#but it's kind of a character study first and a fix-it second

[incomingalbatross]

Top 5 favorite AUs?

A good question! (I'm going to assume "types of AU" here - apologies if you were looking for specific AUs, but this was what came to mind first.)

In no particular order:

Platonic soulmark AUs. I am obligated to include this given that I've written multiple in different fandoms. :P I love taking characters who are Significant to each other and throwing a big red flag at them, in-universe, and getting to play with how they process that once it's been foregrounded. Also love the freedom and room for variety under the umbrella of "soulmate marks."

Reincarnation AUs. This one is funny because the actual concept of reincarnation offends me on a deep theological and metaphysical level, to the extent that I often have to rationalize it a bit within my own plot bunnies. And yet I love it. Love the idea of people starting all over, having new lives, but finding each other and starting where they left off - of getting to start where they wished they could have last time. I'm a sucker for it.

Fix-it AUs. Extremely basic, yes, but they're like candy. I also love watching the variety, in fandoms where there are one or two Bad Things everyone's sad about - they range all the way from "here's one thing I changed to give them a slim window toward a better path, and they are going to forge their way through with blood sweat and tears" to "what if this particular person had just... been less stupid" to "everything goes suspiciously easy for them but we all know this is wish-fulfillment so sh" to "and the bad guy tripped and broke his neck on the way to committing crimes THE END."

Negaverse AUs. All right, this one does have a specific fandom name, because Darkwing Duck did the "mirror universe where everybody's moralities are swapped" my favorite. It's hard for me to find a morality-swap/mirrorverse AU I actually like to read, somehow, but they are delightfully fun to brainstorm. (The key for me is A) letting your new villains maintain some core of their canon self while now being garbage in very distinctive ways and B) leaning just as hard into creating new heroes who you can love and root for.)

Peggy Sue/time-travel AUs. By this I mean specifically the "character gets sent back into their past body, with all their future memories," and... I have a complicated relationship with this one, honestly. I will often revolve AUs of this type in my head, but they almost always end up breaking down under their own weight. I want to give characters second chances but I can't accept the losses involved for them in going back alone, so I keep expanding the time-travel cast list until it gets ludicrous. And like, when I'm so unwilling to give up their present, it makes it hard for me to stay committed to wanting a new past for them. ...But even so, it takes up enough space in my brain that it goes on the list. ;P

Thank you for giving me a reason to ramble about my AU thoughts! :)

[cressidagrey]

The Attic Room

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Felicity Leong-Piastri (Original Character)

Summary: Felicity and Oscar broke the same school rules every night for three years. 

Notes and Warnings: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Mention of Underage Sex.

Big thanks to @llirawolf , who listens to me ramble 😂

(divider thanks to @saradika-graphics )

They never once got caught. 

In retrospect it bordered on impossible. 

They broke the same school rule every night for three years and never got caught.

Technically, it was about ten different violations rolled into one: curfew, unauthorized presence in dormitories, misuse of the staff staircase, unsupervised cohabitation—plus whatever regulation covered “two students sleeping in the same narrow twin bed every night.”

Technically, boarding students weren’t supposed to sneak into each other’s rooms past curfew.

Definitely not the girls’ dorms.

And absolutely not up the narrow, creaking staircase that led to the attic room at the very top of the oldest building on campus—the one with the slanted ceilings, crooked windows, and that draft in the winter no amount of heating ever fixed.

It started in 2016. 

They were 15. 

Felicity had the worst room in the school.

Everyone said so.

Which was exactly why Felicity got it.

They hadn’t said that out loud, of course. They’d told her it was “for upperclassmen who value quiet” and “a bit removed, but private.” But everyone knew what it meant.

Too intense. Too strange. Too smart. Too hard to place.

So she got the attic.

And she never said it, but she was kind of glad.

It was the attic room—tiny, slanted, too hot in the summer and too cold in the winter. The radiator clanked like it was haunted. 

Nobody wanted it.

But she took it. Gratefully. Quietly. Because it was far from the housemistress's office, and it had a door that locked, and because nobody ever checked it after curfew.

Which meant Oscar could get to her.

It had started their second term, when the nightmares were worse than ever—cold sweat, gasping, shaking so hard she once cracked the plastic of her retainer. 

Nobody understood. 

Oscar did.

He had the room three floors below hers and the kind of memory that remembered things no one else noticed—like when her hands started trembling during meals. Like how she never screamed when she woke up, just stared at the ceiling like it had personally betrayed her.

He didn’t climb ivy or scale the gutter pipes or do anything heroic. 

The staircase was ancient and half-blocked by an unused storage room. Nobody patrolled that wing. Nobody cared. Nobody ever noticed the quiet boy with the soft steps and the too-serious eyes slipping into the attic room every night at 11:03 and leaving again at 5:30 a.m., when the world still felt soft and half-dreamed.

And Oscar had always been good at finding the quietest paths.

One night, just past midnight., she heard the stairs creak.

Carefully. Slowly. One by one.

Then the soft knock—two short, one long. The knock they’d agreed on in whispered study halls and library corners.

When she opened the door, he looked  sleepy, hair a mess and hoodie half-zipped. He didn’t say anything. Just held out a hand, and when she took it, he crawled into the too-small twin bed like he belonged there.

And he did.

For three years, he came to her every single night he was at Haileybury…when he wasn’t busy racing. 

Never missed one. Not even during exam weeks or rainy nights or the time he twisted his ankle during a cricket match and still limped his way up four flights of stairs just so she wouldn’t have to fall asleep alone.

They broke every rule in the book. 

No visitors. No lights after hours. No boys in girls’ quarters. But nobody checked the attic. Nobody cared about the girl in the room with the water-stained ceiling. 

They should have. That room was where everything happened.

It was where she learned to sleep through the night, tucked into his chest.

They never really meant for anything to happen.

At first, he just held her. Let her shake. Let her breathe. Let her fall asleep in the curl of his body, warm and steady and safe, which had never really meant anything to her before he showed up and made it mean everything.

Oscar never asked what the dreams were about. Never tried to fix them. He just climbed in beside her like that tiny bed was big enough for both of them, and wrapped an arm around her waist like it was the most natural thing in the world.

And it worked.

The nightmares didn’t go away—but they didn’t swallow her whole either. Not when she had something to hold onto. Someone.

They slept chest to back, tangled knees, breath synced so closely that sometimes she wasn’t sure where she ended and he began. He’d press a kiss to the back of her neck before falling asleep. She never told him, but it was the one thing that could stop her shaking on the bad nights.

Then came their first kiss.

It wasn’t dramatic. Just…inevitable.

They were talking, forehead to forehead, knees knocking together, and she was laughing about something—soft and breathless and alive—and he looked at her like she hung the moon. And then he kissed her like he’d been waiting to his whole life.

And maybe he had. 

She never forgot the way he looked afterward either—rumpled and pink-cheeked and stunned with affection, like he couldn’t believe this was his life.

Sometimes she still couldn’t believe it either.

Their first time had been there too.

Months later, she held his hand and whispered “yes” when he asked if this—they—were ready. It was clumsy and sweet and quiet and a little too fast and a little too intense and everything they were at sixteen.

Afterward, he kissed her shoulder and whispered, “I love you.”

She whispered it back.

And the radiator clanked like a blessing.

***

Oscar hadn’t realized how badly he missed her until he saw her again.

He had counted the days.

Every single one of them.

47 days since he’d last seen Fliss—since they’d curled up together in the too-small twin bed beneath the sloped roof of her attic room, limbs tangled and breathing steady. 

47 days since Felicity had kissed his collarbone and murmured sleepily about constellations and university applications and how this time next year, they’d be free.

No phone. No texts. A few letters—clinical, cautious. Like someone else had read them first. Which he knew, deep down, was probably true

So he’d waited. And counted.

And now, finally, they were back at Haileybury.

It was the first day back in their last year—mid-September, hot and dragging—and the courtyard was full of luggage and overlapping greetings and housemasters calling names over the din. But he only saw her.

Felicity.

Standing by the edge of the courtyard, her usual navy cardigan pulled tight around her frame, hair half-tied like she’d done it in a moving car. Her shoulders were hunched, eyes down, like she was already trying to disappear.

And she was so thin.

Thinner than she’d been in June. Her cheeks hollowed out. Collarbones sharp against the fabric of her shirt. Her smile—when she finally met his eyes—was more ghost than real.

He didn’t say anything then. Just walked up to her, let his bag drop to the grass, and wrapped his arms around her without a word.

She flinched.

Just slightly. A twitch.

And then melted into him like she’d been holding her breath all summer and had only just remembered how to exhale.

That night, after lights out, he took the old staircase like always. Avoided the creaking steps. Knew just where to press his palm against the wood to close the attic door without a sound.

She was already curled on the bed when he slipped inside, the blanket pulled halfway up her chest. A glass of water sat untouched on her nightstand.

She smiled when she saw him.

Not a ghost this time.

Something real.

He crossed the room in two steps and kissed her forehead. “Hi.”

And she flinched.

Not just startled. Flinched—like she expected pain. Like she’d learned it.

Oscar’s heart sank so fast it felt like gravity had doubled.

He knelt in front of her.

“Fliss.”

Silence.

“Will you let me see?”

At first, he didn’t think she would. But then—wordless, trembling—she reached for the buttons of her cardigan and peeled it off. Then the shirt beneath it. She turned around slowly, like her body had betrayed her and she was apologizing for it.

Oscar’s world cracked.

He stopped breathing.

Her back was covered in it.

Belt marks. Raised and raw. Some healing, some new. Deep bruises blooming across her ribs and lower spine. Angry, broken skin that had clearly been left untreated. One cut near her shoulder blade looked infected—swollen, red, and weeping.

Oscar sat perfectly still.

Then: “Okay,” he said quietly. “Okay. Alright. We’re going to fix this.”

He didn’t ask questions. Didn’t press. She was already trembling too hard, and he couldn’t stand the thought of adding more weight to her bones.

He found the first aid kit she always kept under the sink, the one they’d used before for sprained wrists and stress headaches. He opened it without asking. Laid out what he needed.

Antiseptic. Cream. Gauze. He cleaned each wound as gently as he could, whispering soft apologies every time she hissed in pain.

Her breathing stayed shallow. She didn’t cry. Just stared at the wall like it would crack open and swallow her whole.

When he was done, he wrapped his arms around her without asking.

He didn’t ask what happened. Didn’t ask why. He didn’t need to.

He knew what summer meant for her. He’d always known.

Oscar had always known Felicity’s parents were strict.

Not the "no phones at dinner" kind of strict. Not the "home by curfew" kind. 

It was the kind of strict that hollowed a person out from the inside and called it raising them right.

They expected brilliance—flawless, polished, relentless brilliance. 

First in every class, head of every club, effortless perfection. A girl who made top marks while staying quiet. Who looked put-together but never proud. Who never cried. Never stumbled. Never once failed.

Felicity had learned early on that there was no room for error. That being exceptional was survival. Anything less—anything merely good—was met with disappointment. Silence. Or worse.

Oscar had known this.

But this… this was different.

This was escalation.

This was not getting better.

“Was it your dad?” he asked quietly, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

She hesitated. Then said, “Yes.”

“Jesus, Fliss—”

“I failed chemistry,” she whispered.

Oscar stared at her.

“What?”

“I got an ninety-three. They told me to get over ninety-five. I didn’t. I made a mistake on the equations.” She said it like it was a confession. Like she'd crashed a car. Like she'd burned a house down.

“That’s—Fliss, that’s—” His voice broke. “You don’t get beaten for a test score.”

She wrapped her arms around herself like she was trying to stay upright. “In my house, you do. I missed one question,” she said, voice brittle. “And then they said I didn’t smile enough at the dinner party they hosted for the ambassador. That I embarrassed them.”

“That’s not your fault.”

“They said I disappoint them, and then they reminded me of the consequences. And I always think—next time I’ll get it right. But I never do.”

Oscar’s throat burned.

“I watched my mum count calories for me when I was ten,” she added. “I’ve had tutors since I was five. I’m not allowed to decorate my room at home. I’ve never been allowed to choose what I wear, or how to cut my hair. When I told them I didn’t want to apply to Oxford—when I said I wanted to take a gap year and learn how to fix cars—they locked me in my room for three days and said I’d thank them later.”

She wasn’t crying. But he was.

Because she said it all like it was normal. Like it was her fault.

And he’d always known her parents were strict. But this was control. This was abuse. This was someone taking every beautiful, brilliant part of her and trying to hammer it into something that performed on command.

“They told me if I wasn’t brilliant, I was nothing. That I was already a disappointment because I’m not beautiful. So I have to be perfect. Or there’s no point.”

Oscar closed his eyes. Just for a second. To keep from screaming.

He reached forward and very gently touched the edge of one of the cuts.

“You’re not a disappointment,” he said. “And you don’t have to be perfect. You don’t even have to be good. You just have to be.”

Her chin trembled.

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” he said fiercely. “Don’t you dare apologize. This isn’t on you. This is on them. For treating you like something to control. Something to sharpen until you bleed.”

Oscar couldn’t breathe.

He wanted to shake the world. To drag her parents out into the open and make them see what they’d done. To tear down the foundation of every expectation they’d ever poisoned her with.

“You’re okay,” he murmured. “You’re here. I’ve got you.”

She buried her face in his shirt.

Oscar didn’t let go for a long time.

And when he finally pulled back, when he gently cupped her jaw and tilted her chin up so she would look at him, his voice was steady in a way it had never been before. 

“This is the last summer they’ll ever get,” he said. “I swear to you. Never again.”

Felicity blinked.

“We turn eighteen in April,” he said. “We graduate in May. You’re not going back there. I don’t care what we have to do. I’ll figure it out. I’ll talk to someone. I’ll go to hell and back if I have to, but I’m not letting you walk back into that house ever again.”

She shook her head, not in disagreement but disbelief. “Oscar, they’re my parents.”

“They don’t deserve to be.”

She was crying now. Silently. One tear slipping after another, like she couldn’t stop them anymore.

Oscar wiped them away with his thumb. Kissed her forehead.

Then her cheek.

Then the corner of her mouth.

And when she finally kissed him back, it wasn’t out of gratitude or desperation—it was out of the smallest flicker of belief that maybe, just maybe, he meant it.

That maybe she’d make it.

That maybe they’d make it.

Later, after she fell asleep curled against him in that terrible twin bed—bandaged, exhausted, but warm—Oscar lay awake staring at the ceiling, already planning. April 6th. Their eighteenth birthday. May 26th. Graduation.

They just had to make it until then.

And then she was his to protect.

No more hidden bruises. No more whispered excuses. No more being punished for being human.

Never again.

***

They never got caught.

 Not by the housemistress, not the prefects, not even by the one teacher who everyone swore was ex-MI6.

Felicity still didn’t know how they never got caught.

Maybe it was dumb luck. Maybe it was the universe offering them one small miracle. Maybe the housemistress knew all along and simply never said anything.

It was the worst room in the school.But it was where Felicity Leong found everything.

[plethorawrites]

can I request Damian x reader but reader is like the opposite she’s clumsy and messy (NOT DIRTY SHES JUST NOT REALLY ORGANIZED) and at first Damian is like no way I could ever like someone like that but then he’s like oh shit I think I like her you don’t have to do it but it was just an idea

(A/N- This has been sitting in my drafts for a bit because people are STILL calling me racist, so I've seriously considered wiping Damian from my page completely. But I love him as a character way too much to do that, so here we are!) (Requests are open again, btw!)

---

Despite being rather pretentious because of his upbringing, I think anytime Damian Wayne is assigned to do a group project, he'd want to go to someone else's house. They usually live in squalor (Middle class) but he deals with it for a few hours because it beats having his classmates fawning over his older brother's or asking his dad if he really used to date Harvey Dent or if that's just a rumor.

Usually, despite the condition of the house (Aka having a dish rack on the counter.) the room they'd work in was pretty clean. But you? Oh, no, no, no. He almost had a heart attack when he saw the state of catastrophe your study room was in.

Books on the ground instead of on the shelves, chair pulled out from the desk instead of tucked in, tons of sticky notes scattered on the walls and reminders pinned up. No one could have that short of a memory, could they? You seemed to.

The number of loose papers on the desk, the open notebooks with illegible writing, fidget toys to relieve stress or increase your focus, cups from when you needed coffee for a late-night study session that hadn't made it all the way to the dishwasher yet. (But it was on the sticky note! Right under the reminder to check your email.

Was that a thing people needed to remember to do?

He was utterly perplexed by the chaos you seemed so comfortable in. What he found most odd though, was how you never made any effort to fix it. He had been to your house three times thus far, trying to make a dent in the project that would take at least another week and each time, your room was the same. He even offered to help you organize (For his own sanity) but you turned him down, claiming you liked it how it was.

"How could anyone possibly like studying like this?" he questioned.

You shrugged. "I find having a pristine desk makes me uncomfortable, like I'm not actually doing work in a space I can relax in," you explained. "Plus, research shows environments like this increase brain productivity."

Damian wasn't sure if he believed that for a single second. But you clearly seemed to.

"But it's so messy," he muttered, motioning to your desk, so covered in God knows what that he couldn't even see what color the wood was.

"It's disorganized, not messy," you retorted. "And I know where everything is. Pencil sharper is by the white out because I use both rarely, erasers are where all the pencils are because I stab the led into them when I'm bored, highlighters are the ruler, which is.... under the syllabus I printed at the start of the year."

You pointed at everything as you said it and he slowly came to the realization that you weren't lying when you said you weren't messy. You kind of, in some weird way, had a system that worked.

Still, it felt uncomfortable for him. For a while. He'd watch you chew on your pencil and reach for tape that came from he didn't even know where, seemingly materializing things out of thin air. You barely even sat in the chair, he realized. He was always the one sitting in it, watching you sit or lay on the floor.

The only time Damian was ever on the floor was when Titus knocked him down or he got beat by his brothers during sparring. (Not that it ever happened..psh, no, don't be absurd.)

He slowly got a bit more accustomed to your room, even starting to find a bit of comfort whenever he stepped into it. It was welcoming, in a way, he'd come to think. When had that happened?

"Aren't you supposed to leave by eight?" you asked him, stretching your arms over your head as you sat on the floor across from him.

Damian frowned, looking at the time. He realized it was already 7:55. Had it already been four hours? It seemed like he just sat down on your rug, which, was surprisingly comfortable.

He hated to admit how much more productive he felt sitting on the floor than at a desk. "Uh, yes, right," he nodded, standing up and stretching as well. "I think we can probably get this finished by Tuesday," he added, feeling a weird pang of disappointment by the thought.

You nodded. "Alright, I'll see you tomorrow at four, then," you told him, watching as he packed up his books neatly, the pages fitting back in the nice folder perfectly. "Unless you wanna stay," you suddenly found yourself offering. "For dinner, I mean. If...if you want to. No pressure."

Damian paused, caught off guard by invitation. He stared at you for a few minutes, lips parting but words not leaving his mouth. Dinner? That was probably going to last at least an hour or two. Longer if your parents were the kind to serve dessert or chat a lot. He might not get home until ten or later.

"Sure," he agreed abruptly, though logically he knew he should refuse. He was supposed to be asleep by nine so he could get some rest before patrol. "I'd love to stay for dinner," he remarked, setting his bag back down for what wasn't one or two hours like planned, but four and a half.

How he would explain getting home past midnight to his father, he wasn't sure yet. But he'd find a reasonable excuse. After all, his dad was the one who told him to find normal friends and he was just doing what he asked.

...You were just his friend, right?

[mariasont]

maria's fic recs

i have realized how most of these are smut & idk what that says about me but alas this are some super super amazing talented people who write crazy cool stories!!!! check them out!!!!! make sure to follow, reblog & comment on these fics if you like them!!! these incredible fic writers deserve it! i will also probably be adding more as i read follow my fic rec page for more @mariasficrecs if anyone mentioned in this post wants to be removed let me know <3

spencer reid

cedar - @parfaitblogs summary: in which compatible bodies does not always mean compatible minds, but spencer reid is all too kind when you're like this, so perhaps you're allowed to forget that for a night. 

this is the fic for the girlies who have loved someone more than they should, more than they loved you back and more than was ever remotely healthy. this is the kind of fic that makes you reread certain lines just to punch yourself in the chest a second time. masterpiece in pining, delusion, and tragic devotion. genuinely one of the most beautiful, brutal things i've ever read.

in my dream im fixing your crutch - @notlongtolove summary: most nights, spencer wakes to the sound of your sniffles—unlike most nights, he doesn’t have to ask why. the reason is visceral, tangible—staining the sheets when the wound dressing wasn’t tight enough, seeping and pooling right between the both of you where an ocean of your guilt already lies.

this and everythingggg p writes is so incredibly SHATTERING in the best way possible. i truly need everyone to follow rn! and reader everything written by them! but this one specifically wasn't just a fic it was an experience. it's so painful and beautiful and so unfairly written. the duality of intimacy and violence is insaneeeeee like shakespearean level.

into the rose garden; for evermore - @notlongtolove summary: months of hope, weeks of ache. you’ve stayed. you’ve waited. you’ve stayed in the waiting. more pathetic than poetic if you’re being honest. but now, with him standing here with his heart in his hands, it doesn’t feel simple.

might be my favorite fic ive ever read if im being honest. everything about it had me sobbing like a baby. it's not even angst at this point it's a biblical reckoning. p has made heartbreak into a single character, personified pain and i felt every freaking piece of it actually! every single line was freaking perfection & you get to choose your ending!!!!!!! because user notlongtolove is so cool and so creative.

i can do a lot with fifteen minutes - @reidrum summary: in which you and spencer don't make it out the door on date night

i love a sabrina reference (clearly) and this was just the perfect smut fic literally like poetry disguised as desire. i have read a lot of smut (u got me). but nothing compares to a good intimate zipper scene. i will eat it up everytime!!!!!!! and a mirror scene!!!!! double whammy. fantastic 10000/10

hypothalamus - @reidrum summary: in which spencer gets creative on helping you study for your exam

godddddds to have spencer reid talk nerdy to me in bed. so in character. essentially the anatomy lesson of the gods actually. so amazing

sobriquet - @siriuslylantsov summary: spencer reacts to you calling him a nickname for the first time.

so sweet, so fluffy, a love letter to everything good in the world, essentially love seeping into mundane which is my favorite genre!!!! waking up with spencer!! being in love!! angel!!!! i love spencer calling the reader angel girl!!!!! <3

sweeter - @siriuslylantsov summary: in which, you and spencer try out foodplay, through use of whipped cream.

whipped cream!!!!!!!!! i dont have many words other than that! must read

white noise - @brattyspence summary: spencer x reader -- a situationship defined by white noise; a metaphor for how we pacify ourselves and make stupid decisions to experience comfort, even when it hurts

visceral, soul-shattering, gut wrenching agony. that's about it. slow burn destruction that will have you crying. no doubt. this fic literally lulls you into a false sense of security and then u realize that spencer is white noise and that you'd rather have whatever this is than nothing at all. LOL! definitely did not almost kill me while reading. most accurate portrayal of a situationship

chateau lobby #4 - @burymagdalene summary: Whilst trying to navigate romantic relationships after prison, Spencer finds himself in love and caught in an all-too-serious non-relationship with reader. Wanting to break this streak, he asks to spend Valentine's Day properly with a real date. Afterward, they find themselves desperate with trying to express their love for each other.

so as you might be able to tell i have a pattern of reading situationship spence! call me a masochist! but this one had a happy ending okay!!!!!!!! and a reference to father john misty? yes. immediately. i also just love post prison reid because he's so complicated and different but still him and he doesnt think he deserves soft things and soft love and it's so devastating. reading the date literally felt like falling in love in real time. so good.

a closed mouth doesn't get fed - @burymagdalene summary: When reader notices Spencers dark circles and glossy eyes, they store away their pressing need for him in bed. This desire locked away forms into a wet dream that escalates their prior expectations substantially.

one of the best portrayals of sleep-deprived, love-drunk, desperate sex. that's it. that's the tweet. also when he switches the reader's straw like why was that so sweet to me im crying

xoxo - @pathologicalreid summary: in which your daughter goes to the BAU to hand out her extra Valentines

peak domesticity. i love girl dad spence so much it's not even funny. it's everything he deserves. like i can only hope in some alternate au this is the ending reid got <3

to talk is to bare - @esote-rika summary: three times you've never felt enough for Spencer Reid—and the three times he rectified it immediately

one of the most painfully real depiction of navigating self worth in a relationship with spencer. like exactly what i feel like it would be like to be with someone so brilliant and like so unattainable-seeming, while feeling ordinary and yet spencer makes the reader feel so special ugh

in infinite universes - @nereidprinc3ss summary: in which spencer reid picks up uni!reader from a party. you're drunk, and he's in love with you

there is not a single thing (cannot emphasize this enough) that i won't read from nereidprinc3ss okay? everything she writes is actually literary gold. but this one was so beautiful it almost hurts to reid because it's literally a love letter to inevitability!!!!! and the dialogue is so funny and flirty and so spencer and ugh it's so raw and real.

spencer reid & aaron hotchner

unknown territory - @minswriting Spencer walks in on Aaron going down on you. So he watches the two of you have sex.

had to take multiple breathers after reading this! everyone knows i love hotch and reid and even more so i loveeeee a why choose. also everything min writes is so hot, 10/10 recommend checking out her account. "reid, if you're going to stand there and watch, you can at least come in and close the door" hello????????? immediately yes.

aaron hotchner

crazy - @kimstills summary: after one heated and spontaneous night together, aaron can’t seem to get his pretty subordinate (or her pussy) out of his head.

i did in fact read this bad boy like three times because it's that good. it perfectly mirrors hotch's mental state which i love love love. and i just love a smutty fic that has the best escalation of tension, like it builds until hotch physically cannot take it anymore and shewwwww so hot. exactly what i want in a hotch smut fic

savor - @kimstills summary: after being compromised to working a case the next day, aaron decides on savoring your current moment together for when he’s gone.

maddie is just always going to make the hottest aaron hotchner smut. the fact that this idea comes to aaron mid fuck is wild and i love it LOL.

morphine - @luveline summary: you get a good dose, confess your affections, and leave poor, oblivious hotch to fix things up neatly. 

so if you follow my fic rec blog you know i literally reblog absolutely everything jade writes because it is just that fantastic. and this one is just soooo tender and so perfectly in character with hotch. if you are looking for truly amazing characterizations of hotch and reid !!!!! right here besties !!!!

filthy flat-pack thoughts - @alinathinkstoomuch summary: you had taken the day off to get yourself settled into your new apartment, not expecting hotch to show up at your door and offer a hand.

hey so firstly im just obsessed with the title, idk why it scratches something in my brain. and i feel like this fic should be illegal because it's not just smut-adjacent, it's foreplay with no touching, sexual frustration in furniture assembly and poor decisions lolol and again everyone who knows me knows i eat upppppp sexual tension and this fic was just that. there is literally no kisses no sex nothing and it's still one of the hottest fics i've ever read (there is also a smutty part two so go check that out as well)

can't lose when i'm with you - @aureatelys summary: You work as a beverage cart girl at your local country club and your dad ropes you in to make him look good during a business meeting with his new best friend.

dbf hotch is my weakness. the slow burn!!!!!! possessive hotch!!! daddy hotch!!!! this is the gold standard for dbf hotch truly. felt like i needed a cigarette after and i don't even smoke

red light kiss - @aureatelys summary: You haven't had sex in a week, you're stuck in the car with your new boyfriend/boss, and he's wearing that damn Kevlar vest. How could you resist?

hey yeah so i was positively feral after reading this actually. that damn kevlar vest is right. idk how you managed to make a blowjob in a government vehicle feel romantic but you did so bravo

tyrant - @solardrop summary: Hotch lets you take some anger out on him after he disrespects you on a case.

my favorite genre !!!!!!! making hotch shut up by sitting on his face! mhm mhm mhm. absolutely amazing use of free will was you writing this because i've read it at least 5 times minimum. i was forever changed

salt & pepper - @dudeitiskarev summary: dad bod and insecure Hotch. That’s it.

everything cat writes is just so crazy good but everyone knows i have such a weakness for dad bod hotch & this is the absolute perfect fic for it.

we can't be friends (wait for your love) - @cerisereids summary: down on your luck after a huge betrayal, you return to live at your father's house with your tail between your legs. you're humiliated, thoroughly convinced nothing good could come from returning home. then you meet aaron hotchner.

there are three parts to this masterpiece and i need everyone to read them all okay? because it's just so good. hotch flustered is my roman empire and grrrrrr this man was literally on his knees for the reader internally through out the whole thing & once again dbf!hotch!!!!! arghhh obsessed

[ryin-silverfish]

One nerd's musing about Chinese religion and "respect"

-I try to stay away from fandom discourse, but, much like how you can smell the stench from a dumpster fire without walking into said dumpster fire, I've noticed something that seemed to come up a lot in western JTTW + adjacent fandoms: "respect Chinese religion".

-Usually as a reason for why you shouldn't ship a character, because of fucking course it's shipping discourse too.

-And my first reaction is "Man, you are taking Chinese religion too darn seriously, more than people who are born and raised in China."

-My second reaction is "I mean, most of us are atheist/agnostic by default anyways, with a good number of what I'd call 'atheist/agnostics with superstitions': people who said they were not religious, yet believed in Fengshui or divinations and burnt incense at temples for good luck."

-My third reaction: "But why do I get the feeling that when you mention 'Respect', you are thinking about something completely different?"

-Then I reread an essay from Anthony C. Yu, "Religion and Literature in China: The "Obscure Way" of Journey to the West", and the metaphorical lightbulb just lit up over my head.

(Everything below applies more to Daoism + associated folk religions, but by the time most classic Chinese vernacular novels were written, the blending of the three religions had become well and truly mainstream.)

(The conception of gods differs from dynasty to dynasty. What I'm describing here is mostly based on Ming and Qing ones; if you went back to Han or pre-Qin times, most of these would not apply.)

(I am one of the "atheist/agnostic by default" people. I just have an interest in this kind of stuff. I am also just one Chinese person, and an actual Daoist/Buddhist/Religion Studies researcher would probably have a lot more valuable information and perspective to offer when it comes to contemporary practices and worship. Like any people on the internet: take my words with a grain of salt.)

-Even in the past, when society was far less secularized, Chinese gods are not omniscient, perfect beings whose worship is a solemn, humorless affair. Some's worship are Serious Business, but that has more to do with the sort of gods they are and the patronage they enjoy, not godhood in and of itself.

-And even the ones that you are supposed to "treat seriously" are still very human. To use an analogy I've used plenty of times before: you respect and fear them in the same way you'd respect and fear an emperor's official, or the emperor himself, because if you don't, you are not gonna like the consequences.

-However, unlike Jesus, the emperor & his officials were capable of being temperamental, flawed, or an outright asshole, divine or not. Ideally, they wouldn't be, and if you were one of the "serious" believers——people who actually got an official permit, became ordained clergy, and went to live in a temple, you were unlikely to think of your gods in that manner.

-But it wasn't a complete, utter impossibility. The lower you go in the pantheon, the closer you get to popular religion, the less "serious" the gods and their worship become. By that, I mean general attitude, not sincerity of faith. You still shouldn't be rude to them, but, well, they are more likely to take a joke in stride, or participate in the "vulgar" pleasures of commoners because they weren't as bound to Confucian moral standards or religious disciplines.

-To stretch the same analogy further: you should still respect your village head, they could still give your ass a good spanking for being a disrespectful brat, but you were not obligated to get on your knees and kowtow to them like you would do in front of a provincial magistrate, the emperor's minister, or the emperor himself, nor did they have the power to chop your head off just because you were rude.

-On the other hand, the emperor would never visit a random peasant just to help them fix their broken plow or treat them to a nice meal, but your village head could, and your relationship would probably be warmer and a lot more personal as a result.

-Your respect for them was more likely to stem from the things they actually did for you and the village as a whole, instead of something owed to this distant, powerful authority you might never get to see in your lifetime, but could change its course with a single stroke of a brush.

-Now exchange "village head" for your run-of-the-mill Tudis and Chenghuangs and friendly neighborhood spirits (because yes, people worshipped yaoguais for the exact same reasons), emperor + his officials for the Celestial Bureaucracy, and you'd have a basic idea of how Chinese religions worked on the ground level.

-This is far from absolute: maybe your village head was a spiteful old bastard who loved bullying his juniors, maybe your regional magistrate was an honest, upright man who could enjoy a good drink and a good laugh, maybe the emperor was a lenient one and wouldn't chop your head off for petty offenses. But their general degree of power over you and the closeness of your relationships still apply.

-Complicating the matter further, some folk gods (like Wutong) were worshipped not because they brought blessings, but because they were the divine equivalent of gangsters running a protection racket: you basically bribed them with offerings so they'd leave you alone and not wreck your shit. Famous people who died violently and were posthumously deified often fell into this category——shockingly enough, Guan Yu used to be one such god!

-Yeah, kinda like how your average guy could become an official through the imperial examinations, so could humans become gods through posthumous worship, or cultivate themselves into immortals and Enlightened beings.

-Some immortals aren't qualified for, or interested in a position in the Celestial Bureaucracy——they are the equivalent of your hermits, your cloistered Daoist priests, your common literati who kept trying and failing the exams. But some do get a job offer and gladly take it.

-Anyways, back to my original point: that's why it's so absurd when people pull the "Respect Chinese Religion1!!1!" card and immediately follow up with "Would you do X to Jesus?"

-Um, there are a lot of things you can do with Chinese gods that I'm pretty sure you can't do with Jesus. Like worshipping him side by side with Buddha and Confucius (Lao Tzu). Or inviting him to possess you and drink copious amount of alcohol (Tang-ki mediums in SEA). Or genderbend him into a woman over the course of several centuries because folks just like that version of Jesus better (Guan Yin/Avalokitesvara).

-But most importantly, Chinese religions are kinda a "free market" where you could pick and choose between gods, based on their vicinity to you and how efficient they were at answering prayers. You respect them because they'll help you out, you aren't an asshole and know your manners, and pissing them off is a bad idea in general, not because they are some omnipotent, perfect beings who demand exclusive and total reverence.

