself though.”

“Cold turkey,” you repeat, nodding distantly. 

Letting go means to accept that you let it in. And if you’re not ready to let it go, fight for it. 

For a bunch of wordweavers, you both suck at talking to each other. It must be an Olympus thing to talk in riddles, but you’ve never been deterred by a challenge. Your fragmented conversation means a lot more than he’ll ever know. With a newfound appreciation for your dad, you smile and take a few puffs of the cigarette, taking a seat against the wall to let everything sink in. The comfortable weight of nicotine in your lungs lulls you to sleep, a momentary reprieve from everything. 

You swear you shut your eyes for just a second. Just a moment—to rest them a tiny bit.

And Luke slips out the glass doors in the other direction towards the throne room without you noticing.

When you wake up, it’ll all be over.

—

It’s snowing by the time Luke comes back. Biggest day of his life—something he’s been waiting for for months now, and it was just too goddamn easy.

And yeah, Luke understood that it is so irrevocably wrong to steal from the gods. 

But then why was it so easy?

Of course, it was all thanks to you. You don’t know it, but you helped the pieces fall into their perfect places. Keeping you up last night with the fight and leaving you to your own devices all day kept you indifferent enough about him to not notice the smaller details—him switching the night shift schedule around to his liking and making you the only obstacle between him and the Master Bolt and the Helm of Darkness (well, Ares was too, but onto more important things).

Everything happens for a reason, right? 

Getting on your last nerve has always been easy, and though he hates seeing you cry—it almost makes him feel guilty that there’s a certain thrill that soars through him when you two fight. You love him like how you argue, with an unbridled passion he loves to sink his teeth into.

And he loves you. It’s as simple and as complicated as that. So despite the tear in his side that makes him clench his teeth, his first objective after his completed mission is to sidle over to your slumped form with a smile. Luke slings his jacket over your body and wraps his arm to bring your head against his shoulder. The grounds are weather-protected like at camp, yet a few stray snowflakes still catch onto your hair. You stir, “Lu?”

“I’m here. Not leaving you.”

If salvation could manifest itself into something akin to human form, perhaps it would still look like a god. Being saved is a feeling unfamiliar to Luke—the only person he was always sure could save your ass was himself.  But he wants this, you nestled against him for as long as you want, until his arms ache and pins and needles ravage his body. Luke knows he would crawl to the ends of this earth and the next if it means he’ll be with you. 

Gambling with fate will be worth it if he can find a way to make this love last forever. 

This has to work. You did what you had to do, he thinks.

Sniffing, he kisses your forehead and his jacket faintly smells of smoke. Snowflakes dot his eyelashes and he rubs your arms to make sure you’re warm, “Let you sleep longer. Looks like you needed it.”

“How long have I been asleep?” you say groggily. His thumbs wipe at your eyelids gently with the hem of a fresh shirt, “Don’t worry. I took care of everything.”

It makes him grimace, emotional manipulation and a quick escape—hello Hermes!

“I’m tired, Luke.”

He sighs, and you turn to him, the both of you knee to knee, slowly being illuminated by a blanket of cool toned hues from the rising sun, “I know. Let me make it better, baby.”

Wistfully, you tangle your fingers with his in the space between you as if sealing a vow. 

”Every future I envision includes you with me. I need you to know that.” 

Overwhelmed by the events of the night, hell, these past few months—Luke starts to cry. A single rivulet cascading on the cheek adjacent to his scar and you catch it by pressing your lips to his jaw.

“Could you still love me?”

Inching closer, he feels as if you’re not close enough even when you’re breathing against the nape of his neck like this and you mumble, “You’re saying that like I ever stopped, angel.” The line blurs with each breath he takes—to earn a spot to walk amongst the gods, to live a completely ordinary life, or to be stuck in the strawberry fields of Delphini Farms forever. Luke was never awarded the privilege to want for himself before he met you, the absolution to all his wrongdoings. He can feel the quaking of your jaw under his fingertips as he slowly turns you to face him and all you have left to give him is a shattered breath.

“No matter what?”

Pressing his lips to yours as an apology feels like being saved. Lightly, until he pours himself into it and you relent, until the only thing that matters to you is that he’s with you now. Luke would merge your souls right now if he could—a tangled mess of eight limbs and head to head and everything is as it should be.

“Even if you don’t sit with me on the bus,” you smirk. He scoffs, kissing you harder and locking his lips with yours feverishly before resting much gentler ones against your tired eyes, “Oh don’t worry. Can’t get rid of me that easily, Trouble.”

A new day breaks on the horizon the longer you stay out there. But he takes these last final moments and keeps them under lock and key for safekeeping. You leave Olympus in a few hours, and by then there’ll be no time for regrets—his perfect crime with his perfect partner.

—

"I weep because you cannot save people. You can only love them." -Hanya Yanagihara

[msbigredmachine]

The Boy Next Door: Chapter Seven

MASTERLIST ✨ harmshake’s masterlist ✨ msbigredmachine’s masterlist

Word Count: 8k

💥TRIGGER WARNING: This chapter contains DARK THEMES. Please proceed with caution💥

Three Years Ago

The Connecticut air is crisp and tinged with the faint scent of freshly trimmed hedges and distant flowers. This place, with its wide driveways and pristine sidewalks, radiates stability, security, and the promise of a new beginning.

Ivy steps out of the moving truck, stretching her arms above her head as her eyes sweep over the house before her. The stately two-story colonial, with its pale gray siding, crisp white shutters and perfectly manicured lawn, exudes the quiet elegance of suburban wealth. Nestled in a neighborhood of tree-lined streets and sprawling properties, her new home looks like something out of a postcard—a far cry from the cramped apartments and relentless hustle of Newark, New Jersey.

For the first time in a long while, she feels like she’s standing on the threshold of something good. It’s exactly why she chose this place. She needed a fresh start. A quiet space to raise her daughter away from the ghosts that haunted her in the city.

As Ivy leans against the truck, her gaze drifts to Zaia, who is bounding up the porch steps with the boundless energy only a three-year-old could have. Ivy smiles faintly, but the weight in her chest doesn’t quite lift. This move is supposed to be about letting go, but some memories cling too tightly.

Her mother’s funeral flashes through her mind. She can still feel the damp chill of the cemetery, the weight of the rain-soaked soil she helped shovel onto the casket and bury her last remaining parent figure. It was one of the hardest days of her life, standing there alone, clutching Zaia to her chest as the little girl asked if Grandma was in Heaven now. Ivy could barely reply, overwhelmed by tears and an aching sense of loss. Her mother was her anchor, her rock, even when life felt impossible. Now, with her gone, Ivy had no safety net, no one to turn to.

But that loss wasn’t the only thing pushing her to leave. Every corner of Newark reminded her of the betrayal she suffered. Of Angelo—the man she once thought she’d spend forever with. The man who cheated on her. His infidelity was a punch to the gut, and each time she saw his face, it was a reminder of how broken she felt. Zaia’s father, the man who was supposed to love her, shattered the trust she built, and Ivy couldn’t stand the thought of raising her daughter in the same city that held such painful memories.

Without her mother and without Angelo, Newark felt hollow, suffocating. It was as if the city itself had turned against her, and she couldn’t breathe here anymore. So, she made the decision to move—to start fresh in a place where the past wouldn’t be able to reach her, where she can rebuild with Zaia by her side. Hartford offered her that chance to build something new. A new job, a newer, better life for her baby and for herself. 

Ivy straightens, pushing the memories down as best she can. She wipes her hands on her jeans and moves to grab the first box.

“Mama! Can I pick my room?” Zaia’s bright voice pulls her from her thoughts, and Ivy manages a real smile this time.

“Of course, baby. But let’s make sure the rooms are big enough for all your toys,” she says, teasing.

Zaia giggles, already racing into the house, her curls bouncing with each step. Ivy watches her go, and for a moment, the ache in her chest eases.

The first night is a whirlwind of unpacking boxes and chasing after Zaia, who insists on exploring every corner of their new home. The next morning, Ivy decides a grocery run is in order—her fridge is completely bare and living on only takeout meals won’t cut it.

By the time they reach the checkout line at the local store, Zaia is fully in hyperactive mode. She keeps trying to grab candy from the nearby display, giggling mischievously when Ivy places each item back.

“Zaia, put that down,” she scolds gently, glancing at the growing pile in the cart. She feels frazzled, her nerves frayed from the stress of moving and the unrelenting energy of her daughter.

“Looks like someone’s got their hands full,” a warm, lilting voice says behind her.

Ivy turns to see a curvy woman with deep golden skin and a radiant smile. She’s effortlessly stylish, wearing a flowing sundress and gold hoop earrings that sway as she tilts her head. The woman grins down at Zaia, who immediately abandons her rambunctiousness and retreats shyly behind Ivy’s legs.

“Hi there,” the woman coos at Zaia, crouching slightly. “You’ve got good taste in candy, I see.”

Ivy laughs, the tension in her shoulders easing a little. “She got too much taste, trust me. Sorry, we kinda a mess today.”

“Oh, don’t apologize. I’ve been there.” The woman extends her hand to Ivy, her smile widening. “I’m Gemini. Welcome to the neighborhood.” Her smile is bright, her tone warm and welcoming, one Ivy reciprocates.

“I’m Ivy. And this lil’ snuggle bug of mine is Zaia.” She pauses, slightly taken aback. “How do you know we’re new?”

Gemini giggles playfully, resting a hand on her hip. “Oh, I’ve got my ways. For one, I’m on the neighborhood watch, so I make it my business to know who’s coming and going. And, fun fact—one of the lawyers at my firm handled the paperwork for your house. When I saw the listing close, I figured I’d run into the new face eventually. Congratulations, by the way!”

Ivy’s lips part in surprise before curving into a tentative smile. “Thanks. And wow, you’re…thorough.”

Gemini laughs softly, her eyes crinkling at the corners. “It’s the attorney in me. But it’s not as creepy as it sounds, I swear. We’re just a close-knit community, and I like to make sure newcomers feel welcome. Besides,” she adds with a light shrug, “your place is just a ten-minute drive from mine. So if you ever need anything—or even just someone to share a bottle of wine—I’m your girl.”

Reaching into the candy display, Gemini picks out a lollipop and hands it to Zaia. The little girl tugs at her mother’s hand, her big brown eyes fixed on the piece of candy. “Can I, Mama? Pwease?”

“Sure, baby. What do you say to the nice lady?” Ivy prompts.

“Thank you!” Zaia chirps, grabbing the treat.

Gemini chuckles. “She’s adorable. And you’re gonna love it here, Ivy. I can tell we’re gonna be friends.”

Ivy smiles, feeling a warmth she hadn’t expected. She’d been worried about starting over in a new place, but Gemini’s easy kindness makes her feel like she’s already found an anchor.

“Yeah,” Ivy says softly, glancing at Zaia, who is now happily unwrapping her lollipop. “I think we will.”

The cold concrete floor bit into Ivy’s skin as she shifted uncomfortably, her body stiffening from being tied up for so many hours. Every muscle ached, but the physical pain was nothing compared to the anguish clawing at her chest. Her thoughts were consumed by Zaia. The thought of her sweet baby girl returning home from her friend’s house to find her own house empty, scared and alone, with no one to tell her where her mother was, brought tears to her eyes.

Those tears quickly spilled down her cheeks, hot and relentless, soaking into the coarse cloth gag Roman had forced over her mouth. She wanted to scream, to wail, to beg for someone—anyone—to help her, but the basement walls swallowed every sound. Roman had thought of everything. The thick, soundproof barriers cocooned her in suffocating silence, cutting her off from the world above.

She strained her ears, desperate for even the faintest noise—Roman’s footsteps, the creak of the basement door—but all she heard was an oppressive, deafening quiet. The stillness made her despair heavier, pressing down on her chest until she felt she might suffocate from it alone. She was utterly and completely alone.

But even the crushing silence wasn’t enough to drown out the image burned into her mind. Gemini’s lifeless body, her face barely recognizable, beaten so savagely that Ivy had to look twice to confirm it was her. It was a sight that would haunt her forever.

It wasn’t the first dead body Ivy had seen. Of course not. In her line of work, she’d dealt with death more times than she cared to remember. But this… This was Gemini. Her best friend. The one person who had always made her feel safe. And now, because of her, she was gone.

Gemini was probably coming to warn her. With all those documents and printouts, to show her proof. Gemini was the best lawyer this side of Hartford. Now all that promise and potential, snuffed out because of Ivy.

Because she hadn’t listened.

She was the reason Gemini was dead.

Ivy thought she was smart. She was a nurse. Years and years of studying medicine. She was a boss in her place of work, respected and admired. She’d always believed she could read people, that her instincts were sharp. So how she had let Roman bamboozle her for as long as he did, was beyond her. It didn’t sit right with her. It was as if he’d cast a spell, weaving his charm around her so tightly she hadn’t noticed the suffocating noose until it was too late. Now, every smile, every touch, every sweet word felt like a lie dipped in poison. She’d let her guard down, and it was about to cost her everything.

Angelo. Gemini. Maybe Zaia.

All of a sudden, the door flew open, and Ivy flinched. Roman descended the stairs, carrying a tray with food and water. He moved with an unnerving calm, as if he were tending to a guest rather than his prisoner. He crouched in front of her, his handsome face softened with what almost seemed like concern. 

“You have to eat,” he murmured, setting the tray down.

Ivy glared at him, her defiance blazing through the tears in her eyes. Roman’s jaw tightened, his dark eyes narrowing at her reaction, but he held his temper in check. Slowly, he reached for the cloth gag, his movements deliberate and calculated.

“This basement may be soundproof,” he said, his tone cold and edged with menace, “but if you so much as think about screaming, you won’t like the outcome.” His tone was quiet, almost calm, but the hand that brushed the hilt of the knife strapped to his side spoke volumes. It was a silent, chilling warning—a promise of what he was capable of.

“Do you understand me?” he asked, his eyes locking onto hers, daring her to test him.

Ivy’s eyes widened at his threat, and she nodded quickly, her fear eclipsing her defiance.  Roman studied her for a moment longer, then reached down and untied the cloth gag from her mouth. The cool air hit her damp, chapped lips, and she inhaled deeply, grateful for the freedom, however temporary it was.

Without a word, he moved behind her, loosening the bonds on her wrists. Her hands trembled as the blood flow returned, sharp tingles shooting up her arms. Roman grabbed the tray of food and pushed it towards her with deliberate care.

“Your favorite,” he said, his voice soft but unsettling, as if he was doing her a favor. “Garlic butter steak bites and mashed potatoes. I remember you saying it was your comfort meal.”

Her stomach growled in protest, but her appetite was dulled by fear and the knot of despair tightening in her chest. Reluctantly, she picked at the food, the familiar, mouthwatering smells of the southern dishes only deepening her sense of loss.

She hesitated, her voice small as she broke the heavy silence. “What...about Duchess?” she asked, daring to look up at him. Her insides churned with dread. "Is she..."

Roman’s face darkened slightly, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “She’s fine,” he confirmed after a moment, his tone sharp with finality. “I took care of her injuries. She’s upstairs in a cage, sedated and muzzled.”

Ivy’s chest tightened, and she fought the tears that welled up again. Duchess was more than a dog; she was her family. “Please…don’t hurt her again,” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Roman’s dark gaze bore into her, unblinking. “That depends on you, Ivy.”

Her mind raced, the next words leaving her throat before she could stop them. “Roman, please,” she begged, her voice cracking, “You have to let me go. Zaia—my baby needs me. She needs me and Duchess. She’s just a little girl! She doesn’t have anyone now—her daddy is gone, Gemini’s gone. She needs her mommy!”

Roman tilted his head, watching her intently. His lips curved into a faint smile, one that didn’t reach his eyes. “I can bring her down here,” he offered, as though he were suggesting a reasonable solution. “I can go get her—”

“No!” Ivy screamed, her voice raw, pained. “Don’t you dare go near her! I swear, Roman, if you touch her—” She broke down again, and her chest heaved with the effort to hold back a full-blown breakdown. “I would rather die than let you near her!”

Roman’s expression darkened, and for a moment, Ivy thought she’d gone too far. His jaw clenched, and his gaze burned into her with an intensity that made her feel like prey. He leaned closer, his face inches from hers. “You’d rather die?” he echoed, his voice dangerously soft. “You think that’s what Zaia wants? To lose her mother too? Or would she rather have you safe here, with me?”

Ivy shook her head violently, tears spilling down her cheeks. “Safe?! This isn’t safe,” she choked out. “This is hell. You’re a monster!”

Roman sighed, shaking his head as though disappointed. “You still don’t understand,” he said, almost tenderly. “But you will.”

“You’re sick, Roman. You need help.”

Roman gazed at her, his expression sincere. “I only need you, baby girl. You make me want to be better, Ivy. Better than I ever was in my last life. I’ll never hurt you or Zaia. I love you.”

The mere sound of her baby’s name on his tongue made her physically ill. “You’re insane,” she spat, her tears streaming.

“No, I’m in love,” he corrected, his voice firm yet tender. “And I know you love me too.”

Ivy forced herself to stay still, stay calm, but inside, panic clawed at her chest. She didn’t see love in his eyes. She saw obsession. And she knew she had to find a way out before it was too late.

She swallowed hard, trying to keep her voice steady. “You think killing people proves you love me?”

Roman tilted his head, his dark eyes narrowing. “I told you. I didn’t do it for them, Ivy. I did it for us. Everything I’ve done is so we can be together, so no one can come between us.”

Ivy’s chest tightened as she stared at the man looming over her, his shadow stretching across the dim basement walls like a predator poised to strike. Her hands, bound and trembling, fidgeted against the ropes as she tried to keep her voice steady.

She drew in a shaky breath, her mind scrambling for any way to stall him, to appeal to whatever humanity he had left. “If you love me,” she began softly, her voice cracking under the weight of her desperation, “you’ll let me go back to Zaia. Please, Roman. I’m all she has left. She needs me.”

For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something flicker in his dark eyes—hesitation, maybe even a trace of guilt. But it was gone as quickly as it came, replaced by a look so cold it sent a shiver down her spine.

Roman leaned in closer, his face unreadable, his words sharp and deliberate. “But I need you more.”

Ivy froze, her breath caught in her throat. His voice was calm, almost tender, but his expression was anything but. The chilling conviction in his gaze told her everything she needed to know; there would be no reasoning with him.

“You might be all she has left,” he continued, his lips twisting into a sinister smile, “but you’re mine, Ivy. You belong to me now, just like you promised.”

His words hung over her like a death sentence, a noose, strangling any hope she’d clung to. Her heart pounded in her chest, her pulse roaring in her ears. Roman didn’t just see her as someone to love—he saw her as something to own.

Instinctively, she backed up, her heel scraping against the edge of the trapdoor. Her stomach lurched at the thought of falling into the pit where Gemini’s broken, lifeless body had lain before Roman had dragged it out and literally folded her into that barrel.

Roman caught her tensed movement and frowned. “Don’t be scared, baby. I’ll protect you from everything. From everyone.”

“Even from you?” she shot back, her voice rising despite her fear.

His jaw tightened, and again, she was sure she’d crossed the line. But then he exhaled, stepping away as he ran a hand through his long, raven-black hair.

“I didn’t want it to come to this,” he said softly, almost to himself. “I thought you’d understand. You’re different, baby girl. You see the real me.”

Her stomach dropped as she realized he wasn’t just delusional—he was utterly convinced of his twisted logic.

“Do I?” she questioned, “I thought I did, thought I saw the real you. But I don’t. I don’t, Roman, because you weren’t honest with me. I won’t understand you if you don’t tell me the truth,” she said, her voice trembling. “Everyone has a story. So…so talk to me, Roman. Tell me yours. How did you get here? How did it start?”

He blinked, caught off guard by the question. For a moment, the tension in the room shifted.

“You really want to know?” he asked cautiously.

His dark eyes pinned her in place, a predator watching his prey. She nodded, swallowing her revulsion. “Why don’t you tell me about yourself?” she asked softly, keeping her voice even. It was a dangerous game, but she needed to buy time, to unravel something—anything—that might help her. “The real you.”

Roman paused. His lips quirked upward in a bitter smile. “The real me?” he echoed, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

“That name...Mateo Hobbs? Is that your real name?”

Roman raised an eyebrow. “Yes.”

Ivy nodded cautiously, her heart hammering. “Okay. How did you end up here? Like this?”

He leaned back on his heels, dragging a hand through his long hair. His voice dropped, a low rumble that made the basement feel even smaller. “I didn’t just wake up one day and decide to be like this. Life made me this way.”

She treaded lightly, sensing his tension. “What happened?”

Roman let out a bitter laugh, the sound dry and hollow, filled with the weight of memories he could never escape. His jaw clenched as he spoke, each word dripping with cold disdain. “My father? He wasn’t a man who loved. He was a man who demanded. Loyalty, obedience, power—those were the gods he worshipped. Oh, and money too. And he had billions of it in at least ten different currencies. He didn’t care about my mother though, at least not in the way husbands are supposed to. She was just another piece of his empire, another symbol of control. And when she slipped out of that control, when she took lovers behind his back, he made sure everyone paid the price.”

He paused, his eyes distant, as if he were staring at a scene only he could see. “There were two of them—her lovers. He found them both. He always found what he was looking for. And when he did, he had them dragged into the basement of our house. I was fifteen. He didn’t hide it from me; he wanted me to learn. He wanted me to understand what happens to people who betray the family.”

Roman’s voice turned colder, his words sharper, as if cutting through the air. “He oversaw everything. No detail was too small, no punishment too extreme. They screamed, begged, pleaded for mercy, but my father didn’t flinch. He just watched, stone-faced, as they were torn apart in front of him, piece by piece. And my mother?” He let out another hollow laugh. “She didn’t flinch either. She sat there in her chair, perfectly still, watching her fuck toys die like it was some kind of TV show. She didn't give a fuck about either of them.”

How Ivy kept the bile down her system should have been commended. 

Roman scoffed as he continued his spiel, his face twisted in disgust. “Her reaction taught me what women are capable of. Manipulation. Lies. Disrespect.” His tone darkened, the bitterness palpable. “She taught me that love isn't real. It’s nothing but a game, and everyone cheats in the end.”

Ivy shifted, her breath coming in shallow gasps as her mind raced. “And…your wife?” Her voice faltered, but she pushed on. “Was anything you told me about her true? Did she even exist?” The images flashed before her eyes—the photographs Roman had shown her months ago, displayed proudly in the foyer upstairs. He’d spoken of her with such reverence, his words painting a picture of love and devotion. But now, as she replayed those moments in her mind, something shifted. The woman in those photos—she looked strikingly similar to Ivy herself. A slow, creeping realization coiled in her chest, her body tensing with the unshakable feeling that she had been manipulated, trapped in a lie that had been spun so intricately she hadn’t even seen it until now.

Roman’s eyes darkened as he shifted his weight, leaning against the wall. His posture was deceptively calm, but the tension in his clenched fists and sharp jaw betrayed the storm brewing beneath the surface.

