#learn c sharp easily

[blueberrisdove-sideblog]

－； SQUIRTING FOR THE FIRST TIME ?!

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 paring : jing yuan, mydei, phainon, moze & sunday x f!reader

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 tws : nsfw/smut, reader is a hybrid kitty, creampie, chocking, cow-girl, doggy style, reader is implied to be chubby, Sunday is really mean in his part, Moze is gentle, hair pulling, reader licking jing yuans cheek, spanking, nipple play & hair pulling. /ᐠ > ˕ <マ

𓈒ㅤׂ 𝜗𝜚 note : art banner is by rororo_mg on X! also not proof read.

＠ 𝒥ℐ𝒩𝒢 𝒴𝒰𝒜���！

Jing Yuan had always known you were sensitive—his little kitty was always so easy to tease, so quick to melt under his touch. But tonight, he was learning just how sensitive you really were.

Your tail flicked wildly, ears twitching as he held you down, his cock stretching you open in a way that left you breathless. You were on your stomach, legs trembling as his hands gripped your hips, pulling you back onto his cock with slow, deep thrusts. He was deliberate, as always, testing your reactions, watching your body shiver beneath him.

“Mm, you’re soaking me,” he murmured, voice thick with amusement as he rolled his hips into you. His fingers slid down between your thighs, pressing against your clit in lazy circles, making you whimper. “Are you getting this worked up just from me fucking you?”

You nodded desperately, but that wasn’t enough for him. A sharp slap landed on your ass, making you jolt. “Use your words, little one.”

“Y-Yes! ‘S too much, Yuan—feels s’good!” you mewled, your hands clawing at the sheets, your back arching to push yourself closer to him.

Jing Yuan chuckled, leaning down, his breath warm against your ear. “Good. Let it take over, kitten.” His pace quickened, his thrusts growing rougher, deeper, until the wet sounds of your pussy filled the room.

And then—oh. Oh, something felt different. Your body tensed, a sudden, overwhelming pressure building low in your belly. It made your toes curl, your tail fluff up, your ears flatten as you gasped. “Y-Yuan, ‘m—s-something—”

He noticed immediately, his movements slowing just a little, teasing. “Something what, hm?”

You whined, shaking your head. You didn’t know what was happening—you just knew it was too much. “C-Can’t—gonna—!”

The coil snapped.

Your whole body jerked as the pressure burst, a wave of intense pleasure crashing through you. Heat flooded your core, and suddenly, you were gushing, clear liquid dripping down your thighs, soaking his cock, the sheets, everything.

Jing Yuan stilled for a moment, watching with wide, golden eyes as you squirted around him, your pussy pulsing erratically. And then, he groaned, a deep, satisfied sound, before fucking you through it, making you ride out every wave of your pleasure. “Ah, my little kitten is full of surprises,” he mused, voice teasing yet utterly proud.

You were trembling, panting, your body still twitching as you turned your head, eyes hazy. Instinctively, you leaned up and dragged your tongue over his cheek, nuzzling into him, a soft, dazed purr rumbling from your chest. ���Mm… Jing Yuan…”

His hand came up to pet your head, fingers running through your hair, soothing you even as he continued to thrust, chasing his own high. “So cute,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your temple. “But don’t think we’re done just yet, little one. Now that I know you can do that…”

He smirked.

“You’ll do it again for me, won’t you?”

＠ ℳ𝒴𝒟ℰℐℳ𝒪𝒮！

Mydei had always loved breaking you down—loved watching the way your body trembled under his touch, how easily you melted when he took control. And right now, you were a mess beneath him, arms weak as you tried to keep yourself up, plush thighs spread wide, your ass pressed against his hips as he fucked you from behind.

“You’re dripping all over me, pretty,” he rasped, voice thick with amusement. His hands gripped your plush hips, fingers digging into soft flesh as he dragged you back onto his cock, making you take every inch. “This needy already?”

Your tail flicked, ears twitching at the teasing lilt in his voice. You were panting, your body bouncing with each rough thrust, the lewd squelch of your soaked pussy filling the air. Your nipples tingled, heavy tits swaying with every movement, and then—smack!

A sharp gasp tore from your lips as Mydei’s hand landed on your chest, slapping your tits without warning. The sting sent a jolt straight to your clit, and you clenched around his cock, whining.

“Oh?” His chuckle was smug, fingers pinching your hardened nipples, rolling them between his fingers. “You like that, don’t you?” Another slap to your tit, then another, your sensitive skin left tingling, burning with pleasure. “Look at you, dripping even more just from this.”

You buried your face into the sheets, moaning helplessly as he played with your tits, tugging at your nipples while he kept fucking you, each thrust pushing you further into mindless bliss. His other hand snaked down between your thighs, rough fingers rubbing tight circles on your clit, making your body jolt.

“F-Fuck—” Your voice was shaky, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. Your thighs quivered, that familiar, overwhelming pressure building deep in your core. You couldn’t hold it back—you couldn’t.

Mydei knew it, too. He could feel the way your walls fluttered around him, the way your breath hitched, body tensing like you were about to snap. “Go on,” he murmured, lips brushing against your ear. “Let go for me, kitty.”

And you did.

Your back arched, mouth falling open as the pressure burst, liquid gushing from your pussy, soaking his cock, his hand, the sheets. Your vision blurred, pleasure crashing through you in waves, your body trembling under the force of it.

Mydei groaned, watching with dark, hungry eyes as you squirted all over him, his fingers still working your clit, dragging out every last bit of your orgasm. “So fucking messy,” he muttered, smirking as he gave your ass a sharp slap. “You gonna do that for me again?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was moving again, hips snapping forward, fucking you even harder.

“Good,” he murmured, voice full of wicked amusement. “I’m not done with you yet, kitty.”

Mydei didn’t give you time to recover. The moment your body slumped forward, spent and trembling from your orgasm, he yanked you back up, fingers tangling in your hair.

“Don't go all weak on me now, kitty,” he purred, wrapping your hair around his fist and tugging, forcing your back to arch. The sting sent a shiver down your spine, making your pussy clench around his cock, still stuffed deep inside you. “You can take more, can't you?”

You whimpered, barely able to form words, but that wasn’t the answer he wanted. His grip tightened, pulling your head back further, exposing your throat to him. “Say it.”

“Y-Yeah…” you gasped, voice breathy, needy. “I can—ah! I can take it!”

He chuckled, pleased, and rewarded you by rolling his hips deeper, his cock pressing against that sweet spot that had you seeing stars. His free hand slid up your body, over the curve of your plush belly, before wrapping around your throat, squeezing just enough to make your breath hitch.

The pressure was intoxicating. His fingers pressed into the sides of your neck, cutting off just enough air to make your head feel light, your body even more sensitive. The lack of oxygen made every thrust, every slap of his hips against your ass, ten times more intense. Your pussy clenched tighter around him, your thighs shaking as pleasure coiled deep inside you again.

“Mm, look at you,” Mydei murmured, his voice thick with amusement. His grip tightened just a little more, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear. “You get even tighter when I do this—such a filthy little thing.”

Your body was on fire, heat pooling in your belly, your clit throbbing as his cock dragged against your sweet spot over and over again. You could barely breathe, barely think—your world had narrowed down to him, to the rough grip in your hair, the hand around your throat, the brutal pace of his thrusts.

And then his fingers dipped down to your clit again, rubbing rough, messy circles over the sensitive bud, sending shockwaves of pleasure straight through you. Your moans were broken, choked, your body trembling uncontrollably as another orgasm rushed over you.

The moment the pressure burst, you gushed, a fresh wave of liquid squirting out of you, drenching his cock, the sheets, your thighs. Your body convulsed, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes as you cried out, overwhelmed.

“Fuck,” Mydei groaned, his own pace stuttering as he watched you fall apart again, utterly ruined. He let go of your throat, letting you gasp for air, but his grip on your hair didn’t loosen. If anything, he pulled even —even harder, forcing your back to arch impossibly deep as he chased his own high.

“You just keep making a mess, huh?” Mydei groaned, his voice thick with lust, watching the way your body twitched from overstimulation. His cock was still buried inside you, stretching your dripping pussy as you clenched around him. His grip in your hair was relentless, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, while his free hand delivered a sharp slap to your ass. “So fucking greedy, squirting all over me like a desperate little thing.”

You could barely breathe, could barely think—your whole body was trembling, your thighs quivering from how hard he was fucking you. Your head spun from the mix of pain and pleasure, from the lingering pressure around your throat, from the way his cock dragged against your sweet spot with every brutal thrust.

Your moans were wrecked, broken, tears threatening to spill down your flushed cheeks. But Mydei wasn’t done yet. He leaned in, his breath hot against your ear as he growled, “You’re not tapping out on me now, are you, kitty?”

You shook your head weakly, your voice coming out in a choked whimper. “N-No…”

“Good,” he murmured, his fingers slipping down to rub your swollen clit again, sending another sharp jolt of pleasure through you. “Then come for me one more time.

It wasn’t a request—it was an order. And your body obeyed, even as it burned from overstimulation. Your vision blurred, the pressure in your belly snapping again, your walls fluttering around him as another gush of slick dripped down your thighs.

“That's it,” Mydei groaned, his grip on your hair finally loosening as he slammed into you one last time, burying himself to the hilt. A deep growl tore from his throat as he came, filling you up with thick, hot spurts, his hips jerking against yours. He let out a satisfied sigh, his hands smoothing over your trembling body as he finally slowed.

You slumped forward, completely wrecked, panting as you tried to catch your breath. Mydei chuckled, trailing his fingers over your ass, down to your dripping cunt. “Messy thing,” he murmured, pushing his cum deeper with two fingers, making you whimper. “Hope you didn’t think we were done. I'm not letting you off that easy.”

Even as you trembled, spent and overstimulated, you knew you were in for a long night.

＠ 𝒫ℋ𝒜ℐ𝒩𝒪𝒩！

Phainon's hands gripped your plush thighs tightly, guiding you as you bounced on his cock. His sharp blue eyes were locked onto you, drinking in the way your tits jiggled with every movement, the way your soft stomach tensed when he thrust up into you.

“You look perfect like this,” he murmured, voice thick with desire. His hands pressed into your skin, not enough to hurt but enough to remind you who was in control. “Taking me so well, riding me like you were made for it.”

Your thighs burned, but the pleasure outweighed everything. His cock stretched you so deep, rubbing against that perfect spot with every bounce, sending electric jolts of pleasure straight to your core. Your hands clutched his chest for support, fingers digging into the smooth, otherworldly skin as you whimpered.

Phainon groaned, tilting his head back as your walls fluttered around him, sucking him in greedily. “You're so fucking wet,” he muttered, one hand sliding up to grab your tits, squeezing roughly before flicking your sensitive nipples. “Look at this—“ His other hand dipped between your thighs, fingers rubbing fast, messy circles on your clit.

A sharp cry left your lips, your body jerking at the overwhelming sensation. “P-Phai—!”

He smirked at your desperation, fingers never slowing. “You gonna come for me, pretty thing?” His hips snapped up, thrusting deeper just as he pinched your nipple, pushing you right over the edge.

Your body tensed, back arching as your orgasm crashed over you, your pussy clamping down around his cock. Your vision blurred, breath hitching as pleasure consumed you. But Phainon didn't stop—he kept fucking into you, riding out your high, dragging you into overstimulation.

“That's it,” he growled, watching as you trembled, your juices dripping down onto his thighs. “You're milking me so fucking good—” His grip on your hips tightened, holding you down as he thrust up one last time, burying himself deep inside.

A low groan rumbled from his chest as he came, filling you up with thick, hot spurts. His claws pressed into your skin as he held you there, making sure you took everything, making sure his cum stayed deep inside.

Your body slumped forward, completely spent, forehead resting against his shoulder as you panted. Phainon chuckled, pressing a kiss against your temple. “Not done yet, sweet thing,” he murmured, rolling his hips just enough to make you whimper. “You can give me another, can't you?”

Even as exhaustion weighed on you, you knew there was no escaping him—not when he still wanted more.

＠ ℳ𝒪𝒵ℰ！

Moze's hands were gentle as they rested on your hips, guiding you down on his cock slowly, making sure you were comfortable. His purple eyes stayed on you, calm but filled with something deeper, something hungry.

“You’re doing so good, sweetheart,” he whispered, his voice soft but thick with desire. “Take your time, yeah?”

You nodded, breath shaky as you slowly sank all the way down, feeling his cock fill you up. It stretched you in all the right ways, and you could feel your pussy clenching around him, warm and tight.

“Feels s’ good,” you gasped, your hips lifting, starting to ride him, moving up and down at your own pace.

Moze groaned softly, his hands on your waist, guiding you just enough. “So tight, so perfect for me,” he murmured, leaning down to kiss your shoulder, his thumb rubbing circles on your skin, as his purple eyes stared at you.

His movements were slow, controlled, making you feel every inch of him as he slid in and out. Your pussy tightened around him with each thrust, and you couldn’t help but moan louder, the pleasure building up inside you.

“Ah... Moze,” you gasped, your hands gripping his shoulders as your pace picked up. “S’ good.”

Moze’s breath hitched as you started bouncing faster, his hands tightening on your hips. “You’re beautiful like this,” he murmured, his eyes darkening. His hands slid up to your chest, fingers brushing over your soft tits before gently squeezing. “Sensitive, huh?”

You whimpered, biting your lip as your body trembled. “Mm-hm,” you mumbled, not able to form much more than that. The pressure in your stomach was building fast.

Moze let out a low growl, his cock pushing deeper, his thrusts getting a little harder, a little more urgent. “Come on, sweetheart. Let go for me.”

And that’s when it hit—your body clenched tightly around him, and you squirted, liquid rushing out of you as your walls spasmed. You cried out, your back arching as the orgasm washed over you.

Moze's eyes widened, shocked by how you gushed all over him. “Fuck, sweetheart...” He panted, unable to hide the surprise in his voice. “You— you did that for me?”

His thrusts slowed, but his hands were still tight on your waist, making sure he stayed buried deep inside as he let you ride out the aftershocks.

You nodded, breathless and flushed. “Y-Yeah... all for you.”

Moze chuckled softly, his hand brushing your hair out of your face. “You’re perfect,” he murmured, pulling you close. “You’re amazing.”

His gentle touch made your heart race, and you melted into his arms, your body still trembling from the aftereffects. Moze kissed your forehead, holding you close, his hands soothing as he waited for you to recover.

Moze held you close, his gentle touch still grounding you as the aftershocks of your orgasm faded. You were still panting, your breath coming out in soft, shaky bursts, but the feeling of his arms around you, holding you tight, calmed the storm inside you.

“You're okay, sweetheart,” he whispered, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his voice soothing. "You did so well.” he smiled softly, while gently scratching your fluffy ears.

You nodded, still too dazed to form many words, but the look in his eyes told you everything you needed to know. He was proud of you, and you were feeling that warmth inside you, deep down.

“Moze...” you murmured, lifting your head slightly to look at him. “I— I didn't know I could... do that.” You were still catching your breath, but there was a hint of embarrassment in your voice.

He smiled softly, his hand caressing your cheek. “You’re perfect, sweetheart. Never be embarrassed. You made me proud, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.” His fingers trailed down to your collarbone, slowly making their way to your chest, his touch so gentle, so tender.

You melted into his touch, feeling his warmth seep into you. It was calming, reassuring. Moze had a way of making you feel safe, loved, as if everything was okay. Even after everything, even after the intensity, he was right there, still gentle, still caring.

“You wanna keep going?” he asked, his voice low, but not pressuring. “I don’t wanna rush you, but if you’re ready... I can take care of you some more.”

You nodded, your confidence returning slowly, your hands now gripping his shoulders as you looked down at him. “Yeah, I want to... I want you.”

Moze chuckled softly, his hands moving back to your hips, guiding you gently as he helped you lift up before slowly lowering you back down onto him, taking his time to make sure everything felt just right. His cock slid in easily, the mix of his cum and your wetness making it feel even more intense.

“You're so good to me,” you whispered, your voice shaky but filled with need as you started moving again, the pleasure slowly building up again. “I... I want more.”

Moze groaned, his hands firmly on your hips, but his movements were controlled, never forcing, just helping you find your rhythm as you rode him. “You’re so perfect,” he murmured, his eyes fixed on you, taking in every move, every twitch, as if you were the most precious thing in the world to him. “Let go, sweetheart. I’m right here.”

With every thrust, every motion, the pleasure grew again, and you couldn’t stop yourself. It was like you were on fire, your body craving more, wanting to feel everything.

And when you came again, your body trembled, your voice breaking as you gasped, Moze groaned in response, his grip tightening as he let out a low, satisfied growl, filling you once more.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered against your skin, his lips brushing over your shoulder. “You’re amazing, sweetheart. I love you.”

You smiled softly, your body still humming from the aftershocks of your orgasm. “I love you too, Moze.”

You stayed in each other’s arms for a long time after, savoring the quiet intimacy, the connection that felt like it could last forever.

＠ 𝒮𝒰𝒩𝒟𝒜𝒴！

Your face was hot, burning from the mix of pleasure and humiliation, but Sunday didn’t care. He never did. The way he handled you—like you were nothing more than a desperate, needy thing beneath him—only made the coil in your stomach tighten.

“Such a filthy little kitten,” he sneered, one hand tangled in your curls, yanking your head back so you couldn’t escape his gaze. His other hand cracked down against your ass, making you jolt, a whimper breaking past your swollen lips. “Think you deserve to be treated nice? After making all these messes on me?”

You barely had the chance to answer before he spanked you again, harder this time, the sting spreading through your body in sharp, electric pulses. Your tail flicked wildly, ears twitching as you squirmed beneath him.

“P-please,” you gasped, voice breaking as another hit landed.

Sunday only chuckled, deep and cruel, his gloved fingers trailing down to where you were soaked, dripping against him. He tsked. “Begging like you got any right to. You’re already so ruined, kitten. Just look at you.”

You couldn’t. Your head was spinning, body trembling from the way he forced you down, made you take every ruthless movement, every sharp pull and teasing squeeze against your throat. His grip tightened just enough to steal your breath, his lips ghosting over your ear. His cock thrusting deep into your pussy.

“What is it, huh?” he murmured, mockingly sweet. “Is it too much? Or do you like being used like this?”

You barely managed a whine, but something about the way he touched you, the way he bullied your body into submission, your walls clenching around his thick cock, had you unraveling faster than ever before. The pressure inside you coiled unbearably tight, different from any other time—hotter, messier, overwhelming.

“S-Sunday,” you gasped, your fingers clawing at the sheets, your hips stuttering as a wave of heat built impossibly high. “S’ somethin’—feels—”

Sunday clicked his tongue, unimpressed. “Use your words, kitten.”

“C-can’t,” you slurred, barely able to think. “‘S too much—!”

And then it snapped.

The pleasure crashed into you, ripping through your body like a live wire. Your vision blurred as a helpless cry spilled from your lips, and before you could even process it, you were gushing, soaking everything beneath you. It was messy, uncontrollable, unlike anything you’d ever felt before.

Sunday froze. Just for a second. Then his sharp, breathy laughter filled the air, laced with something dark and thrilled.

“Well, well,” he mused, his grip on your hair tightening as he forced you to face the soaked sheets beneath you. “Didn’t know my little pet could do that.” His free hand slid down, fingers swiping through the evidence of your shame before delivering another sharp slap against your ass, making you yelp. “You’re so fucking desperate, you don’t even know what your own body can do, huh?”

Tears pricked at your eyes, your body still trembling, too overstimulated to think straight. You tried to bury your face in the sheets, but Sunday wasn’t having it.

“Nuh-uh. No hiding from me now,” he growled, his palm cracking against your skin once more, sending another jolt of pleasure straight through your core. “You made a mess, kitten. You better get ready to clean it up.”

You were still shaking, thighs twitching from the aftershocks, but Sunday didn’t let up. If anything, your mess only seemed to amuse him more.

“Didn’t even know you could do that, huh?” he taunted, fingers trailing down to press against the soaked sheets beneath you before dragging them back up along your trembling thighs. “Poor, dumb kitten. What, did you think I’d let you off easy just ‘cause you made a mess?”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he was pushing you back down, forcing your body to take everything he gave you. His cock throbbed against you, still buried deep, still relentless as he picked up his pace again, making you jolt with every sharp movement.

“N-no—can’t—” you whimpered, but Sunday only laughed, his grip tightening around your throat as he shoved your face into the soaked sheets.

“Don’t tell me you’re already givin’ up,” he mocked, voice dripping with condescension. “You wanted this, didn’t you? So take it.”

A choked gasp was all you managed, your body burning from the overstimulation, every nerve alight with the lingering aftershocks of what he’d forced out of you. It was too much—too sensitive—but Sunday didn’t care. He grinned at the way your body trembled, at the way you tried and failed to push against his grip.

“Look at you,” he murmured, leaning down until his lips brushed against the shell of your ear. “So fuckin’ desperate. So messy. You really are just my stupid little pet, huh?”

His hand slid down, past your stomach, fingers toying with your sensitive clit in cruel little circles, sending another helpless shudder through your body. You sobbed against the sheets, hips jerking involuntarily as the sensation sent another wave of unbearable heat through you.

Sunday only smirked. “What’s wrong? Too much for you?” His hips snapped forward, making you cry out. “Too bad, kitten. We’re not done until I say we are.”

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[nanamiskentos]

CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right?

what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. secondary love interest in the form of a random oc, jjk lore being mildly twisted, history around the world, in-jujutsu universe (not an au), gojo going feral and batshit bonkers, rough séx, créampíe, INSANE glass-shattering jealousy, hate séx but only a bit, brééding, oràl (f. receiving). enemies to lovers, former friends, PLOT AND WORLD BUILDING BTW this isn't pẃp, éxhibitionísm, mirror séx, overstímulàtion, bratty reader but with a reason to be a hater, working together on a mission, mentions of alcohol and the crime underworld, DEFINITELY a bit dark because reader goes through emotional whiplash, descriptions of a fight and heavy injury, biting because i always somehow write gojo as a vampire type of freak?? the PRIME example of the miscommunication tropes and a case where neither person is in the right...nuance is your friend here, fake bodyguard!gojo, reader wears a dress + makeup for a formal event, angst, hurt, lashing out, some comfort and fluff

excerpt: part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

word count. 22k!!!!!!! AURKAY!! song inspiration. cream soda — exo, is there someone else — the weeknd

a/n. spent way too long trying to learn ps for the header 😭 wrote this only because of the new grey suit gojo art <3 there's a secondary love interest in this for the ✨ plot ✨ but he's just a character i made up for this story. i would have used one of the other jjk men but it would made it into an au that i didn't feel like expanding on 😭

mp3.. feel that tinglin', that silky smooth cream, each swirl deepens the flavor, babe. baby, go dumb dumb!

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your fluttering pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

wait. you need to pause this tape, and do a little rewind.

how did you end up here, getting finger-fucked in a luxury five star suite? by the one man on earth that you swore that you could never stand?

(earlier that day)

the chandeliers had been shimmering overhead like stars, each fine crystal caught the golden light and scattered it across the grand lobby, and it was making your eyes flare and twitch.

this entire hotel felt frozen in time, some opulent relic of the roaring twenties, translated straight into tokyo's beating heart.

it was all so...pristine, and gaudy. and even the air carried that faint scent of hefty chanel no.5 and furniture polish.

but hey, this cheque wasn't coming out of your pocket, so who were you to complain?

that's how you rationalised it to yourself, right after a smartly-dressed waiter had floated past with a tray of shimmering champagne, one that you had easily helped yourself to.

ah, fuck it.

let the bill rack up on yaga's card. the least he could do after volunteering you to the higher ups for this mission.

a thick folder rested in your lap, clipped papers inside threatening to spill over from the sheer volume of information, that made your head spin.

of course, it was all courtesy of the jujutsu administration's obsession with drowning sorcerers in needless bureaucracy. and so you leafed through it idly, your thumb skimming over the crisp edges.

names, places, dates, all laid out in haphazard detail.

what a mess, it was a lot, but not enough to fill in the gaps that gnawed at you. the higher ups never gave you everything, fuck, they hated making it easy. still, your eyes caught onto key phrases.

urgent recall of cursed object. yes, that's why you were here. and not enjoying your saturday afternoon at home.

declaration of most expenses covered, in the instances of losing a limb. fair enough, insurance was honestly hell these days.

gain access to the auction being held by the voiceless. find their leader, naoki sato.

you knew of the voiceless, most higher grade jujutsu sorcerers did. a crime syndicate so shrouded in mystery. operating overseas for decades without so much as a cloudy whisper to the general public.

you made an unimpressed face as you kept reading, crinkling sheets under your fingers. smuggling, extortion, and a great deal of unexplained murders that would leave the cast of criminal minds scratching their heads.

how tasteless. still, you weren't the law, each to their own.

however, something made this case different. it made it your apparent problem.

for the voiceless were not your usual ragtag team of ruffian criminals, intent on scamming the vulnerable and sad.

their ranks comprised of wayward jujutsu sorcerers, with a hearty appetite for special artefacts, including cursed objects.

and now here they were, back on tokyo's soil, their hands covered with more than just the regular mundane crimes that could land a man behind bars for life.

you shifted in the plush, sinking seat. flipped to a page that had been practically painted in the most unforgiving shade of neon yellow highlighter.

ah, so this was the cursed object. raijin's amulet.

there was a grainy, slightly off-centre photograph clipped to the top of the document. the image was not much to look out, all washed colours and shadows that clearly didn't speak highly of the skills of whoever was behind the camera.

a circular pendant, a darkened forged creation of bronze and jade, covered in the soot of the ages gone by. spiralled with intricate carvings that reminded you of swirling storm clouds on a summer's evening.

and at it's centre sat a jagged shard of some precious golden stone, rough-hewn at the edges.

you were certain that this was the cause behind the distorted photography, for a modern camera was simply just not meant to capture such high levels of cursed energy.

there was even a faint shape of a dragon coiled around the pendant's edges, with its claws gripping the frame as if guarding it...or imprisoning it.

you weren't sure which. you're not sure you wanted to know which.

the accompanying notes were sparse, filled with frustrated gaps that left you squinting.

believed to be an ancient relic of the heian era. captured from the treasure hoard of the early medieval sorcerer, ryōmen sukuna, after his death.

huh, you hadn't heard that name since your school-days, back when you had poured over fraying history tomes, trying to pen the perfect essay to beat out suguru's flawless grades.

said to be imbued with the power of the lightning deity, raijin. capable of summoning and manipulating thunder, and disrupting various veils and curtains. last known location: the british museum, 1982. current location: unconfirmed.

clearly not an artefact meant to sit behind public museum glass.

dangerous in the wrong hands, and priceless in the hands of all. this must have been at least leagues above your current pay grade.

your thumb hovered over the corner of the page, bruising the white paper underneath as you scanned over the rest of the text, hoping and looking for a section that would be titled: and here's how to track raijin's amulet down and find it, with no bloodshed, and just in time for dinner!

no such luck.

"figures," you muttered under your breath, shoving the folder shut with a disgusted sigh.

this entire mission reeked of playing politics. for years, the voiceless had operated under the radar of other nations, disguising the tell-tale jujutsu as unexplained natural disasters and accidents.

there had been no intervention. they had been untouchable because no-one had the foreign jurisdiction, nor the guts to intervene.

but now, with the voiceless back on home soil, it seemed the higher ups wanted to make a statement. something like 'hey, we're actually useful at our jobs of protecting the jujutsu world!' and who better to clean up their mess than you and...

gojo satoru.

speak of the devil. you glanced up towards the grand entrance of the hotel lobby, as an unfortunate doorman stood by revolving, glass doors.

your...partner strode in, with dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and you scrunched your nose, taking in his appearance.

despite gojo's striking features that could render anyone speechless, he always looked like an odd bird of prey to you.

hawkish with creepy eyes, like a big snowy owl that had been hit by a curse, transforming him and forcing him to assimilate into the world of humans.

"i wasn't sure if you would come," you called, hoping that you masked the bitterness well that he had arrived, and significantly decreased the quality of your day.

"you wouldn't say that in bed," was gojo's snarky, automated reply, before he gave you a mildly embarrassed look, as if his immature mouth moved faster than his common sense did.

"still, sorry to keep you waiting," and gojo was crushing the heel of his boot into the cream marble of the floor, tapping it, all ridiculously long legs in the same uniform dress pants that you also donned, "traffic was hell."

