#COURT. 29. SHE/HER.

[fablefools]

           𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐃𝐎 𝐈 𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄 𝐓𝐎 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐓𝐎 𝐀𝐁𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐈𝐅 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐘 𝐂𝐀𝐍 𝐑𝐄𝐃𝐎                                                𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐏𝐇𝐄𝐂𝐘 ?

# FABLEFOOLS : an independent, slow-reply multi-muse roleplay blog ft. muses from various media. horror content will be present here, tagged as horror tw. other mature content will also be present. honored & loved by COURT [ she / her , 29 ]. this blog is 18+ only ; do not follow if you are underage.

credits : psd, icon template, and graphics by @ calisverse.

affiliated with : @ venustrape . @ spinsforward . @ truthlie . @ dayfade . @ lastblues . @ freezegirl .

navigation :  carrd .   memes .   headcanons .   tracker .   hawk .   maysilee .

[hychlorions]

trying to map out when maya's birthday is but of course you can trust soj to come and ruin it all like the bumbling nitwit it is

[sunarryn]

DP X Marvel #29

Jazz Fenton did not mean to become a Black Widow. It just kind of happened. One minute she was babysitting Danny’s mess because he decided to pick a fight with Kang the Conqueror (again), and the next she was knee-deep in S.H.I.E.L.D. files, covered in blood, and being hailed as “one of the most promising Red Room graduates they had ever seen.” Which was strange, considering Jazz had never been to the Red Room. Or Russia. Or… spy school at all. She was a licensed therapist. She had a degree. She paid taxes. She made salad. She was a normal woman, damn it!

“You killed fifteen HYDRA agents with a clipboard, Fenton,” Director Fury said, pinching the bridge of his nose as Maria Hill silently sipped her coffee and refused to make eye contact. “That’s not normal.”

Jazz folded her arms stubbornly. “In my defense, they attacked me first. And they insulted my handwriting.”

“You wrote ‘Your unresolved childhood trauma is not my problem’ on a sticky note and taped it to one of their foreheads.”

“And it wasn’t my problem.”

Across the room, Natasha Romanoff watched with the wide-eyed horror of someone seeing their own ghost. “She’s… she’s me,” Natasha whispered, pointing at Jazz. “But worse. Worse.”

Clint Barton leaned in. “I think I’m in love.”

“Shut up,” Natasha and Fury barked at the same time.

Things had spiraled out of control after that. Somewhere along the way, some Russian spy network got hold of a very blurry surveillance photo of Jazz decimating an entire mercenary squad with nothing but a heel, a pair of chopsticks, and a very aggressive therapy session. They promptly assumed Natasha had gone rogue (again), and put out a bounty. A very large bounty. The kind that made even the Winter Soldier raise an eyebrow and go, “Damn.”

Naturally, Danny found out.

Naturally, he panicked.

“JAZZ,” he screamed through the phone while flying upside down over Manhattan traffic, “WHY IS THERE A TWENTY MILLION DOLLAR BOUNTY ON YOUR HEAD?!”

“I don’t know!” Jazz screeched back. She was currently riding on the back of a stolen motorcycle with Deadpool (who thought she was Natasha and wouldn’t take no for an answer) while simultaneously answering frantic S.H.I.E.L.D. calls and rerouting an emergency therapy hotline. “ASK THE RUSSIANS!”

“WHICH RUSSIANS?!”

“YES!”

Meanwhile, Deadpool, wearing a T-shirt that said “I Heart Therapy,” shouted over the wind, “YOU’RE MY FAVORITE AVENGER NOW, NATASHA!”

“For the last time, I’m not Natasha—”

“I LOVE YOU TOO!”

Things escalated when Bucky Barnes appeared out of nowhere, tackled Jazz off the motorcycle midair, rolled into a perfect crouch, and then pinned her to the ground with a knife to her throat.

“I thought you were dead,” Bucky hissed, eyes wild.

Jazz blinked up at him. “Buddy, I don’t even know you.”

“That’s what you used to say before,” Bucky whispered, full of tragic anguish.

Deadpool sniffled loudly from behind them. “I love a good forbidden lovers-to-enemies-to-strangers-to-lovers again trope.”

Jazz kicked Bucky in the face and ran.

Within three hours, every major faction of Marvel’s expanded universe was hunting her down—S.H.I.E.L.D., HYDRA, the Russians, Deadpool, Bucky, a very confused Peter Parker who thought he was supposed to save her, the X-Men (who thought she was a rogue mutant), and Kang the Conqueror (who thought she might be a time-displaced Natasha clone sent to assassinate him).

Thor, meanwhile, simply declared her “a most worthy warrior maiden” after she threw an entire food court table at Loki during a hostage situation.

“It’s about time Midgard produced more women of valor!” Thor bellowed, swinging Mjolnir with dangerous enthusiasm. “I SHALL TAKE HER TO ASGARD.”

“Get in line,” Deadpool snarled, adjusting his “I Heart Therapy” shirt.

Meanwhile, Natasha was trying to commit actual murder.

“I swear to GOD,” she growled, stalking down a S.H.I.E.L.D. hallway, “if one more person says I’m being so quirky today—”

“Natasha, babe,” Tony Stark said, popping out of a side door, “your emotional dysregulation is off the charts and honestly? It’s refreshing. You should get cloned more often.”

Natasha shot him a look so cold that even JARVIS’ firewalls froze.

Tony raised his hands. “Okay, okay, chill, Strawberry Shortcake. No need to murder me. Save that for—” he pointed dramatically— “your emotional support twin.”

“She is NOT my emotional support twin.”

“That’s not what the footage says.”

On a giant monitor, Jazz was currently choke-slamming Sabretooth into a dumpster while shouting, “YOU NEED TO LEARN HOW TO HANDLE REJECTION HEALTHILY!”

“Icon,” Clint whispered, wiping a tear.

Even Steve Rogers, paragon of old-fashioned dignity, was looking a little starry-eyed. “She’s very… efficient.”

“Efficient?” Natasha barked. “She’s deranged!”

“I like her,” Steve said firmly.

Jazz, blissfully unaware of the chaos she was causing, had holed up in a New York City bookstore, eating chocolate muffins and trying to finish her psychology notes while surrounded by six unconscious mercenaries she had “politely discouraged” from kidnapping her.

Danny phased through the ceiling with a pop and immediately tripped over one of the bodies.

“OH MY GOD, JAZZ!”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain, Danny,” Jazz said absently, underlining a particularly important point about cognitive-behavioral therapy.

“YOU’RE IN A BOOKSTORE FULL OF CORPSES.”

“They’re not corpses, they’re just resting. Violence-induced naps.”

“WHAT—”

“Keep your voice down, you’re disturbing the literature.”

Meanwhile, Nick Fury was in a meeting with the Avengers yelling so loud birds outside fell out of the sky.

“I WANT HER ON PAYROLL,” Fury shouted, slamming his fist on the table. “GET ME FENTON.”

“Already tried,” Maria Hill said wearily. “She hung up and said we needed therapy more than she needed a paycheck.”

“She’s not wrong,” Bruce Banner muttered.

Tony smirked. “I mean, I am kind of curious. What happens if we just… hire her?”

“World peace,” Clint said instantly.

“Or total annihilation,” Natasha said darkly.

“Either way, it’ll be entertaining,” Deadpool chimed in, somehow already sitting in one of the chairs with popcorn.

“WHO LET HIM IN HERE,” Fury bellowed.

In the bookstore, Jazz finally looked up from her notebook to find Deadpool holding out a bouquet of slightly singed daisies.

“For you, my queen,” he said solemnly.

“I will mace you,” Jazz promised.

“Just like Nat used to,” Deadpool said, sniffling again.

Peter Parker dropped down from the ceiling. “Hey, uh, hi, Miss Fenton? I don’t really know what’s happening but I think you’re amazing and could you maybe not kill me?”

“I don’t kill people,” Jazz said, affronted. “I help them confront their inner demons and process their suppressed trauma through intensive violence-based therapy.”

“That’s… oddly comforting,” Peter said.

It all came to a head when Kang, exasperated beyond mortal comprehension, opened a portal above the bookstore and tried to yoink Jazz into the timestream.

He succeeded.

Sort of.

Danny grabbed her ankle mid-yoink. Deadpool grabbed Danny’s ankle. Peter grabbed Deadpool’s ankle. Clint Barton, swinging from a grappling hook, grabbed Peter. Then Thor decided he wanted in and hurled Mjolnir into the pile for good measure. The portal overloaded with a sound like an air fryer exploding in a church.

When the dust cleared, Jazz was standing on top of Kang, holding his own dislocated arm in one hand and a muffin in the other.

“HOW?” Kang wheezed.

“You tried to abduct a woman during her muffin break,” Jazz said sweetly. “Actions have consequences.”

Thor roared with laughter. “TRULY A MAIDEN OF WORTH!”

Fury appeared, looking absolutely done with existence. “You’re hired.”

“I don’t want a job.”

“Too bad. You’re in.”

“Can I negotiate for dental?”

“You already have dental.”

“…Sold.”

And that’s how Jazz Fenton, licensed therapist, ghost expert, and once-proud civilian, accidentally became a Black Widow. She wasn’t trained. She wasn’t programmed. She wasn’t brainwashed.

She was just tired.

And honestly? That was worse.

By the time she got back to Amity Park, her parents had no idea why Nick Fury was sending them fruit baskets or why Deadpool kept showing up at their front door with mixtapes titled “For My Future Therapist Wife.”

Danny refused to speak to anyone for a week.

Tucker made it worse by posting “Jazz Fenton, New Black Widow” memes online. Sam bought Jazz a leather catsuit “for the aesthetic” and refused to take it back.

And Jazz… Jazz just made another cup of tea, put on a sheet mask, and scheduled herself a very long therapy session.

Because someone in the family had to be sane.

It just wasn’t going to be today.

[prettygirl-gabi]

Through the Lens series Masterlist

Most to all dividers used in this series was made by @bernardsbendystraws

Thank you again!! Rose

Rating: General Audiences (for most chapters but ratings will be updated each chapter also along with warnings being updated as well)

Warning: none^

Paring: !Super Senior Paige Bueckers x !photographer fem reader (reader is intended to black, but anyone can read it)

Fandom: Women's basketball

Tagline: Capturing every moment, even the ones that break us.

Brief Description/Intro:

When Y/N’s professor encourages her to use UConn Women’s Basketball as her muse for her final project, she never expects to find herself drawn to one player in particular—Paige Bueckers. As a junior with a passion for game photography, Y/N captures Paige’s every move, but their connection takes an unexpected turn during a game when Paige’s block shatters Y/N’s favorite camera, dueing her first night with the team. What begins as a series of chance encounters quickly grows into something deeper, despite the looming uncertainty of Paige’s final season as a super senior before heading to the WNBA. Can they navigate the lines between passion, distance, and dreams—or will their connection remain a fleeting glimpse into what could have been?

Moodboard pt.1

Questions?

Official Playlist

Moodboard pt.2

Moodboard pt.3

Moodboard pt.4

Prologue: A Shattered Beginning

Chapter 1: Through the Lens of Dreams

Chapter 2: Caught on Camera

Chapter 3: Focus on Us

Chapter 4: Holding My Breath

Chapter 5: In the Spotlight

Chapter 6: Sidelines and distractions

Chapter 7: Homecoming

Chapter 8: Unspoken but Understood

Chapter 9: Just Us

Chapter 10: Under Pressure

Chapter 11: Silence and Reconciliation

Chapter 12: The Storm We Needed

Chapter 13: Trust The Process

Chapter 14: The Raw Moments

Chapter 15: The Final Cut

Chapter 16: Marking Her Territory

Chapter 17: Court-Side Love and Matching Jerseys

Chapter 18: Family Photo Shoot

Chapter 19: Stormy Nights

Chapter 20: Breaking Points

Chapter 21: Timeout

Chapter 22: Crossing Lines

Chapter 23: In Focus

Chapter 24: On Different Courts

Chapter 25: Birthday Surprise

Chapter 26: Granny’s Slip-Up

Chapter 27: Ghosted and Launched

Chapter 28: Family Ties and Fresh Beginnings

Chapter 29: Ghost Of The Past

Chapter 30: Past Shadows and Present

Chapter 31: Distraction and Comfort

Chapter 32: Crashing Out Respectfully

Chapter 33: Let Me Be There

Chapter 34: A Promise

Chapter 35: All That Mattered

Chapter 36: Homeward Bound

■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■■

-Thank You For Reading!🩵🩶

-prettygirl-gabi🎀✨️

[victusinveritas]

The beetle wings dress

ELLEN TERRY AS LADY MCBETH AND THE BEETLE WINGS DRESS, 1889

"On 29 December 1888 a packed auditorium at London’s Lyceum Theatre sat in anticipation of the opening of Henry Irving’s revival of Macbeth. In taking the male lead and casting Ellen Terry (1847-1928) as Lady Macbeth, Irving was reuniting one of British theatre’s most cherished acting partnerships. Moreover, audience curiosity was piqued by Terry’s departure from her usual role of Shakespearean heroine to play a plotting villainess. As the curtain rose, her appearance on stage immediately drew gasps. For she emerged wearing a costume of bewitching splendour, a dress of shimmering green embellished with iridescent beetle-wing cases, finished with a velvet heather-coloured cloak over which her dark red hair, plaited in gold, cascaded.

Created by the esteemed costume designer Alice Laura Comyns-Carr and her dressmaker Ada Cort Nettleship, it was the first of three costumes intended to illustrate Lady Macbeth’s changing psychological state through the play. Inspired by a medieval effigy of Clotilde, queen of the Franks originally from Notre-Dame de Paris, Comyns-Carr combined the form of her open sleeved long gown and long braided hair surmounted by a crown with contemporary influences of artists in her circle, such as the Pre-Raphaelite painter Edward Burne-Jones. The dress’s green embodied the ruthless ambition and plot to murder of the play’s opening acts, while the crochet construction overlaid with beetle-wing cases combined the look of ‘soft chain armour’, with the ‘appearance of the scales of a serpent’.

Although critics and theatregoers were divided over Terry’s characterisation, they were united on the visual impact of her performance. Her costume created an ethereal vision that ‘might have stood in the court of Camelot’. Oscar Wilde, noting the contrast between her dress and the austere garb of the male cast, quipped ‘Lady Macbeth seems an economical housekeeper, and evidently patronises local industries for her husband’s clothes and the servants’ liveries; but she takes care to do her own shopping in Byzantium’. The dress was further immortalised in John Singer Sargent’s commanding full-length portrait of Terry as Lady Macbeth in 1889 which pictured the dramatic moment Lady Macbeth claims her crown as witnessed by him on opening night."

Nationaltrustcollections.co.uk

[parkerslatte]

Uncertain Bonds

Azriel x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 3.7k

Warnings: none

Summary: While posing as a couple at a high end event on a small kingdom the Night Court is supposed to make an alliance with, Y/N and Azriel uncover some shady business and need to act quickly to avoid getting caught.

Prompt(s): 4.Pretending to be in a relationship for a mission/ event. 31. "They're looking. Kiss me now." 16. Character A pushes B against a wall to kiss them. 29. “Do you think they bought the act?" "While I kissed you down your throat? They definitely did, honey."

A Court of Thorns and Roses Masterlist

•••

Azriel took a glass of wine from the serving table and brought it to his lips. He never took a sip as he surveyed the room. Everyone was dressed in extravagant gowns and danced around the room happily. So far, nothing seemed to be amiss. 

“You do realise that standing in a dark corner staring at people intensely may be a cause for concern, right?” Y/N said, sauntering up to Azriel. 

As he turned to look at her, Azriel felt himself become weak at the knees as he took her in. The dress she wore was one he has seen a couple of times before. She mainly wore it to Starfall or some other event. Though Azriel remembered her wearing it the day she bought it. That was the day the mating bond snapped for him. And it was the day he began to avoid Y/N. 

At first his avoidance wasn’t intentional. The first time he excused himself from her was just after the bond snapped and he was dealing with the shock of finding his mate. Someone he never thought he would find; he had never expected to find his mate within his best friend, the one he had loved for centuries. Everything overwhelmed him and the more he felt the bond, the more he unintentionally avoided Y/N. 

Up until he was asked to join her on her mission. 

“You know this isn’t the usual work I do,” Azriel said, taking a sip of his wine. Normally he would never drink while doing a job, but he couldn’t help himself. He needed it to help him relax in Y/N’s presence. 

“I know that, my love, but you need to relax tonight,” Y/N said, stepping closer to him, gently taking the glass of wine from his grasp. “Loosen up a little.”

Y/N took a sip before placing the glass down on the nearby table. She leaned up to whisper in Azriel’s ear. “If you don’t relax, people will begin to suspect.”

Y/N’s scent sent Azriel’s senses into overdrive as her perfume seemed to surround him. There was a small voice in the back of his mind telling him to wrap her up and take her right there in front of everyone, claim her as his own. Azriel knew that it was just the bond talking— the desire talking— but the image did cross his mind. 

Before Azriel even had the chance to say anything, Y/N pulled away and took Azriel’s hand in hers. “Now come and dance with your wife.” 

Oh, how Azriel wished that were true. 

Y/N led him onto the dance floor and positioned their arms herself. Azriel remained rigid as people surrounding them stared for a moment too long. Of course they did. After all, Azriel was the only one in the whole building who had a pair of wings sprouting from his back. 

Y/N giggled at Azriel’s rigid position. “You can relax a little more than that, Az.”

“I can’t,” Azriel replied. “We aren’t here to dance. We are here to do a job.”

A small frown appeared on Y/N’s face for a brief moment but it was gone and quickly replaced by an easy smile. “This is my job, Azriel.” Y/N began to slowly lead the dance. Azriel followed in step, though not as graceful as Y/N. “I don’t keep to the shadows and watch. I get involved and listen.”

“That is not how I do things,” Azriel replied

“No it’s not,” Y/N said. “But this is my mission, not yours. I am in charge.”

Azriel sighed. “I know. I don’t like feeling so exposed.”

Instead of the forced smile, Azriel saw that it was replaced by a small genuine smile. He felt his heart skip a beat. “I know,” she replied. “But you know that if anything were to go wrong, I will have your back and I know that you will have mine. That is the way it has always been.”

“And it always will be,” Azriel finished. 

Y/N’s eyes lit up and her grip tightened on him as they spun around the ballroom. “What happened to us, Az?”

Azriel frowned. “I’m not sure what you mean?”

For a split second, Y/N looked down at the floor between them and stumbled over her feet. Azriel quickly stopped and steadied her. 

“Perhaps your little girlfriend there should lay off of the wine,” a woman near the sneered as Y/N gently knocked into her. 

Azriel growled in her direction. The woman backed away quickly. 

“Az,” Y/N said, gaining his attention again. “Let us go to the side of the ballroom, perhaps it will be better for us.”

Azriel wrapped an arm around her waist and walked with her to the side of the ballroom, standing near another couple talking quietly to one another. As they neared them, the couple looked at the two as if studying both Y/N and Azriel. 

Azriel simply ignored them. 

“What I meant by my words, Az, was why haven’t we been as close over the past year? You have barely even looked in my direction and when we are alone you always find an excuse to cut out conversation short. You were meant to be my best friend, you seem to not want that anymore.”

No. Azriel didn’t want to be best friends anymore. He wanted so much more than that. He wanted to love Y/N freely. He wanted to kiss her. To hug her. To be with her every waking moment of the day. He was made to be with her. He wanted to be her mate. He wanted to be her husband. The ring on his finger used to keep up appearance felt so foreign but felt so right. The pair to it on Y/N’s finger. Azriel only wished it was real. 

All he wanted was her, but he couldn’t express that to her. 

“I do want that,” Azriel said. “I will always want that.”

“Then why have you been avoiding me?” Y/N questioned. “You even asked if Cassian could come on this mission instead.”

