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samkerrworshipper · 5 months

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have no fear

jordan nobbs x reader, leah williamson x reader, arsenal x reader

part 2 of beautiful girl series -> pt. 1 -> pt.3

warnings: drug addiction, drug use, angst, pain, mentions of sexual assault, little bit of fluff if you look really close

So with every last piece of strength that you had in your body, you pulled the door open.

“Hey chicky.”

You tried to smile at your ma, you did, but it was hard.

“Hey ma.”

You knew you had to look like a wreck, you hadn’t had time to look in a mirror on your way down, but you knew that you must look like a complete mess.

Jordan brought you into a hug before you could do anything about it her little arms squeezing your body as tightly as you thought she could manage.

She forced her way into the house before you could say anything about it, walking her way into the kitchen and leaving you close the door behind her.

“Le said you were out last night.”

You followed your ma into the kitchen, walking straight to the coffee pot.

“You want coffe?”

Jordan had always been the stricter of your two parents, probably because she saw you less, Leah was the one who had to do the hard yards, constantly fighting with you over the biggest and smallest things.

“Tea please, how late where you out till, who were you with?”

You turned the machine on, trying to hide your annoyance at the immediate interrogation.

“Did you come here to see me or question my choices?”

You pulled two mugs from the shelf, reaching for the kettle and pouring enough water in before reaching for a tea bag.

“I came here to see you chicky, and catch up with you, I want to hear about what’s been going on.”

You dropped the tea bag into the cup, reaching across the island to hand it to your ma.

“I was out with a few friends.”

You pulled your vape out of your pocket, hoping that it would help to soothe the insistent memory of the events of last night and push it from the forefront of your mind.

“What’s that?”

You looked up at Jordan curiously, one of your own eyebrows raising.

“What’s what?”

You looked back at the coffee machine, watching as your mug slowly began to fill up with the brown mixture.

“Since when do you vape?”

You pulled your mug out from the machine, setting down on the island so you were facing your ma.

“A couple of months, why?”

You reached for the sugar container, taking the spoon out of it and dropping two spoonfuls in.

“Does your mother know?”

The shock in Jordan’s voice was so obvious.

“Yup.”

It was all good and well for Jordan to judge Leah’s decisions with parenting you, but at the end of day she’d been the one to leave, refusing to take you with her, insisting that life in London was better for you and that passing you back and forth between Birmingham and London every week wouldn’t be fair, she left you.

“How’s football been?”

The pivot in conversation should have helped, but you knew that it wouldn’t as soon as the words had left her mouth.

“I stopped playing.”

Jordan frowned at you.

“Since when?”

You brought the coffee up to your lips, finding solace in the warm liquid.

“A while ago.”

You wished she’d drop the topic, she seemed to be becoming more disappointed by the minute.

“Why, you were great, you were one of the best a the academy.”

You were one of the best because Leah spent all of her afternoons coaching you, because she knew the coaches, because she knew what she had to do to make you better, not because you were naturally gifted or because it came easy to you.

“I didn’t want to.”

You ried to answer her with some finality, to make her drop it and move on.

“How about school, how are your gcse’s going?”

You wanted to lie to her and tell her it was good, that you were on track to get all A stars like you’d planned.

“I don’t think I’m going to do them, my attendance isn’t high enough.”

Jordan’s face plummeted, her jaw going slack as she looked at you.

“What? I thought you wanted to go to college, that you were planning on doing medicine or law or english lit.”

You hated that Jordan had this preconceived version of you in her head, from when she left, from when she used to travel every weekend to see you, when you were doing everything to try and be the perfect kid for the both of them.

“Plans change.”

You kept your eyes downcast, scared to look at her and absorb the disappointment.

“What do you plan to do, without an education and your football? Do you plan to just live with your mother forever? Do you plan to use her until she’s old and retired? You can’t just live your life like that chicky, you need a goal, a aspiration, something you want to do with your life.”

It was the same conversation Leah had tried to have with you, one you’d ignored.

“I know ma.”

Jordan looked at you with disapproval.

“It doesn’t seem like you do, what are your plans, what are you spending all of your time doing?”

Getting high, crying, regretting your existence.

“I don’t know Ma, look, you don’t get to come here for the first time in a month and try to act like you give a shit about what’s going on, Mom’s been through it and I’ve been trying to support her, I’ll figure it all out later.”

Jordan looked dismayed, to say the least, her finger twirling the teabag inside of her cup aimlessly.

“Lovey, your mom is in a lot of pain right now, she doesn’t deserve to be taken advantage of, I understand you might be going through your own pain but it’d be nice if you could try and be a bit better for her.”

You wanted to yell at jordan, tell her that you were hardly the fucking problem, but you couldn’t, not when everything that had happened in the last 24 hours was circulating non stop in your mind.

“Look, I understand that I’m not the kid you wanted, that I stopped playing football and I’m not doing what you wanted me to.”

Jordan stopped you before you could say much more.

“No it’s just that months ago you were fit, you were reading and writing and playing football, you were smiling and spending all of your spare time with your mom and now it’s like all of that’s changed and you’ve just become this person I don’t know anymore. Can you blame me for being surprised? This isn’t you, This isn’t my kid, this just isn’t you, chicky.”

You couldn’t look at Jordan, you just couldn’t.

“You have no fucking idea what’s going on, you’re never here, the only time you give a fuck about my life is when it’s convenient for you and when you get to judge it. I’m not your kid anymore, you don’t fucking love me, you haven’t wanted me for a long time.”

Jordan recoiled at your words.

“First of all, don’t swear at me, I hope you don’t talk to your mother that way. Secondly, that’s not true and not fair. I’m here as often as I can be. I love you chick, I just think you could be making better decisions. Where were you last night?”

You rolled your eyes, you felt frantic, you could feel your heart beating in your ear and the blood pumping through your veins.

“That’s such bullshit. Trips to Spain to see Lucy are more important then me, huh? Trips to Ibiza to hang out with Caitlin and Katie are more important than me? You criticise the decisions mom has made but you aren’t here, you don’t understand what it’s like.”

Your hands were shaking so badly you had to put your coffee down, the liquid having spilt slightly down onto the countertop.

“Where were you last night, lovey?”

The question made you feel like you needed to puke, and for a second you thought it was just a feeling, but then you felt the bile rising and you realised it wasn’t just a feeling, you were about to vomit.

You rushed from the kitchen as quickly as your weary body would allow, your legs shaking underneath you, threatening to give out, taunting you from below.

You made it to the toilet bowl just in time for your jaw to go slack and the bile that had been rising in your throat to splat against the porcelain. You didn’t look at it, you couldn’t, knowing that it was probably evidence of what had happened last night, the alcohol, him.

You didn’t need to see Jordan to know she was waiting at the door behind you. It was the last way you wanted to spend your couple of hours with her, but it didn’t really matter now you supposed.

You knew you were done when the pressure in your throat dissipated and you finally felt like you could breathe again. You pushed yourself up, flushing the toilet before turning around to look at Jordan.

Your Ma reached out for you first, her hand coming up to your face, gently pressing onto your cheek.

“It’s alright bubba, I’m here, you’re okay, I’m sorry.”

Jordan’s arms opened up and without hesitation you leaned in, seeking out comfort that you hadn’t felt in a long time. The hug didn’t provide the love you were yearning for, it didn’t soothe the part of you that was hurting, but it did patch a hole inside of you somewhere.

You were far taller than Jordan, but she somehow made you feel like a little kid again, your head coming to rest down on her shoulder.

“C’mon, let’s get you to the couch and we’ll talk, huh, one on one, no judgement.”

You felt eight again as Jordan lead you over to the same couch. You felt how you did when you were eight, when your moms sat you down and promised you that they would always be a safe space for you, that you could tell them anything about the past and they wouldn’t judge you and that they’d always be proud of you no matter what, you felt how you did at 12 when your moms sat you down to let you know that the academy had asked them if you wanted to play with them, you felt how you did at 14 when your moms sat you down to let you know that your teacher wanted to put you up a form at school. Except everything was different, it wasn’t your moms, there was nothing to be proud of, nothing for them to tell you you were doing good at.

Jordan sat you down, your head pressed to her shoulder.

“I’m sorry that I was rough on you, okay? I don’t know what’s going on, I’m not here as much as I should be. Can you tell me about last night, bubba, please?”

You didn’t get why she cared so much, your mom hardly cared what you did on your nights out as long as you were home by your curfew and stayed safe.

“I went to a party, okay? It’s no big deal.”

You heard Jordan exhale next to you.

“You didn’t do anything stupid?”

You wondered what Jordan would define as stupid.

“I drank a little, smoked a bit of pot, normal teenage shit.”

You wanted it to be the truth, desperately, but it wasn’t.

“That’s it?”

Jordan knew you were lying, she’d always been better at telling, Leah on the other hand wasn’t as practised in being able to detect when lies were falling freely from your lips.

“Yes, for fucks sakes.”

Jordan only tightened her embrace around you, bringing her as close to you as possible. Leah had stopped hugging you like this when she’d done her knee, it had become harder and she knew you were growing up, she didn’t think you needed her in that way anymore, she was so incredibly wrong.

“Okay, I’m sorry chicky, I’ll stop with the questions. Let’s just have a you and me day, huh? Like we used to. We can go to the cafe that you like and down to the beach, whatever you want, just a you and me day.”

You didn’t want any of that.

“Can’t we just stay on the couch.”

You heard jordan chuckle a little bit.

“How about we go and get breakfast and then we can have a movie day, or we can catch up on the episodes of Love Island, I haven’t gotten to watching the new season yet.”

You didn’t want to go anywhere, you wanted to stay in your safe space, up in your room on your windowsill.

“Do we have to.”

Jordan nodded from above you.

“Fresh air will be good for you. Plus, you want to get a mean hangover then that’s your own fault chicky, it’s best to learn the hard way. Head upstairs and get changed, I need to talk to your mom real quick.”

You wanted to stick around to hear what Jordan planned to tell your mom, but you didn’t want to wreck whatever you had going with her, so you just nodded your head and stood up, beginning the walk back up to your room.

You hated looking at yourself in the mirror.

Because you could act like you were fine, you could pretend you were put together and had your life together and fool yourself but as soon as you were forced to look at yourself it all was clear. There was truth in your eyes and the way they made your body look so vacant, so eerie, it was as if they were the sign that there was no life left inside of you.

You’d always felt out of place no matter where you were, like you never truly belonged. You’d always felt like you were one of those tragic people with no storyline, so you lived watching other people, living through them. To start with it had been your moms, watching how much they loved each other, how they looked at each other, how they spoe about each other, like you were a background character in their story. It worked for a long time, until it didn’t. Until they split up, until you were forced to heal all over again from the home that was breaking around you. All the things you’d been running from before them were back, and instead of feeling like you were safe you knew you weren’t, you knew that no matter how loved you’d felt for the longest time, you weren’;t anymore, you didn’t get to live vicariously through their love.

You scrubbed your face without any real care, scrubbing the makeup, mascara and tears from last night off of your face.

Once you were content that the were physically gone, even if it mentally didn’t feel that way, you stood up from the basin and dried your face, hoping the patting would somehow strip the pain that was painted across your skin, it didn’t.

You moved to your wardrobe next, picking out a pair of sweatpants and a hoodie, as well as your thickest winter jacket. It was the same thing you wore every time your mom forced you out of the house to go on some stupid errand with her or some random appointment. You picked out a comfy enough pair of trainers before pushing your hair into a bun and walking back down the stairs.

Your Ma was talking hushedly into her phone, and put it down as soon as she spotted you descending the stairs.

“Ready to go?”

You nodded, one of your eyebrows up in questioning as you stared at your Ma’s phone.

“I was just checking in with your mom, she says they should be back around lunch time.”

Then Jordan would leave, like she always did.

“I’m not a chore, if you don’t want to hangout with me then you don’t have to be here, I can be left alone for a couple of hours.”

Jordan exhaled, deep enough for a few seconds to linger.

“That’s not fair, I’m here kiddo, I want to spend some time with you.”

You pulled your vape out of your pocket, Jordan could tell when you were lying and you could tell when she was.

“No, you have to spend time with me until mom is back, there is a difference.”

In the beginning, Jordan would come down every weekend, no matter where her game was, just to spend time with her little chicky, as the months and year had passed though, her time with you had become shorter and shorter until you’d only see her if she had a game in London.