"you don't even have a license," you grouched with a glare that you hoped was sharp enough to cleave time and space, but you stood up all the same, "and i wasn't waiting, i was working."

click! click!

gojo snapped his fingers, reaching for the folder stacked in your arms, "yes, of course you were, sweets," and he clicked his tongue, "now, why don't you hand that to me, and go check us in? i can look over what i need to do, let's get this done before night falls."

the audacity. the absolute nerve. how so typically gojo. swooping in at the last minute for kill shot, as usual, while others poured through all the paperwork, and did all the mental heavy lifting.

"you mean what we need to do, gojo," you snapped, your scowl deepening, "you're the late one. you go check us in."

gojo arched a pale brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wished he could just unwalk through those doors now, caught between amusement and exasperation. "you used to be so nice. what happened?"

"tsk! i think you happened, gojo. didn't ask to be stuck here with you."

"ah, so you do think about me, at least. but now you're jus' so difficult all the time."

"fuck off, i'm not difficult!" you shot back, before shrinking at the foul look that an elderly couple had directed your way, muttering something about how youth just didn't know how to act indoors, "i'm just saying it's not fair -"

"fine, whatever. don't care, sweets," gojo interrupted, already rolling big, blue eyes and turning away, "i'll go do it. you just stay nice and comfortable here."

and just like that, after comfortably raising your blood pressure (and heart rate), gojo satoru strode off towards the vast front desk, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, as though the two of you weren't on the clock to hunt down and find a dangerous criminal, his syndicate and a cursed object.

you trailed behind him, resisting the violent urge to grab his stupid sunglasses and fling them across the lobby. or stomp on them.

or just sit on them.

meanwhile, your eyes landed on the last and final page of the file, where a bright pink sticky note stood out sharply against the dull black and white of the case file.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

the words were scrawled in thick, impatient strokes of a black marker. the kind that spoke more of efficiency, than humanity.

typical. there was just nothing that higher ups of the jujutsu world loved more than lopping the head off anyone that they deemed inconvenient. quick, clean and final.

still, this decision wasn't your business, not really.

you looked up to see gojo casually leaning against the counter, and his entire demeanour radiated smooth confidence as he spoke to the receptionist.

the sweet-looking woman had fumbled her worlds almost immediately, and she had dropped her pen twice. and he had caught it with an easy smile and wink that would have made you roll your eyes clean out of your skull.

you wanted to gag.

in less than a minute, gojo had the black keycard in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like some trophy as he sauntered towards the elevators.

you sighed as he stopped in front of you, extending the card with a flourish, like a knight presenting a courtier with a wreath of fresh-cut flowers.

"we're here for a mission, gojo. not to get it wet."

the tips of his ears flushed a bright, vibrant red. but his grin didn't falter as he huffed, and snatched the keycard back. leaving your arm floundering in the air before you dropped it.

"how crude. that's not even what i asked her. but still, you're welcome, sweets," he had said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated stretch of his arm.

"i didn't say thank you."

gojo smiled, tilting his head in that distracting, no. what? in that irritating manner of his, "no need. i could feel the gratitude radiating off you," and he's crossing his arms against his broad chest in a way that made the tailored uniform seem unfairly snug, "warms my heart."

"what if you don't have a heart?

for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed in gojo's eyes, irritation easily — but something unrecognisable, but he must have smoothed it away with practised ease. for that same cocky grin returned like clockwork, infuriatingly charming and just as insincere.

"what if it only beats for you?" he shot back, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and the motion was so over-the-top that it leaned closer to sleazy than heartstopping.

"now i'm worried, you need to get shoko to check that out. sounds like a serious health issue."

"your tender concern for my well-being is what keeps my blood pumping," and you know that gojo has little regard for the personal space for others, the way that the distance between you is closing once more, in a way that makes your own pulse flicker.

"please," and you take a deliberate step back to reclaim your own space, "if i wanted you gone, i wouldn't waste my time hoping for a heart attack. i'd do it myself."

gojo shrugs, tilting his head like you had just told him a sweet joke, "you're cute when you're homicidal, y'know that?"

"and you're insufferable all the time. we all have our talents."

gojo's barked out a laugh, and the sound is annoyingly genuine. it has you grinding your teeth together, making your jaw tight.

"hey, gojo," you swivel back to the towering bean-pole behind you, leaning against a steel bar.

"mhm, what?"

"i'll give you a hundred thousand yen if you keep your mouth shut during the entire elevator ride," you mutter, staring at the ground floor map, and up to where your suite was meant to be, hands fiddling over the buttons.

"deal."

you glance back, "that easy? clan money running low, gojo?"

gojo sighs, shaking his (ridiculous) snow-cone hair, "you have no idea. spent it all on a sweet talkin' girl who kicked me to the curb. even took the dog with her. who takes the fucking dog?"

despite yourself and your iron-clad resolution to not validate gojo satoru in anything, you snort, the first genuine laugh he's pulled out of you.

you choose not to notice how his eyes suddenly seem a shade brighter, as you snicker, "you're so ridiculous."

he doesn't reply as you press an index finger into the cool metal of the elevator button, and you turn around to see him sadly miming out his broke plight, with a sack of imaginary things over his shoulder, jingling the few coins he has.

tsk. you bite your lip to stop the corners of your lips lifting up to match gojo's own, wrinkling your nose in faux distaste as you spin back around, with gritted teeth. away from the mild bane of your existence.

true to his word, and shockingly so, gojo stayed silent through the elevator ride. mostly.

you caught his restless sighs, the shuffle of his ridiculously polished boots, and the occasional sharp intake of breath like he was simply dying to say something, but kept biting it back.

good. for once, it was nice to make gojo satoru stew.

the elevator dinged, and you had already stepped out, planning to ditch him in the suite, but clearly, gojo had other ideas.

"alright, sweets," he said, hand extended, "i won the bet. hundred thousand yen, i can take a cheque too."

you stopped short, glaring at his outstretched (sculpted) hand.

"right now? just as we're gonna plan how to catch a criminal? can't we do a pay later type of thing?"

gojo's responding grin was wolfish, and his voice dropped enough to make you bristle, "sure. pay later, with a kiss."

your groan must have echoed down the hall, and without thinking, you shoved past him. your shoulder colliding with his chest in a way that was deeply satisfying.

"my kisses," you snapped, refusing to look back at him, "are worth way more than a hundred thousand yen."

gojo didn't reply immediately, no. and for a second, you thought had finally managed to shut him up enough for a moment's peace to gather the thoughts that the white-haired man always managed to unravel.

but when you dared to glance back over your shoulder, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, and his lips were pressed together oddly — the faintest dusting of cherry pink peeking out underneath his sunglasses, and falling over his cheeks.

nary a peep from gojo then, save for him rushing past you to slot the keycard into the door. but holy fuck, the sheer luxury of this suite almost made you forget that gojo satoru even existed.

sleek dark woods, glowing orange accents, and a massive window that offered a panoramic view of tokyo's skyline. and then, there was the bed.

ridiculous in its decadence. a king-sized masterpiece, draped in plush linens that looked softer than the clouds dotting the afternoon sky. framed by polished ebony bedposts that gleamed in the warm light of the suite. the mattress was practically calling out to you, to sink your back into it.

wait, where was the other bed?

"nope! absolutely not," you blurted, spinning on your heel to face gojo who had sauntered in after you, pausing mid-step and clearly, equally caught off-guard with a stunned expression on his face — before morphing into something maddeningly smug.

"what?" gojo said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it's a bed. you've seen one before, right?"

you tried to speak in a way that wouldn't quite make it show that you felt like your tongue was lead, jabbing a finger at the bed as though it had personally offended you, "there's only one!"

gojo's lips quirked upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of amusement and mischief, most likely derived from your displeasure, "now look at that, we can count to ten. baby steps."

"don't start with me," you snapped, "i'm not crashing out there. i'd rather sleep in the hallway."

gojo tilted his head, the white tufts of his hair falling around his face, as though he were considering the suggestion seriously, "not sure the hotel staff would appreciate you loitering in their five-star corridors. won't stop you though, sweets."

"you can sleep on the couch," you try to offer helpfully, relishing in how it's his turn to scowl at you.

gojo's glancing towards the sleek leather sofa in the corner, most likely worth more than your monthly rent, "tempting," he drawls, "but i don't think that thing was designed for someone with legs this long," and he's slapping his hands on his thighs, and you do your very best to not track your stare down.

"then curl up like the overgrown house cat you are -"

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

"i'm liking these options less and less."

but then gojo straightens, and you're starting to see a small tick reach to the corner of his bright eyes, the faintest hint of irritation seeping through his drawl, "you know, for someone so desperate to avoid me, you spend a lot of time wondering where i'm gonna sleep."

you hate the traitorous flush heating up your face, "i'm thinking about it because you're my problem."

"well i hope i'm at least your favourite problem," gojo murmurs, brushing past you to toss his dark bag onto the bed.

"so, what's it gonna be?" gojo's voice was a lazy purr, patting the mattress beside him with a grin that could have launched a thousand arguments, "join me, or keep fighting a losing battle? because -" he faked a yawn, "i think i'm starting to get a bit sleepy."

"sleepy? you're a grown man, and it's barely three in the afternoon."

gojo arches a pale brow, and you have to force yourself to stop staring at the pink curve of his lips, "and? scared you won't be able to resist me in the middle of the night?"

"you should be scared you'll wake up with a pillow smothering your face."

gojo sighs, melodramatic and loud, rolling over onto his back, "i'd rather be smothered by -"

"gojo!"

his laugh is low and rich, and it vibrates in the air in a way that make your teeth itch, and your eyes roll, desparate to change the subject and actually get back on track.

you shove the hefty file in his direction, letting him flounder to grab a hold of it, "last page. naoki sato."

gojo's entire demeanor shifts, and falls under the mention of the name, eyes a touch darker, and suddenly serious in a way that almost makes you regret being on the clock. but he's pushed himself up from the bed, his legs dangling off the edge.

"what about him?"

you frowned, still turning over the situation in your mind, "well, he's supposedly working out of this district right, i mean, even this hotel? but why? i always thought crime bosses had creepy lairs in dark alleyways or something. and not," you gesture to the five-star architecture around you, "this."

gojo's broad shoulders shrug in that lazy way of his, like everything was beneath him, but there was something else flickering behind his perched sunglasses, "i've never even met him. just heard of him," but gojo seems to be chewing each word, as if choosing them carefully, "but what i've heard? not your typical criminal? he flies high, lives the wild life out in the open, rich and shameless."

you privately held back any biting comment that came to you as easy as breathing, about gojo also being the epitome of rich...and shameless. time and place, yeah?

gojo, thank the lucky stars, had not noticed you fighting demons to keep a straight face, "but then every so often sato vanishes off the radar, and then, bam!" your partner splayed his fingers, "he strikes again. always showing in a different place. the united states, france, england, egypt..."

you raise an eyebrow, tapping at your phone, "egypt?"

"egyptian artefacts are ridiculously powerful, sweets. i mean, on a whole other level. they aren't linked with y'know...jujutsu," he gestures vaguely between the two of you, "but whatever they've got is ancient and ridiculously potent. last the higher ups heard, naoki sato managed to get his hands on an old obelisk."

you shake your head at the prospect, humouring gojo, "whatever for?"

"whatever twisted things he does in his free time, fuck if i know. but of course, he couldn't control it. instead, it summoned the spirit of a massive serpent, killed a bunch of innocent civilians."

you have the faintest collection of the mythos surrounding an ancient serpent, and the thought makes you shudder, "wouldn't the local authorities have arrested him for that?"

gojo pushes his sunglasses up his head, so you're now looking back at unblinking blue eyes ringed by white lashes, "how do you arrest a guy who's practically a ghost? they couldn't even find him after all that shit. besides, his technique is something else. enhance. practically has control over every cell in your body."

you nod slowly, hoping that you're piercing it all together correctly, "so this auction is because he's got more of these artefacts? like raijin's amulet?"

gojo nods sharply, and you're struck by the intensity of big blue eyes with whorls of storm clouds lingering between his gaze, "i guess even villainous criminals want to make profit. but we can get a front row seat to whatever he's planning next."

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

your frown deepens, "how the fuck does an entire auction stay hidden from the public?"

after all, you had scoured the floorplan of this hotel from base to rooftop, and not a single room or corner would accomodate naoki sato, and the voiceless that follow him.

gojo shrugs with infuriating nonchalance, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the bed, "there's jujutsu that can create entire illusions. beneath this very hotel lies an entrance to a hidden ballroom, but it's been in and out of use for decades. we jus' need to slip in, find sato, and maybe shake him a few times until he spills the amulet's location."

you cross your arms, and the unfortunate truth lingers on your tongue, "if it were that easy, the higher ups wouldn't have sent you with me as backup."

"was that a compliment for me? careful, you might actually start liking me now."

and at your affronted expression, laugher is spilling out gojo satoru, sharp and cocky and awfully infectious.

you hated the sound, not because it wasn't nice, but because it was. too rich, too easy. the kind of laugh, from the strongest sorcerer to walk the earth, that made you wonder if ever took a damn thing seriously. with the unfortunate side effect of questioning why it was so annoyingly attractive at the same time.

nobody should get to look that good while being such an unbearable ass. it was unfortunate, you thought grimly, how much you liked seeing him laugh though.

"i don't think i'd ever like you at all, gojo."

but alas, the world has a cruel way of making you wish that the earth swallowed you whole. and your heart and mind certainly aren't on speaking terms with each other to coordinate properly. for the barb flies out of your mouth like an uncontrolled reflex, a rogue arrow hitting its mark.

and you're left grimacing as gojo's smile stills. not vanishing completely, but frozen while something cooler and sharper slips into his gaze. the awkward silence that follows is loud enough to make you wince and pray that a lightning bolt strikes you down right now.

gojo gives a quiet cough, and you're wondering just how much of his nonchalant facade he has left intact. fuck, you were a bit of an ass yourself.

"ah, gojo. i didn't mean -" you started, stumbling over the words, desperate to backpedal, if only for the sake of the mission. right?

"don't strain yourself pretending," gojo cuts you off, and you're mildly stung by the smooth edge of venom coating his voice, despite his relaxed smile, "let's just get this job done, yeah? it's just us two here because no-one else could put up with you. i was the only one left who actually wanted to try."

well. ouch, that was a low blow. motherfucker.

your jaw tighten, and for a moment, all you can do is stare into vibrant blue eyes. surely, that wasn't true...right? and how awful that the sharp look in his eyes softened into a smug satisfaction as he registered how his own barb had found his mark.

now, gojo satoru is leaning back with an air of victory, crossing his arms as if to bask in it. talk about drawing more blood from a wound than necessary.

"you're awful, gojo," you bit out, praying that whatever tremor lives in your throat is not enough to appear in your voice.

"yes, i know. you say that all the time."

it was almost tragic, you thought bitterly, how in those fleeting few minutes, you had found gojo satoru bearable. likeable even. insightful, in his own smug way.

but now, the two of you were back to square one, staring each other down with walls firmly back in place.

sure, your quip had been mildly unnecessary, but it wasn't like he hadn't heard your blithe and bland comments by now?

but still, gojo's words gnawed at you. the idea that no one else wanted to put up with you, except him, of all people, burrowed deeper than it had any right to.

maybe it was petty, but you weren't about to let gojo satoru have the last word.

"remember that the higher ups want naoki sato executed," you said, breaking the terse silence.

gojo didn't even glance up from the file he'd been pretending to skim, his long fingers casually flipping a page. and that nonchalance made your stomach churn with irritation.

when he finally looked up, his expression was a mix of curiosity, and disdain, as if you had become a particularly stubborn puzzle that he'd decided was not worth solving, "yes, i know that too. so what?"

"you and i both know you've had trouble executing criminals in the past."

a calculated jab, sharper than they needed to be. and you saw the impact hit almost immediately. gojo's jaw tightened, and the glint in his frosty blue eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker, furious even.

suguru geto was still well and alive, often appearing on television as a friendly priest who would cure one of all their ails such as lower back pain or bad headaches, for the low price of joining the ranks of his organisation (read: cult). but he still remained a sore point for...everyone. you, included.

gojo, especially.

and now the air between you shifted, chilling like a winter draft had snuck into the room. your eyes fell on gojo's knuckles as they tightened around the file, his expression stony.

you shouldn't have felt proud of yourself for getting under his skin, for pulling a genuine reaction from him. but you did. you'd found a crack in his flawless armour, without needing to bypass infinity.

and it was satisfying.

"f-fuck you," gojo said finally, the razor edge in his voice was matched only by the glare he pinned on you.

you crossed your arms, doing your best to feign indifference despite the adrenaline surging through you. ignoring how you felt an awful pit in your stomach sprout, rendering you rather nauseous, and quoting his previous words, "don't strain yourself pretending it's not true."

gojo satoru's glower could have melted steel, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but he stood, slowly, his movements deliberate as he slammed the file shut with a resounding snap.

you watched as he snatched up his smaller bag, and swung the door open with enough force that you were surprised that it didn't fall off its hinges, "just be ready by the time i get back. 'm gonna take a walk."

and you were left, alone, in a room that suddenly felt so much more suffocating.

you weren't sure how long it had been since gojo had stormed out, leaving the room icy in his absence. you hadn't moved from your spot by the door, though you told yourself that you were entirely fine.

arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. but even as you stared at the dark panels of the door, the lie began to unravel.

you told yourself that you just didn't care for gojo satoru. that you didn't like how he was too loud, too reckless, too overwhelming, a force that just didn't fit into the neat confines of your world.

the heat rising to your cheeks must have betrayed you, as did the tight knot in your chest. it had been...not your wisest choice to lash out at him, or to even bring up his name. suguru geto, a wound that would never close for anyone.

but more than that, you hated the memory of his expression just before he left. hurt, and anger. and something far more raw.

he would come back, you knew that much. gojo was much too dutiful to leave a mission and abandon a chance to do some good in this world. it should have been a comfort, but it did little to ease you. instead, that certainty only twisted the guilt tighter in between your ribcage.

finally, you yanked the door open, fuelled by an impulse you didn't care to name. you wanted to catch him outside, mid-pace and brooding. just so you could say...something. anything.

but the hallway was empty, stark and silent, with only the dim flicker of warm light as your witness. you bit your tongue as your stomach churned sourly with disappointment.

and instead, you just slammed the door shut, letting the sound reveberate with just as much force that gojo had slammed the door with, on his way out. you leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you did your level best to swallow that lump of regret making a home in your throat.

pacing helped for about...three minutes. shuffling through the case files on the table did nothing but remind you of why you were here, why you had both been sent. after all, was this mission not bigger than you, or him? was this not about bringing naoki sato to justice?

it didn't feel that way.

your gaze landed on the garment bag handing from the chair, untouched from when you had pulled it out earlier, back when gojo had been inviting you...to bed.

sort of.

you unzipped the bag with (mildly) trembling hands, letting the fabric spill into your grasp. no doubt that the dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of icy, powder blue and shimmering sequins that caught the light like scattered stars.

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

your fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery, and for a moment, you felt a mild sting of your own hypocrisy and yearning heart. you accused gojo of being cold, distant and unfeeling, and yet here you were, holding a dress that reminded you of him in every way. the pale blue of the fabric, like the frost in his storm-eyes when they rested on you for too long.

if you ever came face to face with cupid, you would beat him with a baseball bat.

you sighed, dropping the dress onto the bed before gingerly stepping out of your uniform, as cool air stung your skin.

what had you been thinking, treating gojo like that? he didn't deserve your anger, not truly. you knew how much your former classmate carried, how much he gave himself to this cursed and thankless world.

but of course, the little pronged-devil on your shoulder whispered around the shell of your ear. he often drew equal blood from stinging cuts, no-one wanted to put up with you, anyway.

still, there was no use in showing up to a gathering of some of the world's most rich, wealthy and seedy looking like a hollow and shaken ghost. and this mission was just not about gojo, it was about the greater good of the jujutsu world, and that's what you repeated in your head like a mantra, as you swiped plush-red across your cheeks and lips.

a diamond necklace around your throat was the final touch. well, you say diamond, but the truth was more...cheap. still, the strand shone in linked chains of pretty crystals. and that had still been a minor fortune for one who lived on a jujutsu paycheck.

the hours had stretched the afternoon into evening, settling a fragile calm over the suite that made you ache to stretch your limbs out, and take in some fresh air.

but the silence was shattered by a sharp knock at the door, purposeful and deliberate. and it made you freeze, hands still resting on the straps of your glitzy shoes, a frown knitting your brows.

gojo had the keycard, did he not? but who else would be banging your door down?

with a sigh, you stood and lifted the hem of your dress as you crossed the room. opening the door with every intention of scolding him for whatever drama he was dragging in this time.

instead the words just about died a sad and lonely death on your tongue.

gojo satoru.

for a brief second, your thoughts emptied entirely, as though he had cast infinite void right over you, leaving you staring with a heart that hammered like a caged bird.

gone was his usual, drab uniform. instead, he had swapped the dull fabric for a sleek, black dress shirt that clung just right, paired with a crisp, grey jacket that framed his broad shoulders.

you tried to not let your gaze linger on the open gap right under the white tie that hung slightly loosened from his neck, where silk kissed creamy skin.

but gojo’s face was unreadable, distant and cool. you hated how his mere presence always seemed to tilt the world off its axis.

and you blinked, forcing your mouth to close, and you stepped back to let him in. 

"you’re late. again," you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual venom, tempered by the sharp edges of minor guilt that refused to settle in you.

"whatever. ‘m here now, aren’t i?" gojo’s tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a second too long, leaving your skin prickling with self-conscious awareness. 

it seemed that the universe needed to hit you with some karmic intervention, and you decided to take the rare moral high ground, "about earlier," you began, trying to steady yourself, "i shouldn’t have said -"

"forget it, sweets," gojo interrupted with a shrug, though his jaw was tight, "i’m not keen on hearing excuses. i get it."

you bristled, biting back the immense urge to shove him, an urge that becoming disturbingly frequent, "i wasn’t making excuses," sounding out each word slow and deliberate. anger simmering under the surface at his holier-than-thou attitude, "that was an apology."

that made gojo pause, and now he fully turned to you, expression shifting. though it was hard to read, caught between painful acknowledgement and absurd pride that would include him admitting that he was affected by what you said.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips.

"tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

gojo slid a pair of tinted sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them up his nose, smooth and practised, "in a room full of the filthy rich and tastelessly overdressed?" his pink mouth twitched, "you’ll fit in perfectly."

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

the ground floor of the building had been nothing but a sleek, cold lifeless maze of marble, and now he had led you down into what could only be described as a scene for criminals with bad taste. an abandoned parking lot stretched out in front of you, a grimy stretch of concrete that left you expecting a quiet dead end.

until gojo waved his hand, and the illusion clearly met for non-sorcerer eyes shattered.

before you, a set of massive double doors emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and the lifting of the veil had left you disoriented, nauseous. but when the doors swung open, you almost felt like you were stepping into a warped fever dream.

this room inside was the most bizarre mixture of garish opulence that you had ever seen. gold…everything. the walls plastered in a deep red, like someone had dipped the entire place in velvet swathes and then covered it with more gold leaf.

plush, overstuffed settees sat like soft, jewel-toned thrones in every corner, and glass boxes lined the walls, each holding what looked like nothing more than expensive junk, tacky figurines and diamond-encrusted trinkets.

it was the kind of place you’d absolutely expect a mob boss to call home after a particularly long, indulgent afternoon making questionable life choices.

the hall reeked of wealth, the kind that demanded to be seen. opulence dripped from every corner — gilded fixtures, crystalline chandeliers, and glass displays showcasing treasures that screamed money but whispered nothing of taste. you twitched as you passed a goblet encrusted with enough jewels to buy a small city-state. the thought of how much it probably cost made your stomach twist.

"focus," gojo muttered at your side, his tone clipped. he squinted slightly, his sunglasses doing little to shield his six eyes from the garish light that spilled over the room like liquid gold., and you could tell it was a bit...much for his senses, making him blink rapidly. "we’ll sweep the displays, see if the amulet’s here."

you tilted your head, gesturing toward his snowy mop of hair, the unruly strands falling messily over his face and grazing the edge of his glasses. "and you’re sure they won’t recognise you, in this whole...circus?"

gojo's responding glance was sharp, flat, and utterly devoid of humour.

"most of these people wouldn’t recognise a threat if it was biting them in the ass," he said, voice low and laced with disdain. "they’re not sorcerers. just your garden-variety rich and bored — criminals, trust fund brats, maybe a politician trying to look cultured. the kind of people who buy antiques because they match their curtains and makes them look good for their friends."

the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward at his cutting dismissal of the glittering nonsense around you. he had hit the nail on the head, making contempt seem like an art form.

and worse, you hated how there was something almost…sexy about it.

the thought hit you like a slap, and you forced it down immediately. gojo and sexy didn’t belong in the same sentence. not in the same universe. fuck, not even as a passing joke.

"charmed as i am by your high opinion of humanity," you said dryly, trying to ground yourself in sarcasm, "maybe don’t make it obvious you hate everyone here. we're not here to arrest every person in this room."

gojo snorted softly, his lips curving into what might have been a smirk — or at least the ghost of one. "you think so little of me. i don’t hate everyone." his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second, before returning to the vast hall ahead.

it wasn’t much. barely a glance of electric blue. but it was enough to send your pulse into a sprint, and fuck him, he had to know it. you turned your attention to the nearest display, praying he didn’t notice the warmth blooming in your cheeks.

traitorous.

"let’s just find the amulet, and sato. and get out of here," you said briskly, your voice a shade too sharp.

"mhm," gojo's voice was infuriatingly calm, but when you looked up, his gaze wasn’t on the displays. it was on you.

"you look lost."

a voice, smooth and low, slid over you like silk, stopping you cold in your tracks. it hadn't come from gojo by your side, thank the heavens above, but it didn't make your heart any steadier. you turned towards the source, and your stomach did a three-point flip.

well. hello, gorgeous.

the type of good-looking that just felt unfair. the type that made you forget your name for half a second, and then hate yourself for it. the strnger stood out against the room of puffed-up men in overpriced suits, glittering with real diamonds of their cuff-links, and rolled cigars in their hands.

your eyes fell on dark auburn strands that fell in perfectly tousled strands over his forehead, and a tailored black suit that hugged a slender waist.

"i hope you didn't wander into the wrong hall," the stranger said, curling his lips into a faint smile, fraught with suspicion as it was.

you forced yourself not to stare — at an absurdly sharp jawline, at big brown eyes. but words were a different matter entirely. you struggled to conjure them, grasping for anything remotely coherent.

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

before you could mentally regroup with a few brain cells, a sharp jolt yanked you back to reality. you sucked in a sharp breath as gojo's long fingers pinched the underside of your arm, a deliberate sting that left you glaring at him.

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

his entire focus was fixed on the stranger, his posture taut with unspoken tension, gojo's jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a perfect tooth.

the air shifted subtly, a faint hum of energy emanating from gojo. you knew that hum. it meant trouble. gojo, ever the master of simmering hostility, was gearing up for something, and he was looking weirdly agitated.

and you found it tasteless to jump the first person you had run into here.

"i usually know most of the guests at my events," the stranger continued, his voice calm, unbothered — but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

no wonder gojo looked ready to snap someone in half. naoki wasn’t just anyone — he was the head of the voiceless. the host of this auction. the man whose fortune was built on enough shady dealings to fill a large library. the one who had more blood on his hands than those who had been dealt life sentences.

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

"you've — " gojo started, his voice sharp, but you cut him off with a forced, almost too-bright smile.

"you've thrown quite the party," you said, your words tripping over themselves as you elbowed gojo subtly, hoping to god he’d take the hint. "i’m actually quite new to the area. just exploring, hoping to find something good tonight."

gojo let out a low grunt, a sound that promised retribution later. you ignored him and plastered on a wider smile, one you hoped would distract from your partner's upcoming reversal: red.

"and, ah. this is my bodyguard...genji," you added, giving gojo's arm a firm retributive pinch through the fabric of his jacket.

the look he shot you could've melted steel, but you held your ground, determined not to let him ruin this.

if for once, he could take your plan into account, a great deal of bloodshed could be avoided.

naoki's faint cherry smile widened, bemused, "your…bodyguard?" he echoed, gaze flickering to gojo satoru.

gojo who stood like a coiled spring, gojo who certainly was no method actor. his icy glare practically speaking volumes of 'i will burn this room down.'