Azriel sighed and looked around the room. “Look, Y/N I will tell you—“

Azriel cut himself off as he noticed the couple they had stood next to secretly slip out of the room and through the servants passage. “That couple is gone.”

“You think there’s a possibility that they are who we’re after?” Y/N asked, suddenly switching to her professional mindset. 

“We were told that they were young,” Azriel said. “So far they seem like the ones who fit the description the most.” 

“Let me slip out first,” Y/N said. “Follow me after.”

As Y/N went to walk away, Azriel gently took her hand in his. “Be careful,” he said. 

Y/N offered him a small smile. “I always am.”

Y/N slipped away and Azriel watched her, sending a shadow to wrap around her arm to keep an eye on her. Even though he was going to catch up to her quite soon, he wanted a piece of him with her to make sure she would be okay. 

Y/N slipped out and Azrie remained by the wall for a few moments longer. No one else in the entire room seemed to pay any attention. Azriel slowly made his way out into the servants passage. Still there was no one looking his way. Azriel slipped into the passage. 

It was dimmer in the passage but the moment Azriel’s eyes found Y/N, his heart yearned for her. In the dim lighting, she seemed to shine as the light hit her jewellery and dress. She was the most beautiful being he had ever seen. She looked ethereal. 

“Az,” Y/N whispered. “They didn’t go too far. Come on.”

Azriel and Y/N walk a little further down the passage until they turn a corner. The passage opened up to the main hall just off from the ballroom. 

“They went through the door there,” Y/N whispered. 

The two stood just outside of the door, just about hearing what the two were discussing inside. 

“The funds are paid in full,” the female said. “There shouldn’t be a problem sending them though now.”

The male seemed to sigh. “Do you know how long I have waited for those funds? Do you know how long I have been lying to my father because you didn’t do your job properly and allowed someone to get away with the entire kingdom’s fortune.”

“These things take time!” The female exclaimed. “I had a hard time trying to track down the one who stole from you father.”

“Eight months,” the male replied. “It took you eight months. My father needed those funds. That court in Prythian has been questioning where all of their trade deals are. Do you know how much my father had lied because of what you did? He’s afraid it will cause a war and you know that we do not have the army to back us up. We barely have the funds because of you.”

“I’m sorry!” The female cried. 

“I take it we found the reason why all of the trade has stopped suddenly,” Y/N whispered. 

“But can we get back to where we were before all of this happened?” The female begged. “I love you!”

The male didn’t reply. “I don’t think that is a possibility. You have betrayed my father therefore you have betrayed me. You are lucky I am not banishing you for what you did.”

“Please!” The female cried. 

“No,” the male replied. “Anything that was between us is over. I will tell my father the truth of what happened and that he can now send his trade deals again. Be lucky that the court in Prythian decided not to send anyone here. You know their reputation.”

Footsteps approached the door and Azriel and Y/N began to panic. There was nowhere to hide. Azriel frantically looked around the hall and there was a small alcove. He wrapped his arm around Y/N’s waist and pulled her into it. Her back pressed tightly against his front. 

Azriel could feel all of her pressing against him. Her soft skin against his. The scent of her shampoo wafting up to his nose. The slope of her neck enticing Azriel to press his lips against it. 

The door opened and two footsteps came out onto the stone floor. Y/N held her breath and pressed her body further into Azriel’s. As she did so, her hand accidentally brushed the sensitive skin of his wing. Azriel jerked. 

A small vase to the side of Azriel fell from the ornate stone podium it sat on, cracking on the floor.

Everything stilled. 

“Who's there?” The male asked. 

Y/N turned around to look at Azriel, her eyes wide in panic. 

“I know your there,” the male said and Azriel realised that he had caught sight of the edge of his wings. 

Y/N, seemingly realising the same thing as Azriel whispered; “They’re looking. Kiss me now.”

“What?” Azriel whispered. He knew exactly what Y/N and said but he needed that second confirmation. 

“Kiss me,” Y/N said. 

Not wasting a moment longer, Azriel surged forward and pressed his lips against Y/N’s. They were just as he imagined. Soft, slightly sticky from her lip gloss, but Azriel didn’t care. He needed more. 

He spun the two around and pressed her against the wall kissing her even harder. Pressing his body against hers. His hand pressed between the wall and her head to not harm her. 

Y/N’s hands tangled in his hair, pulling at the strands. Azriel couldn’t help but moan deeply. Y/N only smiled against his lips. 

Azriel couldn’t get enough of her feel. He wished he could stay like this for eternity. He pulled away slightly. “Jump.”

Y/N did as he commanded and jumped up to wrap her legs around his hips. The slit in her dress made it easy. His hand found her thigh and squeezed it tightly before moving to her ass and it remained there. 

Azriel pressed his lips against hers, feeling himself harden in his trousers. The need to have her had taken over. 

His lips left Y/N’s lips and trailed down her neck, slightly nibbling the sensitive skin. 

“Az…” Y/N whined. 

Her hips seemed to move as she gained more friction. 

“You are so fucking beautiful,” Azriel panted against her skin, placing open mouthed kisses against the base of her throat. 

Azriel gripped her hair and pulled her head back, allowing him more access. Y/N only pulled on him in return. Azriel smirked against her neck. 

In their lust filled haze, Azriel and Y/N forgot about the two figures standing just behind them. The male cleared his throat. 

“Excuse me?” The male spoke up. 

Azriel felt as if he were doused in cold water as he pulled away from Y/N’s neck to look over his shoulder. 

“What?” Azrie growled, annoyed that he was interrupted. 

The female’s face was bright red as she looked between Y/N and Azriel. 

“I will return to the ballroom,” the female said, clearly flustered. She left rather quickly. 

The male remained, his eyes narrowed. 

Y/N smirked. “You can join us if you want? Sometimes it takes more than one male to satisfy me.”

Azriel’s hand squeezed Y/N’s ass possessively as the male simply scoffs and walks away. Neither Azriel nor Y/N moved until they were sure they were alone. 

“Do you think they bought the act?” Y/N asked. 

“When I kissed you down your throat? They definitely did, honey,” Azriel replied. 

Y/N laughed. “Back with the pet names? Perhaps I have my best friend back after all.”

Azriel smiled before it fell away. Best friend. What they just did was not what best friends do. But like Y/N said— it was just an act. 

 “Would you mind letting me down?” Y/N asked. 

“Oh,” Azriel said. “Of course.”

Y/N’s legs unwrapped from Azriel’s hips and he helped her to the floor. Her hands lingered for a brief moment but Azriel thought they imagined it. 

“Well we have our information now,” Y/N said. “Looks like there was nothing nefarious going on. Just someone not doing their job properly.”

“I don’t understand why the king didn’t write to Rhys,” Azriel said. “He would and helped.”

“Yes but a king admitting his fortune was stolen can cause a dent in his ego,” Y/N replied. “Looks like we are not needed here anymore.”

“Seems like it,” Azriel replied, a sense of disappointment washing over him at the fact that the fake rings on their fingers would be taken off the moment they returned home. 

“We paid for the room in the city for another two nights,” Y/N said. “It would be a shame if the money would go to waste. We could perhaps stay a little longer. Make a small holiday out of it.”

“But we need to report this to Rhys,” Azriel said. 

The disappointment was apparent on Y/N’s face. “You’re right. We should just pack and get back home.”

As she turned to walk down the hall, Azriel took her arm. “Or maybe we can stay for the extra two nights. We haven’t had a chance to look around yet.”

Y/N’s face lit up. “Are you being serious?”

Azriel smiled. He couldn’t help it, her joy was infectious. “Deadly.”

***

It was late at night and Azriel laid in his bed looking at the ceiling. Y/N was sitting by the fireplace reading a book. The room they had book was the last one available at the inn. And with only one bed it was even more of a predicament. 

For the two nights they had been here already, Y/N had slept in the armchair by the fire. Azriel had offered but he simply couldn’t get comfortable with his wings. Guiltily, he had taken the bed. And even then, the bed was simply too small. 

Azriel sat up and looked at Y/N. Her hair was simply tied back and hung down her back and her face was devoid of the gold makeup she had worn earlier in the day. She was wearing simple sleepwear and slippers on her feet. Even if she was beautiful back at the ballroom, she was even more beautiful now. 

Since they had returned to the inn, Azriel couldn’t stop thinking about their kiss in the hall. If they hadn’t been interrupted, what would have happened? Would he have told Y/N that he was her mate? Would he have confessed his love for her? Azriel wasn’t sure but he was sure that Y/N had enjoyed what had happened. 

He didn’t mention it to her but he could smell her arousal the whole time when they retired to the inn. The scent had gotten fainter as the night progressed but it still lingered in the air. 

Y/N turned the page as Azriel stood up from the bed. “I’m taking a walk.”

“Avoiding me again,” Y/N said. 

“What?” Azriel asked. 

“Don’t worry about it,” Y/N said. “I was only joking.”

The comment might have been a joke to Y/N but to Azriel it wasn’t. He was avoiding her. And he was avoiding his own feelings. Perhaps he should come clean. But there was that possibility that she would reject him. Azriel wasn’t sure he would be able to survive that. 

“Az, you were going for a—“

“I love you,” Azriel confessed and felt a large weight lift from his shoulders. 

Y/N laughed a little. “You don’t need to pretend right now. No one is here to see.”

“I’m not pretending, Y/N,” Azriel said. “I love you. I am in love with you.”

Y/N frowned and Azriel dreaded her response. This was the moment she rejected him. 

“Are you being serious, Az?” Y/N asked

“I am,” Azriel said. “I have been in love with you since the moment I met you, Y/N. That kiss earlier. I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. Feeling you pressed so close to me. Feeling your lips against mine. Hearing you moan my name. It is the only thing that has been on my mind since we left the palace. I don’t think I can keep my feelings a secret anymore.”

“Az,” Y/N began and Azrie prepared himself for the worst. 

“I haven’t been able to stop thinking about it either,” Y/N admitted. “I’ve been sitting here reading for over an hour and I have managed about three pages. I cannot concentrate on anything that isn’t you.”

Azriel held onto that small bit of hope within him. “Why do you keep thinking about it?”

Y/N sighed, though it sounded happy. “I can’t stop thinking about it because I have been hoping to kiss you for many years now.”

“What?”

Y/N giggled and it was music to Azriel’s ears. “Your feelings are not one sided, Azriel.”

“Please say what you mean, Y/N. I need to hear it,” Azriel said, his voice breathless. 

“I love you, Az,” Y/N admitted. “I just never thought you returned those feelings because I believed you to be in love with Mor.”

Azriel let out a sigh of relief. “I stopped loving Mor centuries ago. In fact ever since you walked into my life I haven’t even thought about Mor at all. You are constantly on my mind, Y/N. You have a home in my mind and I can never rid myself of you even if I wanted to.”

“Why did you never tell me?” Y/N asked, standing from the settee and walking over to Azriel. “Why have you been avoiding me this past year?” Y/N gently caressed his cheek. 

“I never thought you were in love with me, I didn’t want to force my feelings upon you if you didn’t feel the same. I would rather be friends than lose you completely,” Azriel said. 

“But that doesn’t explain why you avoided me.” 

Azriel leaned into Y/N’s touch. Placing his hand over the one that resided on his cheek, pressing a soft kiss to her palm. “Feel it, Y/N. Allow yourself to feel it. Open yourself up to it.”

Y/N closed her eyes and it wasn’t long before Azriel felt a warmth flood his body. Y/N’s eyes snapped open, shock resided within them. 

“You’re my mate?” Y/N said. 

“Yes I am,” Azriel said. “The reason why I avoided you was because the bond snapped for me a year ago. I never thought I had a mate. I’ve been alive for centuries and I’d given up hope. But when it snapped for you, I was overwhelmed by it. At first I was happy but I didn’t think you returned my feelings so that is why I began to avoid you. I was always overwhelmed by you. Your scent. Your laugh. Your touch. I would have never been able to control myself. I never wanted to force my feelings upon you if you didn’t return them and I didn’t want you to only develop them because of the bond. If your ever loved me, I only wanted you to fall for me naturally.”

Y/N’s eyes softened. “And I did.” 

Azriel smiled. “And I am glad you did.”

“Az,” Y/N said. “Please just kiss me. I need to feel you again.”

Azriel took no time and pressed his lips against hers. It started out gentle but soon the hunger and the pull of the bond changed it into something different. Something feral. 

Y/N backed Azriel up to the bed and as he sat, she straddled his hips, pressing her core against him. Azriel groaned into her mouth. 

“Perhaps,” Y/N said, panting, “we should invite that male to join us.”

Azriel growled and flipped their positions. Y/N now spread out on the bed below him, her hair fanned out on the pillow. 

“You’re mine,” Azriel said, kissing across her jaw. 

“Good, I don’t want to be anyone else’s.”

[odileeclipse]

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 29

<<<Previous Next>>>

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie was in the middle of telling Earl Grey Cookie something about their lab report’s spell diagrams being mislabeled when Chai Latte Cookie slammed her hands on the table with a dramatic gasp that made all of you jump.

“You won’t believe what I saw this morning!”

Earl Grey didn’t even flinch. “Romantic scandal or magical catastrophe?”

Chai Latte leaned in, eyes gleaming with excitement. “Romantic scandal.”

You blinked, your spoon hovering mid-air. “Is this about the professors again?”

“Oh, you bet it is,” she said, practically vibrating in her seat. “You remember Professor Star Anise Cookie and Professor Frosted Clementine Cookie?”

Hazelnut groaned into his teacup. “You never let this go.”

Chai Latte ignored him. “So. Apparently Professor Star Anise is going on leave for a while.”

Earl Grey raised an eyebrow. “Leave? Voluntary or sabbatical?”

“I don’t know,” she said, waving her hand, “but-and this is the good part I saw him this morning with a new accessory on his hand.”

You blinked. “What kind of accessory?”

Chai Latte smiled like she was about to drop the most important discovery in all of magical academia.

“A ring. On his left hand. That kind of accessory.”

Hazelnut Biscotti dropped his fork.

You sat up straighter, eyes wide. “No way.”

“Oh, yes way,” she said, drawing out the words. “It was gold with a tiny starlight enchantment. And I know it wasn’t there before because I have been watching. Closely.”

Earl Grey sipped his tea. “You need a hobby.”

“I have a hobby,” Chai Latte said proudly. “It’s observing forbidden romance unfold in real time. Speaking of which…”

She paused dramatically, making sure she had everyone’s attention. You all stared, begrudgingly invested.

“Two weeks ago,” she said, “I saw them on a walk. Just the two of them, near the eastern conservatory. Holding hands. And I forgot to tell you!”

“You forgot?” you gasped, scandalized.

“I was distracted!” she whined. “I got caught up with an essay, and then I ran into Hazelnut near the dueling court, and-whatever, the point is, they looked happy. Like, genuinely content. And now he’s leaving the Academy for a while and wearing a ring? Come on. It’s happening.”

You couldn’t help it you laughed. The sound came out lighter than you expected, and it loosened something tight in your chest.

“They’re really doing it,” you said, smiling despite everything. “A real forbidden love arc.”

“I still can’t believe you saw them first,” Chai said, turning to you with a warm smile, “but I’m so glad you did. If you hadn’t told me, I never would’ve looked. And now look at us we’re tracking an actual secret relationship. This is the kind of drama that keeps me alive.”

Hazelnut groaned again, muttering into his plate. “You’re all emotionally unstable.”

“You’re just mad you didn’t see it first,” you teased.

Earl Grey looked contemplative. “The ring is new… and she did avoid his gaze during faculty council last week.”

Chai gasped. “You noticed that too?!”

“Unfortunately,” he murmured.

You laughed again, this time genuinely. And for a moment, you let yourself lean into it. The warmth of their voices, the sparkle in Chai’s eyes, the utter absurdity of it all it washed over the quiet ache still settled behind your ribs.

You still had so many doubts. Still didn’t know if the people who’d tried to break you would succeed in the long run.

But you had this. You had them that always made everything feel a little more bearable. You leaned forward, squinting suspiciously across the table at Earl Grey. “Wait. How do you know what happened at faculty council?”

He didn’t even blink. “Observation.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Observation from where?”

Chai Latte turned slowly toward him, her expression dawning with theatrical disbelief. “Hold on. You were there?”

Earl Grey calmly sipped his tea, not even bothering to deny it.

“Are you saying you’ve been secretly spying on the faculty meetings too?” you asked, half-joking, half-horrified. “Is this what we’ve become?”

“There’s a difference between spying and… academic curiosity,” he replied smoothly, setting his cup down with a faint clink.

“There isn’t,” Chai declared. “You mean to tell me I was in the ventilation hallway above the east stairwell and I didn’t see you?”

You blinked, startled. “I’m sorry-the what now?”

“The vents,” Chai Latte said, matter-of-fact. “There’s this open space just above the stairwell landing near the old astronomy wing. If you climb up and wedge yourself between the beams, you can hear everything.”

Hazelnut Biscotti groaned. “I am begging you to choose sanity.”

“You were in the vents?” Earl Grey asked flatly.

“I had perfect line of sound,” she said proudly. “And you still haven’t told us where you were.”

Earl Grey glanced toward the high windows of the dining hall. “Third-floor maintenance corridor. There’s a warped tile. You can see through the gap if you know what angle to lean at.”

You and Chai both stared at him.

“What?” he asked, unbothered. “It’s a structural flaw. I simply… utilized it.”

“This is insane,” you muttered, grinning despite yourself. “So you were both watching the same council meeting and didn’t notice each other?”

“I was busy taking notes,” Earl Grey said.

“I was busy almost falling out of a vent!” Chai snapped. “Which I would’ve mentioned if someone had made noise, but noooo, apparently someone was just lurking in the shadows with their perfect angles.”

Hazelnut Biscotti put his head down on the table. “I don’t know any of you.”

You were laughing now, really laughing, the sound bubbling up in the pit of your chest half from amusement, half from sheer relief that something, anything, could still feel light.

“You two are unreal,” you said, wiping a tear from the corner of your eye. “Honestly. The real secret relationship here is the one between you and the Academy’s air ducts.”

Chai grinned. “You joke, but if I hear wedding bells between Frosted Clementine and Star Anise, you’re all going to thank me.”

Earl Grey calmly reached for his tea. “And I will document it with precise academic detail.”

You shook your head, still smiling.

And in that moment, it almost felt like the ache in your chest had never been there at all. As the laughter settled into a comfortable hum around the table, Chai Latte Cookie turned toward you, resting her chin in her palm with a knowing smile.

“So… are you going to tutoring today?”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden shift in tone. “Huh?”

“Tutoring,” she repeated sweetly. “With our ever-enigmatic, robe-draped scholar of the stars.” She batted her lashes with exaggerated flair. “You know who I mean.”

You resisted the urge to groan. “Shadow Milk.”

“Shadow Milk,” she echoed dreamily in an attempt to jest. “Mmm, yes. His voice could read me the theory of mana convergence and I’d still call it poetry.”

Hazelnut Biscotti pointed his fork at her, frowning. “You say that, but the moment he asked you to cite your sources on magical ether depletion, you’d start weeping.”

“Dramatically,” she said with a nod. “But I’d still do it.”

Earl Grey didn’t look up from his notes. “So. Tutoring. Are you going?”

You hesitated, spoon pausing halfway to your mouth.

That pause didn’t go unnoticed, not in your own head, anyway but your friends didn’t push. They must’ve chalked it up to nerves. Of course they would. After all, if you were going to meet with the Sage of Truth after what had happened this morning even they would be anxious.

You nodded once, not quite able to meet Chai’s eyes. “I… think so.”

“If it’s cancelled,” she said lightly, “we should all go to the library. Chill out, get the pre-lab done, maybe snag one of the quiet study rooms before they fill up.”

Hazelnut grunted. “We’re going to be in the library either way. Might as well work on something.”