-A lot of the worship was also, well, very "practical" and almost transactional in nature: leave offerings to Great Immortal Hu, and he doesn't steal your imperial seal while you aren't looking. Perform the rites right and meditate on a Thunder General's visage, and you can temporarily channel said deity's power. Get this talisman for your kids at Bixia Yuanjun's temple, and they'll be protected from smallpox.

-"Faith alone" or "Scripture alone" is seldom the reason people worship popular deities. Even the obsession with afterlife wasn't about the eternal destination of your soul, and more about reducing the potential duration of the prison sentence for you and your loved ones so you can move on faster and reincarnate into a better life.

-Also, there isn't a single "canon" of scriptures. Many popular gods don't show up in Daoist literature until much later. Daoist scriptures often came up with their own gigantic pantheons, full of gods no one had heard of prior to said book, or enjoyed no worship in temples whatsoever.

-In the same way famous dead people could become gods via worship, famous fictional characters could, too, become gods of folk religion——FSYY's pantheon was very influential on popular worship, but that doesn't mean you should take the novels as actual scriptures.

-Like, God-Demon novels are to orthodox Daoism/Buddhism what the Divine Comedy is to medieval Christian doctrines, except no priests had actually built a Church of Saint Beatrice, while Daoists did put FSYY characters into their temples. By their very nature, the worship that stemmed from these books is not on the same level of "seriousness" as, say, the Tiantai school of Buddhism and their veneration of the Lotus Sutra.

-At the risk of being guilty of the same insertion of Christianity where it doesn't belong: You don't cite Dante's Inferno in a theological debate, nor would any self-respecting pastor preach it to churchgoers on a Sunday.

-Similarly, you don't use JTTW or FSYY as your sole evidence for why something is "disrespectful to Chinese religion/tradition" when many practitioners of said religions won't treat them as anything more than fantasy novels.

-In fact, let's use Tripitaka as an example. The historical Xuanzang was an extraordinarily talented, faithful, and determined monk. In JTTW, he was a caricature of a Confucian scholar in a Buddhist kasaya and served the same narrative function as Princess Peach in a Mario game.

-Does the presence of satire alone make JTTW anti-Buddhist, or its religious allegories less poignant? I'd say no. Should you take it as seriously as actual Buddhist sutras, when the book didn't even take itself 100% seriously? Also no.

-To expand further on the idea of "seriousness": even outside of vernacular novels, practitioners are not beholden to a universal set of strict religious laws and taboos.

-Both Daoism and Buddhism had what we called "cloistered" and "non-cloistered" adherents; only the former needed to follow their religious laws and (usually) took a vow of celibacy.

-Certain paths of Daoist cultivation allow for alcohol and sexual activities (thanks @ruibaozha for the info), and some immortals, like Lv Dongbin, had a well-established "playboy" reputation in folklore.

-Though it was rarer for Buddhism and very misunderstood, esoteric variants of it did utilize sexual imageries and sex. And, again, most of the above would not apply if you weren't among the cloistered and ordained clergy.

-Furthermore, not even the worship of gods is mandatory! You could just be a Daoist who was really into internal alchemy, cultivating your body and mind in order to prolong your lifespan and, ideally, attain immortality.

-This idea of "respect" as…for a lack of better words, No Fun & R18 Stuff Allowed, you must treat all divinity with fearful reverence and put yourself completely at their mercy, is NOT the norm in Chinese religious traditions.

-There are different degrees and types of respect, and not every god is supposed to be treated like the Supreme Heavenly Emperor himself during an imperial ceremony; the gods are capable of cracking a joke, and so are we!

TL;DR: Religions are complicated, and you aren't respecting Chinese religions by acting like a stereotypical Puritan over popular Chinese deities and their fictional portrayals.

[riddlemelater]

As Within, So Without - M.R

masterlist | nav | part 1 | part 2 | epilogue

⚠︎ all characters 18+ | MDNI ⚠︎

summary: It was supposed to be simple—just sex, no strings, no expectations. Mattheo didn’t do attachments, and you weren’t looking to fix him. But the lines are starting to blur, and neither of you are willing to admit it.

w.c: 7k

a/n: hii everyone, apologies for such a long wait for part 3. I'm scared i hate this, so please be kind lol. A massive thank you to all you lovely people for reading, reblogging, following, and commenting <3

p.s: this ones dedicated first to the lovely @cindyss who left so many lovely comments whilst I was going through one of the worst times in my life, thank you sweetheart <3 and second, to everyone who asked to be part of my taglist for this story, i'm honoured you're all so invested in reading my work.

The winter exam diet was gruelling. Everyone looked half-dead over breakfast; glassy stares, pale faces, and that twitchy kind of silence lingered in the air, one that came from too many late-night study sessions and not enough sleep.

Even you— despite spending hours buried in the library from early morning till curfew— were completely drained, fighting exhaustion over your revision notes and morning coffee.

By the time Friday rolled around, you were flat out, only consoled by the knowledge that it was nearly over for another year. The last exam on your timetable was History of Magic, which you were certain had gone better than expected. You’d combed through months’ worth of revision material, testing yourself all through breakfast on names and dates that might come up.

You made an effort to read up on the 1289 International Warlock Convention—mostly because your notes from that lesson had been feeble at best, all jumbled and inconsistent due Mattheo and his incessant need to disrupt you.

And, to his credit, Theo had even caved and helped quiz you on the more obscure dates the night before, lounging across from you in the common room and casually tossing over one of his fudge flies whenever you got one right.

Even if the extra reading didn’t show up on the exam, it felt like a quiet reclamation—a memory scrubbed clean of Mattheo’s interruptions. As if in a way you’d stolen a part of yourself back from Mattheo’s clutches, and closed the door on another lingering memory of him.

Of yet another way he'd wormed his way into your life and left his mark.

The one positive from exam season, however, was that you’d gotten better at dealing with him now, spending less time mourning something that clearly wasn’t there, and more time focusing on revision.

And even if it was just another welcomed distraction, you were beginning to feel much lighter than you had in weeks. Less weighed down by the stress and confusion which came with Mattheo like a packaged deal.

That, and, you refused to let something as silly as a boy prevent you from getting anything less than your typical Outstanding grades in your O.W.L.S.

You chewed on the end of your quill distractedly, trying to pass the time till the exam was over. You’d finished nearly ten minutes earlier, thanks to all the extra revision, and were trying to keep yourself busy.

It was strange seeing the Great Hall so formal and looming. Gone were the long house tables and low chatter of mealtimes, replaced instead with rows of exam desks, the air thick with leftover nerves and last minute haste as students wrote their final answers furiously. Even the enchanted ceiling had dulled to a soft, cloudy blue, like it too had grown weary of the past few weeks.

When the large clock at the front of the hall finally reached the hour, it felt like heavy weight had been lifted from your shoulders. As if all the stress from the past few weeks had dissipated instantaneously, like your exam paper as it whisked itself to the front of the Great Hall, joining the rest of your classmates work, all carried effortlessly by magic.

Your chair scraped against the stone floors as you stood, gathering your quill and ink pot from the small desk and packing it away in your bag. Other students had already risen from their seats hurriedly, racing towards the doors, not wanting to waste another second in the exam hall.

“Alright?” Pansy’s voice floated in from behind you, as students began filtering out of the hall, eager to enjoy their freedom. You nodded in acknowledgment as you twisted to face Pansy, who looked sleek and elegant as always. A stark contrast to your messy hair that you'd pinned back haphazardly.

“Think so,” you murmured, letting out a deep sigh and craning your neck to see what was causing the holdup at the doors. “You?”

Pansy shrugged in her typical unbothered manner, adjusting the strap of her handbag where it had slipped down her shoulder. She came to stand beside you, eyes flicking toward the crowd bottlenecked at the exit.

“Same,” she said with a relieved sigh. “Salazar knows how I stayed awake for Binns’ lesson on giants, though.” She let out a short snort of amusement, then cast a glance behind you both with a groan, clearly growing impatient with the slow-moving crowd.

The Slytherins were at the back end of the hall and judging by the crowds forming around the exit, you'd be waiting for a while. Sighing you pulled the hair clip from your hair, mussing a hand through the lengths and exhaling deeply.

Pansy huffed again, linking her arm with yours and dragged you toward an opening in the crowd, weaving through students effortlessly as she rammed through. You kept your head down as she glared and pushed by other students, silencing anyone with a cold stare if they dared say a word about her waltzing through impatiently.

"Tell me you’re not spending your first free afternoon back in the library? We're going to Hogsmeade later. You’re coming," Pansy instructed, not giving you a chance to argue and tugging you closer to her as she elbowed past some Hufflepuffs.

"Just the usual crowd. Draco, Enzo, Blaise…” She paused, lips twitching in that way they always did when she couldn’t hide her smirk. “and Theo’s coming too.”

She glanced over at you from the corner of her eye, waiting for a reaction, but when you didn’t give her what she was looking for she pressed further.

“Though…” she said, as if thinking deeply about it, “if last night was anything to go by, I figure you’d already know what he was up to later. Probably planning your winter wedding as we speak.”

You groaned at her, exasperated. “Gods. He was helping me revise, Pans.”

“Mm-hmm.” She shot you a look over her shoulder, eyebrows raised like she was tempting fate— or trying to, anyways.

You huffed a laugh and rolled your eyes. Ever since she'd worked out what was happening with Mattheo, she was desperate for you to show him “what he’s missing" by hooking up with Theo instead. In typical, drama-inducing Pansy fashion.

Theo truly was just a friend, much to Pansy’s chagrin, and that was exactly why he had been showing up for you lately. Offering quiet support after the chaos Mattheo had caused. He wasn’t pushy, just there when you needed him. Helping you revise. Giving you space when you needed to think. Nothing more, nothing less.

Something Pansy loathed to hear whenever you reminded her of this fact.

“Just the Three Broomsticks. Nothing fancy. Unless Theo offers to take you to Madam Puddifoots.” She snickered, finally pulling you through the large oak doors and towards the corridor leading down to the dungeons. "Ooh! Can you imagine the look on Riddle's face? Priceless, I'm telling you!"

“Shut up, Pansy.” you groaned, bumping her shoulder and glancing around to check no one had overheard her and her wild insinuations. “I told you," you hissed quietly, "Theo and I are just friends. Nothing more.”

Pansy didn’t answer right away. Just smirked, shooting you a look, and rolled her eyes like you were missing the point entirely. Meeting your unimpressed glare, she huffed and pulled you to a stop.

"Look. We all know Theo is just a friend." she shrugged carelessly, "But do you really think Riddle’s going to look at you and Theo and come to the reasonable conclusion?"

The way Pansy’s gaze lingered made you pause, because for all her teasing, you almost did miss the point Pansy was sneakily trying to make.

The point was that she wasn’t talking about Theodore Nott at all.

And you knew it.

You hesitated—not at the idea of going, but at what she was suggesting. Since that night in the common room a few weeks ago, you and Mattheo had mastered the art of avoiding each other entirely. Avoidance had become second nature.

And Pansy, as always, noticed.

“He’ll probably be there,” she added, a little too cheerfully. "Which makes it the perfect time to remind him you’re not sitting around waiting for him to get over himself!"

You let out a short laugh under your breath—part amusement, part disbelief at how easily she always cut to the point. You shot her a questioning look, because was she really suggesting you try and make Mattheo Riddle jealous? With his best friend, no less?

What you hadn’t counted on was how Pansy, despite providing you atrocious advice and goading, had actually pushed you to realise that you’d been measuring your movements around him—around his silences, his moods, his absence. And maybe it was time to stop.

Because, why would it matter that he was there, after all?

You were growing tired of letting him dictate the spaces you allowed yourself to exist in, especially when you had every right to be there, just as much as he did. Tired of shrinking into a quiet stupor every time his name brushed the edges of a conversation. Of retreating into yourself, like it was a kindness to him.

“Sure,” you said finally, shifting your own bag higher on your shoulder. “I mean, it’s just the Three Broomsticks, why not?”

Pansy smirked, catching the movement in her peripheral vision. “Good. You need to get out of that library. It’s getting embarrassing.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was real. Because it wasn’t about making him jealous. It was about finally choosing not to disappear.

And for the first time in weeks, you let yourself be seen.

✯ ✯ ✯

The cold stung your cheeks, painting them pink as you burrowed deeper into your scarf, breath curling out in soft plumes as you and Pansy walked through Hogsmeade. Snow clung to the edges of your boots, crunching faintly underfoot, and the sky had that harsh grey-blue colour as the winter nights drew in early.

You spotted Draco’s platinum hair first, he looked mid-complaint about something— probably Potter, knowing him. You scanned the group around him, seeing three familiar faces leaned against the wall outside of the Three Broomsticks, waiting. Blaise looked like he was only half listening, one of his usual fixed stares trained on Draco wearily, and Theo was smirking as Enzo tried and failed to light his cigarette with trembling fingers.

You didn’t see Mattheo, and for a second you were disappointed.

Theo was the one to notice you both, meeting your gaze with a quiet nod before he nudged Draco, who quickly shut his mouth and extended an arm for Pansy to bury herself into his embrace.

“Finally left the library then?” Enzo grinned in your direction as you halted beside the group, whilst Pansy curled under Draco's arm and leaned up to press a chaste kiss to his cheek. You made a face at Enzo, watching as he gave up on the cigarette and handed it back to Theo, who tucked it behind his ear for safekeeping.

“Seriously, we were beginning to think you’d died in there.” Enzo teased.

"Oh, ha ha," you retorted sarcastically, fighting back the smirk on your lips. "We'll see who's laughing when you scrape past with your Exceeds Exceptions, Berkshire." You stuck your tongue out playfully.

You were just about to follow it up with another jab when a familiar voice cut in behind you.

“Did the library finally spit you out, then?”

Your shoulders stiffened before you could stop them.

Mattheo.

He stepped into the group like he’d been there the whole time—shoulders loose, hands in his pockets, the wind teasing strands of dark hair into his eyes. His gaze slid over the group before landing on you and lingering, just long enough to mean something but not long enough that he’d have to admit it.

You didn’t say anything in retort. Just lifted a brow and turned your head slightly, feigning indifference even as your pulse skipped traitorously in your throat.

“You’re late,” Theo remarked, barely glancing at him as he stiffened beside you.

Mattheo shrugged. “Got held up.”

“Doing what… brooding in the mirror again?” Enzo muttered under his breath, earning a soft snort from Blaise.

Mattheo didn’t bite. Instead, he shifted to lean beside Theo, close enough that your sleeves nearly brushed. He didn’t look at you—but the silence between you tightened. Stretched. Like a wire pulled taut.

You kept your eyes forward, fixed on the golden glow spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks.

“Well are we going in or just practicing hypothermia?” Mattheo finally said in an irritated voice, jaw clenched tightly as he spoke.

“I need a butterbeer,” Pansy said immediately in support, tugging Draco toward the door with her usual decisiveness. “It’s freezing out here.”

The group stirred around her, but as you moved to follow, a low voice caught on the edge of your ear, quiet and deliberate, setting the hairs on the back of your neck on edge.

“Didn’t think you’d come.”

You didn’t turn your head.

“Didn't think you'd care.” you said coolly, stepping past the threshold and into the pub's warmth. Behind you, the door clattered shut, trapping the heat within and leaving Mattheo gazing after you with a disgruntled look on his face.

Inside, the Three Broomsticks was a familiar sight; students clustered together at tables, scarves still loosely wrapped around necks, the air thick with laughter, butterbeer, and the faintest trace of firewhisky. Pansy led the group toward a booth tucked away in the corner, her arm still looped around Draco's as she tugged him along.

You slid into the seat opposite Theo, your coat half unbuttoned and cheeks still rosy from the cold. Watching in your peripherals as Mattheo sat next to Theo, not quite close enough for your legs to bump under the table, but near enough that you could sneak a glance at him without craning your neck.

“I’ll get the first round,” Enzo offered, already halfway up. “Theo, you coming? I’m not carrying all that myself.”

Theo turned his head to glance at you, just long enough to catch your eye, then to Mattheo as he stood to let him out. Your eyes dropped down to the table, wood worn with years of spillages and scratches, trying to ignore the way Mattheo edged closer around the booth.

The others chatted happily, Blaise and Draco smirking as Pansy launched into a dramatic complaint about warming charms not lasting long enough, and the state of her expensive boots ruined by the snow. Your eyes were trained on the table, the ghost of a smile spread across your lips as you listened to Pansy complain, until the sound of movement caught your attention and you looked up to find Mattheo already watching you.

He didn't look away once you caught him.

There was nothing telling in his face either— no anger, no apology. Just that indecipherable expression that he wore like armour, and you hated how it made your heart stumble.

"Still cold?" he asked in a low voice, quiet enough not to interrupt the others.

You blinked, dropping your arms that had been wrapped around you for extra warmth.

"No."

He nodded slowly, as if it meant something. Then leaned back and reached a hand into his pocket, pulling out a silver zippo lighter and sparked it. Over and over, deep in thought.

You watched, from the corner of your eye so he wouldn’t catch you.

Then, you shifted your gaze, examining a scorch mark on the table, probably from another wizard's brooding. But as hard as you tried, you couldn't stop yourself from saying more.

"You fidget when you're thinking." You murmured, quiet and barely audible, but he still heard.

You knew he did, because he paused and held the flame, watching it billow in the air. He didn't smile, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Then I must be thinking a lot lately."

You didn't reply. You didn't have to— your silence said enough. Said me too.

You'd almost retreated into your mind entirely when a voice called your name from behind you, and as you turned you came face to face with a familiar Ravenclaw boy who'd come to a halt at the edge of the booth.

You recognised him from the library. He’d been a near-constant presence during those long exam weeks, always tucked into a corner with a book and a coffee—but the two of you had never spoken outside the library.

"Didn't expect to see you here," he smiled, arms resting on the back of the booth chair you resided in, "Swapped the library for a butterbeer, eh?"

You blinked, slightly thrown, but smiled politely. "Hi, Declan. You alright?"

Beside you, Mattheo shifted—just enough for the bench to creak beneath him, low and deliberate.

Declan didn't seem to notice. "I was just over there with some of the others, but—do you want a drink? I could grab you one.” He offered, his voice a mix of nerves and practised confidence.

Your eyes widened, and you opened your mouth to reply, but Mattheo cut in first— casual and cold.

"She's already got one."

Declan blinked, looking over as if he'd just noticed Mattheo was there, and upon seeing who the voice belonged to, he shrunk back into himself. "Oh. Right. Well... er maybe next time then?"

You offered him a small smile, trying to smooth over the awkward tension Mattheo had created. Praying that your cheeks hadn't gone as red as they felt.

"Good, yeah. Well, see you later." he said, offering a small smile before casting one last wary glance at Mattheo and disappearing into the crowd.

You stared after him briefly, watching the empty space he'd occupied just a second ago. The moment fizzled, and you didn't dare look over at Mattheo, pulse thudding in your throat.

Mattheo didn't say anything else.

And when you finally turned away from where Declan had disappeared from, you caught Pansy's eye. Her brow raised with a triumphant smile across her lips. She didn't say a word, but the amused look she gave said enough.

When Theo and Enzo returned, carrying two loaded trays of butterbeer, it was Mattheo who pushed yours over. The glint of his signet ring caught your eye as the glass slid your way, smooth and deliberate. His hand lingering half a second too long before he settled back into place beside Theo, who was now sitting on the other side of him, pushing Mattheo closer to you.

You glanced at the drink, then at him. But he still didn't look at you.

The bench shifted slightly under Enzo’s weight as he tried to wedge himself back into his spot, the movement jostling Mattheo’s leg against yours beneath the table. Accidental—probably. But then he didn’t move away.

Neither did you.

You told yourself it was the warmth of the pub that made your skin prickle, that made your pulse rise beneath your collar. But the butterbeer’s heat had nothing on the tension that was pressing silently into your thigh.

Across the table, Blaise said something dry that had Theo snorting into his drink. You tried to laugh along, lips parting with a breathy chuckle—but your smile froze the moment your eyes lifted, and once more, those familiar brown eyes were trained on you. Like you were the only person in the room.

You blinked and dropped your gaze again, fingers curling lightly around the butterbeer glass, taking a tentative sip solely to distract from the weight of his gaze.

The silence between you stretched, heavy, slow, and thick like honey. Even the chatter of your friends felt muted under it. Even after all these weeks, all that time throwing yourself into your studies, forcing yourself to forget the feel of his lips against yours. He still had that power over you, weakened yes, but it was still there.

Then, low, only for your ears, he spoke.

"You looked awfully friendly with Declan."

The words made your shoulders tense, your gaze burning into the amber swirls of your drink. For a moment you were quiet, a silent panic sweeping over you. But then you took a breath, remembered yourself, remembered Mattheo and how he treated you.

"Isn't that what normal people do?" You said calmly, voice syrupy and smooth, "Talk to each other?"

Your words were a blade wrapped in silk, biting enough to sting, but laced in enough sweetness to make him question if it was meant to hurt.

He gave a quiet huff, almost like it did hurt, "Guess I wouldn't know."

You hummed softly, refusing to disagree with him because he was right. He wouldn't know.

The air seemed heavier after that. Or maybe it was just you—folding inward, holding yourself too tightly.

A few minutes passed like that, cloaked in low conversation and clinking glasses, but every time someone laughed or the candlelight shifted across his face, your eyes were drawn back. And once—just once—he smiled at something Theo said, a soft curve of his lips that didn’t reach his eyes.

You frowned at the sight.

✯ ✯ ✯

The common room was quiet when you stepped through the entrance, Pansy's arms entwined with yours as your group made their way toward the couches. Half the school had gone to bed, ready to wake up early tomorrow to catch the train back to Kings Cross for the winter break. Those who were staying were still out in Hogsmeade, or floating around the castle with friends in other houses.

At some point, butterbeer had turned to firewhisky and the walk back to the castle hadn't seemed nearly as cold as the walk there. Laughter echoed through the winter night air as you'd all stumbled back to the common room, shrieking and singing as you went.

It was quiet. A warm, comforting quiet. Surrounded by your closest friends in the place you felt so lucky to call home. But it was heavy too, the weight of something else hanging in the air.

Pansy collapsed down on one of the couches, pulling you down with her, and your bodies bumped together as the cushion dipped under your conjoined weight. A dramatic sigh left her as she kicked off her boots and relaxed into the green leather.

Draco and Enzo sprawled out on the couch opposite, stuffing their faces with sweets they'd gotten in Honeydukes earlier, whilst a haze of lazy murmurs cascaded across the group. Blaise spread out on the floor nearest the fireplace, his arms braced behind him to hold him up, whilst Theo did the same on the floor beside you, his back leaning against the arm of the couch.

Mattheo had been uncharacteristically quiet since leaving the pub, trailing behind the group with his hands in his pockets, collar high, like he didn’t want to be seen. Then, once you'd all reached the common room, he'd slumped into one of the armchairs at the edge of the fireplace. Close enough to the group he was still there, but far enough away that he could let his eyes close over and sink further into the couch without anyone seeing.

You noticed, but you didn't say anything.

Instead you let Pansy pull you into a whirlwind of gossip she'd overheard, occasionally pausing long enough to let someone else get a word in.

Pansy was mid-telling a story about Daphne Greengrass' latest dating disaster when Theo spoke up, tilting his head back to look at you from where he sat stretched out on the floor.

"I still think she was better off with Pucey," he said lazily, cutting through Pansy's monologue as a look of outrage spread across your face. "Even if he was a smug prick."

You shook your head vehemently, the same way you had the first time the two of you had discussed this. "You would. You always defend the smug pricks, Theo."

“Only the ones I see myself in,” he said, giving you a slow, knowing grin. “Present company excluded, of course.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “You’re insufferable.”

Theo shrugged, unaffected. “You love me anyway.”

Something about the way he said it—the half-lidded gaze, his lazy smirk—made the group go quiet for a beat too long. Just long enough for the words to hang in the air and turn heavier than intended.

You scoffed, breaking the tension, and leaned your head back against the couch with an amused exhale. “Keep dreaming, Nott.”

But there was warmth in your voice. Familiarity. That easy comfort of two people who knew each other too well and didn’t need to explain it. That’s what made it dangerous.

You didn’t look toward the armchair. You didn’t have to to feel the weight of Mattheo’s silence shifting. Sharpening into something more deadly, more present. You could feel it pressing into your skin from across the room.

Then Pansy laughed and launched into a raunchy story she'd overheard about Adrian Pucey, which had everyone groaning at the horrifyingly impressive level of detail that only Pansy could have known.

You shrank back into your seat and kept quiet.

Eventually, Blaise yawned, "Alright, I'm out. I don't want to hear another word about Pucey's cock." he muttered, a disgruntled look on his face as he pushed off the floor and headed towards the boy's dormitories. Enzo followed quickly after, stretching his arms over his head and mentioning something about a sugar crash.

Due to her dwindling audience, even Pansy grew bored and, with Draco trailing behind her up to the girls dorms, you settled further into the couch. Not particularly wanting to walk into something you didn't want to see, even if they remembered the silencing charms this time.

Which left you, Theo, and Mattheo.

You sank deeper into the couch, the green leather soft beneath your spine, and glanced sideways—Theo was still slouched at your feet, long legs stretched toward the hearth, gaze half-lidded from the heat and leftover firewhisky glow. Mattheo hadn’t moved from the armchair, eyes closed over and his jaw clenched tight.

The silence lingered, heavy and still, only punctured by the faint crackle of the fire which had nearly burnt out.

Theo’s head lolled to the side, casting you a faint smile as he stretched. “Think I’ll call it too,” he said, pushing himself up with a grunt. “Big day of doing absolutely fuck all tomorrow, y’know.”

You hummed in agreement, lips curling into a chuckle as he stood, watching him brush nonexistent dust from his trousers. But before heading to the boys dorms, he gave you a look— one that hovered long enough just to say don’t take his shit without needing words. Then a glance towards Mattheo, brief and unreadable, and he was gone.

His footsteps receded up the stairs, and in the distance you heard his door click shut. You waited for Mattheo to say something first and break the tension. He didn’t.

The fire popped once, casting a flicker of gold across his face, but he still hadn’t opened his eyes. His jaw was tight. Hands clasped together in front of his mouth, elbows digging into the arms of the chair.

You sat up slowly, tension sliding up your spine like a threat. “Are you going to keep pretending you’re asleep or…?”

His eyes opened. Dark. Flat. Burning in that quiet, terrifying way that meant the silence had been louder in his head than it had been in the room.

“Didn’t realise I had to keep my eyes open to hear you flirt.”

Your breath caught, sharp in your throat. Blood rushed to your ears, and your head whipped round to stare at him in disbelief. "What?"

“You heard. Why don't you follow Nott up to his room? I'm sure he'd like that." Mattheo spoke in a low voice, rough with something you couldn't place. His lips curved as if the taste of something sour clung to them, and you could see his tongue running along the inside of his cheek.

For a moment it was quiet, you blinked defencelessly as if temporarily stunned by his words, whilst your mouth opened and closed helplessly.

The words hung in the air, thick and suffocating, more cutting than you'd expected even from Mattheo. You’d heard Mattheo lash out before—but never like this. Never like he meant it. The harshness in his voice didn’t match the usual indifference he wore like armour.

You knew him well enough to understand when something was off—but this? This felt different. You’d never seen him quite like this.

“That laugh,” he muttered offhandedly. “I’ve never heard you laugh like that with me.”

“Are you serious?” You couldn’t help the bitter scoff that slipped from your mouth, though the humour was nowhere to be found in your gaze. “You think I was flirting with— with Theo?”

Mattheo didn’t move, but you could feel the air shift, thick with something unsaid. His lips curled into a small, tight smile that barely reached his eyes and didn’t soften the harshness behind his words. He looked at you now, but it wasn’t with his usual detachment. His gaze cut through you with a sharpness that made your stomach twist.

You stared back until finally, it hit you. Finally the pieces fell into place and it felt like the lens had been lifted.

"Oh." You exhaled, sitting up straighter and twisting to face him. Eyebrow quirked like you'd just invented the cure to lycanthropy.

"That's what this is about, isn't it?" You said sharply, biting before you could stop yourself. "Let me get this straight, yeah? You can go and fuck whoever you want, but the minute I dare to talk to our friend, You're jealous— is that how this works?"

His eyes flashed, a quick, dangerous fire burning behind the dark, unreadable expression. His jaw clenched again, fists tightening at his sides. "I'm not jeal—" he started, but then seemed to think better of it.

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I just—fuck—forget it."

You stared at him, stunned into silence for half a second—then something inside you cracked wide open, and once you started you couldn't stop.

“No.” you said, voice sharp, trembling with heat. “No, you don’t get to do that, Mattheo. You don’t get to act like I’m the one playing games when you’ve spent weeks saying that this meant nothing.” You hissed gesturing between you both.

You stood up, heart thumping in your chest. “You disappear. You sleep with other people. You shut me out like I’m a fucking stranger. And then the second someone else so much as looks at me, suddenly then you care?”

His jaw tightened, mouth opened to snap back with what you assumed would be another of his excuses, but you got in before he could say a word.

"Don’t you dare sit there and deny it. You think I haven’t noticed? That thing earlier with Declan—and now Theo? Your best fucking friend?” You laughed, bitter and breathless. “You’re pathetic, Mattheo."

“I didn’t mean—” he started, jaw working as if the words tasted wrong. “You don’t get it.”

"No, you're the one who doesn't get it." You stepped closer, hands balled into fists at your sides. “You don’t get to be cruel just because you can’t stand the thought of me not waiting around for you to figure your shit out!"

Mattheo stood abruptly, the feet of his armchair scraping loudly against the dark spruce floors of the common room. His whole body ridged like he was tearing himself apart just to keep from lunging forward.

You'd seen this before when he got into fights, and instinctively took a step back, the blood rushing in your ears.

"You think I fucking like this?" he snapped, his finger pointed into his chest with a sharp jab, his voice low, furious— but underneath it all, it was like there was something broken. “You think I enjoy waking up and wondering who else you’re going to laugh with like that? Who you’re going to look at like that?”

He shook his head, jaw tight, pacing a short line before stopping again—just out of reach. Your eyes softened slightly watching him unravel before you, muttering lowly to himself.

“I didn’t want it to matter. I didn’t want you to matter.” A bitter laugh pushed through his clenched teeth. Your lip trembled slightly as you listened, hurt bubbling up inside you.

“But you did. You do. And I hate it. I hate that I care. That I notice. That I feel like this—because it was supposed to be simple.” his voice cracked, his eyes darted away like he couldn't look at you. Then, one of his hands dragged across his face dejectedly.

You stared at him, your breath catching, and for a second he looked almost startled by what he’d said—like the words had escaped before he could shove them back down.

“I’m sorry, okay? I’m so fucking sorry.” The words spilled out of him in a rush, so foreign coming from his mouth, but it was real. You heard it, you felt it.

“For what I said. For how I treated you. For everything. For not knowing how to—fuck. Gods, I’m sorry.”

His head buried into his hand, then as if he snapped out of it, his gaze settled on you again. Steady. Unflinching. With a new kind of determination.

“I don’t know how to do this.” His voice was quieter now, but no less fierce. “I don’t know how to be… what you want me to be. But if you think, for one second that I can just sit there and watch you drift toward someone else like none of this ever happened. Like I don't care then...” he shook his head trailing off.

He didn’t finish. He didn’t need to. Because for once, the truth hung between you—unspoken but there. Hell, the truth was standing in front of you with his dark curls and brown eyes, staring you right in the eye.

And maybe that was the scariest part. That neither of you said it aloud, but somehow the both of you knew.

Your breathing was shallow, uneven. You could feel it catch in your throat, feel your heart pounding beneath your jumper like it was about to burst out. Every inch of your body was wound too tight, and you were helpless to stop it, only able to think that if he moved wrong or worse, didn't at all— then you'd fall apart completely.

But your fears were fruitless, because he did. He closed in on you in one large stride, and before you could process it, his hand was in your hair, mouth crashing into yours with a force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

It wasn't careful, or gentle. It was frantic. All teeth and tongues and silence finally splitting open.

You gasped into the kiss, hands flying to his shoulders as he backed you into the wall. You didn’t care who might see. All you cared about was him—his breath, his touch, the storm unraveling between your bodies

“I hate that I hurt you,” he muttered against your mouth, words slurred between kisses. “I hate it—I hate it—”

But his hands were everywhere—desperate, searching—like he couldn’t decide if he was trying to pull you closer or push you away. Like he thought this might be the last time and needed to remember it.

You whimpered as he bit at your bottom lip, as his hand slid under your jumper, fingertips dragging along your waist like he was starving for the feel of your skin. Just as desperately as you'd wanted him to for weeks.

“I shouldn’t be doing this,” he whispered hoarsely, burying his face in your neck, lips pressing against the soft skin there. “I know I shouldn’t. I know I’ll fuck it up. I always do. But fuck, I can’t lose you.”

You cut him off with a kiss, just as harsh, just as desperate. “Then don’t lose me, Mattheo. Please.”

He groaned into your mouth, low and guttural, the sound rumbling in his chest as he grabbed your thigh and hoisted it around his hip, grinding against you like he was trying to crawl inside your skin.

Clothes became obstacles. Your jumper hit the floor. His belt clattered somewhere in the dark. Anyone could stumble in drunk, anyone could walk down the stairs from the dorms, and yet, none of it mattered. Not now.

It wasn’t soft. It wasn’t slow. But gods, it was real.

His lips dragged down your throat as his fingers gripped your hips with bruising intensity. Every movement was laced with heat, but beneath it—underneath it—was a kind of sadness. A panic. Like he still thought this could slip away at any second.

Like this was all he could give you—flesh and fury and the desperate way he whispered your name like a confession every time he thrust into you.

“Please,” he breathed, ragged, like the word was being torn out of him. “Don't make me watch you with someone else.”

His forehead pressed to yours, voice rough, breaking in places you’d never heard before.

“I need—fuck. I need you to want me back,” he gasped, eyes screwed shut like admitting it out loud physically hurt. “Anything, just— please. Don’t walk away. Don’t let me think I already lost you.”

Your breath caught as he all but crumbled against you, his hands shaking where they gripped your skin. This was a side of Mattheo you'd never seen, a side you wouldn't even have thought existed. Broken. Pleading. Desperate.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he whispered, voice ruined as he promised. “I’ll be whatever you need. I just— please— don’t make me feel this alone.”