"well," naoki drawled, his tone almost playful now, and you flushed, "i hope you find what you’re looking for here."

behind him, his entourage, a cadre of hulking men stuffed into suits barely containing their bulk, followed with synchronised precision. they looked more like walking fortresses than bodyguards, with their cold and suspicious eyes cutting through the room as they passed.

one of them shot you an odd look, and you forced yourself to feign interest in a nearby display of sapphire-encrusted forks.

the moment the criminal was out of earshot, gojo leaned down, "genji? really?"

you shrugged, ignoring how you felt your nerves fray. and refusing to meet him half-way, "what? okay, i panicked. it was the first name i thought of."

"yeah, that was so convincing," gojo muttered darkly beside you, and you caught some bitten off words about how he was never going on a mission with you again, how yaga should never have roped him into this.

all things you blithely ignored.

you didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. it rolled off him in waves, the tension in his posture, the barely audible hum of cursed energy still crackling under the surface.

"we don't even know where the amulet is. and imagine if we show up in front of yaga without it. you can do whatever you like with him after we get our hands on the cursed object," you whispered back, pretending to study the ridiculous cutlery with exaggerated focus.

gojo lowered his head, as though he suddenly saw the worth in gemstones embedded in cutlery, but just enough so he could glower at you. "you're flirting," he hissed, "i could have blasted through half this room, and just finished the job by now."

you coughed and hackled, "not all of us think effective battles are fought with a hollow purple."

"and not all of us,” gojo bit back, "feel the need to blush like schoolgirls the second someone bats an eyelash at us."

heat shot through you, part anger, part something you didn’t want to name. "blush?” you snapped. "i wasn’t blushing."

"you just wanted to jump his bones. thought we weren't here to get it wet."

"i'm not entertaining this conversation," but your voice was mildly higher pitched, drawing attention, "is that why you were there? standing like an idiot, or a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

gojo's sneer faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough to make your heart lurch with a strange, vindictive triumph.

"i wasn’t jealous," he said, "i was doing my job. y'know, being a jujutsu sorcerer. bringing a criminal to justice."

you opened your mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. because he wasn’t entirely wrong, and that infuriated you more than anything.

so instead, you lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his shoulder, onto the crisp and fine fabric of his jacket. you didn't miss the way he stiffened, briefly disarmed.

"look, i've got this. just stay close."

gojo's jaw tightened, and you could feel the unspoken protest simmering there. before he could get a word in, you turned away and called out.

"hey! naoki!"

the red-haired man stopped mid-stride, turning his head back toward you with a quizzical look. the confident words you’d planned evaporated the moment his sharp, brown eyes pinned you in place.

"i mean, naoki sato. mr. sato," you fumbled, mentally kicking yourself.

brilliant start. truly one of jujutsu tech's finest.

naoki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to faint amusement. his gaze flicked to gojo, who had crossed his arms like a fortress of disdain and immense ill-will.

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

you ignored the huff that escaped the white-haired man next to you, and forced a smile, "actually, i was hoping you could help me choose something out. i'm not an expert here, and there's just so much to see."

naoki's bodyguards shifted, their expressions darkening as if you’d committed some unspoken faux pas. but the crime boss merely tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"ah, well," he said, drawing the word out lazily, "i don’t usually get this forward with my clients, but i suppose i'll make an exception."

his eyes slid once again to gojo, who was now glowering at a waiter hovering too close to his personal space, on the edges of infinity. "your bodyguard," naoki added helpfully, "can walk behind you. perhaps he'd like a drink to keep him occupied."

gojo's snarl could have peeled garish paint off the walls, "i don't want it."

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn ass.

instead, you pasted on a smile, tight and sweet, and shot gojo a look that could cut glass, "our host is offering you something. you want that drink, genji."

"i don’t want cream soda," gojo muttered, all mulish in his six foot three glory.

gritting your teeth, you flashed naoki a helpless look, like what can you do? bodyguards, am i right?

and you reached for the waiter's tray, grabbing a tall glass of the offending soda and thrusting it into gojo's warm hand. then you leaned in, your voice a whisper, "take it. smile and act normal. ten minutes, that’s all i need."

for a moment, his blue eyes locked on yours, a storm of irritation twirling in them. you were now close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to notice the faintest hitch in his breath.

but gojo, for once, didn’t argue. with a final glare, he downed half the glass in one long, defiant gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank.

naoki laughed, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement, "you're very kind to the help. shall we?"

you shot gojo satoru one last look — a mix of triumph and warning —before stepping forward.

but your partner, predictably, looked like he'd rather swallow glass than stand a moment longer here. still, bodyguard is as bodyguard does, and he trailed after you like a reluctant shadow.

"i must admit," naoki began, his brown eyes catching the glittering lights as they swept over you, "it's rare to see someone so beautiful at these things. i think i would have remembered seeing you before, too. i'm usually stuck with old men trying to swindle me out of my fortune."

a flush climbed up your neck, unwelcome and irritating at what must have been calculated words, enough to flatter and also to disarm.

behind you, gojo audibly scoffed, clearly abandoning all manner of proper etiquette. you glanced over your shoulder to see him gripping the stem of a champagne flute, his knuckles white. the empty glass of cream soda had been abandoned in favour of something stronger.

he caught your eye and rolled his, making a slicing gesture at his neck followed by a pointed hurry up motion.

"ignore him," you murmured to naoki, pushing forward.

naoki’s eyes gleamed with amusement, easily unbothered as he gestured for you to continue walking. "does your bodyguard always look like he’s seconds away from murder, or is this special treatment for me?"

you didn’t dare look back at gojo, “he’s just protective," you said carefully.

naoki chuckled, "protective, sure. but of his job...or you?"

the words struck a nerve you refused to acknowledge, so you pressed the conversation forward. ignoring the jitter that erupted in your stomach.

"can i ask...," you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity, "are these all cursed objects? or just pretty trinkets?"

naoki's amusement didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened, assessing you like you were a puzzle he was only now beginning to piece together.

"why?” he asked smoothly, "are you interested in jujutsu? i thought you were here to...browse."

fuck, caught, but not completely.

you played it off with a small shrug. "some members of my family dabble in jujutsu," you said, letting a sliver of truth escape, but letting the rest of your words drip with lies, "i can only see curses, i'm not a sorcerer. but most of my family still hates me for how i was born."

behind you, gojo shifted, his movements a touch sharper than before. he hadn’t known that, hadn't known the small truth that you had snuck into your words.

but naoki's expression softened, his smile more thoughtful now. "that’s rare. and often not appreciated, i imagine.”

you hesitated, cautiously, but nodded. "not by them, no."

"i understand. my parents hated jujutsu. thought it was unnatural, and against the way of the world. my grandfather...he was the only one who didn't," and there's a quiet sincerity threading naoki sato's words, "he raised me when my parents refused to. at least, until he passed."

something in his story tugged at you — a familiarity you hadn’t expected. your family’s disdain for your own jujutsu, their rejection, mirrored in his words. it was unsettling, but oddly not unwelcome.

"i’m sorry about your grandfather," you said softly.

"and i, about your family,” naoki replied, a calm mask settling over his features once more, reminding you so painfully of the sorcerer who trailed behind you, "no-one should be made to feel lesser, sorcerer or not."

you caught your lip between your teeth, hoping the red stain didn't catch onto your teeth, "i thought most sorcerers hated humans."

naoki shrugged, "we aren't all that different. all flesh and blood with temporary lives."

oddly wise words from a mass murderer, thief and criminal.

you glanced over at gojo again, and just as you predicted, his scowl deepened and the glass looked like it was about a shatter in his hands. if looks could kill, naoki sato would be the first to go, no questions asked, followed by you.

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

"ignore him, please," you muttered, stepping closer to a glass case to distract yourself, "what’s this?"

naoki followed, stepping closer so you could catch the scent of expensive almond and saffron, "ah," he said, gesturing at the artefact inside, "a blade, from ming dynasty china. the jade serpent on the hilt grants its wearer the ability to control minds. some say it can even raise the dead."

the claim sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with feigned interest, nodding as naoki moved on.

"and here," he continued, pointing to a golden ring, with an oddly boyish grin for someone dealing in murderous items, "the lion's eyes. said to see through any veil, any curse. the last treasure of the dynasty of the pharoahs."

you tried to listen, but gojo's presence loomed larger with every word. his disdain for naoki sato, his barely concealed anger at the stolen objects— it was all too palpable. when you glanced back, his scowl had deepened, and the champagne glass in his hand looked on the verge of shattering.

if looks could kill, naoki sato would already be six feet under. you would be next on the list.

you swallowed hard, turning back to naoki sato and pointing at the next display. "and this?"

naoki pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "the broken english crown. apparently worn by the last king to die on the battlefield, and i haven't tried it on," he shares this with you, with a conspiratorial smile, "but legends say it fractures the bones of anyone deemed not powerful enough to wear it."

this criminal was not what you had expected at all. it was hard to reconcile the image of a hardened criminal with years of ruthless ambition, with this effortless charm and disarming way of making you lose the blurred line of correct propriety. you tried not to stare at how the warm light caught his auburn hair, like the autumn leaves in the dappled sun.

and yet, it wasn’t just his looks that threw you off. it was the way he carried himself — like he had nothing to prove and everything to hide. dangerous in a different way, one that was far harder to guard against.

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

"you know, i have to admit," naoki said, gesturing to the gilded displays around him, "most of this stuff? tacky as hell. but then, you would be surprised what most people would pay for tacky."

from a swindler, fraud and scammer? you were quite sure.

"funny, coming from someone whose livelihood depends on it. isn't that gaudy by association?"

naoki winked, and you averted your gaze from long brown lashes fluttering against soft skin, "touché. but people don't want to just buy the artefact, or the cursed object. they want the story. that shit's priceless."

you swallowed, focusing on how gojo was trying to draw your attention to a glass case hidden by all the others, and you hoped you weren't squinting, "so, you're just a storyteller then?"

but beside you, naoki sato tilted his head, "you could say that."

you thought of the clipped photos printed into the file. some in black and white, and some in raging shades of colour. where naoki sato's hands had painted entire buildings in shades of sticky red, and heads rolled on the floor. where his enhance technique could burst arteries and lungs, leaving people in pieces on the floor.

"sounds dramatic," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"life's dramatic, and too short to not take what i want," naoki replied with a faint smile, his hand lightly brushing your waist as he guided you further past long tables.

you leaned into it without thinking, a tiny movement that made a creamy, berry flush paint over naoki's features. and the sorcerer's laugh was warm, low, like he’d already won something you didn’t realise was at stake.

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

you let your lips curl into a faint smile and leaned into naoki's just a fraction more, with a very deliberate look, one that spoke of triumph and having tamed a beast.

gojo's scowl deepened, his shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration, and he started mouthing at you, silent as his lips parted. if you read his mouth carefully, well...

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

"what's that?" but it was gojo's voice that roughly cut through the air, like gravel grinding underfoot. his shaded eyes were fixed on the glass case tucked in the corner.

you followed his gaze, past his outstretched arm, and your stomach twisted.

raijin's amulet.

the cursed object you’d been hunting, the one you’d sworn to protect at all costs, gleamed innocently behind its protective glass. you could recognise the serpentine dragon coiled protectively around the stone at its centre, its intricate carving daring anyone to claim it.

your frantic eyes met gojo's. his were sharp, seething. then, both your gazes flicked to naoki.

naoki, of course, noticed nothing — or pretended not to. he let out a soft hum, following gojo's pointed stare.

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

you coughed, cutting through the rising tension before gojo could turn that look into something explosive. the glass case between them might as well have been kindling for the fire brewing.

"it's mainly for academics," you said, feigning an air of curiosity. then, with practiced innocence, you tilted your head and smiled at the dangerous special grade cursed object as if it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket.

"but it’s so pretty. what is it, really?"

naoki's hand tightened subtly on your waist, and you tried to ignore the guilt that bubbled up in your chest when his sharp features softened at your feigned interest.

"it’s just an old thing," he said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret meant only for you, "did you know it once belonged to ryomen sukuna?"

your mouth was dry, but you kept your face blank, tilting your head as though you’d never heard the name before, "sukuna?"

naoki pressed his palm to the glass case, his expression shifting into something darker, more reverent.

"the king of curses," he murmured. "lived over a thousand years ago. ruthless. when he died, most of his treasures were plundered by clans too greedy for their own good. but this..." he tapped the glass softly. "this one? it wasn't easy to get my hands on."

you leaned closer, feigning fascination while calculating your next move, trying to figure out how you could get close enough to that glass case without shattering the illusion cast on naoki sato, "what does it do?"

for a moment, naoki's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. but just as quickly, his expression smoothed out, and he chuckled.

"trust me, beautiful," he said, his voice like silk with an edge of warning. "you don’t want to wear that thing. i could get you something far more...safe."

you forced a smile, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine. instead, you threw a quick, desperate glance at gojo — a silent plea for the strongest to listen to you: i'll distract him. you get the amulet.

gojo's expression tightened, but his head snapped once, briefly, in the faintest hint of acknowledgement.

time to move.

you let out a soft, breathy laugh and tugged naoki toward a table, your hand brushing his arm with casual ease. "let’s sit," you suggested, leaning into his toned chest just enough to sell the act. "all this walking is making me tired."

naoki's laughter was warm, a touch too easy, and he let you guide him without resistance, "tsk, whatever you want," he murmured.

now you're trusting gojo satoru, simply because you had no other choice. he had to get the amulet out of the glass before alarms began to blare, and before needless blood was spilt over the glimmering floor.

and so you sat, letting naoki have his back to gojo, oblivious to the white-haired shadow slipping closer to the case. your eyes lingered on gojo, pulse racing each time he disappeared behind one of naoki's own burly guards.

but then naoki sato's gaze locked onto you, drawing your attention back with a searing warmth that caught you off guard.

"so," he asked, eyes glinting, "what do you think of all...this?"

"it's impressive," and you're surprised at how the truth has found a home in your mouth, "i didn't ever think of different sorcerers, around the world."

naoki leaned closer, with his elbows on his thighs, propping his face upon his hands, "most people don't. here, it's all about jujutsu. tokyo, this. kyoto, that. the higher ups are so narrow-minded. stuck in their ways, obsessed with tradition. they don't know anything about the world out there."

for a moment, his words startled you. they weren’t the boastful musings of a crime boss but something else. they reminded you of how gojo spoke about the rigidity of the old ways, about why he fought so hard to change things, to create a better world for jujutsu sorcerers.

ah, focus.

"hey," naoki suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. his gaze was sharper now, more intense. and over his shouder, you caught the faintest blur of white hair in the background, gojo's movements.

but it was hard to focus on anything but naoki sato's face — the sharp lines softened by his proximity, the warmth in his dark eyes that you didn’t want to admit was almost magnetic.

he was a man marked for execution, and the warrant must have been burning a hole through your suite on the highest floor.

yet here he was, looking at you like you were something worth risking everything for.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to see autumn's locks matted with rusted blood. to see eyes go dull and lifeless.

you felt like you had the moral spine of a sponge.

"can i kiss you?"

the question hit like a punch to the gut. your lips parted, but no sound came out. and suddenly, the steps in the background stopped too.

naoki's hand came up to your jaw, his touch unexpectedly reverent, and all you could think was: distraction. right. distract him for gojo. what the fuck is taking him so long?

so you closed the distance.

naoki's lips captured yours with a softness that disarmed you, but the kiss was anything but tentative, and you could taste a sweet tang like lemons and sugar. but you let his large hands pull you closer and his touch was warm and intoxicating.

the kind that made you forget, just for a moment, that this was all a ruse.

his lips moved against yours with a heat that made everything else fade to black, and his hands slid down your waist and back, tracing lines that felt dangerously real.

when you finally pulled away for air, your lips tingled, and your breath came in short bursts. you couldn’t help yourself — you reached up, your fingers brushing against his now-flushed lips, glossy under your touch, and you hated the way your stomach twisted from the way naoki sato melted under your touch.

focus, again.

you hoped, prayed, that gojo was doing his part, taking advantage of the way you had naoki sato, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, wrapped around your finger, and bruising his tongue into your mouth.

but your gaze flicked upwards, past his shoulder and collided with something that stopped your heart cold.

electric blue. devastatingly vibrant, crackling with a fury that hit the air like a thunderstorm.

gojo's eyes pinned you in place, shadows pooling in sharp cerulean, from shades that had slipped just a touch down his nose. no mask to shield whatever expression gojo had clearly painted across his face.

hurt? anger? what the fuck, was that betrayal?

your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to dig your nails into naoki's tailored jacket, to hiss at gojo to get a move on. to stop standing there like he had been hit with a shovel.

but the words didn't quite form, didn't pull at the corners of your mouth to silently shape them. his expression just held you captive, no. shamed you.

and that made you angrier. he had no right to look at you like that, like you had just crossed a line that you didn't even know was there.

but under you, naoki shifted, tilted your chip up to meet his lips again, and you let him. you...wanted him to. but the heat of his lips didn't drown out the chill of gojo's stare. your own body betrayed you with a shiver, one that you couldn't quite place yourself.

nerves, or desire.

the kiss was firmer this time, insistent, as if naoki sato was staking his claim in front of an invisible audience. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw with maddening ease, over the pulse of your neck.

and for a second, it was too easy to fall into the lie. but you felt it: the searing weight of gojo's glower burning into you, not far away.

naoki pulled back just slightly, his breath fanning your lips, "hey, you're distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes scanning your face as though he wanted to read every thought. "should i be offended?"

"no," you said quickly, almost too quickly, "just a lot to take in."

naoki smiles, all coy and glazed lips, clearly pleased by what he thought was pure flattery, and not the glowering six-eyes shining behind him. "good. i think 'm gonna like leaving you speechless."

part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

naoki's warm thumb lingers against your jaw, and your breath hitches just enough for the sorcerer to notice. you don't miss how his eyes darken, a hint of triumph gleaming in them.

you risked a glance past his shoulder again, and gojo was still there, stony-faced as naoki's own guards. but there's something else broiling in his eyes, rolling over his face like a thunderstorm cracks over a grassy plain. the fury in his eyes hadn't lessened, but now it was laced with something sharper, something that you can finally read.

jealousy. absolute glass-shattering, world-stopping levels of envy paint over gojo satoru's face.

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

was he jealous of naoki sato? of you? of this entire charade that you both had agreed to? or rather, the one you had roped him into.

the idea shouldn’t have thrilled you, but it did. and it terrified you just as much.

you let naoki kiss you again, forcing yourself to deepen it this time, your hands coming up to rest against his hard chest. you don't miss how he suddenly parts from your lips, panting softly into your mouth, and suddenly you're hit with the most awful wave of longing for a man who cannot have.

naoki’s large hands, however, weren’t idle. one brushed the edge of your dress, under the shoulder strap of your powder-blue gown, his thumb grazing against the fabric, and your breath hitched.

you shift, your breath stuttering as naoki's other hand slides higher, his fingers brushing against the flesh of your thigh, pushing your dress higher, and his hand brushes against the silver details on the side, scratching your skin. it's maddening how cool air meets the heat of your now exposed skin, and naoki's mouth crushes against yours, as if he's equally savouring the taste of you.

"t-there are people here," you gasp, your voice a fractured whisper, trembling at the edge of composure, "what if they can see or watch?"

gojo satoru is here. gojo is watching. you know your partner is close enough to hear every breathless sound you make, every treasonous whine that slips past your lips.

but naoki sato's mouth is curved into a plush, wicked smile, "let them look," and his teeth are grazing against the curve enough in a way that makes you arch your back into him, he who is now leaning over you, as if he's the one trying to capture you, "who cares - hah?"

any reasonable thought of your duty. of honour, of a mission flees from your head.

the sight of gojo's softly parted mouth and darkened eyes as he watches you in another man's arms spurs you on, and you let naoki sato press his lips against the hollow of his throat.

naoki's long fingers are blazing as they reach the very apex of your thighs. as they press two rough pads into the sopping slick that's gathered in your panties, as they run themselves along dampened fabric in a way that has you openly keening.

"can i?" and your eyes meet the mahogany gaze of the man above you. it's electrifying. you should be ashamed, furious at how you're just being taken like this, on display. but this is a room of the seven deadly sins, where each corner of the room is a lesson in hedonism, and obscene wealth.

"please."

but your eyes are only on gojo satoru behind him. on how he catches the pale-pink of his bottom lip between his teeth, and his face is seething. how his darkened eyes drop to naoki's hand working its way between your legs, and you wantonly roll your hips up to meet him there.

you let writhing fingers slip under the waistband of your pale-blue underwear, dipping into glossy, thick arousal. but you also don't miss the tent in gojo satoru's grey slacks, only metres away, and the frenzied look making him look pained.

you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy moaning openly, spreading your legs just a bit wider, so gojo could get a glimpse of your drooling cunt.

"fuck, 's good. so good, naoki."

a finger travels up, away from your winking entrance to press a soft flick against your throbbing clit, "yeah?"

and the beautiful man in between your legs all but purrs. pleased beyond measure at how you've apparently been captured, heart and soul by him. and your attention snaps back to how he suddenly draws his fingers off your soaked cunt, and brings them up to his mouth.

"sweetest thing i've ever tasted, i think 'm gonna have -"

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

the scent of iron slammed into your senses as fresh blood splattered across your face, your chest, and stained the delicate blue of your dress into a deep and damning red. it clung to your skin, to your lips as you pressed your mouth shut, fighting the bile rising in your throat.

reversal: red crackled in the air, cursed energy humming sharp, and it had sliced through the hall like a whip. naoki's arm had been torn from your waist, wrenched away as he staggered back with a guttural hiss, and you avert your eyes from the blood that paints the space between you.

"that's enough."

gojo satoru's voice is like a thunderclap, reverberating around your ears, and when you finally meet his gaze, you're met with unbridled fury. you're not sure where his shades have gone, but you're met with the full weight of six-eyes, blazing and unrelenting.

naoki stumbles ahead of you, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps through his fingers, torn between shock and raw rage. his cherry-lips are curled back into a snarl, flush with indignation.

"hah, you're a sorcerer?," and naoki sato's voice drips with venom, heavy with disbelief.

you're not quite sure gojo satoru needs to answer. not when his presence alone sends waves of cold through the hall, cutting the air precisely, cleaving it.

but there's a man running towards the commotion, a guard encumbered by a hefty black suit, and there's a cold shock that runs through you as your eyes fall on the gun at his side.

"we think that's gojo satoru," the guard wheezes, breathless.

"you're telling me this now? i gave you fuckwits one job," naoki snarls, shaking the man, with his nails dug into the guard's shoulder.

and you're quickly pushing your dress down, letting the fabric spill over your legs once more, fighting back the hot sparks that sting at your eyes.

it's enough to snap naoki's attention back to you. and for a moment, for the briefest of moment, he wasn't the hardened criminal you had been playing this dangerous game with. a boy your age, wild and beautiful, and utterly undone.

and it heaves your stomach at how the fury in his gaze trembles slightly, just enough to reveal betrayal underneath that strikes you harder than any limitless could.and it struck you harder than any whip of magic ever could.

"i must be stupid, fuck," naoki's voice cracks as he spits the words, his expression twisted with something raw, something painfully human, "you’re a jujutsu sorcerer too, aren't you?"

the accusation was a dagger, his voice trembling with disbelief but its wholly true, and your head wavers in a half-shake, half-nod.

"you’re with him, aren't you? just another one of the higher up's lapdogs?"

the words weren’t a question — they were a condemnation.

naoki's lips are curled, and his bloodied arm is now trembling but steady, defiance burning through the pain.

and a whisper in your mind tells you to smash the glass case holding the amulet, to push through it with your bare hands, just so you can bleed alongside him.

but naoki sato's bitter scoff shatters that thought, and his gaze must have followed yours, sharp and knowing, for his hand has moved faster, pulling the gun from the guard's holster.

the blast came before you could even think, loud and jarring.

but you never saw the bullet's path, only gojo.

gojo, whose arm has snapped in front of you like a barrier, impossibly fast, and well within the bounds of his infinity. as if he had tore through space itself.

the bullet collides with infinity, ricocheting into the chaos of the panicking crowd.

naoki’s gaze didn’t waver. it slices back to gojo, sharp, calculating, and darkly amused. he must have seen it now, everything.

the truth was etched in the way gojo had positioned himself, the way his blazing blue eyes never left you, the unspoken claim humming in the air like a second heartbeat.

naoki sato's laugh is lower, bitter, and you watch the mesmerising plink! of crimson on the floor.

"he's protecting you, isn’t he?" his voice dripped with venom, each word striking like a dagger, "how sweet.”

and just like that, something broke. gojo's restraint, most likely.

you can see how his fingers are flexing, his hands lifting and cursed energy is coiling at his fingertips. his thumb and index finger brush, a telltale sign of an impending blast. hollow purple.

you clench your eyes shut, bracing for the devastation of the impact —

but naoki sato was faster.

his arms snapped outward, a surge of his own jujutsu ripping through the space between you. the bodyguards around you crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies bursting under the pressure. blood sprayed in thick, sticky waves, painting the walls, the floor — against the edges of infinity.

you opened your eyes in time to see gojo falter, his hands trembling as he stared at the carnage. even he, the unflinching sorcerer, the strongest, looked shaken by the sheer brutality of what cursed technique: enhance was capable of.

and in the heartbeat of his hesitation, naoki was gone.

"fuck's sake! s-satoru! let go of me!" you snap, voice cracking with fury as you fight against gojo's tight grasp.

his vivid focus shoots back to you, his expression a storm of anger and disbelief, "what?" and gojo's voice is razer-sharp, "if you think i'm letting you go after that stunt you pulled -"

"shut up!" and you can feel your own desperation cut through the air, "you go after him, i'll go after the amulet."

you toss your head to the shattered glass and the chaos erupting all around you, "if that thing gets lost in the mess, we've done this all for nothing!"

gojo's jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a hard and furious line. for a moment, you think he's going to argue with you again, but then you're dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

pain shoots through your knees as you land, but you're soon hauling yourself up.

"go!" you hiss, shoving at his shoulder, "i'll come find you when i have it."

gojo hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, then he's gone — a blur of movement faster than your eyes could track, leaving you alone in the chaos.

your hands tremble as you grab a heavy steel bar from the wreckage, swinging it with all your strength at the glass case. the sound of shattering glass barely registers as you reach inside, your fingers curling around the cold, smooth surface of the amulet.

wild shocks run through you, and you almost keel over, feeling the rush and pulse of such a cursed object against your skin. but it's safe. you have it now.

with it clutched tightly in your hand, you turned and run.

by now, you can't find it within yourself to stop the hot tears from running down your cheeks, streaming freely as you tear through the blood-soaked scene.

you run, the air sharp and cold against your skin, your heartbeat an unrelenting drum in your ears. the thump! making your head pound.

you can follow the residuals of gojo's cursed energy, lingering like a sickly beacon, drawing you back to the dull parking lot. you pushed open the doors with both hands, red smudging onto the concrete as you ignored the sting of your palms

and then you saw it. saw it all.

the scene hits you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath clean from your lungs.

a body lies crumpled on the ground, its lifelessness more harrowing than the carnage that surrounds it. blood, thick and sticky, smears across the concrete. massive pillars, toppled like a child's toys in the wake of a clear explosion.

your gaze snags on a limp hand sprawled on the floor, and you feel your stomach twist. instinctively, your tongue slides against the back of your teeth, and the metallic tang of iron is already sleeping into your senses.

and then, there was gojo satoru.

he stands amid the wreckage, like a figure carved from shadows, and ice. and fury. his chest softly rises and falls, as though he had been running for miles, his hair disheveled and darkened with sweat.

the sight of him might have almost been human, almost comforting. if not for the gore streaked across his hands, and the thing he drops onto the concrete with a hollow thud.

you don't look at it. you don't think you can. your stomach knows the truth before your mind catches up, bile heaving within you once more.

the head of naoki sato. he would never have stood a chance against the strongest sorcerer in modern history.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

you mind flashes back to that dastardly pink sticky note, still stuck to the case file.