“She existed, yes,” he began, his voice low and measured, as though he were recounting a story from another lifetime. “But not in the way I told you. Elesha…she was the one who made me think it could all be different. That I didn’t have to see the world through the lens of betrayal and lies anymore.”

Ivy didn’t dare interrupt. She could see his jaw twitching, his mind running through memories too heavy to contain.

“When she came into my life, I'd become a cleaner,” he asked, though he didn’t wait for her response. “My father’s empire…his messes didn’t handle themselves. That was my contribution to the family. Did it for years and years and I was damn good at it. Made me millions and millions. Elesha made me think I could leave all that behind. That I could live a normal life. Have a family. That I could love and be loved, no matter what I’d done in the past.”

Ivy’s stomach churned. She could almost picture him, a younger, still handsome man with literal blood on his hands, trying to carve out something decent for himself. Something better.

It obviously didn't work.

“I walked away from everything for her,” Roman continued, his voice hardening. “The power, the connections—gone. Because I wanted to be enough for her. And for a while, I thought I was.”

He laughed bitterly, his gaze fixed somewhere in the distance. “I stopped killing. I fought those urges for her. But it wasn’t enough. It’s never enough. She cheated on me, Ivy. With my own blood. Tama wasn’t just my cousin—he was part of the life I left behind. The life I sacrificed for her.” His voice broke off, the rage simmering beneath his words enough to send a chill down Ivy’s spine.

Roman’s lips twisted into a bitter sneer, his voice rising with each word, raw and laced with venom. “And you know the worst fucking part?” He turned his piercing gaze on Ivy, his eyes burning with fury, pinning her in place as if daring her to look away. “That bitch got pregnant. Not by me—by him! She knew I always wanted a family, and she did that to me! She had the nerve to look me in the eye and tell me she was leaving me to be with him. That I was the problem. That I was too erratic, too unstable. Can you believe that shit? After everything I fucking sacrificed for her!”

Ivy’s chest tightened, her breathing shallow as she tried to process his words. It was clear now that his story about his wife dying of liver disease was just that. A story. Her voice came out barely above a whisper as she asked, “What...what did you do?”

Roman’s eyes darkened, a glint of something unrecognizable flickering in their depths. Slowly, a cruel smile played on his lips, cold and devoid of any trace of humanity. He leaned in slightly, the room seeming to close in around them.

“I took care of them,” he said, his voice low and deliberate, each word dripping with sinister finality.

Ivy’s breath hitched, the weight of his words hitting her like a blow. She wanted to ask more, to press for details, but the way he stared at her, daring her to dig deeper, silenced her. Whatever he had done, the truth hung heavy between them, too horrifying to speak aloud.

She was startled when he crouched down in front of her again, his voice softening, almost tender. “When I first saw you, I was afraid you'd be like her. But you’re nothing like her, Ivy. You’re different.”

Ivy tensed. “Different?”

His eyes flickered with something almost vulnerable. “I watched you for days before we met. Watched the way you care for Zaia. The way you dealt with everything life threw at you, even Angelo. That punk bitch didn’t deserve you. He didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you.”

Ivy’s heart raced as he continued, his voice dripping with conviction.

“I knew you and Zaia would be the perfect family. I could see it—how happy we’d be together. But Angelo? He was in the way. He was stressing you out, disrespecting you, holding you back. And I couldn’t let that happen anymore. I needed to protect you. Protect us.”

A sick realization dawned on her, her voice trembling as she forced herself to ask. “So…what? You followed him to that bar and took out his brakes? Is that what you did?”

Roman smiled, his expression serene yet chilling. “Mm-hmm. Genius, wasn't it? And now, baby, we’re one step closer to the life we’re supposed to have. Just the three of us—me, you, and Zaia. A real family.”

Terror coursed through her, a cold, unrelenting wave that threatened to drag her under, but she kept her expression neutral, her breaths shallow and measured. She prayed Roman couldn’t see the panic flashing behind her eyes like a beacon. Every instinct screamed at her to run, but there was nowhere to go—not yet. Roman’s obsession was far darker, far more consuming, than she had ever imagined. He wasn’t just dangerous. He was unstoppable.

Her voice trembled despite her efforts. “And G…Gemini?”

Roman’s eyes narrowed, his lips curling into a smirk that made her stomach churn. “Gemini wasn’t supposed to die,” he said, his tone almost apologetic, though his words were anything but. “But she kept poking around, asking too many damn questions about Angelo… about me. She thought she was smarter than me, Ivy.” He stepped closer, his shadow looming over her like a predator sizing up its prey. “I had to put surveillance on her so I could keep an eye on her. She was gonna go to the cops. I couldn’t let her ruin us.”

He tilted his head, studying her like she was a fragile, breakable thing. “She didn’t care about you, baby. Not the way I do.”

Ivy’s heart thudded painfully against her ribs as he leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “I’m glad she’s dead. It was fun stomping her face in. You should’ve seen it, Ivy. She didn’t stand a chance.” He grinned, his straight white teeth flashing in the dim light. “And you…” His hand reached out, his fingers grazing her cheek. “You’re free now. Free of her bitching and meddling.”

She flinched at his touch, her skin crawling as if his fingertips were laced with cyanide. But she didn’t pull away. Instead, she forced herself to meet his gaze, masking the disgust that roiled inside her.

“You think you freed me,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the weight of her fear. “But all you’ve done is make me a prisoner.”

His hand fell, his handsome features darkening as a shadow passed over his face. “Baby, don’t say that,” he murmured, the words more a command than a plea.

“I’m not your baby!” she screamed, her voice trembling as fear and rage bled through. Her hands shook at her sides, but she refused to back down. “You’re sick, Roman! This isn’t love. It’s control. Obsession! You need help—real help!”

Roman’s expression twisted, his face a battlefield of emotions. The muscles in his jaw tensed, his lips curling into a snarl. But there was something else behind the rage—hurt, maybe, or disbelief. “You’re wrong,” he said, his voice low and sharp, slicing through the suffocating silence. “I love you, Ivy. I loved you the moment I saw you.”

Her heart raced, each beat pounding in her ears as she fought to keep her composure. She had to think fast, to say anything that might keep him from spiraling further. “If you really love me,” she said, her tone softening into a desperate plea, “then prove it. Let me go, Roman. Please.”

He froze for a moment, his dark eyes narrowing as if her words were some impossible riddle. Then he shot to his feet and began to pace, his hands clawing through his hair as incoherent mutters escaped his lips. His movements were erratic, unpredictable, and every step made Ivy’s pulse quicken. Her eyes darted toward the door. She didn't see him lock it. Could she make it? Could she outrun him?

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered at last, his voice trembling with something that might have been pain. He stopped pacing, turning to her, and for a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something crack in his armor. His shoulders sagged, his expression almost human. Almost.

“You won't lose me,” she said, keeping her voice steady even as her legs threatened to give out beneath her. “Let me go, and we can figure this out together. I won’t tell anyone—about any of this. I swear, Roman. You said I make you want to be better. Let me help you.”

For a breathless second, Ivy thought she had reached him. His eyes softened, his posture slackening as if her words had begun to chip away at whatever dark force consumed him.

But then, just as quickly, his features hardened again, his face a cold mask of fury and distrust.

“You’re lying,” he said, his tone flat, devoid of any emotion.

Before she could react, he lunged at her. His hand closed around her arm with crushing force, yanking her toward him. She gasped, her eyes falling on the barely eaten plate of food where a steel spoon lay. It wasn’t a weapon, but it was something—anything.

She felt his grip falter for a split second as he reached for the ropes on the floor. Ivy seized the moment. Her hand shot out, grabbing the spoon, and with a feral cry, she jabbed it into his face. The dull edge scraped across his cheek, drawing blood.

Roman roared in pain, staggering back as his hands flew to his face. Ivy didn’t wait. Adrenaline surged through her veins as she bolted past him, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor. She dashed out the door and stumbled her way up to the top of the stairs, towards one more door that surely led to her freedom. Her breaths were panicked bursts, her fingers, slick with sweat and trembling with desperation, as they fumbled with the doorknob. Relief flooded her when the knob turned.

But before she could open it, an arm locked around her waist. Roman yanked her back with such force that the air was knocked from her lungs. He spun her around, his face inches from hers, twisted into a horrifying mask of blood and fury.

“You think you can leave me?” he snarled, his voice low and menacing. “You think you can run from me?”

His eyes burned with something primal, something unhinged. He carried her back down the stairs like a man possessed, her screams echoing uselessly off the walls. Ivy clawed at his arms, kicked at his legs, but it was like fighting against solid stone. It was then she understood what Gemini had suffered, the terror and pain she had endured in her final moments.

“Roman, please!” Ivy sobbed, her voice breaking as tears streamed down her face. “I’ll do whatever you want—just don’t hurt me!”

He didn’t respond, his silence more terrifying than words. Reaching the center of the room, he dropped her roughly onto the cold floor. She landed awkwardly, her knees scraping against the concrete. He loomed over her, his chest heaving as his shadow swallowed her whole. The tension in the dimly lit basement had reached a breaking point, the walls seeming to close in around Ivy as she faced the man who had turned her life into a living nightmare. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?!” he bellowed, his voice shaking the room. She flinched, curling into herself as she sobbed uncontrollably.

“I’m sorry!” she cried. “I’m sorry, Roman—I was scared! Please, I didn’t mean to hurt you!”

His expression darkened, anger melting into something far more sinister. His eyes softened, but there was no warmth in them—only the eerie calm of a predator circling its prey. Slowly, he crouched down, his looming presence suffocating. His hand reached out, brushing her tear-streaked cheek with a gentleness that felt all the more terrifying.

“But you did,” he said, his voice soft now, dripping with false tenderness. “I told you, Ivy, I would never hurt you…unless you make me.”

His fingers trailed down her face, lingering too long, brushing over her trembling shoulder before creeping lower. Ivy’s stomach plummeted, dread clawing at her throat as his hand closed over her breast. Her body went rigid, her mind screaming in complete horror.

“Roman, don’t—” she pleaded, on the verge of more tears, but he silenced her with a disarming smile, one that made her skin crawl.

“You asked me to prove my love to you,” he whispered, his tone intimate, almost conspiratorial. “I should’ve killed you the second you tried to run, but I didn’t. That’s how much I love you, Ivy.”

The words sent ice flooding through her veins. Panic surged, an overwhelming tide of terror that left her breathless as the full realization of what was about to happen slammed into her like a freight train.

“Please,” she tried again. “Roman, you don’t have to do this—please don’t do this.”

Her words were met with silence. Instead, he pressed his lips against hers. The blood on his face smeared against her cheek, a twisted mockery of intimacy. Her hands pushed at his chest, but it was like trying to move a mountain. It always was. His much larger body bore down on hers, smothering her attempts to fight back.

“No!” she cried, and again, she tried…to push him away, to twist out from under him, but he was too strong, his much bigger body crushing hers as he forced her down onto the cold, unforgiving floor.

“Roman, no! Please!” she pleaded, her voice breaking, but he didn’t stop. He pinned her arms above her head, his weight suffocating, immobilizing her completely.

“You’re mine,” he growled, his voice a guttural snarl. “You belong to me, Ivy. Forever. You promised me. You promised me!”

He managed to pull down her leggings, forcibly yanking them down her legs. Her panties followed next. By the time he pushed his pants low enough to set himself free, Ivy was in tears of hysteria.

“Roman, stop! Stop it!” she begged desperately. She thrashed beneath him, tears streaming down her face. “Roman, stop! Please stop!” she begged, her voice breaking from sheer terror.

But he cut her off with another brutal, tasteless kiss, his lips crushing hers with a force that made her feel more trapped than ever. When he pulled back, his eyes burned with a dangerous mix of rage and control, and he leaned closer, his breath hot against her ear.

“Baby, I need you to relax,” he commanded, his voice deadly calm, each word slicing into her like a blade. “I can’t be with you like this. Stop fighting me and relax. Now.”

Her body shook violently, every instinct screaming at her to keep fighting, to resist. But the cold realization hit her like a freight train—no matter how he tried to convince her, he would kill her if she didn’t obey, just like he killed Gemini and Angelo. The thought left her breathless, her terror paralyzing.

Slowly, painfully, she forced herself to go still. Her muscles ached from the tension, her hands trembling as she surrendered to the inevitable. A sob escaped her lips, and she clenched her teeth to keep the rest from spilling out.

“There we go,” Roman cooed, his tone unnervingly tender, as though this twisted moment was some sort of victory for him. “That’s my good girl.” He leaned down, his lips brushing against her tear-streaked cheeks, the press of his mouth disturbingly soft. He kissed her tears, one by one, as though offering some grotesque semblance of comfort. Ivy’s heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing, trapped in a nightmare she couldn’t escape.

The tears couldn't stop falling as he pushed himself inside her, his movements relentless and unyielding. Her anguished sobs pierced the oppressive silence of the basement, mingling with the horrifying sounds of his pleasure and her desecration.

Detective Cody Rhodes was hunched over his desk, the desk lamp casting harsh shadows over the files and photos scattered before him. The walls of his office were a collage of red strings and pinned notes, a chaotic shrine to the case that had consumed him for over a year. 

Mateo Hobbs. 

The name was etched into his thoughts with a branding iron, a relentless drumbeat that followed him everywhere. No leads, no sightings. Just a trail of devastation that had gone cold far too many times.

With his tie loosened and sleeves rolled up, he perused the thick manila folder marked Mateo Hobbs—Fugitive. The case had grown cold since Hobbs escaped his custody and vanished into thin air, but Rhodes wasn’t letting it go. He couldn’t. Not after all the effort he had put so far into searching for him. Not after the atrocities the man had committed. Mateo Hobbs’s actions spoke louder than anything Rhodes could ignore. 

Cody flipped the pages, his sharp blue eyes scanning the psychological evaluations and criminal reports as though doing so for the first time. The man was a ghost who left nothing behind but devastation—a trail of dead lovers, shattered families, and unanswered questions.

The first file was Elesha Hobbs. Mateo’s pregnant wife. Cody’s sharp jawline clenched as he reread the details of her death. Thirty stab wounds in total. Sixteen to the abdomen. Overkill. Her boyfriend got it worse—the other victim, Tama Tonga. Mateo’s own cousin and the alleged father of Elesha's unborn baby. Stabbed multiple times in his groin area. Castrated. A double murder as personal as it was brutal. The rage in the killings was palpable, a bloodthirsty man out for revenge.

There was another case, this time from fifteen years ago, in the heart of Atlanta—one that had long been buried under the weight of time and flawed conclusions. Antonia Arnold, a bright and ambitious student at Georgia Tech, had been Mateo’s college girlfriend. Her death was ruled a suicide back then, a tragic story of a young woman found hanging from the ceiling of her dorm room. But new evidence, unearthed after years of silence, told a far more sinister tale.

The bruising around her neck did not match the marks left by the rope that had supposedly ended her life. The pattern of those bruises revealed something far more violent—a struggle, a pair of hands that had pressed down hard enough to steal her final breath.

The case unraveled further when a close friend of Antonia’s came forward with damning testimony. Just days before her death, Antonia and Mateo had an argument loud enough for half the dormitory to hear. The source of their fight was scandalous: Mateo had found Antonia's profile on an escort service website, all while having an affair with their married psychology professor, Dr. Lashley.

To his chagrin, Dr. Lashley himself became a key witness in the reopened investigation. Pleading for anonymity he never got, he spoke of Mateo’s volatile nature, describing him as “unpredictable, like a bomb waiting to go off.” The professor admitted he feared Mateo’s temper but never imagined he would cross such a line.

Yet it was that very temper, that unrelenting fury, that betrayed him. In his rage, Mateo had left behind subtle, incriminating traces at the scene—fingerprints smudged on the underside of a chair used to stage the hanging, tiny fibers of his clothing clinging to Antonia’s body, and, most damning of all, scratches on his forearms that matched the pattern of her nails. 

Antonia Arnold hadn’t taken her own life. She had fought like hell for it, in those final moments against the man she once trusted. And now, after years of silence, the truth was clawing its way into the light, casting a new, unforgiving shadow over Mateo’s past. 

Of course, Mateo had not stuck around for more questioning, disappearing from campus without a trace as the authorities began to close in on him.

It wasn’t just the murders; it was the man’s past that fascinated—and terrified—Rhodes. Mateo Hobbs grew up in the weighty shadow of the Samoan Sons, a powerful, California-based crime family led by his father and uncle. From an early age, Mateo was groomed as an assassin, tasked with erasing the messes his father’s empire left behind. By all accounts, he was brutally efficient, ruthless, but eventually, his psychological issues forced him out of the family. He was the perfect predator until he became...too perfect, leaving more bodies in his wake in the most extreme and brutal of fashions.

The psychiatric evaluation Mateo underwent before being ousted from the mafia was another vital piece of information. Cody had read it a thousand times and the words didn’t get less chilling:

“Subject exhibits clear signs of borderline personality disorder. Emotional instability and an intense fear of betrayal dominate his psyche, often resulting in extreme acts of violence. He forms deeply dependent relationships but is prone to lashing out if he perceives disloyalty.”

There was more. Antisocial personality traits, an ability to compartmentalize guilt, and a narcissistic streak that allowed Mateo to justify his actions as necessary for his own survival or vengeance. The report was damning but also revealing. Cody could almost hear Mateo’s voice through the words in the document, justifying every brutal act as if he were a victim of circumstance, as if loyalty and love were owed to him at all costs.

Loyalty and love that were never afforded him growing up.

Cody flipped to the final assessment. Psychopathy. Mateo had learned how to mimic charm, how to love and manipulate in equal measure. But underneath it all, there was no remorse, no capacity for empathy—just a cold, calculating need to maintain control, no matter who he hurt.

The file on his exit from the mafia revealed a man who had become too unstable even for a criminal empire. Paranoia. Compulsive lies. Delusions of grandeur. Violent outbursts. Mateo’s father and uncle had tried to cover it all up, but the Samoan Sons couldn’t afford to keep a ticking time bomb in their ranks. Thus, Mateo was cast out, and that rejection seemed to be the final crack in his already fractured psyche.

Mateo Hobbs wasn’t just a killer. He was a product of his environment—a powder keg built by betrayal, violence, and psychological disorder. 

It didn't get any more dangerous than that.

Cody leaned back in his chair, staring at the mugshot clipped to the folder. Mateo’s dark eyes stared back at him, calm and piercing, the kind of gaze that sent a chill down Cody’s spine. He wasn’t just hunting a murderer. He was hunting a man who had become a monster long before he ever took a life.

The door to his office burst open, and Lieutenant Jade Cargill strode in, her energy electric and urgent. Jade was the kind of leader who commanded attention the moment she stepped into a room—tall, muscled, physically and mentally, and always immaculately put together. She had been with Cody in the trenches on the Hobbs case from the beginning, though her involvement had slowed as she juggled overseeing the precinct and tackling other high-profile cases. Still, Cody knew she never stopped keeping tabs on it, even if she had to step back. Right now, it was clear she had something big.

“Rhodes,” Jade said, her voice sharp, her dark eyes gleaming with something Cody hadn’t seen in months: hope. “I think we’ve got something.”

Cody’s head snapped up, his exhaustion momentarily forgotten. He leaned back in his chair, gesturing for her to continue. “Don’t tease me, Cargill. What’chu got?”

She slammed a folder onto his desk, the faint scent of coffee and cigarettes trailing her as she pulled a chair over. “Remember my old academy buddy, Phil Brooks? He’s a P.I. now, residing in Fairfield, Connecticut. He called me last night about two cold cases from a couple of months ago—one body found in Fairfield, the other in a nearby county called Middlesex. Both women. Both murdered in ways that sound a hell of a lot like our guy. Stalked, isolated, methodical.”

Cody sat up straighter, his pulse quickening. “Details?”

Jade opened the folder, pulling out grainy crime scene photos. “Fairfield victim: strangled, dumped in an alley. Middlesex victim: same M.O., but this one was left in her own apartment. No sign of forced entry—he knew her well enough to get in clean. Sound familiar?”

“It always does,” Cody muttered, his jaw tightening. 

“But wait, there’s more.”

Shit. “What else?”

Jade flipped to another page, her voice dropping to a more serious tone. “There’s this girl. Rhea. Found in some neighborhood in Hartford. Her throat slit and dumped in a ditch. She was pregnant.”

Cody’s eyes widened. “Fuck.”

Jade flipped another page and pointed at the picture of Bianca Belair. “This one’s been missing for two weeks. Same neighborhood. Brooks sent me a report of a neighbor who swears they saw Bianca arguing with a man matching Hobbs’ description the night she disappeared. Both Rhea and Bianca were escorts.”

Cody’s blood ran cold. “You think Hobbs is up there?”

“I know he’s up there,” Jade said, her voice filled with conviction. “Brooks also sent me this.” She reached into her bag and pulled out a crisp photo ID. It was a Connecticut driver’s license. 

Cody froze as he saw the name: Roman Reigns. But the photo…it was unmistakable.

Holy shit.

“It’s him,” he whispered, his breath catching in his throat. “It’s Hobbs.”

Jade nodded, her excitement tempered by the gravity of what they’d just discovered. “We finally have a lead, Rhodes. A real, tangible lead. It’s the first time in over a year we’ve been this close. If we can get over there on time and find him, we might have a shot at finding this Bianca girl and stopping him.”

Cody’s mind raced, connecting dots and mapping out the next steps. He looked up at Cargill, his eyes filled with determination. “We gotta go now then. If he’s already killed this many, he’s not gonna stop. He’s in the middle of a fucking spree.”

Jade gave him a tight nod. “I’ll reach out to Brooks, see if he can get this case in the hands of Hartford PD,” she said. “Pack your bags, Detective. We’re heading to Connecticut.”

As he stood, Cody Rhodes felt the first spark of hope he’d had in over a year. They had a name. A new name, but a name regardless. They had a location. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, they had a chance to finally catch Mateo Hobbs before he disappeared again.

Whew.

Fun fact: Elesha is Marian (harmshake)’s middle name and Antonia is my middle name 🤣 We said, ain't no way we’re not putting ourselves in this somehow, we worked too hard on this story.

Your comments and reblogs are so much appreciated! Please keep your Asks coming, we’re loving all the theories!

Please remember that this is FICTION and nothing more. Thank you so much for understanding!

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[bettystonewell]

TO YOU I BELONG: CHAPTER 12

Series Masterlist || Main Masterlist

Pairing: Alpha!Dean x Omega!Reader

Summary: Dean isn't looking for a mate, and the last place he expects to meet his soulmate is while on a case. Fate ain't real. He still has free will, and saving you is just another part of the job. Except, monsters aren't the only things you need saving from... 18+ only MDNI

Chapter Word Count: 6.4k words

Chapter Warnings: fluff, angst, reader is still anxious, guilt, mentions of past miscarriage, Dean is one proud papa to be, alpha Dean taking care of his omega

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There was something about leaving the Pack Planning clinic with smiling faces that drew a kind of attention Dean had never experienced before.

The people you passed as you made your way through the hospital were friendlier than those he ran into on the daily. With returning smiles and pleasant demeanours all round. He was wary at first and it did little to stop him from pulling faces back at them while channelling his inner David Yaeger. 