You stared at him, chest heaving, wrecked by the sound of his voice, by the truth in it. A gasp tore from your throat as he pushed inside of you, the familiar stretch making your head spin, your fingers clutching his shoulders tighter.

"Mattheo—" you moaned, head falling back against the wall, overwhelmed— physically, emotionally, completely.

He thrust into you torturously slow—once, twice, three times. A low groan leaving him each time whilst he whispered your name like a prayer. His fingers dug into your thigh, holding you in place so that all you could do was moan and take it. You sighed, eyes rolling back as he hit all the right spots, careful and purposeful, like a silent effort to convince you he was worth it.

His slow pace halted suddenly, and he pulled away from your neck, one hand lifting to gently wrap around your jaw and guide you to look at him. Gone was the armour you were so used to, the walls and snide remarks that covered something more fragile.

Instead, you were met with a look of pure despair, his eyes wide and boyish. His chest rising and falling in uneven breaths, while his thumb stroked along your cheek tenderly.

"I want you," he said quietly, "I want you to be mine, properly. Officially."

You stilled, your mouth dry as you watched him. And he knew. He knew exactly what those words sounded like, even if he didn't say it precisely.

"Not just like this. Not just tonight." he added, fear evident in his voice, like he was scared you'd take it as just another thing he'd said in the heat of the moment.

You almost laughed—sharp and bitter—because it was unfair. Unfair that he could say exactly what you had longed to hear, unfair that it was that one thing that had the power to unravel you.

You wanted to give in. To lose yourself in this, in him—because God, you’d missed him too. But part of you ached, still. Ached for the way he’d left you like you didn’t matter.

And now here he was, asking to be yours. And for the first time, it felt like he meant it.

“You’re such an arse,” you whispered, voice cracking as you grabbed at the back of his neck and pulled him closer, like you were mad at him for making you feel this much.

"I know. I'm not asking for easy, though. I'll change. I'll be the perfect guy," he murmured quickly, voice hoarse and quiet, "Just... don't walk away."

You smiled faintly, lifting your hand from the back of his neck and tangling it in the hair that had swept into his eyes, pushing it back so you could see him clearly.

"You don't have to be perfect, Mattheo." You whispered back, voice steady despite your pounding heart. "But you do need to be honest. You do need to try."

His eyes flickered, vulnerability shining through the storm. Like he was hanging on to each and every word that tumbled from your mouth.

"This isn't just about wanting me," You swallowed, looking up at him cautiously, "It's about treating me like I matter, even when you’re scared. Can you do that?”

Mattheo’s jaw tensed, eyes flicking between yours. “I don’t know how to,” he said quietly. “But what I did before... I know I hurt you.”

He hesitated. His eyes dropped, then met yours again — like he was forcing himself to be honest, to stay exposed. Fighting against his every instinct.

“You think I don’t know I fucked it all up?” he said, voice low and raspy. “I do. But I’m not doing it again. I swear to you—I won’t lose you like that, not again.”

He looked at you like he was waiting for permission to stay. You swallowed hard and nodded, the air thick between you.

"Just promise me one thing?" you asked quietly, and he nodded before you could even wait for a reply.

"Promise me no more simple?" you breathed, voice low but firm, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

His breath hitched, a flicker of humour breaking through the heaviness in his eyes.

“Yeah,” he whispered, voice hoarse. "No more simple."

You pressed your forehead to his, soft and steady, a giggle escaping you, "No more simple." you echoed.

"We’re both terrible at it anyway.”

He let out a shaky chuckle, then pressed inside of you once more, closing the distance between your lips in a kiss—soft, slow, and heavy with promises that this time he meant to keep.

©️riddlemelater 2025.

One final thank you to everyone who read this fic <3 As a little apology for how long its taken to post, I've taken it upon myself to write a little epilogue for this story, its already up and you can find it here ;)

[megapteraurelia]

EPITHIMIA. — talisman #2.

☾ SUMMARY; — having been sent up to tokyo as an exchange student to spy on the first-years, your objective had been crystal clear: don't meddle. don't change anything. just observe. you didn't expect fushiguro megumi to foil your plans that quickly — but it's not like you could help yourself, not when he refused to be someone you could respect. so, what else to do but meddle?

☾ WARNINGS; — fem!reader; enemies to lovers; forced proximity; attempted character study?? (badly done!!); angst; gojo being annoying; ppl being hypocritical!; kind of angsty yuji too; TW: mention of blood, death;

☾ WORD COUNT; — 20,458.

☾ AUTHOR'S NOTE; — i lied. there's no romance here because i'm stupid and i couldn't stop writing other scenes. there will be a part three (and if all goes well that SHOULD actually be the last part). also, frick action scenes! also had to sacrifice some of the aesthetics because i can only add 30 images oops

— back to masterlist.

15th of April; 07:22. — kugisaki nobara.

Fushiguro syndrome. — as coined by Kugisaki Nobara: part-time sorcerer, quarter-time model, quarter-time self-proclaimed doctor.

Definition. A rare but deeply annoying affliction characterised by excessive brooding, emotional constipation, and the compulsive need to shoulder the entire weight of the world whilst pretending it's fine. Symptomps. — saying 'I'm fine' while visibly not fine. — intense staring instead of talking. — going silent mid-conversation because feelings are hard. — randomly disappearing to punch curses alone without backup. — at least one major emotional crisis repressed into a singular eyebrow twitch.

They weren't fighting.

And honestly, that was weirder than when they were.

Nobara noticed it the second they all met up in the dining hall for breakfast: the sun cast high, the light refracting through the glasses of water on the tables, leaving behind a sparkling surface. Megumi's arms were crossed nonstop, his shoulders struggling to hold the tension, sporting the worst eye bags she had seen in ages (Should she recommend him some good eye cream?)

He fixed the ground with a glare, eyes narrowed like he was trying to exorcise his constipated feelings, before sitting down at one of the tables off to the side. Nobara thought that he looked like a statue with too much gel product in his spiky hair, the way he didn't even eat his food, just stared at it.

On the other hand, there was you, who kept fiddling with your uniform as if it wasn't sitting right on your body. It couldn't be that, though, because the tailors of Tokyo Jujutsu High were very high-calibre. She would know, her uniform sat perfectly, and she was quite finicky in that matter. So, it had to be something else.

Nobara couldn't read you, though. You kept to yourself and made no move to really integrate yourself to their friend circle and sure, as an exchange student, this entire stay here was supposed to be temporary, so to some extent, she did understand that maybe, it was better not to get attached. But then, there also was no telling how long you were staying, so wouldn't it be better to make friends?

But you didn't and so Nobara didn't, either.

It wasn't like she really disliked you, but she wasn't going to waste effort on somebody who didn't know to appreciate it. She was fine to ignore you most of the time, which wasn't hard, considering that you only let some comments slip sometimes, but then you had to go and be a bitch to Megumi.

It wasn't like she really cared about Megumi; if anything, he was annoying with the way he was zapping all the fun, but she couldn't stand by and watch him be hurt like that. In the end, he was her teammate and…..her…..friend……so she couldn't not feel a certain way about it.

In any way, there was no greeting, no arguing, not even a single snide comment about the other's expression, punctuality or whatever it was they used to bicker about constantly. No sarcastic jabs, grumbled responses that made her roll her eyes so hard, it gave her a headache.

Not a single thing.

Just silence and a whole mountain range of tension between them — and it wasn't even the fun type of tension. Ugh, this was so boring.

Nobara leaned back on the bench, her food untouched as well as she pretended to yawn, but mostly, she just wanted to gauge how bad it was between you two. She had seen you going at it before — loud, sarcastic, the kind of arguments that made Yuji glance between you two like some kind of referee in a sports match, so the weird silence — the chattering of Yuji's with the rest of the students aside — was honestly disgusting.

Yuji's voice, cheerful and loud as always, broke through her thoughts. Really, this kid had no tact or decorum. "Sooo, what's up with these two? It's like there's a black hole of energy today."

"Salmon," Inumaki said and stabbed a piece of fish (Fish? As breakfast?) to bring to his scribbled mouth. Nobara eyed the markings on his cheeks and Inumaki was quick to zip up his jacket and hide them behind his collar like he could hide from the world. Nobara didn't really mean to make Inumaki feel self-conscious but wow, these marking did not help out.

Yuji, on the other hand, kept eating the fish and the rice like he was starving, though knowing him, he probably was. Seven hours without food? A surprise he was still alive. With stuffed cheeks, he spat a few grains of rice onto her plate. She pushed it away. Gross little chimp.

"Yeah, it's like, they're magnets in reverse, you know? Like…repulsing? Was that the word?"

"Repelling," Maki's eye roll was so incredible in conveying her exasperation, Nobara was in love. "It's like watching two stubborn blocks of wood trying to figure out who is more stubborn."

Nobara had to try out the eye roll, too. "More like, who is a bigger pain in the ass."

Then she leaned over her food, ignoring Yuji's star struck chipmunk face when she pushed him back by the shoulder to shout over to you, "Oi, did Megumi infect you with Fushiguro Syndrome, too?"

Your voice was cheerful when you replied, "I think I'm just peachy, Kugisaki, thanks for asking!" but Nobara could spot fake-happiness from a mile away — the way your knuckles whitened holding your chopsticks, the annoyed twitch in your eyebrows, the distracted flitting of your eyes over the fish. Yeah, definitely Fushiguro Syndrome. You were sporting the most theatrical fake happiness anybody could ever ask for. Not that she'd know who would want it, but in case it was an attribute searched by anyone, at least she would know where and who to direct them to.

"She absolutely isn't."

"Yeah, no way in hell."

"Salmon, salmon."

Yuji swallowed the food without even chewing properly, a few rice grains still sticking to the side of his mouth. He tried getting them with his tongue when Inumaki pointed towards them, but gave up when the blonde sorcerer kept shaking his head. Nobara probably could tell him exactly where it was, but to his dismay and to her enjoyment, she did delight in watching Yuji make a fool of himself.

"It's weird, though," he said in between licks (no! Not this way — the rice grain was under his lower lip on the right side!) and then stuffed his cheeks with more food, "I mean, they've always been kind of odd with each other, but now it's different. It's like…they're those crabs that get stuck in the same hole and just…pinch each other until they both get annoyed enough to walk away, but they can't leave because they're stuck, and it's hilarious."

"What in the hell," Nobara paused. "are you talking about, Itadori."

Inumaki Toge nodded. "Bonito flakes."

"You seriously agree with him, Inumaki?" Maki quirked up her eyebrow, one of her chopsticks waving in the direction of Yuji and Inumaki as if to make sense of their non-sense, to bring to life the magic of understanding neanderthal-speak.

Megumi stood up with the slight screech of his chair skidding on the floor, his hands shoved deeply into his pockets as he walked out the dining hall without sparing a glance towards anybody. There was a distinct scoff coming from your direction, your chopsticks scratching hard against the surface of your plate, before you too pushed your plate away and got up to leave.

Nobara wondered if you had only been here for Megumi's sake, whether you had meant to leave at the same time, to give the impression that your presence at breakfast was just to make Megumi uncomfortable — maybe a reminder of whatever transpired between you both. But honestly, Nobara couldn't care less. Worrying about other people could mean that she'd stress over them enough to cause her hair ends to split or, worse, get grey hair.

God, just kiss or kill each other already, she thought with an exaggerated eye roll, but in the end it wasn't her business. Not really.

…but she definitely was going to text Yuji about it later.

16th of April; 13:26. — gojo satoru.

Gojo Satoru was many things.

Handsome (undefeated). The strongest (naturally). Adept at approximately all the things he put his hands on. But nosy? Not really. But once he was curious, there was no stopping him, and curiosity for Gojo Satoru was a dangerous thing.

Sipping from a can of peach soda, especially sweet, he sat lounging on the stairs. Below him, on the courtyard lawn, stood his little assortments of students, amongst which were his enigmatic black-haired student and his new Kyoto's little sharp-tongued mole. Well, exchange student, if he were to stick totechnicality, but then again, that word didn't do a lot of justice to the actual reason you were sent here.

Both of his students were standing a little too far apart; there was no speaking and no fighting like all the other times that he had the pleasure of witnessing. But that was the thing. There had been a fight.

If he could be generous to call it that — which he always was, mind you — the last mission ended with a little…disagreement. He hadn't been there, but the report Ijiichi had given him was quite clear. Something had happened that broke whatever little tolerance you both had for each other. Of course, he could imagine what it was, because Ijichi had been very detailed in the way both of his kids derailed into a shouting match over blame.

Gojo sipped his drink.

Interesting.

Megumi wasn't the type to carry grudges, usually. He carried a lot of responsibility, sure. A liberal amount of regret tossed in there, too, but what sorcerer didn't?

But something as petty as resentment? Not usually his deal. The nasty glare he had fixed on the exchange student was speaking volumes, though.

And you?

He had noticed it before; the way you made things personal, the way you didn't let up. Gojo thought that it wasn't the worst thing to happen to Megumi, especially if you could get him out of his mind once in a while. So he never saw a need to intervene, beside the fact that he didn't think Megumi would be unable to handle what you threw at him.

He could already imagine the glare sent his way if he meddled in Megumi's business beyond his own relationship with him as a teacher. Though, not that that really kept him from anything.

But personal tension, especially if it was persistent, had a way of bleeding into teamwork — or as 'team' as that work between you seemed to be, which did make it Gojo's problem, after all.

One eye peeking from underneath the blindfold, he noted the way Megumi's jaw tightened when you turned away without acknowledging him; the way your cursed energy flared aggressively when Megumi muttered something under his breath. There was a tight rope between apathy and something glimmering beneath it, heated, unspoken and definitely unresolved, tied between both your feet; ready to get you tripping if you moved too far away from each other.

He could be doing the responsible teacher thing: sit them down. Encourage open communication, blah blah — no.

That wasn't his style, and way too boring. What kind of teacher would he be if he didn't subtly abuse his incredible power for lighthearted surveillance?

Gojo Satoru tilted his head and his gaze fell on Yuji and Nobara, a slight tight-lipped smile widening, "Let's see what my adorable disasters are up to."

20th of April; 10:08. — gojo satoru.

"Already done? My, what hardworking bee you are, Megumi!"

"There any more, Gojo-sensei?"

"There's always an abundance of low grade jobs, but you sure you're not gonna turn into a zombie on me? Ya giving your brain enough time to catch a break?"

"I'm fine. I'll handle it," then, his voice a bit quieter: "I won't make any more mistakes."

Gojo tilted his head, his eyebrows drawn high, "I'll have Ijichi give you the details on the way. Just know that you'll lose your handsomeness if you turn into one of those undeads; flaky skin and all, you know? Now off you pop."

Though maybe he'll finally stop resembling his father then, Gojo thought, his finger turning the cuff of his uniform as he watched his student leave the room, a slight limp as he stepped on his right ankle.

22nd of April; 23:48. — zen'in maki, just called maki.

Zen'in Maki, just called Maki, hated reminders of her parentage.

For all the obsession with strength and cursed techniques, Maki found that the name of her clan in blood was less a title and more of a curse itself; a chain clinched around her throat since her birth, growing with her as she transcended childhood and grew into the young woman she was today. It was not rare for somebody to utter the name in her vicinity — not by virtue of upsetting her, but because even though she thought it was undeserved, there was no denying that the Zen'ins were one of the three great sorcerer families.

Even though it had been some time since she left the clan compound, she still felt the weight of it — the expectations she was meant to fail, the sneers she was meant to endure, the silence that was meant to shame her into obedience.

The traditional and backwards way her clan in blood operated made hers boil, and even though she would like nothing more than to circumvent any mention of this bitter reminder of her apparent inadequacy, she steeled herself each time the name passed somebody's lips. Because to flinch is to give in, to react is to admit defeat and to allow them to control her beyond their property by mere allusion. And Maki, with her stubborn heartbeat and her body honed into a weapon, refused to bow.

Her eyes, as sharp as ever, flitted over Megumi's black hair, though barely illuminated in the darkness and stillness of the night. Sometimes she forgot that he shared the same blood, but it wasn't the clan's much-heralded inherited Ten Shadows Technique that reminded her. It wasn't the black hair either that they shared. It was this.

The look in his eyes as he gripped his blade and performed katas with his sword. The cleanliness of it, the efficiency. It was the expression on his face that had her narrow her eyes, that had her muscles tensing as if to ward off any attacks — the same calculating silence masked as focus, the same quiet detachment.

She used to see that look in the training halls of the Zen'in estate: when her father would bark corrections with a tone that promised bruises and punishment; in Naoya's face when he used to kick the animals that lost their way onto their property, on the faces of several clans men. A mask that said feelings get you killed.

She watched him pivot, bring the blade up with a sharp, precise movement that made no sound but cut through the air like glass; the harsh exhale like there was a mountain of air buried deep in the cavity of his lungs needing to be set free. It was the feeling that this reminder of the mask brought out within her, the desperation to rip off that same look on her own face, the hollowed out thump in her chest that had her approach Megumi.

"You trying to break some record or are you just trying to kill yourself out here?"

Maki didn't expect a response and true to that, there was none following. She knew it all too well — this honed focus, the strangulation of an-ever growing vignette.

"Seriously, what the hell is going on with you?" Maki stopped a few metres short from where he was denying his body any rest, "It's well past curfew and you're bleeding all over the place. Training's not going to do you much good if you can't even hold your damn weapon."

Along the razor sharp sound of the blade slitting the air into two, Megumi's voice sounded out, painted with heavy breaths: "What about you then? What did you come out here for, huh?"

Silence. A slight stiffening of limbs.

"Don't pretend we don't know," Megumi halted in his movements, and his eyes — a wild, storming ocean — fixed her with a look, "You come out every night like you're being chased. Like you'll fall behind if you stop. So what is it — are you here to check on me or were you planning to do the same thing?"

Maki stayed quiet longer than she meant to.

There was a slight pressure behind her ribs, in the cavity that was her chest. Something curling up in on itself. A part of her wanted to scoff and tell him he was projecting, but the look in his eyes stopped her. The restless edge. The way he trained past exhaustion, the circles underneath his eyes, a promise that collapsing meant personal failure. The way he avoided eye contact when people asked if he was sleeping.

She knew what it meant. She knew where the road lead, because she was still walking it.

He wasn't wrong. The truth was that she hadn't come out here to check on him, that it wasn't on her mind until she saw the way he had danced over the training grounds. That she came because her body was buzzing from the inside with energy to waste, constantly caught between fight and flight, even when there was no one left to fight.

Her knuckles were still sore from last night. From the night before that. From the week before that.

Never leave me behind.

Maki's exhale was quiet. There was a promise and she broke it. She had left first.

Every time she trained until she couldn't feel her legs, every time her fingers bled grasping the hilt of her blade, it was with the breath of her sister's whisper down her neck. Because she had to believe that it would make it worth something. That she was getting closer to earning her way back, that she wasn't abandoning her twin — just biding her time until she could tear the clan down with her own two hands.

She glanced at Megumi, the tension in his muscles, the barely healed cuts on his arms, the faint trickle of blood from the ripped open callouses on the palm of his hand and the way he was holding himself together like his world was taped up hastily and might shatter. She saw herself in him, younger her who kept pushing forward because stopping and turning around meant seeing what she had left behind.

"I didn't come here to hurt myself. I came to train."

Something almost akin to a scoff escaped the boy, though it also could have been him breathing out in exertion, "Right. Because your hands weren't wrapped in tape yesterday either, right?"

"That's different," she said but Maki wasn't typically somebody who lied to herself.

Megumi bent at the knees, deep, the sword reflecting the moonlight for a split second, his shoulders twitching in a shrug. "I'll stop if you stop."

Maki felt it sit in the pit of her stomach — the guilt at her own decision, the rightful anger at her clan, the choking pressure of her desire. Then she rolled her own shoulders, steeled herself and with it came the resolve: even if there was nobody who would understand her, who could walk in her shoes, who could save Mai from the Zen'in clan's clutches, she would have to continue on.

There was no other way it could go.

"You're overthinking your third stance."

His voice was rough, almost desperate. "Show me."

25th of April; 01:18. — you.

There was a folded strip of black paper sitting on your bed, pressed and knotted with a red threat.

A talisman.

Kyoto-issued, so it seemed. You'd recognise the ink pattern everywhere having seen it in your school, a subconscious reminder that you weren't here to have fun. Well, it wasn't like you were having any special fun, but still, the appearance of such a charm had your spine straighten up immediately.

Carefully, you let your gaze roam through your entire room, but nothing seemed out of the norm. If anything, it might have been even too tidy, though that also might be your paranoia talking. As much as your room looked like it always did, the talisman was very well out of norm.

Kyoto Jujutsu High usually didn't get in contact with you, unless there was something dire.

And that couldn't be, because you hadn't noticed anything worthy of noting down yet, because nothing was happening here. Nothing of significance for Gakuganji, at least. Nothing that warranted them contacting you directly and sending you a message so obviously.

You picked up the paper, your eyes recognising the charm written up, general polite well wishes, and underneath in strokes that only a select few could read:

As we have yet to receive any updates, we would greatly appreciate a brief report at your earliest convenience. Should circumstances remain unchanged, we may be required to explore other available options. We appreciate your continued efforts and trust you will keep us informed.

Of course. There was no name, no seal, no malice in those words. Seemingly. Only incredible politeness, a veiled threat, so if one were to read it, it would sound like a mildly scolding letter.

You stared at the charm, the crease where it was folded neatly. Your first thought had been that you missed a report — that somehow you'd let something slip. But you knew yourself, knew the meticulousness with which you always prepared the seals, knew that the correspondence was as tight and precise as your technique.

You pursed your lips in thought.

If they had sent something now, that meant your charms weren't reaching them for a while now. You hadn't thought much of the silence after each of the transmissions; no confirmation coming back wasn't unusual. The Kyoto faculty preferred silence, the kind of quiet superiority that made them respond when they deemed it important, not one second before.

But now this.

If your reports weren't arriving, then either something had intercepted them…or someone had. Both implications had your forehead create way too many wrinkles for your age and instinctively, you glanced toward the window, the slow sway of the courtyard trees like a whisper about to tell you its secrets.

The paper folded without resistance, at the same seam as before. It didn't matter if someone had been interfering, you decided; you had no proof or any grounds to throw around accusations, especially since that wasn't Kyoto's intention to begin with. They'd rather replace you than make sure to find out who was trying to foil their plans. Beside the fact that it wasn't your job to speculate. It was to observe. To report. To be useful.

It wasn't quite the way you liked to do things for it made no sense to you that other people would offer up information out of their own volition. If there was no action taken, how could you ever find out about people? How were you ever going to prove your usefulness to the people who deemed it so easy to replace you?

You hadn't expected to feel anything, reading those words — certainly not this hesitation. Not when you were here with a purpose; but still: it twisted inside you, low and persistent.

Which meant no more distractions.

Because if your chest twisted like that then that meant you had been dragging your feet, it meant that a part of you had started to hope the assignment would quietly dissolve before it reached a critical point. Because it meant that you started to get attached when you were just being thorough.

You straightened the paper, smoothing the wrinkles that didn't exist. No more chasing tension for your enjoyment's sake. No more watching Fushiguro Megumi to see if you could crack the surface, to see if his innards spilled out with all the thoughts and feelings he kept hidden, the fight with himself to figure out who he was. No more trying to provoke him.

You'd wasted much time trying to figure out what lay behind that tired sharpness in his eyes, the way he flinched at praise, the way he always looked like he was dragging something unseen behind him.

You couldn't make that mistake again.

Whatever role he played, whatever potential Kyoto thought he might harbour and develop, it wasn't yours to decipher. It wasn't yours to push. It wasn't your mission. He wasn't.

Whatever interference had occurred, it wouldn't happen twice.

26th of April; 16:34. — fushiguro megumi.

"She's not that bad, you know?"

Fushiguro Megumi didn't want to look up to see the pink of Yuji's hair drown with an orange sheen, to watch the sky bleed into lavender, evening announcing itself slowly, gently.

He thought that he really didn't want to talk about it.

There wasn't anything to talk about, not about you, and not about you with Yuji. Especially not him. It wasn't that he didn't appreciate his input — at times. But this? This wasn't something Megumi wanted to lay out for anyone, not something he wanted to talk with Yuji about.

Not the argument that him and you had, about the accusation standing in the room, about all the things that he knew Yuji felt strongly about. Megumi knew that he would take it hard.

So he scoffed, his chin finding its way onto the palm of his hand, "Yeah, well, she thinks being loud is the same thing as being right."

"Cool. But that's not what I asked," Yuji leaned back, his elbows finding the stone steps behind him.

No, it wasn't. He knew it wasn't.

There was a soft breeze, a certain warmth swinging alongside it. The stones beneath him were warm, too, still lingering in the former caress of the sun. Yuji wasn't looking at him, and that somehow made it worse. If he had been, if there had been pity in his face or concern in his eyes, then Megumi could have shut it down. Cut the conversation short. But the casual posture, the light tilt of his head back toward the sky — it made it harder to tell him to shut up.

It would have been easier if he wasn't here. If Yuji wasn't trying to poke holes in walls that Megumi had already worn himself out trying to keep up.

So he said, flatly, "Why you here?"

Yuji didn't take the bait, and that annoyed Megumi, too. But there wasn't a lot that didn't manage to irk Megumi nowadays.

"Because you don't talk to her," he said simply, "Maybe you'll talk to me."

Megumi didn't move, but the grass in front of him did; swinging with the soft picking up of the wind. Yuji's voice wasn't accusing or disappointed; it was gentle in the way that only Yuji could sound like. Goodhearted, open, optimistic. He talked like he knew it was difficult and didn't want to make it harder, and that was exactly what made it difficult to shove him away.

"You care. That's what's messing you up, isn't it?"

Megumi didn't dare breathe.

"She pissed you off. Got too close. Now you don't know what to do with it."

He exhaled softly. Yuji was wrong — or at least, somewhat. It wasn't that he cared about you. It was the way you looked him in the eye and questioned everything he believed in. His desire to save lives — all lives, if possible; that he wasn't actually doing it. That killing the curse wasn't always the same as winning, that the mission, the regulations weren't absolute. Couldn't be.

You believed in getting it done and accepting what had to be lost along the way, and it was the way you had been calm about it. Cold, even. Efficient, not even necessarily cruel, though he thought you were — but just clear.

And that had shaken him.

A part of him was wondering if you were right. He was pissed about that.

Because standing in the rubble of the half-collapsed shopping mall with the girl crying behind him, he had hesitated. Not even because it was hard. But because it wasn't.

"Mind your own business, Itadori."

Yuji stayed on the steps, solid, still, refusing to be dismissed. There was a pause, and then:

"Nah."

He knew Itadori Yuji. Knew the tone and knew exactly what it meant — that this wasn't going to be one of those conversations that got buried under a shrug and a change of subject. Yuji wasn't leaving, not until he had said whatever he wanted to come say. There was a quiet patience in his eyes, the kind that made Megumi feel seen, a little exposed, challenged.

He rubbed at the corner of his brow with two fingers, eyes closing with exhaustion that ran deep. "I said drop it."

"Yeah," Yuji nodded. "I heard you."

"You don't get it." Megumi imagined Yuji like a fly that he could swat away, bury all his thoughts under the same swatter, squish them out of existence. His tongue felt heavy. Had he never said this out loud? It felt like he had been saying nothing else for weeks now. With a tight jaw, he muttered, "You would've saved them. So would i. That's not the issue."

"Then what is?"

Megumi hesitated. He didn't want to offer his thoughts, everything in him didn't want to admit it like that, but this was Yuji. The same person who who had jumped into danger without a second thought just to protect someone he barely knew, so he cradled the thing that sat in his chest like weight and pushed it out, "She made it sound like doing that made me weak. Like— like it was selfish."

He thought that if he could save someone, even one person, that should be enough. But she made it sound like wanting that meant he was doing it for himself, like he wasn't thinking about the bigger picture. Like he didn't care.

Yuji was silent for a while, and Megumi stiffened, and then—

With a shrug that didn't match the weight of his words: "So what if it was selfish?"

Megumi's shoulders stayed tense but he blinked, his eyes wandering over to Yuji but all he met was a steady look back, calm, grounded in a way that Yuji rarely looked like.

"We make choices and live with them. Sometimes that's selfish. I don't think it means it's wrong," Yuji hesitated, then shrugged again, though this time it was more of a way to get rid of thoughts that intruded on his spoken words, "Maybe it's not even about who's right. Maybe it's just about who's willing to live with what they chose."

Megumi's chest ached. Yuji spoke with a certainty that made him think about Sukuna's finger that Yuji ate that roped him into a world that brought nothing but misery, and why he had such a hard time doing the same when he grew up within it. He didn't respond, not because he disagreed, even though he wanted to push back, to argue, to find a reason for why he would be right, but because the words wouldn't come.

Maybe it was his pride. Maybe it was shame crawling up his throat, laying bitter on his tongue. It wasn't a question of his decision, it was a question of who he was.

Yuji stood up and brushed off his pants like he hadn't just pulled something raw into the light, like the conversation was done. And maybe it was. Megumi made no start to stop Yuji, anyway.

"If you don't wanna talk to her, fine. But don't lie to yourself about why."

3rd of May; 18:52. — you.

The warehouse reeked.

Like mold, blood, and something sour that clung to the back of the throat — the kind of stink that told you a curse didn't die clean. And it didn't: there was a substance resembling blood splattered all over the floor, like it couldn't escape fast enough from where it had been squashed into mush.

Megumi stepped over it, his boots making a wet sound on the floor, his steps heavy and with purpose in the vast silence that suddenly laid itself on top of you like a thick blanket. The air was heavy with aftershocks of cursed energy; the taste tangy and metallic on your tongue.

You could hear the drip of blood from the curve of your sword, the echo hanging in the air, drip, drip, drip.

It gnawed on your nerves, a slow and deliberate sound that you couldn't escape, so you flicked the blade off with a swift motion. Your eyes swept over the shadows lingering from when megumi had called them.

Footsteps matching his in the quiet, the rhythm of yours echo out of sync, a subtle discord that had become almost too familiar. Before, the silence had been filled with sharp words, teasing, half-fulfilled orders, information, occasional jabs. Now?

Now it was just motion. Breathe. Get it done. Get out. No checks. No confirmation. No reason to linger.

Megumi didn't wait for you to catch up. He moved forward without a glance, the slight echo of his voice cutting through the stillness, not loud enough to be a real order, not quiet enough to ignore, "Let's go."

You followed because, well, it was over. The job was done, and there was nothing left to say.

5th of May; 12:01. — fushiguro megumi.

Fushiguro Megumi didn't know why he was lingering around the broken shopping mart in Yurakucho.

With his hands loose by his side, his eyes travelled over the police tapes that were slowly being rolled together. The curse hadn't come back, because if it had, there wouldn't have been the shifting from police workers to construction workers over the weeks.

His heart was beating steady, watching the bustle, the shouts over the sound of equipment, the everyday hustle of people who didn't know better, who didn't have to know better. He continued standing there, watching until the workers gathered together for lunch time.

Megumi ducked under the signs that warned other citizens to stay out, and entered through the broken doors, now cleaned off the shards. His feet took him to the third floor automatically, the entire mall looking weirdly peaceful without the shelves reaching over to keep him in their grasp, without the air weighing him down like he was going to crumble underneath the pressure. The lights were turned off, the electrical wires cut, but there was enough light coming through from the ripped down wall to the south side that he needn't worry about seeing, and he observed the dust dancing in the air.

There was no cursed energy lingering around anymore, but he found the faded circle of red on the floor easily.

He didn't have to worry about the cursed womb anymore, didn't have to worry about anybody else getting hurt.

His teacher had caught him on the extended balcony of the main building in Tokyo Jujutsu High a couple days back, jutting out to observe the main courtyard and if he turned, a side view of the sport field expanding right in front of him. His other schoolmates were training out, and he hadn't joined them; instead, his eyes flitted over the starfish spread of Inumaki's — a Yuji standing next to him poking him with a stick, the huge body of Panda's throwing around a screeching Nobara, the band of limbs blurring in a spar between Maki and you.

His lips twisted, and he looked away.

"Megumi skipping school? Scandalous!"

He barely flinched when he heard Gojo's cheerful tenor ring through the air behind him, too used to his teacher popping in at whatever times he deemed fit. He couldn't tell whether Gojo had come up using the stairs like a normal person, though knowing his teacher, that would have been too boring.

Megumi didn't think he needed to answer. He knew he was supposed to be down there training alongside the rest of his classmates, but he couldn't step foot onto the field, knowing you were there. If ignoring you had been difficult before, it was almost impossible now, even though he didn't speak to you, your own comments having dwindled, only terse necessities when you were put together on missions.

It was less the quantity of commentary that weighed on him heavily; it was just the way his hair stood on its ends, his skin prickling at your mere presence. There was a charge to the air between you both, the accusation and assumption sitting in the atoms he breathed in, heavy, tasting like static.

He shook his head lightly, the memory of a certain monitor beeping in his ears fading. He wasn't wasting time, he wasn't — he was going to train twice as hard, was going to make up for it. His missing the training with the rest of the students would have no bearing on his performance. He was going to make sure of it.

He had no other choice.

"Just so you know, I don't quite mind. I do approve of a little rebellious streak," Gojo's saunter towards the railing where Megumi stood was insufferable. It was not just the way he walked, like gravity bent over backwards for him, the bounce in his steps, like he was mocking the world and daring it to do something about it, but also the underlying message through the easy sway of his shoulders: that he was untouchable. "But skipping school is a slippery slope. First, it's one day. Then it's two. Next you know, the others avoid handling you at staff meetings, and I'm the one who has to go through all your reports. Not fun."

A dry remark, no questions intended. "Do you even read the reports."

"Nah. I don't. It's too much of a hassle," his teacher said with a grin, his canines sharp and glinting in the sun. His elbows propped up on the railing, his back to the sports field, he looked up to the sky. Or, well, his face was looking towards the sky, his eyes might has well have been roaming Megumi's face. Not that he would know where Gojo was looking with that blindfold on.

There was a kind of quiet between them that felt like it was supposed to be purposeful. He didn't like it, his hands gripping the railing a bit tighter, like he could redirect his tension through his fingertips to the wood. There was a breeze softly caressing Megumi's face, and for a second, he wondered if he deserved to have the world treat him so gently, when he—

"I exorcised the curse."