Chai gave you a small nudge with her elbow. “But hey, if you do end up at tutoring and don’t get pulled into some philosophical debate or have your soul gently realigned by a single, piercing comment” she winked, “just meet us there after. No pressure.”

You nodded, managing a small smile.

And they didn’t press further. They didn’t question the hesitation in your voice or the flicker of something raw that passed through your expression when the word tutoring was said. They didn’t notice the slight tension in your shoulders or the way your hand gripped your spoon just a bit tighter.

Because to them, this was nerves. Flustered affection. The butterflies before you saw the person who made your life academically and maybe emotionally unpredictable.

And maybe that was true. But not all of it. Because today… today was different.

Today, you weren’t just nervous about seeing him. You were scared of what he saw in you now. Or worse what he didn’t. You twirled your spoon absentmindedly, watching how the light from the dining hall chandeliers danced on the curve of the metal. For a moment, you didn’t say anything just let the murmur of your friends fill the space like a buffer, soft and familiar.

Then, you looked up at them and smiled easy, casual, just the way they’d expect.

“If I don’t show up,” you said lightly, “dinner will be as usual. Like always.”

Your voice was smooth, practiced. Your expression relaxed, touched with just enough humor to pass as entirely genuine. 

And it worked of course it did. 

Chai Latte Cookie gave a bright hum of agreement, already moving on to discuss which table she planned to claim in the library. Hazelnut Biscotti grumbled something about seat-stealing first-years, and Earl Grey Cookie made a dry remark about bringing noise-cancelling enchantments.

None of them asked if you were really okay.

None of them pressed.

Because your smile had done what it was meant to do dispelled any lingering doubt, quieted any unspoken concern.

You could play the part. You’d learned to wear it well.

Even if inside, the thought of seeing him again made your chest feel like glass held under too much pressure.

Even if, for just a moment, you weren’t sure what would hurt more if he looked at you the same way he always did…

…or if he didn’t. Lunch passed in a blur of half-listened conversation and the occasional half-hearted laugh. You kept your plate mostly picked over, your smile mostly in place, and your voice low enough to seem calm, high enough to pass as fine.

When your friends got up and tapped your shoulder looking at you with worried expressions, signaling the end of break and the start of the next rotation of classes, you moved on autopilot. Shoulders back, head up, books under your arm.

You didn’t let yourself think.

Not about what had happened that morning. Not about what might happen this afternoon.

Just get through the day.

The History of Food lecture hall was as warm and dim as ever, the air perfumed with faint traces of cinnamon and aged parchment. Professor Brambleberry Cookie, a soft-spoken scholar with a deep affection for ancient culinary texts and restorative teas, was already mid-monologue when you slid into your usual seat in the back corner.

“…and of course, the Honeyroot Pudding Riots of the Mint Age were not, in fact, a response to pudding taxation,” he was saying with serene conviction, “but to the mass replacement of traditional clove-based spice blends with imported golden cardamom.”

You blinked slowly.

Your quill slipped from your fingers.

And before you could stop yourself, your head dipped into the crook of your elbow.

Sleep crept in gently, as if it knew your body had already surrendered. You didn’t fight it. Not here, not in this cocoon of old legends and drifting spice lore. Brambleberry’s voice became a lullaby of lost recipes and sweet-root trade routes, his words washing over you in soft, uninterrupted waves.

You didn’t dream. You didn’t need to.

You just rested.

For the first time that day, your mind went quiet.

It wasn’t peace, not really.

But it was a pause.

And that was something.

By the time chattering became known again, your body jolted slightly, muscles stiff from being folded awkwardly for nearly an hour. You blinked, stretched your fingers, and wiped the crease from your cheek.

Professor Brambleberry was already collecting his notes, his voice fading into a gentle reminder about next week’s reading on ceremonial feast magic.

You gathered your things slowly.

Because you knew what came next.

It was time.

Tutoring.

Your legs felt heavier than usual as you walked, each step toward the Scholar’s Wing ringing louder than it should have. The hallway was quiet. Too quiet. The earlier sting of words still echoed at the back of your mind.

But you kept going anyway.

Because no matter how uncertain your heart felt…You wanted to see him.

Even if you were afraid of what his eyes might say. You walked the path to his office like you always did.

The corridor was quiet too quiet, like the world had pressed pause. Golden lanternlight stretched long shadows along the Scholar’s Wing, the familiar weight of carved stone and hushed magic resting on your shoulders like a cloak.

You passed the same sigil-inscribed window panes, the same soft scuffs of centuries-old footfalls carved into the floor. And then, there it was his door. Ornate. Familiar. Carved with constellations that shimmered faintly at your approach.

You stopped, inhaled once, then knocked.

Three times.

Just like always.

The ritual felt grounding. If you stuck to the rhythm, maybe everything would stay in its place.

The door opened silently, smoothly, as though it had been waiting for you.

He was already at his desk, sleeves drawn back just slightly, ink drying on the edge of a scroll he’d been annotating. His quill was poised mid-thought, and for the briefest moment, he didn’t look up. Not right away.

And that small beat of silence it let you decide.

If you just… pretended it didn’t happen, maybe he would too.

No confrontation. No pity. No soft, measured voice asking you if you were alright when the truth was that you weren’t, and hearing him say it would undo you all over again.

So you stepped in.

You sat down.

You said nothing about the morning.

And neither did he.

It was almost convincing, the way he moved through the motions reaching for a second scroll, placing it before you, his voice as composed as ever when he finally spoke.

“There was a question you had last week about binding glyphs and elemental temperance,” he said, as though nothing in the world had shifted. “I found a passage that expands upon the tension between the two. You may find it enlightening.”

You nodded, replying just as evenly, “Thank you.”

And for a time, it almost felt normal.

He let you off the hook. Or maybe he was letting you pretend you were. The difference didn’t matter, not right now. Because you were already playing along.

If he wasn’t going to say anything, neither were you. You could survive this. You could be fine.

At least… for now. You pulled out your notes with practiced ease, laying them carefully on the desk between you both. Your fingers hovered at the page, hesitating for just a moment before you tapped the section in question runes underlined, a messy margin note scrawled beside it in a rushed half-thought.

“This part,” you said softly. “From Professor Almond Custard’s lecture. I think I missed something about the elemental delay between the aetheric influx and sigil anchoring.”

The Sage of Truth no Shadow Milk Cookie, in this quiet, familiar space shifted in his seat, folding his hands with gentle purpose as he leaned slightly closer to scan the page. His eyes flicked from the notes to you, back to the notes again.

“You’re referencing his lecture on inverse layering,” he said thoughtfully. “Here-” he reached for a nearby sheet of fresh parchment and began sketching the rune sequence, his ink strokes as precise and fluid as breath. “The delay isn’t a flaw. It’s intentional. It allows the spell to settle before the second layer amplifies its effect. If you tried to bind both at once-”

“The structure would collapse,” you murmured, watching the runes unfold beneath his hand. “Right.”

But you didn’t move your gaze back to your notes.

Because he was smiling.

Not the small, cryptic smile he often wore when entertaining a clever question or watching you slowly reach the answer on your own. This one was… softer. Fuller. Lacking that edge of performative elegance he usually carried like a second cloak.

And the way he looked at you, even as he continued explaining there was no theatrical flourish. No showmanship. Just warmth.

Too much warmth.

Your brow furrowed slightly. And after a long pause of silence on your part, you finally said, “Okay, no, hold on.”

He stopped mid-word, blinking once.

You leaned back slightly in your chair, eyeing him with mild suspicion. “You’re being weird.”

He raised an eyebrow, tilting his head ever so slightly. “Am I?”

“Yes,” you said, pointing a quill at him like an accusation. “You’re being… smiley.”

His lips twitched. “Is that a crime?”

“Not inherently, no,” you said slowly, narrowing your eyes. “But it’s weird on you. Not bad weird. Just…” You trailed off, thinking, trying to place it.

 “It’s like uncanny valley. You’re not supposed to not have your usual Sage-of-Truth aura of restrained amusement and long-suffering composure. I’m used to the, you know, you version of gentle condescension.”

“I do not condescend,” he replied mildly, though amusement shimmered just under the surface.

“Not openly,” you shot back.

He looked at you for a long moment, the corner of his mouth pulling just slightly higher.

You swallowed. Then because the thought wouldn’t leave you added, “This doesn’t have anything to do with what happened this morning… does it?”

He blinked. For the briefest second, something flickered behind his eyes. Not guilt. Not surprise.

Just knowing.

But when he spoke again, his voice was as calm and composed as always.

“I am merely glad you’re here,” he said simply.

And though the words were soft, they landed in your chest like a weight not heavy, but grounding.

You didn’t know what to say to that.

So instead, you looked back down at your notes and muttered, “Still weird,” even as your lips betrayed you with the faintest upward curve.

But your heart was still unsteady.

Because something had changed. And you didn’t know what it meant yet. You didn’t look back down at your notes.

You couldn’t.

Not when he said it like that so simple, so casual, so infuriatingly sincere. Like it was just a fact, no different than a rune structure or elemental law. “I am merely glad you’re here.”

Your gaze snapped back up to him.

And you stared.

Hard.

Not in a confrontational way, but like someone trying to squint through fog to see if there was something hidden in the distance. Your brow furrowed. 

You tilted your head slightly, as if changing the angle would shift the meaning of his words. As if there had to be more.

Because it didn’t make sense.

Not the way he said it. Not the quiet warmth that lingered in the room long after the words had left his mouth. Not the way he was looking at you now hands folded, posture relaxed, absolutely radiating smug satisfaction.

“What?” you asked, suspiciously.

He blinked once, slowly, like a cat basking in the sunlight.

“Nothing,” he said smoothly, though his tone was all too pleased.

“No,” you said, pointing at him again. “Don’t do that. Don’t look all…” You gestured vaguely at his entire face. “Like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you know something I don’t.”

He tilted his head ever so slightly. “That’s hardly new.”

You scowled. “Okay, yes, but you’re enjoying it.”

A beat passed.

His lips curled not into a smirk, not into his usual amused half-smile, but into something far too pleased. Like he’d just won a debate you hadn’t realized you were having.

“I often enjoy our conversations,” he said.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Isn’t it?”

You squinted harder, trying to read him, really read him, but it was like trying to make sense of constellations in a storm. There was something there, you just couldn’t see it clearly enough to understand.

Still, he said nothing else. Didn’t explain. Didn’t elaborate. Just sat there, utterly composed, like a scholar content with a theory they’d already proven.

And he looked so pleased with himself.

You exhaled slowly, dragging your hand down your face in mild defeat. “You’re going to be like this the whole session, aren’t you?”

“That depends,” he replied with maddening grace. “Will you be staring at me the whole time?”

Your eyes widened.

He smiled again barely but it was there.

Unapologetic. Warm. And completely unreadable. It’s as though he lets you peer through the cracked window, enough to let the breeze in but keep animals out.

You turned back to your notes, muttering under your breath.

“Unbelievable.”

But your heart was doing strange things again. And this time, it had nothing to do with anxiety. You stared at your notes, though you weren’t really seeing them. The glyphs blurred together, your own handwriting a tangle of half-sentences and frantic loops, but none of it mattered right now not when you could still feel his smile.

That same quiet smile that hadn’t left since you stepped into the room.

It was throwing you off.

He was always composed, always kind in his own exacting way, but today… he was soft. And warm. And pleased. Like someone who knew something you didn’t. And worse he clearly wasn’t going to just say it.

You tapped your quill once against the page.

Then again.

And then, finally because the curiosity was gnawing at you and pretending it wasn’t wouldn’t help. You turned to him fully and asked, earnestly

“Alright… what is it?”

He glanced up from the diagram he was annotating, brows raised ever so slightly. “Pardon?”

You squinted at him, the corner of your mouth twitching. “What’s got you in such a good mood today? You’re being way too... gentle.”

He said nothing at first. His eyes those mismatched, thoughtful eyes held yours like he was studying something delicate. And then, slowly, he set down his quill and folded his hands atop the parchment, his expression entirely serene.

“Would it surprise you,” he said, “if I said it’s because you’re here?”

You blinked.

Your breath hitched just slightly nothing dramatic, just enough to feel.

“No? But…You’re not usually this” you gestured vaguely in his direction again “smiley.”

“I smile often.”

“Not like this.”

His head tilted just a fraction, as if amused by your insistence. “Should I frown instead? Return to my cold, unreachable demeanor? Speak only in cryptic riddles and ancient quotes?”

You stared at him, deadpan. “That’s literally your default.”

“Ah,” he mused, the corner of his mouth pulling just a little higher. “Then I suppose today must be unusual.”

You huffed, crossing your arms loosely. “Seriously, though. What is it?”

He looked at you for a long moment. Not in silence, but in quiet. The kind that settled rather than filled, as if he were letting the space between words speak for him.

“You came back.”

The words struck so gently that they almost didn’t register at first.

You felt your chest go tight, your shoulders still. Your mind flashed unbidden to the morning to the hallway, the scholars, the way your voice had failed you under the weight of doubt. The way you’d stared at the ground, too afraid to look him in the eye.

You opened your mouth then closed it again.

“I thought,” he said softly, “that you might not.”

You looked down, suddenly unsure of what to do with your hands. “I almost didn’t.”

“I know.”

His voice wasn’t smug now. It wasn’t proud.

It was relieved.

You bit your lip, staring hard at the glyphs again. “You’re still smiling.”

“I know,” he said again. “I think I will be for a while.” You stared at him for a long moment, the weight of his words still echoing softly in your chest. “You came back.” And maybe that alone was enough for him.

But still your thoughts wandered. To the hallway. To the memory of those voices dripping with veiled cruelty. To the way his own voice, when it rose, had trembled not with uncertainty, but with controlled fury.

He hadn’t just reprimanded them. That much you knew.

You remembered the tone. That barely leashed steel, the subtle poison woven into his words. You remembered how they went with him no hesitation, no argument. Just obedient silence and the faint stench of fear trailing after them.

And now he was here. Smiling. Soft. Pleased in a way that made your skin tingle with uncertainty.

You narrowed your eyes, thoughts circling.

“…You’re not just smiling because I came back, are you?”

He raised a brow, entirely unbothered. “Am I not allowed to find joy in your presence?”

“That’s not what I meant.” You leaned forward slightly, suspicious. “You’re looking really… pleased with yourself. Like someone who’s either won a very long argument, or buried a body in the faculty archives.”

He hummed, the sound lilting and amused. “A curious set of options.”

“You know what I mean.”

His eyes gleamed faintly beneath the lamplight mismatched and unreadable. He didn't respond, not right away. Just tilted his head slightly, as if letting your question hang in the air to see what shape it might take.

“I only did what was necessary,” he said, eventually.

That should’ve comforted you. But the way he said it so calm, so sugared with finality it made your spine straighten.

“…Define ‘necessary.’”

He gave you a look so sweet, so gentle, so maddeningly fond, it sent a shiver down your back.

“I don’t think you’d like the answer.”

You squinted at him, unsure if you were more concerned or impressed. “Do I want to know?”

“That,” he said delicately, “is entirely up to you.”

You stared at him for another second, then sat back in your chair with a groan. “You’re impossible.”

“On the contrary,” he replied, taking up his quill again, “I am perfectly within reach.”

You covered your face with both hands, muffling a sound that was somewhere between a laugh and a slow descent into madness. “This is definitely worse than burying a body.”

He said nothing.

But the smile that lingered on his face was as soft as the light between stars. You dropped your hands from your face, staring across the desk at him, your curiosity gnawing at your insides like a worm wriggling through parchment.

You tried to focus on your notes tried but your eyes kept darting back to him. To the way he seemed suspiciously at ease. Not smug, not gloating… just quietly content. And that was somehow worse.

The Sage of Truth was never loud about anything. But when he was this calm, this serene?

It meant something had already been decided. Handled.

 Concluded.

You narrowed your eyes. “Okay, seriously… what did you do?”

He didn’t look up from the scroll he was annotating. “Nothing that wasn’t already overdue.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He dipped his quill, continued writing. “That is precisely the point.”

You exhaled sharply, shifting in your seat. “Because I keep thinking about it. About what you said. About what I heard. That wasn’t just a lecture in the corridor.”

He glanced up at that briefly but didn’t deny it.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt them,” you added, brow furrowed, “but… what did you do? I’m not asking for every detail, just… something. Anything.”

A beat passed.

Then, slowly, he set the quill down. Folded his hands. Looked at you.

“Let us say,” he began carefully, “that a few names will no longer hold the weight they once did within the Academy.”

Your breath caught.

“You… you didn’t get them expelled, did you?”

“I didn’t need to,” he said, calm as ever. “They merely reminded the Dean why favor and power are not the same thing. The former can be revoked. The latter must be earned.”

You blinked. “So you… humiliated them?”

“I corrected a misperception,” he replied, almost gently. “They believed they could harm something precious to me without consequence. I allowed them the opportunity to discover they were wrong.”

Your heart stuttered at the word precious, but you pushed past it, still too caught on everything else.

“And they just… took it?”

His smile didn’t reach his eyes. “No one takes a lesson willingly. But I made sure it would last.”

You stared.

A mix of horror and awe welled in your chest. You weren’t sure if it was good that he didn’t raise his voice. That he didn’t need to.

“What did you say to them?” you whispered.

He leaned forward, just enough for his voice to fall into something softer, something meant only for you.

“I told them they had overstepped,” he said, “and that I was not nearly as patient as they believed me to be. I told them that reputation means very little when standing before truth. And then I reminded them what it feels like to be seen truly seen not as they wish to be, but as they are.”

A long, quiet breath left your lungs.

And then, in a voice just above a whisper, you said, “Stars above.”

He tilted his head. “Do you regret asking?”

You swallowed hard.

“No,” you said. “But I don’t think I’ll ever ask again.”

You reached across the desk before you could think better of it fingers brushing lightly over his hand, just enough to anchor yourself to something real. His skin was warm, steady, the weight of him calm as the stars he so often invoked.

He stilled at the contact, but didn’t pull away.

“I don’t think you’re lying,” you said softly, your voice steadier than you expected. “I really don’t.”

His eyes met yours soft, unreadable, and ever watchful.

“But I do think,” you added gently, “that you’re excluding some truths.”

He was quiet.

Not surprised. Not guilty.

Just… pleased.

His lips curled, faint and indulgent. “Perhaps,” he allowed. “But only because some truths do not need to burden you.”

You stared at him.

He smiled a little more smug and satisfied in a way that was far too elegant to be smug at all.

“I promise,” he said, voice rich with certainty, “it was nothing they didn’t deserve.”

You opened your mouth to respond but didn’t.

Because in that moment, something changed in his gaze. He was still looking at you. Still listening. Still here.

But his thoughts… Drifted.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

The room was cold.

Not in temperature, but in tone too clean, too polished, too politically precise. The walls were lined with curated paintings and golden-framed certifications of magical tenure, each artifact placed with such careful intent that they betrayed the very nature of their owner.

Dean White Sorrel Cookie sat behind their curved desk, fingers laced. Silent. Patient.

The three stood across from him, still composed, still dignified, but no longer confident.

Camellia’s jaw was tight. Serrano's hands were folded neatly, like they didn’t dare fidget. Fennel Drizzle was pretending to look at the bookshelf behind him, as though ignoring the moment would excuse it.

Shadow Milk Cookie did not sit. He loomed not by raising his voice, but by refusing to lower it.

“I am not here to protect my name,” he said, each word precise. “I am here to protect what I have chosen to nurture.”

The Dean shifted, speaking only when the silence had stretched thin. “Your words carry weight, Sage. But this… this cannot be handled solely on sentiment.”

“Sentiment?” His voice did not rise. But something underneath it sharpened. “I spoke not from emotion, but from observation. They saw something unguarded and tried to destroy it. They wielded status like a weapon. I am only returning the blow.”

He turned toward the three students, and when his eyes found them, they no longer stood with pride they stood with tension. With fear.