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

the blood pooling in front of gojo is already congealing, its sickly shine dimming in the cold, fluorescent light of the lot.

you were tired of seeing blood, of tasting it on your tongue, of breathing it in like the very air you needed to survive.

you’d thought there would be relief in the end. but instead, disappointment had rooted itself deep inside you, twisting itself.

naoki sato, for all his crimes and cruetly, had been...something. somewhere beneath the sly smirks and sharp words, there had been glimpses of something that almost looked like hope. he had said he wanted better — for everyone. for you. was it a lie? or had you twisted his words into something more comforting than the truth, desparate to see light where there was none?

your throat burns, but no tears come. just a hollow ache that matches the cold weight of raijin's amulet in your hand. you looked at it now, the thing you’d fought so hard to win, its edges biting into your skin, the dragon leaving its mark.

gojo's voice cut through the silence, low and ragged, and tired, "don’t look."

you hadn’t even realised you were staring, your eyes hovering dangerously close to the lifeless hand on the ground.

"i'm sorry," he had continued, his tone strangely neutral, as if apologising for a cracked glass rather than the irrevocable violence around him, that seemed to trail after him, "i had to do it."

you laughed then, short and bitter, the sound cracking like a whip against the cold air. "had to, gojo?" your voice trembled, not with fear, but something darker. something far more raw.

his gaze had snapped to you, and there it was — the thing that always churned between you two. a storm of emotions, tangled so tightly you could no longer tell where hate ended and yearning began.

"you think this is the resolution i wanted?" gojo shot back, his voice laced with something too jagged to be regret. "you think i enjoyed that?"

and in the most twisted, perverse theatre of your mind's eye, you see gojo's open-mouthed stare, focused on how another man touched you, made you his.

"i don’t know what you enjoy anymore," you take a step closer, your grip tightening on amulet until your knuckles whitened. but the air pushed from your lungs, "but - god, gojo. forget it. i-i don't even know. 'm sorry, too."

gojo sighs, and you see the exhaustion hanging over him too, "we'll go back tomorrow morning."

the walk back to your room is…suffocating. the air is thick with everything that you just cannot say, words that you can't even bring your heavy tongue to shape.

gojo is beind you, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing between your shoulder blades, but you just can't turn around. you don't dare to. raijin's amulet is still clenched in your hand, and its edges are cutting into your palm, a form of self-flagellation you suppose.

you push the door open, and your breath catches and hitches as you slip inside, slamming it shut after he follows. locking it with shaking hands.

in the suite, the moonlight now slices through the half-drawn curtains, as the tokyo skyline glimmers underneath you. it's painting silver lines across gojo's spectral frame, and he strides to the amenities sink, a smaller outlet near the door.

you watch, as though you're holding a sacred vigil.

your gaze doesn't leave gojo's figure as he throws his jacket off his sharp torso with a disgusted sigh, leaving him in his black dress shirt and a loosened tie.

still watching as his movements are tense, restless as he cups water from the faucet in his hands, splashing it onto his face.

when he finally looks up, gojo's white is hair dripping, his tie slightly askew, and his tired eyes catch yours like a snare.

for a moment, you’re frozen. neither of you say a word. the air feels too thin to breathe, and his gaze is too much — too piercing, too relentless, too him.

you can’t take it.

with a sharp motion, you slam the amulet onto the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. you spin on your heel and lock yourself in the bathroom, shutting him out.

inside, the luxurious space feels surreal. marble floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting, gold fixtures glinting and stinging your eyes. it smells faintly of jasmine and mint, too perfect for the mess you're about to create.

you grip the edge of the sink as the first sob wrenches its way out of your chest, hot and raw.

tears spill over, cascading down your cheeks in waves you can’t control. they come faster, harder, until you’re gasping, choking on gulps of air that burn in your throat.

you sink onto the cool floor tiles, your knees pulled to your chest as the sobs wrack your body. the weight of everything, what you did, gojo's eyes gleaming, naoki sato's hands on you, the smell of blood, it all crashes over you like a tidal wave. it’s too much for a human heart to bear in one night.

but your hands are shaking as you reach for the hem of your once beautiful dress, peeling it off with clumsy, desperate motions. the air is cool against your skin, you who is now left in undergarments.

and you stare blankly at the blood that smears your arms and legs, before grabbing a small towel, dampening it under the sink and wiping crimson stains away.

small cuts sting on your skin, faint patches where glass struck you, and you hiss.

a knock rattles the bathroom door, sharp and unrelenting, dragging you back to reality.

you close your eyes and exhale through gritted teeth, your voice brittle, "not now, gojo."

silence follows, stretching out long enough to offer the illusion of peace. but then it breaks. another knock, louder, more insistent this time.

"satoru, i swear to god," you snap, your exhaustion fraying into something sharp, laced with more venom now.

there’s a sigh from the other side, audible even through the thick wood, "don't make me blast this door down."

you groan, rolling your eyes as you toss the bloodied towel onto the counter, "you wouldn't dare."

"try me. just open the door, would'you?"

you don’t have the energy to argue, and something in his tone tells you that gojo isn’t bluffing. and so you dragged yourself upright, swinging the door open with more force than necessary.

gojo stands there, with damp hair still clinging to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his templates. and his sleeves are rolled up now, revealing thick forearms flecked with rust and crimson. it wouldn't be his. no, gojo hasn't bled in over a decade.

you straighten, aware of your own state right now. in your undergarments, only shielding you from being entirely bare under his gaze. but the only clothes in this room with you are now crumpled on the floor, in a heap of ice-blue and dark red.

let him look. he's seen more than enough now.

and so you lean back against the sink, crossing your arms as your eyes meet blue, "what do you want?"

gojo hesitates, his jaw tightening as he braces himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough around the edges, "just...asking if you're alright."

the laugh that escapes you is sharp and hollow, devoid of any humour, "why wouldn't i be?"

gojo's faze flickers, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger a moment too long. you let him trace the dried blood smeared across your collarbone, the faint scratches on your skin.

"after all of that tonight..." he starts, but the words hang in the air between the two of you, unfinished. his voice suddenly falters, and you're struck by how gojo's razor-sharp confidence has dulled into something weaker, more conflicted.

you know exactly what he means. the stunt he's referring to, in his own earlier words. you wonder what exactly is eating at him now. is it honest concern, pride? residual envy?

"please, trust me. i'm fine, we managed to do what was asked of us, anyway," you clip curtly, hoping your tone is final enough.

gojo looks at you like he doesn't believe a single syllable that slips from your bitten lips, but then his shoulders sag and he exhales sharply, "fine," he mutters, turning on his heel as if he's the one that can't stand to be near you any longer.

"wait."

the word slips out before you can stop it, and gojo pauses, and his eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

you swallow hard, suddenly unsure of yourself, and lift a clean towel from the counter, helping yourself to another one of the hotel's free amenities, "can you help me with this?"

an olive branch.

you gesture with a single finger, over dried blood that has streaked over your back, your neck. the hollow of your collarbone.

you can see the refusal dancing on his tongue, the hesitation in the way his throat bobs, and how gojo's eyes flicker over you once more.

but he doesn't refuse. gojo just wordlessly steps forward, taking the towel from your outstretched hand. you watch, silently, as he moves to the sink and runs it under cold water. you're sitting on the edge of the counter now so you face him, watching the warm golden glow of the overhead lights in his pale hair.

the porcelain is cold against your thighs as you angle yourself away from the mirror, facing gojo. the towel in his hand drips faintly, and you watch as he hesitates again, just for a fraction of a second before stepping closer.

at first, his movements are slow and careful. he's raising the towel, and his hand is steady as you feel the first touch of the cool fabric against your back. a shiver practically races down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his arm snakes behind you, brushing against your bare skin.

it's subtle at first, but you notice it. the hitch in his breath, the faint tremour in his movements.

gojo, who is always so infuriatingly composed, is shaken. you hear it in the sorcerer's uneven exhale that he doesn't quite manage to suppress, the way his fingers press the towel just a little too harshly.

the suite is silent now except for the faint drip of water and the rasp of fabric against your skin. you should say something, anything, but the words don’t come. instead, your gaze fixes on him, his profile illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light.

gojo's features are always striking, almost ethereal: the ice-white hair that falls messily against his forehead, the long white lashes that frame those sharp, cerulean-blue eyes. there’s something softened by the warm light, as though the harshness of his presence, of a man who stands above heaven and earth, has been dulled just enough to make him seem almost...human again.

but you feel as though your heart must just give way, pounding so hard that it may burst. where the blood that fell from another man's veins had somehow drawn a line to gojo satoru instead.

an hour ago, you had been arched into another, naoki sato, one who had been a dead man walking. an hour ago, his hands were on you, his lips hot and insistent, and his eyes were warm, and now he’s gone. dead. gojo made sure of that. and that was always meant to happen.

the thought should make you furious. it should make you push gojo away, but instead, all you can do is sit there, feeling his hands —gentle now, impossibly careful, on your skin.

it's wrong. it's so deeply, fundamentally wrong, and yet the space another man left feels like it was carved out for gojo satoru all along.

gojo's touch slows as he runs the towel over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone with a precision that feels almost tender. your eyes slip closed for a moment, the warmth of his hand lingering even as the cold water wipes away the blood.

then he moves again.

it happens fast enough that you barely register it. one second, gojo satoru is standing tall and focused on the task, and the next...he's leaning down. his breath ghosting over the hollow of your neck.

you feel your entire world tilt as his lips press softly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, a touch so light that it feels stolen.

but now you've frozen, every breath catching as though the air was snatched from your lungs. every nerve feels as though it's on fire, hyper-aware of how soft the brush of his lips was, the faint scrape of his teeth just shy of your skin.

how gojo's lips were almost reverent, like a prayer offered in silence. how he was worshipping something he couldn't ever have.

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

gojos's cerulean eyes are molten, the usual ice cracked and melting into something deep and desperate and all-consuming. they bore into yours, wild and unguraded, and the pale lashes framing them tremble lighting as though even he's unsure of what he's just done.

but gojo's pupils are also blown wide, and electric. like a storm trapped in glass.

you swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. slowly, cautiously, you dip your head, just enough to give him permission without saying a word.

the look in his eyes shifts — hunger, disbelief, and something darker all tangled together. he presses his lips to your neck again, firmer this time, lingering as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. then again, slightly higher, his breath hot and uneven against you.

"satoru…" the name slips from your lips in a whisper, trembling and unbidden.

the warmth of his tongue catches you off guard, tracing the curve of your neck in a way that sends a jolt through your entire body, heat down to your thighs. it's...unhinged, but the part of you that should push him away is nowhere to be found.

gojo pulls back just enough for you to see the faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remain dark, intense, and burning with something that feels too big for the room.

"another man got to taste you," he whispers, "now i've tasted him."

you almost laugh, sharp and bitter. the sound lodging in your throat. the absurdity of it all, the jealously lacing his words like a poison vine, the way his breath still fans against your skin.

"that's insane," you manage, your voice shaking. it does little to stop the searing heat curling low in your stomach.

for a second, gojo's breath is still hot against your neck. and then suddenly, his hands are on you.

and fuck, it's not delicate at all. there's a roughness to his touch, desparate and unrestrained, as though something inside him as finally snapped.

his palms trace along your bare shoulders, sliding down to your arms, and then to your waist. his fingers press into your skin with a heat that makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. you don't even realise when you had opened your mouth slightly, panting as if you're trying to pull more air in.

"gojo," you manage, barely audible, and you're acutely aware of the low tense ache beginning to throb in your groin.

his hands slow for a moment, resting on your sides as if he’s trying to ground himself, or stop himself. and gojo's eyes find yours again, and they’re ablaze.

"can i keep going?"

you wonder just how you've managed to unravel this man, to leave his voice hanging by a thread in the air.

you don’t answer right away, your head swimming with confusion, slick desire, and something dangerously close to surrender. gojo satoru is watching you so intently it’s like he’s searching for every unspoken answer written on your skin.

finally, you shift — subtle, but enough. your knees part slightly, just enough for him to step between your bare thighs.

"what do you want me to do?"

you're aware of the insistent, rhythmic pulsing under your panties. of how every small shift of gojo's body against yours amplifies the soft arousal forming, as your heart pounds faster.

and so you let your fingers hook onto the pale waistband of your underwear, and you watch as his gaze follows your movements.

"i want you to touch me, there. please."

you hear the white-haired man breathe out a thankful, reverent fuck before he's following the path of your own hands, hooking a slender finger into your waistband and pulling your underwear down, and off.

and you're so painfully aware of your own arousal right now, the wet that is pooling beneath you. it feels like a relief, parting your legs so your searing heat meets cool air.

"that's perfect, look at t-that," and you're suddenly whining as gojo's fingertips begin grazing sloppy folds, raking themselves over your fluttering entrance, "she's practically been beggin' for my touch all this time, hah!"

"you - ohh, gojo!" you moan, feeling awfully faint from the rippling warmth making your cunt tighten around him, each pshh! echoing in your burning ears, "y-you wish!"

gojo's laugh is a little crazed, undone as he rolls his fingers in practiced curls, at an inhuman pace. bullying his fingers into your opening, as he rasps, "yeah, i w-wish. 'm wishing for this all the time. you never knew, huh?"

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your winking pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

and god, that's exactly where your eyes are. falling on a tense forearm around your waist, as the other works its fierce way through the clamping, gummy walls of your leaking cunt. and you're shuddering underneath him, feeling each brush of his fingers in you.

"w-we make a pretty sight, don't we, yeah?" and the words are spilling from gojo's lips with a certain smugness, but it's rough around the edges, strained. and you just can't look away from how utterly ruined he looks, from touching you.

you watch the glossed shine of your trickling pussy twinkle in the warm lights, as gojo pushes your thighs open wider. his frame leans over yours, taut and straining. and his lips are flushed and parted, betraying the deep ache of his breath.

"go onnn, say it. c'mon," and now gojo's whining in your ear, letting his hand push further into the mess as your pussy is practically weeping onto his fingertips, "won't let you c-cum if you don't say it."

your chest heaves with each desperate, gulping breath. and you can see gojo's vision narrow on how your tits threaten to spill out from their confines, the swell of your chest rising as you try to draw air through your close orgasmic daze. where the edges of your vision blur, and your heart is pounding erratically, "ahhh, gojo! 'm gonna, i think 'm gonna, oh my god!"

but there's more, you want so much more.

and against better thought, you push and elbow back into gojo's chest, heaving as he flicks his thumb over your aching clit.

"hah, what is it now? fuck was that for?" and the man is scowling at you, seemingly irritated that you drew him away from the hypnotic pull of your pulsing walls.

you swivel, away from the mirror so you're facing him. and your eyes fall on the heavy, pitched tent in gojo's grey slacks, one that must be aching and awfully painful from the way he's running his pink tongue over his bruised mouth.

"wan' more, gojo. on the bed."

you've reached up behind your back, unhooking the clip that was holding your bra together. it falls, and you toss it into the pile where gojo had flung your clingy panties, over your gorgeous dress.

and you think gojo satoru might have just had a minor heart attack.

his expression has shifted, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. you think you hear his breath hitch, as his eyes roam over you, unblinking. you're certain that the mildly brighter light in the room has nothing to do with what's overhead, rather the bright blue of gojo's six eyes.

you snicker at his dumbstruck expression, letting your hand curl around his wrist — marvelling at how he almost whines at the sight of you pushing him out of the bathroom suite, and onto that glorious bed that the two of you had argued over earlier in the day.

"n-not so opposed to sharing a bed with me now, sweets? oh, fuck," you don't let him get any more words out, since you're reaching for the sleek leather belt threading through the loops of his slacks, pawing at them so you can finally undress him. have him as bare as you are now.

something in your desparate touch must have made gojo snap, because now he's shuffling the two of you around, so you're practically splayed out under his warm, large hands. thighs spread, parted so your dripping cunt is displayed to the room, as he scoots closer. his knees pressing against the carpet.

"hnnghh, f-fuck, look at her. practically cryin' on me."

and what a sight. gojo satoru, the most powerful man to walk this earth in centuries is slumped beneath your thighs, close enough to your clit that when he breathes, he knocks his nose right over the sensitive bud, coating his face in that syrupy glaze.

and then its slow, painful. how his long tongue descends onto your weeping pussy, writhing flat in wide, broad strokes that leave you whining out his name.

you spread your legs even wider, fighting against gojo's tight grip on the flesh of your thighs. the thighs that are trembling as he brings his teeth up to graze your clit, and your arousal drips from his lips. making candied pink lips look like they've been glazed and dipped in sugar.

briefly, in the back of your mind, you wonder how you're going to continue to function tomorrow. how you're going to even be able to walk after gojo satoru has rendered you boneless.

you also wonder if there's a cosmic deity out there, looking at an invisible and heavenly camera with a dull look on their face. something like what can you do?

"mmhph, y'know i l-like this a lot better than that drink from earlier," and he's cooing at how you squeal and moan, "hah, what was that s-shit called? a cream soda."

you pull at the white strands of his hair, yanking gojo's head back from where his tongue had been lolling around your clit, ignoring his whine, "if y-you make a stupid, fuckin' joke about creaming, i'm g-gonna leave."

gojo rolls his eyes, but this time? this time, there's no malice in it, no irritation. his expression is almost fond, if not shadowed by the enormity of his own lust, "leaving before the main event is dumb choice, sweets."

"tch! get to i-it then, oh! what the fuck, gojo!"

he's found the right place to prod, to roll his fingers over the hood of your clit, occasionally propping his mouth down to suck at it lightly. your mouth is clamped shut, so you don't release an absurd amount of babble, wordless and airless about how good he's devouring you.

"hah," gojo huffs, pressing three flat fingers against your entrance, letting them curl into your walls, enough to tease you, "i can feel her beating for me. 's pulsing all over."

"c-can't you jus' make me cum?" your hands are desparate for some friction, running past your perked tits, down to his hair again. now clamping your thighs around his head, and the soft, snowy hair of his head tickles at your skin.

"can' believe you're talking shit when i'm e-eating you out," gojo chuckles, but you're just too mesmerised by the glint of your slick lighting a beacon over the lower half of his face, strands of slick as he pulls away from your pussy, "y'not that patient, huh?"

he's practically attached to your clit now, kissing it with a tender and yet firm press of his lips, seemingly aware of just how sensitive you are to that type of pressure.

you whimper and mewl as gojo's head disappeared back between your legs, deeper and lower as his tongue pushes into your pussy, flicking shallow thrusts that makes you breathe out gasps of his name.

"now i think 'm gonna cum, so close, satoru," with your hand firmly lodged in his platinum strands, you're rocking your hips messily, sloppily against his awaiting mouth.

"y-yeah? go on, sweets," he's moaning now too, and you don't miss how the edge of the bed rocks just a bit from him grinding the frame for some release on his own erection.

your orgasm makes your mind foggy, and you practically quake in gojo's large, warm hands. with a sharp cry of his name, followed by an endless chant of praise for the unearthly man between your legs, lapping at you as though you are his last drink, his last meal on this earth before he ascends elsewhere.

the hard streaks of white shoot through your vision, even as you come down from the incredible high, and you realise gojo has not stopped.

gojo's jaw is still locked as your slick dribbles down your folds, into his open mouth and onto his waiting tongue. the extra stimulation makes you deliriously cry out, "fuck, s-satoru! 's too much, holy fuck!"

you were still shaking, and a second orgam blurred your sight into an incredible spectrum of colours, white hot starlight and streaks of blue. that cascade of vivid tints flood your vision, each one jerking your hips and cunt forward until you felt your legs give way.

until gojo finally separated himself from your thighs, satisfied at how he had pulled two climaxes from you.

he's absolutely lost it, lost in that daze of being pussywhipped, and his eyes gleam with a feverish intensity. and when he crashes pink, glossy lips down on your mouth, you can feel him shake under your touch.

you moan, loud, as he nips at your lower lip. at how you can taste yourself on his tongue, syrup strands falling into your mouth as gojo suddenly twitches.

"i think 'm gonna have to be in you right now, otherwise i'll literally fuckin' die."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips as your partner pulls himself up, heavy limbs finally extracting themselves away from your naked body, reaching up to hook his fingers over the black crinkle of his rumpled dress shirt, pulling the fabric off.

leaving your mouth dry.

the moonlight spills over gojo's torso, and you track your eyes over his broad chest, rising and falling and flushed from his own arousal.

you follow the faint dusting of pale white hair as it disappeared past the waistband of his slacks that he's quickly making short work of, and you feel your pussy clench thinking about how badly you need to jump gojo satoru's bones.

but you're too transfixed by him, by the sculpted figure of a supposedly cold and arrogant bastard you've spent months and years rolling your eyes at.

he's real. all hot flesh and blood, and stunning. not that sneering, and infuriating man who's always one step ahead, always one callous word away from making your blood boil.

for a different heat has settled in you now, as your eyes fall on his throbbing cock that has sprung forth, up over his stomach. the tip is an angry, and furious berry-pink and you wonder just how you're going to make these inches fit.

"hah, didn’t think you'd be this shy, you know,” he says, voice a low, husky tease, as if he’s been watching your struggle. gojo's eyes glint with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something that you hope with lead him to take mercy on you.

"n-no. no," you repeat yourself more firmly, but it's far too breathless to be convincing, "no, 'm not shy."

but it's hard to form coherent thoughts when gojo satoru is towering over you, and his absurdly long and girthy shaft is twitching in between your slick folds.

"fuck you, s-satoru," you're whimpering, feeling the pulsing, rounded head of his flushed tip brush past your sensitive, drooling slit, "taking too long. jus' put it in already."

"mhmm, sweets," and gojo's bustling at your thighs now, pinching the soft and tender skin in retaliation for your touch undoing him so easily, "she can't even be patient, hah, trus' me. just lay back."

you comply, just this once. just because gojo satoru's cock looks so big, you think you need to gather all your thoughts so you'll be able to form coherent sentences later.

resting your head back on plush sheets, with the skyline twinkling in your peripheral vision as gojo's aligning himself with your cunt. he's gasping in low, shuddering breaths as his tip teases and hooks onto your inner walls.

"look at thaaat, oh! baby, fuck, wasn' even joking before, just sucking me up so fuckin' good!"

you don't reply, just mewling as he pushes inch after veiny inch into your dribbling walls, gasping as his large hands rest on the back of your thighs, pushing them further up so he can slot his torso in between your legs.

"oh my god, satoru! s-satoru, hnnhgh, it's too much — i don' think it's gon' fit," you always thought you would be embarrassed to lose composure like this in front of gojo, but you find yourself panting into the crook of his neck, raking nails down his flushed neck.

he's big, and you can feel every vein of his tapered curve hitting the right spots within you, as you shift your hips, desperate to let his sinuous cock kiss every inch of your pussy lovingly.

"gon' dumb already?" gojo's huffing, but you can see that he's not unaffected. his eyes are glazed over, hazy as he slowly draws his hips back just an inch, before scooting them forward already, "jus' gonna have to make this pussy learn from now on. don' worry, sweets. it'll fit."

the 'from now on' makes something in your pounding heart flutter.

but you have little time to focus on it as he bottoms out in your drenched cunt, as though you're hearing the slosh of your pussy coat him entirely, right up to the wiry, white hairs on his groin.

"hahh, there we go! the w-wonders of a positive attitude, don'tcha think?" and you're left with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as he begins to pick up the pace. a steady staccato that has you jostling underneath his ministrations.

you let his mouth chase yours, capturing glossy lips with your own bite, letting him pant, and whine and praise the heavens above for how tight you're snatching him right now.

"she's p-perfect, isn't she? t-thought about it so much, y'got no idea, got no c-clue about how much i thought about you under me like this n' how you'd f-feel!"

gojo satoru is absolutely drunk from a nectar that he has tasted once. the same nectar that coats his cock in frothy, filthy rings as he pistons his hips out of your pussy.

"happy for y-you, satoru," and you're letting your nails scratch over the shell of his ear as he twitches and shudders, "but fuck, y'talk too much! jus' focus on fucking me!"

gojo's mouth quirks upwards, that knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks at you bemused, and so hazy.

"god, a lot of that attitude now, hahh?" and he's drawling the words out, and you don't miss how he shudders when you clench around his shaft, on purpose. he's leaning in closer, barely brushing past your lips, and you wonder briefly for a split-second, gojo satoru might just really love you.

and then, without warning, his hand comes down to your side, just underneath the fat of your tits, pinching lightly at the abdomen. causing you to take a sharp intake of breath, and a dizzy huff of his name.

if you ever believed that gojo satoru was malicious in the workplace, a bane on your sanity, you had not been prepared for how he was stretching you out in all the right places.

that inhumane pace of the strongest had him snapping his hips sharply, over and over until he's hitting the spongy patch, deep within your walls.

"clamped around me like, ohh, like a fuckin' vice," gojo's grunting now, each breath coming out short puffs that match the timing of the slap! each whack of his cock delivers, pressing your hips together and coating his hips in sweet slick.

"mmph, feels so good, satoru!" you squeal, pressing a hand over your mouth so you don't wake up the entire top floor of the hotel, tits jostling with each shuffle and movement.

it's all coming down on you too quick, that electric haze shooting down your spine. made all the worse by gojo groaning and slipping his hand between his jackhammering hips, down to where your clit is practically throbbing for his touch.

he's running tight circles, before pressing the flat of his thumb under the hood of your clit, ripping a raw cry from the back of your throat, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as gojo's lips are leaving blooming marks over your neck.

"satoru, i t-think 'm gonna c-cum again," you moan, fluttering your lashes against your skin, rolling your hips up into gojo's quick fingers and brutal cock. but it feels different this time, nothing like your past two orgasms. you feel something draw its claws further into your groin, like you're going to burst and the breath will be stolen away from your lungs.

you hear gojo say something, snarky but tender as he laughs into your collarbone, as he's slapping his fingers down quickly over your clit, making you jolt. but you don't hear his words as blood roars in your eears, gushing all over his cock with a clear, sticky sheen that coats him deliciously.

makes gojo satoru groan out filthy praises over your marked skin, "didn' know you were that nasty? hahh, squirtin' over me on your first go, yeah? it's gettin' too much for me too, s-sweets. think 'm gonna hafta maaa -"

you have no inkling as to what gojo was aiming to groan out, fluttering his own blue eyes shut as his orgasm catches up to him, pumping you insanely full of thick, stringy seed. practically painting your inner walls a translucent white as you huff and whine.

but in the back of your mind, you think he wanted to marry you. a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

"fillin' you up, good, aren't i?" and he's lost in a daze, and you watch as his muscles ripple in the light of the moon, pectorals gleaming as he stuffs you further, as if plugging his seed to stay in you, making you squirm from the delicious stimulation.

you should have paid a little more attention to your surroundings. less attention to the thick veins of his cock drilling a home in you. or less attention to how his lips curl up into a sweeter smile as he presses soft, happy kisses to your cheek while you lay exhausted, caged by his thick arms.

then, you might have noticed the lights flicker and then shatter for half the hotel's rooms.

the morning sun peeks through the curtains like an overenthusiastic alarm clock, dragging you out of sleep with its gentle warmth. you stretch lazily, limbs still heavy and sticky from the weight of...the previous night's activities.

the sheets feel ridiculous soft, kudos to the insanely over-priced hotel. and for a second, you entertain the thought of just staying here. forever.

that is, until your eyes fall on raijin's amulet over on the wooden table.

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

you blink, squinting at the empty space beside you. your first instinct is to check besides the bed, and then under it, for fear that the six-foot three man has simply fallen off.

but your gaze falls on a tiny pink sticky-note on the nightstand. one that you suspect was pilfered from the scattered case file on the couch. you peer at looping cursive, scrawled in a blue marker.

don't eat anything yet! gone to get a proper breakfast!

you can't help the soft huff that leaves you, fond in its escape. you feel this sudden urge to don some proper clothes, to go down and join him in the warm sunlight.

but then you pause. perhaps, you ought not to. it would be fun to let him miss you just a bit. the thought of the gojo satoru standing there, waiting in line for entirely average pancakes is amusement enough for you.

but before you can pull the crisp sheets over your head, your eyes catch a glimpse of something else by the bed. a small, satin-blue box that didn't exist yesterday, in the world of cruel choices and...semi-successful missions.

the memory of yesterday pulls a frown from you, but you shake your head, determined to clear your thoughts.

you reach for it, letting your fingers run over the smooth surface, before tugging at the silver ribbon cautiously. half-expecting to find something weird like gojo's usual idea of a joke like a half-naked framed photo of him with a lipstick print.

ah!

but instead, inside the box lies a thin necklace. you've stared longingly enough at shop windows to know that these are real diamonds. not the cheap kind either, a well-cut carat that makes you gasp to yourself, a flush running over your cheeks.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips. "tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

you pick it up, feeling the cold weight of it in your hand. what is this, romance? a necklace? gojo satoru doesn’t even do romance. at least, not in the way anyone would expect.