On instinct, Megumi whirled around towards Gojo and the distinctive curve of his jaw as he continued to study the sky's blue, the spare clouds here and there. Like clockwork, the stone in Megumi's stomach sank deeper, and his knuckles whitened on the wood, his nails digging between the rills of the old timber.

"I know there's coulda-woulda-shouldas going through your head. You don't have to tell me, I know I've got bingo already," Gojo said offhandedly, and finally turned his head to Megumi, his smile softening, less of a tease, more of an inspection.

Megumi looked away, the wood digging in between the nail and his skin, right in the crevice where it was hard to get out. "You shouldn't have had to clean up after me."

"Aww, come on, that's what I'm here for. Let me have my moment," a snap of his fingers, "I even looked cool doing it — real flashy. Big crown. Someone might have clapped, ya never know."

His teacher was so ridiculous, Megumi couldn't stop the huff escaping him. Of course, he was out to be praised, so full of himself the way he always was. To an extent, Megumi even appreciated the ease with which he talked. Not that he would ever admit it. "You're not helping."

Gojo bent down, the tip of his sharp nose getting awfully close to Megumi's. "Also, for the record, the whole spinning around you just did? Very dramatic, I give it an 8.5 out of 10."

Megumi jerked his head back, sending a glare towards his teacher, "Do you ever stop talking?"

"Not unless I'm unconscious. Or dead," both hands up in the hair, Gojo stood upright again, to his full height; assured, confident, a fact, "Hold your horses, Megumi — I'm not planning on either of those today. Or the near future."

Megumi's eyes found their way from his teacher to the field again. Inumaki had finally gotten up, though he was still a far cry away from actually gearing up to fight. Maki had moved on to rope Panda into blocking a flurry of her attacks, every movement precise and trained, no wasted moment. Yuji and Nobara were off to the side, engaged in the typical bickering he knew his classmates to partake in. A threatening raise of her hand at Yuji, an assuaged shoulder dropping directed at Nobara.

You were nowhere to be seen, and Megumi hated that he took note of it, that his fingers let up for a second, that the coil in his stomach uncurled. And when gojo spoke again, he hated the way relief wormed itself through his heart, as if he deserved it.

He hated, too, how much he welcomed the relief.

"It's alright for the stuff to weigh on you. You think you're the only one holding the line sometimes," Gojo's voice was serious, in a way that Megumi seldom heard, "You're not. You've got people behind you. Beside you. Me included, aren't you lucky."

Because it was true. Because Megumi could rely on Gojo Satoru. Because he could rest assured that his teacher had always looked out for him, and would always do so, despite being so annoying about it. Or maybe perhaps, even more so because of it.

"…thanks."

Gojo's grin returned with ease, shoulders pulled up as he kicked off the railing. "By the way, the next time you skip class, at least pretend to be doing something cool. Like I dunno — stealing a cursed artefact, annoying Nanami until it looks like the button on his collar is gonna burst, infiltrating a rival Jujutsu School…the list is endless!"

"Those are all terrible ideas."

A gasp, and Gojo turned around, his hand clutching his chest, "Excuse me for having taste."

Megumi had rolled his eyes, but inwardly, he had felt a weird mix between mollification and a nervous fraying around his edges. Making his way down to the training grounds as well to take over Panda's spot, he had even managed to ignore that he was only going down because you weren't there anymore.

A coward—

No.

He just didn't want to get into fights anymore, he told himself, he was sick of it.

Standing in the wreckage left behind of the failed mission now, he couldn't muster up the relief that he felt when Gojo first told him that the curse was gone. He didn't have to worry about it anymore, didn't have to agonise over it at night, could finally focus on his next missions, of not repeating the mistake.

The curse was dealt with. No one else would get hurt, no news alert or updates that he would have to await with bated breath. No more imagining what could have happened — because none if it had happened. And now, it never would.

So why, instead of ease, did he feel a familiar tightness in his chest?

His fingers swept over the mark of his shikigami's warding attack, muscles loose, not clenched, not angry.

The second Megumi learned that Gojo had stepped in, the weight had vanished from his shoulders like it had never been his in the first place. The moment it wasn't his problem anymore, it had stopped being real. The guilt, the panic, the second-guessing — all of it evaporated. Gojo had fixed it. He had always fixed it.

But what if his teacher died? What if there was nobody around to pick up the pieces he left on the ground?

He pressed his lips together.

Megumi didn't use to think about it, but then you threw it at his head, the question of whether he knew that his sense of justice disappeared so easily and—

The comfort sitting in his bones, in the cracks of his joints, turned sour, like milk that was expiring. Gojo could shoulder the burden like it was weightless — and for him, maybe it was. But Megumi wasn't like that. Was he going to rely on his teacher forever?

If he started choosing who lived, if he stained his hands so others could stay clean, would maybe one day the relief feel genuine?

1st of May; 14:28. — you.

You lingered near the restricted area, your fingers hovering over the glass display case. You didn't dare touch anything, but your eyes were sweeping over the more dangerous collection of cursed objects. The area hummed with restrained malevolence; the ancient talismans pulsed dimly, guarded by layered barriers woven so tightly that even the air seemed hesitant to stir.

You didn't intend to steal anything. T

his was merely reconnaissance, to confirm whether the rumour over at Kyoto's were true: that Tokyo Jujutsu High had been quietly amassing cursed relics far beyond what they reported to the higher-ups. That under Gojo Satoru's protection, they'd turned the school into something closer to a private arsenal than a neutral institution.

But this wasn't about fairness or balance, that you knew. It always came down to fear, to wanting to gain the upper hand against somebody they didn't trust. Neither gojo nor his students, and especially not the influx of power the first-years all brought along.

Standing there, surrounded by cursed tools older than some dynasties in Japan, you felt weird.

This wasn't just a vault, it was a warning, too. A reminder that if Tokyo wanted to, they really could overpower Kyoto before it ever drew its own blade. And if it was true, what would the elders plan to do with this information if you delivered it?

In the end, you shouldn't care. You were a tool to use, a means to someone else's end, you were just there to collect information, and leave before anything could happen. Ever since you found that talisman on your bed, you kept repeating it to yourself, yet still —

Strangely, your first thought was of Itadori Yuji.

Not because he was friendly, even though he was. Not because he always offered to spar, even though he did, or because he was so earnest, but because of what he carried inside him.

You had seen it in flashes; in the way his smile faltered when he thought no one was watching, in the tension in his shoulders when he had to deploy Sukuna to take over his body, like he was bracing himself for something he couldn't stop.

He bore the King of Curses like a time bomb behind his ribs, and the worst thing about it was that he wasn't just a vessel. He was a boy trying to stay himself. So if what you learned here about Tokyo's cursed arsenal got back to Kyoto's elders, would they have more leverage to use against Yuji?

You were their spy, yet—

"So, funny thing," came a voice from behind you, "back during my days, the restricted section wasn't on the student tour."

You froze.

Gojo Satoru stood just a few steps back, hands in his pockets, posture loose, like he had just strolled in by accident. His blindfold was slightly pushed up, one pale blue eye gleaming under the low light. He wasn't smiling, but his tone was light, breezy, almost bored.

Like catching you here was a minor curiosity.

You turned slowly, "Gojo-sensei."

"Wow. Polite!" he nodded appreciatively, the corner of his mouth twitching, "Didn't expect that, considering the whole Kyoto sending you here and not teaching you how to trip a proximity ward. How is Utahime, by the way? She still giving the staff at the Karaoke's grey hair?"

Your answer was hesitant, slow, careful, "This place is off-limits? I could swear it wasn't. That's my fault. I can be on my way out, no time wasted."

There was a brilliant smile on Gojo's face at you playing stupid now; like a mask, easy and lazy, but there was a dangerous glint in the way his canine caught the light. "Cute. You lie like somebody who's never had to lie to me before."

"I wasn't—"

"—lying? Spying? Trying to sell me some sweet, innocent act?" he finished for you, his grin sharpening, his attention on you razor sharp, "Nah. Of course not. I can give you some pointers if you want my professional constructive criticism."

So lying wasn't an option anymore.

Not that you thought it ever really was, but in the same way that the higher-ups had no issue throwing out obvious, outrageous excuses like that, you thought maybe you could do the same to save yourself. But of course, it was a stupid decision. You had neither the power nor the authority nor the leverage to pit against somebody like Gojo Satoru to even try to pull shit out of your ass.

If anything, you didn't know if Kyoto even had any control. Not when it was the honoured clan heir on the other side.

What were your options then?

Despite the imposing presence of Gojo's, like an incessant reminder of the energy thrumming underneath his cool demeanour luring you to see him as an enemy, you couldn't attack. Not if you wanted to keep all of your bones intact. It would only end one way and that was with you in a hospital and having lost all semblance of some sort of trust between not just you both, but also with the other first-years.

Not that any trust had ever been really genuine, but at least it hadn't disturbed the status quo between you during all the weeks before.

You also didn't want to fight. Not like that. Not against Gojo Satoru. Ever.

You could try to stick to lying and pretend like you were innocent — it might even work, depending on how much good-will Gojo owned in that moment, how playful he was to really allow you to walk that line. He wouldn't believe you, but maybe you could appease him a little. On the other hand, it could also go insanely wrong in that he doesn't take kindly to being toyed with.

As stupid as it sounded, it was a viable option, but it was too much of a wild card to really trust that it would work either way.

Another option, which, out of everything, was not high on your list, was to offer him something in return if he let you get away with it. If you could convince him that you were more useful to keep around, you might be able to play it safe. He might be insulted, or he might take the offer, but either way, you would lose his respect and any possible prospect of gaining trust. Which, again, did not help your case in any way.

That lead to two different problems, though, which could be viewed on two different scales of importance, too. For one, and far less important, your behaviour was not just representative of yourself, but of Kyoto too, so any repercussions were directed back to the elders as well. You yourself didn't particularly care whether Gojo Satoru had respect for you, though having him as an enemy was not quite on your to-do list, either; but being the reason for the stand-off between the two schools to sharpen? Difficult.

Another reason, far more important to you, was to sell yourself like that went against your own principles; you were not in the habit of disregarding your own feelings in favour of saving yourself.

You were following your job, you knew that. You could treat it like a mission, because it essentially behaved like one, except a part of you couldn't because it wasn't against enemies, curses and curse users that intend to hurt innocent people. It was against other sorcerers, in a game where you were supposed to smile in Yuji's face and then feed his future to people who'd rather he die quietly than live inconveniently.

How much of a pawn did you want to be? You didn't care when you came here to Tokyo, but you also hadn't known any of the students here, hadn't seen how hard they worked to make a different future for Jujutsu Society.

You talked all about Megumi and his inability to be true to himself, but how about you?

The words left your mouth as calmly as you could manage, as steady as you could bring yourself to sound with Gojo Satoru watching over you like a hawk, "I didn't come here to steal anything."

Was that your smartest move? Maybe. Maybe not. It was hard to guess with him, but it was at the very least the truth and sometimes, when nothing else worked, truth was all you had left. It was your best bet at catching his attention; somebody who occupied the stance that Gojo Satoru did would appreciate honesty, you thought.

"You must be really curious then to ignore all the seals."

So he wasn't going to let you off easy. Almost, you were hoping he would be kind to you.

"They don't trust you. Or Tokyo," you didn't have to mention who they was; Gojo knew. By the shift in the air, the lessening of oppressive attention, you also knew he was listening now. "Not with the first-years. Not with Itadori. And especially not with you standing between them and the chain of command."

He didn't interrupt, so you continued.

"I guess you could call me spy, but they never do. Well, not officially, anyway. It's called oversight, information gathering, or whatever other thing they can come up with," you swallowed the amount of saliva having gathered in your mouth from your rambling, "They think this school is building its own army."

"An army, eh?" Gojo made a low sound in his throat, an unceremonious snort escaping him, "I can't say we haven't a good roster this time round: a hammer, a puppeteer, a ticking walking bomb? Nah, I gotta tweak that one a little…just the bomb? Hmm…"

You interrupted him before he could spiral into another tangent, "Point is, they're scared of you."

He turned towards you and despite the brightness of his eye roaming over your form, his words were honest, "Good. They should be."

You stayed still, because— "What are you going to do?"

Gojo blinked, lazily, as if none of it truly concerned him. Like catching a spy in Tokyo Jujutsu High's restricted section was no more urgent than choosing what flavour Mochi to buy. But nothing about the casual motions of a tight-lipped smile curling onto his face or his fingers tapping his chin was idle to fool you.

"Me?" he echoed, "Oh no, I'm just sitting in the front-row seat of 'what are you going to do?"

You swallowed, just once. "I could tell them about all this here."

"Naturally," he said, one shoulder heaving up in a small shrug. The way his head tilted reminded you of a bird, "You could."

Was there a trap in his words? You weren't sure. That was the problem with Gojo Satoru — he didn't need to be flashy to be dangerous. Sometimes it even hid in plain sight, draped in his infuriating nonchalance and wrapped in his lazy smiles.

Was the off-handed way he regarded you a threat?

Maybe.

He didn't look like he was posturing. He didn't have to. He barely moved since the moment he caught you, and yet you hadn't relaxed once. His eye watched you, but not in a way a predator would its prey, because that was still seeing you on the same plane of existence as him and right now, you weren't.

He watched you like a god watched a candle.

You studied him back. "You're not going to stop me?"

"I already did."

Things were not written in stone. Theoretically, you knew that.

You could send your report back to Kyoto, and it would carry your name. You could choose to continue your mission the way it was intended, could accept that you essentially were a discardable part of a plan that was larger than you. The plan that encompassed the death of Itadori Yuji, that had its eyes set on Fushiguro Megumi and the power imbalance of his cursed technique officially belonging to no clan, but still could be seen as an extension of the Gojo family.

You could do a lot of things, but the way he was waiting for you to understand made you feel like your decision had been made hours ago already. That it had been cemented in moments that you hadn't thought twice about: the first time you snorted at Yuji's really-not-funny joke but he lit up like he got handed a prize when he realised who it came from.

The first time Nobara didn't bother hiding her annoyance during a dragged-out explanation during training but still shifted enough to give you a clear view.

The first time you saw Megumi hesitate before a mission, so minuscule that you had almost dismissed it, his jaw tight and eyes distant, that spurred on your curiosity about what he was hiding.

That was the trap, you thought, not Gojo's words but, put on the spot in front of a decision, how treacherous your heart and mind were.

7th of May; 22:13. — kugisaki nobara.

"Yo."

"Gojo-sensei!"

"Yuji, my favourite student who is absolutely not my favourite just because you're the only one who has decency enough to miss me so when I'm gone!"

Nobara tried her best at Maki's eye roll again, "Teacher's pet."

"Wait…am I not supposed to say hi?"

"Nevermind that, Yuji-kun! Won't I get a heartfelt greeting from my other two favourite gremlins?"

"Hi." — "What's the mission."

"Yuji, close the windows. There's a real cold draft. Weird."

"But there's none open…"

Ignoring yuji, her teacher continued cheerfully, throwing a file onto the table, "I come bearing gifts!"

Nobara's head thumped against her arm. Goodbye, skin care routine. Goodbye, a good night's sleep. Goodbye, peace.

8th of May; 23:42. — you.

Megumi's leg was touching yours.

The problem with being four people in a short limousine was that there were two single seats that both Nobara and Yuji were quick to claim. In fact, as you all were walking down to the awaiting car on the main street, both of your classmates started accelerating until they were speed walking at a very conspicuous pace. Megumi huffed to himself, a deep annoyed sigh, a few steps behind you but you didn't think much of it until Iwata opened the door for you both and an innocent Yuji was looking back from the front row seats.

The boy's pink-haired head immediately whirled forward when he caught your eye, but it wasn't quick enough for you to have missed the slightly guilty expression painted all over his features. Your eyebrows wandered even higher up when your periphery registered movement between the seats, Nobara's well-manicured fingers slightly pinching Yuji's thigh.

Her lips mouthed something towards him, quick, messy enough that you couldn't catch it but apparently that was enough for Yuji because his brows furrowed and he nodded, resigned, accepting his part in whatever scheme she was coming up with.

"Move," Megumi grunted from behind you when you took to long to enter, and pushed himself past you into the car.

"Don't strain yourself with all that politeness, Fushiguro," you bit out.

It was a cruel joke, looking inside the vehicle and finding that the only seat you could possibly take was right next to Megumi's right. Well, it would have been Megumi's left if you had entered the car first, but at least it would have been at your choosing which side you'd rather occupy.

Not your mission, you reminded yourself with a press of your lips, before sliding into your seat and allowed Iwata to shut your door close so he could drive you all to the mission site.

That had been eighteen minutes ago, and Megumi's leg was touching yours for the past thirteen of those. Megumi who had stubbornly stared out the window, who kept his body to himself, tense, with his arms crossed, until his head lolled forward slightly and his body relaxed slowly.

It was funny how open to an attack he was in that position, the back of his neck exposed as his chin softly bumped against his chest. If the Kyoto elders had tasked you to get rid of the Zen'in brat with the Ten Shadows Technique, you could have done so easily in that moment: taken a hold of the dagger you kept with you and aimed for his carotid, then dragged it up to his internal jugular. He would've been dead before he could have even had the chance to wake up again.

They didn't ask that of you, though, so you sat in this car with Yuji's and Nobara's whispers in front of you, and Megumi's leg that touched yours.

9th of May; 01:18. — you.

"This place smells like whatever's festering in those idiots' laundry pile."

Nobara wasn't exaggerating.

The stench of stagnant water reeked of bacteria finding a welcoming home; flowers that had been standing in their dirty water for weeks, a sickly sweet under note. It reminded you of buried corpses beneath wet earth, rotten.

The entrance to the underpass stretched out before you, half-drowned in shadow as murky floodwater trickled out steadily. Despite the sloshing of water reaching your ears faintly, there were no other sounds to indicate there was something nesting inside there: no breeze of wind, no metal creaking, no movement through the water.

There had been residual cursed energy picked up from the last site that the curse was lingering around, though it was difficult for to scouts who were monitoring the area to pick up the exact location. The curse was constantly moving, apparently extremely territorial and, most importantly, smart enough to avoid detection until now.

"What are you doing?"

You turned slightly to observe Yuji bending down, untying his boots, "I didn't know the water was going to be that deep!! I'm wearing my cool socks, so — " he rolled his socks into a little ball, stuffed it into his pocket before slipping into his shoes, sock-less, " — problem solved."

"Ugh, yikes."

"We should split up as we discussed," Megumi spoke up, his voice scratchy from when he woke up from his slumber earlier.

When the car came to a halt and the overhead light turned on, his body had stilled as his eyelashes fluttered lightly, opening, coming to his senses with a blink. He was quiet, when awaking. But Megumi, when left to his devices, was always very quiet, even more so in the recent weeks. His jaw slightly moved when he released the tension held within his teeth and his chest moved with a deep breath, shoulders staying relaxed momentarily before they stiffened when he felt your gaze on his face.

He had looked at you, something raw in his eyes, and you looked back. For a second there was nothing between you both other than just space that existed, then his knee had pulled away and you had turned and gotten out of the car.

"Sweep it from both ends. One team at the north entrance, and one from the spillway," Megumi continued. "At least this way we can cut off one route if it decides to lead us through a chase."

As you were approaching the mission site earlier, Yuji had asked about the distribution of teammates, and a quiet Iwata had spoken up. His voice was soft, hesitant like he was scared to unleash a storm with what he was about to announce. Apparently, Gojo had made it clear to the assistant manager to convey his explicit desire to have you and Megumi paired up.

You hadn't bothered to either act or be surprised about that development, taking the 'news' with as neutral a face as you could manage. Obviously, you would have preferred to share the name of teammates with Yuji instead, but after the encounter with Gojo, you weren't surprised that you were to be kept away from the pink-haired student that had the Kyoto elders in an uproar. It didn't matter that nothing in your secret mission had mentioned any bodily harm to Yuji, nevermind the fact that you didn't want to hurt him, but if it were you in anyone else's shoes, you would have kept yourself far from him, too.

The lack of trust didn't hurt you, for it made sense and you weren't sure you trusted Gojo Satoru and his little games entirely, either. It was a give and take, so nothing you could do about it.

What captured your attention instead was the fact that Megumi's face hadn't moved at the announcement, either. Where there would have been a palpable exasperation at sharing his presence with you, a frustrated grimace, a twist of lips, he just quietly accepted it now. It had you narrowing your eyes, a thoughtful curl of your mouth that you couldn't hold back.

His lack of ill-will was off-putting; the oppressive quiet he had layered over himself over the past weeks slowly, bit by bit, one that suffocated the usual reticence he carried with him. it wasn't like you knew too much about his private life, so you couldn't pin point what exactly had happened that had Megumi hide behind the biggest mask of indifference you had ever seen, and—

Not your mission.

There was fire licking at your fingertips, urging your tongue to loosen up to coax it out of him, because you knew there was something contained behind the seams, trying to burst. You knew because you felt the same way. Because there was something brewing in your chest that wanted out, because Kyoto made it clear not to intervene with anything and not to care. Because Megumi was not your business.

You're not going to stop me?

I already did.

You exhaled harshly.

The sound echoed off the walls of the underpass, seemingly stretching endlessly in front of you. Your shoes were wet and you were glad that the water hadn't seeped through them to dampen your socks — yet. If you had to walk any longer in the rising water level, they would become so sooner or later. The water rippled around your shins faintly, lit dully by the weak glow of your flashlights. Moss climbed up the walls in green veins and every few paces the rusted husk of a bicycle or the tip of a traffic cone broke through the surface.

Megumi was wading through the water as well, next to you, his eyes observing the tunnel walls like they might peel open and serve the curse on a silver platter, a stern line on his mouth. The silence stretched thin — taut with the weird change between you both. He hadn't spoken a word since you entered, and it didn't bother you, you told yourself.

Except there were comments that burned on your tongue, so you did the sensible thing and swallowed them down with the same-old mantra you had adopted ever since you found the talisman on your bed.

Ignoring the fact that ever since Gojo had found you sniffing around, you hadn't actively went to search for any new information, either.

9th of May; 02:03. — itadori yuji.

"If this thing doesn't show soon, I'm gonna curse it for wasting my time when I could be getting beauty sleep," Nobara's boots splashed as she moved on ahead, her hammer kept low.

Rip her mouth to shreds. She talks more than you whine around, brat.

Itadori Yuji flinched just a little, shoulders tensing instinctively at the voice that coiled through his mind like rot given form. Sukuna's tone was laced with dark amusement, sharp and sleazy, sliding into the quiet of Yuji's mind like a knife. His voice carried the weight of ages — dry, scornful, each syllable curled with contempt.

He tried not to show it. He was getting better at hiding when Sukuna slithered in, but it still left that familiar feeling in his chest, like he'd swallowed nails. But Yuji also knew that Sukuna loved to get the best of him, so his best bet had always been to not give the King of Curses the satisfaction of a response.

He trudged through the water beside Nobara, arms slightly raised like the water might leap up and bite, "It's not so bad. You think curses can swim?"

"Shut up before you jinx us," she muttered.

Yuji glanced at nobara, trying to gauge her mood. She was always so confident, so brash, but tonight there was something different about her. A tension in her shoulders, a tightness in her jaw. It wasn't just her missing her beauty sleep, it wasn't just the mission. She was annoyed, sure — that was kind of her default — but… more than that.

He couldn't really blame her because Yuji felt weird most of the time, too.

He knew that not everyone shared the same line that he drew in the sand.

He hated it. Hated the feeling of watching his friend hurting over something he understood very well, of the sting of pain that stayed lodged deep beneath his ribs, creeping into dreams and daylight alike. Yuji had lived it, Megumi had lived it, Nobara had, they were still living it; the same wound that wouldn't stop bleeding because it never got any time to heal.

Yuji knew that Megumi would throw himself into danger if it meant somebody could be saved — it was why he appreciated and trusted Megumi after all this time so deeply.

But you?

If he had to say, he wasn't quite sure where to put you on his scale. He didn't think that you both were strictly in the category of friends, but he also didn't think that you weren't. If worse came to worst, he would protect you as he would with any other of his teammates, the same way he would with any given human, but he wasn't sure whether he enjoyed your presence, not when he saw how biting your words could be.

Yuji generally was a forgiving person, straight forward, optimistic even, but then sometimes you fixed him with this look of yours as if you knew more about him than he'd like you to and—

He shook his head.

That wasn't the point. The point was that he had seen enough of you to understand that you weren't heartless, not in the strictest sense, that you did what the mission called for, that he saw you doing what other sorcerers were doing, and Yuji understood that.

It scared him, not because he thought it was cruel, which he had trouble figuring out if it even was, but because he knew that he had been shown over and over how the Jujutsu world worked. How easy it was for the mission to swallow everything else; that maybe, one day, doing the right thing by the rules would mean stepping over someone begging for help.

He wondered if, eventually, he'd have to become like that, too.

Yuji rubbed his chest; a self-soothing technique he only really started to use ever since his grandfather died, ever since he had swallowed Sukuna's finger and there was a presence within his body fighting his cells for power.

He didn't want to get used to death.

Such sentiment, truly. You weep over things already gone, how tedious.

Yuji's jaw tightened, but Sukuna kept going; his voice silken, venomous.

All this morality talk. You still speak of saving everyone, how quaint. How boring. This is not a tale of heroes, boy, it's a reckoning. In time, you'll grow accustomed to it. They all do. And when your bleeding heart betrays you, I shall be there.

He swallowed down the clawing urge to scream. To sleep. To disappear. Then, with a squeeze of his eyes, short, forceful, he re-focused on Nobara grumbling through the water, the faint sloshing echoing through the tunnel, the feeling of cold surrounding his legs and asked, "You think Fushiguro and her are doing okay?"

"They better have more going for them than we do, ugh, my poor shoes. I'm so going to have Gojo buy me a replica. Maybe even two, he knows I hate mouldy tunnels."

Fool.

9th of May; 02:21. — fushiguro megumi.

Megumi refused to be surprised anymore.

It had been Gojo's idea. Of course it had. Who else would think it brilliant to shove two people who could barely tolerate each other into a death trap as a form of 'team building'? He could almost imagine his teacher's laugh — the disgustingly cheerful, insufferable sound that was somehow still able to be genuine in its amusement.

Megumi didn't feel like laughing. He hadn't wanted the assignment to turn out this way. Not with you. Not when he had tried, again and again, to avoid being in your presence more than necessary. But this was necessary, so he clamped down the buzzing feeling crawling on his skin to focus.

When Gojo had given them all the file with the information gathered so far, Megumi had fingered the paper, eyes scanning over the information — sensor readings, half-legible scout notes, maps — only to turn the page and stop. There they were: blurry, cruel pictures staring back at him of the confirmed causalities. Faces frozen mid-expression.

Something had twisted in his chest at the faces, gripped his heart in an iron fist. It wasn't guilt, not exactly. Not yet. But something closer to pressure, sharp and unwelcome in the way it prodded his ribs from within.

"The curse's not consistent. Weren't sorcerers or anything special — locals, mostly," Gojo had said offhandedly, almost flippant. His voice didn't betray anything of what he thought of Megumi's question, "A maintenance worker. Two kids cutting through the underpass to skip school."

Simple facts, lives on paper, reduced to what they weren't.

He had felt the words lodge in his spine. This time, he wasn't going to freeze, wasn't going to falter, to hold back just because something inside him still bucked against the uglier parts of being a sorcerer. This time he couldn't be selective.

He was not going to run away.

Because if he hesitated—

No.

He didn't need to think about what-ifs, because there were going to be none. Because there was going to be no second-guessing, no moral hesitation, no wondering if he had made the right call, no thinking of you—

He bit his tongue.

Megumi's eyes flicked sideways toward you, just slightly, almost involuntarily. His eyebrows furrowed deeply. He hated how your presence was a quiet pulse at the edge of his focus like an itch that he couldn't ignore. He disliked that he didn't know why he found you so unfamiliar, why the air between you both kept feeling like spilled gasoline, invisible and waiting for a spark

You didn't speak, didn't look at him, and yet somehow it felt like you were doing both, like you were aware of everything he thought and felt, like he was being watched, measured, known in a way that he didn't want to understand—

He shifted his gaze forward again.

Not now.

The water was deeper now than when they first entered the north side of the tunnel, cold, heavy, like it wanted to slow him down. Instead of ripples, the water moved steadily with each movement, and he had to hold up the lantern a bit higher so it wouldn't be swallowed up, the dull glow barely pushing the shadows back.

Up ahead —

He squinted.

This was an underpass; there was only one way to go, it should have been a straight line. Yet right in front of him, there were dozens of access tunnels branching in and out, narrow, curling like roots in the dark. The architecture shouldn't be possible, yet…

He paused, and when the lantern was held out to you, you reached for it without a word, hand brushing against his own.

It was only a single moment, the brush of skin only that: a brush, yet it burned.

Tensing, he snapped his hand back, fingers poised and intertwined in each other, ready to summon his Divine Dogs at a moment's notice. The cursed energy coiled tight between his hands and the flash of heat through his chest.

9th of May; 02:38. — kugisaki nobara.

Miserable and damp, Nobara's boots splashed through the water that had no business climbing up her legs, dunking her flesh in the slimy substance she actually wasn't entirely sure was even water to begin with.

"Smells absolutely rancid," she muttered to Yuji, her nose curling, "Almost like—"

"My socks? Jokes on you, I'm not even wearing them," he grinned, bright and dumb as always, but even Nobara could see the sharpness underneath the smile, the vigilant squinting of his eyes against the darkness, "Think it's hiding?"

Obviously, she thought. Not long, and she would completely master Maki-senpai's eye roll.

"Yeah," Nobara scanned the ripples a few metres away, the suspicious feeling in the air intensifying. She was pretty decent at recognising the enemy's game plan, she'd say. She had to if she wanted to survive amongst all the backstabbing people in her old town. If she wanted to navigate through the lying, the lashing out, the manipulation she saw Saori enduring, "The water's deep, so it could be anywhere but..."

When the water stilled again, her muscles tightened, and she raised her hammer slightly. Nobara didn't like that the water was quiet, because quiet meant somebody was thinking, and thinking meant there was a trap ahead.

There were two things Kugisaki Nobara hated: inappropriate use of leopard prints and backhanded manoeuvres.

"…my feeling's telling me that…it's..right…"

A point with her hammer at the minuscule waves, "…there."

"Did you—"

Before Yuji could finish, there was a dark grumble interrupting him, deep and disgusting. A breath later and the curse burst out from beneath the water, twisting like a living shadow, fast, massive and so goddamn ugly. It was big, its head almost reaching the roof of the underpass, a tail smashing against the walls as tendrils, oily and slimy lashed out wildly.

Nobara's waist started to feel cold, and when she dared to catch a look down, there was water surrounding her. It hadn't been so high earlier, she noted, alarmed, "Yuji—"

"Shit—!" Yuji barely dodged the first strike of a tendril, thick as a tree's trunk, the water splashing violently as it crashed beside him. Make that three pairs, Nobara thought, when the oil splattered on her. This wasn't going to get washed out, no matter what, and honestly, she wasn't even sure if she wanted to try and clean it.

Her hammer was fully up in a blink, energy pulsing through her arms like fire, "I'm going to teach this ugly fuck a lesson."

She didn't have to look towards Yuji to find a determined grin on his face, "Count me in."

Yuji darted forward, quick and clean despite the water sloshing at his waist. His fists were already poised and up, eyes locked on the twisted silhouette ahead. Nobara hung back; not out of fear or reluctance, because contrary to popular belief (Megumi and Yuji), she would get dirty to get the job done, but because she'd rather watch the movements of the curse and aid the exorcism through ranged combat. Also, because there was no way in hell that she could be as fast in this water as Yuji.

A tendril cracked through the air, slicing down in a high arc. Her teammate twisted away just in time, water exploding around him as his fist connected with the creature's head. It screeched, high and guttural, the stench of rot rolling over them like a wave. Then it vanished, slipping beneath the surface with a splash.

“Crap,” Yuji muttered, eyes scanning the water. "It’s in the water. We're not gonna catch it like that."

He backed off, mumbling something that might've been a joke. Not that Nobara thought it would've been funny if she had been able to catch it. Her hand was already in motions, pulling nails from her pouch in a fluid sweep. With a flick of her wrist, she launched them: sharp darts of silver, one, two, three, humming with cursed energy.

A muffled shriek followed as the nails found flesh. Oil rose, swirling on the surface, then it burst from below with his ugly sharp teeth, sinews that hung loose and all the rage lunging at her.

"Not today, freak," Nobara snapped.

She held her ground until the last possible second, then side stepped, her hammer swinging upward to catch the curse across the shoulder. It connected with a thunder-like crack, and the curse reeled — right into Yuji's awaiting first. One hit. Two. The third sent it staggering back.

Then came the tail. A blur of muscle, whipping with brutal force.

It slammed into Yuji's gut with a wet, bone-jarring thud. He grunted, forced back a step, his boots skidding through the water, but didn't go down.

Seriously, what were his legs made of? Reinforced concrete?

9th of May; 02:40. — you.

"You heard that?"

Megumi nodded, his eyes fixed on the walls ahead. His entire body had gone taut, every muscle alert, like a blade drawn but not yet swung. A screech had cut through the air, faint and distorted by stone and water, but unmistakably the curse. Which meant either Nobara and Yuji had found the curse or the curse had found them.

There was a low hum of cursed energy in the air, but it was weak. Too weak to confirm the exact source just yet, barely enough to really catch it, but still, not faint enough to ignore. It didn't mean it wasn't dangerous.

The dampness began to creep into your bones, deeper now, soaking through your clothes and sliding icy fingers across your skin. Every slow gust from the tunnel behind felt like a breath on your neck, caressing your spine with a kiss and you suppressed a shiver.

You had chosen the far most right tunnel, because it was the easiest to retrace should anything go wrong. That had been the plan: don't get lost, don't get flanked, stay alert, focus, exorcise the curse.

But as you and Megumi pushed forward, the narrow passage began to widen, the ceiling opening up, revealing more waterlogged space. Holding up the lantern, the light shone faintly, shadows receding slowly.

Then—

A faint, irregular movement.