“You call yourselves scholars,” he said, tone like frost beneath velvet. “Yet you act as children. Petty. Jealous. Cruel. You believed I would look the other way because you’ve studied the same texts I once did. Because your mentors once walked beside mine. But I assure you lineage does not impress me. And your names will not shield you from consequence.”

He stepped closer. Calm. Exact. Like every syllable was carved in marble.

“I will not call for your expulsion. I have no need to.”

Camellia’s breath caught.

Serrano’s composure cracked, just barely.

Fennel swallowed hard.

“Because by the time your names are reviewed for research approval, for mentorship under any tenured scholar they will remember this. Every conversation, every panel, every recommendation… will be colored by what you’ve done.”

He turned to the Dean. “That is all I request.”

The Dean said nothing at first. Then nodded slowly. “Noted.”

Shadow Milk Cookie bowed just slightly. Not in deference, but closure.

And when he left the room, not one of them dared look him in the eye.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺

He hadn’t spoken for a while.

He was still holding your hand, his thumb gently brushing along the ridge of your knuckles in an absentminded motion. Present. Thoughtful.

But his expression had gone distant like he’d wandered somewhere, just for a moment, to remember something that didn’t belong to this space.

Then his eyes returned to you clear again, anchored in now.

You tilted your head slightly. “You drifted.”

He hummed. “Only for a moment.”

You squeezed his hand lightly. “Was it one of the truths you didn’t want to tell me?”

He smiled again sweet, unreadable, still so pleased with himself.

“I think,” he murmured, “you’d rather not know.”

You opened your mouth then hesitated.

And for now, just for now…You let it go.

Because some truths, even from him, could wait. The warmth of his hand lingered against yours, steady and deliberate, but his gaze was no longer distant. And when he finally spoke, his voice had shifted.

It was no longer teasing. No longer full of quiet triumph or veiled mischief. It was something slower. Heavier.

“I was… angry.”

The words settled between you like soft thunder.

You blinked, caught off guard by the confession. He rarely if ever admitted to emotion so plainly. Not without cloaking it in metaphor, or in distant philosophical tangents. But not this time.

“I saw your face,” he continued, his voice barely above a whisper. “After they said what they did. That expression… you looked like someone who had forgotten how to stand tall.”

You looked down, eyes burning at the edges. You hadn’t realized he’d seen it so clearly.

“I would’ve burned them,” he said, voice still low but sharp with restraint. “In another life, in another time, I would have used every tool at my disposal to dismantle the pedestal they so proudly stood upon.”

You looked up sharply, eyes wide. He met your gaze calmly.

“But I didn’t,” he went on, gentler now. “Because I must choose logic. I must remember who I am not only for the Academy’s sake, but for yours. Because I will not shame you by being reckless in your name.”

Your breath caught.

He took a moment. Looked at you like you were something he was still learning to fully understand. Still memorizing, as if the shape of your heart was something he needed time to master.

“I hope,” he said carefully, “I have made it clear how much I care for you. That it is not obligation. It is not pity. It is not anything so hollow.”

You stared at him, your heart thudding so loudly it felt like it echoed in your ears.

“I heard what they said to you,” he added softly. “Every word. And I hated myself for not intervening sooner. For not standing between them and you before their poison reached you.”

He reached up, thumb brushing the back of your hand.

“But I was too late.”

You didn’t mean to cry.

Not again.

But the tears welled anyway slow, silent, and sharp as glass. His words didn’t hurt. That wasn’t what made them fall.

It was because someone saw it all. Not just your struggle. Not just your effort. But the weight of what it cost to carry it. And he cared. Enough to be angry. Enough to show it, even when it fractured the mask he wore so well.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice cracking. “I didn’t mean to”

“Don’t,” he said gently. “Don’t apologize.”

You lowered your head, shoulders trembling.

And then, in the only way he seemed to know how, he comforted you.

Not with grand gestures.

Not with poetic promises or borrowed stardust.

But by reaching forward quietly and sliding your chair next to his. He turned his palm up, letting yours rest in it fully. No tension. No demand. Just presence.

“I cannot fix what was said,” he murmured. “But I will make sure they never dare again.”

You nodded, not trusting yourself to speak.

He tilted his head. “And if you ever forget how to stand tall,” he added softly, “then I will stand with you, until you remember.”

The tears fell harder at that but you didn’t hide them this time.

Because you were already seen.

And you were already held.

You let your weight shift slowly, carefully, until your shoulder rested against his. He didn’t move away.

If anything, he adjusted just slightly so your head could lean more comfortably against the layered fabric of his clothes. Warmth radiated from him, steady and unshifting, like the calm pulse of a lantern flame untouched by wind.

You closed your eyes.

There were no more tears left, but your body still trembled with the exhaustion of having held everything in for so long. Here, against him, it felt easier. Softer. Like the ache in your chest could fade if you were quiet enough, still enough, close enough.

You breathed in, slow. His scent, as always, was something unplaceable: clean parchment, moonlight through old stone, and the faintest trace of starlit citrus. You could never quite describe it. But it was his.

“…Hey,” you mumbled, voice sleep-heavy, barely more than a whisper.

He hummed in response, low and quiet.

“Would you… just this once…” your words slowed, the question already beginning to blur, “...would you become a woman?”

There was a pause. You didn’t open your eyes. Your cheek was too warm against his shoulder, and it was nice there. Too nice.

“I just think it’d be cool,” you continued, more dream than thought now. “Like. What would you look like? Would your voice still sound like truth but, like, softer truth? Maybe lilac truth. Or… velvet truth? That sounds fake. But like… could you do long hair? I feel like you’d be elegant. You’d be like... beautiful but terrifying. Like a goddess who lectures you for mispronouncing runes…”

He said nothing.

“Or wait. What if you were really short. No taller? Would you still wear robes? Oh no, wait, wait what if it was, like, a cloak but with... with earrings. You seem like you’d wear earrings. Ones with little enchanted…”

Your voice trailed off, your sentence never quite finished.

And he watched as your breathing began to slow, your lashes still damp but fluttering just once before stilling.

You were asleep.

Not gently, not gracefully. You had slipped into slumber like a feather dropping through water slow, unsteady, but sure.

Of course, what you didn’t know, what you wouldn’t feel was the faint shimmer of light that passed beneath your cheek, where it pressed against his shoulder. A near-invisible pulse of white magic, drawn with care and cast with precision. Not coercion, never that. Just comfort.

A spell laced with peace.

A spell that whispered you are safe.

He let you rest.

Your questions faded into the hush of the room, unanswered but heard.

And even though he had said not today, his gaze lingered on the crown of your head, and something fond something almost wistful glimmered quietly in his eyes.

He would not show you now.

But perhaps… one day.

When the weight in your heart was lighter. When your hands no longer trembled. When you no longer asked as a way to stay close.

Then maybe he would become the truth you imagined. Just once. The dream took shape like mist weaving into something solid, slow, seamless, sweet.

You didn’t realize you were dreaming at first. It felt real. As real as sunlight on your face and the weight of a leather-bound tome in your arms.

You stood at the Sage of Truth’s side as his equal. Your name etched beneath his on the grand research plaque that glowed in opalescent script above your shared workspace. The Spire of Knowledge, as you imagined it, was impossibly tall, stretching far past the clouds, with halls of crystal and gold, runes etched into every surface, the air humming with possibility.

The sky outside its arched windows shifted with the stars. Time had no meaning here. Only discovery did.

You wore robes now long, refined, detailed with the colors you always liked best, enchanted thread glinting at the seams. A scholar’s seal marked your shoulder. Your seal.

And he was beside you, pouring over texts you had helped uncover, his hands ink-stained from hours of study.

He looked at you not like a student.  Not like someone learning. But as a partner. A companion. A mind that walked beside his. And you turned to him, heart full of a strange, wild joy, and said

“I found it.”

He looked up. “Found what?”

You grinned. “A way to stay.”

His eyes narrowed faintly, curious, gentle. “Stay?”

You nodded, breath catching. “To be immortal. With you. I found a way.”

The light behind him flickered like starlight. “Truly?”

“Yes,” you whispered. “I’ll never have to leave. Not even time can take me from you now.”

And in your dream, he smiled radiantly, impossibly full of pride and wonder and warmth. His hands reached for yours, steady and sure.

“Then we will have forever,” he said, voice echoing like music, like truth made whole.

Your friends were there too, in the background Chai Latte spinning through the archives, teasing you about proper citation formatting, Hazelnut Biscotti muttering over a spell scroll that wouldn’t align, Earl Grey calmly sipping tea while writing an unnecessarily dramatic thesis title.

And everything was perfect.

There was no fear. No doubt. Only happiness, and the feeling of belonging so deeply that it left no room for insecurity.

Forever was yours.

Until-

A gentle touch on your shoulder, warm and grounding, stirred the edges of that perfect vision.

“…Time to wake, little star.”

You stirred, breath catching as the light of the Spire faded.

And when your eyes opened, you were no longer in robes of woven light, no longer immortal or infinite. You were in his office, head still resting against his shoulder, the soft paper scent of his robes filling your senses.

His voice was quiet, close. “Dinner. Your friends will be waiting.”

The dream clung to your skin like dew, sweet and slow to vanish.

You looked up at him, and he was watching you with a rare tenderness one that said he knew. Maybe not the contents of your dream, but the peace it had brought you.

You sat up slowly, blinking away sleep, your heart still full of stars.

“…Thanks,” you murmured, voice hoarse but genuine.

He gave the faintest nod. “You looked content.”

You didn’t say what you’d seen.

But a small part of you still held onto the dream tucked away behind your ribs like a secret.

Because even if it wasn’t real…

It could be.

You nodded slowly, the last traces of the dream still curling gently at the corners of your mind like lingering starlight. Your voice came out soft, still touched with sleep.

“It was a good dream.”

His gaze didn’t shift, but something in the air around him seemed to pause like he was giving space to the words, honoring them in his quiet way.

You offered a faint, sheepish smile as you sat up fully, stretching the stiffness from your shoulders. “As much as I want to stay asleep forever,” you murmured, “I can’t risk Chai Latte launching a search party.”

That earned you the smallest tilt of his head, the barest amusement rising in his eyes. “You believe she would?”

You gave him a knowing look. “She once tracked me across three buildings and two restricted stairwells when I missed one dinner. She would not hesitate.”

“Formidable,” he mused.

“She would drag Earl Grey and Hazelnut into it, too,” you said, rubbing your eyes. “Hazelnut would complain the whole way, and Earl would pretend he wasn’t involved while definitely being involved.”

He said nothing, but the curve at the corner of his mouth deepened, pleased, not amused. Like seeing you like this tired but smiling was its own reward.

You gathered your things slowly, lingering a beat longer than you needed to. The dream still hummed somewhere under your skin, gentle and golden.

He stood as you did, ever the scholar, but his movements slower now. Intentional.

As you reached the door, you paused and glanced back at him over your shoulder. “Thanks… for letting me rest.”

“Always.”

And with that, you stepped into the hall, the warm light of evening spilling across the stone, ready to return to the friends who would be waiting… and the quiet dream you’d carry, still nestled somewhere in your chest, just for you.

It was well into dinner by the time Chai Latte Cookie finally dropped the question right in the middle of you recounting a story about your nap-turned-fake-shapeshifting-plea with the Sage.

You had been laughing truly laughing for the first time since this morning. The soft clinking of utensils, the steady buzz of the dining hall, the flicker of enchanted lanterns warming the air around your small table… for a moment, everything felt light again.

And then Chai leaned forward, lowering her voice but not her intensity.

“Okay, but what happened today?”

You blinked, the shift in tone pulling you out of your haze.

Chai glanced around to make sure no one was listening too closely then looked directly at you. “I heard something happened earlier. Something big.”

Your breath caught just slightly but before you could respond, she barreled on.

“I wasn’t going to say anything at first, but… people are talking. Like, serious whispers going around. Stuff about the Sage. Something he said in the halls? I don’t even know if I trust the sources, but apparently, it was loud.”

Hazelnut Biscotti raised a brow. “The Sage? Loud?”

“That’s what makes it so unbelievable!” Chai hissed. “You know how he never raises his voice? Well, someone said they were in the stairwell above the Scholar’s Wing and they heard him say something that made their knees go weak. Like, not even magical, just pure ‘I-am-a-force-of-the-cosmos’ kind of power.”

Earl Grey glanced up from his plate, utterly composed. “I heard something too. Supposedly, he told them something like ‘truth does not tremble beneath your legacy.’”

Hazelnut let out a low whistle. “If he did say that, I kind of want it printed on a banner.”

“I know, right?” Chai whispered excitedly. “And another person swears and I mean swears they saw him looking furious. Like, visibly furious. Not yelling. Just… cold. Eyes narrowed, mouth tight. Like he was disappointed on a level that could shift tectonic plates.”

Earl Grey added with a slight nod, “There’s a rumor that he made them apologize to the Dean personally. Not just in writing. In person.”

Chai’s eyes widened. “See, that’s what makes me think something really happened. I’ve never even seen him speak to someone like Camellia Pith Cookie, let alone get involved in whatever drama those three pull. And if he stepped in? It must’ve been serious.”

You stared at your food, not touching it, your fingers tightening ever so slightly around your fork.

“What did they do?” Chai asked suddenly, turning to you. “Do you know? Because I have no idea. No one does. The rumors are all about him, but nobody knows what they did. Not a word of it.”

You hesitated.

Her voice softened. “They didn’t do something to you… did they?”

You shook your head, too quickly. “No. I mean I don’t think so.”

Which wasn’t exactly a lie. You weren’t ready to say what happened. Not yet.

Chai didn’t press, but she still looked deeply curious. “It just… it’s so weird. No one’s defending them. Even the Scholars’ Circle’s being quiet. It’s like everyone’s too scared to ask.”

Earl Grey tilted his head. “Perhaps we should be,” he said plainly. “Whatever they did, it earned something most scholars never see the Sage of Truth setting aside diplomacy.”

Hazelnut Biscotti, who had been silent until now, crossed his arms. “Look, I’m not one to gossip. And I don’t like wishing ill on anyone.”

You glanced at him, grateful for his usual steadiness.

“But after what they’ve said to you before,” he continued deliberately avoiding specifics, “they probably deserved it.”

Chai nodded solemnly. “Absolutely.”

She leaned her chin on her hand, looking thoughtful. “Still… I want to know. I need to know what they did. Someone has to find out. They must’ve done something really awful. That’s the only reason I can think of that would make him” she waved her hand in the air dramatically “unleash cosmic disappointment.”

You forced a small smile, heart still tender, mind still echoing with the memory of him saying “I hated myself for not arriving sooner.”

If only they knew.

But for now… you let them theorize. And you said nothing.

The theories began flying faster than spoons scraping empty dessert bowls.

Chai Latte Cookie leaned forward over the table, hands animated as she recounted every dramatic line she’d collected like shiny gems in the past few hours. “Okay so someone definitely heard him say, ‘You are not worthy of the legacy you inherited.’ Isn’t that the coldest thing you’ve ever heard?”

Earl Grey Cookie nodded, adjusting his cuffs calmly. “It’s circulating in the Scholar’s Wing. There’s also that other one ‘I do not suffer liars, and I do not suffer fools.’ Apparently, someone dropped their satchel when he said it.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie frowned thoughtfully. “I heard something too, walking past the eastern study corridor. Didn’t catch the whole thing, but it was quiet. Too quiet. Like… unnatural. Everyone said it felt like the air got heavier. You could hear a pin drop.”

Chai gasped. “That’s what Meringue Whip said! That it felt like the magic around him paused. Like it was listening. Like even the runes on the walls were scared.”

Earl Grey folded his hands with precise grace. “It’s rare. But I’ve seen it once before, during a symposium when someone tried to publicly challenge one of his older texts. He didn’t raise his voice. He didn’t move. He just… looked at them. And that look was enough to make the entire room fall silent.”

“That’s exactly what people are saying,” Chai said, voice breathless. “He didn’t yell. He didn’t need to. He just… stood there. And spoke so calmly.”

Hazelnut added, “Someone said it wasn’t even what he said it was how he said it. Like it wasn’t anger. It was disappointment. The kind that makes your bones rattle.”

You sat silently, listening to all of it, every whispered secondhand quote and magical theory spun around your quiet presence.

“Anyway,” Chai continued, visibly buzzing with energy, “some people think they tampered with research. Others say they stole theory work from someone else. Someone even said they misrepresented their citation matrix in a journal draft.”

“They’d be expelled for that,” Earl Grey noted.

“Exactly,” Chai said, eyes gleaming. “But none of that’s been confirmed.”

Hazelnut shrugged. “They’ve been too quiet. Like, eerily quiet. For people that loud? That’s never a good sign.”

Chai folded her arms on the table, still glancing between you and the others. “Whatever they did… it must’ve been horrible. Something really personal. Because I’ve never heard of the Sage of Truth being like that. Ever.”

There was a silence, all three of them turning over their own theories, the last echoes of his supposed words still hanging in the air between them.

You poked at your food, quiet but listening, heart a little heavier despite the warm hum of voices around you.

They didn’t know the truth.

They didn’t know it had been about you.

And still, a small, stubborn part of you clung to the dream from earlier where you were beside him in the Spire, where everything was safe and forever and whole.

You swallowed gently and said nothing.

Because they might never guess.  And a part of you… wasn’t ready for them to.

You felt the weight of their speculation pressing closer to each whispered rumor, each lingering gaze pulling the truth closer to the surface. Your fingers tensed slightly around your fork, your throat tightening in that telltale way it did whenever something felt too close.

So you did what you always did when things turned too sharp, too serious.

You pivoted.

“He was really happy this afternoon, though,” you said suddenly, lifting your gaze with practiced brightness, your tone light and easy. “Like, weirdly happy.”

Chai blinked at the change in direction. “Wait what?”

You shrugged, stabbing a piece of fruit with your fork. “Yeah. Just… smiling. A lot. Way more than usual.”

Earl Grey tilted his head slightly. “The Sage?”

Hazelnut Biscotti looked skeptical. “You sure it wasn’t an illusion spell?”

You laughed. “No illusion. Trust me. He looked… genuinely happy.”

Chai leaned in again, eyes wide. “Okay, that’s almost creepier than the rumors.”

“I know, right?” you teased. “But in a good way. Like... soft. Like if starlight could give you a blanket and a cup of tea.”

Hazelnut groaned. “Please don’t start romanticizing starlight.”

“But also,” you went on, barely holding back a grin, “you know he can shapeshift?”

That got a pause. All three of them stared at you.

“…What?” Chai asked slowly.

You nodded eagerly, taking full advantage of the sudden attention shift. “Yeah. He totally can. He hasn’t shown me, obviously, but it came up.”

Earl Grey raised a brow. “That… does make sense. The level of magic required would be advanced, but certainly within his range.”

Chai’s mouth dropped open. “Are you kidding me? Why didn’t you lead with that? That’s so cool! He could turn into anyone.”

“I know!” you said, leaning into the energy. “Can you imagine? Just deciding to wake up one day and be, like, three inches taller or have different eyes or oh my stars, what if he gave himself a beauty mark?”

“Why would you want a beauty mark?” Hazelnut asked, baffled.

“I’m just saying! The possibilities!”

Chai rested her chin on her hands, dreamy-eyed now. “He’d be such a beautiful woman, wouldn’t he?”

You waved a hand vaguely. “Longer sparkling hair, silver earrings, a cloak made of light. Something dramatic.”

Earl Grey hummed. “I suppose it would be an ideal tool for blending in… if he ever wanted to not be recognized.”

“Yeah, well,” you muttered, smiling to yourself, “good luck with that. He practically glows.”

The conversation moved on from there, scattering like dandelion fluff caught in the wind. They tossed around ideas of magical disguises and wild illusions, delighting in the absurd, the impossible.

And just like that, the whispers from earlier about cold glares and academic disgrace drifted quietly into the background.