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely get you diamonds just to throw you off balance. mission accomplished.

you glance at the sticky note again, then back at the necklace. this is way too much for your sleep-addled brain. and yet, there’s this funny little thing inside you, a warm spark that you don’t know what to do with.

fuck, when did he even have the time to get this gorgeous gift?

you’re definitely not soft, but gojo does this thing to you — he has a way of turning your whole world upside down, and now…apparently, he’s gone and done it again.

your cheeks warm, but you don't admit to it. not yet. but there's no denying the softer spot that's growing in you, the urge to have gojo satoru in your arms in this very moment so you can run your hands through soft, white hair to watch him purr. to see his cheeks flush from a sweet blush as his blue eyes flutter shut.

your eyes fall on his crumpled uniform jacket from yesterday, his discarded clothes. perhaps, you could just join him. after all, you feel words threatening to spill from your mouth and you want him to hear them.

a surprise of your own? you think you want to see gojo satoru speechless for once.

do not plagiarise or repost! likes and reblogs appreciated. btw, this jenny packham was the dress i envisioned for reader but imagine whatever you like!

[titania-sleeps]

Human Bloodbag Yandere x Vampire Reader

so i totally lied when i said i would wait until next month to post this. i offer you another good boy.

as a note, his characterization is a little different from my initial idea of him but i ended up liking this more. there's no explicit scene in here except a lil biting here and there but that won't be true for future Dion works >:3

• Dion was born and bred your bloodbag. From birth until the moment he dies, he will be your bloodbag.

• Dion never really had a choice. In the world that he knew, all humans were subservient to their vampiric masters. His parents were never truly his; they were the servants of Mordred the Terrifying. Like all the other human children in this world, his blood was crafted with a specific monster in mind.

• Dion's blood was sweet. Pure saccharine and hints of despair. He was mixed with you in mind, a candidate to replace one in the Council of the Elder Ancestors.

• Dion first met you when you were six and he was seven. He was struck with both an intense loathing and a gentle warmth. His master was standing in front of him, yet he couldn't bear to look at you in the eyes. You weren't impressed with him either, but at the very least, you didn't look at him with contempt.

• Dion spent the month as your personal servant under the instruction of your governess, Madam Lilith Hatheway. He learned to distinguish the sickly pleasantries of poison from your plain juice. He learned to fend off potential enemies and greet your benefactors. He learned the sharpness of knives and how humans could bleed ever so easily. He learned hatred, abhorrence, desperation, eagerness, joy, and elation all in the time he spent with you.

• Dion nearly fled the day he was meant to be bitten by you. Fear coursed through his veins, but Madam Lilith held him still and your eyes were daggers pinning him to the ground. You approached him with a simple glide of your steps, and your teeth were upon his exposed neck before a scream could escape his throat.

• Dion's vision grew blurry as the world spun around him. Or perhaps the world was spinning around you and he was caught up in it. You are the gravity of his world and he had to fall into you. You remained attached to his neck for an eternity, and he soon found himself losing consciousness.

• Dion woke up the next day, having grown to be eight years of human age, and you sitting next to his bedside. He was distinctly alive, yet also empty of what little fear and life he had clung onto so desperately in the last month.

• Dion listened to you closely as you explained with thinly veiled concern that he was now bonded to you. For as long as you were alive, he would be too. Under your curse, he would no longer experience the same emotions as a free human. Instead, his emotions would slowly be replaced by an undeniable sense of servitude towards you.

• Dion couldn't mourn the passing of what he had never possessed. He accepted his fate and swore his loyalty to you. You looked displeased.

• Dion remained by your side for the next hundred years as you matured. You treated him coldly but not unkindly. Perhaps it was because of your bitter nature that he never grew the attachment for you that he was promised. But he was fond of you, and it was not due to fate or the blood bond that the two of you shared that created this emotion in him.

• Dion never faulted you for binding him to you. The Elder Ancestors demanded you to bite him, and he knew you couldn't deny them. You were six, and they were more than six thousand.

• Dion knew too well the emotions that went through you every day. He could feel it from your gaze and from the blood in his veins. Guilt, displeasure, fear, and a sprinkle of affection. And as he gazed back into your eyes, he knew that you were just like him. A cog in the machinations of this limiting cage, engineered and designed to sustain itself for centuries upon centuries.

• Dion blamed it on his faulty sense of camaraderie, but he couldn't help himself from trying to get closer to you. Another decade passed before he saw your sincere smile for the first time. But it wasn't directed at him.

• Dion, for the first time, understood what others would call "blood boiling." His body was heated in fury as you exchanged casual pleasantries with another vampire gentleman your age. You seemed to be immediately infatuated with his dark brows and suave demeanor, but Dion didn't let it advance. For years upon years, he has known you to be a glacial creature, blue blood and ice running in your veins. Are you only now to tell him that you could experience the same joy and despair that he could?

• Dion intercepted this shameful display of... of whatever it was. You were of greater nobility than this meager creature, so there was no need for you to be conversing so vibrantly with him.

• Dion drove the man away and you brought Dion home in a fit of rage. You were still young and he was not much older than you, but even then, he felt you were being unreasonable. You claimed that he was jealous because of the blood bond you shared with him, but he knew that couldn't have been the case. It was not gentle jealousy that he held towards the man, but righteous anger.

• Dion succumbed himself to your punishment, which was rather weak for how furious you seemed. He was roughly pushed onto your bed, your fangs baring at him. The bite was filled with your sadness and loneliness, and he embraced your form joyously.

• Dion didn't push you away as you sucked his blood endlessly. The venom you injected into him filled him with adult pleasure*. He held his body still as his arms pulled you even closer to him. Throwing his head back, he laughed. It was a carefree sound, not at all suitable for a bird in a cage. His laugh startled you and you unmounted your fangs from his neck, staring at him incredulously.

• Dion urged you to continue sucking his blood. He would agree to give you him wholly if you would only suck his blood and only his. You were confused; he was already yours in name and in blood. What more of him could he give you? Then you peered into his eyes.

• Dion's eyes were the color of turbulent waves that swept and drowned those who were unwary. They held the deepest of blues and the darkest of greys. A treasure trove of desires and epiphanies opened to you as you dove deeper.

• Dion cocked his head to the side, baring his neck. Your puncture brought pink to the skin surrounding the wound, but no blood seeped out. A knowing smile danced on his lips.

• Dion was a monster you created. So you have to take responsibility for him.

* my vampire headcanon is that you don't get the aphrodisiac or whatever tf vampires inject into their victims until you come of age

-> masterlist

[shxuga]

Bloody Bites II | Twisted Wonderland

Vampire!Malleus Draconia x Female!Reader | Priest!Rollo Flamme x Female!Reader | VampireHunter!Leona Kingscholar x Female!Reader | Vampire AU | TW: Blood, descriptions of violence, manipulation, abuse, dead dove: do not eat.

ACT I

A C T I I

Leona Kingscholar was used to that look.

Yes, that look. As if being a member of the beastmen clan and his physiological traits weren’t enough to draw attention wherever he went, he also carried the emblem of a monster hunter. And not just any emblem—the emblem that only a handful of hunters had survived long enough to bear.

An S-Class Hunter Emblem.

His body, covered in rigid muscles and rough scars, was the greatest evidence of the countless times death had whispered at his nape. Every step, every movement, was meticulously planned. Long ago, he had stopped seeing himself as a person and simply viewed himself as a weapon. So many battles against demons throughout his short life had sharpened his instincts, allowing him to perceive things even beyond what his well-trained lion ears could detect—to analyze beyond the facade that people showed at first glance.

He had learned that bloodsucking demons and abominations weren’t the only monsters inhabiting this world…

"The creature appeared about a decade ago. I was just an apprentice back then..." Father Rollo stated, averting his gaze from Leona to contemplate the distorted landscape through the stained glass of the cathedral. His face twisted in anger, the memory of his first encounter with that vampire as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. "But I will never forget its grotesque appearance… Kill it. I don’t care how, just do it."

Leona eyed the pouch of gold coins spilling onto the table before him.

"Go into the forest, climb the mountain, and you'll find an old, decrepit cabin. You'll find something there."

Leona took his payment and stood in silence, a man of few words. He was about to leave the church when he decided to trust his instincts and ask:

"How are you so sure?"

A chilling smile spread across Rollo’s lips.

"I just know..."

It was a fact.

Perhaps there was more than one monster in this village…

Now, with the payment in hand and an idea of what the priest’s words might mean, he left the building and decided to analyze his surroundings. The population was small—only a handful of young men, while the rest of the inhabitants were elderly, women, and children. It wasn’t unusual; most young men left their hometowns to seek opportunities in the capital. But there was something strange about the people in this village—their faces... They looked empty, almost lifeless. He couldn’t pinpoint exactly what, but the hairs standing on the back of his neck were a sign that something dangerous was lurking.

There were no signs of an epidemic, and the priest, as far as he could tell, seemed to be managing resources adequately.

But something was definitely off…

He walked to what he recognized as the only butcher shop in town, intending to buy food for what he assumed would be a long journey. The door creaked loudly as he entered.

"I already told you, Carmen, your husband hasn't returned..." a boy spoke with irritation. Leona almost mistook him for a young maiden, if not for his muscular arms and masculine voice. "Ah, a foreigner. Welcome. We're short on supplies—the hunters haven't returned since yesterday, so all we have is dried meat and chicken entrails."

He cast a glance—one that could easily be considered inappropriate—at the lion ears peeking from Leona's wild mane of curly hair, which he had tied back.

"Though I suppose that won’t be a problem for you..."

"Give me the dried meat."

"As you wish."

The butcher wasn’t much of a talker, something Leona appreciated. Well-versed in the art of slaughter, it didn’t take him long to cut several strips of tough, flavorless meat and wrap them in a piece of cloth. As Leona paid, he cast a glance at the collection of sharp knives scattered across the counter. However, he lost interest immediately.

None of them were silver.

"Come back soon," the butcher dismissed him without much enthusiasm. Leona nodded in response. He was about to leave when a small, trembling figure bumped into him. He couldn’t see her face—it was covered by a hood—but he could tell from her petite frame and the faint, whispered "I'm sorry" that it was a young woman.

A butcher shop in a village as small as this naturally carried a strong scent of blood and death, but somehow, the stench seemed to intensify the moment she stepped inside.

"Yuu?! What are you doing here?!"

"A-Adel... I..."

"You're freezing! Come here before you catch a cold." Without giving her a chance to protest, the butcher dragged the young woman into a room behind the counter. Leona shot a final, intense glance at the place where the two had disappeared before leaving.

Adel took her to his living quarters, using tongs to pick up a stone from the fireplace and wrapping it in an old cloth so Yuu could warm herself. As he placed the warm bundle in her hands, he immediately noticed the deplorable state of her clothing and the abundant stains of dried blood on it.

"What the hell happened to you?! Are you hurt?!" He moved to yank off her cloak to check for any injuries.

"No!" she screamed, and the walls of the butcher shop seemed to tremble. Silence.

Adel stepped back, realizing she was shaking and that forcing her wouldn’t get him any answers. She swallowed hard before speaking again.

"P-Promise me... Promise you won't be scared or scream..."

"What kind of nonsense—?"

"Just promise!"

"Fine, fine! I promise!"

Yuu said nothing, taking her time to slowly, very slowly, lower the hood covering her face. At first glance, nothing seemed wrong with her appearance. But for someone as observant as Adel, it wasn’t hard to notice something was off.

Her skin was pale—an unnatural grayish hue, resembling that of a corpse.

She didn’t stop there. With trembling fingers, she untied the ribbon of her cloak, revealing the walking disaster she had become. Her dress wasn’t just torn, muddy, and bloodstained—it looked as if she had sustained a mortal wound. Yet, her abdomen was unscathed.

However, what made Adel’s eyes widen in unpleasant surprise were the two small puncture marks on his friend’s neck.

His face drained of color, but true to his promise, he neither screamed nor made his fear obvious.

"Yuu… you…"

She began to cry, speaking in a broken voice.

"I... I saw a young man bleeding in the snow! I saved him, and… and..."

As if the deep bite marks weren’t enough, her sobs revealed something even more damning—a pair of newly sprouted, sharp fangs.

Terrified—more than Adel—she gripped her hair violently and curled up on the floor.

"I... I..."

"Don’t do that, you'll hurt yourself…" He tried to reach out to comfort her, but she pushed him away instantly.

With a mere shove… he was thrown across the room.

"No! Stay away from me!" she screamed, the scratches her nails had left on her face vanishing before his eyes.

"You don’t understand... I... I can’t control myself..."

The first thing she felt upon waking after that incident was peace. No pain, no cold, no exhaustion… Being dead somehow made her feel alive.

Then, she realized.

The corpses surrounding her. The unbearable burning sensation in her throat, as if she had swallowed a handful of sand.

She almost lost her mind then and there.

And with that, she understood.

She wasn’t alive, but she wasn’t dead either.

Something in her neck pulsed at the thought. It hurt—it was the only area that truly hurt. All her other scars had vanished, but those two small, deep punctures remained fresh, as if they had a life of their own.

"I’m a neophyte..." she murmured, shocked by the knowledge that had simply appeared in her mind. She holds her hands over her mouth, making her voice sound like a strangled croak. "A vampire bit me. If I don’t drink human blood within the next seven days... I’ll turn back into a human."

"And… what happens if you drink before the seven days...?" Adel asks cautiously, starting to understand the situation a little better.

More tears fall from Yuu’s face.

"I’ll become a monster..."

«Crash!»

One of the house’s walls explodes, creating an opening that allows the afternoon sun to pour in. Almost immediately, Yuu screams, covering her face as her skin erupts in a gruesome swell of blisters.

"Y-Yuu!" Adel tries to run to her aid, but Leona jumps through the hole and pushes him away.

"Stay back, butcher," He growls, not looking directly at him. Adel recognizes the sound of a weapon being cocked, and the smell of gunpowder and silver bullets when they’re that close, so he doesn’t hesitate to throw himself at Leona to hinder her actions.

"Run, Yuu! Don’t let him catch you!" he shouts, tossing her the cloak. She wraps herself in the material and flees the butcher shop, the skin of her arms charred by the sun and her eyes weeping over the dark and gruesome turn everything had taken.

"Idiot!" With little effort, Leona throws him off. A blow from his elbow is enough to send him to the ground and break his nose. "Do you have any idea what you just did?! That monster will kill everyone!"

"She’s not a monster!" he gets back up, wiping the blood running down his face with his arm. From his grimy and worn butcher's apron, he pulls out a knife—one Leona had his eye on earlier. "And if you’re going to hurt her... you’ll have to go through me first."

"As you wish..." He growls, more beast than human. But that doesn’t intimidate Adel.

• • •

What would normally take half a day of travel, Yuu managed to do in just a couple of hours thanks to her newfound abilities. She was doomed. She was ignorant, but even an illiterate fool could recognize the emblem of a monster hunter when they saw it.

She didn’t even know what she hoped to gain by coming to the village in the first place. Her skin erupted in painful blisters upon direct contact with the sun, and her mouth watered just from watching the villagers walk a few steps away from her. She knew it was stupid and reckless, but at the very least, she wanted to see her friend one last time…

She stumbled into her cabin, nearly ripping the door off in the process. All her windows had already been covered with rags and wooden planks, making it a safe place. The arrival of spring had brought the first rays of sunlight after a winter of dark clouds and short days. Maybe that was why the vampire had never shown any signs of being one… everything just felt so damn convenient.

Yuu collapsed onto the floor, unsure of what to do. At some point during her escape, her normally tied-up hair had come loose, messy strands falling over her face. At least it could help cover the mark… but the fangs were another story. If only they weren’t there…

An idea took shape in her mind. She crawled toward the fireplace, frantically searching for a stone hard enough for what she planned to do. Miraculously, she found one. It was the size of her fist, jagged in texture, deformed by all the times it had endured the heat of the flames.

Yuu opened her mouth, tracing her fang with her free hand, unintentionally nicking her finger in the process. She couldn’t resist the bestial urge that drove her to bring that tiny drop of her own blood to her lips. She sucked eagerly until the small wound closed. Almost instantly, she felt disgusted—and thus, even more determined.

She screamed, cried, and thrashed, but she didn’t stop until the rock in her fist shattered and her fangs were reduced to something less conspicuous than two long, sharp peaks. She ended up tearing apart the inside of her mouth, but it was a price she was willing to pay to feel even a little more human.

"Stay still, or I'll blow your head off."

Yuu trembles violently but obeys the warning.

“Turn around slowly and put your hands where I can see them,” the hunter spits. She shakes and cries in silence as she follows his orders.

How?

How did he find her? How had he gotten here so fast? How had she not noticed his presence… until he was quite literally behind her?

What had happened to Adel?

“W-What did you do to Adel?!” Almost as soon as that surge of bravery hit her, an explosion grazed the side of her face, rupturing her eardrum. She screamed, clutching her face as she writhed on the ground.

“I didn’t give you permission to speak.” His voice is the coldest, harshest thing she has ever heard. This man is different from anyone she has encountered before. She is sure that if she isn’t careful, he will kill her without even blinking.

“Now—” He grabs her roughly by the neck and slams her against the wall, making her scream. “—you’re going to tell me how many villagers you killed and where your partner is. Otherwise, I’ll cut off your fingers, your toes, your nose, ears, arms, legs… and I’ll let you die in the sun. So talk. Now.”

He loosens his grip just a little—not enough to make it any less lethal, but at least now she can speak. Overwhelmed by terror, more tears stream down Yuu’s face, but Leona doesn’t even flinch.

“I-I don’t know what you’re talking about…! I haven’t killed anyone…!” she squeaks, but her words die on her tongue when Leona’s grip tightens.

“That’s not an answer.” He pulls a knife from his coat, squeezing her throat even more. Yuu is sure she hears something crack, but the sheer terror of losing a limb is stronger.

“W-Wait, please! Don’t kill me!” she shrieks, writhing in his grip, struggling to get her feet back on the ground. But the man holding her ignores her cries, his arms as unyielding as iron.

“I haven’t done anything! Please, listen to me!”

Her throat tears as she screams when she feels the sharp blade press against her skin. It burns—it burns just like fire would. Her desperation escalates.

“I’m a neophyte! H-He turned me! I haven’t killed anyone, so please…!”

She clamps her mouth shut when the knife embeds itself just inches from her face.

“A neophyte…” Leona tastes the word with disdain. “That explains why your eyes aren’t red and why you don’t smell like blood… not someone else’s blood, anyway. He must have turned you when you were dying.”

Yuu stares at him, shaken. He knew. Of course, he knew! And yet he still threatened her and nearly—nearly…

“Where is he?”

“W-What…?”

“Where is the vampire who turned you and killed the hunters?” he demands, his voice low, his face dangerously close to the knife stuck in the wall.

“I-I don’t know, he just bit me and disappeared…!”

“How do I know you’re telling the truth?”

She said nothing—she just cried harder. It was slipping out of her hands; she was desperate. She didn’t want to die. She didn’t want this… How had her peaceful life twisted into this nightmare?

Leona let go of her. She whimpered as her legs gave out, making her stumble to the floor. She watched him pace around her not-so-spacious cabin, trembling like a wounded animal, terrified that at any moment he might corner her again and threaten to rip off one of her limbs. She had been so consumed by fear in such a short time that she almost forgot the suffocating thirst burning in her throat. She tried to suppress the wild instinct by covering her mouth and pressing a fist against her neck.

“That butcher… Is he your lover or something?” Leona asked after what felt like an eternity. His sharp gaze settled on the unmade bed where the vampire had been lying just days ago. “He’s not in any danger. I just roughed him up a little so he wouldn’t follow me.”

That seemed to calm her.

“He’s my friend…”

“So, can you explain why a young, single woman lives so far from her village?” he continued, sitting comfortably on the bed, the shotgun that had almost blown her brains out still aimed in her direction.

Yuu bit her lip, reluctant to discuss this with someone like him.

“Father Rollo asked me to… It’s my way of atoning for my sins.”

At her words, Leona’s face twisted into an expression that was almost a laugh.

“So that’s what this is about…”

She didn’t quite understand what he was getting at, but for her own safety, she decided not to ask.

“I assume that before you were left alone, you lived with your mother or something like that. Am I right?”

She nodded, staring at him in stunned silence.

Then, the questions stopped. Leona seemed deep in thought, which unsettled Yuu even more.

“…Are you going to kill me?”

“I want to,” he answered, his face turning as cold and stoic as when he had nearly sliced her face open. “Neophytes are more troublesome than regular vampires. Unpredictable, insatiable… There’s no record of a neophyte surviving more than seven days without killing someone. However, you’re my only lead to finding the veteran who turned you. Most likely, that priest kept you living alone, far from the village, to lure that vampire in. He just didn’t expect you to be turned instead. Maybe, in exchange for a young, virgin girl every so often, that monster spares the rest. Small communities like this tend to survive that way."

“What are you saying?! Father Rollo would never do something like that!”

“You found that vampire, didn’t you?” Leona ignored her outrage and continued with his speculations. “Long before he turned you. Tell me what happened—leave nothing out. Understood?”

She didn’t have many options, so she just told him everything. How she found him one day covered in blood and brought him home. How he stayed immobile for the whole season… and how things ended up the way they had.

“Are you stupid? How didn’t you realize that thing wasn’t human?” Cruel, harsh words spilled from his mouth as he stood up without warning, towering over her like a large, threatening shadow. Deep down, he had to admit he felt a shred of pity for Yuu. She was just a girl—deceived by everyone, her very existence not much more than bait. The kindest thing he could do for her was kill her before she fully turned.

“How was I supposed to know?! H-his eyes weren’t even red!”

Leona stopped, giving Yuu a moment to sob and lament under her breath.

“What did you say…?”

“H-he didn’t look like a vampire… he had horns and… and his eyes were green.”

Horns… green eyes… it couldn’t be.

“Are you sure about what you’re saying? If you’re lying to me, I’ll throw you into the sun, so choose your words very carefully.” He grabbed her arm, forcing her to stand.

“Y-yes, I’m completely sure…!” she nodded wildly.

Leona fell into absolute silence again, staring at her intensely—almost as if he could see right through her.

“I’ve decided… I’m not going to kill you. For now.” he said slowly.

“R-really?” Yuu looked up at him, eyes wide.

“For the next seven days, I’ll be staying here with you. So if you do anything suspicious, you can be sure I won’t hesitate to kill you.” He let go of her briefly, only to rummage through his things and toss a bag in her face.

“But there will be rules. You’re not allowed to leave this place. You won’t get up from that corner. You’ll stay as still as a statue. And you’ll wear this until the seven days are over. I think you know what’ll happen if you don’t follow my instructions…”

She nodded again, checking the contents of the small leather bag. The moment her fingers touched the metal, a painful burning sensation spread through her hand. The silver cuffs clattered loudly to the floor.

Leona's face remained just as expressionless when she looked up at him, nerves on edge.

“Well? Do we have a deal?”

It wasn’t like she had another choice.

“…Yes.”

•

•

•

The first night was the hardest—and the blurriest. She only remembers screaming, that insatiable thirst spreading through her entire body as she writhed on the floor.

The hunter wasted no time in restraining her, with the same rough efficiency that defined his profession. He pinned her down and stuffed a wad of fabric into her mouth to silence any attempt at biting.

After that, she passed out.

•

•

•

During the day, her condition was manageable. Vampires were inherently vulnerable to sunlight, so the primal instinct awakened by the mark on her neck had little control over Yuu. However, that didn’t stop the hunter from taking precautions—hiding anything she could use to shield herself from the sun and escape.

Neither of them spoke a word, and so the second night fell.

Their routine was no different from the first.

•

•

•

Leona knew he wasn’t being fair to her. In reality, it wasn’t her fault she had become a newborn. She was just another victim of the disgusting acts those selfish beasts engaged in.

But what more could he do? He was more accustomed to dealing with monsters than with people. And she... she was somewhere in between.

"At least... would you tell me your name?"

And there she was, after more than twelve hours of sobbing and moaning, managing to ignore the constant pain of the silver on her skin and using the last of her strength to speak to him. The beginning of the third dawn filtered through the largest cracks in the cabin, making it clear that her condition was now under control.

Leona didn’t even glance at her.

"No."

"Fine..."

She nodded with resignation, as if she had never had hope in the first place. By the time Leona decided to look at her, she was no longer looking at him. But even so, he could see her, even in the dim light of that dilapidated house.

He saw the face of someone used to rejection.

For the first time in a long while, something inside Leona twisted.

•

•

•

Even for a cold-blooded hunter like him, the routine of having to watch her struggle with herself every day was starting to wear him down. He hadn’t slept at all since this all started; he couldn’t afford that luxury when sharing a roof with an almost vampire.

"Why don’t you just give up?" He asked, more tired than annoyed, while fighting with his inhuman strength to keep her subdued on the cold wooden floor.

"Because... I want to live..."

He hadn’t expected an answer, not in the middle of the frenzy. At least it showed she still had some awareness. Yuu might be weak and whiny, but at least she fought back.

"I don’t want to kill anyone... but I don’t want to die... Maybe I became this, but I know what it means to be afraid, I know how terrifying death is, and how painful it is to die alone... I... I don’t want to cause anyone that suffering!"

And Yuu fainted, leaving Leona with a bitter feeling.

•

•

•

"In all the years I’ve been hunting monsters, this is the first time I’ve encountered a neophyte like you..." It was rare for Leona to start the conversation, so Yuu didn’t know how to respond. "Last night... you said you want to live... Why?"

"Do I need a reason?"

"I don’t want to sound like a jerk, though it’s pretty clear I am, but I have the feeling that your life before the bite wasn’t exactly beautiful."

He said, being much more biting than he’d intended. Yuu took a few seconds to respond.

"Yes, you’re right..."

She sighed, adjusting her position so she could look him in the face while speaking. Her gaze was unreadable, and the small smile that appeared on her lips was melancholic.

"But it’s mine, it’s my life. Nothing in this world belongs to me, but my life is mine. If I really get through this, I’ll leave this place. If everything you said is true, I don’t plan on staying here any longer. I’ll travel, see new places, and live the way I think is right. For the first time, I’ll allow myself to dream of something more... You know? Right now, dreaming is the only thing keeping me sane..."

She concluded, and at some point, that smile had turned into a genuine one.

It was fleeting, like many of the most charming things in this world.

Leona was lost in thought, finding himself at a moral crossroads.

"Mr. Hunter..."

He looked at her in response.

"Please, don’t let me hurt anyone."

•

•

•

How much time had passed?

How many hours? Or had it already been days?

She opened her eyes, confused. She found herself in the middle of the forest, with the moonlight nervously prickling her skin and her bare feet sinking into the snow.

How...?

The hunter... Where is the hunter?

She... was about to finish the seven days... and...

Why didn’t she feel that agonizing thirst piercing her insides anymore?

"It’s been a while, little human."

Yuu froze. Everything seemed to go silent, from the rustling of the distant branches to the sound of her own breathing. He was behind her, she didn’t even know when he had arrived, only that she could tell by how close his voice was. From her neck, long, cold fingers played with her hair and slid tentatively down to trace her jawline. She noticed the long, dark, pointed silhouette of his nails, the enormous shadow that loomed over her, and how his horns protruded from it.

"Why are you crying...?"

She didn’t even know when the tears had started to fall. She cried harder when he took her with an unfamiliar gentleness and forced her to look into his eyes. There was no trace of humanity in Malleus. His orbs were a deep green that seemed to devour everything around him. There was nothing reflected in them. He looked at her with confusion, not caring at all about how she trembled in his arms and tried to push his hands away.

"You don’t seem very happy to have received my blessing."

"You call this a blessing...? You turned me into a monster!"

"Don’t forget, it was you who begged for salvation. It was you who foolishly brought me into your home and kept me alive. It was you, and no one but you. In the end... Foolishness was your sin, little human."

Malleus said, silencing Yuu’s complaints instantly. A long while passed as they stared at each other, until she couldn’t stand it anymore and turned her face away.

He hummed, dispelling the cold and uncomfortable mist that had taken over the atmosphere just moments before.