“I don’t care, I get it, you’re busy with your new life, it’s whatever. Let’s just get this over and done with.”

Jordan looked like she wanted to say something, but the frown you sent her must have been enough of a silencer.

The two of you walked out the front door silent, down the street silent, all the way to the cafe, completely silent, the only sound to be heard was the cars going by, the sounds of your breathing and the repetitive puff of your lips as you pressed the vape to your lips. If you couldn’t have drugs then it was going to have to do.

When you got to the cafe you had enough courtesy to shove it in your pocket, focusing your attention on your Ma as much as you hated it.

She ordered you your normal, you were surprised she remembered.

“How’d the game go last night?”

You hadn’t tuned into either games, you’d had other things on your mind.

“We drew, it was a good game though.”

You nodded, it didn’t matter much in the scheme of things, Aston Villa weren’t in a title race, weren’t in contention for a trophy of any kind but also weren’t at any real risk of relegation, they were just mid.

“How about mom?”

Leah wasn’t playing, but a part of you still cared about how her team had gone.

“They won, 1-2 to man city.”

You nodded, that was something.

Your food arrived which was a good enough distraction, both you and Jordan focusing your attention on the meals in front of you. A couple of years ago, all of your sunday mornings had been spent here with your two moms, nowadays if you went, which was rare, it was by yourself.

The meal went on in awkward silence, the both of you clearly unsure how to deal with the pent up awkwardness that had been developing since you’d left the house.

The meal dragged on until the two of you couldn’t pretend any longer and called it done, the two of you standing up and leaving in the same silence you’d entered.

You didn’t mind the silence, it hurt, but not in the same way that it normally did, you were less alone than normal, you felt less out of place then normal.

You were silently praying that your mom got home earlier than expected, to give you the same normal, painful consistency that you were used to instead of this, instead of whatever it is that Jordan was pulling out of you.

The two of you walked back to the house in silence, once upon a time Blu would have been walking in front of you, her little legs patting across the concrete, nowadays though Blu stayed in Birmingham, with Jordan. Leah claimed she didn’t have time for a dog, it had always been Jordan’s thing though.

When you got back to the house, you collapsed down onto the sofa, flicking on a episode of love island before opening up your phone and starting to answer the multiple texts which you’d been leaving on delivered.

First, you replied to your friends, letting them know you were fine and just needed to be home before your curfew, then your mom, letting her know you were fine. Once you were finished updating all of your people, you moved onto aimlessly scrolling, flicking through different social media posts.

Jordan eventually joined you on the couch, her attention on the episode.

You didn’t miss the way her eyes would stray towards you every few seconds, darting away from the tv screen to look at you. It seemed like she was hesitating to say something, like there words on the tip of tongue that she was too scared to say. Jordan was always the silent one, even as you watched your moms relationship die out, she was always the quiet one, Leah on the other hand was always the loud one, always trying to fix problems that were unfixable.

You wanted to prompt her, ask her what her apparent problem was, but you stayed silent, muzzling yourself for the good of keeping whatever peace there was between the two of you.

PLEASE FOR THE LOVE OF GOD SEND ME YOUR PART THREE IDEAS, KEEPING IN MIND THAT LEAH POTENTIALLY FINDS OUT ABOUT RS WEED USAGE AND CONFRONTS HER ABOUT IT BUT DOESN'T KNOW ABOUT THE DRUGS

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #jordan and leah #jordan nobbs #wobbs breakup #it’s painful #i’m crying so are u #trauma dumping #pain sweet pain #woso imagine

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coff-in · 3 months

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HIIIIIIIII ITS ⭐️ ANON AGAIN I'd like to request a older sister (2-1 year older than Andrew and shes like tall asf) that has the personality of omori from the game OMORI (if you dont whos Omori/ his personality: like doesn't speak for shit and is surprisingly patient with hooligans despite his anger issues) who also likes to gardening.

Ashley would probably give her some silly ass nickname having to due with flowers. Andrew would TRY to be chill around her since he has intrusive thoughts about both girls. (I AM NOT LETTING HIM LIVE THAT DOWN)

But OLDER SISTER READER would probably only put up with Ashley's attitude/lies and no one's else's. For example later in their life when they are sacrificing their parents, Renee would try to bribe Andrew and Reader into ditching Ashley but then Reader speaks up for the first time in her life, only to say "shut the fuck up, you bitch"

Heres more info on older sister Reader:

Her gift is Altered sight, as in she sees the world differently. Like she can see if people are lying or their true intention. So that's why when Renee was talking abt ditching Ashley she said shut the fuck up because she saw her true intention (whatever it was anyways).

Her bunny color would be red

Also her weapon(s) would be her bare hands, gardening sheers, or a hacksaw

Thank you for coming to my Ted talk ⭐️

notes from coff-in: LET ANDREW DATE HIS SISTERS PLEASE!!! i've never played omori but i remember watching manlybadasshero play it during the quarantine. kinda ran out of steam at the end (it's late and i'm very tired, my apologies ⭐️ anon)

[fem] reader-insert, [reader] is older than andrew by two years, incest

mr and mrs graves loved how quiet [reader] was as a child. she didn't make any noise, didn't talk at all, and was overall easy to overlook. the perfect child! why not have another? when andy came out the cursed womb, he was the same and probably learned to keep quiet too via [reader], his big sister. what's the harm in one more child? mrs graves would then learn the harm in having another child that is NOT quiet. leyley came in and couldn't be as quiet or put away as her older siblings, but thankfully this isn't [reader]'s first rodeo in taking care of a child... she's not good at it though (which makes sense cause she's fucking four years old)

andy and leyley are still very close together, especially leyley to andy since she's closer to andy's age (and goes to school with him longer) than [reader], but they both look up to [reader] as a mother figure. leyley had trouble dealing with [reader]'s quietness/muteness but her patience for leyley makes up for all the frustration she goes through. she definitely expects [reader] to pay more attention to her because she's the baby of the family, their little baby sister. how is she supposed to know shit if no one is there to teach her? how is she supposed to feel safe if no one is watching her? damn, she fucked up breakfast again even though andy taught her how not even a day ago, thankfully [reader] is there to make it for them, right? andy doesn't mind [reader]'s quietness. he's so used to leyley's loud and impulsive nature that having someone who's quieter and more mindful is appreciated. especially since she's older, andy sees her as the perfect role model to look up to.

i doubt the apartment they lived in had a yard but they do have a balcony, so i think [reader] would grow herbs and plants that can grow in pots (like strawberries and tomato plants). andy and leyley would pick up some things from watching [reader] take care of them (though they might've killed a plant once from forgetting to water it). [reader] would try her best to teach andy and leyley about taking care of the plants, what they're used for, how to prepare them into meals, etc and it would give them (specifically andy) such an oedipus complex. having [reader] comfort them when they're mad, staying patient and calm when they get frustrated and yell at her, hugging them when they're sad, UGH just being such a good mother figure and a big sister. andy loves hugging her, feeling safe in her arms. THEY WOULD BOTH LOVE HEARING HER HUMMING WHEN SHE DOES STUFF AROUND THE HOUSE

as they grow up, they both get very protective over [reader]. she can't date other people! it's a tad bit hard to enforce that since [reader] is two-four years older and usually aren't attending the same school as them for very long. they usually try to make it as CLEAR as possible to her current partner that they do not like them. andrew is very passive aggressive towards them while ashley is just... aggressive. [reader] gets mad at them the first and second time, enough for andrew and ashley to feel a little bit bad, but eventually [reader] just stops trying to date people (or at least bring them over to the apartment). she can't be too mad at them, they're probably a little bit scared to share their big sister with a stranger...

quarantine isn't so bad to them. [reader]'s little balcony garden helps them not starve for a little bit longer than canon, but not by much. andrew and ashley are both grateful to [reader] for trying to keep them all alive, but it's not a burden that she has to shoulder on her own. seeing the cultist, killing the wardens, escaping the apartment-- all very stressful things that they help [reader] through. andrew sleeps with [reader] some nights and holds her close. maybe even snuggling closer to her chest... after all, [reader] holds some power over him, no? she's older, if she is uncomfortable with it then she can just tell him to stop. he likes being the middle child. having the power and control over ashley but being watched over and taught by [reader], having both that dominate and submissive dynamic with his sisters. would definitely call [reader] mommy after they kill their parents

i find it kinda funny that the demon gives ashley a clairvoyant trinket and [reader] altered sight but doesn't give andrew anything. poor guy. i think [reader]'s true sight would honestly alter the dynamic of the graves' sibling relationship. if she can see the true intentions of people/seeing if they're lying than surely she would be able to tell when andrew is holding himself back and repressing his affection or can see ashley's overwhelming insecurity. would she play into these feelings? anyway, andrew and their parents were shocked when [reader] actually spoke when in the basement, especially when it was against mrs graves? like omg... boss moves, you know?

"shut the fuck up."

"h-huh?"

andrew kneeling down to threaten mrs graves with his cleaver, "[reader] and i don't like it when you talk about ashley like that."

----

coff-in

#cobweb in the coffin #⭐️ anon visits the coffin #tcoaal #the coffin of andy and leyley #andrew graves #ashley graves #tcoaal x reader #the coffin of andy and leyley x reader #andrew graves x reader #ashley graves x reader

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blooberrytea · 9 months

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Connections

Pt: 1 2 3 4 5

Summary: Set in post-revolution Detroit, You've been assigned to the recently developed Android Crimes Division; and it's already off to a rough start.

Pairing: Connor x Reader

Word Count: 1.1k

Warnings: Mildly gorey description of a body, slow burn oops

There wasn’t enough caffeine in the world that could make this morning any more bearable. Connor and RK900's bickering was usually something you could handle, but after the night you just had– your nerves were shot to say the least.

“You state that you are ‘better’ than me in every comparison. I feel that’s just unlikely.”

You ignored the two androids, making a beeline for the break room. The coffee, as perusal, was lukewarm and honestly it could’ve been enough to break you. Your night had been seemingly uneventful– spent looking over casefiles and drinking some cheap wine you’d picked up at the grocery store.

It was around 2 in the morning when a new file appeared on your laptop.

It wasn’t from the station, that you were sure about. It was just suddenly there in your personal drive, its only announcement the notification in the bottom right: “ Local Disc (C:): Unknown File “

“What the fuck…” You murmured, your cursor hovering over the new icon. It was dated only a few days ago and it wasn’t very large. Your gut told you to wait until the morning and have Connor look it over.

You tapped twice on the touchpad and watched as the contents within the folder began to load in– A series of unnamed images and a single text document. That wasn’t eerie at all.

You sucked in a breath before opening one of the images, the clicking of the touchpad one of the only noises in the apartment. Saying that you felt sick to your stomach would be an understatement.

“Long night?”

You looked up from the coffee pot, eyes landing on Gavin Reed.

“Didn’t know you were capable of being here so early.” You grumbled, “Are you responsible for this gross, cold coffee?”

Gavin snorted, “Do you not know how to work this thing? It’s ridiculously easy to make a pot of coffee these days.”

To be honest, you’d never messed with the machines in the precinct– They were slightly more techy than the one you had at home. You usually brought a cup with you, but you’d downed it before you’d even made it halfway to the station.

The detective nudged you out of the way before placing the empty pot in the machine and pressing a few buttons.

“If this police business doesn’t work out, you should consider being a barista.” You teased.

Gavin glared at you as he pressed a mug into your hand, warmth flooding through your fingers and up your arms.

“You can get your own cream and sugar.”

You gasped and pressed your hand to your chest, feigning heartbreak as the detective walked away.

“Not only am I faster, stronger, and more resilient, but I’m equipped with the newest technology. Perhaps your analytical program is outdated as well.”

You saw Connor’s LED spin red as you approached, taking a very long sip of your freshly brewed coffee.

“What if– And hear me out; You didn’t argue like children today?” You mumbled around your mug.

“I’m not equipped with an ‘argumentative child’ program.”

If you had an LED it would be red too.

“Anyway,” You started, drawing out the syllables, and setting your mug on Connor’s desk, “Can you pull up the most recent case assigned to us? Should be about an android found down at the docks. The one on Lakeside.”

“That one’s new.” You nodded, pushing fingers through your hair as you sighed, “Yeah. Got assigned early this morning.”