Just off to the side, slumped against the wall where a mound of debris had collapsed, was a figure. He was half submerged, water up to his shoulders, and trembling violently. His soaked clothes clung to him, ragged, probably weighing him down more. Almost like a ghost, his pale skin shone in the dim light as he shuddered; looking like he was barely tethered to the physical world.

He wasn't dead, though. Not yet.

The old man's face lifted slowly when he heard you, eyes wide, bloodshot, water droplets hanging from his messy beard. His lips parted, cracked and raw. How long had he been down there?

Megumi slowed, and the water shifted with his arm, like he was gripping his weapon, ready to draw, and when you turned slightly, the light of the lantern between you, he glanced at you for a fraction of a second.

There was an unreadable look on his face, like carved from stone, every line harsh, neutral, focused. But you didn't search his face, you searched his eyes underneath the dark hair, underneath the mask he put in place so tightly, and they always betrayed him, flickering with something fierce and momentary. A whirlwind of emotion he swallowed down with a bobbing of his Adam's apple, not clear whether they wanted to soften or harden.

9th of May; 02:52.— itadori yuji.

Another round of nails fired, and Yuji knew that even though the water wasn't clear, he could trust Nobara to do a good job surrounding the curse.

He was already moving when she slammed her hammer down on the final embedded nail, her cursed energy surging in a flash: a chain reaction snapping from point to point. The ground trembled with how fast it spread, and the explosion lit up the creature's side.

A shriek, a buckle from the curse.

A fist, elbow, knee from Yuji.

The rhythm of his strikes was relentless. Each one hammering the curse deeper into disarray, but when he made to surge through the water, raw knuckles ready to deliver another blow—

A splash of water, mud splattering on his face, and some landed on his panting mouth, the taste pungent and dirty. He couldn't keep the grimace from spreading on his face.

The surface calmed instantly, still, eerie in how quiet it became. Too quiet.

"Where the hell—"

"Shit," Yuji wiped his wet face, breathing hard, lungs ragged. His body was coiled like a spring ready to release, tight, "This thing doesn't stay down for long."

But there was only tense silence, the only sound interrupting was the soft splashing of water beneath their feet.

Nobara's eyes scanned the water, "Wait…"

His muscles tensed at her alarmed voice, "What? What is it?"

She didn't answer at first, her eyes shifting back to the water, expression sharpening. Then, with sudden certainty: "It's not coming back up. It's gone, not just hiding, gone."

Before he could respond, there was a low, echoing splash resounding in the distance. It sounded deep and wrong, and a tremor rippled through the water, legs vibrating, concrete humming underneath their wet boots.

Yuji's head snapped toward the noise. "North entrance. Megumi."

He was already running, water flying with each step. The air felt thicker, charged with the sense of urgency. The pounding of his heart kept time with the splashing of his feet.

He was not going to leave you both to your own devices, not if he could help it, not if he could still breathe, not if he still had blood pumping through his body.

Run, brat. Let's see how far those legs get you.

Yuji didn't flinch. He just pushed through the water harder.

9th of May; 02:53. — you.

One of Megumi's shadow beasts barked. Sharp, low, a warning cry that cut through the heavy silence.

Megumi's attention snapped to the darkness ahead. his stance shifted, spine straightening, sword already angled forward. the tension in his frame was immediate, palpable, his expression hard.

The old man behind them coughed out a garbled string of words, stuttering, his voice raspy and dry, like it hadn't been used in ages. But whatever he was trying to say drowned beneath the sudden shift in the air, heavy, suffocating, thick with cursed energy.

The ground trembled underfoot, a chilling surge of cursed energy spreading across the water.

"Get back," Megumi commanded, low and clear.

Then it came.

Emerging from the depths was a hulking mass of shadow and writhing limbs that twisted the laws of motion. The curse moved like a fluid wrapped in wrinkly skin, oozing cursed energy with each movement; its eyes were pits of malice, gleaming in the lantern light with unnatural hunger. The nasty smell rolled over you like poisonous gas, subtle, clogging your nose.

Megumi's dog lunged forward with a snarl, water splashing around its paws, saliva dripping from his bared canines.

You raised your weapon, but the sudden influx of oil made your grip slip — just for a second. It was enough to remind you how bad it could go. You hadn't expected it to be a walk in the park, of course, but you had hoped it would be at least a bit simpler. This though? This was difficult.

Then it roared. It was a low, bone deep sound that shook your chest, vibrated through the water and clung to your legs. And before you could blink —

It was fast. Faster than expected. Faster than you could dodge.

You registered the impact on your ribs from the tendril lashing out, before you skidded back from the force. Pain bloomed on your skin, a deep ache, and you thought you couldn't get any air even when you breathed. Gasping, you spluttered out water from where you fell back, face momentarily dunked in the liquid, "Fushiguro!"

There was another swipe of a tendril, and it dragged over the entire terrain, coming at you with shocking speed. Ducking under the water again just in time, you felt it catch some of your hair. Your lungs complaining, screaming for air when you couldn't get your diaphragm back into its rhythm from the strike before, you broke the surface again, in time to see the tendril catch the old man full in the chest. He wailed once, a broken, high sound, before the curse yanked him across the tunnel like he weighed nothing, like he was a rag doll to be thrown around.

You grunted, voice raw from the salt water as you moved forward, intent on cutting down the curse, but even as you charged, a shadowy tentacle shot from the creature's body, aiming directly for you, snapping through the air —

It never hit.

Megumi's blade was fast, cutting through the curse's arm mid-strike, slicing the shadowed limb clean in two. Black ichor splattered on the water, sizzling where it landed.

The curse shrieked, and in that brief moment of distraction, it let go of the man, retreating back into the shadows of the water once again, moving like liquid, too fast to keep up with.

The old man struggled to stay afloat, finding a log of discarded metal, rusted and probably carrying all the bacteria for the wound on the guy's forehead. Yet, he still clung to it with all his might, body trembling in fear, eyes wide in terror. You were sure he was only awake because adrenaline coursed through his veins like a drug, with primal fear at something he couldn't comprehend.

Megumi’s gaze didn’t waver from where it tried to track the curse; he stared at the water, sword angled low, a predator stillness to him. And for a moment, in the gleam of his eye, there was something unspoken.

Like a warning, like a challenge, like a promise.

9th of May; 02:56. — itadori yuji.

"It was already halfway gone before you punched it, Yuji, how about using your brain sometime to grab it or something."

"How am I supposed to see it coming? It's like swimming with a torpedo. A creepy, soggy torpedo."

"Whatever. When we're done, you're gonna carry me to the car. I'm way too tired."

"Do I even get a say?"

"No."

9th of May; 03:01. — fushiguro megumi.

The water exploded.

A monstrous surge of tendrils shot from the depths, writhing toward them with horrifying speed. There was nothing human in the way it moved — its limbs contorted as they stretched unnaturally. It was too long, too thin, but Megumi didn't flinch. It was not too difficult to kill.

There were jagged shapes protruding from some of the tendrils, and its movements blurred at the edges: frantic, fast, making it hard to follow with the naked eye. But he didn't need to. His shikigami tracked cursed energy like breath in the dark, flaring with each incoming strike. It always alerted him when the cursed energy levels changed, so he could trust his shadows, but you—

Megumi clicked his tongue.

You were already moving towards the curse, cursed tool in hand, dark energy radiating off it where you had imbued the blade. Despite having been flung through the air, your movements were still swift, graceful, but god, you had no patience. He swallowed down the bite rising in his throat, the urge to tell you to wait so that you could coordinate, to strike smarter.

The curse recoiled at your blow, but it wasn't retreating yet, just gathering momentum.

The water churned violently around its body, as though the curse itself was dragging the entire underpass toward it. Its mouth opened wide, teeth flashing as it lunged forward, but Megumi, who anticipated it — seeing as how he seemed to be the only one who tried to hatch out a game plan — was quicker once more.

His eyes narrowed and with a practised signal of his hands, his Great Serpent moved through the water like it was his second home, converging on the curse, coiling around its limbs and biting down hard. The curse snarled and writhed under the pressure, just enough to expose a weakness, enough to give you an opening.

"Now!" he pressed between gritted teeth, his voice carrying the urgency, snapping.

You both moved; your blade arced towards the curse's core, and Megumi stepped in to flank, but the curse twisted, unnaturally pliable. With a sudden, sickening twist, it tore itself free from Great Serpent's jaw, spraying deep purple blood across the concreted walls. The thing's body seemed to fold in on itself, reshaping as if wanting to escape the grasp of Megumi.

"Dammit!"

He didn't stop. Couldn't stop, pushing forward, determined to keep it boxed in, to keep it in check, to not allow it any time to recover, but the curse was relentless. It was like fighting an ocean of flesh, always shifting, always evading.

Your eyes never left the curse either as you tried to slash with your blade again, aiming for what seemed to be its neck, but the curse writhed, dodging; its inhuman agility almost more terrifying than its strength.

"Great Ser—"

Pain.

A sharp, burning stab to his side.

Megumi exhaled harshly, stumbling back a half-step. One of the curse's long, jagged limbs had found its mark, cutting deep. For a moment, his focus wavered. Blood dripped into the water, mixing into the water easily. Refusing to flinch, his hand instinctively clutched the wound, warmth spilling between his fingers. He couldn't drop his sword, he wouldn't— burning, it burned, right in his side. It burned.

"Megumi!"

Your voice broke through his haze, and he shook his head, once, hard, eyes squeezed together to rid himself of the feeling of pain, forcing it back, forcing focus. He snapped back to attention just in time to see the curse pivot and reach for him again.

Your cursed blade cut through the air, movements clean and fluid, synchronised with his own as if you had fought together for years, not just a couple months. Megumi's chest squeezed painfully as it hit him: not the pain, not the fight, but the weight in his chest, the strange sense of familiarity settling inside the cavity despite the tension.

"This thing is relentless," he groaned, voice tight with concentration, one hand coming up to wipe the blood daring to trickle down to his eye.

You nodded, readying yourself, but just as you were about to, the curse twisted violently, its body flailing in a desperate attempt to escape. Its tail lashed out as it caught the old man with brutal force, flinging him into deep the deep, murky water with a loud splash.

Megumi's shikigami was quick to snap back onto the curse, pinning it. It screamed, thrashed, and for a brief, fleeting moment, it was momentarily incapacitated, vulnerable.

They could end it. Now.

But the homeless man did not resurface.

And the curse was vulnerable enough to finish off.

His heart thudded once, hard and painful. Something tugged in his chest, tugged in his head. He had the chance to save the man, but—

No running, no hesitating. He felt it again: the pull. The he weight of his role pressing down on him, his duty to destroy curses, pulled at him with an iron grip. He couldn't flinch, he was a sorcerer, a weapon, that was what he was. And yet—

Before he registered what he was doing, his head had already whipped out to you and he met your eyes.

He didn't mean to look for you. He didn't know why he did, he didn't even want to. But here you were, already looking at him, meeting his gaze head on. There was no judgement in your eyes, not yet, but something else.

He hated that you were already looking at him. Hated that he felt like that was a test, hated the part of himself that didn't know which answer was right, hated that he felt observed, naked.

His jaw clenched, "Rush the curse," just as your voice sounded out: "We have time to go save him!"

9th of May; 03:05. — hasegawa masato.

The world around him was a blur of cold water and shadows. His heart, as weak as it was, hammered in his chest as endless dark loomed over him.

Masato's body was numb, though whether it was from fear or the icy water that soaked him to the bone, he didn't know. Terror clawed at his throat, tugged at his clothes, held his head in a vice grip.

He had been close to death before. Sickness when he couldn't afford medication was a vicious thing, hunger when he hadn't had anything to eat in weeks even worse. Sometimes, when a group of people, drunk, came by, they liked to make him dance for some money. Sometimes he would. If it meant he'd get some food, he sometimes swallowed his pride and went ahead with it.

But this? He had never been close to death like this.

That creature was unlike anything he had ever seen before. Grotesque, weird, unreal. Masato couldn't believe it was real, not when it looked like the stuff from nightmares, not when he thought he was going to piss himself.

When it had swung him around, he was paralysed under the weight of the monster's presence. The air thick with fear, the water having pushed him away from the safety of clinging to the metal piece; the scent of decay heavy on his tongue, his rasping breath barely able to satisfy his brain with enough oxygen.

Overwhelming helplessness consumed him as his limbs struggled against the water. They were like lead, the fear creeping deeper with every second. Oh god, he was going to die here, in this filthy underpass, alone. He was going to die alone with nowhere to run, no breath to take.

Was this how it was going to end? Was Masato going to die without having seen his daughter again? Without being able to tell her how sorry he was? That he wished he could hold her again, the way she was as a baby, a tiny thing that barely reached the entirety palm of his hand.

Masato had hoisted her up against his naked skin, her tiny little face nuzzled against his flesh, seeking his warmth. Then he had cried, mourning the lifeless body of his wife on the bed next to them, her legs spread and bloody, and his tears had caressed his daughter's skin.

Oh, how he wished he could tell her sorry, that he wished he could have given her a better life, that he didn't have to succumb to the deep abyss of all the feelings he didn't know what to do with after the loss of the light of his life.

He might have cried had his chest not been in so much panic that he kept trying to take a breath. It was a sheer miracle that he didn't, that he knew to press his hand against his mouth, trying to keep the precious little air he had left within his lungs.

Then—

Sharp pain at the back of his head. Everything blurred; his sight darkening slowly, warmth.

I'm sorry, Himari-chan.

9th of May; 03:07. — kugisaki nobara.

A faint bark sounded out, echoing through the tunnel.

"Dog's out, oh, what a good boy."

"He's so gonna get all the beef jerky he wants."

9th of May; 03:06. — you.

Your lungs burned, the world around you a blur of shadows and waves. The sounds of the curse seemed so far away, like there was cotton in your ear.

There. Just…a little…bit more.

Cold, slimy, your fingers slipped off the material once, twice, then, you gripped it harder. Tugged. Found it good enough, and then pulled as you struggled to haul the old man toward safety.

9th of May; 03:09. — itadori yuji.

Water sprayed as Itadori Yuji and Kugisaki Nobara exploded into the fray, his arrival marked by the sound of his footfalls pounding through a receding flood and the snarl of a curse that sensed another sorcerer enter the fight.

Megumi was already soaked, blood running down one arm in slow, steady rivulets, his expression eerily calm as it was grim — tight-lipped, pale, unshaken, angry. Shadows coiled at his feet, the water lapping up the blood oozing from Megumi like it was thankful for the meal.

The creature towered ahead, slick with oil and reared its grotesque head toward Yuji as he skidded to a stop beside his teammate.

"Took you long enough," Megumi said flatly, not sparing him a glance.

Yuji flashed a breathless grin, panting, "You look like shit."

"Then focus and stop wasting time."

Yuji's heart thumped in his ears, pounding like war drums, gaze trained on the curse and the way it twisted, the way it lunged forward, a mess of teeth and water, the movement causing a wave to crash against the tunnel walls. Without hesitation, Yuji ducked low under the strike, pivoted, his fist cocked back and ready to go.

He landed the first hit; clean and solid, pissed off, because fuck, Megumi was hurt and you were nowhere to be seen. A snap as the force rattled the curse's jaw back, howling in response.

Yuji ducked under the swing of a tentacle, and faintly, he heard a deep inhale, a pressured tension in Megumi's voice: "Max Elephant."

Water erupted as the enormous shikigami materialised, crashing down with enough weight onto the curse to shake the tunnel, its trunk hammering down like a wrecking ball, forcing the curse to rear back and expose its side for half a heartbeat.

Yuji darted around the curse, "Now!"

Nails flying through the air, hitting their mark from where Nobara stood at the head of the tunnel.

Megumi didn't hesitate either. With one swift motion, he snapped his hands together and called forth his Divine Dogs again, and they burst forward with fangs bared, eyes gleaming, latching onto the curse with force, ripping it apart. It shrieked and thrashed, momentarily locked in place as Yuji came from the other side, launching upward with an uppercut laced with cursed energy, coiled around his fist like a storm.

A rattling cry, a shriek then—

Purple, oily blood and cursed energy splashed outward like a shock wave and dissolved into vapour almost immediately. The pressure collapsed inward with a sickening pop, the oppressive air in the tunnel lifting like a vacuum sealed bag that gasped for breath.

And silence fell.

Max Elephant vanished with a spray of mist, and the Divine Dogs flickered out of existence, too, their shadows melting into the water. In the sudden stillness, the tunnel felt eerily quiet; water lapping gently against Yuji's legs like nothing had happened at all.

He staggered back, soaked, gasping. "Dude," he panted. "I'm done. I don't know what the hell that thing was but I'm calling it. No more sewer monsters. Ever."

No answer.

Yuji looked up and something in his blood sung, telling him to freeze. The water couldn't possibly become colder, except it did. There was a darkening to Megumi's face, something carved sharp. The kind of scary quiet that came before something snapped. His face was drained of colour, his gaze fixed somewhere past Yuji, unreadable, but his whole body was tense, a string pulled too tight.

For a heartbeat, yuji could swear he wasn't looking at a friend, which was stupid, because Megumi had always been Megumi, always good, old, reliable Megumi. Except that Megumi looked like he was two seconds away from turning into something else.

Yuji winced and tried to change the topic, "Soo…where's—"

Nevermind. He was not going to ask, not when Megumi looked at him then, and all the quiet, buried fury suddenly directed right on Yuji. He didn't wait for an answer, because behind him — a sharp splutter, a frantic gasp for air. He whirled around before his brain caught up, legs already moving toward the sound.

That expression — looks just how I like it.

9th of May; 03:11. — you.

Yuji was there in an instant.

He dropped to a crouch beside you, hands already curling underneath the old man's armpits to pull him up. His hair was ruffled like he had been going through it, and the look in his eyes was worried. Worried beyond just about the civilian man in your arms, worried like there was more weighing on him.

"Got him?" he asked, his otherwise cheerful voice tight.

"He's breathing. Took a hit to the head, though, so might have a concussion."

He nodded and gently pulled the man the rest of the way out of the water. Now that the curse was gone, the water was slowly receding, revealing more and more of the underpass, and becoming less and less like a maze.

You exhaled, warm air escaping you, blown out into the cold.

The skin of your neck prickled like the edge of a blade was pressed against your flesh — it wasn't the kind of shiver that came from cold water trickling down your wet hair. It was something tighter, and you didn't need to turn around to know who was staring.

Megumi, of course. It was always him when the silence felt like judgement.

The weight of his gaze sat between your shoulder blades like a hand pressed flat against your spine. He wasn't just looking; he was blaming.

So much for keeping low key, for staying professional, getting the job done and walking away. You could feel the air heat up, funnily enough, a kettle that was boiling and ready to whistle.

You refused to look at him, because if you did, you'd explode. Because if you looked at him and he dared to look upset with you, you were going to snap. If there was even a flicker of annoyance, of those stupid eyebrows drawing together and that stupid grimace on his mouth, you were going to kill him.

"Don't you look at me like that."

Megumi's steps were slow, deliberate, his boots sloshing through shin-deep water as he closed the space between you.

"Like what," his voice was low, rough, weird. Too calm.

He came to a stop just beside you, his chest brushing your shoulder, close enough that the warmth of his body clashed with the dampness of your clothes still seeping into your skin. Yet still, you refused to look, even though he was invading your space on purpose, even though you could see his hands balled into fists so tightly that the knuckles had gone bone-white, one still slicked in drying blood.

You spat, "What in the hell is wrong with you?"

The nail of his thumb dug into his pointer, "Me? What about you? You abandoned shit again right when I thought you knew what the hell you were doing."

You knew what you said.

That you wouldn't look at him. That you refused to give him the satisfaction of trying to stare you down. But well, the day was long and you talked a lot, and he pissed you off. You couldn't help it. You really couldn't, because Megumi had the nerve, because he never stopped.

You whirled around so fast that water flared up around your leg, arm raised and finger jabbing straight at his face, "Oh no, we're not going to start this again, Fushiguro," with the same nasty look on your face mirroring his. He didn't flinch. if anything, he stepped even closer, jaw tightening, ground teeth against teeth and his hand, long bloodied, trembling fingers, came to grip your wrist. Not enough to hurt, but enough for your senses to sharpen and hone on the contact of skin.

"This," his eyes were a dark blue carved out of the same murky water around you, "is what you wanted."

You barked out a laugh, mouth twisted in disbelief. "You think anything's changed? I thought your whole thing was not letting people die. But you — what? Tossed that out just like that? I mean, good on you, honestly. Growth or whatever, little Megumi finally growing balls, but you okay with that now?"

Megumi's anger was subtle, but it was laid out for you like a book to read. You looked at his jaw, cut sharply, and the way it tightened, skin drawn taut. His teeth were bared at your insult, a muscle in his cheek twitching as a droplet of water ran down the curve of his cheekbone.

He was angry at you, and even though you wanted him to be because it meant he let loose of that stupid mask he still kept up, it fired you up just as much. Because in the midst of his dark eyes narrowing, a wild storm in them, you thought that anger looked good on him, that you much preferred this to the silence and the ignorance the past weeks.

There was something bitter on your tongue and you let it sit there like ash when you looked at the way his wet hair hung down his forehead, the blood that was still running down the side of his face, circumventing his eye with a flick of his fingers, "I mean, if you're cool abandoning your values, fine. Be my guest. I just thought you'd learned from last time."

That got him.

Megumi's face shuttered, eyes dimming like a switch had been flipped, the storm cooling to heavy rain. His grip on your wrist didn't loosen; if anything, it became a tad tighter.

"Yeah?" he said, low, voice like ice, "Just like how you flipped on me now?"

"Excuse me?" you jerked your arm free, stepped forward so your chest bumped his, the air between you both hot despite the dampness, "I did what needed to be done. We had an actual opening, Fushiguro. You would've jumped on that weeks ago, now you're suddenly swinging from one extreme to the other?"

Megumi scoffed; a bitter, humourless sound that barely passed for amusement. His jaw flexed as he turned away slightly, and you noticed his other hand curling tightly at his side, "Don't try to sell me that bullshit."

You didn't back down, and this time when he focused his attention on you, his voice dipped lower, register dark and tight, the kind of controlled anger that came from being pushed too far too long, "Funny how 'what needed to be done' always ends up being what you decide. I'm starting to think you don't care about what the rules say, either."

"Yeah?" you snapped, "You got a problem with that?"

Fuck.

You could punish yourself for the way that slipped from your mouth. Because it sounded like an admission, because you knew that he wasn't entirely wrong, either. You always thought yourself to be a pride-less person, hell, you typically were, but not with this look in Megumi's eyes, one that's deeply rooted in proving you wrong.

And you might have chosen the wrong thing to say, but you would fight tooth and nail to prove to him that it didn't immediately absolve him, either.

His hand trembled, barely held back. In the back, you heard Yuji mumble something, but Nobara's voice cut through his, and he fell silent. For a second, you wondered what he said, why Nobara pulled him back when it was so very clear that he wanted to intervene.

Though, truth be told, you didn't know if you wanted him to.

"You judge me for going off-course. For ignoring your precious protocol, now you do the same exact thing and suddenly it's fine. Tell me, why is it okay when you cross the line?"

"It's not the same—"

"Like hell it's not."

Did he not see? Did he not see that whilst his snake was holding the curse, you both actually had a tangible moment of saving somebody who was drowning right in front of you? Was he so focused on suddenly pretending he cared about the regulations now that he threw his entire morals away again?

His eyes burned with something wild. Not rage exactly, maybe disbelief, maybe betrayal somewhere, "That's what you said about me, wasn't it? Not to let my emotions cloud my judgement. So what — now it's different? Because you felt like saving someone?"

Your heart was pounding and your throat scratchy as you memorised his face in your mind, the harsh lines, the curve of his nose, his wet hair, the hard press of his lips. Almost, you wished that Kyoto had told you to kill him, maybe then you'd stop feeling like there was a fire within you that you couldn't put out.

"So why didn't you?" you narrowed your eyes, because you couldn't kill him, after all, because even if you did have that order, you didn't know if you would, "You could've summoned your toad, couldn't you? I know you've got that shikigami. You're perfectly capable of calling out two of those shadows, so what the hell stopped you?"

He inhaled sharply through his nose, and his voice sounded like each word was an effort to not raise his voice, thick with feelings, and it made you go crazy, "You think I didn't consider that? You think I wasn't aware of every option, every second, every goddamn breath we had left while trying to hold that curse in place?"

"Then why didn't you do it?"

"Because I was holding the line," he hissed and his nose brushed yours, "Because you ran off without a plan, because you ignored what I said, again, and I had two choices: drop the curse and go save that man's life or hold it and save all of us, hoping that your pea-brain was going to handle the other side."

"Don't you put this on me—"

"I will put this on you," his breath was heavy and you felt it caress your mouth and your chest tightened, "Because you walk around like you've got it all figured out, preaching about this and that. So quick to tell me I'm wrong for my decisions, but here you are, doing the same damn thing I did."

You stared at him with your chest heaving, repressed shivers making you tremble, betraying you. Because he wasn't wrong and you hated that. Hated how easily he cut through you when it came from him.

"Stop acting like you're above it," Megumi said, quiet now, bitter. Raw in a way he rarely let out. "You're not. And neither am I."

Your pulse was loud in your ears, loud, fast. You couldn't bring yourself to speak — too much crowding your throat.

He watched you for one long moment, then looked away, the tension in his shoulders rigid as he turned and walked off slowly, his hand pressing down on his side.

9th of May; 03:31. — iwata.

Iwata wondered if he would ever get relieved of his duty to chauffeur the kids around. Not that he necessarily minded the act itself; on the contrary, he quite enjoyed the thought that in some way, he was able to contribute to bettering society, of ridding the world from curses.

It was just that whenever he drove the kids anywhere, they came back looking a little more like soldiers, hardened and soiled, and a little less like teenagers.

That part, Iwata hated the most.

He watched them now from the driver's seat, engine idling quietly as rain pattered on the windshield, mixing with the muddy streaks from the tunnel water still clinging to their clothes. The smell of rotten water, blood and burnt cursed energy hit him the second they climbed into the car.

Iwata pretended to be busy, but his eyes searched them for any signs that they lost a little bit of themselves out there.

The pink-haired student, Itadori Yuji, climbed in first, breathing a little hard, wearing the same tired grin he always did — like if he smiled hard enough, none of the bad things would stick, like they would just ricochet off him. He flopped into the far seat and winced, arms limply sprawled across his knees as if it was too much effort to lift them.

Right behind him was Nobara; she looked like she still had some fire left in her, though it was only a glimmer. She muttered a string of curses under her breath, most of them aimed at the curse they had just fought — or maybe the mud in her boots, it wasn't clear to Iwata.

"Whoever sends us into another one of those tunnels," she sighed as she relaxed against the seat, "will have me hexing their entire bloodline."

"That a threat?" Yuji yawned.

"No. A promise."

Iwata didn't comment. Instead, the door in the back opened and Megumi followed in silence, a hand pressed to his side. The blood had mostly clotted, his jacket crumbled up to apply pressure against it, but Iwata saw the way he walked, the stiffness in his joints, the pain he tried to hide. Iwata couldn't do a lot, not until they got back to the school and to Shoko Ieiri. He slid back, elbows on his thighs, eyes locked on the floor like it might answer for something.

Lastly, there was the exchange student, the one he barely knew. Not that he knew the others that well either, but this one was even more of a puzzle to him. So he couldn't read your face, only saw the way it was set in granite, lines hard. You shivered slightly though you hid it well, instead looking out the window, hands clenched in your lap.

Iwata eased the car into drive, pulling away from the tunnel entrance. He had called an ambulance for the old man the kids were carrying out, already having given the first aid that he could. Silence settled over the kids, save for the soft purr of the engine and the patter of the rain.

He caught glances of them in the rear view mirror — Megumi stubbornly clenching and relaxing his hands, your eyelids slowly closing, Nobara picking at dried blood under her nails, Yuji fiddling with a broken zipper on his jacket.

God, they were just kids.

They shouldn't have been worrying about life and death, not making choices that adults twice their age couldn't shoulder without cracking. Should have instead been having fun out there, enjoying their youth, enjoying making memories all kids their age do.

He exhaled quietly, one hand tightening on the steering wheel. He didn't say anything. He never did. But he reached forward and flipped a switch on the car's dashboard to heat the seats for them.

Yuji leaned back a little more, Nobara let out a tired hum of approval, Megumi let his head fall back against the seat finally, his eyes closing and your shoulders loosened slightly.

It wasn't much. But it was something.

11th of May; 07:29. — kugisaki nobara.

"You think they're going to come out of this alive?"

"God, I hope not."

11th of April; 07:30. — gojo satoru.

"Well!" Gojo Satoru announced cheerfully, "Who needs actual curses when the real horror is whatever this — " he waved a hand in the direction of his two students, " — unresolved..bit…thing…is supposed to be. Hm. That sentence got away from me."

Neither Megumi nor you looked at him, and Gojo didn't need them to. He understood their silence perfectly well, after all. One could call him the whisperer of anguished teenagers, if one will. Not that anybody would, but he thought there was a high chance it could be true.

He sighed loudly, exaggerated. "Y'know, I didn't set this training camp up because I love early mornings or physical labour. I set it up because I actually care."

Still no answer. His lips twisted slightly, and he clapped his hands once, loud enough to echo through the wooden beams of the dojo they were occupying, the two kids sitting in front of him on the ground. Megumi stared down at the floor, his posture rigid. Next to him, you had your arms crossed, staring right past Gojo's shoulder at the wall.

"Alright, group meeting, just us three. Megumi, dear exchange student, and your incredibly good-looking, well-adjusted teacher."

That got your eye twitching, at least. Megumi's jaw flexed like he was grinding down a curse by tooth alone. Not quite efficient, but at the very least, he had them react to something. Sigh. Kids were so difficult these days.

"You two are good sorcerers. Really, of course still lots to learn, but good. Smart even, shockingly so actually, considering the choices you've both been making lately."

Megumi exhaled slowly. "We're getting the job done."

"Are you? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you are one outburst away from killing each other."

Then his voice dropped, just enough to remind his students that they were his students after all, "You can hate each other all you want once the job's done. But while you're out there? You work together. You trust each other. Or I pull you both off the field. Permanently."

That definitely got some reactions.

Megumi's head whipped up, a disbelieving, annoyed look on his face, the one Gojo loved to see, and you narrowed your eyes in response, "You can't be serious."

Ah, the poor exchange student by day, spy by night. How interesting it was to watch you scuttle under his attention, knowing the implications his words had on your situation. When he caught you in the restricted section, he had toyed with the idea of sending Kyoto a memento about what he really thought about having a child sicced on him by the higher-ups. A reminder that consisted more of a body part than it did of anything verbal, but he wasn't cruel enough to succumb an innocent person to that kind of torture.

Though, of course, he did think it would have been a good shock for them. And really, what would they have done? What could they accuse him for that he couldn't point right at them?

After all, they had started it.

"Oh, I'm so serious," he sang, the smile still there, but it didn't quite reach his eyes anymore, "This is your mission now: finish this training camp. Together. No sulking. No bickering. Just work. And progress, of course. I know, it's boring. Tough luck."

He stepped forward, clapping a hand on each of their shoulders, his slender fingers pressing in ever so slightly with something akin to encouragement, "So! You've got two choices: succeed…or succeed. Because that's all I'm offering."

Megumi glared at him viciously, like he thought maybe he shouldn't have come under Gojo's patronage. He thought he might have deserved it— nah, who was he kidding.

"Breakfast's in an hour, and if either of you come late, I'm making you sit next to each other and hold hands."

The look of disgust mirrored on both of your faces had him try to suppress a giggle. Oh, he should have done that earlier.

AUTHOR'S NOTE | thank you for reading!!

TAGLIST | @binkibuns @1l-ynn @nscuit @julieannah (tagged you guys because you seemed excited about the first part so i hope i'm not disturbing you with it!!)

[jienem]

Head cannon story

"Sebek, it's nice to see you too." Your tone was casual, unbothered by his sudden demand.

SEBEK ZIGVOLT

---

"Move before I make you."

Sebek's sharp glare fixed on you, his eyebrows furrowed deeply as his slitted eyes seemed to burn with irritation. You met his gaze with calm resolve, not backing down. You were at the library, tucked away in a small, secluded corner that you had chosen for some quiet reading time. This was your little haven, far from the usual chaos, perfect for enjoying the novel you'd finally saved enough to buy. Sebek, however, had different plans.

"This is my seat, human. How dare you take it from me," he seethed. Surprisingly, his voice was lower than usual—perhaps a rare courtesy, considering there were many students and even Trein was nearby. You raised an eyebrow at the toned-down Sebek but said nothing about it.

"I'm sorry, but I'm not moving." You gestured to the other tables, all occupied. "Besides, every table is packed. So, I'm staying here."

His eyes narrowed, frustration radiating off him in waves, but you stayed rooted, not willing to give in. For a moment, you thought he might force the issue, but then, to your surprise, Sebek pulled out a chair and sat down across from you, the movement sharp and almost petulant. The textbook he slapped onto the table was thick enough to make a resounding thud, and he immediately buried himself in it, ignoring you completely

"Why?" you asked after a pause, still caught off guard by his behavior.

Sebek didn’t look up from his book, though his scowl deepened. "Shush, human. I'm being generous. I don't have time to entertain your stubbornness. I have a responsibility to achieve the highest marks for the sake of Waka-sama."

His words were tense, as if he were gritting his teeth through his forced patience. You couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment, sitting there with your light novel while he pored over academic texts with such intensity. For a brief second, you wondered if you were wasting your time reading for pleasure while Sebek’s ambitions seemed so focused.

Still, you returned to your book, though your concentration was broken by the odd contrast between you two. The tension between you ebbed slowly, replaced by an awkward yet comfortable silence. Minutes passed, and despite his earlier hostility, Sebek’s focus on his studies remained steadfast—though his ever-present scowl never softened.

You couldn’t help but chuckle softly at his intense concentration. It was almost as if he was battling the textbook itself. His sharp ears twitched at the sound, and he shot you a glare. "What’s so funny, human?"

"Nothing," you said, your lips twitching into a grin despite yourself.

Sebek, however, wasn't satisfied. His eyes flicked down to your book, and he scoffed.