Of course, he was better looking, and had better teeth, thanks to Garth.

Yup. Dean was nothing like his favourite slasher. He still considered himself an eight, maybe a nine now that he was gonna be a father. That college chick with her dad-bod analogy suddenly spoke to him, and he ran his tongue from one canine to the other when he saw his reflection in the domed mirror you passed by in radiology. 

He was rocking it - and bonus - there were no monsters to be seen. Only him, his bod, and plenty of eyes following you in particular.

Hell. You were rocking it, too, in that dress. Especially now that your underwear was back on. Yes, he knew how off that sounded, but he was more concerned with being worried.

Should he have been worried? Were these strangers all scenting the pup, or was there another creature that might sense your hopes for the future and want to feed off them? 

He had no freaking clue. It was weird though, and well...yeah, okay, it was kinda nice. At least no one looked at him like he smelled bad anymore. Though he did half expect to see a guy wearing a candy stripe suit holding a cane and singing good morning to the pigeons hanging around the rafters of the parking lot.

Man, he was happy to take you and Baby far from there. That tingling feeling up his spine from leaving her as long as he had could get wrecked.

He was happier still to pull up a seat in the diner down the road as planned, where he could hide away from all the happiness and normal he just couldn’t for the life of him get used to. 

The joint was quiet for somewhere boasting to have the state’s best of anything, which he loved. A row of booths along the front window had two outta six occupied, and most four-tops were empty. 

It was perfect, even when you sat in a free booth.

He’d have preferred a table in the back to shy even further away from the world, but he got it. The bouncy benches of leather and foam looked way more comfortable than the basket weave thing the chairs had going on. 

But while the seats you sat in were a prime choice for his ass, the staff and other patrons were just as friendly as those outside, and he soon became a sympathiser for goldfish and their feelings real quick. 

Damn windows. So much for perfection. It was unbecoming. Unnerving even, and it left a weird taste in his mouth. 

Though, the diner and its inhabitants weren’t the problem here.

It wasn’t the mouthful of key lime pie he’d just woofed, nor was it the strawberry shake he’d used to wash down the delicious pastry and cream with either. No. No, no. It was from your question in answer to his, of all things that had him dropping his fork with a loud clatter on his plate and him staring at you with wide eyes next. 

What did you mean, what would he do if Baby got totalled? “What the hell kind of question is that?” 

He said it with such animosity, it had you biting your cheek as you stared back at him from your side of the booth, all guilt teed with nerves. It caused a few other pairs of eyes to find their way back to him, too, and worse, linger. People weren’t so friendly towards him now that he’d clearly upset you, and he missed the niceties.

The waitress who’d sold him on the pie, and had even given him a larger slice, shot daggers at him. Her coworker, working behind the counter, mid-pour, pouring coffee for the customer she was serving, served him a look that made him feel like he was the Scum of the Earth.

Wow. How things changed. He wasn’t sure he liked it. Could he go back to the happy smiles, please? Because this was worse than being the mud on his boot, and worse still, was the older omega at the table behind you. 

She’d stopped her conversation with her equally ageing mate to glare at him as well. Only hers felt more precarious and made him shudder. She could’ve thrown ice down his shirt and it’d be no different.

He just wanted to find out what’d been bothering you. You know - be a good mate and follow through on what he’d promised back in the exam room? He’d done the first half with the diner, so at least he was trying. But you’d hit him with such a low blow, he wasn’t the bad guy here. You were.

With your battering lashes, you’d moved on from your cheek and were now chowing down on your plump lower lip. About to break the skin if he didn’t do something, because then there’d really be blood. 

You might’ve had him wrapped around his finger, but it still was a dick move on your part. How could you suggest he let Baby get that mangled? 

He cringed at the thought. Seeing her roof caved in and her windows smashed all over again had him squirming over the faux leather cushioning and rapping his fingers on the tabletop. Anything to mimic the beating in his chest. He needed to drown it out because you’d about gone and given him a heart attack.

“I wouldn’t replace her, if that’s what you’re asking?” he said. 

Only it was. He knew it in one glance. 

Like a brick wall, easy to read and talk to, but not so able to give the same back, you slouched further into your side of the booth and dropped your head, shying away from his unsettled gaze before the first tear fell down your cheek. 

How the hell did you do that? You’d threatened Baby, and you got to cry? 

What about him? 

Not to mention this was supposed to be a celebration. You’d heard the pup’s heartbeat an hour ago, and according to Doctor Cameron, both you and he were healthy. As far as Dean was aware, that’s what you wanted, but everything was screaming the opposite and he was…panicking.

This wasn’t him. He was cool as a cucumber, and ready for anything. Just not omegas who weren’t as calm and collected as he was.

“Okay. You know what? Shove on over,” he said on deaf ears. He waved his hand anyway and shuffled himself to the edge of the cushion, standing so quickly he caught his thighs on the underside of the wood and the eyes of that damn old broad. 

She was still sitting behind you. Still listening in and not afraid to make it obvious.

He gave her a pursed smile before scurrying over to slip in next to you. His peripheral scanning the room for the whereabouts of the others, and he shuddered. Yup. He was the scum for making his pregnant mate cry. Got it. Message received. Thanks ladies.

He draped his arm over your shoulders and pulled you close, swiping away what moisture he could from your cheeks. It would be a losing battle if he didn’t sort this out, and soon. 

“What’s so bad that you’re threatening my car instead of telling me what’s wrong, huh?” he said. He had to bob his head down on an angle to capture your stare, hating the sight he found and the shaky breath you used to calm yourself. 

“I was going for something you might understand,” you said, keeping your distance from his torso with your spine on a lean. Thank god there was a window there to help keep you boxed in. “Wasn’t quite the answer I wanted, though.”

“You tryna compare Baby to something?” he asked, tightening his grip. Why on Earth did you have to choose her for whatever sick example this was?

“Yeah,” you said, as if things were obvious. “The pup.” Your brows furrowed even more than they were already, and Dean blinked. 

What? Okay, okay. That’s all that had been on both your minds since finding out. Didn’t mean he was expecting it. 

You’d just asked what he’d do if Baby ever got wrecked. How that could even happen without any of you getting injured was beyond him, but you’d told him that wasn’t the important part.

“Say she accidentally got picked up by a wrecker and thrown in one of those crusher things,” you’d said, syphoning your own, much prettier version of Hachetman, if pretty could be associated with something so foul.

The death of a car was one thing, but the pup? His pup. What kind of sick mother…oh.

Your whole torso shook under the weight of his arm as you pushed more air out of your lungs. “It’s just…every time I find something to be excited about, I feel guilty,” you said quietly. Almost in shock at your own words.

The cushion squeaked under you and sunk under him as you reached for your shake. It was the most you’d moved since he’d squished in next to you. Having barely made room for him in the first place, and though there wasn’t anything left in your cup, you still sucked on the air. 

You were stealing his moves. Classic Dean. If you were drinking, you weren’t talking.

His head nodded, only at a snail’s pace, and he swallowed real hard. Unlike you, he at least had something in his mouth. “The one you lost?” he probed, able to call Yahtzee on your change in breathing alone.

“I know it’s stupid ‘cause they weren’t even viable, but I can’t stop thinking what if, y’know?” You brought your hand down to rest on your stomach and he did the same, covering your warm skin with his. 

He was fascinated. Still as captivated as ever that the life growing inside of you was a part of him, too. But while he gave you a comforting smile, and though you smiled back, it twisted into a frown. 

“About what, sweetheart?” He’d seen that look on you too many times to count since claiming you. Didn’t suit a happily mated omega, and it wasn’t the one he’d claimed.

“I was in denial this morning over being sick. It just felt too soon. But then Sam’s smoothie glooped at me and…well I…” Your head thumped back against his arm, still on the top of the bench, staring at the ceiling with fresh tears rolling down your cheeks. “They didn’t even have a heartbeat. I dunno why I—”

“Hey. No.” He twisted in the seat, took the same arm out from under you and come-hithered his hands. He was pushing you into his chest in no time and shielding you from all the eyes that had found their way back on him. He couldn’t care less now. 

You weren’t stupid for grieving, and he wasn’t letting you think it. “Don’t do that to yourself, huh? Our little guy’s been real to me since I scented him, and he’s not a replacement. He’s their brother.”

There might’ve been some self preservation in there, but what did you expect? His priorities were with you and the pup under his fingertips. It was hard to tack on any relation to Dick and his jaw clenched because of it and his unusual lack of emotional restraint.

His jacket muffled your voice, but he still caught the curious and meek, “Brother?” 

He chuckled. That boyish one, sounding more lecherous than was appropriate in the moment. His selfish side could work with the reprieve, and he finally took a chance around the room. 

Crisis averted. For now, the other women were minding theirs, and he was no longer under scrutiny, except yours. But he could win you over. 

He may have misunderstood something after all. Not that he still believed the ring Doctor Cameron had pointed out to you on the ultrasound was his actual sac. 

That was stupid - it was way too big compared to the rest of him. But when Dean heard the word, that good old niggle in his gut that made him both fear and marvel at his future also told him they were a boy. 

“I’ve had this feeling. Ever since I saw his ticker,” he said on a lean as he searched for the one pair of eyes he wanted to see. 

They were still glistening with tears. Your cheeks flush and almost the same colour as your trembling lips.

His thumb swiped through both sides, grateful that you weren’t hiding behind milkshakes or the wet patch of his jacket pocket anymore. 

He let go of you and reached for his phone he’d left in place of himself at his original seat and punched in the password to reveal the video he’d taken of your ultrasound already up on the screen. Paused, yes, but open from watching it more than once.

The flicker that had captivated Dean’s heart came to life, and his mouth grew wider. “See that?” He pointed to a dot next to the jelly bean shape the doc had called a pole. “That’s my boy.” And damn, was he prouder than ever? Sure he didn’t look like much, but you guys had made that. There it was, right there.

“That’s just my uterus.” You sighed, and Dean’s bubble burst. 

Those weren’t the words of a momma to be. You were supposed to argue with him. Tell him they might be a girl or remind him the doctors can’t tell you yet.

Not this.

He puckered his lips, rubbing them together. 

Of course, he knew he couldn’t just slap a bandaid on you and whisper a ‘there there.’ Things didn’t work like that. He’d already tried, and the adhesive was wearing off. 

No. There was no straightforward solution to this, just as you still needed to sort out your grievances with Dick and your mom. But he could give you some kind of hope. 

As a hunter, he had the world at his fingertips for superstitions, and his mom’s (not so wise) words about angels.

“When I claimed ya, did you get a glimpse of heaven, too?” he whispered, aware the other booths still had ears. 

They may not have been looking at you, but the old broad’s scent had piqued when he’d played the video.

You sniffled. A blink caused a stray tear to roll down your face. “It’s…real?”

“Yeah, and I got no doubt they’re up there, looking out for him already.”

It didn’t matter that they’d had no physical body to move around in. There had to be a soul of some form…maybe. He wasn’t about to get into the dilemma of what made up one. Not when you were pained enough to cling to any load of crap thrown at you. Funny how that worked, even for you.

Your face was sure lighter, and he cupped it, brushing his thumb over your lip this time. “They’re probably looking out for their mom, too. Hating that you’re sad.”

“But I wanted them here,” you said with a blank stare and a split second of anger he caught in your scent before the guilt you’d been talking about overtook it. 

And fuck. Ain’t nobody was going to see him break down. His eyes sure found something in them just as quick as your outburst had come and gone, though. 

Your forehead hit his sternum, but he was grappling your arms and pulling you with him and out of the booth before you could settle.

He wanted you home. He wanted you there now, where he could hide you away from all these damn people. He’d had enough of today and it wasn’t even lunch yet.

Dean reached into his back pocket and threw a hefty tip down along with the other bills on the table, busting you out and into Baby’s cab on the street as soon as he had. 

She was comfort, she was home, she was undamaged, but his priorities lay with you and the pup, and his fingers glided over yours instead of the leather-bound wheel that attracted them as he sat down. 

“I’m sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to cause a scene.” 

The seat creaked underneath you as you fell into his chest, and he was shifting his hands again to wrap himself around you the best way he could without the steering column digging into his side.

“‘S good thing I made a bigger one then.” He huffed, placing a kiss on the crown of your head. “Truth is. I dunno where your pup is. I thought that stuff about heaven would help ya, but I guess I was wrong.”

“I was just being selfish,” you said in a whisper, pulling back to look at him in search of reassurance. Whether you believed it, he couldn’t tell, but the sight of your eyes full to the brim with tears cut him deep.

“It’s not selfish to want a healthy kid. I was praying before we saw him on the screen,” he admitted.

“You were?” 

“Yeah,” he said, hesitating to say anymore than that. You didn’t need him mentioning he’d prayed. He’d already fucked up by comparing his pup with Dick’s. He may as well have let what little restraint he had left tell you he was happy for your loss because it had brought you to him... 

Yeah. Absolutely not. Even if it was true in a roundabout, sick and twisted way. 

His knuckles came up to brush over your cheekbone and his elbow to rest over the backrest. He couldn’t leave things as they were, either. 

“There’s, ah, not much I can say that doesn’t make me out to be a huge asshole. Though you might deserve some of it after you threatened my car…” Obviously it was a joke, but he regretted it the second it left his mouth, even when your lip twitched up.

“I’m sorry.” He huffed and shook his head, smoothing his hand over the black leather and the stitching of her dimples. You deserved nothing of the sort. “And I’m really sorry you lost your first. I know it wasn’t easy, and I know it makes things harder for you now.” 

“It was a long time ago,” you whispered, eyes flicking down below Baby’s dash and away from him when his face screwed up.

You made it sound like it belonged in a history book, but two years was nothing.

“Hey.” His palm stretched his fingers over your cheek. “It’s been fresh in your mind since I claimed you,” he tried, nudging your face to bring you back to him. 

You were defiant at first, until you spoke up, louder than expected. Not angry, even in your gaze, but bewildered, hurt. Still full of despair. “Then how come you’re not freaking out all the time? You went to hell, and purgatory, and…heaven?” 

“Yeah. But I knew all that stuff was happening when it happened.”

Okay, purgatory wasn’t expected when he’d ganked Dick’s namesake, and heaven was thanks to Zachariah being a douche. But he’d taken the deal that sent him to hell. After it, the other two were like taking a walk in the park.

“It took my dumbass questions ‘bout your past for you to realise Dick was a dick.” 

“They weren’t dumb.”

“Just like you’re not stupid for grieving,” he said with a wag of his brows that softened as soon as your mouth widened into a grin large enough for him to accept.

He needed a solution besides his arms wrapping ‘round you tight again. As much as he loved doing it, there were a couple more things you needed to do before returning to the bunker, and it wasn’t possible with you connected as you were.

He dropped his head down on a lean and hit his numbskull against yours.

“You can be excited and sad, y’know?” he said in the tone of a teacher (or parent), nurturing a child on the finesse of feelings and that it was okay to have them.

You huffed, and he captured it along with your lips and the remnants of chocolate milk, just as fitting, in a forceful kiss.

”Go as crazy as you like,” he then continued. “You’ve got a free pass for the next eight months.”

Though he soon regretted those words.

Telling you what he had was the same as flicking a switch somewhere in you, and sending your emotions into overdrive.

He wasn’t a douche like Dick for saying so, either. It was a fact, and if you looked at things from his perspective, you’d understand. 

You were touchier than normal, and yes, you had your reasons. Again, he wasn’t a douche. But simple decisions suddenly became more of a chore. Like, did you want your burrito with mild salsa or the hottest of the hot? Toasted or fresh? Rice or none? Diet soda, or another milkshake?

Food choices were important, but spicy, crispy, and extra carbs were an obvious choice the first time.

Seeing you examine the back of every prenatal vitamin jar in not one, but two pharmacies and a supermarket was more understandable. The difference between folate and folic acid as a name would have anyone wary. Dean had seen what harsh chemicals could do to people - making him not so sure of the labels himself.

However, more tears when he forgot to grab the ice cream you hadn’t asked for while paying for gas, and the spike of jealousy he sensed when you saw an omega, heavily pregnant, was just...it was weird, right? 

He was gonna remember that last one if you ever complained to him you looked like a whale later on down the line.

Lisa’s sister Jenny should have asked no one other than her mate that question.

But with you, he had leeway. He’d tell it to you straight… Unless it came to the gender of his pup, that is.

You were soon pulling him into line on that.

That night, after returning with the right vitamins, stuff for a healthy dinner Dean wouldn’t win friends with, and two stuffed bears (non living and carry size), one for each of your pups, you congregated in the bunkers kitchen. 

“That’s his sac,” Dean said as he leaned over his phone, now in Sam’s hands. They stood around the large middle island, as you did. Only on the opposite side, and well away from where you were chopping a cucumber with a rather sharp knife.

“They can tell it’s a boy from this?” Sam asked. Though his eyes flicked to you as he did.

“No. I just have a feeling. Reckon he’s an alpha.” Dean’s tone was boastful, even as his gaze flicked to you, too. His reflexes were as awesome as ever, but after today he was still mindful of the case in Ohio, and your interest in it. He wanted to keep all his bits intact if he could help it. 

You stopped what you were doing and rested your wrist on the edge of the wooden chopping board. Knife still in hand as you asked, “And when did you present, Alpha?” to the room.

The sarcasm dripped off the false sweetness you grit through your teeth.

He had to be careful here, and not on account of your scent rapidly changing.

No doubt you’d seen his first rut when he claimed you and had an inkling as to how old he was when it had occurred, just as he’d seen bits of your first heat. But he had a point to make. So, he tried his luck, only boosting his ego a little, and said, “Fifteen,” because that seemed plausible. 

At least it was until Sam opened his big mouth and scoffed as he handed him his phone back. 

“Alright, seventeen.” Dean poked his tongue through an audacious grin. “But Dad knew I was one. Just like he did with you, and I know our pup is gonna be one, too.”

You scowled. “Your father was an alpha. Your grandfather was an alpha. And so was mine. Of course, our son will be one, too,” you said.

And of course, all Dean heard was your use of the word son. There was the argument he’d needed to see back at the diner. A fierce momma bear, even if the douchebag you were defending your pup from was him.

He was fit to burst and practically bounced on his heels because of it. “So you’re agreeing he’s a boy?” 

Your “No” was very short, and your wrist, very forced as you pushed the sharp blade into the wooden board below, causing the pot lids on the shelf above to clatter and the hanging pots below them to sway.

He chuckled and risked sauntering ‘round the mass of stainless steel to wrap his arms around you, much like the damage control he’d pulled at the diner earlier. 

He was getting good at this. Especially without a pack of omegas staring him down. (Sammy didn’t count.)

His arms wrapped round you and took hold of your chopping hand to still it. He was less likely to be cut this way. “So you think they’re a girl?” he asked.

Your scent spiked, announcing the end of your tether, but your smile said otherwise. Dean didn’t miss the way your cheek filled out against his when he nuzzled against you.

“I dunno. I just want them to stay healthy.”

“I do, too,” he said in earnest. But then that glint in his eye he usually reserved for the finer things, like you or his grenade launcher, came out to play as he thought of a way to really test your testiness. “You wanna make a bet?”

Your knife hand dropped again. “I’m not betting on the sex of our pup!”

You knew him too well. Though it was kinda obvious with the conversation you’d been having.

“Sammy?” He then tried, and your free hand swiped at his shoulder. 

Had it been long enough, you would’ve had a go at Sam, too, but he held both of his up in surrender, and shook his head. “Uh-uh. I’m not getting involved in that.”

‘Later?’ Dean mouthed, screwing his face up when he saw yours.

“I can see that, y’know?” Your swipe wasn’t a swipe at all this time. There was a thud from the back of your hand colliding with him, and he chuckled again. 

“I ain’t hiding it,” he said and brought his lips down on his claim, and both hands up your arms. The soft, velvety skin there, and that sweet, sweet apple delighted his nose. The heave of your chest, his eyes.

It really had been a long day and all that anger towards him, even playful, had to be making you tired. If anything, he could make up for being an ass. “Why don’t you go sit down? Lemme finish this.”

His fingers had taken charge of the knife again before you could even answer, giving you no choice, but to say yes.

You ran your hand through his scruff and hummed happily. “I thought you didn’t win friends with salad?”

You knew it. He did not, and he pulled his best bitchface. One to rival Sammy’s, who had pulled one to match.

“I don’t. But the doc said my little man will.” He winked and bumped you with his hips.

“Still not a little man.” You sighed, but leaned back enough to kiss him, anyway, with lips as plump as ever through your pout.

Your smile against his gave him the warm fuzzies, and he reached between you to squeeze your ass before sending you on your way.

Sam, not far behind. Only he left the room and didn’t return until much later when dinner was ready.

Dean gave the kitchen sink another once over with the detergent and the sponge before filling it up. You may have puked on him earlier, but he wasn’t risking it. Barf was still barf, even if his son caused it. And if it had landed somewhere on the deeper depths of the porcelain surface, well, he couldn’t wash the things you ate off of in there now, could he?

Years of motel rooms and take out as always fueled his need for cleanliness. Keeping everything in order, John Winchester style.

Dean could never half-ass any job, even if his dear old dad wasn’t watching. There would always be a need to please.

He sprayed away the excess suds and covered the drain with the rubber plug, before twisting the faucet harder, and the temperature hot enough to singe his skin. Along with more dish soap, that’d get rid of any remaining stomach gunk.

He gave the bottle an extra tight squeeze. And while the fart sound satisfied his ears, the stuff reeked of Sam and it screwed his nose up. Though his brother’s heavy footsteps trailing more of his funk thunked over the tiles towards him.

A mumbled “hey,” added an extra touch to the Chewie ambiance he had going on.

Okay. So Dean was an ass, knew it already, but in this instance, it was his privilege as an older brother. Came with the territory, and a right to let off some steam.

Sammy stepped up next to him and crooked his back, scooping up the dish towel hanging below the bench. Neither alpha saying anything more. 

There were noises a plenty though. Dean would grab the edge of a plate, scrape it on the side of others and dunk it with a splosh, into the fresh foam. Then Sam, now leaning against the countertop, would dry. The soft scrape of fingers gliding the coarser towel over ceramic, not so music to one’s ears. It was more like cotton balls and the freakish squeak they made.

The picture had Dean chuffed, though. Two brothers, both fierce hunters, knife scarred and bullet holed, at a kitchen sink. Getting their domestic duties on by mopping and drying serving and silverware. If demons and angels could see them now.

All that was missing was a pair of rubber gloves and an apron.

The latter was in the wash. The first had disappeared since Mrs Butters had left and no one had bothered to replace them. 

The old wood nymph would’ve come in handy in the near future. It was a shame she’d gone rogue. A magic dishwasher could handle all the little plastic plates and bowls he expected to come when your pup came into the world.

Some, full of SpaghettiOs, others Cap’n Crunch. A bit of Mac ‘n’ cheese and maybe even his own version of Winchester’s surprise.

After he graduated from your milk, and any puréed crap, of course. Dean fondly remembered chowing down on an apple and banana concoction while babysitting the shifter’s kid.

He fondly remembered sucking your tit into his mouth, too, and thoughts of what that could taste like overtook the rest.