With Hank back on human homicide, you had been assigned to the new android crimes division. The Lieutenant wasn’t particularly happy about Connor being reassigned to your team, but he understood. You on the other hand didn’t quite understand Fowler's reasoning for splitting up the two. Before the revolution you had worked briefly on the deviancy cases, assisting Hank and Connor when they met a dead end or just making their late night coffee runs while they mulled over case after case.

You thought they’d worked well together, more so when Connor loosened up. You supposed Hank was just too valuable in the human department.

Connor pulled up the file on his computer, you and RK900 crowding around the desk to get a better look. You knew they were humoring you by pulling it up on the desktop, when they easily could’ve scanned it in their heads.

“This file is practically empty. They don’t have any leads?”

You shook your head, “Barely anything. It’s also hard to place how old the body is because androids don’t decay like humans do. I was hoping you’d be able to scan him and get us some more info.”

“I supposed we’d better get going then, hm?”

Upon arriving at the docks, you found it blocked off with the digital, yellow tape. A few police cars were parked along the street and several officers stood around the scene.

“Chris!” You called, “Any witnesses?”

The officer turned to meet you, giving a shake of his head. “It’s sorta creepy how this crime went without a hitch. The android’s too damaged to even reactivate or make an attempt to access his memories.”

You let out a deep sigh as you slipped past officers, “He’s over here?”

Chris nodded.

The sight before you made you feel just as sick as last night. An android dangled over the side of the dock, ropes around each wrist and tied to the railing; his body half dangling in the water. Not only did the physical damage render him incapable of reactivation, but the water damage totally scrambled all his wiring too.

“Fuck..” You breathed out.

Brief pressure on the small of your back drew you from your thoughts, you barely had time to register Connors hand before it was gone.

“Hey, don’t get too far in your head. We’ll find a connection.”

You shook your hands out and gave him a small nod, “Notice anything?”

“The body is approximately two days old. But he’s only been here since last night.”

“How can you tell?”

“My scan gave me details about the water damage. If we replaced a few biocomponents back at the station, we may be able to reactivate him.”

RK900 suddenly appeared at your side, crossing his arms over his chest as he also scanned the android. You watched as his LED spun yellow.

“Reactivation could be possible, but it’d be for less than a minute if anything.”

A minute was better than nothing. A minute had the potential to provide you with a lead, a witness, anything.

Especially if one of them could interface and access the android’s memories.

#detroit become human #dbh #connor rk800 #rk900 #gavin reed #hank anderson #connor x reader #connor rk800 x reader #fanfic #dbh fanfic #x reader #fem reader #reader insert #bloo connections

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cokezuko · 1 year

Text

1 little baby man can fly and phase through things

2 he has short term memory

3 he’s a little attention whore!

Just imagine it.

Alfred in the morning:…what am I hearing?

Fridge: WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

Alfred; *opens fridge to see baby man Danny sobbing as he eats the last of a two tear cake Alfred made for a gala*

Dick: where baby man?

Chandelier: waaaaahhhhhhhhh

Dick:… god damnit

Dick: *climbs chandler*

Dick: I got you buddy let’s get you down.

Danny: *clings onto chandelier not wanting to get down*

Tim: *getting coffee before pausing when his coffee pot starts clanking*

Tim: baby man… why are you in my coffee pot?

Later

Tim with full coffee pot: get out of there!

Danny swimming around: *slurp slurp slurp*

Tim: IF ANYONE IN THIS HOUSE IS SWIMMING IN COFFE ITS ME GOD DAMNIT! NOW MOVE OVER!

Danny on a caffein high: *steals the cowl and turns it into his layer*

The Batfam does not let Bruce reclaim his cowl

Feel free to add to my chaos!

#batfam #batfamily #dp x dc #little baby man #danny phantom

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xmissrogersx · 6 months

Text

“Sweet crazy girl” | Joel Miller

tags: Post-Outbreak, Jackson. A lot of fluff. Coffe Coffe Coffe.

a note from pris: a little short because i writed this last night wathing gilmore girls. In my mind, is a perfect scene in Jackson. Enjoy baby girls!

my writing is entirely my own. Any adaptation and/or copy is forbidden.

i hope you are enjoying my stories! U help me a lot if you give me a ♡! All the love.

priscila’ masterlist

The cool breeze blew in through the half-open bedroom window, causing the air to send a slight shiver through my body. I sighed happily, finally autumn had arrived.

Instantly, the alarm clocks began to chime marking 7 o'clock.

-You ‘re hilarious! -I threw off the covers and walked out of the room and down the stairs.

-Look, when I told you last night "tomorrow, no matter what happens, try to wake me up at 7:00", what I really meant was "tomorrow, no matter what happens, try to give me the option of waking up at 7:00, just in case I don't want to do it". Which, in the end, was the case.

-Did you break the alarm clocks, darlin'? —he said, raising an eyebrow as he prepared breakfast.

-Very funny, cowboy —I kissed his cheek. I grabbed the pot of coffee and sniffed it, stopping short.-It's decaf.

-What are you talking about? —he looks disinterested.

-You came back to change my coffee.

-I'm a busy man, baby. I don't have time to change your coffee on the sly, I have to work construction and patrols —I began to search the kitchen with him at my back. My sense of smell never failed.

-Will you stop doing that?

-Ha! —I pulled the bag under the sink and watched as Joel raised both arms and covered his head.-Very clever, mister, but not clever enough.

-All right, you know what? I give up —I smell the inside of the bag as I turn on the coffee pot.

-Nop, you don't give up —I laughed victoriously, jumping up and down, then put my hands on his face and joined our lips in a kiss. I slid my right hand to the buttons of his shirt to touch his strong chest and start distributing kisses on his neck.

-Please,baby, don't do that. You know I have to go to work —he placed his warm hand under my nightgown sending a shock down my spine. I pouted my lips a little.

-Do you have to go? —he nodded and tucked my hair behind my ear, then turned and handed me a plate of fruit and blueberry pancakes.

-My strong big man, always feeding me.

-You're welcome, darlin'. You're awake, you've got food. I'm leaving, but I'll try to be back early. Do you want me to get you anything?

-Mmm, maybe a chocolate with almonds, a Vogue magazine, some chips and cheese...

He silences me by kissing me, making the outside cease to exist and the desire to stay stronger.

-Goodbye, sweet crazy girl —then he put his hand on my hip and kissed my bulging stomach.-Goodbye to you too, little princess.

-How do you know it's a girl?

-Intuition, darlin'.

-Ellie is begging all the time for a boy.

-Well, she’s wrong, because i say so.

-Por dios, you're a daddy's girl —i coiffed his salt-and-pepper hair strands.-Have a nice day. I love you, my big old softie man.

-I love you too, sweet girl.

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rorja · 8 months

Text

Unseen - shoko x reader

° summary: shoko meets reader on a random afternoon in a cafè managed by her parents. She's immediately attracted by reader's strangeness, especially because she claims that she's able to see ghosts but doesn't know about the existence of cursed spirits.

• cafe!au, reader can see ghosts, use of she/her pronouns, airhead-like reader. [spoilers about the hidden inventory arc]. Shoko centric. 10k word count.

▪︎a/n: this is our first os on tumblr, english is not our first language so please be kind <3 - 🔖divider credits to: saradika

Shoko Ieiri never acted on her impulses. That’s why when she spoke that afternoon, suggesting to catch the metro and drop at a casual station instead of staying amidst the busy streets of Tokyo, name-dropping places they were familiar with nonetheless, Gojo and Geto promptly stopped their banter and began to walk towards the nearest station. It would’ve been fun, was the silent agreement between the three of them, to explore places they haven’t had the chance to explore because of missions and such. It was also a nice way to fully take advantage of the rare free time they had in their hands. No missions. No curses that required their intervention. No corpses waiting motionlessly on a metal table that reeked of sterile alcohol. Merely three students that got out of school grounds to enjoy their afternoon.

That was how they ended up at your parents’ café. A little rustic heaven that carried the fragrances of fresh coffe beans together with baked goods, both salty and sweets, handmade and carefully placed in front of the wooden shop window. Peeking amongst the veneer ivy plant, ever so green and bathing contentedly under the golden sunlight, the warmth coming from the yet too hot bread. The smell of it reaching the trio and hugging them ever so gently, inviting them inside even.

One of the first things that caught her attention just as easily were the many plants around, from the smaller ones under the counter sitting nicely on unevenly cut bricks, to the ones hanging from the ceiling. Some others sparse elegantly here and there in different pots of different sizes, but each and one of them —along their sometimes funny pots— helped in creating a very cozy atmosphere. A pleasing one that mixed well with the white and woody brown on the ceiling, the walls, the tables, even the rugs probably handpicked with love… everything in there was just carefully placed in a way to put everyone at ease. To make you feel relaxed. Which was already something acquired in the color choice and the usage of that uncountable number of plants, Shoko thought vaguely. It definitely was not her cup of tea, neither the usual kind of cafés she would be seen at, opting for something more modern and known as a subtle reassurance of sorts. But there was something in this well-hidden gem that was so enticing. Like a spell that gently encouraged her to come closer, to take a peek at those baked goods as small children used to.

And Shoko thought for once, that she really didn’t want to fight it; gladly waving her white flag and surrender to the appeal of the café. She had nothing to lose. Maybe, she briefly wondered, those sandwiches were as good as they appeared to be too.

Her coffee was on the way. The table Gojo pushed them to offered a nice view on the white counter and its coffee machine, where the woman that got their orders was working dutifully. An herbal tea for Geto. Hot chocolate with a lot of cream and some kind of colorful sprinkles on top (only green and pink, in a n exact order) for Gojo. A simple black coffe for Shoko. It was funny to depict their differences even in something as simple as their go-to drinks in a café, it further proved once again what a messy match they were nevertheless. Messy but never mismatched.

Shoko looked around, her eyes scanning lazily the interior dotted by different slivers of terracotta and painted plastic planters everywhere her eyes landed. From the small constellations of plants near their feet to the bigger, main ones gently swaying over each person’s head. Like dandelions dancing in their air, tenderly moving by the gusts of wind coming from the door every time a new customer entered. No one seemed to pay attention to those subtle but graceful dance steps, preferring to lower their heads over their computers or chatting with their friends just to erupt in loudly chuckles and whispers that hardly were respectful for the ones working. Her friends too, unfortunately, falling in that category with their nonchalant conversations —even though Geto tried to scold Gojo, his words seemed to have no effect at all, the latter still going on with his yap on the latest game he played recently.

“’M going to smoke” she was quick on her feet, her eyes previously catching a glimpse of a door that surely lead outside given the structure of the café. The boys only nodded distractedly at her.

A cork board stood near the door, slightly scraped at its edges as probably placed there from a long time, but the many sheets placed there only acted as an indicator that it was still used to this very day. One being pinned in there from just four or five days at best as the paper was in seemingly better conditions, a photo of a cat in the center of it. Bright red, bold letters stating that the cat went missing last Thursday in that neighborhood.

She didn’t put a lot of thoughts on it, discarding the missing notice to push the door open. It was a small garden with few discarded chairs to sit on here and there, well-maintained just the same as the other plants in that café. Surely the people who worked there seemed to have a big appreciation for plants, going as far to take care of them lovingly. A bush near her feet only confirming her thoughts, tiny drops of water still sitting on the foliage.

Her hand dipped in the pocket of her skirt to retrieve the lighter, cigarette sitting idly on her lips now. Relief growing instantly from the first drag, back relaxing against the wall near the door as her eyes wandered around. Only in that moment she realized that she wasn’t exactly alone in that garden. Indeed there you were, hunched over a bush. Maybe one of the customers, Shoko thought absentmindedly in between a drag and another. Ashes falling on the ground silently, as if not willing to interrupt whatever you were busy into.

It happened when the cigarette was still burning, tip glowing red weakly while reaching steadily its end, that Shoko noticed something weird about you. Her brows furrowing as she stared into your back, always facing the wall but now pushing a white plastic plate filled with… milk? More inwards toward the bush. Your hand moving in repetitive gestures, almost as if emptily caressing nothing. There was nothing in there, neither traces of a cursed spirit or a cursed spirit itself. A blank spot filled with nothing if not air. There was not a trace of cursed energy flowing in your body.

So, what were you doing then?

“Uhm…” Shoko’s voice ringed in the air. Another light touch at the base of the cigarette, another amount of ashes falling. “Are you okay?”