"That book..." he muttered, disdain dripping from every word. "It’s absurd. The story was weak, and the characters—especially the knight prince—were utterly pathetic. A disgrace to warriors everywhere."

You frowned, genuinely surprised. "You’ve read it?"

"Unfortunately." His tone dripped with disdain. "The knights were incompetent, and the relationship between the 'knight prince' and the human was laughable at best. Blasphemous, even."

You shook your head, amused by how riled up he was getting over a fictional story. "I don't think it’s that bad. The relationship between the knight prince and the human is actually kind of sweet."

Sebek scoffed, leaning back in his chair with crossed arms. "Sweet? You find such foolishness sweet?"

"Well," you began, trying to find the right words. "When they first meet, the knight prince is so uptight, so proud. Kind of like you, honestly." You grinned when you saw his frown deepen at the comparison, but continued. "He’s treated as a spoiled, so naturally, his actions come off as heartless. He’s stubborn and selfish, sure, but what I love about the story is how the human doesn’t try to change him. They accepted him for who he is and they know he’s too stubborn."

Sebek’s glare softened slightly as he listened, though his expression remained unreadable. You traced your fingers over the book’s cover, smiling softly as you continued. "It’s the knight prince himself who chooses to change. Not for anyone else, but because he wants to be worthy of the person he loves. He becomes better, for her."

Your voice had grown gentle, your thoughts drifting to the story’s heartfelt moments. Sebek, on the other hand, remained silent, watching you closely. His usual sharpness had faded as he seemed to process your words. For a fleeting moment, his gaze softened, his slitted eyes flickering with something you couldn’t quite place.

"This story," you added with a soft chuckle, "was one of my favorites back in my world. It’s funny how similar the themes are to things here but still different. " You read the title aloud, mumbling something while completely missing the way Sebek’s eyes lingered on you.

The silence stretched on for a moment longer, Sebek’s attention still fixed on your face. He quickly looked away, his ears turning a faint shade of red as he returned to his book. "It’s still a ridiculous story," he muttered under his breath, though the bite in his words had lessened.

"Perhaps," you mused with a smile. "But sometimes, the most ridiculous stories have the most heart."

"Cease your rambling, human. You’re disturbing my study," he shot back, though without much force. You could tell, however, that he was no longer as focused on his textbook as before.

And so, the two of you sat there in comfortable silence once more. The library around you was bustling, but in that little corner, it felt like the world had shrunk down to just the two of you. Every now and then, you caught Sebek sneaking glances at you, though he would always immediately pretend to be deeply engrossed in his book whenever you looked up.

You didn’t mind. After all, in his own way, Sebek was just like the knight prince—stubborn, proud, and trying to become better, even if he would never admit it aloud.

DEUCE SPADE

“Yo, Deuce, you up for some pranks?” Ace’s voice broke through the peaceful quiet, appearing in Deuce’s vision from above, wearing his signature mischievous grin. Deuce, lying on the grass beneath the large oak tree, sighed, shaking his head.

“Too tired to do anything right now,” Deuce groaned, his voice hoarse with fatigue. “Just… leave me alone, Ace. Do something that doesn’t involve breaking the rules, would you?”

Ace shrugged, rolling his eyes. “Lame. Suit yourself. More fun for me,” he said, turning to walk off, whistling as he disappeared from sight, leaving Deuce behind, staring up at the clear blue sky.

Deuce closed his eyes for a moment, feeling an overwhelming sense of exhaustion that tugged at him, both physically and mentally. He wasn’t sure why, but today had been draining in a way he couldn’t quite explain. As he lay there, his mind drifted, thoughts wandering back to memories of his mom, of home, and of the promise he made to be a better student—a better person.

Before he knew it, Deuce felt sleep beginning to pull at him. But when he awoke, it wasn’t peace he found. His body was covered in sweat, his head felt like it was on fire, and his limbs ached as though they were weighed down by invisible chains. He groaned, trying to sit up, but the dizziness hit him hard, making his vision blur. He had no choice but to lean back against the cool grass for support, breathing heavily.

He didn’t notice the approaching footsteps until a gentle, warm hand rested on his shoulder, its warmth contrasting with the cold sweat clinging to his skin. The touch sent a jolt of awareness through his foggy mind, but it was still hard to focus. His vision blurred, the world around him tilting.

The voice was soft yet firm, cutting through the haze clouding his mind His body instinctively reacted to the familiar tone, though his head felt heavy, almost disconnected from his body. He blinked rapidly, trying to force his eyes to focus on the figure in front of him. The sunlight filtering through the trees only deepened the shadows around the person's face, making it harder to see clearly.

“Deuce!”

The voice called again, more urgent this time. He could hear the concern, almost bordering on panic. He strained to make out the face but his vision refused to cooperate, swirling in and out of focus. He tried to stand up buth his legs gave out beneath him, and before he could register what was happening, his body collapsed forward.

Strong arms caught him, cradling him against a firm chest. His head lolled as the person knelt down, their hold steady, keeping him from sinking to the ground. Deuce vaguely felt the press of a hand against his cheek, a quiet gasp escaping the person as they registered just how feverish he was. Their touch, cool against his overheated skin, sent a shiver down his spine.

“Hang on, Deuce. You’re burning up…”

The words floated in his ears, distant and muffled, but there was something about the way they said his name—soft. He tried to respond, but his throat was too dry, his body too weak. His vision was swimming, the world around him dimming. All he could focus on was the scent—something familiar, comforting—surrounding him as they held him close.

Before he could make sense of it, exhaustion pulled him under like a heavy tide. His consciousness slipped away, and the last thing he registered was the steady thrum of their heartbeat, the way their arms tightened protectively around him as they whispered, "I’ve got you."

And then, everything went dark.

When Deuce woke again, he found himself in the infirmary, tucked beneath crisp white sheets. The familiar sterile scent of the room and the faint ticking of a clock greeted him, disorienting him for a moment. It was dark outside, the moonlight spilling in through the window.

He jerked upright, his mind racing. What time is it? Oh no his dorm rules! He wasn’t supposed to stay out this late.

Before he could panic, Professor Crewel strode into the room, his eyes glinting as always behind his thin-rimmed glasses. "You finally woke up, pup," Crewel remarked, placing a bowl of soup on the small tray beside the bed. "You should eat before it gets cold."

Deuce blinked, rubbing his eyes. “What happened? How long have I been out?”

"You passed out from exhaustion and a fever," Crewel said, arms crossed. “Another student found you in time and brought you here. Good thing too. Your body clearly needs more rest than you’ve been giving it. Now eat."

Deuce muttered his thanks, taking the bowl of soup in his trembling hands. The warmth from the bowl seeped into his palms, providing a little comfort.

“And don’t worry about your housewarden," Crewel added as Deuce took a sip of the soup. "I’ve already spoken to him and he sends his well wishes. Focus on recovering. It’ll take a few days."

Relief washed over Deuce as he nodded. The soup was simple but delicious, and the warmth it brought made him realize just how starved his body was. Crewel, satisfied that Deuce was eating, turned to leave.

“Thank you, Professor,” Deuce called softly as Crewel disappeared through the door.

As the days passed, Deuce slipped in and out of consciousness. Each time he woke, there would be a fresh bowl of food and a cold handkerchief on his forehead. Whoever had taken the time to care for him never stayed long enough for him to wake fully and meet them. There was always this gentle touch, a warmth that lulled him back to sleep before he could open his eyes.

One day, Deuce decided he wasn’t going to sleep. He lay there with his eyes closed, feigning slumber when he heard the door open quietly. He tensed when he felt that familiar warm hand gently press against his forehead. The fever had finally broken. Then he heard a soft, familiar voice.

“It’s finally down… good.”

The voice was unmistakable. It was you.

Deuce’s heartbeat quickened, but he couldn’t bring himself to open his eyes. You gently caressed his cheek before placing a fresh towel on his forehead, your touch lingering for a moment longer. He wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come. Before he knew it, you were gone again, and he remained there, his thoughts swirling.

By the next day, Deuce had fully recovered. Professor Crewel checked on him once more, deeming him fit to leave the infirmary. As Deuce gathered his belongings, he noticed a small note nearby.

'Congratulations on your recovery.' It was simple, unsigned, with a small doodle of a flower at the bottom of the paper.

Deuce smiled, his chest warm. He didn’t need a signature to know who had left it.

Later that day, you were sitting in the cafeteria, chatting with Grim as he rambled on about some mischief he had gotten into earlier. You were mid-bite when your vision was suddenly blocked by a bouquet of red roses. Startled, you looked up, only to find Deuce standing behind you, his chest brushing lightly against your back as he leaned over.

“Thank you, Prefect,” he said, his voice low, his face a little flushed. "For taking care of me."

Your mouth opened in surprise, cheeks growing warm as his words sank in. You hadn’t expected him to figure it out, let alone confront you about it. "It’s… it’s nothing," you mumbled, looking away, your fingers hesitantly wrapping around the bouquet he had thrust into your hands.

Grim, sitting beside you, looked on with utter confusion. “Huh? What’s going on? What’s with the flowers?”

Ace, who had just joined your table, gawked at the two of you, his brow furrowed in disbelief. “Yuck. What happened to both of you?”

Your face flushed an even deeper shade of red, while Deuce—completely unfazed by Ace’s comment—sat down across from you, a satisfied look on his face. His usual tough-guy demeanour softened just a little, though there was still that hint of bashfulness in his eyes as he watched you cradle the roses in your lap.

Grim shook his head. “This is weird. What did I miss?”

You tried to focus on your lunch, but every time you caught Deuce’s eye, you felt the heat rise back to your cheeks.

And despite the teasing from your friends, you couldn’t help but smile.

[majorbuckegan]

prettier than a peach (john "bucky" egan x reader)

In which you're his favorite nurse, and John Egan tries his hardest to win your heart.

Words: 1.8K

Warnings: Bucky Egan is a warning all on his own. Fluffy, fluffy fluff.

Disclosure: Please do not copy my work on any other sites. I will be posting this here & on ao3 shortly. This fic is based on the characters brought to life in the Apple TV series Masters of the Air, not the real people the characters were based on.

Note: Peach!Reader is going to make many appearances, I'm going to make this a series. Without further adieu, enjoy.

It all started on a Saturday morning. It was early—really early. You hadn't really expected to have anyone walking around near the infirmary, but at half past 0300, you heard the sounds of heavy footfalls, with slurred speech and another low voice arguing.

 You get up to look out the window, and not a second goes by before the door swings open. You recognize the two men instantly: Major Gale "Buck" Cleven is half dragging Major John "Bucky" Egan into the infirmary. 

"Morning, ma'am." Major Cleven's blue eyes zero in on you immediately, and he offers you a kind (and apologetic) smile. "My buddy here had a bit too much to drink and got himself into a scuffle with some guys at the bar." 

Your gaze flickers to Major Egan, studying him with a calculating gaze. He's going to have a black eye, you notice, and he's holding onto the left side of his ribs. It's not the first time you've heard of the Major getting into a fight, but it's the first time it's happened on your shift. 

"Alright, Major." You're addressing Egan now, coming to his side to support his left side. "Let's get you settled in bed so I can take a look at those ribs." 

You are wholly unprepared for the absolute human hurricane that is Major John Egan.

"Tryin' to get me in bed already, doll?" His words are slurred from too much alcohol, but his voice is deep and husky, and you hate the way it makes you shiver. "I don't even know your name."

Major Cleven sucks in a breath and rolls his eyes. "John Clarence Egan." That accent drawls his friend's name, and his tone is very much annoyed. "You're in the presence of a lady—a nurse—for crying out loud. Behave."

"Oh, c'mon, she walked right into that one." He insists, "She thought it was funny. You thought it was funny, right, doll?"

Stormy blue eyes are suddenly fixed on your face. It's almost like time stops for you; of course you've seen him around before, but the moment you really look into his eyes, it's like you can see your whole life ahead of you. He's quiet now, just watching you, and he finds himself absolutely anamored with the delicate blush working its way onto your face.

"It was a little funny." You admit it, but you don't meet his eyes again. You're too afraid of what you'll see on his face, because while you're falling hard and fast at first sight, he's only flirting with a woman. That's all it is to him, you're sure of it.

His chest is warm when you open his jacket and roll up his shirt. You have to ignore how beautifully masculine he is on order to focus on your job. Your eyes flicker to his abdomen, and sure enough, there are wicked bruises starting to show on the skin that covers his ribs. You're pretty sure they're not broken, but you have to be sure.

"This may hurt." You warn him, your fingers prodding gently at his side, and he hisses quietly under his breath. You don't feel anything out of place, but he'll definitely need a few hours of rest and something to ease the pain.

"Your hands are freezing." He grumbles, and before you can say anything, he's got both of them in his much bigger, warmer hands. "There, that's better."

"You're unbelievable, John Egan." Major Cleven speaks up from behind you, his tone more exasperated than anything else.

You carefully extract your hands from Major Egan's, and you try to ignore the way he pouts when you're no longer touching him. "I'll keep him overnight for observation, Major Cleven. Make sure he rests and heals up a bit."

Major Cleven looks strangely relieved, but still, he frowns. "Are you sure? I can handle Bucky; I don't want him causing you any trouble."

His gentle demeanor makes you smile. "I appreciate that, Major, but I've dealt with far rowdier men than Major Egan here. You go on and get some rest; I'll handle this."

Major Egan looks irritated that you and his best friend were talking about him like he wasn't even there. "Just call me Bucky. Or I'll take John." He tells you, his tone demanding, his lips pulled into yet another pout.

"You behave yourself." Major Cleven points a finger at him, his face stern. When he turns back to you, he offers another warm smile. "You might as well call me Buck, too, since you're saving me from trying to sleep in the same room as that one while he's drunk."

You offer your name in return, and you offer a comforting smile as you shoo Buck off to bed.

It's quiet for a moment after the other Major takes his leave. You wonder if the alcohol has made Major Egan fall asleep. You're surprised to see his eyes open and staring directly at you when you turn around.

"Can't remember if I've ever seen you around before." He says, his words still slightly slurred as he speaks. You can't recall ever having heard a voice like his before. Gravely, warm and steady, even with alcohol in his system. "I'd remember that face; you're so pretty."

"And you're drunk." You answer, turning away before he can notice that you're blushing. You've dealt with flirty airmen before, but this is the first time it's really gotten to you. "Get some rest, Major."

He's quiet for a moment, and you're grateful for a reprieve from the flirting as you mark the log book with a pencil. The only noise for a few moments is the lead scratching against the paper as you write.

"I'm gonna call you Peach."

When you turn back, his lips tug into the most heart-stopping smirk you've ever seen. "You could just call me Nurse." You point out, and for some reason, that only seems to egg him on.

"Well, I like Peach. You're prettier than a peach. Sweet as one too; look at that blush." You're sure you've forgotten how to breathe.

"You're a menace." You answer after you've finally gotten a hold of your emotions. "And it's early; you need rest. Sleep."

"How about a goodnight kiss first?" You almost toss the log book at him. Almost. "Just one on the forehead, and then I'll sleep. Scout's honor, Peach."

You sigh, your eyes darting over his face for a moment. Sure, he's a flirt, but you've never heard of him ever harming a woman. So you walk over to his bedside and lean down.

His forehead is warm, an errant curl tickling your cheek as your lips press against his skin. You feel him shudder under the touch of your lips against him, but then his breathing evens back out as you lean away.

"Alright, Major, you got your kiss. Now sleep." He doesn't miss the way your eyes flicker to his lips and away again, but he does as he's told and rolls over onto his side.

After he falls asleep, the morning is quiet. Your shift at the infirmary ends at 0600 and the nurse who comes to relieve you doesn't seem surprised to see Bucky there. She rolls her eyes and huffs a laugh as you explain how he came to be in a bed in the infirmary.

He's shifting awake as you're leaving, and his blue eyes have just enough time to focus on your retreating form before you're gone. He was a little saddened; he'd been hoping for one more kiss.

Outside, the air is still cool, and the sun is just beginning to peek beyond the horizon. The inky blackness of the sky is lightening to a shade of blue that looks like Major Egan's eyes, and God, you have to stop thinking about him. You really didn't need to get attached.

You pass Buck on the way back to your quarters, and he waves at you with one of his dazzling smiles as he passes. He's wearing his uniform, and you know that means he'll be out in the sky soon enough. You return his smile and wave happily.

Exhaustion sweeps through you as you enter your quarters, and you make quick work of taking your hair pins out and wiping your makeup off. By the time your head hits the pillow, sleep pulls you under. The only things on your mind as you fall asleep are dark curls and blue eyes.

***

Hours later, you blink awake. There's still sunlight flittering in through the curtains over your window, and you sit up to stretch your arms and shoulders. It had to be close to dinnertime, and your stomach rumbles as you slip out of bed and dress in your uniform. Sometimes you missed your dresses back home, but you always felt a sense of pride in your olive drab skirt and jacket. You make sure to swipe on your Victory Red lipstick before you leave.

Placing your cover under your arm, you slip out of your barracks just to come face-to-face with a man. Not just any man, either.

"Peach!" He's still loud, his face wide and warm and friendly. His breath smells like the peppermint gum he's chewing, and his eyes are clear. "Don't think I didn't see you slip out of the room before I could ask for my morning kiss."

He's smiling so brightly that it's like looking at the sun. He's all white teeth and dark curls and blue eyes, his cover tucked under his arm. He's got a single flower in his free hand. You've never seen someone look so devastatingly beautiful.

"Major." You greet him, and it's a good thing you didn't put on blush when refreshing your makeup because your face is hot now. Just from looking at him. "What brings you to the women's barracks?"

"I told you, Peach. Call me Bucky. Or John." His grin never falters. You want to kiss the corner of his mouth, nip at the jawline. He's got so much energy and vitality, and your heart beats so loudly that it's a wonder he can't hear. "Well, I came to offer you this gorgeous flower I found on my way over here and ask if you'd like to dance with me tonight."

You'd forgotten all about the party tonight. A crew completing their 25th mission—you hadn't really planned on attending, but you find yourself very tempted to go. "I'm not really the party type." You admit that, and that dims the light in his eyes a little. You regret the words immediately.

"Just one dance." He steps in closer, taking up more space. He's so tall and broad-shouldered; the man takes up so much room that it makes you feel small in the best way. "For your favorite patient? After all, you did give me a good-night kiss. That's gotta count for something."

Your mind rewinds to that moment, when he was fever-warm and shivering under your lips, when you'd wanted so badly to let him kiss you all over. If you weren't blushing before, you sure are now. "Alright, Bucky," You have to ignore the way he lights up when you use his nickname. "One dance."

[laurentdirosetti]

"Support character" [part 2]

{Idia Shroud x gn/MC}

Tags: playing videogames together, competitive, bet, smut...

Idia’s room was just like you imagined it would be, an otaku’s room —books scattered on the floor, open boxes in every corner, merchandising from different animes and games, posters on the walls… Also, the air in the room is really heavy, why is it so hot in here? Is it because of the computer or- 

MC: ARE YOU ALRIGHT? 

His hair was bright red, redder than when we were in the storage room, and not only the color was hot red, but the temperature too. 

Idia: so-sorry, this is the first time a girl has entered my room (anyone other than Ortho or me for that matter).

That was the issue, haha… now I’m nervous too. I should do something to break the ice in this situation, or rather cooler the temperature. I think I recognised one of his figurines on that shelf… 

MC: Isn’t that Ruri-chan from “The Magical Ruri Hana: Demon Girl”?

I was staring right at Ruri-chan when I asked him, so it was a surprise when I turned around to look at his face and saw his expression. For a few seconds the time stopped and he gave me a death stare. Why is he so scary all of a sudden? Did I mispronounce her name? Impossible, I’ve been watching that series since I came to this world, mostly because it was the only serotonin I could find after nearly dying over a kid’s tantrum. 

Idia: you know Ruri-chan?

Maybe because you were nearly as introverted as Idia or because you were nervous, the only answer you could find to his suddenly cold attitude was that this was the beginning of the typical “man interrogation over a common interest to prove your authenticity as a fan”. So before he could start making you questions about the show, you blow out all the lore of the series. 

Idia’s face was as rigid as a rock until you finished your monologue on Ruri-chan’s journey. You stopped talking to catch a breath when he grabbed you by the shoulders and suddenly snapped.

Idia:  ARE YOU TELLING ME THERE WAS ANOTHER OTAKU IN THE ACADEMY AND I DISCOVER IT NOW? Why did it take you so long to talk to me? How is it possible that I didn’t know about this before? I mean, I have control over all the technology and internet connection here. I should’ve been notified if a student was watching anime, how is it possible I didn’t know about you till now? What did you do? What kind of firewall did you use?

MC: I just watched it on Ramshackle’s TV…

Idia: ah… that explains everything, that TV probably doesn’t even have an HDMI port, let alone Internet… 

MC: Idia… my shoulders are starting to hurt.

He sure is strong, it's hard to tell by those baggy clothes he's always wearing. He instantly opened his hands to let me go as soon as he heard me. He looked troubled he might have hurted me. 

MC: don’t worry, I may not have “mana”, but my HP is full.

He couldn’t help but smile at my dumb -almost cringe- comparison. I think my “break the ice” mission was successful. Idia is very expressive, he snapped from nervous, to surprised, to confused, to happy in the the blink of an eye. I wish he stopped using that floating tablet of his to attend classes so I could see more of his expressions. 

As soon as he released me he went to pick something from his wardrobe, a pair of controls apparently. The controls in my world were less complex than this ones. Idia handed me one of them and I began to study the buttons. It would be a lie to tell I knew how to grab it, clown music is playing inside my head. I wanted to play videogames with him, but truth be told I don’t have money to fix Rammshackle’s sink let alone buy a videogame or a console. 

Idia saw my troubled grin and step towards me, shadowing my entire persona. 

Idia: Is there a problem? You don’t like the color or something? Is it the brand?

MC: well, you see, the thing is… 

This is gonna be so embarassing. First, I ran into problems trying to defend him against nothing, cause he wasn’t even hearing those jerks. Second, I made him hide with me in the storage room and now I have to tell him I wanted to play videogames with him but didn’t even think about the possibility of the controls being different from my world. Defeated, I lower my head to evade his soon to be inquisitive gaze. 

MC: …I don’t know how to use these controls, they are different from the ones in my world.

Silence was so loud I couldn’t take it anymore and looked up. He was trying so hard not to burst out laughing at me his cheeks were red and his jaw was so tense I could see his neck muscles contracting. Finally, he let out a little pfft and grabbed his mouth and chin with his hand, pressing his cheek with his index.

Idia: I’m sorry but, you went through all that trouble to play together and you don’t even know how? Cute.

Lucky for me I don’t have magical hair that turns red when I'm flustered, but I’m sure it’s not hard to guess just by looking at my face. 

Idia: don’t worry, guess I’ll have to teach you as I did with my little brother, come here.

He sat on a visible comfortable plush sofa, big enough for him to open his leg and ask me to sit between them. Funny, when we were in the storage room he was so nervous and now he openly asks me to sit on top of him, hasn’t he noticed?

Dumbfounded, I did as he requested and sat on the gap between his thighs, creating a space between us as a way to surpass the embarrassment. Unfazed, he glued his chest to my back and slipped his hands around my body. As if I was walking on thin ice, I slowly rested my arms on top of his. Then he moved his hands on top of mine on the controller, guiding my fingers on top of the buttons. My ears were bright red as I could feel his breathing chilling my neck, whispering a slow pace explanation on how to use the controller. His fingers moved mine slowly over the buttons, his hair fell as a cascade over my shoulders sliding between my legs. I don’t know what is happening and I would swear neither does he. He’s so focused on explaining the lore of the game and controls he hasn’t realized the hot mess he got cuddled beneath him.

Idia: Did you get that?

He asked, suddenly making me snap out of my cloud. Even though it was difficult, for many reasons, I caught a glimpse of his monologue while trying to survive my ocean of hormones. 

MC: Well… It seems quite complicated to be honest. Maybe I can understand it better once I play the game. 

Idia: Great, let’s play. I’ll connect the other controller so we can multi-play this. 

The controller was right next to us, already plunged, so he didn’t move an inch and his arm were still surrounding me. The soundtrack of the game started playing and far too late I realized he meant to play in this position, basically cuddling each other, with our arms tangled, his body temperature on me and his breathing on my neck. We haven’t even started, but I can tell I already lost. 

Unfortunately for him, after playing for nearly an hour, I tried my best to give him a hard time beating me. I lost all the matches anyway, but at least I could hear his groans all along, echoing in my ears. 

Idia: SO much for being a snob, you are tougher than you look. But rest assured, I would never let a newbie beat me at my favorite game. Ortho has tried many times and I should give him a pass -you know the whole “Idia let your little brother win once”- but as a weeb I have a reputation yk. 

That smirk on his face… he’s sure full of himself. I have almost grasped the dynamics of this game, maybe I could beat him. I’m a pretty competitive person and that arrogance only ignites something dark in me, something stupid. 

MC: I bet I can ruin that reputation of yours in our next round.

Idia: Are YOU implying YOU can win? LMFAO, if delulu was a sport you'd have a gold medal. If you beat me on this round I’ll be your chair or whatever -not that it’s even a possibility.

MC: Do you mean I can ask you anything if I win? It’s this one of those anime situations in which the winner can order the loser around the whole day? 

Idia: Yeah, that kind of shoujo stuff. Afraid?

MC: Mmn… Well, you’re already quite the comfortable chair.

That came out of nowhere, but I decided to keep my cool and rested my weight on his chest even more, looking up at his melted honey eyes now widening from sudden embarrassment. His peachy cheeks are so cute. Plan complete: this may be considered cheating but the only way to win is to distract him and by the discontrolled beating of his heart reverberating on my back I can tell it already worked. 

We began playing, in the game we were two characters fighting each other in a 2D horizontal landscape. I didn’t learn all the combos, but I mastered the parries and evasions, so it was nearly impossible for him to even scratch me. He was focused on attacking while I was determined on defending, a never ending match it seemed.  In real life it was the other way around, I continued non-stop “attacking” him while he tried his best to “defend” himself. Each time I evaded one of his attacks my butt moved against his lower body. From the corner of my eye I enjoyed his leg contraction at every “unintended” pound I gave him. After almost an hour of playing him, and the game, his breath was a mess, he was trembling all over and his dick was rock hard between my ass cheeks. My intention was to win the game, but I’m not quite disappointed with the actual development of the situation. I could take this as a win already.

Then I felt a thrust, his body rested on top of mine and I swear I can almost tell his longitude just by the pressure on my lower back. He snapped, his fingers were moving so fast on the buttons I had to make an effort to see them, he left me no chance to defend myself neither in the game or reality. As my character fell to the ground completely defeated, my head stumped on the floor as his hands pressed my shoulders to the ground.

Face to face, among the darkness of his room I could only differentiate two golden orbs and his face lightly illuminated by the gentle blue of his hair. 

Idia: I won.

My whole belly was on the palm of his hand as he slowly lifted my shirt all the way up, until he grabbed my neck under the clothes. 

MC: Wh-what are you doing?

Idia: I won, so the loser must do whatever the winner demands, right?

MC: Bu-but you haven’t say anything yet.

Idia: Oh, then I want the loser to fix my joystick. 

What? Oh…

As I stupidly tried to understand that I noticed his hard-on pressuring my lower belly, near to my intimacy. 

Idia: you see, a certain snob player broke it mid-play. Any idea on how to fix it?

He completely snapped, I almost can’t recognize him. Where is the shy boy I was messing with? The situation has escalated more than I would have imagined, but this doesn’t put me off in the slightest. Seeing Idia all hot and bothered surely is rare enough and I want to push that dominant side of him a bit more.

MC: maybe… It just needs some cleaning?

I questioned opening my mouth and letting out my tongue. His sigh was filled with excitement and anticipation, I could catch him bitting his lips for a moment.

He moved his knees to the sides of my head and lowered his zip and trousers. My eyes, now more used to the low illumination of the room, enjoyed the view of his thighs, pale as porcelain. He looks so fragile and slim, or that was my line of thinking until he uncovered his dick. Hard, veiny and leaking precum on top of my forehead; the length was the size of my face. This was going to hurt.

I accepted my destiny and kept my mouth open for him to enter mercilessly. But, that wasn’t the case. At a slow pace he started going down on my mouth, he filled my cavity with just the tip and almost the middle of his length. Then, he took my chin in his hand and caressed my cheek, pressing it on his dick and slowly massaging it from outside. I didn’t know what to do with my tongue so I tried to lick his dick and press it more against my cheek. His eyes glittered from a moment and he let out a soft chuckle. 

Idia: seems you’re really eager to clean it, babe. But this much won’t do I’m afraid, you need to get it all wet enough.

Instantly, he continued letting down his hips  until all his dick was in my mouth and throat. He was so deep in me my lower lip was touching his balls. Strange enough, this wasn’t as painful as I imagined it to be, I wonder how can my throat be twitching around him and I’m so calm? Maybe, his sweet expressions are keeping me from gagging. His mouth is a little open, from this angle I can only see his tongue moving above his pointy teeth. His eyes are locked in my throat, probably a bulge has formed, his fault after all. He’s been so long in this position I could possibly draw his dick by having it inside me. 

When I thought he would start moving, his balls twitched against my lip and his cum flooded my mouth non-stop. When he released everything in me he fastly got up, letting me catch a breath. He cumed so much there were lines of cum running down my cheeks to the ground. I coughed a little after drinking all.

When I sat on the floor and looked up I could feel his gaze contemplating my whole display, heavy breathing and a surprised expression.

MC: that was fast. 

Idia: I endured playing in hard mode, literally, a few minutes ago. Thank me I didn't finish by just seeing your ahegao face. Also …you didn’t need to drink that.

MC: I told you I would clean it. 

Idia: quite the awful job, It's all sticky and twitching, maybe you can clean it better down here…

To be continued...

Part 1

[amethystarachnid]

HIGH SCHOOL SWEETHEART

⤷ ANTHONY “TONY” E. STARK

ᯓ★ Pairing: Anthony “Tony” E. Stark x fem!reader

ᯓ★ Genre: romance fluff

ᯓ★ Request from: MARVEL Multiverse

ᯓ★ Story type: one shot

ᯓ★ Word count: 5.5k

ᯓ★ Summary: Everyone in school knows that you and Tony are endgame, probably the best couple in school. But when a new girl arrives in school and tries to get between you two things get a little heated, but the love between you and Tony is strong, so you have nothing to worry about.

ᯓ★ TW(s): a girl tries to get between you and Tony so drama but really nothing serious that needs a tw

ᯓ★ AU: high school

ᯓ★ Request: Can you write High School AU with Tony? High dose of fluff, study dates, and kisses? ❤️ (female reader, and you can add more topics, for sure 💕) (@little-angel-oc )

ᯓ★ Comment if you want to be added to the taglist (specify if you want the everything taglist or for a specific character)

ᯓ★ My Masterlist

ᯓ★ MARVEL Multiverse - choose an AU, pair it with your favorite character and make a request!

ᯓ★ Songs & Superheroes tales - The Game (to make a request, follow the rules on the link!)

ᯓ★ MARVEL Bingo

ᯓ★ English isn’t my first language

You’re not sure what to make of Tony Stark when you first meet him. He’s brash, cocky, and has a grin that seems to be permanently fixed on his face. It’s your first day at Midtown High, and of course, he’s the first person you bump into—literally. The books in your arms scatter across the hallway floor, and you barely have time to react before he’s crouching down to help you gather them.

“Whoa there, new kid. You okay?” His voice is smooth, confident, and it makes your heart stutter for a second, though you’re not sure if it’s from nerves or irritation.

You mumble a quick thank you, avoiding his gaze as you stand, adjusting your backpack awkwardly on your shoulders. You expect him to walk away—guys like him usually do—but Tony doesn’t. He leans casually against the lockers, eyes sparkling with amusement as he looks at you, like you’re some puzzle he’s eager to solve.

“Where you headed? I could show you around,” he offers, but the smirk on his lips suggests there’s more than just friendly assistance on his mind.

You decline politely, trying to disappear into the crowd of students rushing to their classes. But Tony Stark isn’t the kind of guy you can avoid for long.

Weeks pass, and somehow, you find yourself drawn to him despite your initial impression. He’s everywhere—at lunch, in the library, and most annoyingly, in your chemistry class. Tony's always surrounded by friends, always the center of attention, yet whenever you catch his eye, he winks or sends you a sly smile. It’s infuriating and kind of… charming?

One day, as you struggle to understand the periodic table, a familiar voice breaks your concentration.

“Need some help with that?”

You look up to find Tony leaning over your desk, his eyes scanning your notes. Before you can protest, he slides into the seat next to you, grabbing your pencil and scribbling something in the margin of your notebook.

“Here. You were just missing this part.”

You stare at the neat, concise explanation he’s written. He’s actually right. You glance at him, surprised, and he grins, looking far too pleased with himself.

“I’m not just a pretty face, you know.”

That’s the beginning. The moment when everything shifts.

The first time you agree to study with Tony is in the library, after school. You think it’s going to be more of the same—him goofing off, you trying to stay focused. But when you sit down at a table together, Tony’s different. He’s serious, focused, his brow furrowed in concentration as he explains things in a way that makes everything click.

He’s smart. Really smart. And it catches you off guard.

“You didn’t think I’d actually help, did you?” he teases when he notices your stunned expression. You shake your head, laughing softly, and for the first time, you feel something warm and soft bloom between you.

Study dates become your thing. You meet at the library, then sometimes at his house, where the Stark mansion looms large and intimidating. But inside, Tony’s room is a mess of textbooks, blueprints, and scattered projects. He talks excitedly about tech and engineering, his hands moving as fast as his mouth. And slowly, you start to feel at ease with him.

One evening, after a particularly long study session, Tony’s hand brushes yours as you both reach for the same notebook. You freeze, your heart hammering in your chest. You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you, his eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them. There’s no teasing, no smirk—just quiet, unspoken words between you.

And then, he leans in.

It’s gentle, almost hesitant, the kind of kiss that makes your entire world slow down. His lips are warm against yours, soft and sweet, and it’s over before you can even process it. When he pulls back, Tony’s eyes search yours, waiting for your reaction. You smile shyly, and his grin returns, wider than ever.

“Study break,” he whispers, before kissing you again.

After that, everything changes.