You leaned back in your seat and let yourself breathe.

Not because you’d forgotten.

But because, for now, you'd bought yourself a little more time. You leaned forward again, resting your elbows on the table and clasping your hands like you were about to propose a classified magical expedition.

“Alright,” you said, eyes gleaming with quiet determination. “New mission.”

Hazelnut Biscotti looked up from his drink, already wary. “Oh no.”

Chai Latte leaned in, immediately intrigued. “Yes?”

You grinned. “Help me come up with a convincing, airtight, irrefutable argument like an essay to get the Sage of Truth to shapeshift. Just once.”

Earl Grey blinked slowly. “…You’re seriously making this academic?”

“I am a scholar,” you said, holding back a smile. “And this is a question of both magical theory and practical curiosity. I’m just saying he can shapeshift. I know he can. And I’ve already asked once, but he deflected.”

Chai tapped her fingers excitedly against the table. “You’re right he has long hair already. And that face? Easily elegant in either direction.”

“Exactly!” you pointed at her. “He’d be stunning. But! I’m not trying to flatter him into it. I want to reason with him. Use logic. Like he always does with me.”

Hazelnut frowned. “But… why?”

“Because imagination,” you said, utterly serious, “is not the same thing as reality. And I need to know.”

Chai leaned back dramatically, hands in the air. “Alright. Let’s build the case.”

Earl Grey cleared his throat and steepled his fingers. “Begin with a thesis,” he said flatly. “State your intention and scope. Why you’re requesting this demonstration.”

“Okay,” you nodded, tapping your fork against the edge of your plate like a pen. “How about…”This paper will demonstrate the theoretical and interpersonal significance of voluntary magical shapeshifting as performed by one’s academic mentor.”

“Terrible,” Hazelnut muttered.

Chai beamed. “Perfect.”

“Next,” Earl Grey continued, “you’ll need supporting points. Emphasize magical benefit. Public interest. Scholarly bonding.”

“Also,” Chai chimed in, “the emotional resonance of curiosity fulfilled! The human longing for transformation and self-expression!”

You stared at her. “Did you take a rhetoric course without me?”

She shrugged innocently. “Just a lot of poetry.”

Hazelnut sighed. “You’re all insane. But fine. Say it’s for ‘research purposes.’ That always gets approved.”

You scribbled in your head. “Right. ‘This request is rooted in a desire to better understand the limits of advanced transformation magic through direct observational study.’ That sounds good, right?”

Earl Grey nodded. “Add that you’re in a state of elevated emotional trust, which increases the integrity of the result.”

Chai gasped. “Ohhh, and don’t forget to include seeing is believing.”

You grinned, tapping your temple. “Yes. Empirical verification of theoretical potential.”

Hazelnut shook his head. “Stars above.”

You turned to him with a sweet smile. “Come on, Biscotti. Don’t you want to know what he’d look like?”

He stared at you for a beat. Then looked away, mumbling, “…A little.”

“I knew it!”

Chai laughed, reaching across the table to high-five you. “I can’t believe we’re helping you peer-review an essay on how to beg the sage of truth to be stunning in a different font.”

You smirked. “This is science.”

Earl Grey lifted his teacup. “To academic excellence.”

And somewhere deep in your mind, already, the essay was forming.

You had a goal. You had a thesis. And now, you had witnesses. You stared at Chai Latte Cookie, deadpan. “I wouldn’t say he’s stunning.”

The table went quiet for half a beat.

Then you added dryly, “But… each to their own, I suppose.”

Chai, utterly unbothered, raised an eyebrow and sipped her juice with a knowing smirk. “Oh please. I didn’t say I liked him.”

You blinked. “You literally just helped me draft an argument to get him to shapeshift, in high detail.”

“Exactly,” she said, pointing a finger at you. “Because I, like any educated observer, can appreciate aesthetic excellence.”

Hazelnut Biscotti choked on his drink.

Earl Grey didn’t even look up. “She’s not wrong.”

Chai turned to you again, her voice laced with amusement. “These aren’t new thoughts, you know. Most scholars even the bitter ones agree he’s got that ethereal beauty thing going for him. It’s not about attraction. It’s about… artistic reverence.”

You stared at her.

She smiled sweetly. “Would you look at a stained glass window and call it hot? No. But you can still acknowledge it’s stunning.”

Earl Grey nodded, sipping his tea. “He’s like the embodiment of a forgotten prophecy.”

Hazelnut muttered, “He looks like a secret that has its own moon phase.”

You gaped at him. “You too?”

Hazelnut frowned. “I didn’t say I like him. I said he looks like that. I stand by it.”

“I thought I was the only one going insane,” you muttered.

Chai nudged you. “Oh, sweetheart. You’re not insane. You’re just late to the club.”

You sighed, slouching slightly in your seat. “I hate it here.”

But your smile tugged at the edges of your mouth anyway, helpless beneath the laughter rippling around the table.

Maybe he was a little ethereal. Maybe.

By the time the dinner plates had been cleared and the glow of the lanterns above had shifted into that soft golden hue signaling the late evening study hour, your “essay” had turned into something dangerously close to an actual academic proposal.

A/N HAPPY PRIDE <3

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥 <<<Previous Next>>>

[f1cflcfic]

Won't Say I'm In Love (SMAU ft. Lando Norris) - part x

pairing: lando norris x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n); past carlos alcaraz x tennis player!reader (fem!y/n)

summary: As a general rule, y/n does not date athletes. You've been there, done that - would not recommend. Besides, you definitely don't do love. There's no time in the world for complicated feelings when there's a career Grand Slam to be won. But what if your heart just refuses to listen?

genre: social meda/mixed au, friends to lovers

note: this is RPF and is obviously in no way, shape, or form reflective of real persons and/or events

series: part i | part ii | part iii | part iv | part v | part vi | part vii | part viii | part ix | ...

bonus: one, two, three

May 25, 2025

May 26 - May 29, 2025

[Excerpt: Press Conference Y/N L/N] "That was quite the match. How do you feel about the conduct violation and the subsequent fine you'll be paying? Do you feel like that's a fair call?"

Y/N shifts in her seat and shrugs. "It's already done, so what does it matter how I feel?"

"Do you feel like Roland Garros should be taking better measures to ensure these type of crowd interruptions don't happen?"

She shakes her head. "Honestly, there's really not much else to say about this topic. I'm glad that the person was removed, to me that is what really was disgraceful. Interrupting a match with the sole purpose of antagonising a player."

"It did feel like the tide was against you here today, and yet you came out on top. Despite a lot of fans cheering for Garcia, a lot of fans cheering for anyone that's not you because of your ex - and yet you won. Did you prepare for that mentally?"

"You always try and consider both the physical and mental aspects of each match, and what's going to make them a unique battle. Having a crowd be passionate about their home favourite is fine and to be expected, that doesn't bother me. At least they're excited and invested in tennis. What bothers me is the personal comments, and honestly? I'm really tired of constantly being put in the box of being Carlos' ex. We are both over it and have moved on, so."

"We were just in a press conference with Carlos. He didn't know about any of this, but seemed taken aback by what had happened and said he doesn't think this behavior by fans belongs in tennis. Has he reached out over the incident?"

Y/N hesitates, then speaks up again. "That's nice of him. But he's not responsible for what his fans do, and he's also playing a tournament here. I don't need or expect him to defend me."

May 30 - May 31, 2025

June 1 - June 5, 2025

[Excerpt Press Conference Elina Svitolina]

"That was a very exciting match. It seemed at the start like you had a good chance of besting your own record here at Roland Garros."

"Yes, I had a good preparation for the tournament this year. Strasbourg and Roland-Garros were both great tournaments for me. I love the physicality of clay as a surface, and it would've been nice to continue onwards, but it wasn't meant to be."

"Where do you think things went wrong?"

"You know, I started out quite strong but the rain delays and the switch from one court to another was quite distracting. I lost my momentum there. At the same time, Y/N is just a very strong player. One of the best in the world right now, so I really don't feel too bad about losing. I do think I didn't maximise maybe all the opportunities I had to make it more difficult for her, though. Still, 6-3, 5-7, 4-6 isn't the worst score."

"Lastly, you had your family here today. Does it make these tournaments extra special, after coming back from retirement to be with them?"

"Of course it does. My husband Gael [Monfils] obviously knows the sport very well, and I've always felt it's an advantage to have a relationship with someone who understands what matters most to you in the world. Having that stability and support is so important, but also to know there's more to life than tennis - as difficult as it is to say that sometimes in places like these. It's the truth. I wanted a family, and I was fortunate enough to have a child. You can't have both at the same time, as a woman. Not with a sports career."

"Do you think documentaries and series like Break Point help in making viewers understand those trade-offs a bit better, and the behind the scenes dynamics of high-level tennis?"

"It's hard to capture the unfiltered, unedited stories I think. But if it gets people interested in tennis, then it's a good thing. I just hope they watch for the right reasons, and it doesn't end with people yelling at players. I was very taken aback by that here. Because we're not characters in a fictional story - we're real people and we all hold a lot of respect for each other. Even when we're opponents on the court."

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘ ∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘∘•···············•∘

A/N: HALLELUJAH they're in the city of love and y/n is finally realising she might have a crush...

next part available here

♥ likes, comments, reblogs and asks are always very much appreciated - i love chatting and hearing your thoughts! ♥

taglist (open): @linnygirl09 @julesbog @midnight-and-books @sarx164 @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @vhkdncu2ei8997 @berrnuu @lightdragonrayne @glow-ish @batsratswrites @blushmimi @colmathgames2 @esw1012

[shanastoryteller]

Happy Birthday! The banished Azula au?

a continuation of 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24 25 26 27 28 29 30 31 32 33 34 35 36 37

Zuko and Toph do their duty as Fire Lord and Lady and give Azula an adorable little niece who she really hopes takes after Zuko and literally no one else in their family. The royal family of course has a host of positive attributes to their name, and her niece will hopefully have them all, it's just that Zuko is the first in their family in a long time that she thinks really makes a good Fire Lord and not just a good conqueror.

Even Uncle was first the Dragon of the West before he joined up with the tile players. It took losing Lu Ten for him to see past his ambition, it took Zuko moving to protect her from their father in front of the eyes of the court after he'd refused to protect himself for her to see her brother's love as something worth having.

She doesn't want her niece to struggle to be good as she and Uncle struggled, as Father and Grandfather failed to be entirely.

Zuko's goodness came to him so easily. That's what she most hopes he passes down.

[doberbutts]

HEY just letting you know that Emmett Till is a bad example for your argument since he did very much than likely actually commit the rape.

Historical revisionism helps no one, anon.

https://www.clarionledger.com/story/opinion/2018/08/29/she-lied-he-died-not-so-fast-emmett-till-expert-says/1085520002/

The *most* he was even potentially guilty of before her lies began was period-typical sexually forward talk during a store exchange. He was 14 at the time and she described an adult black man, so it may not have even truly been him.

Do not justify the brutal murder of a 14 year old CHILD who did not get his day in court but instead was targeted by a racist mob. Disgusting.

[madamechrissy]

Take Me Home Tonight

♡ ♡ Pairings ♡ ♡ Satoru Gojo x Fem Reader

♡ ♡ Warnings ♡ ♡ MDNI- Gojo is 28-29 here, reader is like 22 or 23. Nothing too crazy. But is Professor/teacher forbidden type love. Fingering, cumming, dirty talk, teasing this chap

♡ ♡ Word Count ♡ ♡ 8k

♡ ♡ Summary ♡ ♡ After passing your LSATs, your friends take you out to unwind. You never go out, so you are awkwardly agree, and you end up in the arms of a super hot man named Satoru. You end up screaming Satoru's name as he drops down on his knees before you, only to lose him in the club. All you have is his first name.

Two months later, in your Criminal Law class, your heart stops. Your teacher? Professor Gojo. Or as you soon call him, Professor Dickhead. You can't fuck up your law school, and he won't fuck up his career, not just because he makes you wet in class, no, he's a dick. Right?

That pout and blue eyes don't wreck you, right?

Lawyer AU (If you wanna be tagged in updates let me know 💓)

<<< Chapter 2 - Masterlist - Chapter 4>>>

Chapter 3

The next morning you are sitting in the large courtroom, with its muted gray walls and long wooden benches, polished and reflecting the light above you. You are sitting at the front of the room, where the defense bench was, right next to Satoru Gojo, your notebook and pen ready to take notes.

Satoru looked fucking gorgeous, as always, but even more professional, in a black suit with a skinny tie, his white hair was slicked back just so, and his watch on his wrist was some fancy fucking silver thing that glinted bright. He peeked at it then, jotting more notes down himself, then looking over at you, giving you a little smile.

“You nervous, Miss Brat?” He murmurs, you flush at the use of that name in something like a courtroom, fidgeting a little with your pen, clicking it relentlessly, he smirks at the movement.

“A little? Honestly…” You whisper, looking around, to the Prosecution table, which had two very cutthroat lawyers sitting there, along with the lady’s family, you feel a twinge sitting close to the accused young man.

He was very, very young, eighteen years old, he sat next to his dad, one of the state Reps, both ooze old money. Satoru oozed money, sure, but these two? It was different. They seemed very quiet and worried, and were very polite, but to think you may be sitting next to a murderer…

“This is how it will go, baby girl.” He says softly, bringing your attention back to his light blue eyes.

“Don’t say stuff like that…” You trail off, and he gently rests his hand on your thigh under the table. No one could see it, and he wasn’t pushing it, but it felt so fucking… 

Good.

Fuck.

“You just pay attention, remember you’re here to observe and take notes only, let daddy work his magic.” He says with a grin, and you snort a bit, rolling your eyes at him, making him glare. “Something funny, brat?”

“Who refers to themself as Daddy?” You whisper, he grins again.

“Me, Daddy Gojo, baby.” He wiggles his brows and you cover your laugh with a hand, trying not to be inappropriate.

“All rise, for the Honorable Miss Takeuchi!” The bailiff announced, everyone in the room stood up, even Satoru, his hand sliding away from your thigh as he stands up, you do as well, until everyone is seated again.

You watch Satoru grow more serious, less playful, as he focuses intently, the judge was a stern looking woman with a sleek bun pulled tight, making her sharp features stand out more. She comes to sit on the large seat, slamming the gavel down on the table.

“Court is in session.” She says, commanding, and the prosecution begins then, one of the two lawyers standing up, making their opening statements.

“Your honor, this… monster here, has destroyed a family’s life. Even if it was a mere prostitute-” You cringe at that. “She was still a human being. It’s well known that Mr. Elrod’s son is a public nuisance. Drinking, partying, gallivanting around, and no consequences. Now, we certainly will make sure you see who this family really is.” The lawyer looks to the jury, a group of sixteen people.

"Watch the jury's faces. That's where the real battle is." His breath was warm and tickled the side of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine, as he leans in to whisper.

“Got it.” You say softly with a nod.

“Now, the defense may make their opening statement.” Judge Takeuichi declares, and Satoru stood, unbuttoning his jacket casually, revealing the crisp white dress shirt underneath as he approached the podium.

Even his damn dress shoes were fucking gleaming, his posture was relaxed yet commanding, and every eye in the fucking room is on him. He smiles up at the judge, and even her, this stern woman, smiles a bit back at him for just a moment, before clearing her throat.

“Mr. Gojo, please commence.” She says, a little softer somehow.

“Thank you so much, truly, your reputation precedes you.” He says with a wink, and you smirk a bit. Fucking Gojo. “So… dear jury. Thank you all, for taking time out of your lives, first off. Second off, I promise, by the end of this, you’ll see that this young man is innocent.”

“Objection your Honor!”

“It’s my opening statement, your Honor.” Satoru counters, with a little pout, how did he look like some cute little boy then? The fuck.

“Overruled. Continue, Mr Gojo.”

Gojo grins. “Thank you, your honor.” He gives her a little half bow, then continues on. “Accused of killing someone? So what if he drinks, parties, what the fuck does that matter, excuse my vulgar language.”

“No worries, Mr. Gojo, please continue.” The judge damn near is swooning, at this point this is better than anything you have seen in your life, you lean forward, eagerly, jotting down notes that ended up being doodles of Gojo.

Damn it.

“Being a bit of a bad boy…” He stops, brushing a hand through his hair and damn near posing, you hear gasps behind you and see several girls swooning. “Well, it doesn’t mean you’re a bad guy. Make sense?”

The jury is nodding eagerly.

“Objection!”

“Overruled.”

Gojo puts his hands together, bowing just a bit, gratefully to the judge then, and continues with his statement. You look next to you for a moment, at the accused young man who looked small and lost in his expensive suit, his eyes just a little hopeful then. His father, the state rep, sat rigidly beside him, his jaw clenched, his eyes never leaving his son.

Satoru finishes, and then comes back to sit next to you, so casual, like he didn’t just own the whole courtroom, giving you a little half turn of his pretty lips, lips so glossy and full it wasn’t fair. His long white lashes lower just as he peers at your notebook, then he’s full on fucking grinning.

Shit!

You look down in horror, since you had literally drawn a super rough little sketch of Gojo, he looked like a little chibi character, a la Hello Kitty. You even gave him a whole tail and had hearts. How did you do that, you wonder, it was like some school girl possessed you.

“I’m… sorry…” You manage, as the defense asks for the first witness, but Satoru snatches the notebook up.

“I kinda love it. Can I keep it?” You are bright red, covering your face.

“Oh please don’t… I’ll be more professional, promise.”

“It’s cute.” He says softly, but he hands it back to you, focusing on the matter at hand, listening to the Prosecution as they call up their witness.

“You’re amazing. Ugh.” He pops a candy in his mouth from the tray, a little lifesaver it looks like, handing you one too, discreetly, like it was some secret. You feel your heart flutter. Why is he so cute?

“Of course I’m amazing. Take one, keep you focused.” He puts it in your palm, and you pop it in your mouth, sucking on it, humming a bit.

“It’s yummy thank you, Professor Gojo.” You say, he just inclines his head, biting hard on the candy with a crack. How were his teeth so perfect when he did that?

How was Satoru so perfect?

What had even interested him in you that night, you wonder… but then, you stop wondering, because the last thing you need to be is soaking wet in court, you needed to focus. As you suck on the candy, it does help a bit you realize, the sugar necessary for you to calm down the jitters.

“Holy… it works.” You muse, and he just grins, pretty white teeth glinting with those damn fangs.

Soon, it’s time for Gojo to question the prosecution’s witness, and things grow tense, as the prosecution was surely well aware of Gojo’s reputation. He was one of the best cross examiners there was, hands down. You’d watched countless hours of him, you’d never admit it though, but something about seeing it in person is just different, you realize.

Gojo casually decimates everything the witness said, finding hole after hole in their story, until they’re stuttering. It’s brutal how he goes about it, as he casually struts back and forth, hands in his pockets, long legs walking about the courtroom, possessing it, while stressing the prosecution the fuck out to say the least. They were bright red, yelling objection so often it was insane.

Soon, it was time for Gojo’s witness.

"Your honor, if it pleases the court, I'd like to call Miss Haruka Itsuki to the stand," Satoru Gojo announced, his deep voice resonating through the hushed courtroom.

The bailiff nodded curtly and called out. "Miss Itsuki, would you please approach the stand."

As the young woman made her way through the little gate of the courtroom, the tension grew. You watch from your seat, right next to Gojo’s, which still boggles your mind, entranced as he peers at you for a moment, with those bright eyes and that smirk, it was just like he was Gojo… just in lawyer mode? And it was amazing.

The woman looked nervously around, her eyes fell on you for a brief moment, then to Gojo, and you saw a spark of trust in them. Haruka was a key witness for the defense, and her testimony could either make or break the case. You watched as she took the oath, her trembling hand resting on the worn leather-bound bible.

Gojo approached the stand and leaned in, his piercing gaze locking onto hers. "Miss Itsuki, how are you?”