Milk? Sour? Sweet?

“What?” Sam asked when a contented hum escaped his lips.

He cocked the brow closest to the younger alpha and flipped it his way, while keeping the potential new kink to himself. “Remember Bobby-John?”

“Yeah. Vaguely.”

“Vaguely?” Dean finished swirling the dish brush over the fourth plate and thrust it into his brother’s hands, smirking. That was for forgetting the kid, and for making him freak out when he’d seen his gigantor form leering over you at this very sink that morning. He may’ve been helping you. Didn’t mean he had to get so damn close. 

“I had no soul. My head was—”

“Knotting weird hippies.” 

Sam scoffed, standing there for a second with a stupid grin on his face until he shook it and, no wait, it remained. 

“You know, I still can’t believe you’re gonna be a dad?” he said, and Dean thrusted the next plate into him even harder with a smirk turned grin of his own. 

That was for when he was almost anal probed, and for the latest insult. 

“I didn’t mean it like that. It’s really cool, y’know? Like a light at the end of the tunnel or something.”

Of course Dean knew. He didn’t need convincing that his pup was awesome. He was one lucky sonovabitch. But that tunnel Sam spoke of was looking more like a cave with jagged edges and darkness smack bang in the middle at present. So when the hell did the light come into play ‘cause he was fucking terrified. 

A new life… Did he quit hunting now? Did he need to line your pockets with salt every damn day? Could he even leave the bunker or you alone, and if he did, what was he doing then?

He hadn’t taken a case in weeks, and all of a sudden cabin fever hit him big time, but he couldn’t do anything about it now.

He had a kid on the way.

He was also a grunt who’d tried the apple pie thing, and he and it did not match. In fact, Sammy, without his freaking soul, had been the force behind that break-up.

He looked at Dean in concern, but Dean was fucking concerned himself.

“Are you okay?” Sam asked. 

“Yeah.” Dean nodded to convince himself, and dipped his hand into the murky fathoms of the sink below to pull the plug. He needed a drink. “Though I might need you to lend me a torch,” is what he said.

He snatched the dish towel from Sam, who chuckled at first until he realised he had his serious face on. The one that made him look constipated by all the shit he kept bottled inside.

“Come on, man,” Sam said. “You helped raise me, and I turned out fine. How’s this any different?”

Turning out fine was up for debate, and… Yeah. Nope. 

Dean couldn’t even argue with that, as much as it went against his nature to contradict almost anything that was ever nicely said about him. 

He had turned out great, but that wasn’t the issue. This time Dean was fully responsible for you and the pup, and there was no one else to step up if he fucked up. Besides Sam himself. 

“How’re things going with Eileen?” he asked.

“We’re talking about you.”

“Yeah, well, I’ve been talking ‘bout my feelings all day, so give your old man a break.” He smirked.

Technically, it’d been about yours, but he didn’t need to know that. Dean needed a break from spotlights and needing torches. Most importantly, he needed a Plan B. A larger pack to help with stuff when he screwed up. 

“I dunno,” Sam said, still leaning on the bench. He shuffled his feet and leant forward, bracing himself on the last piece of dry ceramic he’d yet to let go of, pushing it into his knee. 

“You think you might have a second chance?” Dean pried. He was thinking about it. He had to be, and Chuck, Dean was turning into you. Sammy was his alpha, who got his knot stuck in the secretary.

“We’re, ah, texting…a lot.” He cleared his throat. “But it’s nothing like you guys. Or me and Jess. There’s no…soul marks.”

Dean considered giving Sam a similar talk to what he’d given you. That it was okay to have differing feelings. That Jess would always be special, never forgotten, and never replaced. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. He’d had enough of grieving. He’d had enough of being forced to think about the what if’s.

You were healthy…for now.

And the pup had a heartbeat. Not just now. They did. He did, and Dean ran his teeth over his bottom lip and looked up at the ceiling to compose himself. His hand ran over the shape of his phone buried in his pocket, where the video of his son was only a few clicks away.

“But they’re, ah, rare,” he finally said.

“Rare enough for you and me to have both found a match.”

Sam caught Dean’s attention on that, and he held it for longer than was necessary between them.

This kind of stuff just wasn’t for guys like them, and yet, Sammy had found Jess, and Dean had found you, and that pushed the ‘whole life into perspective’ further home for him.

He sniffed up the dust that had been irritating his eyes all day and fixed his sleeves still rolled from doing the dishes. Though who was he kidding? He’d been wearing them like that all day.

“You know, on the plus side, your kidneys are safe now,” he said. He’d had enough chick flick moments to last him the week.

Sam’s grin was wider than Dean’s. “What?”

He thumbed behind them in the direction of room 11, a glint in his eyes as he remembered what Doctor Cameron had told you. “True mates are compatible medically, too, so I’ve got myself an organ farm. Also said my little man is gonna be stronger ‘cause of it.”

“You think that’s why—”

“Yeah. I think so.” He wasn’t going there. Anything positive about yours and his match was a mark against what you’d lost. Besides, he’d told himself no more grieving, and he meant it. Your pup was strong, and waiting for his daddy’s heavy hand to rest over him.

“I’m gonna hit the hay. Gotta warm bed waitin’ for me,” Dean added, patting his brother on the shoulder with that same weight. “You should invite Eileen over…If you’re serious about her.”

No doubt being outnumbered three to one, you’d appreciate another omega around. 

“Yeah. Maybe I will,” Sam said. His lip twitched as Dean spun on his heels, heading straight out of the kitchen and into the hall.

When he reached the door, he opened it with a gentle touch, just in case you were already asleep. Elated to find you turning your head to look up at him with a smile, sitting against the headboard nursing the tea you’d brought with you earlier. You were a vision. As were the two stuffed bears beside you.

He was going to be an awesome dad, because he was already an awesome mate.  You on the other hand?

Well, that all depended on Baby, and whether she survived you in his life.

Previous Chapter || Next Chapter

Little bit of foreshadowing in there that I'm quite proud of. What's going to happen to Baby?? Oh - and Dean's going back into rut next chapter! ❤️

Chapter 13: Derishionment - 16/05

“What would you do if Baby got totalled?” you’d asked him.

Well. He’d fucking flip his lid is what he’d do, but “Please, Baby, please,” he said in the moment. His eyes, wide shut in prayer as his elbows lifted him up off the dusty grass. 

To Dean’s horror, the transmission shifted, and the car moved again. Followed by the crunch of a tree and another shift that had him leaping up just in time to run - again. 

Why did this always happen to him? Why did it have to happen to Baby? Why did you have to go and…say all that crap you had about her getting totalled?

Yeah. You. This was all…

…your fault.

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[sleepylaing]

Énouement [4]

Suddenly you feel a strange stirring to your right. You casually shift your gaze there, and see a KEEL member lying in the same pose as you.

Strange. His breathing sounds perfectly normal.

Is he pretending, too?

see the notes in end of the chapter

← previous chapter

ch. 4 Just papers.

You don't like the wind today. It's completely messed up your hair, making it fly in your face, which you're tired of fixing. Sometimes you miss your short hair very much. As a child, you were often left to fend for yourself - in fact, you were almost always on your own. Your hair was constantly tangled, and there was no one to teach you how to properly care for it. You picked up scissors for the first time at six, and for the next seven years you cut it as short as you could - and it got a lot easier. You didn't care what it looked like.

Then... someone told you they were beautiful. That it would be nice to see you with long hair. So you started growing it out. Now, when it's loose, it's down to your shoulders and a little lower, but you always tried to put some of it in a ponytail on top of your head. Sometimes Kiryu would want to braid you, and you looked like a normal person for once (according to Kotoha when she saw you).

Back to the weather...

You're tired. Not that there was ever a time when you wouldn't be, but at least you could have spent that time doing something useful - for example, you had a very nice time enjoying a nap on your favorite rock desk! - rather than going with a bunch of teenagers to somewhere unknown to punch someone in the face who offended some friend of some classmate of yours. Takahashi, maybe. Or Anzai? You didn't get into the details.

Kicking the air angrily, you turn to the one responsible for your condition.

“At least carry me on your back, Suo-cha-a-an...”

You lean your forehead against Hayato's shoulder while continuing to walk. The familiar, pleasant scent fills your lungs. After breathing it in once more, you pull away.

“Leave him alone already!” Sakura snaps irritably, looking back at you and blushing for some reason. “Stop acting like that!”

“Like what?”

“Like a five-year-old. Like you can't do anything without him.”

You pout.

“My feet hurt!”

“You were carelessly running away from Kiryu after stealing his donut like an hour ago. It seemed like your legs were totally fine.”

“I was hungry! That doesn't count!”

“That's not my problem. Just—” His gaze slides awkwardly toward where your hand has just barely touched the back of Suo's palm. He frowns. Heat spreads across his cheeks. “Stop it. I can't look at you.”

You swallow and lick your lips. What exactly are you supposed to stop doing? What were you doing wrong?

You stare at Suo as if he has the answer. Your fingers tremble as you absently touch him again. As if burned, you hide your hand in your pocket.

Hayato continues to walk beside you. His posture is perfectly straight. Suddenly, he leans over to you and speaks quietly.

“Candy shop. In a week's time. I'm paying.”

Your face brightens.

Maybe it's not so bad after all.

***

You lazily scan the area of the abandoned port you just approached. You quickly estimate how long it took you to get there. Deep down, you're not sure that entering enemy territory without alerting your senpais was a good idea. You're like blind kittens out here. What if there are too many enemies? Or will something else unforeseen happen?

Questions swirl around in your head, but you brush them off. Thinking about it is always such a hassle. It's better not to think at all. It's okay. Nothing's wrong.

Not yet, at least.

You hope it doesn't.

Along with the entire crowd, you approach a huge hangar that is apparently KEEL's headquarters. Sugishita breaks the lock effortlessly. Sakura confidently goes in first; you follow.

As it turns out, they've been waiting for you for quite some time. Or rather, not you—Anzai (oh, so he's the one who started this whole thing?). Sakura begins to ogle the supposed gang leader while you distract yourself to take a closer look at the place.

Inside, it's even more spacious than it appeared. You immediately notice the unusual layout and smell of dust and dampness. Pipes and other junk are scattered in the corners. You press your lips together in a thin line. The space you occupied was lit, more or less.

But everything else was not. You don't like that there's another floor above you that you can't see. What if there are more of those guys sitting up there who have surrounded you?

Frowning warily, you tilt your head back and try to look up, but you can't tell if anyone is there.

You find yourself thinking it's strange. Your behavior was unusual for you. Why is your stomach twisting again?

Hardly any of them can touch the hair on your head, even if they tried really hard.

You were probably just a little worried, but... not for yourself.

Just a little. You still don't care and would rather sleep on a desk than participate in this.

“Beware of the other floor,” you warn Suo and Nirei, the ones who stood closest to you when you faced your opponents in the fight, with sudden seriousness. “I can't see what's in there.”

Suo nods understandingly, taking your words to heart. Nirei, on the other hand, already looking rather frightened before, seems to tense up even more, squinting warily upwards. Your heart clenches strangely. Maybe you shouldn't have said that.

“Don't worry, Nirei-chan," you hurry to reassure him, “They won't-”

Before you could finish your words, you saw an iron baton aimed straight at your face. You caught it with your palm, deliberately kicked your attacker in the stomach, and he collapsed to the ground.

“...touch you.”

“Too slow,” you think. Then you are immediately attacked by someone else. Effortlessly dodging his swinging leg, you take him down. He clumsily joins his comrade.

Nirei stares at you, dumbfounded, like a deer in headlights.

“Awesome, Akashi-san! You took down two of them in just a couple seconds. It looked so easy...” he mutters in admire, and you suddenly realize that no one in Furin has ever seen you fight before.

You only smile softly in response, tilting your head to shoulder. You're glad that at least this way you could distract Nirei from his troubling thoughts.

A bunch of fists come at you again, and you're distracted by the fight. You never struck first; you dodged, slashed, redirected, and pushed your foes against each other. When the pressure died down a little, you moved back to the corner, settling down smoothly and spreading out on the ground. They wouldn't hit someone lying down, would they? You sighed quietly, closing your eyes.

Tsugeura-chan would give you a hard time (okay, maybe you're exaggerating a bit, but he'd give you his trademark heavy backhand) if he saw you now. How good it was that he was engrossed in his fight at the other end of the hangar. No, well, what, you're supposed to go over there now and fight at full strength? No, thank you. You've already handled a couple of them, the rest will be on the guys.

Lately, you'd rather not fight unless it was absolutely necessary. You liked the excuse that you were in some kind of retirement.

Suddenly you feel a strange stirring to your right. You casually shift your gaze there, and see a KEEL member lying in the same pose as you.

Strange. His breathing sounds perfectly normal.

Is he pretending, too?

Before you can get a good look at him, your thoughts are interrupted by an alarmed shout, and you turn around. Afterward, this guy is completely blown out of your mind.

“Akashi!” yells Suo, not loudly enough to block out the sound of the battle, but loudly enough for you to hear him. A concerned fire blazes in his eye. He looks like he's ready to rush toward you at any second.

Oh, sweet, sweet Suo. Is he really worried about you? Of course he would notice your absence. You put your thumb up to show that everything is fine. Will he understand?

After hesitating for a while longer, Hayato seems to calm down, but he still looks back at you fearfully sometimes.

Bofurin dominated. With the outrageously strong Sugishita and Tsugeura, the elusive Kiryu, the untouchable Suo, and the chaotic Sakura, it was hard to imagine a different outcome. You tried to keep an eye on everyone, just in case.

You briefly glance at Sakura, who had been beaten over the head with a club, but decide he can handle it and turn your gaze to Suo, behind whose back stood frightened Nirei.

The future you are grateful to yourself for doing this.

Because the next moment, Nirei suddenly snapped out of his spot and raced into the middle of the battle. Your eyes widened. What is he doing?! He's gonna-... They are gonna-...

Your palms go ice cold. It's almost as if a switch has flipped in your head, and you no longer care that you didn't want to get involved.

Your body twitches automatically. With astonishing speed, you jump up and run toward him. You hear Suo and Sakura calling his name. Your tongue doesn't obey you. You grit your teeth and speed up. Thoughts, jumbled and anxious, race through your head. Make it. Make it. Make it.

You must make it. You have to make it.

Your heart races as you kick one, then immediately take on the other. You dodge a fist whizzing right over your temple. By now, the first one has already gotten up.

“Ak-kashi-san! Behind you!”

You crouch down sharply. The attacker falls to the ground, unable to keep his balance. You kick him again, just to be sure. You turn to Nirei and your eyes widen in horror. Without a second thought, you pull him toward you and switch places with him.

There is a deafening clang.

Someone is screaming.

Something cold presses hard against the back of your neck. Something hot and sticky starts running down your neck.

Loud. Much. Too much. It hurts. It hurts. Your vision blurs. Your ears start to ring. You try to focus on Nirei's face below you. You can't. But it seems intact. Only then do you allow yourself to relax. Maybe it's just your imagination, but you vaguely hear your name being called. Much. Too much. It's all jumbled up.

There's only one thought in your head.

You made it. Made it.

Made it.

Saved.

“...I've t-... told y-you, Nirei... chan,” you squeeze out hoarsely, trying to smile, “...no one will hurt you.”

Your eyelids grow heavy. The back of your neck is throbbing. You're still in unbearable pain, but you think you can bear it. It's been a long time since you last felt similar way. You're even a little weaned on it.

The last thing you hear is the hangar doors slamming open. There's the stomping of boots.

Kaji-san is here.

You let yourself fall into oblivion with relief.

***

The starless sky peers at you through the window. The moon's silver crescent mocks you. The apartment is dark. It smells of iron and dampness.

Your little brother's body lies in your arms.

“I didn't tell them, nee-chan. They asked me where the money was, but I didn't tell them. They started beating me, but I never told them. They... found it anyway. I'm sorry, nee... chan. They took them all...”

“It's just pieces of paper,” you say, your voice trembling. You stroke his head gently. Tears don't have time to roll from your eyes. You hold back a sob. “It's just papers, Niko.”

You pray the ambulance makes it in time.

Because you didn't.

“But you tried so hard. I couldn't just let them take them away. You work all the time.”

“I'd earn more.”

The light in his eyes slowly fades. You whimper quietly. A strangled scream rips from your throat.

The moon laughs at you from its black sky.

→ next chapter

a/n: heeyy hiii thank you a lot for reading!!! things are getting a little heated, yea? akashi is finally starting to come out of her shell. i'd love to read your feedback! anyway, im here to tell you about some interaction i want to do.

what do you think about some interview with characters? like, you may ask the questions in comments, and in the next part they will answer them. like what is your type, who will you call in extreme situation, what kind of job would you like to get or what do you do when you're upset etc etc etc.... at first, i wanted to do it all myself, but then i thought it would be interesting to ask you too. if you want a particular character (could be multiple) to answer something, also mention it.

a saw this idea many years ago it is not mine!!! ...just in case

bye sweeties have a nice day

[king-candybug-backup]

Kill Switch: Part Thirteen

“What, no witty comeback?” Ralph gauged, an awkward chuckle escaping him. “You sick or something?” “No, Ralph.” That lackluster response had Ralph raising an eyebrow. How only those two words could convey such blatant lethargy, he had no idea. He cast a confused look Vanellope’s way, but her worried gaze had remained on the Cy-bug.  Regardless of how strange it felt, that nagging pressure to liven up Turbo of all people, it would feel even stranger to leave him like that when Vanellope was so obviously bothered by it. Clearing his throat, Ralph tried again to elicit any sort of response that wasn’t so painfully lifeless. “No, see, that’s where you’re supposed to say something like, ‘Sick of you, maybe’ or ‘What can I say, seeing your face is vomit-inducing’, or–” He stopped talking when King Candy stood up, not even bothering to look at either of them, and left the room without another word. “... What’s up with him?” Ralph asked Vanellope, all she was able to offer being an unknowing shrug in response.  “Said he was tired.” She replied, though sounded beyond unconvinced. “Maybe he just wants to be alone for a bit…”

Read the full chapter on AO3!

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven | Part Eight | Part Nine | Part Ten | Part Eleven | Part Twelve

I'm sorry Ralph looks so derpy, I CANNOT draw Ralph for the life of me HSZDFVGBJN (Also, can't reply to asks atm because I am super dead tired lol, but I will reply to them later!! I see y'all and love you!!) ANYWAYS, FAN-ART TIME!!! <333

First up we have this AWESOME Sinistar VS Candybug art by @sp1derf1ll3dc0ffin!

Next we have this art of Candybug sulking in his pillow fort by @cathirae that is both adorable AND hilarious, lmao!

Then there is this art of Candybug rocking a makeup look by @lv-tangle-universe-blog!

Next up is Vanellope whooping Turbo at Uno by @t3ch-wizard!

And then @phantomfairs drew the scene of Sour Bill and Turbo being AGGRESSIVELY SAPPY OLD FARTS

Then there's this funny Doofenshmirtz meme but with Candybug by @echantedtoon!

And last but not least we have this DELICIOUSLY angsty art of Candybug going through his existential crisis by @cherrycreamfairy! (Of which the posing definitely had a subconscious influence on me FHDDFXGDCHVGJHBJN)

THANK ALL YOU WONDERFUL PEOPLE FOR ALL YOUR WONDERFUL AWESOME DRAWINGS I LOVE THEM MORE THAN YOU KNOW!!! 💖💖💖

[bloodchapell]

castle of sand— senku i. 8: we live together now

brief summary: a drastic change in the world, and a drastic change in your relationship. does archenemies serve it right still?

what to expect: implied psychological and verbal abuse, mentions of suicidal intentions

your sword's note: this was beautiful, they're getting there, next chapter will be 10B% more sentimental, all past and future parts + playlist of this series available on my mistresslist

Sparrows all around suddenly turned into stone over the weekend. You had asked Senku if he had seen the sparrows through text message but he didn't reply, trying to avoid your philosophical ramble about the sparrows and what they felt like. He spent the weekend analyzing them and the circumstances around them, and on Monday morning he got ready as usual to go to school. You were not by the door when he got out, he waited a few minutes but you didn't come out. You were usually punctual, except of course when the household matters got out of hand and you had to walk late and patched up like a martyr. He assumed that was the situation, playing with the candy in his pocket as he walked to school.

He didn't see you during the day. You didn't show up to class at all. He texted you, reminding you to be ready to go to the beach after school, saying that Taiju, Yuzuriha and him would pick you up from your house. You didn't reply. He wasn't faced, your replies were so sporadic that they could take a few minutes or business weeks.

"Listen up, Senku! I've made up my mind. I'm going to confess the feelings I've had for Yuzuriha for the past five years!" Taiju stormed in the lab announcing his decision.

"I'll be cheering for you so hard that my vocal cords snap. From here in this science lab." Senku said sarcastically yet Taiju thanked him.

It was the last five minutes of lunch break. He automatically expected you to walk in asking what was it that he was doing, but your entrance never came. Some mild annoyance, simply at the breakage in the routine, after all he still found you more bothersome than the average, but whatever.

Taiju walked towards the first floor, in front of the big tree that Yuzuriha was waiting by. Senku knew that you would have been there watching if you had gone to school, probably yapping nonstop about the beautiful moment that was about to happen. While the rest of the club members placed bets against Taiju, Senku placed 10 billion yens on their love while opening a can of an energy drink. Then the green light hit and everything was dark.

Senku started counting, it was his first reaction. He had once counted for two months straight while keeping up with his regular life, so he thought he would be somewhat prepared.

He counted and counted and counted, trying to mentally control the time in which he revived, spring after spring, until one day the spring came and the prison around him broke. As it turned out, everyone had somehow become stone statues. He made sure to mark out the outline he had been laying on with rocks and analyzing the pattern in which the stone had broken off. After making himself some covering made out of vines, he had some weird exchange with the local monkeys and then calculated the date to be April 1st of 5738. What an insane sounding date.

The first step on going back (potentially even surpassing) where modern life left off, was making fire. It took him a while, but he wasn't able to, Taiju and Yuzuriha would have done it, a smile creeped in his face though when he mentioned to himself that you would have put the wood stick down and sit for a while thinking about how it all felt... that was the last thing he needed to do, being overwhelmed with the reality of things was the least he needed.

...

After two months or so of hard work just to simply survive, the house he was building was finally done, but Senku was too exhausted simply surviving to actually do some science. He needed to find Taiju. With a small clay cup, a shovel and a lot of hope, he walked back to where he woke up, a hand sticking out of the ground highlighted in the ground and he started digging.He stood still for a while as he looked at Taiju, but the sentimentality was soon over when he decided to yell at the statue. How did he even get out of the stone? The sight of a bat diverted his attention to a nearby cave. He went inside and found nitric acid dripping from the top. To check if the external agent that helped the stone corrode was in fact the nitric acid, he took a bit of hair from the back of his head and in a few seconds under the drops it undid the stone. With a gigantic smile he waited until his clay cup got filled and ran to throw the liquid over Taiju's statue. Nothing happened.