You spend more time with Tony, not just studying but talking—about your dreams, your fears, your lives outside of school. He opens up to you in ways you didn’t expect. Beneath the charm and bravado, there’s a boy who’s constantly under pressure, trying to live up to the Stark legacy while carving out his own path. You see his vulnerabilities, the cracks in his confident façade, and it makes you fall for him even more.

One evening, you’re sprawled on the floor of his room, surrounded by notebooks and textbooks, when Tony suddenly leans over and rests his head on your lap. You freeze, your heart doing that weird flip-flop thing again. He looks up at you, his brown eyes soft, a small smile playing on his lips.

“You know, you’re the only person who’s ever really seen me. Like, really seen me.”

Your fingers hesitantly brush through his hair, and he closes his eyes, letting out a contented sigh. It’s moments like this—quiet, intimate—that make you realize how deeply you care for him. You never expected to fall for Tony Stark, of all people, but now you can’t imagine your life without him.

Weeks turn into months, and your relationship deepens. There are more stolen kisses between classes, more late-night study sessions that end with you falling asleep on Tony’s shoulder. He walks you to your locker every morning, his arm casually draped over your shoulders, and everyone at school knows you’re his girl.

But it’s not just the romantic moments that matter—it’s the little things. The way Tony makes sure you have your favorite snacks during study dates, how he’ll randomly text you at 2 AM with some random fact about the universe, or how he insists on carrying your books even when you tell him you can manage just fine.

One rainy afternoon, you’re sitting together in the library, your fingers intertwined under the table. Tony’s explaining something about quantum physics, his voice low and soothing, when he suddenly stops, looking at you with that soft, unguarded expression you’ve come to love.

“I think I’m in love with you,” he blurts out, his voice quiet but firm.

Your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face. You squeeze his hand, leaning in to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“I love you too, Tony.”

He grins, wide and brilliant, and for once, there’s no cocky retort, no snarky comment. Just the two of you, lost in each other, surrounded by textbooks and the quiet hum of the library.

It’s in these moments, wrapped in soft kisses and whispered words, that you realize Tony Stark isn’t just the arrogant genius everyone else sees. He’s yours—the boy who fell in love with you over study dates and late-night conversations, the boy who makes your heart race with every kiss.

And somehow, against all odds, you know he always will be.

The school hallways are buzzing with the usual morning chaos—people rushing to their lockers, friends calling out to each other, and the faint chatter of gossip floating through the air. You’re standing by your locker, waiting for Tony like you do every day. It’s become part of your routine. He’s always a few minutes late because he stops to mess with one of his gadgets or gets caught up in a conversation with a teacher.

But right on cue, you hear his voice echo through the corridor before you see him.

“Morning, gorgeous!” Tony’s familiar grin spreads across his face as he approaches, slinging his arm around your shoulders like it’s the most natural thing in the world. His lips brush your temple, soft but enough to send a little flutter through your chest.

“Late again, Stark,” you tease, closing your locker and nudging him playfully.

He rolls his eyes, holding his hands up in mock surrender. “I was testing something in the lab. You can’t rush genius.”

You laugh, shaking your head as the two of you fall into step with each other. It’s a typical morning. Just you and Tony, strolling through the halls like you own the place—except neither of you care about that. It’s just about being together, hand in hand, oblivious to the world around you.

But then, you notice her.

A new face, standing by the school entrance, hair perfectly styled, her gaze following Tony like a hawk. You don’t recognize her, but she’s clearly new, and it’s obvious by the way she’s staring that she’s already heard about Tony Stark. Who hasn’t?

As the two of you pass by, she does a double-take, her eyes lingering on Tony in a way that makes your stomach tighten. You’ve never been the jealous type, but something about the way she looks at him makes your chest ache. It’s not just a passing glance—it’s an intention.

Tony doesn’t seem to notice. He’s too busy rambling on about his latest project. You try to shake off the feeling, but it sticks with you all morning.

By lunch, you’ve forgotten all about the new girl. You and Tony are sitting at your usual spot, surrounded by your friends. He’s telling some ridiculous story about how he almost set off the school’s fire alarm during chemistry class, and everyone is laughing, including you. Tony’s arm is draped lazily over the back of your chair, his knee brushing against yours under the table—a constant reminder of how close you are.

But then, she walks into the cafeteria.

Her name, you’ve learned, is Olivia. She’s the kind of girl who commands attention without even trying—perfect posture, bright smile, every strand of her hair exactly where it should be. And she walks in like she owns the place, her eyes scanning the room until they land on Tony. Again.

Your stomach twists as you watch her make her way across the cafeteria, straight toward your table.

“Oh no,” one of your friends mutters under their breath. “She’s coming over here.”

Tony, completely oblivious to the tension, is still talking. “So, then the whole beaker just—”

“Hi, Tony,” Olivia interrupts, her voice sugary sweet. She stands directly in front of him, smiling brightly as if she’s known him forever. You feel his arm tense slightly behind you, but he doesn’t immediately move it.

“Hey…?” Tony trails off, looking at her with a confused tilt of his head.

“I’m Olivia. I just transferred here,” she explains, her gaze flicking briefly to you before settling back on Tony. “I heard you’re kind of the genius around here. I thought maybe you could show me around sometime? Help me get the lay of the land.”

The cafeteria feels like it’s holding its breath, everyone at your table now staring at the interaction with thinly veiled interest. You sit a little straighter, trying to stay calm, but you can’t ignore the way Olivia completely ignores your presence, like you’re invisible, like you’re not literally sitting in Tony’s arms.

Tony, to his credit, doesn’t miss a beat. His arm tightens around your shoulder, pulling you a little closer as he offers her a polite smile. “That’s nice of you to ask, Olivia, but I’m kind of booked with…” He glances at you, his eyes softening, “…well, everything.” He doesn’t need to say more. The message is clear.

But Olivia isn’t easily deterred. She leans on the table, her voice dropping into a flirtatious tone that makes your blood simmer. “Oh, come on. You can’t be that busy. I’m sure we could make time—”

“He is that busy,” you cut in, your voice sharper than you intended. The entire table goes quiet, and Tony’s eyes flick to you, wide with surprise but also admiration. You never get possessive. This is new for both of you.

Olivia straightens up, finally acknowledging you with a raised eyebrow. “Right. You’re his girlfriend.” She says it like it’s something temporary, something that could change at any second. Her eyes flick between you and Tony, as if she’s sizing you up, figuring out if you’re competition.

Before you can respond, Tony does. He leans forward, his arm still securely around you, his voice low and steady. “Yeah, she’s my girlfriend. And trust me, Olivia, I don’t need to make time for anything else.”

The look Olivia gives you is brief but sharp. She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. “Well, if you ever change your mind…”

She doesn’t finish her sentence, just winks at Tony before walking away, leaving the tension behind her like a storm cloud.

You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, trying to shrug off the unease that her presence left behind. Your friends are already muttering about her under their breath, but you stay silent, unsure of how to feel.

“Hey,” Tony says softly, shifting in his seat to face you more fully. His hand moves from your shoulder to cup your face gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “You know I’m crazy about you, right?”

You nod, though the knot in your chest still feels tight. “Yeah, I know.”

“I mean it,” he says, his thumb brushing your cheek in that soft way that makes your heart skip. “There’s no one else I want, okay? Just you.”

You smile despite yourself, leaning into his touch. The rest of the world fades away, and for a moment, it’s just you and him again, like always. He leans in, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, right there in the middle of the cafeteria, in front of everyone, like he’s making sure everyone knows exactly where he stands.

Including Olivia.

For the rest of the day, Olivia doesn’t bother you again. But you can still feel her eyes on you from across the room, watching, waiting. And though Tony spends every spare second reassuring you with kisses and soft words, there’s a part of you that can’t shake the feeling that this isn’t over.

You trust Tony. But Olivia? You’re not so sure.

The afternoon sun filters through the large windows of Tony’s room, casting a warm golden glow across the scattered textbooks and notebooks. You’re supposed to be studying for tomorrow’s physics test, but it’s hard to focus when Tony’s lips are pressed against yours, his hands gently resting on your waist.

You’re sitting on his bed, your books long forgotten as he leans in closer, his kiss becoming slower, more intense. The air between you feels electric, and everything else fades into the background. Tony’s kisses always start soft, teasing, but they quickly grow deeper, more consuming, until it’s like nothing else exists.

But then—ding.

A notification from Tony’s phone interrupts the moment, but neither of you react. His lips still move against yours, more urgent now, like he’s trying to drown out the noise with you.

Ding.

Another one. You feel Tony stiffen slightly, but his hands stay where they are, pulling you closer, his kiss deepening. It’s like he’s deliberately ignoring it, and you try to focus back on him, but the third chime pulls you out of the moment entirely.

Ding.

You pull back, breathless, your heart racing from both the kiss and the annoyance bubbling up inside of you. “Tony,” you murmur, your hands gently resting on his chest as you push him back just enough to meet his eyes.

He looks at you, his brows furrowing slightly as if he doesn’t understand why you’ve stopped. “What?” he asks, his voice low, rough from the heat of the moment.

“Your phone,” you say, trying to keep your voice calm but feeling a twinge of frustration. “Who’s texting you so much?”

Tony groans, glancing over at his phone on the nightstand as if it’s the last thing he wants to deal with right now. “Probably just Happy, or something about my dad’s company…” He starts to lean in again, his lips brushing your neck, but you’re not convinced.

It’s not like Tony to ignore his phone for this long. You push him back a little more, your voice firmer now. “Tony. Check it.”

With a sigh, Tony finally reaches over and grabs his phone, unlocking it with one hand while the other stays on your waist, like he’s unwilling to let go of you completely. But as soon as his screen lights up, his face changes. His eyes narrow, and his jaw clenches.

“What the hell?” he mutters under his breath.

Your heart skips a beat, that uncomfortable knot of worry tightening in your chest. “What is it?”

Tony doesn’t respond right away, his thumb scrolling through what seems like a string of messages. You lean closer, trying to see the screen, but before you can, he pulls it away from your view.

“Tony,” you press, your voice quieter now, a mix of confusion and concern lacing your tone. “Who’s texting you?”

He sighs heavily, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “It’s… Olivia.”

You blink, not quite believing what you’re hearing. “Olivia?” You remember the way she’d practically thrown herself at him in the cafeteria earlier today, completely ignoring your presence. “How does Olivia have your number?”

Tony winces, looking genuinely confused. “I have no idea. I didn’t give it to her. I swear.”

But that’s not the worst of it. He swipes to open the messages, and your eyes flick to the screen. There’s a string of texts, one after another:

Hey, Tony :) I heard you’re amazing at physics, could really use some help tonight. Studying alone gets so boring… Maybe we can work something out ;)

You feel your face heat with anger as Tony keeps scrolling. There are pictures too—selfies of her in a tight top, smiling at the camera with her lips slightly parted, each one more suggestive than the last. She’s not even being subtle.

Tony’s face hardens as he scrolls through the texts, clearly just as annoyed as you are. “This is insane. I never—”

You cut him off, trying to keep your voice calm but unable to hide the anger bubbling up inside. “She’s acting like a complete pick-me. And she knows you have a girlfriend, Tony. She knows.”

Tony’s eyes snap up to meet yours, and his expression softens immediately, his hand reaching for yours. “Hey, I didn’t ask for this. I don’t know how she even got my number. But you have to know this is ridiculous. I don’t care about her. I don’t even like her.” He squeezes your hand, his voice earnest. “It’s you. Only you.”

You bite your lip, trying to push down the wave of frustration building up inside of you. The rational part of you knows he’s telling the truth, but that doesn’t stop the sting of seeing those messages, the blatant way she’s throwing herself at him, completely disregarding you.

“Then block her,” you say, your voice quieter now but firm. “Right now.”

Tony doesn’t hesitate. He goes back to the message thread, and with a few taps, Olivia’s number is blocked. He throws the phone back onto the nightstand with a look of disgust before turning his full attention back to you. His hands gently cup your face, and the warmth in his eyes melts away some of the tension in your chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, his forehead resting against yours. “I didn’t mean for that to ruin everything.”

You sigh, leaning into his touch, your heart still racing but for a different reason now. “It’s not your fault. I just… I don’t get why she’s doing this.”

“She’s not worth even thinking about,” Tony says, his voice firm. “I don’t care about her, okay? She’s just trying to cause drama, and I’m not playing into it. I’m with you. No one else.”

You nod, feeling the weight of his words sink in, grounding you. His thumbs trace gentle patterns on your cheeks, and he tilts his head slightly, his eyes soft and filled with nothing but affection.

“Come here,” he whispers, pulling you back into his arms, his lips finding yours again. This time, the kiss feels different—deeper, more tender, like he’s trying to prove something. Every movement of his lips against yours is filled with reassurance, as if he’s reminding you, with each soft touch, that you’re the only one who matters.

And even though Olivia’s messages still linger in the back of your mind, they start to fade away as Tony’s kiss consumes you again, drawing you back into the warmth and comfort of being with him. Here, in his arms, it’s clear that no one else stands a chance.

The library is quiet, as always, the only sound the occasional rustle of papers and the soft hum of a distant conversation. You’re smiling to yourself as you push open the door, balancing a snack in one hand and a drink in the other, a small treat for you and Tony to get through the rest of your study session.

Tony had seemed a little drained when you left, leaning over the pile of notes and textbooks, muttering about how the periodic table was starting to look like some kind of puzzle he couldn’t crack. You thought some fresh air and snacks would do you both some good.

But as you step into the room, the smile slips from your face.

Sitting in your seat, right next to Tony, is Olivia. Her legs are crossed, her arm casually draped across the back of your chair as she leans toward him, her voice low and flirty. Her head is tilted slightly, that same smirk on her lips that she wore in the cafeteria. Tony looks uncomfortable, his body stiff and tense as he stares down at the open textbook, his eyes flicking up at her every now and then, clearly trying to keep the interaction as brief as possible.

“Come on, Tony,” Olivia’s voice drips with sweetness, but there’s a sharpness beneath it that makes your stomach twist. “You can’t be serious. Why are you wasting your time on her?”

She says the last word like it leaves a bad taste in her mouth, and that’s when something inside you snaps.

You walk over, as calmly as you can manage, but your heart is racing, and your grip on the snack bag tightens. Tony catches sight of you first, relief flashing across his face as he sits up a little straighter.

“Hey,” Tony says quickly, his voice clearly trying to break the tension. He immediately reaches out for you, as if to remind both you and Olivia where his loyalty lies. “You’re back.”

Olivia doesn’t even look your way, her eyes still locked on Tony. It’s like she doesn’t care, like she’s deliberately ignoring your existence even though you’re standing right there.

You take a deep breath, setting the snacks down on the table in front of you. “Olivia,” you say, keeping your voice calm but firm, “you’re in my seat.”

She finally turns to look at you, her expression unreadable at first, but then a slow, condescending smile spreads across her face. She leans back in the chair, like she’s not planning on moving any time soon. “Oh, sorry. Didn’t see you there.”

You clench your jaw, your hands tightening into fists by your side. “I’m pretty sure you did.”

Tony looks between the two of you, clearly ready to step in, but you put a hand on his shoulder, stopping him. This is your fight now.

Olivia’s smile widens, and she shrugs, her voice filled with fake innocence. “I was just talking to Tony. You know, trying to understand why someone like him would waste time with… well, someone like you.”

Your blood boils at her words, but you keep your face as composed as possible. This isn’t the time to let anger get the better of you.

“Olivia,” you start, stepping closer so she’s forced to look up at you from your seat, “we both know what you’re doing here. And I’m telling you now, it’s not going to work.”

Olivia rolls her eyes, completely unfazed. “I don’t know what you mean.”

You take another step, your eyes narrowing. “I mean, Tony’s my boyfriend. He’s made that clear to everyone—including you. So, whatever little game you’re playing, you can stop, because it’s not going to change anything.”

For a second, you see something flicker in Olivia’s eyes—maybe surprise, or annoyance—but she quickly masks it with another smile. “It’s cute that you think that, but let’s be real. Do you actually believe that Tony’s going to stick around with you? He deserves someone who can keep up with him. Someone who doesn’t… bore him.”

The words sting, but you don’t let it show. Instead, you take a deep breath and glance at Tony, who’s now glaring at Olivia, his jaw tight. He looks like he’s about two seconds away from saying something, but you speak before he can.

“You really think I’m boring him?” you ask, your voice steady despite the fire burning in your chest. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like he can’t get enough of me.”

Tony finally speaks up, his voice sharp. “She’s right.” He looks at Olivia, his expression darkening. “I’ve told you already, I’m not interested. I’m with her, and that’s not going to change. So, maybe you should find someone else to flirt with, because I’m done with this.”

Olivia blinks, clearly caught off guard by Tony’s bluntness, but she recovers quickly, standing up and smoothing her skirt as if she’s not at all affected. “Fine,” she says, her voice still dripping with venom. “But when he gets bored of playing house with you, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

She brushes past you, her shoulder bumping yours slightly as she leaves, but you don’t move. You stand tall, watching her walk away with her head held high, even though you know she didn’t win this time.

Once she’s gone, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, your shoulders sagging a little. Tony immediately pulls you into his arms, his face softening as he tucks a strand of your hair behind your ear.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice gentle, though you can hear the edge of frustration still lingering.

You nod, leaning into him, the warmth of his arms grounding you. “Yeah. I just… I can’t believe her. She’s so persistent.”

Tony sighs, kissing the top of your head. “She’s not going to stop, but she can try all she wants. It’s not going to make a difference.”

You smile up at him, your heart swelling with affection. “Thanks for standing up for me.”

He chuckles softly, brushing his lips against yours. “Like I said, there’s no one else. She can throw herself at me all day, and it won’t matter, because all I care about is you.”

The knot in your chest loosens completely, and you lean in for a soft kiss, your hands resting on his shoulders. The library is still quiet, but the tension from before has vanished. Now, it’s just you and Tony again, like it always should be.

As the kiss breaks, he gives you that familiar smirk, the one that makes your heart flutter every time. “Now, where’s that snack you promised?”

You laugh, handing him the bag of treats. “Only if you promise not to let anyone else take my seat again.”

He grins, pulling you closer. “Never again. That seat—and everything else—is yours.”

It’s late afternoon, and the sky is painted in soft hues of orange and pink, casting a golden glow over everything as you and Tony walk through the park. The crisp autumn air makes it perfect for a cozy date, and Tony’s hand is warm in yours as you stroll side by side, talking and laughing about everything and nothing at the same time.

You’ve both ditched the textbooks for the day, deciding that spending time together was more important than stressing over schoolwork. Tony had suggested the park, and now, you’re both content walking the leaf-covered paths, taking in the peaceful quiet of the world around you.

The last few days had been tense, with Olivia constantly trying to get between you two, but today feels different. Everything feels lighter, like you can finally breathe again. And as if on cue, the universe gives you the proof.

You glance up as you pass by the small café near the park and spot Olivia sitting outside at one of the tables. But she’s not alone. Across from her sits Jason, one of the guys from the football team. He’s grinning at something she’s said, and Olivia is laughing, twirling her hair around her finger like she always does when she’s flirting.

You nudge Tony gently, nodding toward the scene. “Look,” you whisper with a hint of amusement in your voice.

Tony follows your gaze, and when he sees Olivia, he smirks, shaking his head. “Looks like she’s finally found someone else to bug.”

You smile, feeling a wave of relief wash over you. It’s strange to think that the girl who had caused you so much frustration just days ago is now wrapped up in her own world with someone else. And honestly? You’re just glad it’s over. Olivia’s attention has shifted, and for the first time in days, you feel completely at ease.

“Well,” you say with a small smile, “at least now we don’t have to worry about her anymore.”

Tony chuckles, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as you continue walking. “Good riddance. Now I can focus on what’s important.” He pulls you a little closer, leaning down to press a soft kiss to the top of your head.

“What’s that?” you tease, glancing up at him.

He grins down at you, his brown eyes warm and filled with affection. “You, obviously.”

The rest of the date is simple and perfect. After the park, you and Tony grab ice cream from a small stand by the water, sitting on a bench and sharing bites of each other’s cones. The sun starts to dip lower, casting long shadows, but neither of you are in any rush to leave.

Tony keeps cracking jokes, making you laugh until your stomach hurts, and in between the laughter are soft moments—his fingers brushing against yours, his lips pressing gentle kisses to your temple, your cheek, and eventually, your lips. It’s a perfect day, one that feels easy and light, like everything is exactly where it should be.

As the sky turns darker, you both make your way back to Tony’s place. It’s quiet when you arrive, his parents out for the evening, so the house feels like it belongs to just the two of you. Tony leads you upstairs to his room, and the moment the door closes behind you, it’s like a blanket of warmth and comfort settles over everything.

You sit down on his bed, kicking off your shoes and leaning back against the pillows. Tony follows, lying beside you, his head propped up on one arm as he looks at you, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. The light from the lamp on his bedside table casts a gentle glow, and in that moment, it feels like the world outside doesn’t exist—just you and him, wrapped up in the quiet of the room.

“Today was nice,” you murmur, your fingers tracing idle patterns on his arm. “I missed this. Just us.”

Tony hums in agreement, his eyes soft as he watches you. “Me too. No distractions, no Olivia… just you and me. That’s how I like it.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. It’s slow and tender, and every movement feels like a quiet promise. His hand rests on your cheek, his thumb gently brushing your skin as he deepens the kiss, but it stays gentle, soft—like he’s savoring the moment. There’s no rush, no urgency, just the two of you wrapped in the comfort of each other.

You pull back slightly, resting your forehead against his, your eyes fluttering open to meet his gaze. His fingers thread through your hair, and he smiles softly, the kind of smile that makes your heart skip a beat.

“I love you,” he whispers, the words filling the space between you like a warm, quiet confession.

Your heart swells at his words, and you reach up, gently cupping his face in your hands as you smile back at him. “I love you, too.”

Tony grins, leaning in to steal another kiss, his lips soft and warm against yours. You melt into him, feeling the weight of the world slip away, leaving just the two of you in this moment of pure, quiet love.

When the kiss breaks, he pulls you closer, his arms wrapping around you as you settle into his chest. You can hear the steady beat of his heart beneath your ear, and the gentle rise and fall of his chest is enough to lull you into a state of peaceful contentment.

“Stay over?” he murmurs, his fingers trailing lightly down your arm.

You smile against him, your eyes closing as you nod. “Of course.”

And just like that, the world outside disappears. It’s just you and Tony, the soft glow of the lamp, and the quiet hum of love that fills the room. You fall asleep wrapped in his arms, knowing that there’s nowhere else you’d rather be.

soft Tony my love <3 If you liked the story don't forget to leave a like, a reblog and drop a follow if you want to read more!

[kanyerealdaughter]

— ★ BLEACH MEN IN THE MOTHERLAND PT II

characters - shunsui , jushiro , kisuke , ryuken , starrk , mayuri , szayelaporro , grimmjow , nnoitra , tsukishima , ulquiorra , toshiro , as ndot , jugram , askin , bazz b. | pt I here! | all around the world event! |

—————————————————————————

SHUNSUI KYORAKU - moves like wind through silk easy, soft, familiar. his hat shades his eyes, but not the warmth in them. people gather around him like shade trees. he never demands attention, but always earns it.

safari reaction - “ they nap in the sun. my kind of people.” laughs as giraffes stare back. tips his hat at one. gets caught watching the sunset, silent for once.

food experience - eats slowly, savoring every bite. “ love in every spice.” shares sake with the cook after the meal, bonds immediately. teaches kids how to slice fruit.

cultural experience - dances with the elders like he’s been here forever. helps build a cooking pit, humming softly. its with a young storyteller and listens like her words are gold.

—————————————————————————

JUSHIRO UKITAKE - walks like the earth is sacred. calm, present, patient. the illness seems to vanish in the dry warmth. people gravitate to him not out of pity, but out of trust.

safari reaction - watches quietly, a peaceful smile on his face. points out birds to children, names each one. it’s humbling… how freely they live.”

food experience - praises the chef before tasting anything. eats slowly, respectfully. asks for recipes. he shares herbal remedies in exchange for mutual knowledge.

cultural experience - helps a healer sort herbs and poultices. offers.to read stories to children under a baobab tree. cries quietly during a song, tells no one why.

—————————————————————————

KISUKE URAHARA - doesn’t walk, he wanders. hat tilted, fan snapping open and shut. be’s studying, but with mischief in his eyes. people don’t know whether to trust him.

safari reaction - he sticks his head out the jeep to feel the wind. pulls out a sketchpad mid-ride.

“ inspiration strikes.”

food experience - compliments the chef dramatically. “ you’ve captured my soul.” eats like he’s trying to memorize every flavor.

sneaks seconds, then teaches a kid sleight-of-hand tricks with fruit.

cultural experience - gets pulled into a crafting circle charms, beads, riddles. barters for a handmade knife using candy and a poem.

—————————————————————————

RYUKEN ISHIDA - moves like a man out of place by choice. clothes pressed. sleeves rolled. emotion sealed tight behind cold eyes. but africa doesn’t ask for your smile. asks for presence. he gives it.

safari reaction - watches the predators closely. “ efficient.” doesn’t speak unless prompted when he does, it’s precise. stares at the vultures a little too long.

food experience - tries one bite. nods once. eats everything without complaint. quietly hands a compliment to the chef, perfectly pronounced.

cultural experience - repairs medical equipment without being asked. lectures local teens on precision then fixes their bicycles. hands a child a book before they even ask. “ knowledge first.”

—————————————————————————

COYOTE STARRK - he drifts away. animals don’t flee from him. people don’t push him. he’s just there, soft-spoken, unreachable, and strangely calming.

safari reaction - honestly he sleeps through half of it, then wakes up to say. “ hyenas are funny.” one lion stares at him too. he stares back.

food experience - only eats a little then shares the rest with the local kids and they’re more then glad to take it. says “thank you” in their language before each meal.

leans back with a satisfied sigh. “ it’s enough.”

cultural experience - lets children braid his hair without comment. sits beside the oldest man in the village, never speaking. when he finally says “ thank you.” it’s with his whole chest.

—————————————————————————

MAYURI KUROTSUCHI - walks like he’s collecting data with every step not a tourist, not a guest. a researcher. he stares at the red soil, the wild life, the skies and murmurs to himself in excited calculation. the sun doesn’t bother him, he simply adjusts his hat, tilts his head, and whispers. “ fascinating.”

safari reaction - gawks at the insects more than the lions. “ do you see this exoskeleton? extraordinary.” nearly tries to collect a beetle for study. you have to stop him.

refers to giraffes as “ decently structured oddities.”

food experience - pokes at the dishes with chopsticks he pulled from his sleeve. “ curious fermentation. primitive but effective.” eventually eats a whole spicy stew without blinking, analyzing every bite.

“ i must replicate this dish with soul Society bacteria strains.”

cultural experience - intrudes on a drum-making session to ask about the tensile strength of the materials.

the locals are confused, some amused but he gains their respect by repairing a broken tool with strange materials from his coat. that night, he documents every interaction aloud while you try to sleep.

“ they are simple… but functional. like the first prototypes of the gikongan.”

—————————————————————————

SZAYELAPORRO GRANZ - glides through the landscape like the world is his laboratory, and he’s unimpressed “ dust, heat, untapped DNA… how deliciously raw.” he smirks. he wears all white despite the dust. doesn’t get a speck on him. not one.

safari reaction - doesn’t care for the elephants until one flaps its ears and startles him.

“ hmph. large, inefficient. but intimidating… i’ll note that.” pulls out a notebook and sketches a bird’s talon.

“ potential inspiration for a new hollow trap.”

food experience - nibbles delicately, like he’s above it all. but then samples a grilled meat with a glazed stare.

“ hmm.. savage… but intriguing. there’s chemistry in this.” asks f he can bottle the marinade and bring it back to hueco mundo.

cultural experience - enters a fabric-dyeing hut and immediately critiques the pigments.

“ primitive. yet… passionate.” one of the artists lets him design a scarf, he makes it overly symmetrical, unsettlingly perfect. he gifts it to you with a grin.

“ to commemorate my brief flirtation with imperfection.”

—————————————————————————

GRIMMJOW JAEGERJAQUEZ - charges into africa like it’s a battleground. oud, arrogant, thrilling. but something about the open sky and untamed wild starts to calm him just a little.

safari reaction - tries to growl back at a lion. laughs when it ignores him. “ if i lived here, i’d be king.”

food experience - “ spicy? good. painful? better.” takes it as a challenge, eats until he sweats. ends up helping wash dishes while arguing about meat cuts.

cultural experience - gets dragged into a dance circle. refuses. then wins it. joins boys in stick fighting games and gets wayy too competitive.

grins the whole night. “ this place? kinda sick.

—————————————————————————

daddy i mean- NNOITRA GILGA - walks like he owns the dust. loud, very loud. he scowls at the heat but never slows down. the locals tease him he scowls harder. they braid his hair anyway.

safari reaction - laughs at vultures. “ ugly little bastards.” you side eye him. watches lions tear meat apart. doesn’t flinch. “ kill or be killed. my kind of place.”

an ostrich struts too close to him just stands there, staring. he stares back, slowly lowering his shades.

“ the hell you lookin’ at?” the animal walks away. he mutters. “ damn right.” *i giggle while writing this*

food experience - complains. tries it. says nothing. cleans the plate. argues about spice levels with the chef. he pointed at something you looked at that way, seeing nothing strange. what you didn’t notice is that he took a piece of meat off your plate.

he huffs seeing a young girl staring at his plate before letting the little girl steal the last piece off his plate. he doesn’t stop her.

cultural experience - locals redo his braid their way. “ tighter. neater.” pretend to hate it. doesn’t take it out. kids follow him around giggling. he calls them “pests.” carries one on his shoulders.

—————————————————————————

TSUKISHIMA SHUKURO - walks like the dust parts for him poised, deliberate, a page from a story you weren’t told. he smiles, polite and sharp, like he already knows how the trip ends.

safari reaction - remains calm, hands folded neatly behind his back. namee every animal in perfect order. the guide is impressed.

“ i’ve read extensively.” he says, but it feels like he’s lived it.

food experience - eats slowly, appreciatively. compliments each dish by name. asks how to make one sauce then prepares it better the next day.

“ i’ve always had a fondness for memory through flavor.”

cultural experience - joins elders weaving traditional cloth, they say he’s too good. tells a folk tale mid-conversation. no one taught it to him. leaves behind a book filled with pressed flowers and translated proverbs.

—————————————————————————

ULQUIORRA CIFER - stands still long enough for dust to settle on his shoulders. the animals don’t fear him. the people don’t either. he belongs to the silence here not threatening, but present.

safari reaction - watches vultures feeding. stares at the horizon until you touches his arm.

“ there is life here. even in death.”

food experience - accepts everything. eats without comment. finishes all. later, says to the cook. “ this was nourishing.” it matters. leaves an apple on a child’s seat without a word.

cultural experience - doesn’t speak, but helps carry firewood without prompting. watches a funeral dance from a distance, eyes unreadable.

says one word all night. “ beautiful.”

—————————————————————————

TOSHIRO HITSUGAYA - walks like the heat is a personal insult. his brow stays furrowed, arms crossed but he’s watching everything. the elders call him “child.”

safari reaction - stays quiet, clearly annoyed by the sun. perks at the sight of a white lion. stares at the animal the whole time.

food experience - hesitates at first, then eats everything, nodding slowly. doesn’t speak until he’s finished. “ it was… very good.” later asks the chef quietly how they got the texture right.

cultural experience - watches the youth playing hand drums, intrigued but stiff. he ends up teaching them precise snowflake folding with paper.

they call him “ ice child.” he acts like he hates it.

—————————————————————————

ÄS NDÖT - moves like a shadow that forgot to be afraid of the sun. he doesn’t speak unless necessary. his presence is unnerving at first quiet, sharp, watching with hollow eyes, but the longer he stays, the more he begins to listen. and the land listens back.

he doesn’t belong here. but he doesn’t try to. he simply exists, thin as a breath, dark as dusk and somehow, that’s enough.

safari reaction - watches vultures circling. smiles, barely. sttares unblinking at the crocodiles. “ they don’t pretend to be kind.” sits alone at the riverbank until sunset, whispering to himself in german.

food experience - refuses food at first. says nothing, just declines. butlater, eats a single roasted root. stares at it long after. “ they grew this with hope,” he murmurs. “It’s hard to swallow.”

cultural experience - children run from him at first. he doesn’t follow. just bows once, silently. an old woman offers him a carved amulet against evil spirits. he takes it with both hands, reverently.

—————————————————————————

JUGRAM HASCHWALTH - moves like tradition incarnate, his gaze steady. he wears silence like a robe and discipline like a blade. the elders like im. the warriors respect him. the children don’t fear him, they follow him all the time.

safari reaction - observes predators with grave attentiveness. “ order among chaos.” silently places himself between others and a wandering baboon.

food experience - waits until others are served, then eats with perfect posture. compliments the chef formally, then again in their language.

refuses to let anyone clean for him. “ respect must be shown.”

cultural experience - joins in repairing ceremonial spears, doesn’t miss a step. trades techniques with local craftsmen both sides impressed. participates in a sunset ritual silently, eyes reflecting the firelight.

—————————————————————————

ASKIN NAKK LE VARR - strolls like he’s on vacation, hands in pockets, shades on, smirk easy. he jokes, he lounges, he drinks it in. the locals laugh with him then realize he’s smarter than he acts.

safari reaction - “ hm, that elephant got more presence than some sternritters.” makes commentary the whole time, half-snark, half awe. gets caught alone petting a baby antelope. denies it instantly.

food experience - “ i only eat what won’t kill meee.” then eats everything. flirts with the cook mid-bite. she flirts back. helps serve dessert, steals two portions. literally has no shame.

cultural experience - helps paint tribal masks with shocking precision. crashes a dance circle, steals the spotlight. gets gifted a nickname that means

“ sweet mouth” loves it.

—————————————————————————

BAZZ-B - moves like fire wants to follow him. Loud, bold, full of chaotic energy. be’s hot-headed, sure but there’s sincerity in everything he touches. people are drawn to him, even when they don’t understand him.

safari reaction - stands up in the jeep yelling, “ THAT’S A DAMN LION!” tries to out-roar a wildebeest. fails. the people in the keep laughs at him.

quietly impressed by how the land survives the heat. “ tough stuff.”

food experience - takes a massive bite without asking what it is. challenges three locals to a chili-eating contest. actual wins. let’s just say he definitely regret what he did. although he plays it off.

cultural experience - joins kids in building a bonfire, goes overboard. ends the night lying in the dirt, grinning. “ this place’s got soul.”