The courtroom giggles. Satoru is known for being a little different with how he approaches things. She flushes, fiddling with her hands. “I’ve been better, Sir.”

“I’ll try to get to the point, okay?” She nods, gratefully, and you hear the care and softness in Satoru’s voice, it surprises you a bit. “Can you tell us what you saw the night of the incident?"

Hesitant at first, Haruka began to recount the events of that evening. Her voice grew stronger with each sentence, her story a stark contrast to the prosecution's narrative, much to Gojo’s obvious pleasure. His smirk was seen clear across the room, and you peek around to notice the fan club he’s accrued, the women in the seats that hang on his every word, ones that gathered in the morning when you all walked in.

Is Gojo even hotter like this?

As if you needed it to be more of a desire…

Satoru catches your attention as he comes back to the little brown bench you sit at, picking up a big binder and winking down at you. You flush, biting your lip, his bright blue eyes fucking dart to it for a moment. Then he pulls himself together and slinks back over like a damn cat.

“So could you please give me a general run down of the night? I know it’s scary…” He takes a tissue box, handing it to her. The fan club is beyond swooning now, you hear them behind you. She dabs her eyes, nodding.

"I was walking home from the library," Haruka began, her voice clear and steady, "when I saw the accused and the victim arguing. They didn't notice me at first, but then..." She paused, swallowing hard. "They did, and the woman ran off, the accused was just standing there, looking confused.”

“So, not violent at all?”

“Objection, hearsay!”

“Sustained, please reword that Mr. Gojo.”

Gojo nods. “Did it appear as if he were violent to you?”

“No. It didn’t.”

“Could you continue if you’re ready?”

"He tried to calm her down, but the victim just kept walking…" She said, her eyes never leaving Gojo's. "Then, suddenly, someone else came out of the alley. A man in a hoodie. He had a knife." The room collectively gasped as she described the violent struggle that ensued.

As the final piece of her account fell into place, Gojo stepped back, his hands folded behind his back. "Thank you, Miss Itsuki. No further questions."

The prosecutor rose, his face flushed with a mix of anger and disbelief. “Objection!” Gojo rolls his eyes.

“To what? The truth? My questioning is over. Your turn, buddy.” He blows him a kiss, and then all hell breaks loose, with the judge banging her gavel.

“Your honor! May we approach the bench?” The calmer lawyer asks, and they all go up, and you watch as Gojo’s annoyance grows, and their panic sets in. Soon, Gojo is back, sitting next to you, and they cross examine her.

The cross-examination was brutal, a verbal dance of accusations and denials. But Haruka held firm, her story unwavering, and Gojo is looking over at the prosecution.

You watched the jury members exchange glances, their expressions morphing from skepticism to doubt. The accused's family leaned in, hopeful as they talked to Satoru, thanking him.

“Don’t thank me yet. But, I’ll win, don’t worry. I always win.” He says, utterly condescending and cocky, loud enough for the fans. He turns to them, brushing his hair back and winking, and they all lose it.

“Ladies, you’ll have to leave if you can’t calm down.” The judge admonishes, and they instantly quiet.

“Satoru, you’re like famous?” You say softly, he laughs a bit, as if you weren’t at a fucking murder trial. Like this is another day.

“I know. I don’t take many cases anymore, not with teaching, just some high profile ones.” You tilt your head curiously at that, but then your attention was brought back to court.

The courtroom clock ticked away the minutes, the hours, and it became a little uncomfortable, warm, fucking tense. The air was tense, charged with the anticipation of a verdict that could hinge on the words of a single witness. You notice everyone is tired, uncomfortable…

Prosecution brings out another witness, and you study carefully, curious about the things he is saying, it’s as if he seems to be following someone’s script almost. You nervously click that pen, wondering if you should suggest something to Satoru, but you don’t want to overstep.

“Let’s adjourn for recess,” Comes the voice of the judge now. “We will meet back in an hour and a half. Get some food, and ladies, maybe get some air.” She teases the girls, and then when Gojo stands he helps you up, earning you the ire of them.

“Don’t, they’ll kill me.” You whisper, he just whistles a bit, grabbing his things, and nodding his head.

“Let’s go grab something to eat, hmm?” You nod, feeling your tummy growling quietly. You follow him through the aisles, and giggle into your hand as he waves at his fans as he walks by.

“Can we get a picture of you!” A few girls ask, and he comes and takes selfies with them, throwing up the peace sign. You just watch on in amusement, as everyone walks by you all now.

“Is this your girlfriend, Mr. Gojo!” A particular girl asks. You flush. He just throws his head back in laughter.

“Nah, she wishes.” He winks, you glare.

“Don’t we all!”

“Let’s go.” You shove past him, walking through the throngs of people, as you all step out of the room, taking a breath and leaning on the wall when you get far enough away.

Girlfriend.

You were a student.

You were just…

A one night stand.

“Everything all right? Too intense?” Satoru’s voice shakes you out of your reverie then, you sigh, nodding with a little smile. He leans on the wall next to you, casually, popping down his briefcase and crossing his arms.

“I’m fine, promise. It is a little… insane I guess. I’ve never been so close to something like that.” You don’t mention the fact that there was a stupid thrill in thinking of being his girlfriend. A stupid thrill.

You couldn’t stand him right?

“What do you wanna eat? My treat.” You look hungrily at him, and you hate it, hate what would be on the tip of your tongue if you weren’t…

“Anything is good with me. Sushi?”

“I know the perfect place, just across the street. Come on.” He hitches his head, and you follow him to his car, he holds the door open which he seems to do, something that surprises you.

Gojo surprises you.

He slides in, and you both seatbelt, he casually throws his arm over the back of your seat as he looks in the rearview to back up, far too fucking close. You tense a bit just at that, and being alone with him in this car, remembering the last time… when he’d had his hand up your skirt.

You shift your thighs, then tense when you notice his eyes dart to the motion, nothing got past him. “Aching, Miss Brat?” He purrs the words in that deep voice, as you all sit at the light.

“Nope, not at all.”

“Such a bad liar. Work on that.”

“Don’t start, Professor Dickhead.” You huff, crossing your arms, and he just smirks over at you.

“Did you not remember to masturbate last night? I told you to.”

“I did.”

Fuck.

The car is insanely tense now, his eyes wide on your face, which is bright red, your eyes catch his, and then a honk happens, and you realize Gojo is just sitting at a green light now. He sighs, shaking himself out of it, and zipping through the traffic, weaving in and out, hands tense.

“How do you?” He murmurs, as you all come to park at the restaurant, you tremble then, when he unsnaps your seatbelt, looking at you with that lustful, sexy fucking gaze.

“How do I, what?” Your voice squeaks, pathetic you muse.

Gojo leans forward a bit, brushing your hair behind your ear, doing wild things to your psyche. “How do you get off, Miss Brat?”

That whisper fucks you mentally, and you shift again, cunt throbbing from just his mere words, from that clean scent of him in his tiny sports car, mixing with the leather of his fancy damn seats. Impeccable damn seats, and you’re like to just fucking soak them if you move wrong, forcing you to press your thighs together, and he sure fucking notices that too.

“Too nervous to tell me?” He’s murmuring the words, way too close now, and you struggle to hold your composure.

“It’s none of your business, is all.” You say haughty, but you shiver as his breath is hot against your ear now.

“You’re not hitting it good enough, you’re so fucking ready I smell how turned on you are.” You gasp then, lips parted, as his hand’s back on your thigh, fucking burning you.

“Smell what?!”

“It smells good as fuck… I remember it. Vividly.” You moan then, hating what he’s doing to you.

“There’s no way. I keep it very fucking squeaky, Professor Gojo.”

He laughs at that, nipping your earlobe with sharp teeth. “You sure do, but I just can tell. It's intoxicating.”

“Whatever, so full of shit. And I just… used my fingers, mmkay? It’s no mystery to solve.” He moans a bit in your ear, and you wonder, how does he sound when he is cumming?

Ugh.

“Fingers inside or on the clit?” He’s trailing light fingers up and down your thigh, right above your knee, thank god, you’re soaking another pair of panties. You just look at him as he pulls away a bit, lost in his gaze.

“I tried inside but… it sucked.” You look away, and he laughs a bit then. “What is so funny?”

“They’re so tiny.” He picks up one of your hands then, and you see it next to his, his long fingers positively dwarfing your little ones. Your hand is swallowed in his grip, his big hand wrapping around it now. “Of course they don’t hit like mine. I’d argue not many men have hmm?”

“I haven’t been with…” You trail off, eyes wide then, freaking the fuck out, and he looks at you with confusion.

“Haven’t been with many men?” He finishes and you don’t even answer, how can you answer? That you’d not gotten off with either of the two guys you'd fucked, you hadn’t even liked sex.

What did it say about you?

You’d had chances to do more than two damn times, but you preferred to study, to read silly little books, alone, fuck you barely hung out with your only friends. It wasn’t like you hadn’t gone on dates, you had, but you never went on second dates really. And if you did, you definitely didn’t do third ones. Because you couldn’t fit them into your life, they couldn’t understand you’re just a fucking nerd honestly.

A law nerd.

“Cat got your tongue, Miss Brat?” Gojo again has interrupted your internal monologue, it’s something he’s very good at. Your eyes meet his stupidly pretty face, and you sigh.

“I guess you could say that.” Is all you manage, and his lawyer-like gaze hits hard now, then his brows raise.

“Oh fuck… you…”

“Shut it.” You glare at him.

“You’re a virgin are you fucking kidding?” He seems more upset about the thought than you, you just look away, feeling trapped now in this fancy damn car.

“No, not a virgin. Relax. Just… only a couple….” 

“Only a couple of times?” You just nod. “A couple means two, you know that yeah?”

“Like two times. Yeah. Freshman year so its been a while.”

Gojo just blinks. “Are these young college guys that shit at it?”

You snort at that. “It was uncomfortable. I just didn't really like it.”

“You’re really small so yeah it would hurt if you weren’t ready.”

“It didn't hurt, it just felt off when i fucked. I can't explain it.”

His eyes narrow. “Like off how?”

“Didn't feel right. I wondered if something was wrong with me? Like they tried I think? And… no.”

“So you have done some things, then yeah? I wasn’t your first…” You refuse to look at him, and it gets oddly quiet in the car now. You look down at your thighs, and feel his tension, as if it’s your own. “Really?!”

“Don’t worry about it, please, it’s not like it…”

“Meant something?” You blink back stupid emotion, shaking your head. “So it was just physical? Like you just… wanted to get off with someone?”

“No.” You can’t all out lie, unfortunately, you’re shit at it. You hear him sigh next to you now. “I never was very curious before. I just… studied a lot? And didn’t care to try again. Until you."

“Why do it so randomly though?”

You laugh a bit, harshly, looking at him again. “Are you judging me, Satoru? It was your idea that night.”

“Yeah but like…” He runs his hand through his hair, and you watch as his brows draw low together, and he damn near glares at you. “Like if I knew you had damn near no experience…”

You pause, and your breath catches. “Fuck, you regret it?” Your voice is hoarse, and you feel the tears coming now, as you hug yourself. He curses, softly, taking your arms down, but you lean away now.

“Fuck no. I loved pleasing you.” His grip on your wrists tighten, and you feel too many emotions at once overflowing. “But like, if I knew I wouldn’t have just sprung that the fuck on you?”

You look up at him in surprise. “What do you mean?”

He curses, looking down at your lips, which you nervously lick. “Like I would have maybe just kissed you, asked you out, I-”

“Asked me out?” You whisper, and he sighs again, running a hand through his perfect hair.

“Well I was going to after before I lost sight of you... But I’d have done that first, like gone on dates… not just drank you up on a bathroom door. Fuck.”

“Yeah, fuck.” You whisper back, then you put one of your hands on his chest, feeling his heartbeat, speeding up under your palm. “I'm not a virgin please relax.”

“Close enough. I wasn’t your first orgasm right?”

“I cum on my own just fine.” You’re bright red now.

“I’m the first… orgasm someone else gave you?” You nod, a bit jerky, and he leans his head back in the car, covering his face.

“Is it that weird?”

“Yes it’s weird! It’s really weird.” You feel tears fall now and he curses, waving his hands. “No, no, it's not bad. Shit… Weird, not bad.”

“It’s embarrassing as fuck, and…. I don’t want anyone to know, I thought like I couldn't get off unless I masturbated? I don't know.”

“Not your fault, they just were trash.” You exhale, realizing how sweet he was, deep in there, under the layers of cockiness.

“You did really fucking good at it.” You whisper, looking down, burning with embarrassment, and he gently takes your shoulders, lightly brushing his hands down them. “It was a lot of fun for me, okay?”

“Yeah… I could tell that.” He smirks when you smack at him, shoving his shoulder a bit, then your hand just stops, resting there, and you look at his chest, so broad in the suit… “So I’m so attractive I make virgins go wild?”

“Shut up! Not a virgin. Just picky now.” You giggle though, and he does too, and it feels oddly comfortable, despite the ridiculous conversation.

“Oh… tips on masturbation…”

“Really, still?”

“I don’t wanna make you feel awkward being a virgin, so I will just shit talk you the same way.”

“You’re so generous, Satoru.”

“I know right? Wait… you’re being sarcastic!” You giggle again, and he just pouts at you now, with those puppy dog eyes.

“I don’t need tips. Maybe I’ll… I don’t know, go play again now that I know I can. Who knows.” You outright lie now, and earn his scowl, looking you up and down.

“No, you won’t.” He says, so self assured, your mouth drops open. “You’re not the type, at least, not unless it’s me.”

“Whatever, what would it matter? We can’t…”

“Yeah, I fucking know. But that doesn’t mean you can go fuck with someone else…”

“What?”

“Yeah, fuck that.”

You blink a bit, laughing more, and he’s really mad at you now. “You can’t tell me what to do!”

“You’re a whole fucking brat. You know that? And full of shit, because I know the only action you’re getting is getting off to the thought of me.”

Your eyes narrow. “Fuck you, Professor Dickhead.”

“You’d like to. Hmm… am I who you’ve been saving it for?” He grins even more deviously.

“I literally have fucked twice! That's not… nothing!”

“I've fucked eight times in one day casually.” You pause, inhaling, images flooding through you.

“What?! How… anatomically?”

He's fucking grinning now, as your head whirls. “Need a demonstration?”

“God!” You open the door, needing to get out of the confined little fucking car, you couldn’t breathe.

He is the only man you want… 

“Can we go eat? I'm so hungry!” He sighs, getting out of the car as well, then he’s right next to you, too close.

“Yeah, come on.” You two walk into the restaurant together, his hand at the small of your back, a gentle pressure, and your heart is racing, thundering in your chest, you notice how sleek and pretty the restaurant is.

“Mr. Gojo!” The hostess comes running, and so do a couple waitresses, and they all eagerly talk to him as you all get seated.

You struggle to cool down after you all eat, nibbling on yummy sushi, Gojo gets a fuck ton of food, and keeps shoving different things in your mouth. It oddly feels like a whole date, but it’s not, right? And would you want that?

***

“You’re quiet.” Gojo muses later on, when you all are back in the courthouse, there are still about twenty minutes before you all can go back in. You two are sitting in the little room Satoru has to go over his case, and you’re mulling over something you’d thought of earlier. “Still thinking of fucking me?”

“Oh god, Satoru.” You roll your eyes. “No, actually, it was something about that witness they brought in… it really gave me an idea. Is it okay to share? I know I’m not supposed to-”

“Nah, go for it.” He leans back in his chair, kicking his feet up on the desk and entwining his hands on his chest, looking far too good. You shift a bit in your seat, and hate that damn smirk when he notices.

“God, stop analyzing me all the time! Please…” You look down, cheeks bright pink, as they always were around him.

“Nah, it’s just what I do. Study people. Now, focus, and tell me what you’re thinking about it, I’m curious now.”

“Okay… Well, listen, the last witness went on about how they saw that person Haruka is accusing of having a knife on the phone, and that she was seeing shit, right?” He nods, steepling his fingers and looking at you intently. “Where are the phone records?”

Gojo sits up and tosses over a binder. “Right there, and they did make a call right before that time…”

“Yes but what about the time in between?”

“Hmm?”

“Like…” You sit on his desk, crossing your legs and scanning through the records of each message and call. “Look… it’s a ten second call. Then nothing?”

“What?” You nod, showing him, leaning forward.

“Something’s deleted, I could bet on it.”

“Bets don’t fly baby girl. We could get a warrant for their records, but I’d have to call and get one, they’re not a suspect yet, just a person of interest.” He sits up a bit, and you lean further.

You bite your lip, thinking hard. “What if we subpoena the phone records from the service provider? We could argue that we need them to corroborate the witness’s statement about the accused’s whereabouts during the call. If we can show that there was and then a suspicious deletion, it’s a strong argument for relevance.”

Gojo nods, his gaze sharp and focused. “It’s a risk, but it’s a good one. And if we play it right, we might just get what we need… it’s actually super fucking smart.”

You can’t help but beam at the compliment. “You really think so?”

“Fuck yes it is… let me see what I can do.”

He pulls out his cell phone then, and starts making calls, his voice sharp and commanding as he speaks to whoever is on the other end, different from the ease in which he talks to you. You can’t help but feel a mix of pride and anxiety. This is real, and you’re in the thick of it. You’ve never felt so alive, so important.

The possibility of uncovering the truth is tantalizing, and you want it so badly you can almost taste it…

As the time for the court to resume nears ever closer, Gojo hangs up the phone with a smirk. “Looks like we’re getting a warrant. We’re going to nail this fucker to the wall. Are you ready for this Miss Brat?”

You nod, feeling a determination you’ve never felt before. The air between you is charged with excitement and anticipation. You stand up, smoothing out your skirt, and he offers you his hand, and suddenly you all are too close, alone in that little room, and your adrenaline is running through your fucking veins, and you can see it clearly is for him too.

“It’s a fucking thrill, huh?” He whispers, his pretty blue eyes are just glittering with excitement, and you grin, nodding, hands gently gripping his strong forearms.

“It really is, fuck. I can’t believe I might actually help you?” He pulls you closer, damn near in a hug, and you realize how bad you yearn for it, for his touch, for an embrace… fuck, for one more damn kiss.

“We can’t say you helped officially, but I think I can talk to Dean Yaga and get you continued on this case, it’s not just gonna be one day you know. What ya think?” You nod, fucking thrilled at the idea.

“You think so, Satoru?”

“I do. You’re such a brilliant, bratty little thing. But I kinda already fucking knew that.” You flush under his praise, it felt so good, so well earned. When he cups your cheek so gently, you moan softly, then bite your lip hard, stopping it.

“Thank you, Satoru, really. That means a lot.” You both stand there, and then the five minute alarm goes off on both of your phones, you reach down to swipe yours off but he stops you then, grabbing your shoulders in a tight grip. “What is it?”

“Five minutes… think I could make you cum?” His eyes have gone fucking insane, you blink rapidly, lips parting.

“Wh-what!?” Your voice squeaks, and he just grins now, looking completely psycho.

And hot as fuck.

“Remember we had twenty minutes? Well… it didn’t take that long. Not for that needy little cunt of yours.” He reaches down, cupping you, pressing your skirt fabric against your throbbing pussy. You gasp, then your head falls back, and you unwillingly grind on his hand.

“Fuck what’s wrong with me?” You whisper out loud, thinking it was in your head, he laughs softly, pressing you against the door. “We can’t!”

“Just a little orgasm, baby girl. Now we have four minutes…” He slides your skirt up, finding you with his fingers, rubbing on your dripping wet panties. You shove a hand on your mouth to muffle the cry of pleasure. “Do you think I can do it?”

“You’re fucking crazy, Satoru… ugh…” Your eyes shoot up to his, locking, intense as fuck.

“You want it?” He murmurs softly, sliding down the waistband of your panties now, finding you with his long fingers, sliding up and down your slit. You shiver, clinging to his jacket tightly.