You turned around, back straightening upon hearing an unfamiliar voice. That garden was your precious and very needed breath of air, often coming there to seek a break from the usual smell of coffee beans and still warm bread, fresh off the oven. It was unusual for the clients to come out here, your mother the only one crossing that door to call you back if in need of more hands.

“Yes?” You answered carefully, not exactly understanding what the girl might refer to. It must have been visible on your face, your brows furrowing in genuine confusion, at the unusual question as if it’s not like you were doing something weird.

It was only when the brunette eyed your hand wearily that you connected the dots. Oh, the cat! The realization only making you want to burst into a laugh.

“Oh, you mean him?” You smiled fondly at the black and white cat that was now sniffing the milk, before tentatively licking it. He was so cute, warming enough to you and accepting your caresses with soft, appreciative purrs as he kept drinking the milk. “Sadly, Tanaka-san will never see his adorable cat anymore”.

●

Shoko kept that bizarre meeting for herself, not finding it worthy to tell Geto or Gojo. Kept the same way a child would keep its secrets, a personal memory to explore once alone in the dim lights of her room before falling asleep. For some reasons she found herself unable to stop thinking about it, her now teased curiosity always appearing in her mind under the disguised image of the café, only to come back to you.

She discovered that the café was run by your parents, occasionally seeing you taking the orders of some salary man with his head down on his computer or at the cashier, exchanging money and receipts while your father was busy with the coffee machine. Some other time she’d trace your figure in one of the far-away tables, school uniform yet to be discarded for the white apron she was growing accustomed to. And Shoko’s visits grew. By a lot, now becoming a number that hardly could be counted within ten fingers. It would go the same way each time, always the same dance where she would choose the table near that new coppery pot on the side, then order the usual black coffee (and a sandwich too on rare days). Afterwards she would walk to the door on the back leading to the garden, a cigarette sitting idly on her lips, sure to find you there busy in some weird antics again. Just like the first time she’d met you.

As a matter of fact, you were always up to something she couldn’t comprehend. Like that one afternoon she had found you hanging numerous wind chimes in a corner, too busy humming something to notice her leaning on the wall and staring. Acting unbothered once again, as if she was the weird one for asking to have a sort of explanation and questioning your doing. As if hanging that many wind chimes wasn’t weird at all and Shoko’s perplexed stare was pointless to begin with.

“My neighbor hated these,” you had said that afternoon before Shoko could even open her mouth to make the same question “now that I’ve hung them up, I’m sure he’ll never come to ask me for favors!”

Shoko had simply nodded, breathing the smoke out from her mouth. Not asking further than that as it proved to be useless. “Is he a wild animal?”

That seemed to catch your attention, turning to face her with a confused glance. “What?”

“Seems like you want to keep away an animal” Shoko had explained, under the soft dingles coming from the wind chimes. The wind stirring away the smoke coming from the cigarette when too near to you.

“No? He’s just dead” And oh, you had answered as if it was the most obvious thing in the world that Shoko ended up widening her eyes for a very fraction of second. There was a first time for everything, even a first time of hearing something as strange as that.

Shoko Ieiri was rarely one to chose silence, especially when faced with such odd words. That afternoon had been the very first time she voluntarily chose to stay silent.

●

It had happened again. Every time she’d meet you, you were always up to something that went beyond her logical understanding. This one time you were just a few steps away from the entrance of the café, in one of the many narrow streets of the neighborhood, kneeled and busy recollecting the books fallen from your school bag whilst mumbling something that was hard to make out with the distance. You didn’t even realize that Shoko was walking towards your direction, attention still focused on the ground where your books were lying.

“…-’ve changed address. Lives on the third floor, or at least that’s what he told me the last time he ordered his coffee” silence, then a resigned sigh. “I don’t know what to say, he never talked about it in front of me”

One, two, three… five.

There books were now back inside the bag safely closed. It was in that moment, while you were standing up on your feet again and fixing the bag on you shoulders that you noticed Shoko staring back at you. Floreal scent with rich and deep notes reaching your nose first and betraying her silent presence, most probably busy wondering what must’ve happened for you to kneel down in the first place.

“Oh, it’s you!”

The silence between you two pregnant with confusion, as it always has been since the first moment you had met her. A dynamic you two seemed to have accepted and easily fell into, prompting you to clear your throat and say something. Shoko standing there, arms crossed on her chest. Waiting for you to explain yourself, no matter how much it would take. You were somehow relaxed to know that she would’ve listen to you.

“Miyazaki-san. She asked me if I knew where her husband was” Shoko blinked once. No one was in that alley with you at that moment, and she was quite sure of it. Sure of her eyesight at least, but indeed after meeting you she was slowly starting to questioning it too. Both her eyesight and her own abilities as a Jujutsu sorceress.

“Ugh! She seems to not understand that the bond with her husband is starting to wear off. A lot of time has passed and of course, the pain is not as strong as before. That’s why she isn’t able to find him, or she lose sight of him!” You explained to her, annoyed with the situation that Shoko failed to grasp. Who was the lady again? Did she disappear before she was in the alley? But then again, she had heard your voice alone. As if you were busy speaking alone within the walls of the alley and nothing more.

Yet, once again, Shoko found herself falling in step with you towards the café.

“I was ignoring her at first because it’s starting to get on my nerves how se fails to understand this simple thing, but she’s really stubborn. And insufferable too. So she ripped my bag” another exhausted exhale coming from your mouth. Shoko listened in silence, trying to follow your side of the story. “Can you believe it? She asked me if he has a lover!”

And of course it happened again. And again, again. Whenever Shoko would walk up to the café, you would always be either there or in one of the alleys near. You, who would always be too busy in another one of your strange shenanigans.

Shoko, after a long and hard day stuck inside that room that reeked of sterile alcohol and decaying bodies inside of Jujutsu High, came back to the café. Dutifully following the routine she had unconsciously established in her head, walking to the ever-closed door in the back after drinking her coffee. For once, it was you having followed Shoko outside —having been placed on cashier duty per your father’s request while he finished getting the bread out of the oven.

She’d always lean with her back on the wall, glowing cigarette between two fingers while she breathed the smoke out, careful to tip her head up for it to disappear as quick instead of latching on her clothes.

(Or worse, your clothes. That being the main reason behind her actions, not wanting you to smell of nicotine and cheap packs bought a bit away from Yaga’s eyesight. It wouldn’t be fair to serve the customers while smelling of cigarettes now, wouldn’t it?)

And you would lean a bit close to her. Each meeting mending a distance that seemed too big, too intimidating at first. Now it was only a matter of mere steps against a colder wall.

“Is there a cat or an angry wife following me?”

You are staring, the hidden message behind her words. Enough to make you snap out from your thoughts but not enough to make you look elsewhere out of embarrassment.

“No… you have a weird aura today” you said, tilting your head to try and figure out what was wrong in that girl you had found yourself spending more time with. Something familiar, that you had met already many times before.

“Hah? Let’s hear it”

Shoko’s amusement glowed in her eyes like the burnt tip of the cigarette, solely to fall like ash on the ground once you finally answered her.

“Did you touch a dead body?”

Shoko widened her eyes. The now burnt cigarette dropped near her shoes with a muted thud, but in that moment it was louder than any thought in her mind.

●

Ieiri Shoko lived, studied and (already worked) in the world of Jujutsu. Seeing creatures that didn’t fit the commonly known criteria of reality, that redefined the laws of the reality they all lived in and fiercely fought the laws of what supposedly was their nature, was something she had to grow up with. That was normal for her.

However, listening a common girl talking about her ability to see and talk with dead people but unable to see curses on the other side of the street (your confusion every time Shoko would try to explain their existence to you was genuine; you were a non-sorceress, there were no doubts about it), was completely astonishing. Absurd, even. Shoko shrugged it off by calling you “weirdo” (or so Gojo would’ve done) but never once she stopped thinking about it. From the day she figured out the last piece of the puzzle, directly coming from your mouth on top of it, Shoko felt her brain totally fried.

There has always been something about you that pulled her forward. Teasing her curiosity further, prompting her to close that distance that kept you two slightly apart when leaning against that wall, inching her to solve that anomaly that was your reality. A reality that you had accepted and found a balance with.

And so it hasn’t been that long before Shoko figured out that every person you mentioned had really existed at some point in that very same city. Shoko thought that it wasn’t unorthodox for someone in their society to fully commit to a specific side of the gruesome art that was jujutsu nonetheless, but not being able to see cursed spirits was something she had never heard of. It was impossible.

That was the reason behind her current predicament.

“Sensei, do you think is possible?”

Yaga didn’t answer immediately, dark sunglasses covering his shock about the unusual question. Taken aback firstly by the many ‘in a hypothetical scenario’ that Shoko had used as an introduction of sorts for what she has asked. Secondly, it was Ieiri Shoko. It was rare for that student of his to blatantly show her genuine interest like this.

He pushed the sunglasses up his nose. “Ieiri, our world is so complex that the birth of a singularity as the one you’ve told me about, wouldn’t surprise me. Either way I wouldn't deny its possibility”

“Therefore you aren’t absolutely sure of it” Shoko answered, eyes narrowed at her professor’s words. Yaga simply nodded.

“With absolute certainty I can tell you who’s about to die” and before she could say anything else, ask anything else regarding the whole situation that was slowly eating her brain away, Yaga walked to Gojo, scolding the guy for his unfair trick pulled in the middle of the training session he was having with Geto.

“Therefore you aren’t absolutely sure of it” Shoko answered, eyes narrowed at her professor’s words. Yaga simply nodded.

●

“Which school you go to?”

You were sitting at her usual table, right in front of her with that white apron on. That day the café was slow, few clients sitting here and there typing on the keyboards or enjoying their drinks with hushed words. Far away from the usual bustling that would greet Shoko each afternoon, that would keep you busy serving dishes and drinks with that green tray you knew how to balance in one hand. There was no such thing today, which has lead you to sit at that table near that coppery plant pot, watered a bunch of minutes before by your mother.

Shoko blinked, the gentle but sour steam coming from the mug a pleasing distraction that she welcomed half heartedly. Without asking a permission you had plopped in the vacant chair and started a conversation out of nowhere, taking her by surprise. You seemed to do that a lot, a characteristic trait of yours that up until that day has never failed.

“I’ve never seen that uniform around” you watched as Shoko placed the mug on the table, the tips of her hands twitching slightly at the loss of that burning feeling.

“Jujutsu High School, we study how to exorcist cursed spirits” her answer came in a mild sarcastic tone, as if saying something that was evidently false and waiting carefully for your reaction. For Shoko it was a challenge of sorts, an absurd one which only purpose was to expose who was the one lying.

But you nodded, like you fully understood the meaning of those words and thus not prying. Accepting them as an absolute truth.

“Cool. Is it in the city centre? Is it private?”

Shoko pondered her words. You really didn’t falter at all, huh? “Yes and yes"

“Ah, I’m jealous! I go to an all-girls school”

“Are there some ghosts in yours?”

“Nah, just the one in the third bathroom on the second floor that bothers you to play…” your hand slammed on the table and in a heartbeat your laughter filled the café. Something in her’s expression making you weak and expose your own joke. “I was kidding. That is the legend about Hanako, didn’t you know it?”

Shoko chuckled, a forced one just to go hand in hand with you. A smile tugging the corners of your lips at that, chin now resting on your palm as you hitched closer to her. “Anyway, no ghosts. Just the old headmaster who shot himself in his office after admitting bankrupt”

A polite chuckle leaving her lips once again at your… joke? She wasn’t really sure, but at the same time she didn’t want to damped your mood. Neither she didn’t want to say something that could threat the smile you were now wearing.

“Oh yes!” She sipped her mug of coffe as you clapped your hands together. “Do you have a boyfriend?”

Shoko shook her head, lips still sitting on the border of the mug as her eyes glinted with confusion. Did she give you such an impression?

“Ah! I thought that one of those guys— one of the two you came the first day with…”

So she wasn’t the only one silently observing, huh?

●

“Look at that girl and tell me what you see”

Gojo let out another exasperated sigh, dramatic enough for the odd request just received in that weird day. Feeling somewhat baffled by the ongoing ordeal. Number one, Shoko asking him to go drink something together? Weird. Number two, Shoko insisting on her choice for the café instead of leaving the decision in the hands of the winner of a bloody fight between him and Geto? Something was absolutely not right here. Number three on that list, not only did he followed her like the good friend he was, she had him waiting outside for the arrival of a certain girl!