"I just need a working hypothesis, come on, think." He stood still for a second after having tried the same method with the statues that were around. "That's it, I was thinking. For the entire 3,700 years I was petrified, I remained conscious."

If it had to come to thinking, his mind went to only one person. Though he was sure Taiju was still conscious, the astronomical levels of thinking that were probably required for the stone to break with a simple cup of nitric acid were hard to find. Senku cursed his luck, if you were in school, it was an easy task, you'd be somewhere around the area. Clearly you were not the manpower he needed, but it was better than nothing.

After dragging Taiju's statue to the cave and leaving it under the drip of nitric acid, Senku stood outside for a second, simply making mental calculations and forming hypotheses, and for some reason, probably exhaustion, let his head fall back a little and therefore he looked up. Your statue was sitting on top of the cave.

It took him a good while to climb the cave, and once he was there he wondered why the hell you were around but he hadn't seen you in class. Whatever, he would ask you later. He turned the cup down and let the liquid he had collected in the cup bath your statue.

Senku had never been so happy to see you as when he heard the stone crack.

You were sitting with your legs crossed, one hand resting on the same surface you had been sitting when you got petrified and your other hand was close to your lips with your index and middle fingers up, just a few inches away from your mouth that was slightly open. Your eyes were closed.

"Was I reborn?" You say once the stone around you has broken, putting your hand to rest on your leg.

"No, what the hell are you talking about?" Senku said thinking if revivng you was a mistake. "You were not reborn."

"I died and was reborn." You said again, not a question but an affirmation. "After death, I spent both an eternity and an instant in a state of nothingness, there was no hell or heaven, just inward awareness, pure bliss of thought, until the pace stopped satiating me and I grew desireful of living again, though I wished to be brought to the world in a different condition.“

“That makes no sense, if you had been reborn you would be a baby.”

“That is reasonable, then the absolute truth is that I hallucinated a world into existence, what a solipsistic world!” You said looking around. It was then Senku sighing, maybe spending so much time thinking had finally fried your brain.

“Let’s try to be logical here for a second.” Senku asked looking away once his frustration stopped clouded him and he realized you were naked.

“Not so imperative but I can do that.” You said placing your hand on your chin. “I was sitting in the edge of the rooftop, thinking very hard, feeling very hard, I closed my eyes and ought to stop feeling and stop thinking, by any means possible, and so, my mind was freed from incarnation and left to wander.”

Senku initially wanted to shush you away and get to work, but a few points in your explanation seemed to be out of place. His question of why were you in the school but didn’t go to class remained, from your words he assumed you ended up somehow in the rooftop by the time petrification happened. What concerned him was hearing you explicitly said you had wanted to stop feeling and thinking, it contradicted who you essentially were as a person, it made no sense that someone who paraded and was paraded around because of their ability to feel and think ever so deeply suddenly wanted to stop it.

"Flimsy argument. You didn't die just because you wanted to stop your brain for a second. A mysterious green light swept earth and turned every human into stone just as it did to sparrows." Senku rationalized. "What were you even doing in the roof? Why didn't you go to class?"

You hesitated for a second. It was logical that Senku and the rest of the world were not hallucinations, but it felt like it and after experiencing both an eternity and an instant of plainness, it was kind of hard to differentiate what could possibly be real from what could possibly just be not. If it was not real though, why were you adamant to reveal the truth? At least the last part of the day?

"It doesn't matter what I was doing, I needed to take a breath." You said, it wasn't completely false, a breath and a smoke. "I didn't want to go to class, I stayed in the nurse's office sleeping because my head hurt a lot."

"I heard some yells coming from your house in the morning." He said looking around for vines and throwing them at you after he cut them. "Before ever becoming archenemies we are essential neighbors, so I just happen to have that SS tier information."

The vines fell on your head, unflattering. It was then that you noticed that you were naked, but in your confession it was not like it mattered more than deciding if the world was real or not. You tied the first rope of leafs around your chest and the other one around your waist. For a second your mind wandered away and your eyes unfocused but Senku asked his questions again and then you could feel everything all again. You remember how for a good while of the eternity that was also an instant, your mind kept going on over the miserable events of the morning and even all those who you managed to remember.

"I actually would not like to talk about that Senku." Clearly afflicted you said, his attention again on you. This was different from a simple I am fine.

"You can tell me, you know?" He decided to sitting down besides you, wondering what you kept looking at. He remembered the last time he had asked you if you were okay, after the drunk escapade you two had. He felt some sense of unfamiliarity even though the situation had already happened, the opposite of deja vu, a jamais vu.

"I know." You said embarrassed. "But I can't possibly tell you any of this."

"Why not?"

"Why not?" You repeated his question and a smile creeped in your lips, trying not to laugh. "Come on, not for anything you are my archenemy. Put some respect on our relationship."

"Say it, why?"

"So many reasons." You smiled. "I find it rather embarrassing, and since you are not my friend after all I could not bring myself to place such a burden on you... and maybe I think you are not the best person to talk about my personal situations with."

So essentially he was right, so many thousands of years ago.

"We are living now in the stone world." He started diverting the topic. "Every single thing from the world we used to know is gone by now. It might as well not really matter, take an absurdist approach to this. It is hard to think about things when you are trying to survive, and if you keep dwelling on it then maybe things won't be easy."

"I suppose." You say sighing and kicking your feet. "Since I had not taken care of the house on Friday, my mom was really mad, once I went home that day she refused to speak to me at all. On Saturday she left early and I did not see her for the whole day. On Sunday she claimed to be sick and made me do all the chores, I tried talking to her but she was intransigent as always but pretended that everything was fine. I told her I would go to the beach on Monday and that I would not be able to make lunch for her and she went crazy, it was really bad and I didn't control myself and told her a lot of things that are true yet should have not been revealed; her arguments remained the same as always. The next day when I woke up to go to school, she had my computer and was reading through the dissertation I had been working on for the philosophy society, when she saw that I was there, she sent the document to the society and deleted it, I again was not able to manage my emotions and one thing led to another and she ended up... kicking me out. I didn't know what to do and she didn't allow me to get any of my things so I went to school and stayed in the nurse's office."

"Why were you on the rooftop then?" He was quick to notice the lack of details in your narration of the events, he knew for a fact that you were not only extremely detailed but always made sure to include your wordery into the narrations.

"I needed to take a breath." You repeated, excluding the part in which you were smoking. "I got a call from my dad saying that he was going to adopt a child with his new girlfriend and he asked how things were, I lied to him and said everything was perfect and hung up."

"Is that all?"

"No..." Though your hands didn't fidget and your voice didn't shake, your demeanor changed. "I was sitting on the edge of the rooftop and I was thinking that once the day was over I would kill myself. I didn't know how but that was all that was left for me to do. When the light you mentioned happened, I had my eyes closed and when everything went dark and I couldn't move I assumed that I slipped from the edge willingly or unwillingly and died... though for some time I also thought I had deleted myself from existence with my own mind."

The confession of the last part was what pieced everything together. Before petrification, you had no problem explaining the events to him when he asked you what had happened, of course you avoided going deeper into the situation but you at least summarized the situation.

Senku was shocked to say the least, he stayed quiet for some time, processing that the way you were was not simply a game and that you were actually depressed and in a horrible situation in life that lead you to even consider suicide as the only alternative. Though he had cursed petrification for so many reasons everyday since he woke up, he found himself grateful at least for it turning you into stone before you could do anything. He couldn't help thinking again about Byakuya asking him to befriend you, logically as an adult he understood what was happening to you and wished to at least help you by making his son your friend.

"Why would you kill yourself over being kicked out?" He said more to himself, even when he understood that it was not a decision you came to only because you got kicked out by your mother. "You could have just lived with me."

"What?" You laughed inevitably. "It is not that simple, additionally I thought you genuinely hated me... I still do, so why would I even bother you like that."

"I don't hate you." He was quick to answer, you turned around to see him and his words only got weight when you saw his eyes get teary. "I am just afraid of you, you are too much for me, you were going over so much stuff that I don't even begin to know or comprehend that I have always been scared to deal with you because I don't know how to."

"You don't have to deal with me, we are not friends." You smiled at him.

"I want to deal with you." Senku interrupted you.

You stayed silent for a second, sneaking looks at him. "Then that would make you my friend." You said and your insides twisted in an unknown feeling similar to anxiety.

"Okay, whatever, I can live with that." He shrugs and you can't help but smile as you feel your own eyes get teary now. "Don't even think about hugging me though, you are half naked."

"How did you know?" You ask laughing, letting a few teardrops leave your eyes to fall on your fingertips since you placed your hands in your face.

"It looked like it." He says shaking his head and then turns to see you licking your fingers. "Anyway, are you that thirsty that you need to do something so fucking weird? There is a river close by."

"When I cry I eat my tears so I can feel them better."

"What the fuck..."

The familiar silence that forms between you two invades the area. Senku then gets up and you follow him. It was easier to get off the top of the cave than to get there.

"By the way, since civilization fell down, the only place to live is the house I built." He mentions somewhat appalled at your relative lack of interest for what had happened to the world. "That means we live together now."

taglist: @thelonestarinthesky

[carlos-in-glasses]

My Sweet Boy, You Can't Stop Time ✨

14k, T. Chapter 1 of 2 now on Ao3.

Happy belated birthday @thisbuildinghasfeelings! I'm so happy to share this fic as part of the Three Men and a Dog Series alongside @lemonlyman-dotcom's lovely Raspberry Candy Cane, Blue Tonuges in Summer Rain. I hope you like it as much as I like you! Which is a lot. 🩷

After Sam Campbell is hospitalized during a bust gone wrong, a guilt-filled Carlos eagerly agrees that he, TK and seven-year-old Jonah will look after the Campbells’ dog, Ruby. But when a thunderstorm scares Ruby and she runs away, Jonah goes after her – and suddenly TK and Carlos find themselves in a living nightmare where both dog and kid are missing.

“Hug me ‘till I pop,” Carlos whispers.

Jonah is instantly delighted to have been given a special task, and hugs Carlos with a small roar. Carlos pretends to struggle, rocking Jonah as if to fling him before whisper-shouting, “Ahhh….BOOM!”

It’s the least dramatic popping he’s ever done because they’re in public, but it’s enough to make Jonah giggle and snuggle him for real. Bringing his face out of Jonah’s silky hair, Carlos catches eyes with TK. TK is at the vending machine, buying Carlos a granola bar and Jonah some strawberry PopTarts for the ride home. The way TK returns Carlos’ gaze from across the room makes him feel like he could melt into the floor. It’s a look of longing, admiration, sorrow, desire, all in one. Nobody, Carlos thinks, can have a whole conversation through his eyes like TK Strand-Reyes can, and nobody except Carlos knows exactly what to say in response with his own.

Read chapter 1 on Ao3.

Chapter 2 coming next Sunday.

[chloe-skywalker]

Love Beyond Limits - Chapter 7

Mob!Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Wanda Maximoff x Friend!Fem!Reader

Pietro Maximoff x Friend!Fem!Reader

Warnings: SOA, Mob AU

(Not really mentioned in this chapter but in over all theme)

Word Count: 2,586

Summary: Buckey meets Y/n's friends Wanda and Pietro. Then later they have a talk about some more heart to heart stuff involving why Y/n moved across the country.

Authors Note: So Bucky meets Wanda and Pietro for the first time! Then Bucky finds out why Y/n moved from Charming. Check out the 'Series Masterlist' for all parts!

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“So when is mystery man arriving?” Pietro teased with a mischievous smile.

“Bucky, is arriving in a few minutes.” Y/n corrected by reminding her silver haired friend of the name of her so-called ‘Mystery Man’. 

“And we’re excited to meet him.” Wanda’s soft but excited voice didn’t match the glare she sent her brother. The twins were both very excited and intrigued to finally meet this man that had pursued Y/n eagerly.

“He’s here.” Y/n announced having received a text from Bucky as she checked her phone. He was coming out of the elevator. Y/n  went over to the door and opened it before he could knock. “Hey!” Y/n smiled brightly at him, pulling him into a hug and Bucky readily wrapped his arms around her torso.

“Hello, Doll.” Bucky mirrored her smile, happy to see her again. It had been a few days since they last saw each other in person. Bucky had to leave town for some business for a couple days. It was nice to have her in his arms.

“Bucky, this is Wanda and Pietro. My twin best friends.” Y/n stepped to the side and pulled him into the apartment to introduce her friends before shutting the door.

“It’s nice to finally meet the two of you. I’ve heard great things.” Bucky nodded at Wanda and Pietro. He was happy to meet Y/n’s friends. They had talked about it and after having 5 dates it was time to introduce the friends. First he’d meet Y/n’s friends and then they’d set up for her to meet his friends.

“So have we.” Pietro winked rocking on his feet.

“Excuse my brother, we normally keep him away from civilization.” Wanda rolled her eyes and smacked her brother upside the head.

“Hey.” Pietro exclaimed, flinching, bringing a hand up to rub his head.

“So you're a business owner?” Wanda asked as they all walked over to sit down in the living room. As Wanda looked at him the longer she did the more she felt as if she’d seen his face before but couldn’t place where.

“CEO, business owner. I dabble in many things.” Bucky sat down right next to Y/n and accepted the soda Pietro handed to him. It was to early in the day for anything alcoholic.

“Must deal with a lot of different kinds of people.” Pietro noted.

“It does. All different kinds of people with different backgrounds. It’s never boring.” He explained with a nod of agreement to Pietro’s words. That was something Bucky enjoyed about his work. In all aspects of it.

“What made you want to dabble in so many different kinds of business'?” Wanda wondered, it was a lot to take care of ‘Why would he want to run so many?’.

“Curiosity. I want to help in all different kinds of ways. It ranges. I have a security company that put’s in security equipment and you can hire protection if wanted, I also have restaurants, manufacturing, hotels, some apartment buildings. Just a lot of random things that I’ve had an interest’s in, and they’ve done well. And I’m still adding things as well.” Bucky shrugged, smiling as he answered Wanda’s question.

“Like what?” Y/n asked curiously, turning her attention to Bucky. ‘What could he want to add?’ she wondered.

“I’ve been looking into and producing a candy shop. It’d be themed and have activities, with other stuff you can do besides just buy candy.” It was one of his more fun ideas and he did plan on pursuing it.

“Well if you ever need a taste tester I’m always free to help.” Pietro smiled happy to offer his time and self to taste testing candy, or anything else Bucky needed testing that he could eat.

The group chatted a bit more before Y/n felt the need to use the bathroom. Which the twins decided was the perfect moment to ask Bucky the harder questions.

“Now that prinessa is out of the room, time for the hard questions.” Pietro smirked, rubbing his hands together.

“What he means is, what is Y/n to you? Is this a fling to you? Or do you really want something?” Wanda elaborated as the twin’s wanted to know this man's intentions with their friend.

Bucky nodded in understanding, they were just looking out for Y/n. He admired that, most wouldn’t care enough. Then again Bucky knew that if they knew who he was they probably wouldn’t have said it so bluntly. “I can see how close you both are to her and I admire how you're looking out for her. To answer your questions, no this isn’t just a fling to me. I want this to be something more to become something serious. As for what Y/n means to me, she means everything to me. I know it’s fast and that it hasn’t been that long. But as cliche as it sounds I’ve never felt what I feel for Y/n before with anyone else. And I want it to last.”

Pietro hummed in approval. “Hmmm, good answer.”

Wanda nodded her head in agreement with her brother, but she had more to say. More that she felt needed to be said. “I will admit you seem like a good guy, and you have made Y/n really happy since you both met. I believe you when you say you want something real with her. So I’ll give you some advice. Don’t keep things from her. She had enough of that at home. She’ll never fully trust you if you do.”

“Noted.” Bucky appreciated that Wanda would tell him such information.

Wanda sent him a smile before getting up to bring some snacks over.

“Wanda.” Bucky called out stopping her to gain her attention. “Thank you.”

“Just don’t break her heart.” Wanda gave him a nod and a smile. She liked Bucky and he seemed good for her friend, but she didn’t want Y/n’s heart to get broken.

“I don’t plan on it.” Bucky stated, he truly didn’t plan on ever breaking Y/n’s heart.

“Everything okay?” Y/n asked as she came back into the room having sensed something was said between them.

“Everything’s great! Let’s play some games.” Pietro piped up with a clap of his hands ready to beat someone in a few games.

^     ^     ^

( 3 weeks later )

“So we’ve been on I’d have to say about 12 dates. But I feel there’s things I don’t know about you that I’d like to.” Bucky smiled at Y/n as he handed her a coke. They were just enjoying each other's company at Bucky’s place. Y/n wondered if she would ever get use to the fact that Bucky owned a mansion.

“12?” Y/n tilted her head in question, taking the can of coke out stretched to her. She had stopped counting after 5. They had been dating for a month and a half and Y/n was happy and content when with Bucky.

“I’m counting the coffee slash tea date when we first met.” he smirked mischievously.

“Smooth. So what do you want to know?” Y/n laughed nodding in agreement, she’d count it as a date as well. It lasted long enough and they got to know each other a little but during it as well. Y/n shifted to face him moving one leg under her butt to be more comfortable.

“Well, I know your favorite color, your favorite places, you're from California, you prefer disneyland or disneyworld even though you’ve never been to disneyworld. You're an active person and hate staying home and doing nothing. You like cats but prefer dog’s, you like cheese but not on burgers, like salad but no lettuce on burgers or tacos. I know some things you love and some you hate.” Bucky spoke confidently listing just a few of the things he knew about her.

Y/n nodded along hearing him list off things he knew about her so she decided to do the same as she scooted closer to him on the couch. “You know a lot. But not everything. . . And I know your favorite color, your favorite places, you're born and raised in Brooklyn, you’ve never been to either disneyland or disneyworld which is a damn shame and we are changing that sometime. You're also active, don’t have much down time but what you seem to have you spend with me, you don’t like eggs on foods more like in foods, and as breakfast food, don’t blame you there, and you like cats and dogs evenly. And I know some things you love and some you hate.”

“You know a lot as well, but not everything.” Bucky winked teasing her by repeating her words from before.

“What's on your mind that you want to know?” Y/n giggled at his tease. They still had a lot to learn and find out about each other, Y/n  knew she needed to open up a little more so she vowed to herself in that moment that whatever he wanted to know she’d answer honestly.

“Why’d you move across the country? It wasn’t a job as you’ve stated before you free lance writing and doing some stuff for a friend's pizzeria. So what prompted the big move?” Bucky had been curious about it for a while. What prompted such a big move.

“Well what prompts any good sudden decision to move across the country then any good heartbreak.” Y/n stated with an anxious laugh.

“I’d say I’ll kill the bastard but whatever he did, it brought you here and I wouldn’t have met you otherwise.” Bucky gave her a light smile with love in his eyes. He was torn between wanting to hunt down and kill this guy or thank him for sending Y/n his way.

“I don’t want him dead. Just wish he didn’t waste my time, or hurt me in the process.” Y/n told him honestly, but even she could hear the slight tremor in her voice. She was over Jax and glad to have moved and now have Bucky. But that doesn’t erase the hurt that she went through.

“Still care about him?” he asked nervously but he was hiding it well. Bucky didn’t want any possible chance of losing her.

“Not in that way. We grew up together until we caught feelings for each other. We were like siblings. He’s still like a brother to my own brother.” She explained to him this time with a nod and no tremors in her voice.

“Your brother is still friends with the guy who broke your heart?” Bucky raised a brow in shock and confusion. How was that okay? Shouldn’t brothers choose their sister's side?

“My brother hates that he did that to me and he did beat his ass but there's a bond there that I understand can’t be broken and I wouldn’t want it to.” It was hard to explain to someone who didn’t know the whole situation or story of their lives.

“That's very honorable of you.” He was impressed that she put her brother’s friendship above her hurt heart. 

“I don’t know about honorable but I know its the right thing.” Y/n shrugged looking down at her drink in her hand.

“So he broke your heart and you left?” Bucky was trying to change the subject without fully changing it.

“I’m from a small town stuck in the past. Him and my brother are part of a club along with my dad. The clubs in town and plus that town is kinda a deadend, death trap, a place you can get stuck in. Its better to leave if you can. Most people get stuck there. My father and brother both thought it was a good idea I leave. They miss me but they understood I couldn’t be there anymore.” Y/n thought that was the best way to explain Charming and her leaving without digging up all the hurt that pushed her to leave. “Me and the guy- Jax, were together but also not really at the same time. Its complicated. And he would talk about us getting together and being serious- hell we were each other's first everything.” She told him further. She trusted Bucky and felt he could know the whole truth. In time she might even tell him the full truth.

“But?” Bucky really wanted her to continue.

Y/n grimaced before continuing, Bucky placed a comforting hand on her thigh noticing her discomfort. “After he’d say all that I’d find out after he left being with me he’d sleep with some other woman. Normally more than one. Probably actually most of the time. But he’s charming, and sweet, not to mention good looking and I’ve known him my whole life. . . I trapped myself in an impossible situation and the only way to truly get myself out and to truly move on was to leave town completely.”

“Do you still love him?” Bucky couldn’t believe someone would cheat on this girl. What an idiot. But Jax's loss was Bucky’s gain.

“I miss him. He was my best friend even through everything. But love him?” Y/n looked at Bucky and she knew she was falling in love with him. She’d always love Jax but never in the same way as before. Never romantically again. “I’ll always love him like a brother, but I don’t love him in a romantic way anymore.”

“Good.” Bucky said to fast after she stopped talking. He let out an awkward laugh. “I mean I wouldn’t want to be falling for someone who’s hearts taken.”

“My hearts taken but not by an old flame.” Y/n spoke with a gentle voice as she stared at him with a shy tint to her cheeks.

“And who’s taken it doll?” He asked, looking at her with hope filling his eyes.

Y/n cupped his cheek with her right hand, and looked him directly in the eyes. “A very handsome, kind, sweet man, who goes by a silly nickname. A man who mended my broken heart without even knowing it or trying. A man who tries to impress me when he doesn’t have to. Who pays attention to everything I say, who actually seems to care.”

“God, I really hope you're talking about me.” Bucky gave her a love struck look.

Y/n raised her other hand to cup his cheeks with both hands and kissed him on the lips. “Does that answer your question?” She asked after pulling away to breathe.

Bucky kisses her again. “Yes, and by the way I feel the same way. There’s not many people I can trust enough to be myself around. But I can trust you.”

“I appreciate your trust.” he had no idea how much she appreciated it.

“Will you be my girl?” Bucky wanted her to be his officially.

“Are you officially asking me to be your girlfriend?” Y/n but her lip in anticipation.

“I am. What do you say?” Bucky smiled as he ran a hand through her hair.

“I say I would love to, but you need to know that I’m putting my trust in you to not hurt me. To protect my heart not break it.” She told him seriously.

“I promise with all the power I have that I will protect you and your heart.” Bucky promised looking her right in the eyes, before pulling her back into a series of kisses.

Series Masterlist

Taglist: @padawancat97 @maryvibess @gruffle1 @starkleila @bonnyclydecat @bruher @vicmc624

[starrayblogs]

Not So Rock-Hearted || Floyd (Trolls) x Reader

a/n: a little something before christmas :3 likes and reblogs are appreciated, have a fun read!! ALSO my asks are open to questions about this fic c:

another a/n: tags~ @brights-place

✩ previous chapter

iv. There You Go

“Aww, do you have to go?” Viva pouts, holding onto your hands. You chuckle.