“You know I do, jerk. But we… ah!” You bury your head against his chest when he slides a finger in, so deep, you’re already pulsing around him.

“You’re soaked, baby girl. Don't you deserve some good treatment after that master fucking idea?”

“Mnh… why do you… wanna get me off? Not… you…”

“I wanna see that look in those fucking eyes again.” His voice is husky, and you fall back against the wall he's pressed you against. “Let me use my fingers at least. That's all. Yes or no?”

You just arch a leg up, wrapping it around his hip, giving the smallest little nod as your answer, and he moans, pressing deeper, sliding two fingers up inside your walls, massaging that spot he hits, the one that has you dizzy, makes your mind fuzzy. He watches you, his other hand holding your thigh up, gripping it tight so that your thigh squishes in his hold

“Satoru…” You moan his name, so quiet, biting your lip hard as you hang on to his shoulders, as he angles his arm to press up deeper.

“Shh, baby girl. Can’t get caught.” You nod, swallowing all your moans, hips arching up for more. “Good girl.”

“Fuck…” It comes out a breathy little sigh, as he’s pumping his long, thick fingers deep inside your aching cunt now, so deep, that you feel that pressure build in your tummy, feel your walls clenching his fingers, as he fucking stares at you. With those goddamn eyes.

“You’re so stupid tight.” He whispers, spreading your wetness around your clit now, rubbing it for just a moment, making your hips jerk, then he’s back fucking you with them again. “So fucking wet…”

“Mmnh… please…” You don’t even know what you’re begging for, but he seems to know, when he’s got you sitting against the desk now, and he leans down and fucking spreads you wide, spitting on your cunt. You gasp at it, at how lewd it sounds and looks, as he grins, spreading his saliva all over your puffy clit now. “Ah!”

“Pretty, perfect little cunt.” He muses, flicking two of his fingers up to your G spot, while the other hand uses a thumb to circle your clit, surrounded with his spit and your desire, and you’re starting to fall the fuck apart, hands clutching the edge of the desk for dear life, knuckles white.

“Close… close…” You cry out the words, covering your mouth when he flicks faster, working hands in perfect sync, muffling your screams, and he’s just watching you, watching your face, working your hole and your clit perfectly.

“Cum for me, pretty.” He orders silkenly, leaning closer, looming over you so fucking tall. “Now.”

You literally obey, there’s no other word for it, as you feel yourself gushing cum all over his hands, hot and sticky, and he’s moaning himself, just watching as you fall apart at his touch. You jerk and then tremble as you scream your orgasm into your hands, as you lean your head back, hips lifting off the desk with the force of it, and then you’re soaking everything.

“Oh my god…” He whispers, easing out of your little cunt, but stroking your sensitive slit, between your lips, you cry out, tears pricking your eyes, feeling how slippery you are.

“S-Satoru! Mmm! Stop, I’ll cum again. Please.” He laughs a bit, softly, looking down at your glistening pussy, dripping out wetness. “It’s so messy, stop.”

“Fuck yes it’s messy… and it’s sexy as fuck.” He whispers, as if in amazement, pulling his hand back to reveal your sticky cum, oozing off his fingers. “You’re a whole goddamn waterfall.”

“Shush… it sucks!” You hiss, struggling to breathe, but he shakes his head at you, flicking your clit one more time, before licking you off his fingers, making you damn near cum again.

“Is this just for me?” He asks softly, and you hear it, the cockiness, but also a vulnerability. You just nod, looking down.

“Yeah, it doesn’t happen like that… alone. And never with… I mean I…” The phones go off again, and you tense, he stops you before you jump up, your eyes lock.

“Feel better, Miss Brat?” You sigh, nodding.

“What’s this mean?” You ask softly, he pauses, easing your skirt down now, and you realize, you all haven’t kissed, and you ache for it now, as he leans forward, fixing up your hair that had come loose.

“It means I got my new star pupil off. Probably some kind of academic blasphemy, but…” Someone knocks then. Gojo sighs, helping you down on wobbly knees, smirking at you. “Don’t walk like a deer now, we have work.”

“Ugh… give me a minute. Fuck I’m…” You’re soaked, and Gojo looks around, then goes to the bathroom, coming back with wipes in a little pack, you go to grab it but he cleans you up, quick. You’re mortified. “I’m so sorry…”

“For being Niagra Falls?” You giggle at that. “Don’t apologize for that, maybe apologize to my stupidly hard dick.”

You peer down, mind going wild.

What did Satoru Gojo look like naked? His body felt so strong, you could only imagine that body, those muscles… and his cock? You’d felt it against you, but how thick… how long…

“Stop staring at it, making it worse, brat.” He huffs, and you feel even more embarrassed, like were you some fiend? Fucking hell.

“Sorry, Satoru… let’s go?”

“Hmm, don’t I get a thank you?” He raises a brow, and you sigh, rolling your eyes as he taps his cheek. “Plant one on me.”

You lean up, kissing one of his stupidly high cheekbones, then he turns, and your lips brush, you fucking gasp, and he exhales, grabbing you, yanking you against him, lips pressing on yours. You grip his hair, moaning into his mouth, and you’re all over each other, it’s just like that goddamn night, something just tingles, burns through your lips, through your body.

“Fuck, let’s go. Now. Shit.” He whispers, yanking back. You nod.

“Yes, yes, let’s go. Now.” You gulp, as you two hurry to the door, hands both on each others, you’re both just staring at each other, the energy in the room damn near unbearable.

What the fuck was that?

What is this?

You all manage to make it in time, and the trial goes on for a few more hours, and with each passing moment, you can feel the jury leaning more and more towards Gojo's argument. His confidence is infectious, and you can't help but be drawn in by it, just the same as everyone in the room.

“We have to wait till tomorrow for the phone deletion records.” Gojo murmurs over to you, hand on your thigh again, discreet but it feels so wrong… so deliciously fucking wrong.

“And I’ll come tomorrow?” You ask, softly, as the Prosecution wraps up for the day, Gojo grins at you.

“If you’re a good girl.” He cooes, and you roll your eyes, sighing.

“Court is adjourned for the day, we will all meet tomorrow. Get some rest, everyone.” The judge gets up, as do all of you, standing and watching her walk out, and soon you all are gathering your things, and Satoru talks to the Representative and his son, as well as his team. You wait patiently, and then you all head out.

It’s night time already, the sky is all pinks and purples, the sun has set below the horizon now, and there’s a little bit of a chill with the breeze. Satoru notices you shivering, and frowns, taking off his jacket, slinging it around your arms as you all stand on the steps of the outside of the courthouse.

“Satoru, I’m fine, you parked close.” You say, but you snuggle into the jacket, inhaling his scent, and he just shakes his head, hands in his pockets as he walks his lanky self down the steps.

“No worries, cold doesn’t bother me. Oooh, I’m like Elsa!” He shouts, spreading his arms wide and running down the steps. You burst out laughing, clutching your notebooks tightly, slowly following him. He turns and grins at you, eyes lit up like some little kid.

“How many times have you ‘Rocky’ ran up these?” You tease, as the steps were steep and long. He laughs with you.

“God, so many times!” He takes you by the shoulders, and you tense just a bit. “No one is around, Miss Brat. Relax.”

“I wouldn’t ever wanna get you in trouble…” You whisper, and you all pause at the end of the steps, the breeze blowing your hair around. Satoru sighs, brushing it with his fingers. It feels way too good.

“We haven’t fucked… yet. But, we can be careful, can’t we?”

“No, I almost fucked you yesterday in front of my dorm.” He just grins at that, pulling you to walk along with him.

“I’m the best fucking lawyer ever, do you know, I never lost a fucking case?”

“It doesn’t surprise me. You’re pretty amazing.”

“See!” You all get to his car, and he opens your door, taking his jacket that you hand him, you slide in the car, buckling in.

“I just… it’s really intense.”

Satoru revs up the engine, nodding. “Yeah, it is. But I damn sure am not having you go fuck someone because I have you all horny. I’ll just get you off.”

You blink at that. “What? That’s insane. Why do you care?”

He glares over at you. “I don’t share.”

“But… we’re not… together?”

“Not yet.” He just shrugs, and you watch the way his forearm muscles flex as he grips that steering wheel, as he turns it, driving through the evening, everything is getting darker, his words eat you alive.

Not yet?!

“You’re really insane, Satoru.”

“I know. It’s why I’m a good lawyer. You really shined today… I think you’ll do really well.”

“Really?” He nods, and you can’t stop the smile, the warmth, and you come just a little closer, holding his arm. “Can I… rest a bit? On your shoulder?” You ask so softly, he looks down at you as he hits a light. “Fuck, that’s weird huh?”

“Shut up and come here.” He unbuckles your seat belt, putting up the arm rest, and you’re against him, on the side of his chest, sliding his arm around you, and you exhale, snuggling, wrapping your arm around his waist. He continues to drive with one hand, and you kiss his neck. “Fuck…”

“You always smell so good.” You murmur, eyes heavy, because for once you just feel so damn comfortable, held by him…

It makes you ache to think about.

“You smell good too. Like… blossoms? I can’t believe I’m saying this stupid shit, wow.” You just giggle, and shut your eyes, the sounds of the car driving is oddly soothing.

“Thank you for today.”

“For making you cum?”

“For bringing me, and for listening to me. It means alot.” He sighs again. “And yeah, for making me cum.”

“Knew it!” You just snort at that, then you feel sleep lulling you. “Take a nap, Miss Brat, it’s a good hour drive.”

“Mmkay, that sounds nice.”

***

Before you know it, you’re gently being shaken awake, you blink a bit, looking up at Satoru, positively glowing in the night. You brush your fingertips along his jaw before you think better, and then you freeze, realizing what you were doing, and you ease off of him.

“Sorry, I must have dozed hard.”

“It was the orgasm.” He winks, and you roll your eyes.

“Whatever. How are you so sweet but such an ass?”

“It’s a talent, baby girl. Let me get the door.” He is opening your side, and you stand up and yawn, stretching, in front of your dorm building now. It’s gone pitch black, just a sliver of the moon and the stars now, and the wind is gently blowing Satoru’s formerly perfect hair around.

“See you tomorrow, ‘Toru?” You mumble, yawning, and he pauses you as you turn to leave, touching the small of your back. You turn, looking.

“ ‘Toru’ huh? Not Professor Dickhead tonight?” He’s got his hands on your waist, gently pressing his thumbs under your breasts. You feel desire shoot through you, arching your head back against him.

“No, not tonight.” You look back at him, as he takes your chin in his hand. “We shouldn’t act like this here.”

“I’d like to spread these thighs wide on my hood right now.” He whispers in your ear, you bite back a moan, arching your ass against him, he hisses at it. “When you masturbate thinking of me, picture that, your legs spread on my hood while I eat this pretty pussy.”

“Satoru you’re fucking evil. Ugh!” You pull away, turning and looking at him, cheeks flushed and rosy, but he’s not joking, he’s dead serious, staring at you with hooded lids.

“And when you cum next time, you’ll say ‘Toru.”

“Will I?” You back away a bit, hand still in his clutches, until his arm is stretched between you both.

“You will.”

“Why?” You look up at him.

“Because I like how it sounds from that pretty mouth.” He lifts your hand to his lips, and you tremble as they brush your knuckles, as he looks more handsome than any disney prince ever could, fucking being a gentleman? When he did the most ungentlemanly things in your mind.

“I should get some sleep.” You manage, and he smirks.

“Drink lots of water, you gotta be dehydrated from all that cumming, Niagra.”

“Oh my god!” You yank your hand away, glaring, and he’s leaning on his fancy sports car, crossing his legs and arms. “Night, Professor Dickhead.”

“Night, Miss fucking Brat.” You run off, and when you’re in your dorm you strip quickly, once again peeling sticky panties off your thighs.

Fucking hell.

It’s worse now.

You flop into your bed after a shower later, and there he is, texting you.

Professor Dickhead : I'll be there at eight am sharp.

You: I’ll be ready.

Professor Dickhead: Get some sleep, Miss Brat.

You flip on your back, holding the phone up, tired eyes making the letters on the screen jumble and go fuzzy a bit. The memory of his fingers, of his goddamn lips on yours, you’d do anything to feel it again, and that terrifies you. You can’t fuck up his life, can’t fuck up yours, but you just can’t help it. You crave him, Satoru Gojo, insane, goofy, conceited…

Bad ass fucking hot lawyer.

Shit.

You: Good night, ‘Toru.

You don’t know why, but you say that, and he texts three bubbles for a while, over and over, as you’re dozing off further. You errantly wonder what sort of reply he’s gonna come up with, something snarky? Or-

Professor Dickhead: Sweet dreams, pretty.

Fuck.

You heart the message, before hiding the phone from yourself, burying your face in your pillow, heart fucking racing.

You were screwed, huh?

Chapter 4

Chapter on Ao3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/56895382/chapters/145653715#workskin

[vamptizm]

this whole thing is annoying the actual fuck out of me so let’s actually talk about it

not saying one is much better than the other, but the comparisons are annoying ASF and if i was petty enough i’d pull the NATTY card, but that’s silly

caitlin’s WNBA debut game was may 14th against connecticut where she played 32 minutes and did score 20 points and 3 assists, yes. but ALSO set a record for the most turnovers in a WNBA debut with 10 turnovers. they lost the game 92–71. by 21 points. as a developed team.

paige had 10 points, lead in rebounds with 7, 2 assists and 1 block. only 2 turnovers the entire game. played 29 minutes. whistle wasn’t pretty, but i’m sure that’s something they loveee to ignore. they lost 99-84. by 15 points. as a new team, with only 3 old players on the roster and a whole new coaching staff. they played against minnesota.. a team that lost the 2024 championship by 5 points only.

so there’s your fucking wnba regular season debut comparison. not much of a fucking difference.

but if you wanna compare FURTHER, which is so dumb because cc and paige don’t play alike—we can do that.

CC

strengths:

• great shooter, especially from deep

• great at creating her own shot and pulling defenders out.

• very flashy passer with high court vision.

• can change the momentum of a game with quick scoring runs.

weaknesses:

• is turnover prone ( she tries a lot of stupid high risk passes).

• her defense is a work in progress to say the LEAST. not always consistent or physical on that end.

• heavily ball dominant. she thrives best when the offense is built around her just like in college

bottom line: She's a high volume offensive weapon, gets compared to steph for her range. BUT she still needs to improve a lot in terms of decision making and defense

PB

strengths:

• very smart decision maker. rarely forces shots.

• clutch in late game situations.

• strong on both ends of the court. offense AND defense.

• can shoot, drive, facilitate, defend, and rebound. definition of all around player.

weaknesses:

• injuries have definitely slowed her momentum and exposure compared to cc.

• less flashy than caitlin

• might not be as dominant from three point range.

• passes the ball a lot

bottom line: paige is more of a complete guard. efficient, tactical, and quietly deadly. she’s the type of player that can slot into any system and make it better. can also play different positions and HAS done so successfully.

if you want a high scoring player who draws in fans and stretches defenses, go with cc.

if you want a balanced, winning guard who can run the floor, score, and lock in defensively, paige is your girl.

right now cc has the louder game but paige has the quieter dominance. and that might be more sustainable longterm.

one is a flashy shooter, and one is a do it all guard.

[polarisjisung]

LOVE ON THE COURT | 29 NOT AGAIN

SYNOPSIS | every college student has their struggles, but raising her younger brother has Y/N top of the list, struggling her way through college whilst balancing her academics and basketball captaincy is difficult no doubt and with Jaemin, her ex best friend and captain of the guys basketball team, and his growing one sided hatred towards her, it doesn't seem to be getting any easier

WARNINGS | sexual innuendos, swearing, mentions + pretty detailed description of a panic attack, lwk abandonment issues

NOTES | the girls are fighting... you didn't think I'd let them make up this fast did you?? a much shorter chapter today I'm sorry 😓

15:27pm , after the game

Y/n knew ningning inside out, they'd been friends for their whole life, best friends for a number of years, they'd spent longer together than apart.

Y/n and ningning were practically sisters. They'd fought over stupid things like if apple juice was better than orange juice, they'd stolen each others clothes, done each others nails as post breakup therapy— they'd experienced love and loss, and they'd always experienced it together.

It was and always had been them against the world.

Personal problems had always existed, but they'd face them head on and, most importantly, together.

So y/n knew what ningning was feeling, maybe not exactly, but she certainly knew why ningning felt the way she did.

And sure, Ningning's words had hurt y/n too, but that was the thing, they'd said the best and worst things to one another.

Being so close to someone can be a double-edged sword. Knowing their triggers and insecurities so well that in the heat of the moment, it’s almost too easy to throw those daggers. The intimacy shared can turn into a weapon of knowing exactly what to say to hit them where it hurts. In those moments, it’s like being caught in a toxic cycle, where love and pain intertwine.

Regret sets in as soon as the words leave the mouth, but the damage is done, leaving both people feeling raw and vulnerable. It's a harsh reminder that knowing someone deeply can sometimes mean knowing how to wound them just as easily. So y/n knew that Ningning was showing nothing but her concern.

But equally, she understood she deserved somewhat of an apology as well, even if Ningning's words had come from a good place, they'd hurt, and perhaps they hurt even more so coming from her.

It seemed a simple explanation why this argument of theirs had rested at the forefront of her mind for so long too, because Ningning was the only person in her life who Y/n couldn't imagine losing. And after everything that she'd been through, after the people she'd lost, and the relationships she'd seen go with them, she knew she wouldn't let herself be to blame. She wouldn't let herself lose a friend, least of all Ningning, just because she didn't communicate.

Or at least that was her plan, as she made her way down the hallway of the hotel, her hair still dripping from the shower she'd just taken, gripping way too many snacks for the two of them to share. Minjun followed after her, still gushing about having seen his older sister play for the first time, begging her to teach him how to dribble the ball like her, a grin plastered across his face. It was endearing, really.

And Y/n swore she only turned to smile at him for a second, but in the next, she felt her heart drop and her blood run cold. It felt like the ground shifted beneath her feet, and suddenly, she was trapped in a whirlwind of way too many thoughts, coming way too fast.

There, stood across the hallway, was a man she had made many desperate attempts to forget. To no avail, of course.

She blinked, rubbing her fists against her eyes hurriedly, as if he was nothing but a figment of her imagination, that when she looked up again he'd disappear and this would be nothing but a bad dream. But there he was, struggling to open the door to his room, angrily staring down at the key card with furrowed brows.

He seemed older. His hairs greying and wrinkles setting in across the feafures she recognised so well, his smile lines deeper than the last time she'd seen him.

The last time she'd seen him.

Her breaths quickened at the sight of him, becoming deeper yet each inhale felt shallower than the last, and her chest tightened like a vice. This wasn't happening, it couldn't, not here, not now.

She could hear the muffled voice beside her asking why they'd stopped walking, she could feel minjun's grip tighten around her, she could see the way the man turned his head at the realisation he was no longer alone in the haway, but it all felt distant, like she was underwater.  Unsure how to answer, she stood silently, gaze locked on the man, blinking rapidly, questioning if he was really, truly stood in front of her at all. As soon as he locked eyes with her, she felt the bile rush up her throat and a distant ringing in her ears, her hands beginning to shake against the smaller ones that held hers. Y/n felt like she was drowning. But she knew she couldn't. It was a luxury she couldn't afford, and the soft skin brushing against her hand was a reminder of that.

Panic surged through her, and y/n fought the urge to break down, feeling the walls closing in on her. The bright lights overhead felt too harsh, illuminating the doubts swirling in her head, making it hard to focus. Calm down. She thought, but she couldn't. She couldn't think she couldn't move, and worst of all, she couldn't calm down. She convinced herself this was nothing, voiced out lies in her mind that echoed with uncertainty. Breathe, she thought. But she couldn't. It was as if every unresolved feeling crashed over her like a tidal wave, leaving her gasping for air and desperate for an escape. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to ground herself, but the memories flooded back faster, unrelenting and unforgiving.