Gojo Satoru had his own fair share of weird things happened since he got enrolled at Jujutsu High, but this? This could easily make it to the top five, to be completely honest.

“Mhhh” he brought his hand to his chin. Head tipped slightly for his glasses to slip further on his nose, allowing him to see the picture in those bright colors that would often hurt his eyes. A dramatic mannerism sprinkled with some hints truth, just like the hot chocolate in front of his eyes. After some moments he pushed his glasses up, effectively hiding his eyes and turning to Shoko with an idiotic smile.

“She isn’t my type!”

“I didn’t mean that, idiot. Use your six eyes on her” Gojo shrugged but eventually did as told. He silently prayed for it to end fast so he would be able to dig in his hot chocolate.

Gojo shook his head vehemently. “Uh no… nothing”

He stopped once he saw Shoko’s furrowed brown, contemplating something in that head of hers. Arms crossed on her chest and coffee going completely forgotten on their table, which was really unusual for her. Whatever situation she found herself in with that girl, clearly was something that big. In the two years they had known each other, nothing has ever gotten Shoko so invested. Neither Yaga’s difficult tasks (or final tests, as the old man enjoyed calling them) at the end of every year.

Gojo took the spoon, ever so carefully scooping up the cream with the colored sprinkles before swallowing it. An appreciative noise erupting from his chest just like a happy kid. “Are you trying to give me some lectures about the inner beauty of people? I mean, it’s not like she’s bad-looking but…”

“You see her like a normal human being, so? Not a trace of cursed energy flowing? Nothing else?”

Shoko quickly put an end to whatever his mind has come up with, returning to the main reason she’d brought him here in the first place.

“I told you already, didn’t I? Stop asking, I want to eat now”

Shoko couldn’t say anything to that. If it was true that there was not an hint of cursed energy in y/n then that only meant that she was a sort of singularity herself. Just like Yaga had told her days prior. All the theories she’d made, all of her analysis, lack of records in each archive… everything threw in the trash with only a glance.

There was no ethical explanation about your ability. That was the absurd thing for her.

Her shoulders fell. “Order whatever you want, I’ll pay for your effort as promised”

Not like he needed it, Gojo was just very fond of being a nuisance for her. So he didn’t let her repeat twice, pinpointing the next few sweet treats written on the menu for the next time the old lady would walk to them.

“There’s something though,” Gojo added while observing you and Shoko exchange a greeting gesture with an amused expression, “her heartbeat incresead!”

●

Shoko run from the station to the address you had sent to her earlier through an unusual sms. You told it was important, an urgent matter that woke her brain up with possible and different scenarios as to why you were on the streets at one in the morning. So she got up, dressed quickly in her uniform and tried to reach the location as fast as possible. Didn’t matter if she was signing away her school records by breaking the curfew, sneaking out at ungodly hours of the morning.

And you were there. Easily spotted, sitting motionlessly on the dark and wet sidewalk with a wretched expression on your face that was painful for her to watch. Big grins like the ones you often had on your lips when in the garden suited you most. Yet, you were there. Incredulous widened gaze fixed on the asphalt in front of you.

“y/n, what happened? Are you hurt?” You had your head lying between your hands and when Shoko finally reached you, you did nothing. Acknowledging her presence by sitting straight on that dirty sidewalk only, your pout more evident as you tried to keep your tears in, fighting your breakdown at the best of your capabilities. Still like the waters of a river, gloomy like the rain that fell that same evening.

Shoko’s hands twitched slightly. You didn’t even look at her, that simple missing gesture making her heart fight violently her ribcage in a tumultuous uprising. You, who didn’t even greet her with your sweet words or a gentle wave of your hand. Something was very wrong, and the thought only made her growing nervous in her stead.

When you spoke, the corners of your mouth trembling visibly, her shoulders fell. “Today I helped a girl filling her fridge”

Shoko blinked once, twice. Trying her hardest to put together the information you willingly let out, trying to understand the meaning behind your words. What was so tragic about filling a fridge? Surely there must’ve been something else… right? “What?”

“She asked me to fill her fridge because she knew her mother would’ve gone to check if she was taking care of herself properly when she was alive and—” a long sniffle, “of course I had to do it and I waited here. I saw her mother going in and then leaving the house completely heartbroken and—” you kept telling her, hiding your face from Shoko and hitting the ground repeatedly with your foot “the girl thanked me but I can’t stop feeling… like this. Because her last wish was to not make her mother worry”.

Your rant eventually came to an end. Another sniffle, head hidden away between your arms and pressed against your knees, then a heart breaking scream. One that Shoko thought you needed. In this moment, faced with your raw pain, she couldn’t keep questioning wether what you saying was true or not. Wether what you were telling was real or a mere fruit of your imagination, if she was indulging and giving all of he attention to a bunch of lies. She didn’t really care right now about the truth, about all what she has done since meeting you, silencing her own thoughts and her personal doubts for one night only.

You were clearly suffering, and if she could’ve helped you in any way feeling you better, then she was more than glad to do so.

Without a second thought, she sat close to you. Closer than any other time in the garden of the café, your shoulders bumping together as you kept your face hidden.

“So…” she started tentatively, “when you see them, you help them too?”

Her curiosity got the best of her, not really sure how to steer the conversation from here on. It was something she was unfamiliar with, but she didn’t want to undermine your point, your feelings. So she did what she best at: stalling, trying to get a reaction out of you in order to grasp a sliver of your truth. It’s what she did on the rare occasions Satoru would get mad, and it always worked. Here she was, doing the same thing with you, fidgeting with her fingers as you answered with a whined ‘yes’. Another first time, this time one where Shoko had to use all of the empathy stored deep down in her body and soothe your heart. It seemed like you never stopped surprising her— never stopped coaxing her out of the cozy, mundane shell she’d found and claimed safe.

She tried again. “I know how you might feel. In what I do, helping not always make us feel that sense of satisfaction we seek”

A beat.

Then a gentle hum. “…it’s the first time it happens to me”

Shoko wanted to laugh. She could still remember the traces of sadness lingering around her body, having been at your place so, so many times before, not really knowing what to do or how to get rid of that pain, clueless on who to ask for advices too. But if her life was one that had succumbed to the helplessness of this selfish society way before, you, on the other hand, could at least count on her. Or at the very least that was what she willingly promised to you with her silence. No sugarcoated words or faux promises that everything would be fine in the end, just a solid shoulder to cry all your tears on.

“It will alway get worse”

Shoko tried again, a tiny chuckle escaping past her lips. Her hand coming to rest on your shoulder in a clumsy act of reassurance.

“Come on, let—”

You didn’t let her finish the sentence. Throwing yourself in her arms, hugging her tightly against your chest hoping that she would understand what you didn’t trust your voice to mutter out. Shoko stilled for the second time that night, but her hands found your back instinctively. Almost automatically. Her body taking over her roaring mind for once, beating it in a matter of a bunch of seconds, patting your back awkwardly in a gesture of comfort.

For the first time that night, you finally looked at her. A sudden relief shooting through her veins when she noticed that your tears had dried up and a small tentative of a smile curled your lips. “Shoko?”

“Yes?”

“I need a cigarette” Shoko didn’t try to push it. Her hand dipped in the pocket of her wrinkled uniform’s skirt, glad that she didn’t forget the pack with the lighter at the dorm as she would sometimes do while in hurry. She hand it one to you, silently watching you lighting up one from the pack and leaving it on the sidewalk as it slowly consumed itself.

An homage, as you had breathed out later, because the soul you helped out was a smoker just like her.

The cigarette consumed itself steadily, ashes scattering around swayed by the nightly wind. Shoko stayed there close to you, closer that she’s ever been to, staring as the glow slowly died out for as long as you needed to. Only when the cigarette burnt completely she dared to look for your eyes, just to find you already with your puffy eyes on her.

“Thank you”

Shoko gulped down her bubbling nervousness, hoping you didn’t catch neither a glimpse of it. “You shuldn—”

“You’re a good friend”

●

Time became a blur. Going by far too quickly for Shoko to keep up with her mixed thoughts. Her growing doubts only adding fuel to an already burning flame, sustaining it, making it bigger than before. A blurry picture that smelt like the smoke she would often times let out from her cigarette. If her only certainty after school was to indulge the guys in whatever arcade they had set their eyes on, mostly on the free rare afternoons where missions wouldn’t require their intervention, now even that one single thing begun to shake. The solid and steady base of a boring life slowly crumbling —after meeting you.

Now she would hop on the first train heading towards the district of your parents’s café, waiting for you with a coffe mug at the table she kind of reclaimed as hers if you still weren’t home from school, leisurely spending the whole time talking about trivial matters. From your day at school to a tiny rabbit ghost that chased you to the garden. From the persisting chase of the angry wife again to you asking about her day, her school, the friends you have seen her coming to the café the very first time. Then, she would come back to campus with the last train available on the departure timeline.

Some other nights Shoko would meet familiar faces, sorcerers coming back from missions that involved moving on other cities, full of scars and fresh scratches that would need a basic medical treatment. Nothing much physically, but they would drag their steps a bit, tiredness growing heavy on their limbs and exhausted eyes that would fall shut once sat down. Shoko supposed that she would mingle well amongst them, same beaten expression but instead of fighting curses, her opponent was none other than her own doubts regarding you. You with your grin while talking about some stories of your about the ghost of the day or some stories about everyday clients. You with your curiosity about her own school life, nodding and listening attentively, not doubting a word falling from her mouth. Not prying for more, accepting eagerly what she’d say with crinkled eyes and gentle smiles. You, you, you…

Long conversations with the sole shared purpose to grow closer, to get to know each other better. To close a distance that rapidly shrunk as the ticks of the clock went by, hidden by the many hanging leaves of the café.

Talking through sms became a routine by now, your friendship gradually growing to the extent that matching charms dangled from your phones, that Shoko held the title of ‘best friend’ (you decided it on a random Tuesday afternoon, after another sip of the drink you made yourself at the empty counter). Indeed, every day was a continuously doubting of your honesty, your mental health too, while you deemed her worthy of your blind trust.

The more you’d grow closer, the more Shoko’s head screamed louder.

●

Until the thread snapped.

The pleasant and bumbling routine coming to an halt unexpectedly on a humid, sunny day of August. The day both Geto and Gojo came back from a deemed easy mission forever changed.

It’ll always get worse — those the words Shoko had told you months ago, on that night she found you sitting on a lonely grey sidewalk. Those the words coming back in her mind like a tidal wave washing on the rocky shore, as she stared at her two friends.

One kept climbing high, higher in his career and the ability he quickly developed, outgrowing his old skin and adapting to the changes of his newly-found powers. His change more pronounced by his cold behavior to the current events. Geto, on the other hand, sank lower into the ground: he begun skipping Yaga’s lessons, accepting the fewer missions he was assigned to without a word, treating them like not much than a daily commission of sorts. Crumbling in the naked four walls of his room.

Shoko stayed on the middle, empty.

Devoid of any will to shatter the new state. Or so she believed staring at the turned grey corpse of Amanai Riko, other sorcerers staining the morgue with their loud chatting about the unexpected turn, deciding the next steps for a standard treatment of a corpse. The same used to dispose of a sorcerer’s body.

Shoko and the boys had a favorite spot on campus, one that they childishly claimed as theirs only, right behind the school’s gymnasium. A perfect place for their smoking sessions far away from Yaga. Shoko and Suguru were the ones often finding their way to that place, exchanging few words about the lesson of that day, commenting the antics of some weird man he had to help in his missions or joking about that patient that proudly wore a tattooed the face of his beloved actor on his bottom. Gojo liked to stay with them in those moments. Not smoking, not always at least, affirming every time how much he detested the sensation but it didn’t escaped the way lately a cigarette could be seen idly sitting between his fingers more often than not.

That day Gojo wasn’t there, another mission entrusted by the higher-ups themselves. So Shoko sat in that corner of the campus, fully convinced she would stay there alone until her cigarette burnt out. She was proved wrong as Geto appeared from the side, his hair tousled and not in the usual styled bun she had seen him with from the start of their second years. Purple-ish bags now more prominent under his eyes too, giving away the many nights of disturbed sleep he carried on his back, that along the growing weight of the missions he was required to attend; jacket and pants of the usual jujutsu uniform discarded for a more comfortable and baggy attire, leaning to the wall carelessly and fumbling with his lighter.