“Yes, Viva, I have to.” You reply, rocking her hands in yours a bit. “I’m not the only one leaving either, you’re going too.”

“Ugh, I know- It’s just that it’s gonna feel like forever until we see each other again.” She turns away, pulling her hands away to cross them. You lean your body to put yourself in her field of vision, smiling. She makes eye contact with you, and her frown eases, a giggle bubbling from her throat.

“We’ll see each other next week.” You lean back, before your entire body jumps a bit from Poppy surprising you from behind.

“And we’ll be doing the second Trolls Kingdom Secret Holiday Gift Swap!” She says, fists to her face with a wide grin. 

“What’s that?” Viva and Branch’s brothers collectively ask.

“Oh, I’m so excited! Okay, so, basically, I send an invitation to all the Troll tribes with the name of someone inside the letter. Then, whoever you got is the troll you have to give a gift to!” Poppy exclaims, proceeding to grab Branch after the explanation.

“And we’ll be delivering the letters three days prior.” He says, looking to everyone else before back to Poppy.

“I’ll be looking forward to it, Poppy. And telling Barb about it so we don’t get flooded again.” You follow up the last part with a chuckle.

“You’ve gift swapped before?” Floyd speaks up, and you let out an exaggerated ‘phew’.

“Yeah, it happened… a few days after the World Tour, actually.” You look to Poppy for confirmation, who nods her head. “And I’ve never even met the troll I got, so I was kind of panicking until Poppy pitched in an idea.”

“You’re welcome!” She says, and you chuckle. “I’m so excited to see who you’ll get this time.”

“Please let it be Barb, that way I know what to give this time.” You joke, leaning onto your motorcycle behind you.

“Well, we’ll just have to see whose name lands in your hands!” Poppy sings with a cheeky grin.

“Right…” You smile back, getting a weird feeling in your gut about her grin.

“Well, I’m so pumped for this gift swap thing!” Clay quite literally pumps a fist in the air. “But we better get going before it gets too late.” He says, rolling his hands before reeling it behind him.

“Right! Well, it’s been a fun weekend, you guys. I can’t wait to see you for the holiday!” Viva waves bye to everyone as JD calls Rhonda, who is a sentient car (to your surprise). 

Your head tilts as you feel yourself already starting to miss Viva, even after spending almost your entire weekend by her side. She meets your eyes and runs up to give you a tight hug, which you return just as tight. “See you again, Veev.” You tell her softly when she pulls away.

“I can’t wait to spend holidays together again, amiga.” She says quietly to you, and you giggle.

“Get home safely, okay?” You let go of each other and watch as she walks away.

“Of course, get back safe too!” Viva replies, waving by the car door before making her way inside.

You watch Branch and Floyd huddle around the car door to say goodbye to the rest of their brothers. The sun is setting when Rhonda drives them away, JD saying a quick ‘I’ll be back as soon as I can!’ to Floyd and Branch.

You hum, turning your back and getting on your bike. “Are you sure it’s safe to drive back at night all alone?” A gentle voice approaches you, making you look up just as you are about to turn the key.

You turn to Floyd, who looks at you with furrowed brows. You smirk, leaning on top of your fuel tank. “Worried about me, Cotton Candy?”

His eyes flutter for a moment before stammering a reply. “Well, yes, I am. What if you get hurt? I wouldn’t want that to happen.” He says.

You perk up a little from the tank, your eyes widening as your smirk is wiped away. “Ah, well… You don’t- you don’t have to worry, I’ll travel safely.” You reply, stuttering over your words a bit. 

He lets out a smile as he sighs. “Good…”

His relief about you getting back safely makes your chest feel light.

“Make sure to have your lights on when it gets dark, alright?” He walks closer to you, holding one of the handles on your bike and causing you to sit up straight. Your cheeks are warm again. “I wanna see you for that gift swap, you know?” He looks at you with that gaze again—that gaze he held with you when he performed with his brothers.

There’s so much care in his eye, accompanied by that sweet smile on his lips. He doesn’t break contact as he waits for your reply.

“Right… I… I wanna see you too, so I’ll be sure to get home in one piece…” You utter softly, not even sure if you are loud enough for him to hear. He chuckles, pulling his hand away from the handle.

He says goodbye, following with your name leaving his lips in a way that makes you melt a bit inside. “Have a goodnight.”

“You too, Cotton Candy…” You manage to give him a reply, before watching him give a small wave and turn his back as he walks back further in Pop Village.

When he’s further away, you feel a smile spread across your face as you laugh to yourself quietly. You catch yourself and quickly cough, turning the key to turn on the bike. “Okay, cool.” You tell yourself, beginning to turn the vehicle around. “Stay cool! He’s just…” You shrug your shoulders as you begin to drive outside Pop Village.

He’s just a regular troll! Sure, he’s cute, and his voice is as pleasant as whatever those classical trolls play, and- You groan, picking up the speed as you ride through the night.

“Oh my gosh, Barb is going to tease the hell out of me.” You realize. You throw your head back quickly and groan louder before quickly facing the road again. “This is not cool.” You glance at yourself in the mirror. “This isn’t ‘rock’.” You tell yourself, glancing back up again.

You inhale deeply and lean closer to the bike, kicking up the speed again. You can’t let yourself get attached, not this easily. You’re not risking it with a world as cruel as this, taking things away no matter how much they mean to you. Keep it cool. You look at yourself one last time in the mirror. “Hard as rock.” You tell yourself, before looking ahead with a frown.

You woke up the next day. You came back home quietly, heading straight to your home while everyone was already in theirs. You slap your hands to your eyes as you collectively cringe and smile about your thoughts last night. 

When you bring yourself to a stop with a long exhale, you sit up from bed. You get ready for the day before riding your bike to Barb’s Fortress, calling out to her to show that you’re back.

You hear her voice exclaim your name and feel her hand ruffle your hair from behind you. “What’s up!? How was your little vacay in Pop Village?” She says, leading you to the lounge area.

“It was great.” You reply, chuckling as you think back to it briefly. “Thank you for letting me spend time with Viva.” You follow up, taking a seat with her on the (rather roughed up) couch.

“Hey, no problem.” Barb reassures. “That’s what best friends are for, right?” She smiles softly, her hand on your shoulder. You huff out a laugh and nod your head.

“Yeah…” You say, patting her hand on your shoulder before she pulls away. Then you remember what Poppy said. “Oh, yeah, we should be expecting invitations from Poppy for the Holiday Gift Swap in a few days. So, we probably shouldn’t get flooded like last time.” 

“Oh my gosh, again?” Barb says in a breathy voice. “I hope I get someone I know this time.”

“Honestly, I hoped I would get you.” You chuckle, punching her in the shoulder.

“Ohoho, that would be awesome.” She laughs, nodding her head in agreement. “Anyway, what happened on your trip back to Pop Village? Anything interesting?” She asks, turning herself on the couch to face you with crossed legs.

“Oh, you know. Poppy decided to hold a small get-together reunion type-of-thing,” you explain, rotating your wrist. “Actually, it wasn’t just me and Viva catching up. You remember those trolls on stage when we arrived at Vacay Island?”

“Oh yeah, the dark green one-”

“JD.”

“And the other green one-”

“Clay.”

“And there was the purple one-”

“Bruce.”

“And the pink o-”

“Floyd.” You say his name faster than you said the name of the other brothers, catching Barb off guard and widening her eyes a bit.

“Alright, they were there too?” Barb follows up slowly.

“Yeah, and they’re Branch’s brothers. Then we kinda all got to hang out together. But when we left the party, me and Viva caught up a bit more by ourselves.” Barb hums.

“What happened at the party? Were there nachos? If there were, please tell me you brought back some.”

“No, there was menudo- which you should still totally try.” You chuckle. “Anyway, they convinced me to perform a rock song for them.” You recall, smirking a little.

“Aw yeah, rock rep!” Barb pumps a fist in the air before turning back to you. “And then?”

“Then Brozone, that’s the band of Branch and his bros, did a song too. Floyd’s a real performer, you know.”

“Oh?” 

You let that compliment slip out a little too nonchalantly. Your smile turns to a laugh, which turns to a cough, which turns to a forced smirk. “Y-yeah! He caught my eye, ya know? Just with how, you know… he kinda looks like us, but less rugged, yeah…” You try to explain coolly.

Barb squints her eyes, raises her brow, and leans forward toward you, quietly staring for close to a minute. “You think he’s cute, don’t you?” She blurts.

You begin to cough violently, feeling your cheeks warm up as you try to cover up your violent reaction with a laugh. “Wha- ha, Of course not! I think he’s interesting!” You correct her.

“Right… You think he’s cute.” Barb leans back, raising her hand with a smirk. “No judgment, by the way.” She says before crossing her arms.

You hide your face in your hands and groan, dragging them down your face. You glare at her smug face with your flushed face before sighing, shoulders slumping too. “Okay, maybe I think he’s cute.”

“Knew it.”

“But! I don’t… I…” Barb’s smirk falls as her face shows concern, her hand unfurling to reach out to you.

“What? What’s wrong?” She asks.

“I don’t want to get too close. What if something happens?” You say quietly, hugging your arms.

“Like what? Nothing’s going to happen, I mean- those bergen things don’t eat you anymore, and all trolls are united. What’s got you scared?” She places a hand on yours. “Doesn’t mean that we’re hard rock doesn't mean you gotta act that way.” She says, chuckling a bit. “I mean, you’ve seen my dad.”

You sigh. “I know, it’s just… It’s what I’m used to. You know that.” You look up to her slowly, meeting her eyes with your furrowed brows. 

Barb nods her head slightly. “I know… But I’m telling you that it’s okay now. You’ve got this, there’s nothing to worry about.”

You hum, inhaling deeply as you fix your posture and feel her hand pull away. “Okay… Okay.” You reply to her, but say it to reassure yourself at the same time. You two sit in comfortable silence before Barb speaks up again.

“You know, I think you two would actually look cute together.” 

“Barb!” You groan, slapping your hands back on your face and sinking into the couch. You were right when you said Barb would tease you about him.

✩ next chapter

[makingfanfictionstosleep]

theirs to share

a/n : jjk characters not mine. contains heavy lemons / mature scenes as the story progresses. reverse harem. femoc x nanami/geto/gojo. jjk alternate au. Wattpad Link : Theirs to Share || Story Masterlist : Jujutsu Kaisen

<…previous ... next…>

ᴍɪɴᴏʀꜱ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ɪɴᴛᴇʀᴀᴄᴛ

CHAPTER THREE

The movie was long forgotten, background noise to the delicious chaos that had taken over Shoko’s dorm room. You were all tangled up in blankets and snacks, makeup wipes and face masks tossed around the floor like confetti. Pajamas were the official dress code—Shoko in a worn-out med school shirt and shorts, Mei Mei looking like silk royalty, and you in your comfiest oversized tee and fuzzy socks.

The air was warm with the scent of nail polish, popcorn, and just a hint of bad decisions.

You were halfway through laughing at some dumb scene in the romcom playing on screen when Shoko, deadpan and deadly, popped her lollipop out of her mouth and said:

“So… who are you going to pick?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“Don’t play dumb,” Mei Mei said with a slow smile, lounging like a cat draped in silk. “Nanami, Gojo, Geto—you’re practically the center of a shonen reverse harem.”

Your face burst into flames. “I am not! That’s insane!”

“Oh, is it?” Shoko arched a brow. “Let’s break it down.”

“Oh my god, please don’t break it down—”

But she was already counting on her fingers.

“Nanami is the responsible, repressed one who’d build you a life with stable finances and quiet mornings. Geto is your edgy philosopher boyfriend who wants to read Nietzsche with you at 2am. And Gojo—Gojo’s a hot mess express, but he’s obsessed with you.”

“SHOKO!”

Mei Mei grinned. “Gojo would 100% make it a contest. Geto would let it be a contest just to watch him squirm. And Nanami would pretend to be above it, but internally combust the second you looked at someone else.”

“I will actually self-destruct,” you groaned, burying your face into a pillow.

“Honestly,” Shoko added casually, “why not just choose them all?”

“What?!”

“Poly is efficient,” Mei Mei said with a shrug. “Assuming they’re willing to share.”

You launched a stuffed bear at her. “You’re all ridiculous!”

“Am I wrong though?” Shoko stretched out like a lizard on a rock. “You're already emotionally halfway there. You patch up Nanami’s soul, you’re Geto’s anchor to sanity, and Gojo… well, he stares at you like you put the stars in the sky.”

You wheezed. “We haven’t even graduated yet!”

“That’s the best time for chaos,” Mei Mei purred.

And just as you were about to say something snarky—

“WHAT THE HELL ARE YOU EVEN TALKING ABOUT?!”

All heads turned toward the doorway, where Utahime stood in her pajama pants and hoodie, clutching a pillow like a shield, her face redder than a fire jujutsu curse.

“I—I came in to ask if you wanted more popcorn—and I walk into this?!”

Mei Mei smiled like a cat with cream. “Oh good, you’re here. Perfect timing. We were just ranking which boy should get which day of the week.”

Utahime screamed into her pillow.

Shoko popped her candy stick back in her mouth. “Tuesdays are Gojo’s, we already agreed.”

“I—I—I—THAT’S—YOU CAN’T JUST—!”

You wheezed. “We are not making a bed schedule, oh my god, STOP!”

“Why not?” Shoko said. “You already have emotional bonds with all three. The logistics are the next logical step.”

Utahime squeaked. “THERE SHOULD BE NO LOGISTICS! NO SCHEDULE! NO—BED SHARING!”

Mei Mei nodded sagely. “That’s true. Might be easier if they all just took turns watching.”

Utahime made a sound like a dying kettle and threw herself onto the floor, face buried in a cushion. “I CAN’T HEAR THIS. I’M TOO PURE FOR THIS.”

You were crying with laughter now, doubled over, your face aching.

“Guys, I cannot—”

Utahime lifted her head with the most betrayed expression. “And you! You’re just sitting there, letting them corrupt you! You can’t seriously be considering—three?! At once?! That’s beyond—beyond—everything!”

You giggled, wiping your eyes. “I’m not doing anything! We’re just joking!”

“She’s imagining it though,” Shoko said, oh so helpfully.

“I AM NOT!” you yelled.

Mei Mei twirled her hair around her finger. “You kind of are.”

Utahime looked like she was about to combust. “You’re all demons in cute pajamas!”

You flopped back dramatically. “I just wanted snacks and self-care. Not a full-blown mental breakdown over the idea of Gojo scheduling cuddle nights.”

“Too late now,” Shoko smirked.

Utahime whined, curling up into a blanket. “I’m going to need therapy. So much therapy.”

You smiled fondly at your girls, chaos and all. Your chest ached a little from how full your heart felt.

“I love you all,” you sighed. “But you’re completely unhinged.”

“Love you too,” Shoko said, kicking a chip bag off her foot.

“Anytime,” Mei Mei replied, already reaching for your hair again.

Utahime just muttered, “I’m praying for your soul.”

Little did they know, just outside the door…

They didn’t mean to eavesdrop.

Really, they didn’t.

It was just that Satoru had smelled popcorn down the hallway and dragged Suguru with him under the guise of “being neighborly,” which had somehow turned into a full-on stealth operation with Nanami tailing behind—definitely not because he was curious. Just… worried. About snacks. And the noise level. And, you know, you.

But none of them expected to stop dead in their tracks behind a slightly ajar door, hearing that conversation.

“Nanami is the responsible, repressed one who’d build you a life with stable finances and quiet mornings. Geto is your edgy philosopher boyfriend who wants to read Nietzsche with you at 2am. And Gojo… Gojo’s a hot mess express, but he’s obsessed with you.”

Three pairs of eyes widened. Three egos rattled. Three hearts skipped.

Then—

“Honestly, why not just choose them all?”

Satoru’s lips parted. “Huh.”

Suguru tilted his head. “Well that’s… bold.”

Nanami flushed down to his neck and turned abruptly away. “This is not our business.”

But he didn’t walk away.

Not even when you laughed and said, “We haven’t even graduated yet!”

Not even when Mei Mei purred, “So? Chaos doesn’t wait for a diploma.”

Not even when Utahime, clearly horrified, yelled, “YOU CAN’T DATE THREE BOYS AT ONCE!”

The boys stood there like stunned statues, processing the chaos, the confessions, the insane possibility that you might—just might—see them the way they secretly saw you.

And then, as if on cue, they all left.

Quietly.

Separately.

Not a word spoken between them.

Satoru walked the halls alone, hands in his pockets, sunglasses pushed up like they could shield him from what he’d heard. His brain was spinning in Satoru -fashion: too fast, too loud, but dangerously focused.

You wanted them?

All of them?

That… that shouldn’t make his heart feel like it just did a somersault.

He’d always joked. Flirted. Pushed the line. But part of him—the stupid part—had hoped maybe you saw the real him. The lonely, tired Satoru behind the arrogance and smirks.

And now, the thought of sharing you?

Weirdly… not terrible.

He wouldn’t mind. Not if it meant he got to keep you. See you smile. Maybe he’d get Tuesdays. And Thursdays. Maybe more, if he asked nicely.

He grinned to himself, a little flushed. “Guess I am obsessed.”

Suguru found a quiet stairwell, sat down, leaned his head back against the wall. His hair was down, still messy from the earlier spar. You’d said once it looked good that way. He remembered.

His mind was quieter than Suguru’s, but heavier. Darker.

You thought about him.

Still.

Even after everything. Even after he’d started slipping into that bitter space no one else noticed.

You were the light pulling him back.

But could he share that light?

Could he watch you laugh with Satoru, be held by Nanami, and not let the jealousy rot him from the inside?

He didn’t know.

But he knew this: if you wanted it—them, him, everything—he’d try. For you, he would try.

Maybe that was love. Or maybe it was just madness.

But he didn’t care.

Nanami was outside, pacing under the cold stars.

He felt like the ground was falling out from beneath him.

You wanted all three.

That wasn’t what shook him.

It was the part where his mind didn’t immediately reject the idea. Where some primal, soft part of him imagined not competing, not fighting, but being enough, alongside them. For you.

He didn’t care about Satoru. Or Suguru.

But he did care about you.

If this made you happy—if it meant you got to feel safe, loved, cared for—he’d find a way to live with it. Work with them. Teamwork, right?

He sighed, rubbed the back of his neck.

God, he was in deep.

Elsewhere, in the same night, you were laughing with your friends, completely unaware that three very dangerous, very emotionally confused teenage sorcerers were walking around in the dark, trying to figure out if they'd just agreed—in their own silent, brooding way—to share you.

Not with each other.

But for you.

Because if that’s what you wanted?

They were already yours.

[antion-bewitching-bitch]

Chapter 1 : The Fool

Descendants x Male OC [Can be read as self-Insert] Masterlist | Previous | Next

An: I FINALY FINISHEDDD IT WHOOOOO!!! I've done my best to proofread and like edit stuff out before uploading this but if you do see some. Either comment about it so I can edit it, or squint and ignore it. Now before any further ado, Enjoy CHAPTER 1!!!!!!!!! To any new comers. Hi! you can read this as a self-insert. With Eli being your like insert character thing, I just decided to make a male oc rather than a male y/n or reader because it just gives more character and personality than a basic empty shell that y/n or reader sometimes need to be TW: None. Word Count: 3.6k

The ride to Auradon was a long one, there were a lot of hurdles surrounding the isle that made sure it was separated and kept under ‘control’. Not only was there a viscous storm that would shroud the isle, with bumpy torn like rocks that were sharp making the ships not be able to cross pass it even after they pass the storm. Finally there was the border surrounding everything, even if one was able to pass through the storm and rocks. This would end the journey out the Isle, nothing can get past it; some even rumored that the fairy godmother used up all her power for the barrier.

“What are these?” Jay and Carlos were about the sugary delights at the limo. “Their candy, and that dark brownish thing is chocolate.” Eli told them, Carlos looked at him and asked “How do you know?”

“My mother. These ‘Candies’ were part of the things she told me she missed. She would go on and on about how there is nothing ‘sweet’ to eat in the Isle.” Eli took a piece of candy. It was a chocolate covered biscuit, he bit into it and he couldn’t help but smile and love this so called ‘sweet’ flavor his mother would always complain to him about.

“I’m gonna be an addict to these” Eli admitted while the other guys started devouring the other delights. “Are you guys not having some?” Eli asked Mal and Evie.

“I’m not in the mood” Mal answered, Evie being curious grabbed one. This was covered in a golden wrapper and had a nutty chocolate cover over a hollowed treat, after a bite she was surprised. This was nothing compared to the food they would eat in the Isle.

They were stuck on the road, the driver told them the journey to Auradon was going to take 4 hours for them to get there. The VKs tried their best to keep themselves entertained. Having been tasked by their parents to set them free, they wanted to talk about it but couldn’t because the driver was present. So they spent most of their time either sleeping, chatting, or eating the snacks.

゜・。. ♡ ♧ ◇ ♤ .・゜゜・

Eli and Evie then noticed that outside the window, they weren’t on sea anymore, they’re on the land of Auradon itself. It was miles different than from the isle, they could already see the city and castle of Auradon. However the thing which caught their eye the most was the lush green land, clear bright blue skies, and the gorgeous scenery of flower fields and more.

“How pretty…” Evie whispered while she and Eli were basically squishing their faces at the limo’s windows. They were so enamored by the scenery that Mal couldn’t help but wonder what was so great about it. “I think those flowers are..Sun Flowers?.. If I remember my lessons correctly.” Eli shared with Evie.

“Oh how beautiful, I wish things like that would grow in the isle!” Evie pouted

“I vaguely remember my nanny telling me that their flower head would point at wherever the sun was, and when they can’t find it. Some would stare at each other!” Eli was yapping on about his knowledge about Sunflowers

“It seems we are leaving the fields of these stars soon..” Evie was saddened because she saw in her line of sight that they would soon pass these fields.

“What's so great about them? They're just flowers, nothing big.” Mal asked the two, Eli and Evie looked back at her and then each other. 

“I pity her.”  “So do I.”,  Eli and Evie told each other

“Their just fields of flowers? At the Isle there's fields of flowers in the forest, yet you guys don’t seem so enamored by them like you do here.” Mal questioned them again

“Well Mal the difference between the flowers in the Isle and the ones here is simple, they’re not ugly nor do they smell horrific like in the Isle.” Evie answered her

Mal simply rolled her eyes because she simply doesn’t understand where Evie or Eli is coming from. ‘What's the use of beautiful flowers anyway? The one in the Isle can be used for potions!’ was all Mal thought.

゜・。. ♡ ♧ ◇ ♤ .・゜゜・

It took a while for them to reach the school. However they immediately noticed when they were close, for they could hear the loud and synchronous chanting of a marching band.

Auradon! Auradon High! Aurado-

They kept chanting the school’s name and it was becoming louder and louder the closer they got. A bit too loud in Eli’s opinion, the limo stopped and was now presenting the VKs in front of the School’s grounds. The driver went out and opened the door for them.