"There, there, don’t cry. You’ll get through it. Killing isn’t a big deal once you get used to it."

Yuu felt nauseous.

"So be a good girl and wait for me." He whispered, very sweetly. "I’ll visit you soon."

And then she woke up.

With the hairs on her arms standing up, covered in cold sweat and gasping for breath, the thirst for blood hit her immediately, but it was bearable. Everything was more bearable after that heartbreaking experience.

How could he speak of killing as if the lives of others meant nothing...?

She shivered, and by instinct, she was about to rub the area near where the cuffs had burned her skin. But there was one detail she almost didn’t notice.

There was no more pain, or rather, it was barely perceptible. Her wrists were wrapped in rags, preventing direct contact. She lifted her eyes to the only person who had been with her throughout this painful process.

"Hunter...?"

It was strange. She had barely realized it because of her own suffering, but she was sure he hadn’t slept at all during this time.

He just watched her, silently, with a tense hand on his weapon. But now... She couldn’t even feel his eyes, and his posture was completely different from the last few days.

“I’ll visit you soon.”

Terror clouded her senses.

"Hunter!"

Without thinking, she rushed toward him, trying not to touch him. She abandoned the corner. She broke the rule, but that didn’t mean anything if he was already dead.

For the first time in days, she felt genuinely relieved.

He had just fallen asleep, which was quite surprising. She took a few more steps toward him, without closing the distance too much, just walking close enough to be able to look at him.

And, wow.

Given the circumstances, Yuu had never allowed herself to realize how incredibly handsome her hunter was. With his tall, muscular frame, bronzed skin, masculine face, and chiseled cheekbones, he exuded a male attractiveness she had never witnessed. She had always been forced to keep her distance from him, so she was surprised when she discovered the scar running through one of his eyelids, and thanks to that, she vaguely remembered the color of his eyes.

They were green.

Without thinking, she reached out her hand toward one of the curls escaping from his messy ponytail. She licked her lips, able to hear the steady rhythm of his pulse and the flow of his blood through his warm, living skin. Just thinking about how good it would feel to sink her lips into his neck, right next to where his Adam's apple rose and fell, made her teeth tingle, almost as if they had a life of their own. The sand in her throat grew thicker, and all her thoughts pointed to the fact that her suffering would end the moment she decided to bite him.

He's so close... I just need to lean in a little and...

Leona woke up.

Dazed, because it wasn’t usual for him to fall asleep. By instinct, he groped around until he found his shotgun, and automatically aimed it toward the corner where Yuu should have been. And there she was, curled up just like on the first day.

He stayed in that position for about ten minutes before allowing himself to feel something close to relief.

How the hell did I end up falling asleep...?

He sighed, running his hand over his face to push his bangs back. The exhaustion tormented him like a heavy burden on his limbs, but he couldn’t afford to rest.

Not when there was so little time left.

Due to the nature of his job, and having witnessed firsthand how cruel and bloodthirsty vampires could be, he would never admit it, but...

He hoped that Yuu could somehow become human again.

•

•

•

"Get up, the day is almost over."

Yuu blinked, feeling her limbs numb. Leona was watching her from above, her brow furrowed just like the first time. She was still half-asleep, so it was no surprise that she barely understood anything he said. Leona always spoke softly, in a tone that sounded more like a growl than a whisper.

"Is it night...?" She rubbed one of her eyes, feeling dizzy.

"Almost. Are you going to get up?"

"I can't..."

And it wasn't a lie. Like humans, for a vampire, not eating was lethal. She hadn’t eaten in days, so right now she was as weak and vulnerable as an ordinary human.

Leona cursed, pulling her body. But unlike their first encounter, his touch was much gentler.

"Can you stand up?"

"Y-yes... " She hesitated, not sure if the pleasant scent coming from his body was his own or the way her body only saw him as food. In any case, being this close was embarrassing. "Don't you think at this distance, I could lose control and bite you...?"

"I'd break your jaw before you even tried."

"You sound very confident for someone who hasn't slept or eaten much in the past week..." She wasn't sure if it was the optimism that she might become human again any minute, but she felt like joking a little.

He clicked his tongue in response.

"Hey..."

"What now?"

"Thanks for letting me live..." For a brief moment, Leona fell silent. "I know none of what you did was personal, you were just trying to protect Adel and the others, so I..."

"... Save the sappiness for when you’re human again."

They stared into each other's eyes; the eye contact lasted only a few seconds, but it was enough to make something stir inside both of them. She smiled, with a shyness befitting of what she was: a human girl.

The creaky wooden walls shook when someone knocked violently on the door.

"Hunter?! I know you're in there, open the door!" Rollo Flamme demanded, not stopping the intense knocking. Yuu's stomach sank, and Leona shoved her onto the bed and covered her with the blankets.

The message was clear:

Don't make a sound.

Leona didn’t take long to open the door. As stoic and silent as ever, he observed the father and the crowd of villagers holding torches that accompanied him.

"Father, what a pleasant surprise."

"Don't mock me!" Rollo shouted, venom spilling from his mouth and eyes. "Do you think we don't know what you've done?!"

Behind him, the crowd of people shouted, just as agitated as the man leading the group. By instinct, she searched for the butcher among the crowd. Not finding him made several things click in her head.

"You let a vampire into the village, more than ten people have died since then! Where were you?! Playing house with the daughter of a prostitute in the middle of the woods?!"

Ten people...? As far as he knew, the group of hunters only consisted of five people.

Something was wrong.

The feeling he had when speaking to the father a week ago hit him harder now. Why had he waited so long to confront him if so many people had died? Why today, when Yuu was about to break the curse...?

"You... You know the vampire, don’t you? "Leona said, softly, very softly, so that in the middle of the shouting and chaos, his voice would only be heard by him and the father. "He told you to do this..."

Rollo’s fury froze, and his body visibly trembled. All that rage vanished; in an instant, he stopped being the authoritative and solemn father and became what he was: a small, insignificant human, nothing more than a puppet of a vampire.

"Kill him! Burn the house and kill them both!" He ordered, backing away from him, nearly stumbling to the ground as he screamed.

Leona had to close the door. Within seconds, the forest stopped being calm; rocks and torches slammed into the walls of the place, breaking everything.

The fire quickly spread, painting the surroundings with unbearable heat and an overwhelming red.

"What?! What's happening?!" Yuu barely managed to sit up, staring in disbelief as everything she loved and knew was reduced to ashes. She hardly cared that some of the rocks breaking through the wall hit her or that the sunlight filtering through the gaps irritated her skin.

Her home... the last memory of her and her mother, the place she hated and loved for years... It was disappearing, fading away.

"Don’t get up!" Leona demanded, pulling Yuu back to reality by wrapping her body in furs and blankets.

The rashes on her grayish skin stopped, but didn’t heal. All the vitality she had as a neophyte had drained because she had abused her regeneration. If things kept going like this, she would die before she could ever become human again.

"Damn it!"

It wasn’t a fight he could win. The vampire had set a trap for them, and any moment now, night would fall, and they would have free rein to kill them all. Leona kicked one of the back walls; the rotten, burned wood gave way to the force of her legs and created a hole large enough for someone to escape through.

He took Yuu’s small, weakened body in her arms and started running through the forest.

"-"That way, they’re escaping!"

From the explosion that accompanied that voice, he knew they were shooting at them.

Leona kept running, relying solely on the burning adrenaline that consumed her body and her beast-man abilities.

Hhe didn’t stop until the voices of their pursuers faded into the distance.

Then, he collapsed. His legs gave way, and they had the misfortune of falling into a small, sloped hill. They both went in different directions, dragged by gravity while rocks and branches wrapped in the thin layer of snow pierced their skin.

"H-hunter...?" Yuu’s voice trembled as she struggled to get up, trying her best to protect her sensitive body from the sun. She looked at him from a distance, lying in the snow, completely still.

"Hunter!"

She crawled toward him, ignoring the burning of her limbs or the pulsing touch of her skin against the still-intact silver cuffs. She got close enough to realize and stay motionless.

He was bleeding.

More than one bullet had hit him.

She bit her tongue, fiercely fighting the urge to lick the hole in his abdomen, and dragged him to where the sun couldn’t hurt her.

"What… Hey?! Hunter, respond!" She fought against herself, against the nature that demanded she stop the nonsense and drink while she still could. Tears began to fall as the sun slowly faded.

"Hey, Hunter! Please, please hold on! Don’t die… please…" She sobbed, clinging to the parts of her body that weren’t covered in that tempting and delicious red color.

She hated herself, she hated herself so much; the person who had risked their life for her was dying… and she couldn’t think of anything but drinking his blood.

At this rate, both of them were going to die.

"Leona…"

"W-what…?"

"My name…" He groaned, with his beautiful eyes barely open, pressing his hand against his open side. "My name is Leona… Leona Kingscholar."

"Leona… Leona, please, you have to hold on…"

"We both know that’s not going to happen." He gasped, looking at his face covered in cuts and eruptions with a grimace. It was the most human expression she had seen him make in all the time she had known him. "I’ve lost a lot of blood… and you’re cracking… Neither of us is getting out of here alive…"

"W-what… what are you saying?"

"Yuu."

He called her. Not “girl,” not “you,” not “monster,” not “thing”… Somehow, him referring to her by her name made her feel more human than she had ever been.

The cold hunter who refused to give his name or use hers dared to form bonds at a point of no return. He saw her. Not as a monster, not as the daughter of a prostitute… he saw her and recognized her for what she truly was.

"That bastard will be here any minute…"

Her lips trembled, she knew who he was talking about, but she couldn’t help but ask.

"W-Who…?"

"Malleus Draconia, the vampire with green eyes…"

He declares, spitting blood in the process. Yuu shakes, pressing her hands firmly against his wound to stop more blood from leaking out. Her eyes tremble when he looks at her.

He’s terribly pale, the moonlight that once made his brown skin shine like copper now showing a cold and almost lifeless tone.

Very quickly, Leona Kingscholar’s life was coming to an end.

This reality made Yuu sob harder.

"I’ve been searching for him for years, that’s why I didn’t kill you when I could… That monster has never turned anyone. I… I’m sorry. I used you."

"Stop talking…! Please… don’t keep going…"

Don’t waste the little life you have left saying nonsense.

"Yuu… bite me."

She raised her tear-streaked face toward him, unsure of what she had just heard.

"Survive. Kill that son of a bitch…"

She looked at him with wide eyes, feeling her own life beginning to fade.

"Do it. Didn’t you say you wanted to live?"

But no… not like this. She didn’t want to be a monster, she didn’t want to be the monster that ended his life.

"What are you waiting for…? If I’m going to die, I’ll do it in the arms of the person I choose."

He laughs, dragging his hand to his neck to expose a portion of his skin.

"I know… you won’t be a monster like all the others…"

Tag list: @ghostlysyntaxed @nico707 @strayharmony943 @valentinaagarcia @s7-evermore @pinksaiyans @sugarxrt @riverstyxxbitch @stormy64 @gabile18 @serenelitty @bluedmonsst @junni-berry @rhyzoma @sunset18rose @shuzoku

[astra-ravana]

The Wonder Of Foraging

Foraging is an ancient and magickal practice, allowing witches to deepen their bond with nature while gathering powerful herbs, plants, fungi and even bones for spells, potions, and rituals. This guide will help you safely and ethically harvest nature’s gifts while honoring the spirits of the land.

𖥞The Ethics of Foraging

Before you set out, follow these principles:

• Harvest Respectfully - Take only what you need, and never overharvest.

• Know Your Land - Learn the local laws and indigenous practices of the area.

• Ask Permission - Some witches seek permission from the plants or land spirits before harvesting.

• Leave No Trace - Avoid damaging the ecosystem and thank nature for its sacrifice.

𖥞Essential Foraging Tools

• A foraging basket or cloth bag

• A sharp knife or scissors for cutting herbs

• Gloves (for thorny or toxic plants)

• A field guide (or app) to identify plants and fungi

• A journal for noting magickal correspondences or general notes

𖥞Sacred Rituals & Offerings

• Thank the Spirits - Leave a small offering (water, crystals, trinkets, a song, or a prayer).

• Moon-Charged Foraging - Gather herbs under a full moon for extra potency.

• Wild Altar - Arrange collected items as an outdoor altar to honor nature.

𖥞Crafting with Your Foraged Finds

• Herbal Magick: Use dried herbs to dress candles or as offerings.

• Herbal Bundles: Dry herbs for smoke cleansing.

• Infused Oils: Steep plants in oil for anointing and spellwork.

• Herbal Incense: Crush dried herbs for loose incense burning on charcoal or craft your own cones/sticks.

• Tinctures & Teas: Brew magickal potions for healing and intention-setting.

• Spell Jars & Mojo Bags: Combine dried herbs with crystals and charms for long-lasting magic.

𖥞Harvesting Herbs for Drying

• Timing Matters - Gather herbs in the morning after the dew has dried but before the sun is too hot.

• Lunar Harvesting - For extra magical potency, harvest under a full or waxing moon.

• Use Sharp Tools - Cut herbs with scissors or a boline to avoid damaging the plant.

𖥞Methods of Drying Herbs

Hanging Method (Best for Sturdy Herbs)

• Gather small bundles of herbs and tie them with twine.

• Hang upside down in a dry, dark, well-ventilated space.

• Avoid direct sunlight, which can weaken magical properties.

Drying time: 1-3 weeks.

Flat Drying (For Delicate Leaves & Flowers)

• Spread herbs in a single layer on a mesh screen, paper towel, or cloth.

• Keep in a dark, dry place with good airflow.

Drying time: 5-10 days.

Oven Drying (For Quick Drying)

• Set the oven to the lowest temperature (around 100-150°F or 38-65°C).

• Place herbs on a baking sheet and leave the oven door slightly open.

• Check every 10-15 minutes to prevent burning.

Drying time: 1-2 hours.

Dehydrator Method (Efficient & Even Drying)

• Place herbs in a dehydrator at a low setting (95-115°F or 35-46°C).

• Dry until leaves crumble easily.

Drying time: 4-12 hours, depending on the herb.

𖥞Storing Dried Herbs

• Glass Jars: Store herbs in airtight glass jars, preferably tinted to block light.

• Labeling: Always label with the herb name and date of drying.

• Cool, Dark Storage: Keep herbs away from sunlight and moisture.

• Energetic Cleansing: Charge dried herbs with moonlight or crystals before use.

𖥞Herb Foraging Schedule (Midwest)

🌷Spring:

• Dandelion

• Stinging nettle

• Hemlock

• Violet

• Chickweed

• Foxglove

• Wild onion/garlic

• Wild lupine

• Milkweed

• Lilac

• Black raspberry

• Tulip

• Wild plum

• Spiderwort

• Basil

• Trillium

• Yarrow

• Knot weed

• Plantain

• Lemon balm

• Mint

• Chervil

• Chives

• Dill

• Burdock

• Oregano

• Locust

🌻Summer:

• Wild raspberry and blackberry

• Elderberry

• Mullien

• Nightshade

• Lavender

• Rosemary

• Sage

• Purple cornflower (echinacea)

• Goldenrod

• Wild bergamot

• Datura (Jimson weed)

• Gooseberry

• Monarda

• Chicory

• Wild carrot

• Lily

• Queen Anne's lace

• Cutleaf toothwort

• Mugwort

• Wormwood

• Rosehips

• Purslane

• Mulberry

• Pokeweed

• Bittersweet

• American mandrake

🍄Autumn:

• Acorns

• Buckeyes

• Burdock root

• Hawthorn berries

• Pine needles

• Poison sumac

• White snake root

• Garlic mustard

• Black walnut

• Pawpaw

• Shagbark hickory

• Persimmon

• Witch hazel

• Juniper berries

• Cat tails

• Mushrooms

❄️Winter:

• Beech nuts

• Pine nuts

• Chestnuts

• Pinecones

𖥞Foraging Bones

Foraging for animal bones is a sacred practice that connects witches to nature, death cycles, and spirit work. Whether for divination, spellwork, or ancestral veneration, ethically collecting bones requires respect and knowledge.

Where to Find Bones:

• Forests & Woodlands - Look near animal trails, under trees, or in dry areas.

• Riverbanks & Lakeshores - Water can wash up bones over time.

• Fields & Deserts - Open areas may have sun-bleached remains.

• Roadsides & Farmland - Unfortunately, roadkill can be a source, but always ensure it is safe and legal to collect.

Ethical & Legal Considerations:

• Respect the Dead - Offer gratitude or a small offering when taking bones.

• Check Local Laws - Some areas prohibit collecting certain animal remains.

• Leave No Trace - Do not disturb entire ecosystems while searching.

Cleaning & Preparing Bones:

• Dry Cleaning - Brush off dirt and debris.

• Water Soaking - Soak in warm water to loosen soft tissue (never use bleach!).

• Hydrogen Peroxide Bath - Use 3% peroxide to whiten and disinfect bones.

• Sun Drying - Leave in the sun for a few days for natural purification.

Magickal Uses for Bones:

• Divination - Use small bones in casting (Osteomancy).

• Altars & Ancestral Work - Honor spirits with bone offerings.

• Talismans & Charms - Carry bones for protection and strength.

• Crafting Tools - Use bones for wands, runes, or ritual tools.

Foraging is an essential skill for a witch, as it deepens their connection with nature and provides access to fresh, potent ingredients for spells, potions, and rituals. Wild herbs, roots, and flowers carry strong natural energies that enhance magickal workings in ways store-bought materials cannot. Understanding the land and its seasonal growth also fosters self-sufficiency and sustainability, aligning a witch’s practice with the cycles of the Earth. Additionally, foraging strengthens intuition and knowledge of plant properties, ensuring safe and ethical use of nature’s offerings.

By embracing foraging as part of your craft, you not only strengthen your magickal practice but also develop a deep, sacred relationship with the land. You will discover that it to be its own spiritual practice, a communion with nature, and a fantastic way to spend your day. Happy foraging, witches!

[lostreverb]

nighttime reading

(dad!peter maximoff x fem!reader) in where your husband's on night duty and runs into a bit of trouble trying to prep a bottle...

content: fluff (idk that's really it), daughter's name is luna b/c uhm canon ig!, might ooc or like lack of character idk I'm not great a writing peter aha..

a/n: started this WIP a while ago but the evanverse discord gave me the inspo to finish it so this is for them LOL

--

3 AM. once again the baby monitor fires up, the shrieking wails of your newborn waking you. you begin to instinctively rise from your laying position with a groan. you get about halfway up before your husband peter wraps a toned arm around you, pulling you back in.

"nggh... babe..." you protest his affections with irritated whines, knowing you need to be tending to your daughter right now not cuddling (as much as you wanted to).

peter lets out a low hum and peppers your face with soft kisses. you try to fight the impending slumber but your eyes begin to flutter through his attempts to coax you back to sleep.

"i've got'er..." he mumbles into your hair, giving you one last squeeze before getting out of bed himself and trudging across the way to the nursery.

"alright, kiddo work with me tonight we've gotta let your mama get some rest..." peter turns the soft light lamp on, walking over to the crib he so awesomely built without reading the instructions (by far one of his greatest achievements... aside from creating his daughter of course).

he leans over to see the 2 month old's tiny and delicate body tense as she cries, hands gripped in small tight fists.

with a gentle touch, he lifts luna from the crib, cradling her securely in his arms. he rocks her softly, bouncing slightly on his feet.

for a moment, the cries soften, and peter breathes a quiet sigh of relief. but then she lets out another sharp wail, a hungry, insistent cry that lets him know she’s not going to be easily soothed tonight.

peter heads downstairs with her, still adjusting to this slower way of moving. normally, he’d zip around the house at inhuman speed, but with a newborn, that’s a no-go. for the past couple months, he’s been learning to slow down for her—taking the stairs, walking instead of zooming. he’d even forced himself to learn to drive. slowing down had sucked, but for his two favorite girls he’d do anything.

in the kitchen, he opens the fridge and sighs when he realizes the last bottle is gone. all that’s left is frozen breast milk, and luna’s cries tell him that waiting for it to defrost isn’t an option. no way is he waking you up either. it’ll have to be formula.

peter opens a cabinet and grabs the formula container, peering at the label and trying to remember the steps you’d shown him. he squints at the tiny font, racking his brain. “uh… powder or water first? shit, i can’t remember…you don’t happen to remember, do you?”

he chuckles and glances down at luna his expressioin shifting when he sees her little face red and frustrated. a pang of guilt hits peter. he should’ve paid more attention when you taught him. “sorry, baby girl. i know. don’t worry, i’ll figure it out.”

he squints at the label again, bringing it close to his face. the letters on the label were pretty much illegible to his eyes, no matter how close he brought the container to them. “stupid tiny words…” he mutters. “your old man’s getting old, luna…”

peter huffs, finally accepting the inevitable, and heads to the bathroom. reaching into the bottom drawer, he pulls out a small glasses case he’s been hiding from you. using his free hand he brings the glasses up and flips them open using his mouth to slip them on. he hates how he looks in them and hates how they feel on his face, but damn... he really needed them. he stares down at the canister, finally able to read the label and prepares the bottle carefully, determined to get it right for her. no more bsing the things he couldn't read.

as he finally settles into the couch with luna nestled in his arms, feeding her the bottle he’s made, he finds himself gazing at her small face. for the first time, he can clearly see every detail—the curve of her cheeks, the faint little dimples, the perfect mix of both of you in her delicate features.

“i’m holding the most beautiful girl in the world in my arms… did you know that?” he whispers softly. luna’s innocent, unfocused eyes meet his, and she keeps suckling, making him chuckle. “ahh, i’m sure you know. your parents aren’t too bad-looking either, huh?”

“looks like i’ve been demoted from my title,” you say with a sleepy smile as you step into the kitchen. “rightfully so… she’s pretty cute.”

“she is…” peter agrees, glancing up at you with a soft smile. “but babe, you should be sleeping”

“just needed some water,” you say, moving to the sink and filling a glass.

he nods, watching you as you sip, your gaze shifting to the open formula container and his glasses, still perched on his nose. “couldn’t read the label?”

"uh- well- yeah... how did you-"

“the glasses,” you both say at the same time, sharing a laugh.

“i actually like them on you,” you say with a smirk. “honestly, it’s… kind of hot.”

peter, well aware of his bedhead, the beginnings of stubble, and his deep set eyebags, laughs. “I think you need more sleep.”

“well, maybe,” you say with a yawn. “but hey before I head back up.. I just wanted to tell you... I’m proud of you. I know you feel lost sometimes with little luna and me, but you’re doing a great job, babe. you’re a good dad.”

hearing your words, peter feels the weight of his self doubt lighten. becoming a parent scared the shit out of him, especially since he didn't really have a father figure to go off on. but hearing this from you, he feels a rush of gratitude and relief.

when you finish your drink, he takes your glass, setting it aside as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead. “go get some rest...”

you press a soft kiss to his lips, squeezing him in a quick hug before leaning down to gently stroke luna’s head. then you head upstairs. peter watches you go, smiling to himself, then looks down at his daughter with a chuckle.

“hey, luna,” he whispers, stroking her cheek. “you okay with your old man looking like a grandpa?”

--

tags (ask to be added or removed anytime!): @fear-is-truth @juliamaximoff @jazz-berry @violetsghosts @quickreider @tiffysdeath @honeymoon8 @wcnderlnds @lacucarachapisser @xrag-dollx @oceanblvd111 @andiloveher @vi0l3tgard3ns @evanbabybear @melsimps

[necrobunni]

Sharp Suits & Sharper Tongue

Twelfth Doctor x Reader (Black, gender-neutral reader)

Summary: Reader has a resting bitch face (can you tell i have one) and a wandering eye and the Doctor’s new look is not helping. He’s older, sharper, and unbothered by your obvious staring. Except he’s absolutely bothered.

It’s the third planet this week, and you still haven’t adjusted to the face.

Not the terrain, not the aliens, not the fact that you’ve been nearly incinerated by interdimensional lava, but the face. His face.

Angular, sharp, carved out of stone and attitude. No trace of the wide-eyed softness you’d grown used to with Eleven. This Doctor moves like every step is a choice, like every glare is a warning.

And the worst part? It suits him. Way too well.

“Stop that,” he mutters, not looking at you.

“Stop what?”

“You’ve got that look again.” He waves a gloved hand vaguely in your direction. “The face. The glare. The—what do you humans call it—‘resting murder expression.’”

“Resting bitch face,” you correct, biting back a grin. “And this is my normal face.”

“Well change it, it’s unnerving.”

You smirk, folding your arms. “Funny. I thought you liked unnerving.”

He scoffs, striding ahead through the tall, glass-like grass. “Not when it’s directed at me.”

“It’s not.” You match his pace easily. “I’m just thinking.”

“Oh no. That’s worse.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s affectionate. He’s all grumble and fire lately—older, salt-and-pepper everything, long coat sweeping like a judgment. You weren’t sure you’d like this version of him at first. But then he gave you that look—the one that cut through your silence, your sarcasm, your steely face—and said, “Come on then. Let’s go save something.”

And that was that.

Now, back on the TARDIS, you’re leaned against the console watching him press buttons like he was born doing it, like time itself listens closer when he talks.

Your face must be doing something, because he glances up and squints at you.

“There it is again,” he says sharply.

“What?”

“The look. You’re either planning a murder or a marriage proposal. Either way, I should be concerned.”

You snort. “You’re paranoid.”

“I’ve traveled with humans long enough to know that’s not just a thoughtful look. That’s a crush look.”

You blink. Bold of him.

“…I was looking at your hair.”

He freezes. “What?”

You lift a shoulder, examining a nonexistent nail. “Just noticing you’ve got a bit of that silver thing going on. Regal. Distinguished. Very ‘DILF from the end of the universe.’”

He sputters. Actually sputters.

“Do not call me that.”

You grin. “Touched a nerve?”

He straightens, puffing his chest like a cat trying to look bigger. “You humans are far too obsessed with appearances.”

“Easy for you to say. You regenerated into a damn brooding art critic.”

“Oh, really?”

“Yes. You look like you charge for poetry readings and make people cry when they mess up your coffee order.”

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell him—old books and lightning and something warm. His voice drops.

“And you look like trouble,” he says lowly. “Always have. Don’t think I haven’t noticed.”

Your throat goes dry. “…Oh?”

“Yes. That face of yours—don’t let it fool you. You may glower like a villain, but you’re the one rescuing space babies and crying at sunset nebulae.”

You blink. “…How’d you—?”

“I see everything.” He taps the side of his head. “Especially when people try not to be seen.”

You’re silent for a second, heart doing that embarrassing little skip. Then you mutter, “Still doesn’t mean I wasn’t staring.”

He hums, almost smug. “No. It doesn’t.”

You arch a brow. “And you don’t mind?”

He leans even closer, voice a purr of thunder and velvet. “If you think I’ve spent all these centuries not learning to enjoy being admired, you really don’t know me at all.”

You smirk, tilting your head. “So what you’re saying is… you are a silver fox?”

He groans, turning back to the console. “Right. That’s it. I’m taking us to a planet with no metaphors and no nicknames.”

“Too late,” you call after him. “I’m already getting ‘Grumpy Galactic Zaddy’ printed on your business cards.”

You hear him muttering curses in Scottish.

And you can’t stop smiling.

[gamergirl929]

When Somebody Loved Me (Everything Was Beautiful) (Alex Morgan x Reader)

A reunion of childhood best friends would typically be a jubilant affair, but not in this case. No, because you were about to reunite with none other than Alex Morgan, the woman who left you behind when you were kids, the woman who'd broken not only your heart but your spirit as well.

I really want to thank @kingofmyheart-19, without them I doubt this fic would have gotten done, they helped so much and listened to my ranting on plot ideas and gave me some of their own, so thank you so, so much for the help, it was SO appreciated! ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️ They're also a writer as well, so feel free to go check out their page!

Disclaimer: This fic could be very triggering to some, it deals with abuse, speicifically child abuse, so if that's going to trigger you PLEASE skip this one. If you're still here, get ready for a 9K emotional roller coaster. As always, I'd really love to hear what you all think, this has been a fic I've been wanting to write for so long and I'm so happy it's done, so please, let me know what you think.

⚠️Trigger Warning: Child Abuse/Mentions of Child Abuse ⚠️

You closed your eyes, practicing the deep breathing you learned in therapy before your eyes open, the stadium where you would meet the USWNT looming overhead.  

You knew you would see her, that you would have to see her, you were now working for her team after all, but the thought of your reunion made your stomach twist.  