Only when the cigarette started to turn grey at the tip, he waved his arm in a gesture of greeting. Crinkled eyes and corners that failed to reach them. “Yo”

Shoko nodded in his direction. This new sight of his friend becoming a familiar one as of late, one that she had to made peace with. Itching awareness sticking to their skin like humid winds of summer, but never spoken about, never confronted by one of them and so falling around them as a taboo. It has always been like this, after all. Sadness, grief, sorrow… different names enclosed in a bubble that was way too embarrassing to bring up in their conversations, acknowledging its presence but never strong enough to pop it, knowing that they could only watch as one had to fight alone in this personal war. That’s what the three of them always did.

“Satoru isn’t at school today?” He said, breaking the numbing silence around them.

“No. Mission”

“Mh”

Some minutes of silence passed.

“You are leaving school more often. Are they giving you missions too?”

Shoko didn’t know what caused a small chuckle to fall from her lips (maybe a specific word? Or maybe being put face to face with her growing frequent escapades? Not that she was hiding them anyway), but that made Suguru’s face contort in a silent hunch of confusion, tiredness making its presence known in each wrinkle of his frown. God, how tired he looked. Since when he didn’t sleep?

“No, uh… I go to kill some time” was her answer, paced by a drag of her cigarette.

Another striking difference between Suguru and Satoru was that the latter would’ve easily accepted her answer, not pressing further for other informations or, better yet, changing the topic altogether simply because he didn't care at all. Suguru, instead offered a silence that seemed to talk, gently coaxing the words out of your mouth with a comforting ‘tell me when you feel like it, I’ll listen’.

So Shoko didn’t have other choices, her gaze diverting from him and turning to the orange tinted sky.

“I met a girl” there was no need to look back at him, Shoko could’ve feel his eyes stuck on her just as fine, boring holes on her back. “You remember that café we’ve been months ago, right? I went back, we became close”

She watched as the cigarette fell on the ground, dull and turned off now. “She’s weird”

Geto didn’t answer, biting his bottom lip in a thoughtful expression at the new information she trusted him with. However, she too didn’t let him answer, taking the chance and firing off a question.

“Geto, do you believe in ghosts?”

The query found its answer in a small chuckle, which Shoko was glad to be the cause of even if it had a sour undertone.

“I mean, do you believe people are able to see them?”

“Are you changing the topic or are we still talking about the girl?”

“Both, actually”

Suguru let his cigarette fall too, crushing it beneath his shoes. His now free hand messing out the already knotted strands. “But she’s not a sorceress”

Shoko threw him a glance that seemed to say ‘that’s the dilemma’.

After a beat, she simply started telling the boy about your meetings and the many afternoons spent together. Stories about the ‘ghosts’ that you helped ‘cross over’ slipping from her lips at once, with nothing than pure and genuine fondness with hints of amusement in it when each time she reminded something funny that you did.

Geto opened his mouth to answer, but no words ringed in the air. Shoko noticed the way his body stiffened, as if after pondering his words he decided to hold them back from her, but she feigned ignorance at that gesture, watching with the corner of her eyes his posture straightening back on his feet.

“Do you like her?”

For once Shoko felt taken aback, eve if totally aware his friend would’ve come up to that conclusion in a matter of time. It was one of the reasons she appreciated talking to him in first place, without retorting to long and useless explanations or specified details, for all of that didn’t align with her persona. Suguru was the mirror to her inner self, needed when her mind became too clustered and messy with many thought swirling around.

“It’s nice, being with her” she shrugged. But Geto’s assertive expression transpired, as Shoko would’ve come to learn after, the many doubts that were already haunting him.

“Just don’t trust her easily” and with that last sentence, he left.

●

Four weeks passed since that day. Four weeks filled with the same doubts that never seemed to cease, increasing and becoming louder even in your absence. Shoko’s phone signaling another incoming message from its place on the desk —your messages, shifting from confused tones coming from her own disappearance to something more worrying. Funny was how Shoko could hear your voice through the massages, very much fretting the more the clock ticked by.

Four weeks like this.

Until Shoko gained some strength to take the phone and reassure you with a short text that yes, she was fine, just a little tired from the unexpected hard time at school that required her whole attention. An half lie that she was sure it would work.

One afternoon, Shoko acted on her impulses again. She couldn’t even explain how she came to this conclusion, her mind bringing up the idea to take a moment for the three of them, a moment as the trio they were not long ago, thinking that it could’ve brought some comfort, a sense of familiarity after what had happened.

This is how they ended up at the café run by your parents, sitting at the table she used to think was hers alone, waiting for their orders to arrive. Gojo and Geto sitting close to her, but feeling more distant.

You noticed them walking in, but did not approach. Limiting yourself to a cheery nod in her direction while staying at the counter, helping your father with the many orders placed. Nevertheless, Shoko noticed how your eyes seemed to linger to the table next to the garden’s door, linger to the three of them with shades of blue, your expression now more sad than anxious. As if you could really see through them.

Shoko was smoking her cigarette, as the routine between your meetings imposed, waiting for your arrival and stories with the ghost you ha helped that day. She didn’t even have to wait long, the door opening with a soft creak that gave away your presence, stopping in front of her with your arms crossed on the chest and eyes on the ground. Not the usual grin adorning your face, not your eyes crinkle and glimmering under the warm sun rays, even your body movements were nothing than a crafted imitation of a shell.

“What happened when you disappeared?” You asked, eyes glued to the tiny leaves on the ground.

Shoko tried her best to sound normal, to keep together the fake ease she carefully crafted on the train ride, pushing a strand of her hair behind the ear. “Well, same old things” she answered you, “all the homework I procrastinated came to chase me down”. But you didn’t laugh, didn’t shrug off the half assed attempt to cover up what really happened, your expression still firm and discouraged from where you stayed.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t ignoring you” she tried again after several seconds of silence. You never were silent with her.

And that worked. You finally diverted the gaze from the ground, setting your eyes on her, but this time Shoko couldn’t see nothing than your firmness. “You’ve changed”

“Positively, I hope?” The brunette tried again with a small chuckle but your gaze did not quaver.

“No, because you’re lying”

Shoko felt stunned. Among all the absurd, bizzarre things you two had told each other, never once you doubted her words and now you were contesting the most innocent of sentences?

“There’s a girl… with black hair and a braid that looks at your friends. Who is she?”

Shoko should’ve been stunned, her heartbeat probably increasing and eyes widening. The confirmation that all of your stories had always been true, that the ghosts you helped were always there unable for her to see. You could see Amanai standing there. Instead, in the same way as you, Shoko stopped being surprised.

“A girl we failed to help”

●

The established routine between the two of you recomposed itself easily.

Shoko’s visits became more frequent, lately meeting often outside the four walls of the café, sometimes meeting up for some shopping together or some quiet visits in a natural landscape. Ordinary, peaceful activities that Shoko could only ever dreamt of with Gojo and Geto. Her favorite moments, though, were the afternoons spent in your house (which was located on the upper floor of the building) when you didn’t know what to do or were left with no ideas. Many moments of that kind were spent rotting on bed lazily with magazines you used as proofs, to keep her updated about te ongoing gossip between an idol or reading out necrologies on the newspaper, preparing yourself in case some ghosts would chase you down on the street. A constant moving from one aspect of your personality to the other.

In one of those moments, you rested on your side facing Shoko whilst talking her ear off about a classmate followed by tiny, cute ghosts of at least seven hamsters. It seemed like she didn’t understand that her parents replaced them once dead, all of them identical since the girl kept talking about the same one, describing a healthy and long life worth a record. Shoko only followed half the story, noticing later that her mind was busy with other things. Her eyes fixed on your lips, not really understanding a word you were saying but following closely the movements with enthrallment.

You noticed her sudden silence, just as you approached the end of that silly story, and in a bout of self-conciousness you sucked your lips in. That broke the spell effectively, Shoko’s eyes rising up to meet yours just to laugh it off.

It was not a single episode.

Moments like this one quickly growing in number easily as the dynamic of your relationship began shifting to something else. From an initial challenge to discover who was the liar between you two (or so Shoko fiercely believed at that time) to a more teasing one, waiting for the day one of you would address and break that barrier. Often acknowledged but left hanging in the air, neither of you ready to face it.

●

Shoko disappeared again, like those four weeks in August but yet differently from that time. She didn’t answer your texts and neither the long, ripetitive rings that you busied yourself with more times in a single day. Anxiety became worry, then angry and at the very end, sadness.

Weeks became a blur in your eyes, not keeping the count of how many days passed anymore, stuck in a vortex of different emotions playing in your chest. You started projecting your frustrations on your parents, after a while, refusing them the help they needed down in the café.

You also started to deliberately ignore the spirits chasing you on the streets, begging to be listened, making them mix in a parade of pleas growing louder each day behind your back whilst you kept your pout and head lowered on your way to your home.

Until you stopped trying to contact Shoko. It was useless.

You saw her again on a random day, while busy moving some boxes around of a big order placed by your father some days ago. She was there, silently watching as you placed another box on the shelf, and you didn’t know what to feel first. Anger? The desperate need to scream all of your frustration on her? The sleepless nights wondering what had happened for her to disappear on you again? Or maybe grabbing her and checking out yourself if she was alright, if everything was alright.

The initial surprise swelling inside your chest flickering like the flame of a candle under the pressure of all those bottled, mixed sensations you were feeling. The weight becoming overwhelming as your eyes noticed an important detail.

“Sorry, study chased me down again”

“Liar” was your quick answer. You didn’t mean it, the word falling from your lips as a reflex. But at this point you could sourly see how you almost got used to Shoko sudden disappearances.

Shoko smiled. Your eyes dimming as you traced the heavy bags under her eyes, a blue and purple undertone to them, the exhausted demeanor and her silence that louder than any words she could speak of. Her body slimmer in a way that made you feel dizzy, sick to your stomach at the repercussions she sported on her body.

“Can you see him?”

And you could only nod at that feeble question. Staring into the figure of a young boy with cheerful brown eyes, his smile reaching all the way to his eyes while you felt yours swelling with tears. Death touching Shoko for the second time in less than a month. You nodded again.

“He says he’s happy that you’re not alone”

Shoko didn’t say anything else, processing your words slower than any other time as you offered a comfortable silence. You didn’t move from your place as you watched her careful hide her face, eyes glued on the ground to not face you. Your ears perking at her mutters, not asking for any explanation of sort, not prying or eavesdropping.

But there was one thing you understood, one coherent mumble that had your heart crumbling in different pieces. One word only: “Haibara”

●

Geto Suguru left the school not much than a few weeks following Haibara’s death.

Shoko closed with a loud thump her phone, lids falling heavy and promptly, gently cradled by your perfume imprinted on the sheets of your bed, the soft humming of your voice under the spray of the shower reaching her ears nonetheless —even with the door of the bathroom separating you two.

Gojo answered with the same, monotonous ‘yes’, ‘ok’ and ‘I’ll come back shortly’ every time she tried to contact him by texts, asking how his mission was going or a simple ‘how are you holding up?’ following Suguru’s defection. He had made of his dorm room a refuge of sorts, drowning more and more in the new missions assigned to him, hiding behind the excuse that he had to study, to train, to define better his still new ability of reverse cursed technique. Shoko avoided the campus as much as she could, stepping under the traditional gates just to follow Yaga’s lessons and her duties rooted inside the morgue she was growing indifferent to. Her favorite place to relax and shut off her mind moving from that corner behind the gymnasium to the four walls of your room, where she felt free to breath properly.

With you it was different.

There was no such thing as an ‘embarrassing bubble’ that shouldn’t be acknowledged, on the contrary, you persisted for her to talk about her feeling or you began to recognize its presence from nothing. It was the conclusion she came to after an afternoon similar to this one, where you were busy studying at your desk and her sprawled on the bed absentmindedly staring at the ceiling.

The lack of attention coming from her must have been more prominent that she’d imagine because that day you had thrown yourself in a tight hug, on hand resting at the base of her neck to push Shoko resting her chin on your shoulder.

Holding her against your body as some sighs escaped your lips, an attempt to make her aware that all of those tragic events were catching up on you. But while Shoko understood that, a side of her couldn’t help but notice the notes of your perfume or how you felt good between her arms. Pieces of a puzzle that matched perfectly.

You knew of Geto, or at the very least you knew that a dear friend of her left the school in bad terms. Your attention and gentleness reserved for a situation so ‘simple’ having left her even more stunned (and whipped).