Carlos was leaning at the car’s door staring out the window, suddenly when it came open he hit the floor face first. Jay who was next to him pushed him aside so he could go out, Carlos who already got hurt was now squirming on the ground. 

“YOU COULD HAVE AT LEAST HELP ME GET UP!” He screamed at Jay

“You’re right! I could have!.” Jay answered and continued to laugh as he watched Carlos get up.

Mal and Evie went out one after another and then the three people went in front of them while the marching band finished their chanting.

“Welcome you four, to Auradon Prep!” A high pitched voice came from the crowd, everyone parted to show where it came from. It was a lady in pastel blue.

Eli, who was in the very back of the limo; was the last one to get out. He looked out to see everyone staring at them, not surprising for they were the awaited guests for the day. He just felt like some were staring with malice.

“Oh, there's one more!” She exclaimed seeing Eli emerge from the limo, “Well nonetheless you are all welcome to this magnificent school!”

“Thank you for the wonderful greeting!” Evie smiled back.

“Pleased to finally meet all of you!” A boy spoke out walking towards them to greet them once again. This time, the boy had a girl who was wrapping herself around him. Both look the same age as them.

Jay was already eyeing the girl up and down, he is into brunettes like her. Eli bumped and glared at him, signaling to keep an eye on his mannerisms. 

“Before we start the tour, it is only right that I introduce myself! My dearies, I am Fairy God Mother, FGM for short!” She said, she did a little bow and Mal immediately jittered and asked “Like the bippity boppity boo?”

“You’re right! Bippity boppity boo! However, let's not dwell in the past or else we will miss the future.” FGM answered in a high pitched voice with hand gestures. She then gestured toward the two others.

The young man bowed his head “Good day, I am Ben-” “-Prince Ben, his the son of the king beast and queen belle.” The girl next to him interjected.

“Aubrey, daughter of sleeping beauty.” She then introduced herself.

“Mal.” Mal answered back, “Daughter of Maleficent.”.

As Ben was about to shake her hand, Aubrey stopped him.

“Hmm, seems so. You seem a lot like your mother.” Aubrey states back in a mocking way while tilting her head. Ben on the other hand shook her off and was showing signs of irritation on how she was acting.

“Evie! Princess Evie, Daughter of the Queen.” Evie introduced herself with a little spin. She seems like she’s trying to make a good impression after finding out Ben was a prince.

“Oh, yes wel-” Ben was going to shake her hand but was again interjected by Aubrey in a condescending way “The Evil queen doesn't have power over here, sweety. You’re. Not. A. Princess.”

Eli and Mal were getting tired of Aubrey and her bullshit. They didn’t hide it, they just continued glaring at her. 

FGM feeling the conflict in the air, tried to mediate. “Now, now. Why don’t we tour the place! You’ll be staying here for a long time, so it's best you get to know the location right!” She was planning to leave it to Ben and Aubrey but seeing the conflict in the air already being so thick, she decided to just do it herself.

“Ben and Aubrey will be going now, for they are very busy so it's best to say regards now. you can introduce yourself later!” FGM stated making a opening for Aubrey and Ben to get away.

“That's right! We have lots to do being royalty.” Aubrey went back and slithered her arms around his again

“Wait n-” Ben was trying to continue greeting everyone but was getting dragged away by Aubrey. However, Eli reached out and grabbed him.

“Why go! Duties can wait. It is his idea to send us here, correct?” He asked loudly, he didn’t let him go which frustrated Aubrey who was already planning to leave all of this behind.

“Right?” Eli continued, everyone else was silent. But Ben shook Aubrey off and continued. “Yes, it was indeed my idea.” he answered with a forced slime.

“As you suggested I can tour you myself! Along the way I hope to make very close acquaintances with you.” and with that sets the VKs being toured all over the campus.

゜・。. ♡ ♧ ◇ ♤ .・゜゜・

The tour started with the Field alongside the Gym. As Ben toured with FGM he noticed the school team practicing and pointed out “In the campus, there are numerous activities us students can enjoy. One of those being sports! Fun fact about me is, I am the captain of the Tourney team, alongside fencing, and swimming!”

“Tourney? What's that?” Evie and Eli being the only ones actually listening, Mal didn’t even bother hiding her displeasure with the tour. Meanwhile Jay and Carlos were frolicing around the field. 

“You don’t know what that is? Tourney? Really?” Ben asked them

“Have you forgotten we were from the Isle?” Eli answered him sarcastically.

“Tourney is Auradon’s national sport!” Ben continued, while he tried to move on from that. “It's very competitive and physically demanding. Being the captain, I had to go through vigorous training to be able to maintain the status of being one.”

“Which means buff guys” Eli whispered to Evie while insinuating something to her while bouncing his eyebrows. Which made her giggle.

FGM being with them after Aubrey left, noticed Jay and thought about him possibly joining a sport team with his built stature. Soo she went to Ben and told him while pointing, “Take a look at him, I think your team can make use of him in the future.”.

As the tour continued, Ben still stole glances at Mal but also some at Eli. Whenever he was caught or made eye contact with either he would just smile and continue with his tour.

As Ben opened the large doors to the library, Eli noticed the whispers and gazes that were just out of sight. He knew that those were the other students gawking at them, they all expected this but he felt like something else was festering that wasn’t just their judgemental eyes and mouths.

“Oh my look! There must be thousands of books here!” Evie said in awe, being from the Isle there was only a limited amount of time a kid could read and reread about murder, potion brewing, wicked stories and the likes.

“There are exactly 15,678 books! Well it's just an estimation, every year we hope to make it larger and larger.” Ben stated which made Mal scuff.

“Why would there be a need to get more books?” She asked while she was leaning against a nearby bookshelf.

“Of Course you would think that way! You don’t know how to read!” Carlos jokes. Which ended with Mal hitting him in the chin.

“Books are important, Mal! They’re knowledge written down, passed on and rewritten again. Lots of secrets, recipes, spells, stories and more can be found.” Evie answered Mal’s previous question.

As the others continued to walk around with Mal being dragged by Evie to check the books. Ben and Eli were left alone to themselves so Ben tried to take the initiative and start a conversation with him. 

“So um.. Do you like to read Eli?” Ben asked him. 

He didn't answer, nor did he even face him. Eli was just standing there and not acknowledging him. So Ben just stared at him hoping for something or anything other than just this awkward silence. 

Meanwhile Eli looked out of the large windows in the library and saw how low the sun was setting in the distant horizon, he was still amazed at how different the skies were in Auradon compared to the Isle. Ben then heard him yawn.

“When will the tour be over?” Eli asked him.

“A- What was that?” Ben asked again, surprised by his sudden question. 

Eli faced him and sighed, “When will this tour be over?”. Ben didn't answer after a few seconds of silence. 

“Are you not enjoying the tour?” “It doesn't matter if I enjoyed it or not, I'm getting too tired to continue.” Eli answered him. 

“Fitting! We'll be heading to the Dorms next!” He smiled. Ben stayed smiling and wanting to present himself in a good manner the entire time, even when Eli wasn't responding back. 

゜・。. ♡ ♧ ◇ ♤ .・゜゜・

Touring the Dormitories the VKs were split; Mal and Evie being separated from Eli, Jay, and Carlos. For the tour being separated for girls and boys, FGM touring Mal and Evie with Ben touring Eli, Jay, and Carlos. 

“Now there are two Dorms, one for the Royals and One for the common..no others.. Wait. Just another one not-for-royals. The ones not-for-royals is where you all will be staying!” Ben walked them through the boy’s wing.

“Why would they divide the girls and boys?” Eli was still annoyed at the fact he had to stay with other boys.

“What's wrong with being stuck with the boys Eli? Don’t you like them~” Jay mocked him playfully, which ended with Eli kicking him in the leg.

“It's to avoid most incidents, and that's all they have for defense! I also think it's stupid, maybe one day i’ll remove it-” Ben answered and mumbled the last part as he walked with them.

“Do you not like being with the boys? If you're afraid of prejudice because of- um- your- ugh. Attraction! I can assure you I will not tolerate that from happening.” He continued trying not to seem offensive or anything that could make Eli uncomfortable, however he did take a mental note that Eli likes boys.

“It's fine.” Eli answered sharply.

“Oh right! Here in Auradon’s Dormitories, we have flatmates! Each person will have a fellow student who you will share a dorm with!” Ben continues the tour, “Here. This will be Jay’s and Carlos’ Room!”

Ben showed a door towards a room at the very end of the hallway. Eli continued to notice the glances and stares that came from the other students trying to be secretive, he noticed eyes hiding themselves from their room’s doors.

“Woah! Look at that!” Carlos screamed while getting in, he pointed at the TV while Jay immediately ran to the beds and collapsed on them. 

“Ughhhhhh.... Yeah this is a good bed.” Jay groaned into the bed. He spread his limbs and spread like a starfish. “They're better than the ones from the Isle!”

Eli stared into the room and can see it was truly meant for boys with how bland the room looked. He saw that there were only 2 boys and figured he might get his own room with another roommate and asked Ben

“Where's my room? Also who will my flatmate, or whatever you call a roommate be?” 

Ben then looked around the room more carefully and hesitantly answered “I don’t know?… I thought they would have placed you with them…”

“Wait so I don’t have a room?” Eli asks befuddled and surprised.

“We can both go to the Dormatory’s Administration! I promise I can be with you and help you with this issue.” Ben answered him, trying a reassuring smile in the end.

“Ughhhhhhhhhhhhhh.” Eli groaned loudly and leaned against the wall, he was getting more and more tired of Auradon the longer at this point.

゜・。. ♡ ♧ ◇ ♤ .・゜゜・

“Let me get this straight, you invited me to Auradon. But didn’t really account for me coming?!” Eli asked them a rhetorical question.

“I’m afraid we don’t have the room… left for you…” they continued.

“So what. You forced me to leave; and then make me go back to the Isle again?” Eli was clearly getting more pissed since he was starting to become more sarcastic.

The admin nodded slowly. In a cowardly way.

“YOU BITCH.” Eli screamed.

Ben tried to calm him down and covered his hand and asked the admin. “Is there really no other room that we can provide for him?”

“I’m sorry but, the room given out for the other VKs were already the last ones. being added last minute into the curriculum and all…”

“IS THAT MY FAULT?! GET ME A ROOM, I DON’T CARE. JUST DO YOUR FUCKING JOB.” Eli basically shouted at the admin, Ben continued to hold Eli’s hand while holding his head in disappointment. He didn’t want to stop his anger because it was justified, however he also assumed most of the anger was also with how tired Eli is..

The tour reached till the end of the day so it wasn’t that all surprising that Eli was upset. Being presented with the news he didn’t have a room to rest at didn’t make it all that better.

“Can he not be with the other VKs? We can just add another bed there right?”

“He cannot. The Dorms have the strict rule of only having two each dorm.”

“Can we not spare him? His a guest I personally invited. Can he not be given one?” Ben asked again but more irritated. Even he was getting annoyed with these rules.

“Apologies but we trully can’t-”

“SO WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THEN?” Eli slammed the table. Pushing Ben’s hand off him and sitting up from his seat.

The two remained silent, trying to think of a way.

Eli sat back down devastated while hunching his back and covering his eyes from tearing up from his frustration and sleep deprivation then asked softly “Can you call the car back now the-”

“No. No need for that Eli.” Ben cut him off, as he soothed his back trying to reassure him.

“Let him be with me then! I already have a room, I don’t have a flatmate, and I can just add some furniture and all that to accommodate him.” Ben stated.

“What?” Eli asked. reeling back from his frustration, sleep deprivation, and disappointment.

“It's allowed, right? I’ve thought about the rules and I don't recall any that says I can’t?” Ben asked the admin. 

“I don’t think it is?...wait let me recheck…”

The admin then flipped through all the handbooks about the rules and Eli asked Ben. 

“Are you sure about this?”

“Why wouldn't I be? I just hope you don’t mind sharing a room with me.” He smiled at him.

“Don’t be an idiot rethin-”

“It's allowed.” the admin cut him off. Both them were shocked.

“Technically speaking the Dorms For Royalty do allow for even non-official royals which includes Eli. Still being related to The White Queen, he is a non-recognized royal. Allowing him into the Dorms For Royalty” The admin stated

“And with Prince Ben himself accepting and stating he wants him as a flatmate, there is no rule or restriction stopping him from doing so! Being both the same sex and both agreeing, there is nothing saying it's invalid.” The admin continued.

“So I’m correct. It is allowed.” Ben said while turning to Eli, he smiled brightly being happy that we found a way to keep Eli from not going back to the Isle.

Now explained as to how Eli became stuck with Ben in the Dormitories for Royals the rest of the academic year.

Reaching Ben’s Room, Eli no longer cared for even removing his leathered straps and just jumped into bed. There was only 1 big one in the middle of the room that was themed with blue and gold, however he didn’t care and just went to bed.

“-I hoped you wouldn’t be too bothered... At least you got your well deserved rest…” Ben mumbled walking near his bed. He will not lie, Mal earlier from the first glance was an apple to the eyes but Eli. he felt something different with him..

“Where will I sleep then?” Ben whispered to himself as he watched Eli fall into a deep slumber. It was already past midnight so he didn’t wish to disturbed him that much but he too was also tired.

So Ben slowly pushed Eli to the side, careful not to disturb him. Then layed next to him in the bed. “This… might be dangerous in the future… I need to get him his own bed first thing in the morning.” he continuously whispered to himself.

Alongside Eli, Ben didn’t bother changing into his clothes. He could change his clothes but didn’t bother because of his tiredness from dealing with Eli’s room situation. So they now both fell asleep next to each other.

However, the other VKs. They weren’t planning to go straight to bed, Mal wanted the wand; and she wanted it now.

An: Was it good enough for the wait? Also look! new boarders and header! I hope yall like this, even if it basically took 3 weeks to finish/do. After this I'll take a short break and come back to make chapter 2. Also if you have read any like inconsistent writing styles or anything like that, please note that I've written this in a span of 3 weeks with long brakes each time. So sometimes I can write differently from break to break. P.S. I think i fucked up with my title choices but I promise I'll make up to it in chapter 2. Edit: I've edited the title and deleted the old header + added a new one, for it to fit the overall plan/lore I've got for this first novel? idk i plan to make this into 3 part series following the original trilogy of descendants

[sugary-daydreams3]

Grief trapped in blue sunglass lens [Gojo's funeral fanfiction]

Summary: Now that the students and Jujutsu associates healed their physical wounds, they have no choice but to face the elephant in the room. Satoru Gojo is gone and everyone deals with the void in their own way before the funeral begins.

Word count: 6.4k

Series: Lost chapters I wish Gege wrote about

A/N: Made this because me and many other people didn't get to see a Gojo funeral nor the character's feelings on him being gone. This is one of my biggest gripes with the ending of JJK. I had no problems with Gojo dying but I feel that how he was handled physically post Yujo fight left much to be desired.

So I decided to write about (mostly) everyone's coping with Gojo's death and a funeral service for him. Forgive me if the funeral may seem culturally inaccurate. Hopefully, no characters come across as too OOC, but some of these characters are hard to get right when they don't have much room to shine their personality in canon.

Glossy nails trail the white engraved letters and numbers above the matte black. She forgot to give back his credit card.  The last time she used it was Hallo-- 

Hall-- 

October 31st. 

October 31st. 

October. 

That fucking month with that fucking day. Like an alarm that keeps ringing and a clock that won’t move forward fused together. 

The month of horror, trick or treating, and bloody exploding eyeballs. The month were kids face real horror, not those stupid dumb skeletons, werewolves, and vampires. The kind of horror that will make someone either sample death or have it as their final meal. 

31st should have ended with her rocking the clothes she picked up eight hours before that fight. Gojo should have been eating endless candy and telling them “Job well done!” in that stupid annoying comforting voice of his. Not boxed away and expecting his students to come out on top in the chilly wild. 

She didn’t even see him die. She didn’t get to say her final words to him that just would have amounted to... 

“If you die your card is mine forever. So die, okay?” 

She couldn’t even say her fucked up, dark, cruel joke that was a mask of “Please don’t fucking die”. 

Why couldn’t I move? 

Why wasn’t I awake? 

Why wasn’t I present? 

Who wants to hear recollections of what happened between October 31st and December 24th? She wanted to help out with the Culling Games. She wanted to see the great battle of Sukuna vs. Gojo. She wanted to finally meet this Yuta kid and see everyone’s reaction to him coming back. She wanted to save Megumi when Yuji couldn’t. Picking up the pieces of Yuji’s mistakes. Being that deciding factor that could have prevented so much bullshit. 

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck! Why wasn’t I here? 

Her only eye stings, blinking two tears to fall on the muted black card. The heartache trails down to the 2754 of the four-part row of digits. Nobara quivers her lips as she tries to swallow down pills of regrets, exclusion, and despondency. 

Residing dust forces a couple of coughs out of Inumaki. He waves off the floating particles and goes for the next book off Gojo sensei’s shelve. He grabs the spine of the book and slowly pulls it out.  

He gave up being curious on the subject matter of these books once he cleared the first row. Just of bunch of thick, mind-numbing pieces on Jujutsu, Cursed Energy, or Autobiographies on retired sorcerers.  

Turning from the back cover, in red bold letters his purple eyes reads: Learning Sign Language for your students. Written by... sounds like a random Japanese woman with some fancy doctor degree. 

Narrow eyes widen as confusing experiences lingering in his memory begin to click and warp into sense.  

On the third day of his first year, he remembers cringing at Gojo’s attempt to speak random rice ball ingredients to him. That was his “way” of trying to connect with him. Offended, Inumaki wrote him off and ignored any potential conversation to have with him at that point. 

Around early June, he walked up to see Gojo silently greeting him with fluid movements of his hands and fingers. As fluent as someone who been signing JSL for several years. Was that the reason he stopped trying to conversate with him three weeks prior? 

Taken back, Inumaki slowly signed back, leading to having their first full conversation ever. It ended with Gojo patting him on the shoulder and Inumaki turning to watch his goofy sensei walk off in a cheerful mood.  

Inumaki caresses the book and notices the personal sticky notes poking out of many pages. He looks behind him to see Panda pre-occupied. Inumaki sets the book in his bag, setting it aside to read through later. He shakes his head and stares at the half empty shelve for a long moment before continuing his duty.  

Panda was busy distracting himself with Satoru’s doodads instead of effectively cleaning out his office. Throw in the fact that it was a journey to simply carry things that would have taken him a few seconds to put away had he been in his original big body. But the funeral starts in a few hours so he has to stop monkeying around soon.  

Panda frowned. There was barely any time to “monkey around” ever since Satoru died. It seems like when he died, he took the fun and security with him. Did most of his friends grow to be so powerful from the battle on Shinjuku? Sure, they’re practically monsters at this point.  

But for a long time, Satoru’s level of strength gave them breathing room to take off the sorcerer mask sometimes. Now that he’s gone, there was no room to be a kid anymore. His friends are teenagers cursed with adult responsibilities; the rest of their adolescence stripped away like a bloody band aid.  

He’s a panda so he doesn’t really understand that feeling. However, he sees it with the forced smiles he’s greeted one second with frowns pulling them down moments after. Desensitized responses they all show in public contrasted with the quiet weeping he hears going on late night campus walks. It will always give him emotional whiplash. 

Life after Satoru was a canvas board of still grey with overwhelming dark blue surrounding it.  

Panda opens a brown box to see a bunch of stuffing peeking out. Dropping down, he turns the box around to see in black marker: Spare stuffing for Panda. 

Panda releases a deep sigh. He feels his stitches ache all over. 

Loose blue strains spills over the wholesome photo of her and Gojo that day. A day where her biggest concern was not looking stupid in front of the cute, strong, funny teacher at the Tokyo campus of Jujutsu High. A day where her classmates bickered with coal still in their eyes. A day when Mai was cranky and alive. When Mechamaru... 

Miwa shuts her eyes as her tears soaks her eyelashes. Blurry eyes open to take in the photo that seem like centuries ago, when it was only since September. Gojo’s peace sign and shared chipper smiles fill the holes in Miwa’s heart for a moment. Her thumbs zoom in on Gojo and lingers over his tall figure dominating most of the selfie. 

A small smile forms behind the isolated blues. “Gojo...” 

Kusakabe groans, rubbing the back of his head whenever his mind wanders to that blue eyed trouble maker. There were days he enjoyed the consistent stillness without that loudmouth breaking it. Then there were others where the silence was drowning; his cheery, obnoxious voice completely void to lift up everyone’s spirits when needed. Today was one of those days. 

Twirling his toothpick, he remembers the countless times Gojo annoyed the hell out of him with his comments and pranks. There wasn't a day where he wouldn’t drag one of the Jujutsu faculty and staff in his shenanigans. So bad that one-time Gojo went too far and it ended with Kusakabe wishing he was dead. 

Be careful what you wish for, I guess. 

Kusakabe looks up at the passing clouds trailing through the blue. For such a day for Jujutsu High, the sky didn’t reflect the collective feeling. The man bats his eyes as the ambient nature lures him into a still mind. 

“Kusakabe!? Are we serious right now!?” One of the higher ups barked. 

Gojo shakes his head, “Is there ever a day you guys don’t bitch about--” 

“I agree that sending me would be a horrible idea.” Kusakabe interrupted. Gojo turns to see Kusakabe wearing a “Yes sir. No sir.” attitude. He knew he was lying.  

Kusakabe has been looking forward to a sorcerer mission like this ever since he met him. A mission where all you do is investigate and gather information, no risking your life, no fighting at all really. More like a trip out on Japan’s quiet grassy countryside with a side quest of being an undercover sorcerer representing Jujutsu High.  

Gojo steps forward. “Kusakabe is our best grade 1 sorcerer. He’s no fighter and a nice guy for the most part. He would be better to talk to lame country folk than I am...” 

The elders remain silent. Kusakabe can feel the tension rising. “Gojo, you don’t have to--” 

“I got too much other shit going on to do some boring mission in the countryside. If you send me instead of him then you guys are more senile than I thought.” 

“Gojo!” Kusakabe quickly turned to the many shoji screens hiding the higher up’s bodies. The fact that he had no idea how they were reacting put his worry in overdrive. 

One of the elders sighs, “We don’t feel like arguing with you on this. If you truly think Kusakabe of all people would fit this mission then so be it. But if he fails this, he will suffer the consequences. His mistakes are not on us.” 

“When is it ever on you?” Gojo bounced back. 

“Dismissed.” The other elder said. 

Once they left the room, Gojo wraps his arms around Kusakabe shoulders and bellowed out his carefree laugh. “Don’t forget to bring me back some gifts. You owe me afterall.” 

Kusakabe lowers his head away from the blue and moving white to face the cracked, washed solid grey.  

His heart didn’t ache for Gojo. Tears didn’t trail down for him either. But the crumbs of memories made him appreciate the little explosive highlights he gave his boring, uneventful life. Like those popping candies that felt like fireworks in your mouth.  

Yeah, Gojo was those popping rock candies. 