𖣂 KANYEREALDAUGHTER SPEAKS - uhh i feel like this one is way boring..

words - 2.1k

» , ᴀ ᴋᴀɴʏᴇʀᴇᴀʟᴅᴀᴜɢʜᴛᴇʀ

copyright ©️. ᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴛɪᴏɴ . «

[wangxianficfinder]

Fic Finder

Nov 14th

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1. Hello, I am looking for a fic that I think is wangxian. It was based on the ballad The Highwayman, and it ends tragically. It should be a complete work. Thank you!

Found by asker as a Star Wars fic -

Nov 14 #1 requester, I think I’ve found it but it’s a Star Wars fic. If a wangxian version exists, I’m happy to have it, but I think it’s solved. Always fun separating out the fic memories from a fandom obsession transition period…

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2. I hope you can help me find this one. It was a Twitter threadfic. In that LWJ proposed to WWX but WWX said no because he didn’t believe in marriage. They go to a wedding and the groom gets cold feet but LWJ helps him. Seeing that made WWX want to marry him but by then it was LWJ who changed his mind and WWX was heartbroken .

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3. There was this fix where wwx was a funeral arranger? Or something like that and lwj and wwx established relationship but then madame yu and her husband died and it focused on like grieving and stuff, there was also yanli and jiang Cheng and showed like the sibling bond I can’t find it I been trying for ages now

FOUND? grave goods by luckymarrow (E, 28k, WangXian, Grief/Mourning, Minor Character Death, Modern AU, mortician!wwx, Angst with a Happy Ending, Established Relationship, Accidental Baby Acquisition, Marriage Proposal, abrupt tonal shifts, Tragicomedy, Comedy, Romance, Angst and Fluff and Smut, Adoption, Implied/Referenced Abuse, for lan parents, it’s not described and is all backstory, Family Bonding, Family Dynamics, Married WangXian, brief daddy kink, the barest hint of consensual non-consent, Anal Sex, Oral Sex, BDSM)

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4. Hello! I'm looking for a couple of fics I lost sight of a long while ago!

A) The first one took place during the Cloud Recesses Arc: all the swords are stolen at night by 'Wei Wuxian' who is later found badly injured in the forest. He had been attacked by the future Wei Wuxian/ Yiling Laozu.

B) The Second One took place after the Siege, and I'm pretty sure the spirits of the Wen Remnants attacked others? I don't remember much about it, I'm sorry.

Thank you in advance and I appreciate your service a lot

4A)

FOUND? For the Dust and the Dirt by Nyxelestia (M, 63k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Time travel Fix-It, Cloud recesses study Arc, It gets worse before it gets better, WWX Whump, Hurt/comfort, Angst, Eventual Happy Ending)

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5. Ok hi sorry can’t remember much but school in tilling WWX is teacher there LWY moves there to teach also become friends a misunderstanding make WWX not speaking to LWY after LWY follows a Yao and finds WWX fighting it on a rooftop they defeated the Yao and LWY asks WWX “you’re wearing crocks?” WWX is that what you are going with …, or something like that

As always THANK YOU for all that you do for us 😁 @bkpmystinen

FOUND? An Unscheduled Stream by trippednfell (M, 68k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, Misunderstandings, BAMF WWX, BAMF Wen Popo, WWX cultivates resentful energy but keeps his golden core, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Presumed Enemies to Lovers, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, Time Skips, Dual Cultivation - Not the Sexy Kind but ALSO the sexy kind, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Horny wound tending) I'm not sure about the crocs bit, but WWX and LWJ definitely end up fighting yao on the roof of the school.

FOUND? Roadside Attractions by Bodldops (T, 10k, WangXian, Teacher WWX, Teacher LWJ, The power of organized aunties)

~*~

6. Heyy! I'm looking for two fics:

A) Omegaverse, modern au, wei ying is an omega and jc is an alpha and wy lives w the jiangs and i think there's this sort of expectation that he's gonna marry jc or atleast that's what jc wants, but wy gets pregnant by lwj and moves out after a fight then yeras later lsz and jl go on a date and that's how wy and jc meet again, cos jc's there when wy goes to dinner to meet jl's parents and uncle and turns out its the jiangs obviously, and basically jc's really stalkery and jealous after that but lz protects him.

B) modern au, omegaverse, lxc goes to pick up lwj from school and finds out a kid jc is his mate. he's disgusted and goes away for a while. when he comes back jc is older now. i don't remeber much but wy and lz are the side couple and wy is a beta as far as i can remeber, and there's a scene where jc wakes up in the hospital and wy and lz are kisisng and jc's kinds like fucking finally yk but yea!

Thank you! Love you guys!!

@body-inabyss-heart-inparadise

6A)

I recognise the fic though I can't remember the name. The author deleted all their works from AO3 a few months ago, if I recall correctly. I know it's also been on other fic finders.

FOUND? 6a is Meant To Be (But Not That Way), dm me ~dripping-moonlight

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7. Hello,

Ficfinder request.

Modern but with magic or cultivation. LWJ is a magical creature(?) hunter working for some kind of agency to protect humans.

The rest of the sects(from my memory) are families of magic creatures(?) but WWX has some kind of ‘half-breed’ status so when he goes through the magic/darkness detectors at LWJs work he doesn’t set them off.

Much of the fic is from LWJs pov but there is a great chapter from WWXs pov when he fully lets his powers out and we get badass WWX.

I feel like it was mdzs+ some anime but i don’t know which anime. 🥺 @empiresprince

FOUND? our reflections as seen (when the water stills) by chatonnerie (E, 121k, WangXian, XuanLi, Modern, Tokyo Ghoul Fusion, Blood, Canon-Typical Violence, This is a ghoul au, but everyone is also in university, so dumb energy is peak, Gore, Body Horror, Anal Sex, Anal Fingering, Biting, our reflections as seen (when the water stills) [PODFIC] by Opalsong) OHHH 7 IS THE TOKYO GHOUL AU IT’S SO GREAT AND ALSO THERE’S A PODFIC WHICH IS ALSO ABSOLUTELY AMAZING (I was too excited sorry for a million replies, but) It’s so good that there’s absolutely no tokyo ghoul knowledge needed, reads like a fun creature!modern!au kinda this way, has been one of my comfort listens for several years now

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8. Hello, I am looking for a fic, where Wei Wuxian runs away from Lotus Pier, right after he was brought there and Jiang Cheng kicked him out and threatened with dogs (when they were children). I think that Wei found his father? Not sure, but I have a feeling that this fic was found here and I forgot to save it. Thank you in advance.

FOUND? 🔒 the world wags on by justdoityoufucker (T, 5k, WCZ & WWX, WCZ & LQR, WCZ/LQR, canon divergence, pre-canon, not everyone dies au, not Jiang friendly, past child abuse, canon Jiang family relationships, parent-child relationship, not YZY friendly, pre-relationship) has elements of the world wags on but it isn't a perfect fit.

FOUND? In Another Life by SingingInTheRaiin (M, 21k, wangxian, time travel)

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9. Hi, I’m looking for a fic where after wwx is found during the sunshot campaign Jiang Cheng pretends his demonic cultivation is just the Jiang clan’s secret technique and uses that to keep the other sects off their back. I’m pretty sure it was from jc’s pov, and compared wwx, jc, and jyl to different bodies of water at the start of it (though I could be wrong about that part)? Thank you for the help

FOUND? Three kinds by apathyinreverie (T, 7k, wangxian, JC & WWX, canon divergence, protective JC, twin prides of yunmeng dynamics, soft WWX, smitten LWJ, worldbuilding, fix-it, golden core reveal, fluff, siblings) 

~*~

10. Hello! I'm looking for a wangxian reality TV fic. It's a dating show and lwj is a participant while wwx is his camera man. They try to keep their relationship a secret but by the end the crew discovers them and has wwx brought in as lwjs partner. I think lwj proposes to wwx at the end and that Mo xuanyu was involved as the participant who stayed the longest

FOUND? After the Final Rose by azurewaxwing (E, 55k, wangxian, modern, reality show au, secret relationship, fluff & angst, happy ending, bachelor LWJ, cameraman WWX, smut)

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11. Hello! I'm so sorry to bother you but I've tried doing all my own searches and just can't find it. There's a fic series where Madame Yu cut off Wei Wuxian's hand before the fall of lotus pier and the Wen siblings took him in to help him recover. He ended up leaving the Jiang sect and starting his own and he and Wen Qing became amazing at making spiritual prosthetics. I know it's a series and I know I loved it but I can't find it anywhere! Thank you for your help! @queerlyloud

FOUND? 🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

FOUND? 💖 from the other side of sorrow by Sour_Idealist (E, 127k, JC & WWX, JC/WQ, JC & WWX & JYL, JYL & WQ, WangXian, WWX & JYL, JYL/NHS, LXC/JGY, JGY & NMJ, JGY & WQ, Canon Divergence, Golden Core Fix-It, Golden Core Transfer, canon-typical family dysfunction, Torture, secondary character death, Canonical Character Death, Comfort Sex, Femdom, Choking, Cock Slapping, Cunnilingus, Series Context Provided, Under-negotiated Kink, Mentions of canon-typical violence, Clan Leader JYL, Sunshot Campaign, JYL POV, spiritual weapons, Sect Leader WQ, Biased Narrator, Slow Burn, sect politics, Trauma, D/s elements, Reconciliation Sex, Reconciliation)

FOUND? 🔒💖  in payment, a hand series by justdoityoufucker (M, 10k, wangxian, not jiang friendly, amputation, injury recovery, self reflection, abusive YZY, families of choice)

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12. Hello! I started reading a Tangled x MDZS fic which I remember being pretty long. It was with lwj as Rapunzel and wwx as Flynn Rider. I started reading it but then decided I don't want to and now I regret it 😭. The part that I read was exactly like the start of the movie, with wwx complaining about how his wanted poster looked and all that jazz.

FOUND! we sit in the sunset glow by moonsteps (T, 36k, WangXian, Tangled AU, Fairy Tale Elements, Strangers to Lovers, Slow Burn, Curses, Sharing a Bed, Minor Violence, Traveling, Falling In Love) for the tangled AU, it sounds like it could be it starts just like the movie with Wei ying complaining to lil apple abt how he looks in his wanted poster😂

~*~

13. Hey buddy, Hope you are doing well!

I'm searching for a fic. The only thing I remember is just a scene. The cloud recesses is hosting lectures and and guest disciples from all sects are visiting. I think it is after the war with the wens. It's a cannon divergence I think. The scene I'm referring to is, two of the disciples are from Su She's (Su Minshan, I think the full name is) and the sect heir is just a kid below 10. At some point others makes fun of him and his sister when they present gifts at the beginning of the lectures and LWJ kinda defends them, I think....

That's all I remember. Thanks in advance! @grrumpywoof

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14. Hello , I am looking for a fic where Jang Cheng dies instead of Jang Yanli at nightless city. Then she moves back to Lotus Pier and becomes sect leader, and lan wangji ends up living there too. Also, wei wuxian is brought back to life earlier, and by xue yang. lan wangjis back takes longer to heal.

Thank you!

FOUND? picking up the pieces by KouriArashi (M, 111k, JYL & LWJ, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Alternate Canon, Grief/Mourning, Angst, Regret, Family, Kid Fic, Families of Choice, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Politics, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, canon typical political bullshit, Eventual Happy Ending)

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15. I'm in search of two time travel fics: A) WWX has traveled back to CR. LXC hears him playing dizi (wangxian among others) and recognizes it as something LWJ composed (possibly same fic, though I may be conflating details, he realizes in lessons WWX is pretending to be less skilled at the dizi than he actually is). B) LWJ travels back in time from right after the 30 lashes and ends up in the burial mounds early w/the wens, still seriously injured and bleeding through his robes. Thank you guys! @moku-youbi

15B)

FOUND! The Cottage Amongst the Gentians by Enigmatree (T, 5k, WangXian, LXC & LWJ, Time Travel, LWJ and WWX time travel from post nightless city to before jin ling's celebration, or, I give WWX back to 13-years-grief LWJ like he deserves, Hurt/Comfort, Feat. LXC being a good brother who'd love to know what the fuck is happening, WWX goes to Gusu with LWJ after time travel; the fic, Domesticity) maybe?

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16. Hi I'm looking for a arranged marriage fic where lwj and wwx both are in love with each other but the marriage is arranged by their families. On the wedding day wwx overheard a conversation between lwj and his best friend who also have initials of ww the best friend had found a letter addressed to ww written by lwj confessing his love and think lwj is in love with him and he is trying to convince lwj to not marry and give him a chance. Their married life is full of misunderstanding.

FOUND? A Marriage Story by DeviyudeThoolika (E, 38k, wangxian, NMJ/LXC, married wangxian, but there are some complications, because it’s marriage, Sex is complicated, Angst and Pining, Pining while fucking, Mature elements, Mutual Pining, HEA, Arranged Marriage, Sort Of, Misunderstandings, of epic proportions, One True Pairing, Good Sibling JC, Good Parent YZY, Fluff and Angst, in that order, Slow Burn, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone Loves WWX, Angst and Hurt/Comfort)

~*~

17. Hello! I would like to ask for help in finding a wangxian fic:

Modern with magic

I remember that Wei Ying got injured in Xuanwu cave together with Lan Zhan. In the Lan hospital he was denied help because he was fired (?) from the Lan org and later received a bill to pay for expenses.

He is saved by Wens.

Few years later Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen seek his help in some kind of case. Wei Ying says something along the lines of "I don't work with Lans".

Later Lan bros find out it was Su She's fault in how WY was treated.

I would really appreciate your help in finding it! ❤️‍🩹 @popugaj-ara

FOUND? 🔒 Wish I could forget the taste of your skin and the feel of your hands pinning me down by KizuKatana (E, 63k, wangxian, WQ & WWX & WN, Modern Cultivation, weapons-grade thirst, Getting Back Together, Trying REALLY hard to not still like your Ex, but failing, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, Canon Divergence, Case Fic, LWJ’s canonically big dick, sort of a ‘thirsting for your co-worker ex’ vibe, it eventually gets worked out, Mutual Pining, Guest-starring LWJ’s canonically poor communication choices after romantic cave encounters, novel canon relationship dynamics, basically this fic is about escalating sexual tension)

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18. hi there thank you for finding fics for us

there is a fic where WWX is a teacher in Yilling and LWJ accepts a teaching job at the same school, they become friends and then a misunderstanding (not uncommon btwn them) WWX ignores LWJ LWJ follows a trail of a yao sees WWX fighting it on top of the school roof when landing he sees is WWX and then asks "Are you wearing crocs?" I think WWX tells him is a comfortable wear

please/thank you @mysticalyunique

FOUND? An Unscheduled Stream by trippednfell (M, 68k, WIP, WangXian, Modern AU, Modern Cultivation, Misunderstandings, BAMF WWX, BAMF Wen Popo, WWX cultivates resentful energy but keeps his golden core, WangXian Get a Happy Ending, Presumed Enemies to Lovers, Not Yunmeng Jiang friendly, Time Skips, Dual Cultivation - Not the Sexy Kind but ALSO the sexy kind, POV Multiple, Hurt/Comfort, Horny wound tending) I'm not sure about the crocs bit, but WWX and LWJ definitely end up fighting yao on the roof of the school.

FOUND? Roadside Attractions by Bodldops (T, 10k, WangXian, Teacher WWX, Teacher LWJ, The power of organized aunties)

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19. hi this is for the fic finder! i remember the fic so well but i fear it may be deleted bc i just can’t find it in my bookmarks? so wwx after dropping off the face of the earth due to Wen Drama is a folk punk (?) musician along with wen ning and they live in a van, and jingyi is a huge fan, he drags sizhui to a show where they realize this guy might be lwj’s long lost best friend <3 call lwj over and they reunite, lsz is actually wwx’a bio child whom lwj adopted, they get to know each other etc

FOUND? your heart is a muscle by howodd5ever (E, 47k, WangXian, Modern AU, Pacific Northwest, folk punk, Adoption, WWX is LSZ's Parent, as in bio parent, WQ is LSZ's bio mom, brief mention of past wwx/wq hook up, chosen family, ljy and lsz are best friends, wwx is a folk punk singer, wn is a folk punk singer, Getting Together, Eventual Smut, fan boy ljy, protective big brother lxc, Happy Ending, I promise)

~*~

20. Hi! This is fic finder. A ghost WWX after the first burial moubd sige. His ghost is in YMJ. JWY makes WWX to teach. WWX trains JL. And then there are a conference in lanling where WWX goes too. Thats all i can remember. Thanks! @idontknowwhattowriteforusername

FOUND! Death of a Ghost by Gotcocomilk (E, 107k, Family Bonding, Fluff and Angst, Eventual Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, Mutual Pining, Parental WWX, BAMF WWX, he is a beast and I love him so much, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Canon Divergence, Ghost Sex)

~*~

[octuscle]

Hi, im a 19 yo nerd, yesterday some kids wre playing with a soccer ball in front of my house, the ball got into the garden of my house and when i threw it out, i didnt nlticed i threw it a bit far and it arrived into the house across the street, breaking a window, the neighbor, a single man, came to my house and told my parents what i did, he demands i repair the window by myself, i dont know how to do that, can you give me a little help?

First of all, you do what you do best. You sit down at your computer. Enter "repair soccer window" into Google. A lot of things come up that won't help you at all. Care tips for footballs. And advertisements for household contents and liability insurance. The soccer care thing doesn't look very helpful, but it might be interesting.

Shit, you can waste a lot of time on the Internet very quickly. After half an hour, you're back to the current and upcoming match day in the Premier League. But you still don't know anything about repairing windows. "Repairing windows". Perhaps it would help to remove soccer from the search query. It doesn't matter why the window is broken. It just needs to be repaired.

Now we're getting closer to the point. Lots of tutorials on youtube. Surely there's something there. Unfortunately, you don't even know what kind of window is broken. And what exactly is broken. Damn, just how many different types of window panes there are. You can find an article about German windows. They have a lot of damn cool features. I wonder if that would be a market to sell and install German ones here. What this tilt function is supposed to do is still not clear to you. But these shutters on the windows are hot shit. You'd like to install something like that at your parents' house.

You're guaranteed not to install something from Schüco for a few thousand dollars in your neighbor's house… You're assuming that your neighbor will have vertical sliding windows in most of the rooms, just like you do. Probably made of aluminum. A shame, really. Horizontal sliding windows made of wood with glazing bars would fit the character of the house much better.

Haven't you ever worked for your neighbor? You must still have plans and views from the street side. Or at least a photo. Yes, here. Where were you standing again? How hard did you throw the ball? What was the wind like? Just because you did an apprenticeship as a carpenter doesn't mean you're stupid. So it's probably the window of the study on the second floor. Yes, it must have been rotten, you can see that quite clearly in the photo. Just replacing the glass won't help much.

Nowadays, working on the computer is half the battle. Calculating material requirements, programming saws for cutting. And downloading some porn in between. Hehehe, unlike your father, you don't need to hang up raunchy calendars in the workshop anymore. Your father is hardly ever seen here anyway. It's no longer his world. In his day, a carpenter needed a hammer and a saw, he used to say. Old man, those days are long gone.

Before you start, you went to your neighbor's house across the street. Real life is sometimes more reliable than virtual life. But it was the right window, you measured it again with your laser measuring device. You had miscalculated by a few millimeters. You are a craftsman with passion and dedication. You don't mess around. You deliver precision work.

"Mr. T, better than before my throw," you say with a grin. But it's the pure truth. But you know exactly why your neighbor insisted that you carry out the repair. He'll do anything to get you to fix things in his house. And when no more chairs tip over and no more doors squeak, you'll take care of Mr. T. yourself.

He asks if you can have a look at the shower after the window. While you take off your dungarees, you say that you are a carpenter and not a plumber. You will probably need help. You don't have to ask Mr. T for long.

[authorsofghosts]

Oxytocin Overload | Hank McCoy x Reader

Author's Note: hear me out....

Summery: After Hank left the lab to join the X-Men, you felt slightly disheartened, like a part of your soul had left. That's when you realized you were in love with the shy, strange nerd.

Themes: 2 Nerds In Love, Already Established Relationship, Fluff, Friends-to-Lovers, Work Place Romance (kinda), Awkward Hank AND Awkward Reader, A Little Projection, Charles Cameo (kind of a main character ngl), Charles hatred (I love him tho), Disability rep (Charles Xavier I hate you <3), takes place between First Class and Apocalypse, Hank technically kidnaps the Reader (it's for their own good), Reader is a Mutant (no powers specified)

Word Count: 1,3k

You're on autopilot, on your way back to your lab after talking to probably the most arrogant and ignorant person in the whole building. You're met, head first, with a hard chest of someone you didn't even see because you were currently ten hundred miles away.

"Oh- sorry, uh-" You start, looking up and seeing probably to best news all day. "Hank?"

"Hey." He chuckles out, his signature awkward smile on his face, hand fixing his glasses. "You know, when I came back here I thought you'd be long gone. It's been a while."

You look up at him, blinking slowly as you try to see if this was real or not. Your former work bestie is back after God knows how long. "Yeah, no, I'm still- I'm still here." You laugh, taking a step back. "What are you doing here?"

You look down, noticing he's in a lab coat. Strange. He's also, like, a good few inches taller and more muscular. Even stranger.

"Ah, uh... I was, uh... well I... I'm not supposed to be here, actually?" He laughs, looking at you with a completely serious face. "You know what? You should stay by my side while I uh- do the thing I'm not supposed to be doing." He stammers slightly, grabbing your hand and starting to walk.

You're taken aback, mouth agape as you start walking in turn with him. The way his voice was completely serious and how fast he's walking...

"What are you not supposed to be doing, Hank?"

"Grabbing some of my old research. Nothing, like, illegal, I hope." He laughs slightly, then stops talking for a second before turning to you, "Wait- you- okay never mind, I'll ask later." He grumbles, his pace doubling as he pulls you along with him.

Before you know it, you're half way across the building and out of place. Hank walks in an extremely stiff way that makes you almost feel like he's not the same guy you would go and drink with after work, or make jokes with when comparing studies. He's almost completely changed, except for his sweat palms whenever he got close to you, or touched you. And he's holding your hand still, making it quite obvious.

He pulls you into a room, "Stay by the door, alright?" He asks, biting down on the inside of his lip, walking further into his old lab, which has now collected a layer of dust so thick, every surface was painted a slight gray.

You watch as he looks around his lab, suddenly stopping before turning to a drawer and opening it. He mumbles under his breath before walking to you, putting the files in your hand. "Here. You where already carrying one so, it'll look fine. You're uh, not coming back here"

"What?" You ask, taken aback slightly.

"Whatever you're studying, I can help you back at my lab. I think it's best if you came to the School with me and we-" He pauses, the air hissing as he sucks it between his teeth. "I can explain later, we have to go, now." He takes your hand again and steps out the room, walking at almost a humanly impossible speed, your feet barely able to keep up.

Before you know it, Hank has you outside the building and into a rental car. you go to speak but are met with a voice in your head. "Hi, this must be scary. Listen, everything is going to be okay, I just need you to, uh... go to sleep." And then you do.

The man with the English accent's voice become slower and you wake up, laying on a couch somewhere else. You sit up immediately, looking around. You see a man sitting at a desk across the room, fingers knitted together as he looks at you. "Hello." He says, the same voice you heard earlier.

"Uh- hi?" You manage to get out. "Where am I?"

"You, my friend, are at Xavier's School for Gifted Youngsters." He smiles, standing up. He grips the desk slight as he does so, seemingly slightly uneasy.

You get up and immediately walk over to him, feeling an impulse to help him. "What's that? Are you okay? Where's Hank?" You say, all these questions falling from you mouth before you can even realize you've sat this stranger on the couch you woke up on.

"Thank you, uh... Those are questions I have answers to, but I want to ask you something first." He says, studying over you. He takes a deep breath. "My name is Charles Xavier, and you might be?"

You introduce yourself, tilting your head slightly as you feel a sudden urge to tell him anything. So you do. You tell him your name, and where you work and stuff that he probably already knows if he knows Hank.

"Great, now that we're acquainted, can you tell me about your powers?" He asks almost too casually, especially with information you've never told any one.

"Wh- Powers? I don't-" You start, but he puts up his hand.

"No need to lie, you're in safe company." Charles says, but quickly looking towards the door right before it opens. "Hank." He smiles.

You look over at the door and see Hank, a box in hand. "It's time for the serum, isn't it?" He chuckles, placing it on the next and taking out a syringe."

"Yes, it is, thank you, bud." Charles says, waving his hand at him.

Hank looks at you, flashing a quick smile before rolling up Charles sweater and pressing the needle into his skin. Of course, you don't watch, shielding your eyes slightly. "Okay, well, uhm... let me know how you feel in five minutes, okay?" Hank asks before looking at you. "Hi. I'm sure there are a lot of questions-"

"Yeah. A lot." You say bluntly, standing up and looking at Charles for a moment and then back at Hank.

"I can answer them, I promise, just uh- You okay, Charles?"

"Peachy, yeah." The other man says, nodding and waving a dismissive hand. "Go talk to your friend, I'm just gonna... lay here."

Hank laughs, making sure Charles is in an okay position before gesturing to the door. You both walk out and he closes the door softly. You look around at the rather lavish hallway, eyes wide. "Hank, where did you bring me-"

"A school, mansion-turned-school, rather. Uh, for people like us." He says. "You have powers, and so do me and Charles. It's a lot to take in at first, knowing there are other people like you-"

"You have powers?!" You say, taking a step back. "What, are you like- what the hell am I talking about, this is crazy." You sigh loudly, walking in a direction away from the room, looking around for some kind of exit. "I don't have powers, Hank." You state bluntly.

"But you do. And so do I, I mean..." He sighs,stepping in front of you. "It's a little scary, you know? I don't want to scare you. Okay?"

You look at him for a moment, confused, until he pulls a small knife from his pocket and pressing it against himself, just softly. And before you can even process what's happening, Hank's skin turns blue, and so does his hair. His eyes are yellow and he gets a little bit broader. You watch in, not horror, but amazement.

"Woah- Cool."

"See? Now, show me what you can do." He laughs softly, putting the knife back in his pocket and rubbing at the small wound from the prick.

"Yeah- Uh- no." You shake your head. "This is... a lot to take in, uh... maybe we can talk about it over... dinner? Tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow? Do you know what tomorrow is?"

"Friday?"

"Valentine's Day."

"Oh. Then maybe not tomorrow... unless...?"

[snowfires]

There has been not enough angst asks I think, what would Reader’s husbands do if she died? I thrive off angst hehe

Angst? In my hurt/comfort fic? 🤨🧐

Well, at least I know someone will enjoy when the characters are suffering 😭 (😂)

Don’t expect this kind of thing from me often though 😭 I will generally avoid asks on dark what-if topics.

I can’t say too much about Reader’s mortality, but safe to say… were she to die, having two near-gods as husbands and another as a brother-in-law gives one a certain level of… leeway against Death.

But the fic itself will never have Reader dying.

I shall nevertheless answer what would happen before the boys found a solution to the problem (aka until Nightmare found the solution), as a what-if ask.

Vague spoilers under the cut! Also generally very angsty, but with a happy ending. If depictions of death upset anyone or you’ve just been having a bad day, I would recommend avoiding this one!

Killer is most likely to have been there when it happened. He and Dust are the most accident prone—it’s useful to bring their wife along to fix them up on particularly fight-heavy missions. They probably have another race as per usual—and Killer, naturally, cheats and shortcuts straight back to Reader to get a few minutes of alone time to nuzzle his wife.

Except when he gets there, she’s not alone.

Nightmare cradles her in his tentacles, quickly moving one to cover her blood-covered torso. He felt it when it happened. Her panic, and the moment her ever-constant presence disappeared.

In the forest clearing is the body of whoever did it—some monster hoping for free EXP covered in Reader’s arrows.

But it wasn’t enough.

She’s…

She’s…

Killer can’t cope with the thought. He ends up in stage four and lashes out at Nightmare, who has no choice but to hurl Killer into a random universe as he used to before Reader joined them. Nightmare’s first priority is his Queen’s safety, no matter how much it pains him to discard his right hand man at his most difficult moment.

By the time Dust gets there, Nightmare is alone. He can tell something is wrong, but Nightmare insists that Reader was just tired. She’s resting at home now.

Killer? Well, Killer is on another mission.

Dust tries to go see Reader when they get home—he’s got a few scrapes she could heal up—but Nightmare refuses to allow him into the Queen’s Quarters. Nightmare already lost Killer, he can’t deal with Dust melting down after this as well. So he hides it. Puts a barrier around her bedroom to keep Dust from shortcutting in.

But Dust knows something is wrong when Horror comes to their bedroom that night weeping and continually saying that he loves him.

Cross is the first Nightmare brings to see Reader. Cross is reliable, loyal, and Nightmare knows he will aid in helping him return her to life. What he wasn’t expecting was for Cross to break down and blame himself. He runs to Reader’s side, desperately running his hands through her hair, on her face… He’s supposed to be her lover, her protector, her knight. He should have been there! And now he’s going to lose her because of his mistakes, just like he lost XTale…!

Nightmare wants to take the pain away, but Cross refuses his help. So Nightmare leaves him to mourn until Cross drags himself up to Nightmare’s study and insists his King put him to work on the solution. She can’t really be gone forever right?

Cross seems calm, focused… but underneath, Nightmare senses a grief even worse than when Cross lost his home all those years ago.

Horror is brought to see her next. Nightmare knows he is familiar with death, perhaps even more than the others. He also knows that no magical barrier can keep out Horror’s keen senses. He would deduce something was wrong quickly.

Horror knows by the second waiting room in the Queen’s quarters and stops, refusing to go another door before Nightmare answers whether this is forever or not. Reader completes their family, without her…

He pulls Nightmare into a tight hug when he confirms that it isn’t. Still, it’s many more minutes before he gathers the strength to go look.

She’s in her bed as usual, sheets of starlight covering her torso and the soft frill of a dress surrounding her collarbone. Her hair curls around her shoulders, freshly washed by Cross’ hands before she left on the mission. She could be asleep, but he can’t hear her heartbeat.

It’s far from a normal death though. In a rare moment, Horror lashes out at Nightmare, asking what the fuck he’s done to Reader. Her body is stagnant, frozen, as if she’s sleeping. Her skin is pristine, without signs of discolour and decay.

Nightmare confesses it is a suspension spell, keeping her as she was in case it is required to revive her. Horror doesn’t like how unnatural it is, but backs down. If it brings Reader back… so be it.

Error is absolutely pissed. How the hell did this even happen? Those idiots were supposed to keep Reader safe, and now this…! He gets into an intense battle with Nightmare, refusing to listen to him until Nightmare has him restrained. It’s fine. She’s not gone forever.

Error is a near-god of destruction.

Nightmare is negativity itself.

All they have to do is show the multiverse exactly what happens when two gods lose their wife, and Reader will be returned to them in mere days.

Error has never heard Nightmare be so open about destruction before. And since he knows more than anyone that everything is constructed of code… he doesn’t doubt that she can be returned to them, though the fact that she currently doesn’t exist on the same plane as them… the thought causes Error to crash.

But when he reboots, a cruel smile crosses his face.

Why don’t they show the multiverse exactly what happens when you hurt their wife?

Before Reader gets back, however, Dust finds out what was happening. Horror’s been visiting Reader’s quarters frequently, Boss and Cross left and haven’t returned, Killer’s gone…. He needs to see her.

He sneaks in after Horror, hiding in one of the waiting rooms until Horror leaves.

When he gets to her bedroom, he’s relieved. There she is, fast asleep and as beautiful as always. His perfect starlight. He crawls under the covers on her massive canopy bed and places his head on her chest as he always does to hear her—

… her heart.

That can’t be.

It’s stopped. Worse, there are bandages wrapped around her torso.

How… Surely Horror would have told… or Nightmare…

He tries to coax Reader’s soul from her body, because maybe this is some weird fucking human coma. She’s always fainting all the damn time. This is just… really advanced fainting…

But it isn’t there.

When next Horror returns to visit Reader, Dust is there, eyelights small and distant, curled against your side. He thinks he deserves this. After everything he’s done, of course the multiverse wouldn’t let him have her.

Horror tries to reassure Dust that she’s not really gone… but it’s difficult to get him to believe it.

Then one day, Reader’s body isn’t there anymore. Dust and Horror are teleported into Nightmare’s chambers and… there she is. Curled in his tentacles with Cross kissing the top of her head and Error clinging to her arm in a surprising display of physical affection. Her eyes are open—she looks so scared and confused and relieved—and they light up at the sight of her lovers.

No one wants to let her go for even a moment, but Killer still needs found and Reader is the only one capable of helping him. They manage to track him down in a (now) desolate AU, and Reader works her magic to coax him back to stage 1. Killer clings to her, wailing, and doesn’t let go while Nightmare brings them home, or all night. All the next day. The next week.

The following months are difficult. Reader is technically untouchable now, they don’t need to worry. She can be brought back. But it was a traumatic experience for the whole family, and they prefer to stay home and among themselves.

Nightmare, through everything, seemed unfazed. Sad, yes. But he worked so confidently, kept everyone together… and now that Reader’s back he’s let them all spend time with her and busied himself with work.

Killer knows just how afraid Nightmare actually was. It’s why he brings Reader to Nightmare’s office immediately after her first trip outside, only for Nightmare to wrap himself around her, crying. He can’t keep her locked away in his palace forever…. But he was terrified he wouldn’t be able to bring her back to life.

That he’d lose her, the love his life, forever.

Reader spends many days privately with him after that. Nightmare doesn’t need to grieve her or fear her fait. She’s here with him now.

She’s alive and well. And will remain so forever.

What none of the boys would ever know is that it was really Dream who convinced Death to return Reader. She is the thing that makes Nightmare happiest… that healed pains he suffered for a millennium. He needs her. The multiverse needs her. And Dream, too, needs her, his dearest friend.