You could feel your chest tighten, a panic attack looming as you thought about your Y/E/C orbs meeting hers.  

You wondered if they were still the same bright blues you remembered.  

You shake your head rapidly, pushing those thoughts to the back of your mind.  

Just because you were about to see each other again after so long, didn’t mean things were the same as they once were, she’d left you behind, and you didn’t think you could ever forgive her for that.  

You didn’t know if you could ever forgive Alex Morgan for what she did, in all honesty, you weren’t sure if you wanted to.  

With one final deep breath you slip out of your rental car and make your way towards the arena, mere minutes from reuniting with the woman that broke your heart.

************************************************************************

If there was one thing Alex Morgan didn’t expect, it was to see you making your way across the field towards her and the team, Emma Hayes at your side.  

Her throat bobbed as she took you in.  

You’d gotten taller, easily towering over her.  

Your jawline was much sharper, and visibly clenched, something she used to get on you about when you were growing up.  

The second your eyes met hers, her heart stalled in her chest, the Y/E/C orbs that would once soften when they locked with her blues, were now cold and sharp.  

“Y/N...” Alex whispers when you’re in earshot and you glance her way.  

“Do I know you?” You ask, a harshness to your tone that takes her aback, she’d never heard you speak that way, especially to her.  

Her mouth opens and closes rapidly, the woman searching for anything at all to say, but it’s as if her vocal cords had stopped working.  

Her teammates eye her curiously, their eyes darting between the two of you.  

“Well, this is Y/N Y/L/N, she’s going to be our new trainer, she comes HIGHLY recommended, so try to make her feel welcome, okay?” Emma smiles, in no way missing the way Alex stares pleadingly at your profile.  

Eventually, your eyes catch hers, her orbs the same bright blues that you often found yourself getting lost in years ago.  

Alex isn’t able to utter a single word before you’re turning on your heels and moving towards the sidelines, Emma Hayes in toe.  

Alex jumps when a hand settles on her back, a hand belonging to her longtime friend, Kelley O’Hara.  

“Are you okay Al? Is something wrong?” She asks, able to read the woman’s face easily, picking up on the fact that she was incredibly upset.  

“Ye-Yeah.” Alex stammers, her blues orbs burning holes in your back as you move out of sight.  

“Everything is fine.”

**********************************************************************

The second Alex saw you, all the emotions she tried so, so hard to bury came rushing back, hitting her like a tidal wave.  

She wasn’t prepared for the way you looked at her, your eyes hard and icy, a look she vaguely remembered when she spotted you in the hallways of your high school, your books hugged to your chest and a new bruise gracing your face or your arms, the woman knowing full well that more bruises were hidden beneath your clothes.   

She knew deep down she deserved it; she severed ties with you when you needed her the most, and she could never wash away the guilt she felt every time you passed her in the hallway, your face twisted in a pained grimace.  

That night, she stares at the ceiling, her blue orbs glassy as she remembers the first time, she saw signs of the abuse you were enduring at home.  

***********************************************************************

“What are those from?” A small Alex Morgan asks as she points to the circular marks dotting your forearm, the skin a bright and angry red, the wounds fresh.  

You shake your head rapidly, pulling your arm away from her.  

“N-N-Nothing.” You mumble, the girl scoffing as she gently takes your arm, her blue orbs zeroing in on the sores covering your arm.  

“What happened?” She asks and you shake your head, tears glistening in your Y/E/C orbs.  

“Y/N...” She whispers, gently rubbing your arm, careful not to touch the marks.  

“You can tell me anything...” She says, frowning when she sees a tear streaming down your cheek.  

“What happened?” She asks again and you swallow, your mouth opening and closing before you croak out a single word.  

“Dad.”

**********************************************************************

Needless to say, Alex didn’t sleep well that night, her mind racing, wondering if the wounds on your arm had increased in number.  

She honestly wasn’t sure if she wanted to know.  

Eventually, Alex dragged herself onto the bus that morning, her blue orbs immediately finding your Y/E/C’s.  

You almost immediately turn away, as if you’re unable to look at her for too long.  

She pauses, attempting to find something, anything to say to you, but again, she finds herself unable to speak.  

She sighs in defeat before making her way towards the back of the bus, unaware that your eyes are on her, your nostrils flaring.  

She had no right to speak to you, no right to even look at you, not after the things she’d done, not after she’d left you behind to be abused and neglected.  

You growl, turning towards the front of the bus, your fingers curling around the seat in front of you.  

If you had anything to say about it, you wouldn’t speak to Alex Morgan ever again, in reality, it wasn’t that you wouldn’t it was that you couldn’t.

**********************************************************************

Unfortunately, you’re forced to speak to her, the forward seeking you out when you reach the hotel, pushing her way into the elevator with you.  

Your throat bobs as you stare blankly forward, your foot tapping and hands trembling, something Alex notices immediately.  

“Y/N.” She whispers, her voice cracking, the sound pulling at your heartstrings, that sadness ebbing away a beat later.  

“Y/N, you can’t ignore me forever.” She sighs and you shake your head.  

“I told you; I have no idea who you are.” You say, the woman growling as you hastily exit the elevator, her hand catching your wrist, something that noticeably makes you jump.  

“That’s bullshit Y/N, and you know-- 

Your lip curls in a snarl as you jerk your arm from her grasp.  

“I USED to have a friend named Alex Morgan, but that was a long time ago.” You say through gritted teeth before turning on your heels and marching down the hallway, leaving a crestfallen Alex Morgan behind.

**********************************************************************

Despite the fact that your last interaction didn’t go well, Alex continued to try and speak to you, popping up seemingly everywhere.  

Unfortunately, you would be on the road for a significant amount of time considering it was She Believes Season, the entirety of the team together more often than not.  

The close quarters resulted in early mornings, and one morning, you’d made the mistake of rolling up your sleeves to your elbows, revealing the multiple scars littering your skin.  

Alex stiffened the moment she saw them, tears filling her blue orbs as she saw the massive number of burns on your skin, burns she knew were made by the end of a cigarette.  

She’s unable to keep the tears in her eyes at bay, tears streaming down her cheeks.  

You pick your head up, the feel of someone staring at you setting the hairs of your arms on end.  

Your eyes catch hers and your brows furrow, following her gaze to the scars dotting your arms.  

Your eyes meet hers before dropping to your marred arm, your nostrils flaring as you turn away, tugging your arm out of view.  

“Alex...?”  

Alex jumps, her eyes meeting Kelley’s concerned brown orbs.  

“Are you okay? Why are you crying?” She asks, watching as Alex wipes her tears away with the sleeve of her sweater.  

“It’s alright Kel, it’s nothing.” She sniffles, her eyes burning holes in the back of your head.  

Kelley eyes her profile worriedly before turning away reluctantly, wondering what it was that was troubling her so.  

**********************************************************************

“When did that happen?” Alex asks when she catches you in the hallway on your way to your hotel room.  

You turn on your heels, coming face to face with the woman you’d been trying to avoid, her blue orbs zeroed in on your scarred arm.  

You pull your arm out of view, tucking it behind you.  

“Like you care.” You bite, turning on your heels to take your leave.  

“Y/N, you can tell me anything.” She whispers, her words stopping you in your tracks, taking you back to the day on the playground when you’d first told her that your father had burned your arm, when you’d first told her your father was abusing you.  

“Like you don’t know.” You mumble, unable to turn to face her, tears stinging your eyes.  

Your breath hitches when she slips around you, gently taking your wrist and inspecting your arm closely. 

You’re unable to stop your heart from skipping a beat when she brushes the scars, her touch light and tender.  

The scars were generally perfect circles, aside from those that overlapped, forming random shapes along your arm.  

Alex frowned as she caressed the lumpy and disfigured skin, her eyes glazing over.  

“Don’t act like you care.” You mutter, the forward frowning.  

“I do care, Y/N.”  

You scoff, pulling your arm out of her grasp, briefly missing the way her fingertips felt against your skin.  

“If you cared Alex, I wouldn’t have these.” You growl, her throat bobbing.  

“You can’t blame me for that Y/N, it isn’t fair.”  

You bark out a laugh, the sound taking her by surprise.  

“I wouldn’t have half the scars I do if it wasn’t for you. You abandoned me when I needed you the most, and for what Alex!?” You yell, surprised by the sound of your own voice and the anger in your tone.  

Alex’s mouth opens and closes rapidly, the forward unable to find her words, that being enough to send you shoving passed her, your shoulder knocking hers as you make your way down the hall towards your hotel room, leaving the woman behind, just as she’d done to you.  

That night, you can’t help but stare at your shirtless self in the mirror, the scars typically hidden beneath your clothes revealed, of course, to your eyes only.  

How could you ever forgive Alex when your skin looked like yours?  

How could you ever forgive the woman that you’d blamed for receiving them in the first place?

***********************************************************************

It was unsurprising to Alex that you put so much pressure on her during practice, as if getting back at her for all the pain she caused.  

“Pick it up Morgan!” You yell, Alex noticeably slacking considering you’d spent the practice already putting her through the ringer.  

It’s only after her drills end that she comes to a halt, panting heavily, her hands on her knees as she attempts to fill her lungs with air.  

You shake your head, making your way towards her and leaning down.  

“You don’t just make the team because you’re a pretty face, you know that right?” You bite, the forward shooting you a glare.  

Your brows furrow when the corners of her mouth tick upward.  

“Did you just say I’m pretty?” She teases and you scoff, pinching the bridge of your nose.  

“Of course, THAT’S what you take from that.”  

Alex’s lips split in a grin, her smile just as bright as it always had been, your heart skipping a beat in your chest.  

“Hey, you said it, not me.” She smirks and you roll your eyes, turning her towards the remainder of the team before giving her a light shove.  

“Get your ass over there Morgan.” You grumble, her grin widening before she skips towards the others.  

You roll your eyes, unable to hold back a small smile as you too make your way towards the team.  

**********************************************************************

The distance between you and Alex was still massive, no bridge long enough to bring the two of you together.  

It wasn’t for a lack of trying on Alex’s part, whereas she tried to reach out, you’d only pull back, unwilling to bridge the gap, in fact, increasing its size. 

Alex watched as you focused your attention Lindsey’s knee, wrapping it gently, the blonde saying something to you she can’t quite hear, but whatever it was, it makes you smile, a smile that still makes her heart skip a beat after all these years.  

You move to your feet, giving the midfielder a pat on the shoulder before she turns and jogs onto the field.  

“Thanks Y/N!” Emily says patting your back a bit harder than intended, as she jogs passed following Lindsey onto the field.  

You go ridged, your hands trembling as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly.  

Alex jogs towards you, the emotional turmoil you were experiencing unnoticed by the remainder of the team.  

“Y/N...?” Alex whispers as she gently takes your trembling hands in her own, stopping their quaking.  

Your chest begins to rise and fall rapidly, an anxiety attack impending, something Alex had seen happen to you multiple times before.  

“Y/N?” She says again, giving your hands a squeeze, this time however, you speak.  

“I said I was sorry... Please don’t…” You mutter, Alex’s eyes widening before immediately filling with tears. 

“Come on.” She whispers, silently guiding you away from the team, catching sight of Emma Hayes watching the two of you, the forward shaking her head rapidly.  

When you’re in a secluded spot, Alex cups your cheeks.  

“Y/N, it’s okay, it’s me.”  

You squeeze your eyes shut even more so than they already were, your hands shaking violently.  

The tears in Alex’s eyes begin to stream down her face as she tries to think of something, ANYTHING to get you out of the catatonic state you’re in.  

Her eyes widen, a memory flickering in the back of her mind as she pulls you into her, one arm around you and the other resting on the back of your neck, her fingers tangling in the fine hairs there.  

She remembered holding you that way in high school, before your friendship ended, a nightmare pulling you from your sleep one night as the two of you slept side by side.  

“I’ve got you.” She whispers in your ear, drawing lazy circles against the nape of your neck.  

“And I’m not letting you go, never again.” She whispers, cooing softly in your ear.  

Your breathing begins to slow, the motion of her fingers against the nape of your neck lulling you into a sense of calm, something you hadn’t felt in a long time.  

She knew when you realized it was her that was holding you, you’d pull away, and the thought tore her heart in two. 

You begin to relax, your shoulders sagging as your eyes slowly flutter open.  

Almost immediately you move out of Alex’s hold, the forward frowning, missing the way you felt against her, missing the way her fingers felt tangled in your hair.  

“What the hell are you doing?” You snarl, putting as much distance as you possibly can between the two of you.  

“I-I didn’t know what else to do, you were having a panic attack.” She explains, her voice quivering.  

You scoff.  

“I didn’t NEED your help, I would’ve been just fine without you, like I ALWAYS have been.” You bark out before hastily leaving the room, not even sparing a glance back at the woman whose shoulder you roughly knocked into on your way out. 

**********************************************************************

Even though you were angry at her, you knew you had to thank Alex.  

You couldn’t imagine what would’ve happened if Alex hadn’t taken charge and took you to a secluded place to calm down, using a technique she became accustomed to using in your later high school years.  

You could still feel her fingers gently drawing circles against the nape of your neck, something you longed to feel again, but you wouldn’t let her get that close again, you couldn’t.  

You’re pulled from your thoughts when the very woman who’d been on your mind comes towards you, the woman silently shuffling from foot to foot as she waits to get her ankle wrapped.  

You give Kelley a smile, the defender’s ankle wrapped in her own bit of tape before she jogs off, turning and giving Alex’s hand a squeeze on her way passed.  

Alex comes to a stop in front of you, her throat bobbing as you gently take her ankle in your hands.  

You’re silently wrapping her ankle in bright pink tape when you finally find your voice.  

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, blue orbs widening as they meet your Y/E/C’s.  

“You don’t need to be.” She smiles softly and you clear your throat, the sight of that smile effecting you more than you’d care to admit.  

“I do." You sigh, the forwards cheeks flushing as you subconsciously caress her ankle. 

“You...” You swallow hard, your throat bobbing.  

“If you weren’t there for me the other day, I don’t know what I would’ve done, so... Thank you, Alex.” You whisper, clearing your throat, your eyes widening when you realize you’d been running your thumb gently back and forth along her ankle.  

You give her a nod, reluctantly releasing her ankle, your old friend staring down at you for a moment before she smiles. 

“You don’t have to thank me.” She mumbles softly, before her lips split in a grin.  

“But you’re welcome.”  

You watch as she makes her way onto the field, a smile stretching across your own face as you turn to Lindsey Horan, the blonde waiting for her knee to be wrapped.  

However, you can’t help but look passed her, specifically at Alex Morgan, the woman beaming, wearing a smile you hadn’t seen her wear in a long, long time.  

A smile that makes the butterflies in your stomach begin to stir, butterflies that died a long, long time ago, butterflies that were slowly coming back to life.  

You didn’t like that the feelings you did your best to bury were resurfacing.  

You blamed her, you were supposed to hate her, but the more she smiled your way, the more that anger and blame started to ebb away.  

Your brows furrow as your phone again begins to ring, an unknown number stretched across its screen.  

You shake your head, dropping your phone onto the top of a nearby bag. 

Alex glances your way, smiling softly when your eyes meet.  

The relationship between the two of you began to slowly change, you no longer looked at her with absolute disdain, instead wearing an expression she couldn’t quite place.  

It’s when Emma Hayes blows her whistle that Alex sighs, making her way towards her bag, unaware that your phone had slipped inside.  

She runs her hand through her sweat covered hair, catching sight of you out of the corner of her eye as you chat with Emma Hayes, a smile on your face.  

She’d missed seeing that smile, mostly, she missed seeing that smile directed at her.  

She turns away, reluctantly, unaware that your phone was buried deep inside her bag.

**********************************************************************

You growl, searching wildly through your bag in an attempt to find your phone, sighing when you come up empty.  

You flop down onto your hotel room’s bed, your head in your hands.  

The last thing you wanted to do today was lose your phone, but here you were, attempting to remember where you’d last seen the device.  

A tentative knock on your hotel room door makes you jump, your brows furrowing as you make your way towards it.  

You tug the door open, your eyes widening and brows knitting in confusion when you see Alex standing behind the door, the woman shuffling nervously from foot to foot.  

“Uhhh, yeah?” You say, the woman nodding into your hotel room.  

“Can I come in?” She asks and you hum, eyeing her intently before you step aside, uncertain why you’d allowed her into your room.  

The door clicks shut behind you before you turn towards her, your arms crossed across your chest.  

“What is it?” You ask, your eyes widening when you realize she was holding your phone.  

“I found it in my bag.” She says, the look on her face telling you there was something more to the reason why she was in your room.  

“Th-Thanks.” You stutter, taking it from her hand, the forward’s throat bobbing.  

“It was ringing, and I answered it.” She says, your brows knitting, anger building in your chest at the thought of the woman invading your privacy.  

“I’m-I’m sorry Y/N, I promise, I really didn’t know it was your phone.” She stutters, the anger you were feeling dissipating at the look on Alex’s face.  

“There’s more to it, isn’t there?” You ask and she, sheepishly nods.  

“It was your mother.”  

Your eyes double in size, your body going ridged at the mention of the woman who’d done nothing, merely watching as your father abused and neglected you, a woman you hadn’t talked to since you were kicked out at 18.  

You make your way towards your bed, taking a seat on its end, Alex making her way towards you, waiting until you give her a nod before she too sits down.  

The room is enveloped in silence for a moment before you find your voice.  

“Wh-What did she want?” You stammer, realizing the calls you’d been getting the last few days must have been from your mother.  

Alex swallows hard, staring at her intertwined fingers, her mouth opening and closing.  

“It’s your dad.” She whispers, noting the hitch in your breath, the woman unable to stop herself from reaching for, and covering your hand.  

You find yourself taking comfort in her touch, something you thought you would never do again.  

“What happened?” You ask, your voice barely above a whisper.  

Alex clears her throat, seemingly searching for what to say before she mutters.  

“He’s dying.”  

You snort, in a sick sense, happy that the man who destroyed your childhood was about to die.  

“Your mom said, he wants to...” She pauses, staring at your profile as she speaks.  

“He wants to apologize, for everything, before he passes.” 

You stiffen, your hands balling into fists, Alex’s thumb delicately running along your white knuckles.  

You chuckle.  

“Of course he does. He wants to clear his own conscious before he dies.” You snarl angrily, the thought of calling your mother and ripping her a new one prominent in your mind.  

Alex remains silent, your brows furrowing as you turn towards her, her mouth opening and closing rapidly.  

“What?” You ask, the forward shrugging.  

“I may have...” She stops mid-sentence, shuffling nervously.  

“Said some things.”  

Your brows arch, noting that she’s refusing to look you in the eye.  

“Like what?” You ask and she clears her throat.  

“I may have told her your dad was a piece of shit, and that you didn’t owe him anything, that he doesn’t deserve to see you after all he did, and that she was a bitch who doesn’t deserve to see you either because she was just as guilty. He abused you, and she just watched and did nothing about it.”   

Your brows arch, your eyes burning holes in the side of Alex’s head before you laugh, her blue orbs widening as she turns towards you.  

You wrap your arms around your middle as you’re overcome with laughter, the thought of the look on your mother’s face as Alex tore her a new one, and the look on her face when it was Alex that answered the phone making you laugh uncontrollably.  

You knew her and your father weren’t her biggest fans, considering she treated you the way you were meant to be treated, and loved you in a way that they never did.  

“I would’ve paid to see that.” You say, wiping a tear from your eyes, the forward beside you smiling, her lips splitting into a grin.  

“I meant what I said, you don’t owe them anything Y/N, even if he’s dying, you don’t have to go to see him, unless you want to.”  

You shake your head, your eyes dropping to your and Alex’s joined hands, the feel of her hand in your own making your heart skip a beat.  

“I know.” You say, taking a deep breath before exhaling loudly.  

“I kind of want to see him, to show him that even though he treated me the way he did, he didn’t break me, that I became successful, and I didn’t need him or my mother to do it.”  

You swallow hard, your gaze falling to your lap.  

“I suppose...” You pause, frowning, unable to stop tears forming in your eyes.  

“I suppose he did break me, didn’t he?” You mutter, your eyes widening a gasp leaving you as Alex’s hand leaves your own, the woman instead wrapping her arms tightly around you.  

The tears that formed in your eyes began streaming down your cheeks as she held you tightly, her cheek pressing against your shoulder.  

“He didn’t Y/N.” She whispers, squeezing you gently, not wanting to throw you into a panic attack like you’d had the other day.  

You close your eyes, sagging in her hold, the hotel room falling silent as you simply let Alex hold you in her arms, a feeling you didn’t realize you’d missed so much.  

You’re unsure of what makes you say it, but before you can think your lips are moving.  

“I don’t know if I can face them alone.” You confess, Alex turning her head and kissing your temple, the woman stiffening when she realizes what she did, though she in no way relinquishes her hold on you.  

“You don’t have to Y/N.” She whispers, smiling when she feels your arm slip around her.  

“What do you mean?” You ask, your heart lightening in your chest at the thought of the forward coming back to your hometown with you.  

“I’ll go with you.” She mutters nervously, leaning heavily into you, her hold on you tightening.  

You go silent before you rest your head against hers, a soft sigh leaving you as you give her side a squeeze.  

“I think I’d like that very much.”

**********************************************************************

The relationship between you drastically changed after that, the bridge was all but mended, the two of you almost as inseparable as when you were kids.  

And when the She Believes Tournament ended, with the USWNT as the victors, you and Alex decided it was time to prepare to head back to your hometown, a place that held so many bad memories for you.  

It wasn’t long before there was a knock at your apartment door, your hand freezing on the doorknob as you take a deep breath.  

Despite the fact that things were better between the two of you, you still got nervous, worried that she would disappear again and break your heart.  

You pull the door open slowly, Alex smiling when your eyes meet hers, a duffle bag slung over her shoulder a suitcase in one hand.  

“Are you ready?” She asks as you step aside, allowing her inside, the woman taking in your small apartment.  

“Honestly, not really.” You sigh, leaning against the island in your kitchenette.  

Alex makes her way towards you with a frown, taking your hands, the gesture making your cheeks flush.  

“Well, you’re not going alone, I’ll be there every step of the way.” She whispers as she caresses your knuckles.  

You couldn’t lie, the feelings you had for Alex had resurfaced, and the closer you became, the more you realized that the feelings you had in high school had come back, tenfold.  

You were in love with the woman currently holding your hands, the woman whose blue orbs sparkled when she smiled, the woman who’d broken your heart all those years ago.  

You give her hands a squeeze, noting the flush of her own cheeks.  

“I know.” You whisper pushing yourself off the island and moving to your full height.  

“And it means a lot to me.” You say, bashfully staring at the floor beneath your feet.  

Alex smiles softly, turning your hands over in her own before intertwining your fingers.  

“It’s the least I could do.” She says, giving your hands a squeeze.  

Her hands leave yours reluctantly and you sigh, missing the feel of her smooth palms against your own.  

“Well, let’s go.”

**********************************************************************

Alex’s fingers drum on the steering wheel, her eyes darting to the passenger's seat, where you're fast asleep. 

She knew this journey would take a toll on you, she knew that this was one of the hardest things you ever had to do, and she was happy you’d allowed her to be along for the ride. 

You mumble in your sleep, your brows furrowing as your head turns back and forth.  

Alex reaches towards you, gently covering your hand with her own as she pulls into the tiny roadside hotel the two of you were planning on staying in for the night before you reach your hometown the following day.  

“Hey.” Alex whispers, tenderly tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.  

Your eyes slowly flutter open, your brows furrowing as you blink rapidly to clear your vision.  

“Are we here?” You rasp, the sound of your sleepy voice making her smile lovingly.  

“No, we’re at the hotel.” 

You hum, stretching your arms above your head before you open the passenger's side door and slip out with a groan.  

Alex slides out the driver’s side door, she too stretching. 

“We had reservations, right?” You ask and she nods rapidly.  

“I’ll go check us in.”  

You watch her go with a small smile, the woman disappearing into the small hotel’s lobby, leaving you with the suitcases, which you didn’t mind.  

You lean back against Alex’s car, staring up at the random hotel you’d decided to stop at on your way home.  

You sigh, leaning your head against the car behind you.  

You didn’t want to go home, you didn’t want to face your father and your mother, but you knew you had to.  

You had to show them that you were well off, you had to show them that you’d made it without them, that you survived your father’s abuse and your mother’s refusal to do anything about it.  

And having Alex Morgan by your side was just a plus, a major plus.  

You remember your father taunting you, making comments about how Alex had finally learned how pathetic you were and made the right decision to distance herself from you.  

Your throat bobs as you bite your bottom lip, staving off tears at the thought of your father’s harsh words.  

Your mother wanted you to come home to hear their apology, but you had ulterior motives.  

You were never going to accept her apology, and you were certainly never going to accept his, much like his apologies during your childhood, they meant absolutely nothing, and that wasn’t about to change.  

“Hey.”  

You jump, your eyes flashing open, immediately locking with Alex’s blue orbs.  

“Are you okay?” She asks, concern evident in her tone.  

You clear your throat, pushing off the car as you nod.  

“Yeah, I’m just fine.”  

***********************************************************************

It didn’t take long for the two of you to settle into your room, the pair of you flopping down onto the beds you’d be sleeping on for the night.  

“I’m so tired.” You yawn, rolling off the bed and heading to your suitcase.  

Before you realize what, you’re doing, you tug your shirt over your head, revealing your near bare back to the woman in the opposite bed.  

“Oh my god.”  

You twist on your heels, your eyes wide.  

“What’s wrong? Are you alright?” You ask as you approach the forward, tears streaming down her cheeks.  

“What is— 

You pause your throat bobbing as you glance down at yourself, realizing your torso was bare, covered only by the sports bra you were wearing. 

Meaning each and every scar that covered your flesh was revealed, scars dotting your arms, as well as covering your chest and back.  

Alex’s hands tremble as she makes her way towards you, her eyes focused intently on your chest, a number of scars littering your skin, some from glass, some from a belt, and others you couldn’t really remember. 

Lashes covered your stomach, as well as your back, red welts made mostly by your father’s favorite belt.  

A wide array of cigarette burns covered your skin, mostly all over your arms, but some were on your chest and stomach.  

“Jesus Christ.” Alex whispers, her voice cracking as she places her hands on your shoulders, taking in the destruction your father left behind on your skin.  

“I-I...” She stammers, her bottom lip trembling as she turns you around, lash marks covering your back, overlapping into a mess of patterns.  

Alex sobs, your breath hitching as she wraps her arms around you from behind, burying her face in the nape of your neck.  

“I’m so sorry.” She cries, clinging onto you for dear life, her tears running down your scarred back.  

You turn in her hold, wrapping your arms tightly around her, the woman burying her face in your neck as she cries.  

“This is all my fault.” She sniffs, realizing that you hadn’t had the scars you do before the two of you had stopped being friends.  

You shake your head, your chin resting on the top of her head.  

“It isn’t. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize that.” You whisper, ducking down to kiss her head.  

Alex pulls back, her watery blue orbs locking with your equally watery Y/E/C’s.  

“It is Y/N!” She cries, searching your face intently.  

“You didn’t have these before we stopped being friends.” She says, whimpering as she takes in your scars again.  

“I— 

“No.” She says, shaking her head rapidly.  

“If I would’ve just told you how I felt, you wouldn’t have these.” She sniffles, your eyes widening, and brows furrowing.  

“What do you mean?” You ask, staring closely at the woman’s face, noting the way her throat bobs.  

“Come on, Al.” You whisper, gently placing your hands on her waist.  

“You can tell me anything.” You say, repeating the words she’d said on the playground so long ago.  

Much to your surprise, she stares at you blankly for a moment before leaning in, your breath catching as her lips meet yours.  

The butterflies that recently began to stir, burst to life as you kiss your childhood best friend, something you’d wanted to do for so long.  

Your lips lock, the kiss stimulating every one of your nerve endings.  

You never wanted it to end, you never wanted to stop kissing Alex Morgan.  

She sighs against your lips as you kiss passionately, feelings the two of you had for so long now revealed. 

Reluctantly, you part, Alex’s forehead resting against yours as you catch your breath.  

“Wow.” You whisper, smiling when Alex leans in for another kiss, this one softer, and shorter than the one you’d just shared.   

Alex’s mouth opens and closes for a few seconds before she clears her throat.  

“I didn’t know how to tell you back then how I felt, I was scared, I thought if I pushed you away, the feelings would go away, but they didn’t.”  