On her hand, Shoko knew that she felt angry, confused and sad on the surface. But deep down she was also aware of how this insane situation would end up changing her relentlessly. Nevertheless, there wouldn’t be any Suguru helping her figuring out the many emotions swirling in a tumultuous current inside her brain.

She had lost another friend.

The unexpected spring in your steps coming from the bathroom made her thoughts scatter around and fade in thin air, the wetness lingering on your skin meeting the wood of the floor in a excited rhythm that it proved to be effective for her. And then, with a boisterous gesture, you opened the door of the bathroom, damp hair sticking to the soft texture of your shirt but you seemed clueless to the wet patch growing on your back.

“Look! I did it!”

Shoko furrowed her brows, now sitting on the bed confused by the big grin lighting your face. “What?"

“Look at my hip!” And only after your finger pointed the skin she noticed it. A temporary tattoo, one that would fade away after some washes and fierce rubs of soap, glittering under the light probably coming from one of the many magazines you read. It was the drawing of a butterfly, pink lines dotted with sparkles and shimmer. It was cute.

Shoko stared at it in a sort of trance, partially thinking back to the unanswered texts she had sent to Gojo since that morning. On the other side her eyes seemed glued to that bare bit of skin you were proudly showing, a new one she haven’t had the occasion to see up until that very moment, tracing it and caressing it avidly with her her eyes.

The charm breaking as you huffed and pouted for the lack of answer. Shoko turned to you, following with her gaze as you sat closely on the bed. Right next to her.

“Won’t your school punish you for that?"

You huffed again, this time rolling your eyes. “I’ll cover it with the skirt, of course! You’re talking as if you’re not the one smoking between lessons anyway”

Shoko could only chuckle at your remark, having being caught red-handed by your words. You didn’t bother, lying on the bed carelessly and staring at the tattoo adorning your hip.

“It’s cute… it suits you” she let out with a smile, lowering her head to take a better look at the glittered lines. The butterfly sitting nicely against the hipbone, a nice shimmer to it that made your skin color stand out gracefully. Those words seemed to fuel your grin, and for that Shoko was glad.

“If they would expel me for this little thing, I would be happy actually. I’m tired of that boring school”

“You wouldn’t want that to happen” the corners of her lips soured a bit at the timing of your joke. Lowering herself just to be at your level and being able to look you in the eyes.

A beat.

Then a playful “would you still be my friend even if I was a girl without education?”

“I can accept the ghosts, but not this”

Shoko kept going back to the still exposed hip, the butterfly catching her eyes more than she’d like to admit it.

“I can accept the ghosts, but not this”

Shoko kept going back to the still exposed hip, the butterfly catching her eyes more than she’d like to admit it.

“Hello, hello?” You tried to call her back, noticing her unusual lack of concentration. One of your finger circling in the air in front of her eyes, as if poking an invisible barrier, “can I burst the bubble of your thoughts?”

It was a random choice of words, one that you evidently didn’t put a lot of effort into. Yet, Shoko felt a chill running down her back at the odd choice, too close to hers, a metaphor that she didn’t let it out from her lips in front of you, rather keeping it seal in her mind each time she had to describe her clumsy way to handle her emotions.

And once again, she found herself acting on her impulses. Forgetting about how nice the painted lines seemed to kiss your skin, her eyes meeting yours as if stuck in a haze that numbed her senses. Her hands growing closer to your cheeks and cupping ever so tenderly to lead you close, closer to her. The first brush of lips sending a shiver down the curve of your back, clumsy, not entirely touching at first. Still dancing around a line she was set to cross in one way.

Then, you felt her lips on yours. The kiss itself slow, a tentatively one to test your reaction, to see if you were fine with it. It lasted a few seconds, but you didn’t give her a chance to grow the distance between your lips, immediately chasing after them and sealing them in another one. And another one, another one just as Shoko hoped.

Was there something that couldn’t be left unseen by you, at this point?

#ieri shoko #shoko x reader #shoko x y/n #shoko x you #jjk #jjk x reader #jjk oneshot #anime x reader #wlw #shoko ieiri #jjk shoko #ieiri shoko x reader #jujutsu kaisen

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the-wize-1 · 1 month

Text

Thawing the Widow (A Natasha Romanoff Story): Chapter 7 - School

Chapter Summary: Natasha tricks Cat into going to school. Apparently she's some kind of genius.

Chapter Warnings: Talks about kidnapping.

Notes: Thanks for all the support on this story! Please continue to like/reblog/comment (I feel like a Youtuber). Also if there is anything you're interested in seeing in the story, let me know and I'll try to incorporate it!

Thawing the Widow Masterlist

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Once they arrived at Natasha's apartment, Cat had to try hard to pretend not to be too impressed.

It had to be three times as large as Trevor's place. It was impeccably furnished and decorated, with lush sofas and pristine countertops. To Cat's delight, there were two fancy espresso machines— if you felt like making two cups at the same time, she guessed. The apartment was located in the richer part of the neighborhood. There was a sprawl of shops and diners across the street. It was clear that being an Avenger paid well.

The house had that fresh, new-house smell. She noticed there were no framed pictures in the apartment, or anything that could have revealed who the owner was. There were three bedrooms. In contrast to the rest of the apartment, the bedrooms were furnished very little. One of them was completely empty. The other two only had beds and drawers. One of them had a desk. There was barely anything in the fridge. Natasha only had plastic cups and utensils.

"I only stay here when I'm in the neighborhood," Natasha explained. "It's more of a safehouse. That's why it's so empty."

Cat was okay with the space. She liked having room to move. It was vastly different from Trevor's apartment, which had been cluttered with so many beer bottles that she could hardly walk from one side of a room to the other without stumbling over something.

Natasha gave her a key to the apartment, and told her, "If you lose it, you aren't getting another one."

Cat was allowed to choose a room; she chose the one with the desk. It took her roughly five minutes to unpack. The only things she still carried with her were basic living necessities and her stuffed rabbit, Rufus. She had a diverse collection of clothes, taken from homeless shelters and traded on the street. They fit her oddly, either oversized or undersized, and most of them were ripped or had holes in them.

The ill-fitting clothes didn't escape Natasha's notice. The second day, Cat woke up to find the closet bursting with a plethora of clothes. Leggings, T-shirts, tops, jeans, jackets, coats. She had no idea how Natasha had gotten her size, but all of them fit her perfectly. She was suddenly overwhelmed with a wave of gratitude. She didn't know if she could put it into words. But Natasha didn't bring it up, so neither did she.

As the days went by, Cat noticed new additions to the apartment. New pens and books appeared in her room. Chew toys and dog beds for Taco manifested in the living room. The fridge was always full. Sometimes Taco Bell would be waiting on the table when Cat got back. A couple of those cheesy mugs with funny one-liners sat next to the expensive wine bottles in the cupboards. And lastly, about five different brands of cereal in the pantry, including Fruit Loops. Yet, Natasha never said a word about it.

Despite what Natasha had said about only living there when she was in the neighborhood, she seemed to be at the apartment quite a lot. She was nearly always at the table in the morning, awake before the sun. She would be reading a book or scrolling through her phone, a pot of coffee steaming next to her. She always glared when Cat stole it to pour herself two mugfuls of coffee, muttering something about grubby coffee-addicted children.

Cat appreciated the tranquil peacefulness of the mornings. Back when she lived at Trevor's, mornings were the only time she had to herself. She'd never been great at the whole sleeping thing, either. It wasn't uncommon for her to be up at 3AM drinking coffee. When she'd been homeless, her sleep schedule had been all over the place.

However, Natasha's sleeping schedule seemed even more irregular. She often came back to the apartment at odd hours, or got up at midnight for a jog. Sometimes, they caught each other in the kitchen in the early hours and talked about nothing in particular. Natasha never asked her why she was up so late, or told her to go back to sleep. She did, however, make many comments that hinted at Cat's unhealthy sleeping habits, which Cat was content to ignore. Their conversations had a fair amount of rolling eyes and bickering.

Still, some days Cat walked into the kitchen in the morning and Natasha wasn't there. The woman never left a note or mentioned leaving. She'd come back after a few days. The most she'd been away was two weeks. Cat guessed that she was on some Avenger-related mission. She'd always come back looking a little tired, with bandages over fresh cuts and bruises.

Cat was good on her own. Cash was kept in a hidden drawer in the kitchen. Natasha had shown it to her the first week. She could get in and out of the apartment with her key. Over the next few weeks, she fell into a routine. She spent the days walking around the city, exploring new streets and shops. She took Taco to the park, went to the library to read, and was free to do whatever she pleased.

Overall, life was good. So good, that Cat had to routinely keep reminding herself to not get too comfortable. Still, it was hard when she had all the Fruit Loops and coffee she could ever want, a warm place to sleep, and the constant hunger in her stomach no longer intensified day by day.

But what if this whole plan didn't work out? Cat knew better than to think this was anything but a temporary arrangement. She had learned from making this mistake in various foster homes. One second, things were fine— then all of the sudden, BAM! She was back in the system because they decided she was too troublesome, too mouthy, too much to deal with. She got into too many fights, she was too hyper, she was mean to the other kids— Cat had heard it all. What if the same thing happened with Natasha? The questions lingered in her mind.

The first time Natasha had left for a mission, Cat had explored the entire apartment fully. She'd discovered not one but twenty-three different hiding places loaded with weapons, cash, fake passports, and random assortments. Cat didn't know why she was so surprised when she saw the guns. Of course the Black Widow would want to be protected in her own house. But the guns gave her an idea.

Just in case she had to live on the streets again, she needed something that would protect her. Cat took a gun from one of the hiding places and stashed it in her pillowcase. She'd read about that type of gun in the library and had studied the different diagrams. At night, she practiced taking it apart and putting it back together, then practiced turning the safety on and off. Sometimes she would aim it at nothing in particular, imagining those muggers who'd attacked her on the other end of it. She was reminded of how helpless she felt, how weak.

Briefly, that took her back to Trevor. She shut the memory down quick— she was getting better at that. Gripping the gun tightly, she decided that she never wanted to feel that helpless again.

But simply knowing how to hold the gun wasn't enough. One day, she confronted Natasha at breakfast.

"Teach me how to fight."

Natasha set down her fork. Her expression, as always, was unreadable. "Why?"

"Because I want to know how."

"Why do you want to know how?"

Cat didn't want to tell her the real reason why. She was quiet for a long time. "I just do."

Natasha was silent for a long moment. She seemed to see right through her. Cat shifted nervously.

"Okay."

Cat beamed, nearly springing out of her chair in glee. "Really?"

"However, I have two conditions."

Cat sat back down and crossed her arms, not liking the sound of that. "What are they?"

"One, stop stealing my guns."

Cat's heart stuttered in her chest. How the hell did she notice it was gone? There must've been at least thirty guns hidden around the apartment.

"I… don't know what you're talking about," she tried.

Natasha rolled her eyes. "Please. You're not as sneaky as you think you are. The walls are paper-thin. And I'm familiar with what assembling and disassembling a semi-automatic pistol sounds like."

"Okay, fine. Stealing guns— not an option. What about the knives?"

Natasha glared.

"Okay, fine. No knives either." Cat leaned back in the chair. "So what's the second condition?"

A gleam in Natasha's eye made Cat feel wary. "The second condition: If I teach you how to fight, you have to go to school."

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

And that was how Cat found herself waiting in front of the principal's office at a brand-new school, smack in the middle of the school year, waiting to be admitted into her first class.

Fun.

Natasha only agreed to teaching Cat how to fight after she completed her first day of school. It would be worth it, Cat reminded herself, when she was being taught how to punch a mugger in the face by the Black Widow herself.

When Cat saw the new backpack Natasha had chosen for her, she'd gotten second thoughts. Currenting lying next to her feet, it was no less hideous than her old one. This one was My Little Pony merchandise, a mortifying pink covered in sparkly bright pony decorations. Cat had an inkling that Natasha had done it on purpose— oh, who was she kidding? She'd definitely done it on purpose.

The room was painted a mild and disgusting shade of yellow. The walls were covered in posters with words. Cat amused herself by reading through them. NO BULLYING. Think big! Your only limit is your mind. One was covered with words like responsibility and respectful and happiness. Barf.