Hakari holds the stack of yen as the various fights go on the multiple T.V. screens. Licking his thumb, he counts through the overwhelming amounts of money from his lucky bets. Although he’s been hanging around Jujutsu High more as of recent, lately everything has been about Gojo, his death and preparing for his funeral. All of the mope and serious mumbo jumbo was getting to Hakari, so he retreated to his fight club. 

“When does it start?” Kirara asked, her pink french tips gently caressing his ashy blonde thick hair.  

Hakari shrugs, “Donno. Seems like everyone is too depressed to talk n’ shit.” 

Banding up the yen, Hakari montages the times Gojo left him feeling the fever he often seeks out of many.  

Training him so hard he puked the rest of that day. Pushing him to go after Kirara and teasing him about his crush. Giving him shitty relationship advice. That one time they did that silly pose where they flashed their teeth then flexed their muscles for the camera. Cheating Gojo out of thousands of yen over a wrong move during Blackjack. 

Hakari traces the numbers of the yen, smirking over the fun times that crazy man with the blindfold gave him. 

Two streaks of damp wet are noticed when the wind sway past Ijichi’s jawline. Another dam of woe threatens to burst until he quickly wipes his sore undereye. He doesn’t even know why he’s getting so emotional over someone who and still-- 

Not sill. Damnit brain, get with the program. 

Someone who used to bully him relentlessly ever since they were kids up until just a few weeks ago. To him, Gojo was nothing but... 

Why are you still here? Need me to punch you to get the message? 

You failed you’re driving test again? You can’t even do that? Go join a local circus at this point. 

Shoko is out of your league, man. You don’t even have the balls to talk to her. How can you expect her to like you. 

Ijichi, don’t piss me off.  

A guy like that doesn’t deserve his tears. Nope, not at all... 

The only person I trust to catch me if I fall is me and, um, Ijichi I think. 

Wanna go out for some hot cocoa? It’s freezing today. 

Well, well, well. You finally took Shoko out for dinner, huh? I guess the world is ending soon. So, how did it go? 

Look, Ijichi may be a wet doormat but he’ll get things done for us and the students. C’mon guys, give him more credit than that. 

Ijichi huffs a stuttered breath. Nope. Nope. No. No. No-- 

You’re the man I trust the most. That’s the only reason I need. 

Ijichi breaks down. A new coat of tears staining his dry skin. His wrung heart soaked again with a grief too complex to explain. 

Cigarette smoke brush past Shoko’s dry, dull brown hair. No tears had nor will shed for her childhood friend. She wasn’t a crier, even when she was little. When her father died a long time ago, not one tear dropped.  

Instead, there was heavy rocks that magically weighed in her chest. A weight too heavy for her slim body to carry. A weight she dismisses publicly but can’t ignore in private. So, in true Shoko fashion, she grabs a pack of ciggies and breaks her 11th vow to never smoke again. Looking out on the campus field, her eyes strain with stress and lack of sleep. Her heavy heart was to blame this time. 

“Can’t believe I’m being peer pressured right now.” Gojo says in a jokingly nervous tone. 

Shoko lifts up the cigarette, unlit and waiting. “I’m tired of being “The Smoker Chick” of our school. It’s always so lonely smoking by myself.” 

“Regardless if I smoke this or not, you’ll always be “The Smoker Chick”.” 

“Gojo please.”  

Gojo sighs and contemplates the nicotine stick itching to ruin someone’s lungs. He was far from being a goody too shoes but smoking wasn’t his thing. 

“You’ll look so cool doing it. It’ll just be between us.” Shoko persisted. 

Gojo rolled his eyes and snatched the cig from her. He placed it between his perfect, straight whites and waited a moment before turning to Shoko. Shoko stood in disbelief until Gojo snapped his fingers in front of her. 

“Well hurry up and light it!” Shoko quickly digs in her pocket and lights the white end. It takes a few seconds for the cigarette to burn before smoke waves out of the tip. Gojo inhales then blows out a line of smoke effortlessly. Shoko gasps, “How did you not cough?” 

“Duh! Look who you’re talking to.” 

“Oh...yeah. Right.”  

The juxtaposition of Gojo’s divine-like aura and angelic appearance partaking in the trashy, commoner act of smoking was a sight to behold. Almost like he gave a middle finger to his reputation as the strongest sorcerer and decided to be a normal dude for once. Shoko remembers judging Gojo’s bougie attitude during freshman year. She saw his snobbish nature a mile away before he even introduced himself to the class. One thing about Gojo though, he never failed to surprise her with his willingness to bring himself down from heaven. 

Shoko is dazed by Gojo puffing out a few quick smokes before she is presented a hit. 

“This shit tastes awful. How do you smoke these every thirty minutes?” Gojo barfed his tongue out. 

Shoko giggles and breathes in the loud smoke that always hugs her brain. “Helps me stay numb to the bad stuff in the world.” 

Although that was Gojo’s first and last time ever smoking, their budding friendship springs tenfold. 

Shoko was back at that same spot they wasted their youth a decade and so ago. Only there was no arrogant, annoying but funny classmate to secretly cast her judgement on anymore. What only remains is a cigarette and a woman who had an uneventful life outside of being a sidekick to Gojo’s adventures. 

She takes another hit, her tongue recoils at the cigarette taste. Now she gets what he meant back then. 

The drizzling rain show no signs of giving nature a break from the drab, cold atmosphere. Megumi lays against his cushioned but firm mattress, his brain refusing to move his body. Tears quietly drip down to damp the grey sheets, adding to the collection of wet dots on his bed. The air condition overpowered the pitter-patter behind the window. The dull sound clearing his head to reflect his whirlwind called life these past couple months. 

Countless memories punched his mind. There was so many foggy, forgettable memories of Gojo growing up. His attempt to give them meaning and higher resolution gave him a slight headache. 

First his sister then-- 

Gojo.  

He saw it while being a few feet away; Gojo’s blood forming small puddles, leaving his body with his life tagging along. The tired whisper of “My bad, Megumi.” a few moments before his eyes went still. He couldn’t even respond due to that curse going on about some dumb speech after almost getting both of them killed. 

Sukuna.  

Heat overwhelmed his body as soon as the name rung. He hates him. He hates him. He hates him. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Hate. Red and blue hatred evolves into purple flames the longer it sits, burns, and melds. Never has he felt so much rage off a name alone. 

Blood on his hands without the purpose and maliciousness to back it up. Sukuna was gone but the damage will never fade away. It’s here to overstay it’s welcome and haunt him forever.  

“Good riddance.” Maki lets the intrusive thoughts travel to whispers.  

Alone in the tidy bathroom, she struggles to create grief over someone that just annoyed her most of the time. The only one she believes deserved her grief was her sister, Mai. 

Don’t get her wrong, she respected the hell out of Gojo’s strength. But the only solid memories she has of him is sending her favorite junky snacks whenever it was her time of the month and excused her from class that week.  

Other than that, he was like a gnat that wouldn’t get out of your face. Loud for no reason. Failed to read the room. Teased her about Yuta, even during the time he went to Africa. Pestering her about dumb school shit. Yeah, that’s the Gojo she knows. Not this revisionist history almost everyone on campus is crafting for him now that the bastard is gone gone.  

Yuta and Gojo had a closer relationship than others students, which unfortunately, makes him stricken with the depressing “Gojo is gone” epidemic too. But compared to him and the Jujutsu High students and staff, he actually has good reason to grieve.  

It’s just too overwhelming to deal with for more than an hour. She had to get a breather from seeing someone she cares about so defeated emotionally. She seen Yuta cry before but not to this extent, not this long either. 

Another round of sobs scolds her indifference to Gojo as they breakthrough the thick bathroom door. Maki looks down and moves her toes against the maroon bathroom rug to build back her patience and tolerance. Letting out a short breath, she pushes herself off the sink and keeps her stoic disposition.  

A blank, emotionally collected expression that means well beneath the surface.  

Yuta cries drag out as he lays on the floor. Maki shifts when she places a palm against his back, not sure how to handle his anguish and piercing sobs. 

Thankfully, Yuta’s dorm was positioned to be isolated at the end of the hall. The other male student's dorms are spaced out from each other so he didn’t have any direct neighbors. But still, his mourning was loud enough to hear muffles across his front door. 

“Yuta.” Maki said.  

She didn’t know what to say exactly. She, like many other Zenins, weren’t the best when it came to nurturing. Even though she feels nothing about Gojo dying, she feels everything seeing her best friend so ...devastated. 

Yuta looks up at her for a long moment, tears trailing by the second, lips quivering, throat tight with words he can no longer say to his sensei. He hugs her waist and cries into her chest.  

“I used him, Maki. He’s gone and the first thing I did was use him. It should have been--” 

“Stop. Don’t finish that. It shouldn’t have been anyone else instead. He did what he had to do for us to win.” Maki comforted. Yuta shakes his head, unable to accept logical reasoning. 

“I-I-I...” He sucks in his breath after every attempt to speak. "I didn’t even get to say--”  

Yuta hurls, his mouth seconds away from bursting open. Maki quickly goes for the bucket and puts it under his head. He pukes for the third time today, projecting out yesterday's lunch and dinner that he ate too little of. Maki sighs and pats his back to get him to vomit it all out. Ever since he returned back to his original body, Yuta has been puking whenever he thinks about the most fucked-up stunt he ever pulled. 

Once Yuta was done, he sobs tamed down to a string of lingering cries. He didn’t bother to change his shirt or wipe the corners of his mouth. Maki grabbed a tissue and cleaned up the small bits of vomit around his mouth. She heads back into the bathroom to clean out the half-filled blue bucket yet again. 

Looking up, he sees a framed picture of him and Gojo during his time in Africa. Gojo had him in a headlock whilst making him laugh about something he hates that he can’t remember. Yuta heart swells, the picture clearly being taken off guard by Miguel. Another wave of sorrow drowns him the longer he stares at Gojo in his white dress shirt, sunglasses, alive and well... 

Yuta face scrunches, a fresh sting of tears falling down. He lays down on the cold floor, allowing the grief to lure him to sleep. 

Yuji rubs over his face, a stubborn migraine pinching his thoughts. Snot leaking to tease the tip of his tongue. Eyes in desperate need of a bottle of eyedrops to make up for the tiny streams it released the past few hours. His mind was active but his body was lazy, lying on his bed through the whole morning. But he had to get this eulogy done, if nothing else. 

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled...whether you were a man, woman, or child. He’d... He’d... He-- dammit!” 

He turns on his stomach and picks up the paper again. He reads over the line again, then two more times to write it on his memory. 

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.”  

Again. 

“Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Yuji groans. 

“Don’t say hell, that might not fly well.” He scolded himself. 

Yuji sets the paper on his nightstand so his brain can have a break. He read over his eulogy so many times that his mind is starting to slip with the constructed presentation he went over since last night. It doesn’t help that throughout this practicing, he’s been crying whenever he gets lost in thought about Gojo-sensei. Maybe he needs to cool down a bit. 

On the edge of his window sits one of Gojo’s many blindfolds. Yuji reaches over with minimal effort and caress the fabric. Black cotton comforts his fingertips while Yuji gives this simple thing a soft gaze. The very first thing he noticed about that strange looking man on that life changing night. 

Scenes of warm and fun premiere from his memory bank, each starring Gojo sensei. Smiles to laughter with jokes, ease, and good food in between. 

Sensei steals a fry from Nobara’s-- 

Sliced open. Blood dripping down white baggy pants and black combat slippers. Torso on the ground. Harsh ice blue still yet soft. Live and unskippable. Live with no rewinds. Sukuna’s joy celebrated in the wrong body. No more rough ruffles on the head. No more boring lessons elevated by high-energy humor and multiple tangents of his glory days. 

Yuji winces and attempts to rub out the migraine and horrible memories intruding the good. There is a knock on the door. “You’re not naked are you?” Nobara voice is heard from behind the door. 

Yuji shakes his head as if Nobara could see. “No.”  

Nobara walks in, remnants of rain dripping from her raincoat. She had a blank face, her usual energy turned down a few notches. “Hey.” 

Yuji barely lifts up a wave, still smoothing out his nerves. “Hi.”  

“So everyone is either busy or depressed so you’re my last hope around here.” Nobara confessed. Yuji lifted up the eulogy, “Can’t. Too busy.” 

Nobara sucks her teeth then observes Yuji’s face. “You look like you’re more in the too depressed camp than the too busy one.” 

“Yeah, that too.” 

Nobara walks over and grabs the eulogy. Yuji lays back down, “Since you’re here, I need to clarify one last thing for my speech. Did sensei buy you those tampon things or those purple diapers?” 

Nobara stops reading and shoots him a look. “Why are you broadcasting my period for the whole Jujutsu High to hear?” 

“It’s supposed to be one of the many things Gojo did for us as students. I couldn’t think of anything else, cut me some slack.” 

Nobara sighs, “He used to get me pain meds and a bunch of tampons whenever my cramps would go into overdrive. And it’s called pads, not purple diapers.” 

Yuji nodded and formed a curve of a smile. “Thanks, Kugisaki.” 

“I could go and hang out with some girls I know from other schools but it looks like the rain is getting worse. What time is the funeral anyway?” 

“It’s in four hours, around two I think.” 

Nobara nodded, “Guess I’ll just go back to my dorm and sulk like everyone else. See you later.” She gets off to leave. “Oh, save me a seat too.” 

Yuji nodded with a frown, not having enough optimism left to give fake smiles. “Sure, see you.” 

Alone again, Yuji picks up the worn white sheet with creases and wrinkles. Headache tamed, he decides to recite again. You can never be too polished. 

“Gojo-sensei was a...” 

Todo sheds single strings of tears while many games of ping pong against Gojo replays in his mind. Besides Mei Mei, Gojo was his common partner in his favorite sport. Now that he’s gone, he had no one to slam “cheating” allegations to in an intense game during the humid, long summer afternoons. 

Ui Ui sniffles as he looks down, avoiding the blunt reality of the casket up ahead. He wasn’t the biggest acquaintance of Gojo but a few moments of the past built a friendly nature between them. His briberies of fried bananas to get direct access to Mei Mei. Being a one-man audience (he slept through his blindfold) for spoken word poetry he wrote about his sister when no one else bothered to hear. Gojo never failed to match his childish energy when other adults or big kids were “too busy” to entertain him. The boy’s quiet sniffles prompted a head rub from his older sibling. 

The pointy ends of Mei Mei’s red nails pierce through her left palm. Her right palm comforts the juvenile emotions of her baby brother. Her face remains calm but blue fire bursts in her heart.  

1.5 Million yen. All that rich fuck had to do is pay me 1.5 million yen back and what does he do? Fuck around and die. Hmph! He probably died to cheap his way out of his debt. Damn you Satoru Gojo. Damn him. 

Ino stood with his ski-mask firm against his chest, looking forward with respect. Gojo was more like an older brother than a co-worker. Despite the pain he feels, he refuses to look away from the body. 

Momo stands next to Miwa, people watching the many guests standing in line to pay their personal respects to the body. As soon as she came, she made sure to grab the nearest seat and keep her head down. Dead bodies always freaked her out. People always assumed she be fine with that kind of stuff since she gives “witchy” vibes but no way. It was the way the body just sat there, all sense of spark or fire vanished. Also, that silly fear that a dead body will raise and walk towards her. God, she hopes they close the casket soon.  

Kirara hugs on to Hakari’s arm as she quietly weeps to herself. Hakari wasn’t the “comforting” type but all she needs from him was his arm and shoulder for support. During the time it was her vs. the conservative Jujutsu World when she decided to transition, Gojo was one of the few who had her back. She has his support from the moment she began dressing feminine all the way to the moment she began going by Kirara. It wasn’t a problem for Gojo to call her by her true name right away since he thought her dead name was forgettable as hell. 

Sure, Gojo wasn’t perfect and had his moments where his views were a bit dated, but he was willing to own up to his mistakes and learn for the better. She’ll never forget the stereotypical girly shit he would buy her because he didn’t know her personal taste that well, not that she even knew at the time either. Corny gifts and unconditional support are why her mascara and eyeliner were messy all around her under eye.  

Most attendees dressed in purple while others sulked in black. Ages from teen to end of the road mingled together within a pot of grief, visible respect, and reservation. Some felt internal relief that the bastard was gone. Some cried harder than they would if their actual father died.  

Gojo lied still in a polished classic black casket, wearing a blank emotion that he would hate everyone to see. His cut, pieced back by Shoko, was barely noticeable. If you weren’t given the details of his death, you’d probably would question how he died. The line to view his body was beginning to reach its end, preparing everyone to mentally checkout for an hour and a half. 

A collected Megumi stared at Gojo in a distracted haze. It was stupid, but he felt like Gojo was playing some sick prank and he’s going to pop out and yell some stupid shit any second now. The longer he stares at the body’s lack of movement, the confirmation rings hollow in his mind. Thankfully Nobara and Yuji kept to themselves, because he’s not in the mood to make idle small talk to take their mind off the obvious.  

Yuta’s sorrow could be heard faintly throughout the large quiet space but not loud enough to distract from the ceremony. His tears took all of the moisture from his face, leaving him paler than usual. Messy black hair clashed with his neat tux that took forever to fit him in. It was a miracle for Maki to get him in that, let alone bring him here. 

 It was a tough sight to see as Yuta was now regarded as the strongest sorcerer of the upcoming generation. Yuta usually had a friendly, shy demeanor around his peers while being focused and stoic during battle. It was rare to see such a rock morph into glass, his pieces laid for the whole institution to see.  

Yuta could care less, the repercussions of his public image being in an awkward, pitiful state wasn’t even a thought in the thick of his pain. He could repair that with time and his rapid growing reputation. This is the last time he’ll ever see Gojo-sensei and his heart can’t take it. 

Throughout most of the service, Yuji idly stares at Gojo-sensei’s memorial card. A portrait of him wearing a bright, goofy smile placed above the December 7th, 1989 - December 25th, 2018 felt like visual whiplash. Yet, he kept staring at it until a microphoned call of his name lifts his head up. 

“Itadori-kun, are you still going to read your eulogy for us today?” Ijichi directs, slightly confused of Yuji’s zoned out state. 

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Just...” Yuji grabs the piece of paper from Nobara’s lap and scoots through the aisle. He walks up to the podium, feeling stares and invisible opinions hover over his back. He gently grabs the mic from Ijichi and sets his eulogy across his face.  

Looking up, the stares feel more intense as the rows and rows of straight-faces set social anxiety in his stomach. It was weird, he usually had no problem speaking publicly to an audience, he was a social butterfly after all. Funerals love throwing everyone’s vibe off, even a generally confident one like his, he assumes. 

“Um, hi guys—hi everyone.” 

He quickly goes over the first line to trigger his trained memory to make the speech sound fluent and genuine. He prays to whoever is listening to not let his mind go blank at a time like this. 

“Gojo sensei was a goofball.”  

The silence screams for a moment as the opening line registers in everyone’s minds. A few chuckle, most keep their solemn unimpressed looks, while others are not even on this planet. Yuji clears his throat. 

“He was unserious when things were tense. He trolled you whether you were a man, woman, or child. Hell, he’d even walk in your dorm to check on you, only to leave with your house slippers moments later.” Many students laughed at the last comment. Yuji looks up and chuckles along, a confidence block stacked. 

“He wasn’t a teacher who sugar-coated things, his words were more salt-coated. It stings from being so blunt, but it was needed in order for you to have more flavor.” Yuji takes a quick scan and sees that more people are in tuned with his words. Second block stacked. 

“Growing up, I only had my grandfather for family. So while I kinda knew what it was like to have a dad, I spent a good portion of my life taking care of him during his last years so I forgot what it felt like. Gojo reminded me of that feeling.” 

“He gave life advice outside of teaching. He would take us out for ice cream after missions. One time, he bought those weird tampon things and sea salt caramel ice cream for Nobara during her...y’know.” Nobara gives him a look after he shoots a nervous chuckle her way. 

“He would walk Megumi’s dogs on Saturday mornings. He’d crack a joke in sign that only Inumaki-senpai would understand. He was tough on me, Hakari-senpai, and Okkotsu-senpai during training because he wanted us to take advantage of the potential we couldn’t see. He was...” 

Yuji looks up to see Yuta staring at him with teary but curious eyes, desperate to know what he’s about to lay on the crowd next. Yuji directs a small, sympathetic smile at him then looks down. 

“He was our constant entertainment during the long, boring hours of our jobs. He unlocked the laughter and ease that we often hid to condition ourselves so we could endure the next mission. He made hell feel like home. He was our Gojo-sensei when the world just saw him as Gojo Satoru.” 

Tears don’t hold back on some folks faces. What they expected to be a generic but appropriate eulogy turned out to be an off-beat, heartfelt, kinda corny eulogy written by a dude who loved his teacher. A rare case of a dude who isn’t clever with words evoking more emotions out of a crowd more than any writer ever could. 

“I’m sure some of you struggle to move forward with this loss. Some of you may simply be here to pay respects and move on with their lives preferably without sensei. Or you may be like me, someone just going through the motions and may not know what to do, say, think, or feel. But Gojo-sensei is gone and all we can do is reflect on the echos of his existence.” 

Yuji lets out a deep breath, satisfied to have gotten through his eulogy, the weight off his shoulders. His eyes flickers to see many nodding at his last statement. He scans through his last sentence and nods to himself to bring it home. 

“Thank you, Gojo-sensei, for being the goofball with the blindfold and thank you all for listening.” Everyone except the elders clapped for Yuji, moved by his honest words and pure approach. Yuji didn’t register the applause nor Ijichi’s transition to the next segment since his heart was pounding against his left chest. 

There was another wrinkle added to the eulogy when he goes to sits back down. He stares at his knees to contemplate his social triumph. Nobara looks at him and pats his upper back while Megumi simply gives him a blank look, jailing his “Good job.”. Yuji breathes deep through his nose and gives himself little nods, back in his own world to process those past few minutes. 

The rest of the service goes smoothly, time moving quicker due to Yuji black flashing through the seemingly unbreakable ice. After the main service, many students and staff agreed to meet at the school yard where the funeral bonfire repast will be held. 

While Gojo was being cremated, the bonfire turned out to be a lively celebration of life after so much grief wrung at the service. Snow trinkled down amongst the light conversations, coping dark humor, taste bud-rising food and drinks, and tear stains. Taking a break entertaining his peers, Yuji looked up to admire the floating ice. His irises went up and down, low right and high left, no different from when he saw snow as a kid. Laughter and smiles were behind Yuji, but all he can feel was the snow nurturing the child he locked away. 

Ashes leave out of the hands of many, gliding above the flowers revived by spring. Cherry blossom petals dance with Gojo in the gentle wind. The early days of April was always Gojo’s favorite time of the year, it was only fitting that his departure was during its peak.  

The new year of Jujutsu High begins without the blindfolded goofball to kick it off with overwhelming enthusiasm and junior high-level jokes. Second years, third years, and even the students that graduated are moving forward after months of mental detours. Now, there was a fresh set of first years oblivious to the horrors and traumas that awaits them. It’s a pity they won’t have that funny man in the sunglasses to help them endure their next twelve months of hell.