Y/n found herself tugging harshly against the smaller wrist that was still loosely resting in her grip, making a sharp 180 and jetting off down the hallway, with shaky steps and ragged breaths.

She had to go, she had to leave, she had to do it now. Her phone vibrated in her hands only seconds later, a painfully familiar contact flashing across the screen, and all y/n could do was throw the device into the bottom of her bag, stuffing her belongings in on top, making no effort to answer the questions coming from the confused young boy who watched her. The blood rushed to her head so quickly, too quickly, in fact, and she swore the room in front of her begun to spin.

Her dad hadn't called her in years, not a single message, not a single word, so why now was he calling? Why was he reaching out now? Just because he'd seen her? Did some sort of shitty parental guilt kick in at the sight of his now grown children? Did he feel inadequate, maybe even jealous that they were doing just fine without him? Y/n didn't know, and she didn't care, but seeing him was still enough for her to take an unwanted trip down memory lane, reliving every moment since he'd left. Her chest tightened, the lump in her throat growing to the point that she couldn't breathe no matter how hard she tried. Still, she kept going, scanning the room to make sure she hadn't left anything behind.

Minjun had never seen his sister like this, so close to breaking down, and y/n didn't plan on letting that change today, sucking in deep breaths and wiping her teary eyes as she pulled his jacket around him. It was getting cold outside now, and she wouldn't let one careless mistake from her because of something so trivial, leading to him becoming sick.

Y/n could barely function, struggling to pull the zipper loop up and through the jacket, still she kept going. Her body ran on autopilot, muscle memory taking full control as she silently pulled the bags through the door and held a hand out for minjun to follow. Too occupied in her own thoughts she rushed out of the hotel with urgency, taking long strides towards the cabs that waited outside, only realising she was moving way too fast for Minjun to keep up when his small rushed breaths filled the air. She needed to calm down, she wasn't alone and she had to act like it. Minjun was her responsibility, and she needed to take care of him.

She muttered out an apology, quick, sincere, but short and found herself falling back into the  cycle of her own thoughts again. Comfort was a thought far away, but the surety of heading home, caused the racing of her heart to ease just slightly, a dull ache developing in her arm now that she'd finally set down all her bags inside the cab, a cramp settling in.

In that moment, y/n felt the overwhelming feeling of solitude press down in her, honing in from all sides, and the ache of abandonment crept into each corner of her heart. The pain was bitter and fuck, it ran deep.

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[caitified]

i fear i desperately need a kate fic where she has a wife and at least one baby

domestic

kate martin x reader

warnings:none

this one is like my favourite request, i’m going to build a whole au around this. here’s some backstory and present time, let me know when and what you want from these two!!!! thanks🩷

kate martin had always been your biggest source of pride, but now, as you watched her on the court playing for the las vegas aces, that pride swelled into something even deeper. sitting courtside with eva, your one-year-old daughter, bundled in your lap, you couldn’t help but feel overwhelmed by the life you’d built together. it had been years since you first met kate at iowa—back when you were a college student, focused on building your career, and she was making a name for herself on the basketball team. now, she was 29, a professional athlete, and your wife.

you smiled to yourself as you remembered that first time you saw her play. you had no idea who she was at the time. you’d gone to the game with a few friends, not expecting much, but the moment kate stepped on the court, your attention shifted entirely to her. it wasn’t just her skill that drew you in—it was her presence. the way she carried herself, the passion she played with, her smile when she celebrated with her teammates. you were captivated, though you hadn’t known then just how much she would come to mean to you.

after the game, you’d bumped into her at a party on campus. kate had been shy, almost awkward, and definitely not the loud, confident player you’d seen on the court. you two had exchanged small talk, but there was something there, something that made you want to get to know her more. and you did. from coffee dates to long walks around campus, your friendship grew into something undeniable. by the time she graduated, you were inseparable.

three years ago, kate had proposed to you on a quiet evening during a trip to iowa city. she’d taken you to your favorite spot overlooking the river, the same place you’d had one of your first real conversations about your future together. her proposal had been simple, heartfelt. “i can’t imagine my life without you,” she had said, tears in her eyes. “will you marry me?”

of course, you had said yes. and two years ago, you stood in front of family and friends, exchanging vows that solidified what you both had known for a long time—that you were in this together, forever. soon after came eva, your daughter, the light of both of your lives.

watching kate as a mother had made you fall in love with her all over again. she was patient, attentive, and so incredibly loving. even with her busy schedule in the wnba, kate always made time for eva. you could tell how much she adored her, how she’d drop everything just to spend time with her daughter. and eva, well, she was already a mama’s girl.

today was no different. eva was squirming in your lap, her tiny hands reaching out every time she caught a glimpse of kate on the court. “mama!” she giggled, pointing excitedly as kate dribbled past her opponents. you smiled, brushing a stray curl away from eva’s face.

“yeah, baby, that’s mama,” you whispered, pressing a soft kiss to her head.

eva clapped, imitating the crowd’s excitement whenever kate scored. you couldn’t help but laugh at how much eva mirrored kate’s passion, even at just one year old. it warmed your heart to see how connected they already were.

as the game went on, kate’s energy never wavered. she was in her element—focused, competitive, and unstoppable. the aces were leading, but the game was still tight, and you could see the determination in kate’s eyes every time she sprinted down the court. you’d always admired her dedication to the game, but it was moments like these that reminded you just how incredible she truly was.

near the end of the game, kate glanced your way, her eyes searching for you in the crowd. she found you almost instantly, her gaze softening as soon as she saw you and eva. the connection between the three of you was palpable, even in an arena full of cheering fans. kate’s smile was brief, but it was enough to make your heart flutter. she winked at you before turning back to the game.

“mama’s gonna win this one, isn’t she, eva?” you whispered, bouncing her gently on your knee. eva babbled in response, still mesmerized by the action on the court.

when the final buzzer sounded, signaling a win for the aces, the crowd erupted. you stood up, cheering alongside the fans, holding eva high so she could see. kate was celebrating with her teammates, but her eyes kept darting to where you were standing. she jogged over, still catching her breath, but her smile was wide and contagious.

“there’s my two favorite girls,” she called out, her voice warm despite the noise.

eva squealed in delight as kate scooped her up from your arms. “did you see mama win, baby?” kate asked, pressing kisses to eva’s chubby cheeks. eva giggled, grabbing onto kate’s jersey with her tiny hands.

you couldn’t help but smile, watching them together. kate was everything to you, and seeing her in this role—both as a star on the court and as the mother of your child—filled you with a kind of love that was hard to put into words. “you were amazing out there,” you said softly, reaching out to smooth a hand over her back.

kate leaned in, kissing you gently. “couldn’t have done it without you two,” she murmured against your lips.

you laughed, shaking your head. “i think that was all you.”

kate chuckled, her arm wrapping around your waist as the three of you made your way towards the locker rooms. eva, still clinging to kate, was babbling away, pointing at everything around her with wide, curious eyes. you watched kate’s face soften as she listened to eva’s excited chatter, her hand gently rubbing your back as you walked.

“you know,” kate said softly, glancing down at you, “every time i’m out there, i’m thinking about you and eva. it makes me play harder, knowing you’re both here. it reminds me of why i’m doing this.”

you smiled, leaning into her touch. “and we’ll always be here.”

kate stopped walking, turning to face you fully. “i’m so lucky to have you,” she whispered, her eyes full of love. “you’ve given me everything i could have ever wanted.”

you reached up, cupping her face in your hand. “we’re the lucky ones, kate.”

kate kissed you again, slow and deliberate, before pulling back with a soft smile. “i love you.”

“i love you too,” you whispered, your heart full as you stood there with your little family, knowing that this—this life you’d built together—was more than you’d ever dreamed of.

more to come

[snowysosturn]

Allies or Affiliates? - Chris Sturniolo Part 2

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13 Part 14 Part 15 Part 16 Part 17 Part 18 Part 19 Part 20 Part 21 Part 22 Part 23 Part 24 Part 25 Part 26 Part 27 Part 28 Part 29 Finale

Pairing : Y/n x Chris Sturniolo

Summary : Law student Y/n’s life takes a turn when she reconnects with Chris, her brief teenage flame who is now a dealer for a dangerous Boston drug gang. As their bond reignites, Y/n is drawn into Chris’s tumultuous world, where rival gangs clash and loyalty is everything. Balancing her love for Chris with her own ambitions, can their connection survive the chaos that threatens to pull them apart?

Warnings : MDNI, Mentions of drugs, mentions of court

Sunday came and went in a blur of textbooks, highlighters, and coffee that had turned cold by the time I got round to drinking it. I spent the entire day curled up in my apartment, buried in law casebooks and lecture notes, trying to chip away at the mountain of assignments that had built up over the week. Law school had a way of piling things on without warning, and it was tough to stay on top of everything.

But, despite all the reading and studying, my mind kept drifting to Chris. That stupid accidental like on his Instagram post had spun me for a loop, and no matter how much I tried to push it out of my head, it kept creeping back in. The embarrassment was almost unbearable. Why did it bother me so much? I’d accidentally liked posts before, and it never affected me like this. But this was different. This was him.

Chris Sturniolo, the boy who had practically disappeared from my life without a word. He had just faded away, like a distant memory. And now, years later, I was reminded of him, suddenly thinking about him more than I had any right to. Maybe it was the nostalgia, or maybe it was the curiosity of what had happened to him. Either way, I needed to think about what I had in front of me.

By the end of the night, I was no closer to finishing my assignments, but I had at least made some progress. I pushed my laptop aside and let out a sigh, staring at the ceiling of my room. Tomorrow would be a new day, and I had more important things to focus on, like sitting in on a real courtroom session for class. I needed to be sharp and professional, not distracted by old crushes and awkward social media moments.

I passed out somewhere around 1am, and before I knew it, my alarm was going off and I was dressed and heading out the door, ready to make my way to the Boston Municipal Court. The air was crisp, the chill of fall settling in as I walked through the city streets. My nerves were kicking in, not just because of the courtroom experience I was about to witness, but because of the burning feeling that something was about to shift. I couldn't explain it, but I put it down to anxiety about the court case, how I could see someone's life trajectory change in a matter of moments.

I arrived at the courthouse, its towering stone facade looming over me as I approached. It felt both intimidating and exciting, like I was about to step into a new chapter of my life. This courtroom session was an essential part of my course, and would be continuous over this school year - a real life experience to get a feel for how things worked in the legal world. I was supposed to be focused on the case, taking notes, observing the process, everything a future lawyer would need to know.

But as I stepped inside and found a seat toward the back of the courtroom, my thoughts kept drifting. I couldn't shake Chris from my mind. Why now? Why was he coming up in my thoughts so much? We hadn’t spoken in years, and yet here I was, obsessing over an accidental like on his ghostly Instagram account. It didn’t make any sense. I had so much more to worry about, but the memory of him kept pulling me away from the present.

The courtroom slowly filled with people, lawyers and clerks coming in and out, papers shuffling, the judge already seated high above. I forced myself to sit up straighter, grabbing my notepad and pen, determined to focus. This was important. I couldn’t afford to be distracted.

“The court is now in session” the judge’s voice boomed, commanding attention.

I scribbled the date at the top of my notepad, trying to look engaged, but my thoughts wandered again. Stop it Y/n. 

The prosecutor began introducing the case. My pen hovered over the notepad as I half listened, already feeling my focus slip away. Something about possession, conspiracy to sell, it all sounded so dry compared to the whirlwind going on in my head.

But then, the prosecutor said something that yanked me out of my thoughts.

“The defendant, Mr. Nathan Doe-”

My heart nearly stopped.

What?

I blinked, my brain struggling to process what I’d just heard. Nathan Doe? There was no way.

I snapped my head up, my eyes wide as they locked onto the judge. My pulse quickened. Could it really be him? Nate Doe, the guy same guy that was only mentioned just the other night? Chris’s best friend?

I looked around the courtroom, my stomach twisting. It had to be a coincidence, right? But I’ve never met another Nathan Doe.

The judge continued, outlining the charges: too much weed, conspiracy to sell, and smoking in public. It wasn’t the most serious of offences, but still enough to land Nate in front of a judge. And now that I was really listening, I knew, this was him. This was Chris’s Nate, standing trial for a drug charge.

I sat back in my seat, completely thrown off. What were the odds? It felt like the universe was pulling me into something, something I wasn’t prepared for.

The case moved forward quickly. The prosecutor outlined the details. Nate had been caught late at night with a sizable amount of weed on him, enough to raise suspicion of intent to sell. There had been rumours he was involved in something bigger - something connected to the ongoing gang feud between the Crimson Cartel and another gang. But those rumours had been dismissed, simply because they’re hear say. Nate was just a guy caught with too much weed, nothing more.

I let out a breath. At least it wasn’t anything more serious. Nate had messed up, sure, but it didn’t seem like his life was about to be ruined over this.

The judge leaned back, considering the case for a moment. The room was quiet, tension hanging in the air. Then, finally, the judge gave his ruling.

“Nathan Doe, you are hereby ordered to make a charitable donation of $2,000 and to complete 50 hours of community service. Additionally, you are expected to refrain from any drug related activities for the next 12 months. Any violation of this order will result in harsher consequences.”

I sat there in stunned silence as the courtroom began to stir, people packing up their papers and preparing to leave. Nate had gotten off pretty lightly, all things considered. No jail time, no heavy fines, just a slap on the wrist and some community service. He’d been lucky.

The judge adjourned the court, and I stood, gathering my things. I was still processing everything when I saw it.

The back of a head, messy brown hair standing out among the sea of people leaving the courtroom.

Chris.

I blinked, certain I was imagining it, but there was no mistaking it. The same messy brown hair, slightly longer than I remembered, and the familiar dishevelled style. He was standing just a few rows ahead of me, getting up to leave as casually as if this were just another day for him.

My heart pounded against my chest, my mind racing to process the sight. He was here.

The courtroom felt like it had shrunk in size, the walls closing in as my vision narrowed on him. Chris, the boy who had vanished from my life all those years ago, was standing a few feet away. Older now, but still unmistakably him. He was taller, more solid, but the sight of him sent a jolt of electricity through me. How could this be happening? The rush of memories collided with the reality of the moment, the image of him, a person I never thought I’d see again, suddenly appear back into my life.

And my god, he was still just as good looking. Maybe even more so. His face had matured, the angles sharper, and there was a quiet intensity in the way he carried himself now. Gone was the boyish charm, replaced by something darker, more serious.

I swallowed hard, my hands trembling slightly as I tried to keep it together. I wanted the ground to swallow me whole. What were the odds? First Nate, now Chris? My mind raced, panic setting in.

Should I say something? Should I call out to him? No what the fuck would I be doing yelling in a court room. Oh my god he definitely knows I was stalking him too. Maybe I should just avoid him.

The idea made my stomach churn, the second hand embarrassment from the accidental Instagram like still fresh in my mind. my mind screamed. I’d tried to play it cool, but there was no undoing that little heart popping up on his post. Maybe he hadn’t noticed?

God, I hoped not.

Just avoid him. 

That seemed like the best idea right now. Avoid him and get out of here before I did something stupid or said something even worse. But as much as I told myself to leave, my feet wouldn’t listen. My eyes were locked on him, glued to the sight of him moving through the aisle, his head slightly lowered as he tucked his hands into his jacket pockets.

I tried to snap out of it, to move, but the weight of my thoughts held me back. It was like seeing a ghost, someone I had long thought was buried in the past. But here he was, alive and real, and my heart didn’t know how to handle it.

As he neared the doors of the courtroom, my body finally kicked into gear. I shuffled down the aisle, clutching my things tightly and keeping my gaze low, hoping I could sneak out without running into him. Just keep your head down, Y/n.

I had just made it into the hallway when I felt a presence beside me. My heart skipped a beat as I glanced sideways, and there he was. Chris.

No, no, no.

His eyes caught mine before I could look away. Shit.

“Y/n?” His voice was deeper than I remembered, and it sent a shiver down my spine.

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[jnnul]

dating karina (aespa)

word count: 870 words a/n: uhh i've been in a karina state of mind lately i could've made this at least 8k words but i didn't... genres: fluff and nsfw content

gif creds: @sunghanbin

the one that you need to know about jimin is that she is a selfish lover

and i mean that in every sense of the word

she is SO incredibly possessive

will absolutely get upset if she feels like she's sharing your love with literally anyone or anything

in fact, she probably asked you out because she got jealous af

aka she was trying to court you and you kept friend-zoning her

"omg you got me flowers and perfume? you're such an amazing friend, jimin!"

smh.

one day, she catches you with a box of chocolates that she definitely did not get you

and she loses it

"y/n, who got you this? they probably poisoned it. idk. you should throw it out. i think it went bad. oh wait it's ugly. throw it away."

will buy you a box of chocolate double the size

and seeing her jealous is what finally makes things click in your head

but you like seeing her so possessive over you so you pretend that you don't know what she's saying

until she finally summons all of her courage and asks you out formally

and oh, if you thought that her crushing on you was intense, it TRIPLES when you start dating

openly flirts with you everywhere. in front of everyone.

will call you beautiful/handsome/gorgeous and will glare at anyone who doesn't agree with her (platonically, ofc)

will scream from the rooftops that she's head over heels for you

but beyond all of that, she loves so hard

jimin genuinely believes that you were the one to hang the stars in the sky

she really asks for nothing in your relationship except for never giving her a reason to think that you don't like her

highkey, she's a loser

i mean that

like you could just sit in her lap when she games and she would think that you're the sexiest person she's ever laid eyes on

it could be overbearing just HOW into you she is if she wasn't so loser??

like yea, she's super possessive and will stink eye anyone looking at you weird when you're dressed up all sexy

but then she'll look at you with those big boba eyes because she forgets the entire world when you look at her

highkey thinks that you're out of her league??

like in her head, she games 29/8, wears glasses, wears the same wrinkled shirt for days on end, is super shy when you first meet her, etc.

not to mention the fact that she's aware that she's so incredibly in love with you

so it can hurt her in the beginning when you don't know how to show her just how much you love her

like you're just AWKWARD but she doesn't get that

but literally just tell her and she will fall like a lovesick puppy all over again

is such a gentlewoman omg

doesn't let you pay for anything, spoils you rotten, and loves nothing more than to tell you how much she loves you

will not break up with you. like once you're with her, you're with her for lyfe.

[nsfw content below.]

OMG AND IT TRANSFERS TO THE BEDROOM TOO

BC I SWEAR THAT SHE'S SUCH A SOFT DOM

she likes dressing you up in the prettiest sets, watching you model them for her bc she likes seeing how shy you get

is it controversial if i said she would make you wear a collar?

doesn't matter how big or small you are, you will always find yourself on her lap

she likes making you ride her thigh??

like she likes watching you try to get yourself her without even lifting a finger

again with the whole i want you to love me as much as i love you thing

especially if you're wearing her clothes??

will get clothes 9x too big just bc she likes seeing you swaddled in her clothes, using her to get yourself off

but you can't. ofc you can't.

she honestly would make you feel so good that you physically wouldn't be able to get off w/o her helping you

will mark you everywhere

i'm not joking

you'll wake up looking like you got mauled by bear from the hickeys on your neck

she likes spanking you for the same reason

her handprint on your ass is pretty much permanent atp

is dominant the whole time (and it's very very rare that she gives up control) and loves making you melt in her arms

her goal is always to make you feel so good that you can't speak, just clawing at her for more

more what? who knows. but she'll give it to you, that's for sure.

is very kinky and probably enjoys fantasies of a lot of darker kinks but is very scared of pushing you past your limits

just the sheer volume of dark dark fantasies that she finds herself getting off to the idea of subjecting you to scares her

aftercare is superb

never fails to clean you up, wait for you to come back to her, and always snuggles the absolute best fr fr

she's a sweetie who fucks real good (a keeper fr)