The secretaries' desk sat in front of the principal's office. There were two of them. One looked like she should've retired two decades ago. She moved with an agitating slowness only rivaled by the laziest sloth in the rainforest. She was squinting at her computer, frowning and muttering to herself. Cat was almost certain she was playing solitaire. The other secretary was gossiping on the phone to someone about Terry's latest squash patch and how they all looked like a bunch of deformed potatoes.

Taco hadn't been allowed on campus. She was so used to having her beagle around that without her, Cat felt like some part of her was missing. That, coupled with having to sit still at the chair made her antsy. Cat had never been a patient person. She checked the time on the clock for the second time that same minute. How was it possible that she'd only been waiting seven and a half minutes?

Cat was saved from her boredom by the door beside her chair swinging open. A dark haired boy sauntered in. Cat caught a glimpse of a self-satisfied expression on his face as he made his way to the secretaries' desk and slammed a pink slip of paper down on it with an unnecessary amount of force.

"Jesus!" the gossiping secretary cried.

The secretary playing solitaire showed no sign of acknowledging that anything had happened. She frowned and muttered to herself some more, clicking her mouse.

"Hi, Julie," the boy said.

"Please stop calling me Julie, Lance. I'm Mrs. Schroder."

"But it's your name. Can't I call you by your name?"

"Well it's unprofessional—"

"But I'm not a professional. I'm only a kid."

"That's not the point, Lance. Let me see that." She took the pink paper slip from him. "What've you done this time?" She read it and shook her head. "Take a seat next to Catalina, Lance."

Lance turned around and plopped down next to Cat. He looked at her. His eyes were weirdly bright and blue, a steep contrast to his dark hair.

"Hi," he whispered.

"Hi," Cat whispered back, unsure of why they were whispering.

"I haven't seen you before. You must be new."

Cat raised her eyebrows. "Just because you haven't seen me before doesn't mean I'm new. There are loads of people at this school."

"I know everyone here. I've been going here since kindergarten."

"Good for you."

He quirked an eyebrow at her. "But you are new, right?"

"Yes," Cat admitted.

"I knew it!"

"There's no need to sound so pleased with yourself. It's not like you made a groundbreaking discovery."

"I'm Lance, by the way. I'm in fourth grade." He reached his right hand over. Cat shifted in her seat, awkwardly positioning herself so she could shake his hand. "You're Catalina, right?"

"Just Cat for short. I'm also in fourth grade. Your hand's really cold."

He released her hand, looking a little embarrassed. "They're always that way. I have bad cir-cu-la-tion" he said, sounding the word out slowly. "But my mom always says I should shake people's hands when I meet them. She's weird."

My mom's dead, Cat nearly said, but deemed it a little too heavy for fourth grader conversational topics.

"So why do you listen to her?" she asked instead.

"I don't know. 'Cause she's my mom, I guess." His eyes moved down to the My Little Pony monstrosity. "Nice backpack."

"Not really. I know it's ugly. I didn't choose it."

"Did your mom choose it for you?"

"No," she said shortly. Before he could ask about it, Cat switched tracks quickly. "How'd you get in trouble?"

He grinned mischievously. "I dumped a bucket of paint over Chelsea's head. It got all over her hair. You should've seen her face." He crowed delightfully. "Mrs. Reynolds totally freaked out. It was hilarious."

She huffed, turning away from him. "Jerk."

"Hey," he protested. "I'm not a jerk!"

"Says the guy who poured a bucket of paint over some girl's head for no reason."

"First of all, it was Chelsea Manchester. If you knew that witch, you'd want to pour a bucket of paint over her head too. And it wasn't for no reason!"

"I bet it was for a stupid reason, then."

"It wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

"Was!"

"Wasn't!"

Their argument had risen in volume so that the secretary on the phone snapped, "HEY! You two! Quiet!"

Cat crossed her arms, throwing a skeptical look at him. "What was the reason, then?" she asked, quieter.

"She bet me I wouldn't," Lance said proudly.

Cat rolled her eyes. "See? Stupid reason."

Before Lance could retaliate, the principal's door swung open. He was an unsightly, pudgy man with no neck and squinty eyes, decked out in a full suit that probably didn't fit him as well as he hoped it would.

"Catalina?" he called.

"She likes being called Cat," Lance interjected. "I know that because I talked to her, Mr. Tater Tot."

"Wow," Cat said. "Is your name actually Mr. Tater Tot?"

"No," Mr. Tater Tot said crossly. "It's Mr. Tate. Lance, if you could refrain from passing your bad influence on our new students, I will be with you in a second. Catalina, come on in."

"It's Cat!" Lance called from his seat as Cat followed Mr. Tater Tot inside his office.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.

This is a way better punishment than skipping recess," Lance said later, as he was pointing out the bathrooms to her.

Mr. Tater Tot had told Lance that being the welcome wagon for Cat was his punishment for pouring paint over Chelsea Manchester. He also had to write the girl a formal apology letter.

"But it doesn't actually have to be an apology letter," Lance told Cat. "Mr. Tater Tot never actually reads the thing, 'cause he's so busy and all. Supposedly. So basically you can write stuff like I hope you find a dead rat in your cubby the next time we have recess and you're good to go."

"Oh, here's Mrs. Reynold's class," he said, leading her through a door.

The classroom was colorful and full of the same gag-worthy posters she'd seen in the principal's office. Desks were pushed together to create table groups. Mrs. Reynolds was a young twenty-something woman who didn't seem awful at doing her job. Only, she made Cat introduce herself in front of the entire class like they were in kindergarten.

"Say your name and your favorite color," Mrs. Reynolds encouraged her.

Cat told everyone her favorite color was gray. It wasn't, but she thought it was funny because who the hell liked gray, of all colors?

Mrs. Reynolds placed her in the same group as Lance, a boy wearing rectangular glasses, and a seething girl who looked like she'd taken a shower with all her clothes on. Her hair was dripping over the carpet and her skin was tinged blue. She had a delicate face and would've been pretty if she hadn't looked like a Smurf. Cat presumed this was Chelsea Manchester.

The boy wearing glasses looked relieved when Lance and Cat came over. "Oh good, you're back. She's been going on and on."

"You! Look what you did to me!" Chelsea shrieked at Lance. "Mrs. Reynolds! I don't want to sit near him!"

"Get along, you two," Mrs. Reynolds said airily, passing worksheets to everyone.

"That's T.J.," Lance introduced, pointing at the boy with the glasses, "and that's the wicked witch herself."

T.J. waved. "Hi."

"Do not listen to anything he tells you. Lance is a huge loser." Chelsea turned to Lance, shoving the blue sleeve of her white fluffy coat. "This was a beautiful titanium white before! Look what color it is now!"

"Now it's a nice titanium blue," Cat offered.

Chelsea frowned at her. "That doesn't even make sense!"

Mrs. Reynolds hurried over. "Catalina—"

"It's Cat," Lance corrected.

"Right— Cat, would you come over here?" Mrs. Reynolds beckoned her towards a sole desk isolated from the rest of the class, in the farthest corner. There was a small packet sitting on it, as well as a pencil and eraser. "This is just a standard test. You'll be quizzed on math or English. Don't worry if you haven't prepared for it. It's not graded, it's just for me to see where you're at academically. Try to get through as many problems as you can. I'm not expecting you to complete the whole thing, just try your best…"

Cat didn't think she'd have any problem with the test. She had studied to a high school level in the library. Math came easy to her. All it was was memorizing a bunch of rules and applying it to numbers. English was a little harder, but it was similar to math in the sense that it also had a set of rules to memorize.

After Mrs. Reynolds left her to teach the class, Cat quickly scanned the problems on the first page. Sure enough, all the problems on the first page were easy enough that she could do in her head. She flew through them, circling the correct answers. The second page was much of the same.

Cat flipped through the third, the fourth, the fifth, and the sixth pages with little to no difficulty. Surely it couldn't be this easy! She had spent so much time at the library, away from school, she'd forgotten how easy all the elementary school material was. By the time she reached the last page, Mrs. Reynolds still hadn't come to get her.

Cat sneaked a look up. The class was bent over their desks, scribbling on paper. The only sound was the occasional mutter from a student, immediately silenced by Mrs. Reynolds. Was Cat supposed to just… sit there? She flipped through the pages of the test packet again, making sure that she hadn't missed anything important that should have been consuming her time.

But she'd finished every single problem. She didn't bother checking her work; she knew she'd done it all correctly. When it came to math, she was like a calculator.

Unsure of what else to do, Cat settled for doodling on the margins of the test. She drew a spider, a pumpkin, a pumpkin eating a spider… She was so focused, she jumped when she heard Mrs. Reynold's voice next to her ear.

"I'm sorry, Cat. I'm so silly— I just realized I gave you the wrong test. That's the middle school curriculum. You must've been so confused!" Mrs. Reynolds took the packet from Cat and frowned. Eyebrows climbing up on her forehead, she flipped through the pages and looked back up at Cat again. Then back down at the test. Then—

"Have you finished the packet already?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't show your work," she observed.

"I did it in my head," Cat explained.

Mrs. Reynolds looked at Cat thoughtfully. "Hmm."

She hurried away with Cat's test, telling the class she was leaving for a little bit and to behave. Cat sat there for a long time, not knowing what to do and feeling like she did something wrong. The class was beginning to finish whatever it was they were working on. Quiet chatter turned into a clamor of voices.

Mrs. Reynolds burst into the classroom again, the chatter immediately calmed. She told T.J. to pass out another round of worksheets, causing the class to collectively groan. She returned to Cat's isolated corner desk and slid another packet to her and asked her to complete it.

This time, Mrs. Reynolds dragged a chair over and watched as Cat completed the test. Cat found it a little creepy. The test was a little harder than the previous one, but she was still able to finish it without any trouble. After she finished, Mrs. Reynolds left the classroom again and came back. Cat had no idea why Mrs. Reynolds looked so amazed and confused. Teachers were weird.

"Cat, this is incredible," Mrs. Reynolds whispered to her. "You completed a seventh grade level and an eighth grade level standardized test, and you passed both with flying colors."

Oh. No wonder it was so easy. Cat stared blankly at Mrs. Reynolds, who seemed to be waiting for a reaction. What was the big deal? "Um… cool," she said.

"Okay," Mrs. Reynolds said, still looking like she couldn't believe what she was saying. "You can go back to your table group now."

"Don't worry about the test," T.J. told her when she came back. "Everyone did horrible on it."

"Not me," Chelsea sniffed. "I did spectacularly. Mrs. Reynolds told my parents herself."

Lance snorted. "I suppose your parents were the ones who told you that?"

"Why does it matter?" Chelsea asked indignantly.

Lance rolled his eyes.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

"How was school?" Natasha called as Cat unlocked the apartment and stormed in. Taco sprung up from the couch and charged into her.

"Horrible. Not you, Taco," Cat mumbled into Taco's fur. "You're wonderful."

Natasha came into the living room, holding the landline. "That's not what your teacher said. She called— apparently you're some kind of genius."

Cat had reached into a box of Fruit Loops and stuffed a handful in her mouth. It took her a long time to chew and swallow. "Well, obviously. I didn't need her to tell me that."

"She says you could take some classes at the high school if you're interested." Natasha waited for an answer. When none came, she pressed, "Well? Are you interested?"

Cat set the box of Fruit Loops down, not liking the steely glint in Natasha's eyes. "If I say I'm not, are you going to refuse to teach me how to fight?"

"The chances of me using that as leverage against you… are very high."

Cat clenched her jaw. "You're evil. And manipulative."

Natasha smirked. "So you're on board?"

"I'm going to be bullied. Relentlessly."

"You are not. High schoolers love ten year old know-it-all geniuses."

"They do not."

"Then it's a good thing you're going to know how to beat some high schoolers up after you learn from the best. Isn't that what you want?"

Cat sighed theatrically, long and drawn-out. "Fiiiiine.”

"Great!" Natasha chirped with uncharacteristic cheer. "I was going to sign you up regardless of your answer."

"Thanks so much for bothering to ask me at all," Cat said sarcastically. She grabbed Taco's leash. "Taco and I are going on a walk. See you never."

"Midtown High!" Natasha called after her retreating form. "You're going to be learning amongst the best and brightest!"

Cat shouted back a not very nice thing. She could hear Natasha's low laugh echo before the door swung shut.

.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*.*

Notes: Hmm, who goes to midtown high that we know? Let me know what you think and if you like Cat's friends! See you on thursday!

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