She cups your cheeks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear.  

“They never went away, because I love you, Y/N.” She confesses, your eyes doubling in size, your heart skipping a beat.  

“I always have, I just never knew how to say it...”  

She licks her lips, inhaling deeply before continuing.  

“When I saw you walking across the field, those feelings came flooding back.”  

She rests her forehead against yours.  

“I love you Y/N, I always have, and I always will.”  

The room falls silent, the woman in front of you baring her entire soul to you, the knowledge that she’d felt the same making your stomach lurch with excitement.  

You lean in, pressing a feather light kiss to her lips.  

“I love you too, Al.” You whisper, Alex smiling against your lips as she throws her arms around your neck, kissing you passionately, the feel of her lips against yours something she couldn't get enough of.  

The kisses remain tame, the urge to turn them into something more not present in any sense, the two of you catching up on the tender and loving kisses you’d missed when growing up.  

You again, reluctantly part, your arms wrapping tightly around Alex, the forward burying her nose in the crook of your neck.  

Unfortunately, your lips part in a lengthy, and loud yawn, the woman in your arms giggling as she leans back, leaning in to peck your lips before stepping out of your embrace.  

“We should get some sleep, huh?” She asks and you nod, making your way towards your suitcase and grabbing the shirt you’d first intended to put on.  

“Wait.” Alex whispers, placing her hand gently on your back so as to not scare you.  

You turn to face her, a single brow arched as she motions to the shirt in your hands.  

“Keep it off.” She says your throat bobbing as your eyes dart from Alex’s blue orbs to the shirt and back. 

You hum, dropping the shirt before grabbing a few things from your suitcase and nodding to the bathroom.  

“I’ll be right back.” You smile, pecking her lips before disappearing into the bathroom.  

Alex, meanwhile, makes her way towards her own suitcase, slipping into a pair of shorts and a tank top just as you’re moving out of the bathroom.  

She turns towards you, noting the way you shuffle on your feet, a sports bra covering your upper torso and a pair of sweats hugging your hips.  

She holds her hand out, motioning towards one of the beds, your cheeks flushing at the silent invitation. 

Nervously, you make your way towards her, her hand immediately settling on your bare stomach before she nods towards the bed.  

“Do you want to share?” She asks in an uncertain whisper. 

You gently take her chin between your thumb and index finger, tilting her head upwards until her blue orbs meet your Y/E/C’s.  

“I’d love nothing more.”  

Eventually, you turn the overhead light off, and shuffle into bed, the flickering TV the only thing bringing some source of light to the room.  

Alex leans back, her blue orbs dragging down your front, taking in the scars covering your chest.  

Your breath hitches in your throat when she ducks down, gently kissing a long scar running along your collarbone before turning her attention to the others she can reach.  

Your eyes flutter shut, the feel of her lips a complete contrast to what it felt like to get the scars in the first place.  

You can feel the tears streaming down your cheeks before you realize you’re crying. 

Alex pulls away from you, tears forming in her own eyes when she sees you’re crying.  

She cups your cheeks, pressing a tender, and loving kiss to your lips.  

“Shhhhh.” She coos, her fingers running through your hair as you bury your face in her neck.  

It isn’t long before you fall silent, falling fast asleep, tear tracks visible on your face as your childhood best friend holds you tightly.  

She ducks down, kissing the top of your head, a hum leaving you as you snuggle closer.  

“I love you Y/N, and I’m not going anywhere, no matter what.”  

**********************************************************************

The remainder of the journey is uneventful, Alex’s hand in yours more often than not, the woman kissing you tenderly any chance she got, realizing how much the feel of her lips against yours calmed you.  

Before you realize it, you’re passing the sign informing you that you’d made it, you’d made it to the place that held so many awful memories for you.  

You cling to Alex’s hand tightly, the woman noting the feel of your clammy palm against hers.  

“We’re here.” She whispers and you nod, your chest tightening.  

“Y-Y-Yeah...” You stammer, the air within the car becoming less and less until you feel as if you’re unable to breathe.  

Alex almost immediately pulls to the side of the road, gently cupping your cheeks, her forehead resting against yours.  

“It’s alright.” She whispers, taking your hand and pressing it against her own chest.  

“Try to match me.”  

You whimper, tears running down your face, but your breathing halts entirely when you feel Alex’s lips pressing against yours.  

You slowly part, noting the fact that your anxiety attack had been stopped dead in its tracks, your breathing slowly returning to normal.  

“Are you okay?” She says softly, her lips brushing yours as she whispers.  

Your eyes flutter shut, the tightness in your chest ebbing slightly, but not entirely going away, you knew what you had to do to get it to go away, and that was to confront your father.  

“I have to confront him before I’ll be okay.” You confess, Alex kissing your lips again before turning her attention to the road.  

“Well, let’s go do that.”  

Alex takes your hand, her fingers intertwining with yours as you stand outside the hospital where your father and mother are, the aforementioned woman making her way towards you, tears in her eyes.  

“Y/N...” She says, opening her arms, but quickly realizing the last thing she’d get was a hug from you, especially considering Alex had stepped partially in front of you, her protective side warming your heart considerably.  

Your mother comes to a stop, her throat bobbing.  

“I understand.” She says and your nostrils flare.  

“Where is he?” You say curtly, Alex gently squeezing your hand, earning a squeeze in return.  

Your mother frowns before nodding to the hospital.  

“This way.”  

**********************************************************************

Your mother didn’t even attempt to make small talk on the way to the room, she knew you weren’t there to embrace her and forgive her for everything she didn’t do when you were growing up.  

Alex’s hand remained in yours, even as your grip on her hand became painful, she didn’t let go.  

You needed an anchor, and she would be that anchor, for as long as you needed and as long as you would let her.  

Your mother comes to a stop outside one of the many hospital rooms before turning towards you, her hands clasped in front of her.  

“He’s in here.” She says, unable to look you in the eye.  

“Please, try not to upset him, he doesn’t have much time left.”  

Your lip's part, your nostrils flaring angrily, before you can speak however, Alex beats you to it.  

“Yeah, because he cared so much about not upsetting Y/N when she was growing up.” She bites, your mother having the decency to look remorseful.  

She didn’t abuse you, she never hit you, but she allowed it, and it was that thought that made you keep distance between the two of you, you weren’t about to forgive the woman who stood aside while your father scarred your body and beat you senseless.  

She simply nods before stepping aside, motioning towards the room, knowing full well that the visit wasn’t going to go how your father expected.  

You come to a stop, your chest tightening at the thought of seeing the man again, your free hand beginning to shake.  

Alex turns you towards her, the woman cupping your cheek with her free hand, the other in a vice grip.  

“I’ve got you. I’m not going anywhere.” She whispers, resting her forehead against your own.  

You nod, your throat bobbing.  

“Promise?” You whisper, your voice noticeably cracking.  

Alex smiles, closing the distance between you, her lips lightly meeting your own.  

Your mother meanwhile is unable to keep herself from smiling, happy in the knowledge that you had someone to care for you, unlike she had when you were growing up.  

You give Alex a barely visible nod, the woman taking your hand and stepping through the doorway with you, partially in front of you in a protective gesture. 

“There she is.”  

You come to a screeching halt, your eyes darting towards your father who’s resting in the hospital bed, looking much smaller than he did when you were growing up.  

“Well, aren’t you going to give your old man a hug?” He asks, his eyes still holding a hint of the anger you saw all the years ago.  

“No.” You say curtly, leading Alex further into the room, your hands now full-on sweating, your face flushed.  

“Why not?” He asks, his voice having an edge to it.  

“Why?” You ask, laughing humorlessly.  

You stare at the man blankly, realizing he had deluded himself into thinking you had no reason for not coming over and hugging him.  

“Are you kidding me?” Alex snarls, the woman taken aback when you move towards his bed.  

“Maybe because you spent my childhood beating the hell out of me?!” You roar, knowing your voice could be heard rooms away.  

His lips part, the man about to say something but you don’t care, rolling your sleeves up and showing him the scars on your arms.  

“Maybe this is why?” You yell, unbuttoning your shirt hastily, uncaring that you were basically standing in the hospital room wearing only a sports bra.  

Your mother is unable to stop her breath from hitching when she sees the scarred flesh of your torso.  

“Maybe this is why, DAD.” You say, your voice dripping with contempt. 

Your father remains silent, the anger you’d typically seen burning in his eyes still there growing. 

“I just wanted to see you before I go.” He growls, and you scoff.  

“Well, here I am.” You say, throwing your hands in the air, Alex watching in something akin to awe as you confront your abuser.  

“I’m not going to give you a big hug, and I’m not going to tell you I’ll miss you, because I won’t.” You bite, noting the jumping in your father’s jaw.  

“How dare you— 

“How dare I?” You bark out a laugh.  

“How dare you think I should come here and just forgive you, just forget what you did to me growing up, how dare YOU.” You yell, cut off by a nearby nurse.  

“Is something wrong?” She asks, her brows knitted in confusion.  

Alex turns to her.  

“This has been a long time coming, she needs this, let it happen.” She whispers, the woman shaking her head. 

“I never said I was sorry.” Your father mumbles and you’re unable to stop yourself from laughing.  

“Of course you didn’t, because you never felt bad for beating me.” You shake your head, the nurse, surprisingly, backing out of the room.  

“Well, you didn’t break me, you didn’t win.” You say, your hands balling into fists.  

“I came here to tell you that, and now that I did, I can move on with my life.” You say, turning towards Alex before leaving the room hastily, leaning against the wall outside of the room.  

Alex turns to your father, the man shooting her a glare, a glare she returns, her blue orbs smoldering.  

“You tried so hard to break her, but it didn’t work. She’s one of the best women I know, and I love her, more than you ever did, more than either of you ever did.” She snarls angrily, glancing at your mother who’s staring at the floor.  

“She’s better than either of you, she rose above your abuse and became an amazing and talented woman, someone I’m proud to call my girlfriend.” She says confidently, your eyes widening when you realize what Alex had just said.  

“Of course, as if she couldn’t disappoint me more.” Your father growls in reference to the fact that you and Alex were together.  

Your hands ball into fists, the thought of walking in and jacking his jaw prominent.  

“We don’t need your approval; we don’t want it.” She says, walking closer to the bed, the nurse who’d come in earlier coming towards you along with another nurse.  

“Y/N is a better person than you could ever hope be.” She growls, turning to make her way out of the room, shooting a glare over her shoulder.  

“I'm proud of her for coming here, for saying what she needed to say, and I know I put distance between the two of us growing up, but I’m going to be there for her no matter what, more than you ever were.”  She says before making her way out of the room, zeroing in on where you were leaning against a nearby wall.  

She hastily makes her way towards you, throwing her arms around you, squeezing you tightly.  

Unbeknownst to you, your mother had followed you out, wearing a frown.  

“I asked you not to upset him.”  

Alex relinquishes her hold on you, the two of you sending the older woman a piercing glare.  

“Well, I asked you to be there for me growing up, and you weren’t. Looks like neither of us got what we wanted.” You say, taking Alex’s hand, the nurses making their way towards you coming to a halt.  

“Don’t worry.” You say, glancing at the women.  

“We’re leaving.” You say, turning towards your mother.  

“The only reason you need to call me again is to tell me he’s dead.” You say, turning on your heels, and making your way down the hallway, Alex’s hand holding yours tightly. 

It’s only when you’re walking out of the hospital’s entrance that you break down, falling to your knees, your body wracked with sobs.  

Alex drops down beside you, wrapping her arms tightly around you as you sob loudly against her chest, the relief of finally telling your father how you felt, making you emotional.  

“You did it, Y/N. I’m so proud of you.” Alex whispers, running her fingers through your hair as she coos softly in your ear.  

You sniffle, tears streaming down your face, your nose running as you cry against her chest.  

Eventually, you fall silent, your body twitching every so often as you sniff.  

You pull back, your bloodshot Y/E/C orbs meeting Alex’s red rimmed blues.  

She cups your cheeks, leaning her forehead against your own.  

“How do you feel?” She asks as you breathe in deep, filling your lungs with air, your chest no longer feeling as tight as it did.  

You sigh, cupping her cheeks, wiping the tears Alex didn’t realize were streaming down her cheeks away. 

“Lighter.” You say softly, bumping your nose against Alex’s.  

You fall silent before your lips split in a grin.  

“Girlfriend, huh?” You tease, her cheeks flushing.  

“I-I mean...” She stutters, cut off by your lips meeting hers in a tender, chaste kiss.  

“I do like the sound of that.” You smile, Alex throwing her arms around you, giving you a tight squeeze.  

The two of you eventually make your way towards Alex’s car, your chest feeling lighter than it ever had before.  

“I’m so proud of you.” Alex says as she slips into the driver’s seat.  

You turn back towards the hospital, staring up at the hospital where your mother and father currently were, an abusive man you’d finally told how you felt, a demon from your past that you’d finally faced and conquered.  

You smile, slipping in the passenger's seat beside Alex, the woman immediately taking your hand.  

“You know.” You pause, turning towards Alex who’s wearing a tender smile.  

Your own lips split in a grin.  

“I’m proud of me too.” 

***********************************************************************

It’s nearly two years later that you find yourself back in your hometown, rain pouring down around you as you stand at your father’s grave.  

You stare down at the stone stoically, noting the fact that it doesn’t say anything about being a loving father, but only a loving husband.  

Your eyes widen when a dark shadow falls over you, a shadow belonging to an umbrella, an umbrella Alex Morgan is currently holding.  

You take her hand, your fingertips brushing the ring wrapped around her ring finger, a ring you’d proposed to her with not that long ago.  

Life had torn you apart, creating a distance between you so vast that you were not sure if the gap would be bridged, but it was also life that brought you together again.  

It was life that led Alex to confess her feelings for you, and life that led you to where you currently were now, standing in the middle of the graveyard, your hand in Alex’s, the band of her engagement ring cold against your palm.  

You turn towards her, smiling softly.  

“Are you ready?” You ask, her brows arching when she turns towards you.  

“Are you?” She asks, squeezing your hand as you turn back to the stone, nodding. 

“Yeah, I am.”  

Alex turns, her fingers intertwining with yours as you make your way back towards her car.  

You chance one last look over your shoulder, staring at your father’s stone again before turning away, eager to start your life with the woman currently holding your hand, your chest feeling lighter than it ever had before.  

After all these years, you were finally free, and you were free to live your life with the woman you loved, and that woman was your childhood best friend, and fiancé, Alex Morgan.  

[dimlylittorch]

need to cuddle with a big beefy man fr (1.5k words)

My Masterlist🌱

John Price x emotional!transmasc!reader (maybe neurodivergent!reader too? this is kind of based on how i act and i have adhd + rsd so yeah😭)

I’ve honestly been going through it lately and i really wish i had a john price of my own to make me feel better. but.. i just get to write these instead :(

Warnings: very brief mentions of su!c!dal ideation/SH caused by emotional stress

You and John had been together for a small while. The two of you got on well, balancing each other’s personalities out easily. But as you started to spend more time together, like John sleeping over at your apartment, you found yourself having to be more wary. You had always been an emotional person, which was clear for anyone to see. Always having a smile on your face, it was easy to tell you felt things more deeply than some. But of course, there are two sides to every coin. You did your best to not show your ‘negative’ emotions to anyone. They were known to be.. explosive at times.

After a long day, it wasn’t unusual for you to go home and lock yourself in the bathroom for a small while, sitting on the cold tile floor to ground yourself as you let the tears flow. You learned a long time ago that trying to prevent them just makes it ten times worse. And crying could be triggered by anything for you.. messing something up, thinking someone is mad at you, spilling something on your outfit or your routine being overshadowed. It was hard- feeling like the world was against you. You couldn’t help that you were ‘sensitive’. No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t not cry.

Getting your own apartment had been a positive and a negative thing. Positive in the sense that you could cry or express your emotions when you needed to. Negative in the sense that if you were having a really bad emotional episode? You were completely by yourself. Dark thoughts popped up sometimes. You knew it would all pass- but it was still hard to have to sit and listen to your brain telling you it would be easier if you didn’t have to feel it all anymore.

Being different than others had kept you from typical romance scenarios. Not dating much in high school, always feeling too emotionally mature for everyone.. a blessing and a curse. Meeting John and him asking you out was something you never even expected for yourself. But it ended up making sense. Having an older guy with higher maturity really allowed you the space to for once feel less obligated than others to always be mature and in charge. He was like a breath of fresh air when you’d been breathing in smog for far too long.

You had an incredibly shitty day. One of the few friends you had was being distant, your work was piling up so much you had to bring some home, you’d practically forgotten to eat all day.. everything was falling apart at the seams. Unable to hold yourself together, you started crying during the car ride home- which wasn’t all that unusual for you. Pulling into your parking space you make it up the elevator to the door of your apartment. Unlocking the door and walking inside, as soon as the door clicks closed behind you a sharp sob slips past your lips.

Tossing your bags onto the floor, you continue to sob almost uncontrollably as you stumble into the kitchen, vision blurry from tears. Wiping your cheeks with your sleeves as you open the fridge, grabbing a bottle of water. You can’t drink and cry at the same time.. it was a good hack that never felt like you were forcing yourself to stop crying. Letting yourself slide down the kitchen cabinets, you hit the floor with a weak gasp for breath, face heavily flushed and eyes bloodshot as you continued to cry to yourself.

After a few moments to yourself, you suddenly hear heavy footsteps from the hallway of your apartment. Looking up, your puffy face meets John’s, who is clearly concerned. Wearing a towel around his waist, his hair only slightly wet from the shower he must have taken- you interrupted him drying himself off. He wasn’t supposed to come over today. Christ- you interfered with another persons life. Why did you have to be such a bother?

He quickly darted over, immediately crouching down as his eyes scan over your form, checking for something wrong. “Sweetheart?” He says quickly, his voice slightly panicked. “What’s wrong?”

Staring up at him like an idiot, you can’t help but look away out of embarrassment. You never let anyone hear you cry like this. “Nothing” you murmur faintly as you wipe your cheeks. “Just.. needed to cry.” The embarrassment of getting caught like this made the tears stop almost instantly.

He looks at you with furrowed brows and a confused gaze. “Love..” he murmurs softly as he kneels in front of you, cupping your chin and pulling you to look at him. “I’ve barely heard men who’ve been shot cry that hard.” He says softly out of concern as his thumb rubs over your cheek.

Sighing softly, you lean into his touch. “I just.. I cry really hard. Always have.” You confess faintly. “I’m sorry- I never wanted you to see that.” You sniff.

With a huff, he gently leans forward and pulls you into his arms, tucking your face into the crook of his neck. “Hearing you like that broke my heart.” He whispers gruffly against your ear. “Don’t you ever hide from me again. Not when you’re hurting like that.”

Sniffing faintly as you let him hold you, you can’t help but feel the guilt bubble up inside of you. You weren’t hurting that bad.. you just cried really hard. For some reason. It was never justified- you were just always overreacting.. nothing can hurt that bad. At least, that’s what you’ve been told your whole life. “I’m really okay.” You murmur softly, but you can tell your heart isn’t in your words. “I just.. overreact. I don’t know how to fix it.”

Shushing you, he holds you tighter against him. “No one could fake that, lovie.” He murmurs against your heated cheek. “Your little heart is too damn big.” He sighs. He gently scoops you up into his arms, bringing you to your bedroom which you’d perfectly crafted to be a safe space. Setting you down, he reaches to grab one of your stuffed animals before putting them in your arms. “I know ya like the softer things, sweetheart.” He says softly as he walks over to his overnight bag to pull out some clothes.

Sighing contentedly, you wrap your arms around your plushie, holding it tightly to your chest as you try to forget about the day you’d had. The crying spells came out of nowhere, but ended after a small while. Even then.. you’d learned early on that other people don’t need to cry that hard. But for some reason you always did. “Some friend in high school saw me cry like that once.” You whisper faintly, burying your face into the plushie in front of you. “They stopped being friends with me after that.” You sniff. “Are you going to leave too?” You asked, unable to look at him.

He paused at your words as he slipped his sweatpants on before walking over and sitting on the edge of the bed. “I’ve seen combat, love.” He murmurs comfortingly as he brushes a piece of hair behind your ear. “You think a few tears could scare me off?”

Shaking your head slightly, you let out a soft sigh. “I wish I didn’t do that.” You said faintly. “It gets hard.. having to run away and cry. But if I don’t- it starts to hurt. Physically, I mean. Well, it hurts either way. But it hurts more if I try not to.”

John sighs softly as he looks down at you. “I don’t remember that last time I cried.” He murmurs softly. “I miss.. being able to feel like that. Emotional.” He says faintly as his hand reaches over to stroke your hair.

Letting out a contented sigh at his touch, you let yourself melt into the mattress slightly, reaching behind you to tug your weighted blanket over yourself, which he quickly helps with. When you process his words, your bloodshot eyes meet his own. “C’mere” you murmur, holding up the blanket for him.

He chuckles slightly, shifting to lay down next to you, smiling to himself when your arm slips around his waist to hold him close. With his back to your chest, he can’t think of another time he felt this.. safe. He couldn’t remember the last time anyone had let him be the little spoon. “I should be holding you, yknow.” He murmurs.

When you grab another plushie from your bed pile and reach over him, placing it in his hands, he can’t help but laugh. “Let me hold you.” You say softly. “And you hold him.”

With a tired smile, he wraps his arms around the silly little stuffed animal, letting his mind fade away into the warmth and comfort of your arms. Only his baby would find comfort in comforting others. He couldn’t believe how lucky he’d gotten to find someone like you.

hey!! on the last writing i posted i added a poll, and John Price fluff was in the lead. I know I haven’t been posting much fluff w/o smut, so i hope y’all enjoy :D

[casedclosedbye]

Title: "On the rocks 🥃"

C: fluff, age gap

[6k word count]

When you first meet David Rossi, a seasoned FBI profiler with striking silver hair and sharp eyes, at a quiet bar, you never expect the evening to lead anywhere significant. But the chemistry between you is undeniable, and what starts as a simple conversation soon turns into something much deeper.

You walked into the dimly lit bar, hoping for a quiet night after a long, exhausting week. The usual background hum of conversation, the clinking of glasses, and the smell of whiskey in the air created an atmosphere of peaceful anonymity. You took a seat at the far end of the bar, away from the crowd, eager for some solitude. The bartender greeted you with a friendly smile, and you ordered your drink, settling into the cushioned seat.

You weren’t expecting to be drawn into any conversations tonight — but then, you saw him.

At the end of the bar, sitting alone with his back to you, was a man with striking silver hair and a sharp, observant gaze. His presence commanded attention without effort, like a force of nature. The moment he turned his head, his eyes met yours, and something flickered between you — a spark of recognition, or perhaps just the magnetic pull of curiosity. You couldn’t tell, but you were suddenly aware of how quiet the room had become.

It wasn’t long before he rose from his seat and walked toward you with a slow, confident stride. You froze for a moment, unsure of whether you should acknowledge him or look away. But before you could decide, he stopped beside your stool and gave you a slight smile.

“Mind if I join you?” His voice was calm and deep, with an air of quiet intrigue.

Your heart skipped a beat, but you found yourself nodding, more out of instinct than anything else. "Not at all."

He slid onto the seat beside you. His presence was overwhelming, yet comforting in a way that felt effortless. You tried to focus on your drink, but something about the way he sat there, leaning slightly toward you, drew your attention back to him.

“I don’t usually come here,” he said after a beat, his voice low and conversational. “But tonight, I figured I could use a change of pace.”

“Same here,” you replied, surprised by the ease of the conversation. “I needed a break. Too many people, too much noise back home.”

The conversation flowed easily after that. He asked you about your day, your life, and without even realizing it, you found yourself opening up. Something about him made you feel comfortable, as if he was genuinely interested in hearing what you had to say. The night stretched on, with moments of quiet laughter and thoughtful exchanges.

By the time the bartender slid your drink across the counter, you noticed that David — you’d learned his name halfway through the conversation — seemed to have a natural ability to listen. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t rush you to answer, and yet his eyes never wavered, as if he was absorbing everything you said.

There was something incredibly magnetic about him, something that went beyond his quiet confidence. His calm demeanor made you feel like you were the only person in the room, and despite the overwhelming pull between you two, he never tried to force anything.

“I’ve always been fascinated by how people connect,” David said, a thoughtful tone in his voice. “How some people just... click. And others?” He paused, a small chuckle escaping his lips. “Well, not so much.”

You tilted your head, intrigued. “You mean, like chemistry?”

“Exactly. Chemistry. It’s rare. But when you find it, it’s worth fighting for.” His gaze softened for a moment, a flicker of vulnerability flashing behind his sharp eyes.

The touch of his hand on your arm, even as brief as it was, made your heart race. The world seemed to slow, and for a moment, it was just the two of you, caught in an undeniable moment.

“You think so?” you asked softly, your voice barely a whisper.

He looked at you, his smile softening. “I do.”

The rest of the evening passed in a haze of pleasant conversation, shared glances, and the quiet intimacy of two people connecting on a deeper level. When it was time to leave, neither of you rushed away, lingering in the moment as though unsure whether to walk away or take the next step.

---

A week passed before you heard from David again. You had almost convinced yourself that the moment was a fleeting encounter, that maybe he had just been passing through your life as a brief distraction. But then, you received a message from him.

“Hey, I was thinking... maybe we could grab dinner sometime. There’s a place I know that’s quiet, perfect for a good conversation. What do you think?”

Your heart skipped a beat as you typed out your reply, trying to appear casual even though excitement bubbled beneath the surface.

“Sounds good. When?”

The date was set for two days later. You spent the morning nervously picking out an outfit, wondering what he would think of you when you saw him again. But when the time finally came, you found yourself standing outside a small, intimate restaurant with candlelit tables and soft jazz playing in the background.

David was already there, waiting at the table with a glass of wine in hand. He stood when he saw you, giving you that same warm smile you remembered from the bar.

“You look beautiful,” he said softly, pulling out your chair. The sincerity in his voice made your chest tighten.

The evening unfolded slowly, with easy conversation and moments of comfortable silence. David spoke about his work with the FBI, though he never went into too much detail. He gave you just enough to understand how demanding and dangerous his job was, but never dwelled on the darker aspects. His quiet strength was palpable, and you found yourself admiring him even more as the night went on.

He also opened up about his past, about the relationships he had tried and failed to make work. His voice softened when he mentioned a particularly painful breakup, and you could tell that part of him still carried the weight of that loss.

“I guess,” he said quietly, “sometimes I’m afraid to get too close. I’ve seen how quickly people can disappear from your life. It’s... hard to trust that things can stay good.”

You understood that more than you let on. You didn’t want to burden him with your own past, but you had your own share of scars. Still, you couldn’t help but feel the pull to comfort him, to remind him that not all relationships had to end in heartbreak.

“I get that,” you said gently, reaching across the table and placing your hand over his. “But sometimes, the risk is worth it.”

David looked at you, his sharp eyes softening. For a long moment, you just sat there, your hand still resting on his, both of you caught in the quiet understanding that was beginning to blossom between you.

---

Over the next few weeks, you and David grew closer. You spent more time together, meeting for drinks, going on walks, or cooking meals at his mansion. With every shared moment, the bond between you deepened.

David was still guarded, of course. His job kept him busy, and there were times when he had to cancel plans at the last minute or disappear for days at a time. You understood, though it didn’t always make it easier. His absence left a hollow space in your life, and you often found yourself wondering whether you were asking too much of him by wanting him to be more present.

But each time he returned, it was as if he came back more fully, more willing to give you pieces of himself. And when he was there, he was truly there — no distractions, no walls.

One night, as the two of you were curled up on the couch watching a movie, David’s hand found yours. His fingers intertwined with yours, and the touch felt like the simplest, most natural thing in the world.

“I’m glad I met you,” he said quietly, his voice almost a whisper. “You make all this... easier. I don’t have to pretend with you. I can just be myself.”

You smiled, squeezing his hand. “Same here.”

And for the first time, you believed it. You were falling for David Rossi — and despite the complexities of his world, it felt like something worth fighting for.

---

As your relationship deepened, so did the challenges. David’s job took a toll on him, and there were nights when he returned to you exhausted, mentally drained, and emotionally distant. You learned that he could never fully escape the weight of his work, and it was difficult for him to let people in when the world outside was so unpredictable.

One evening, after he had returned from a particularly grueling case, you confronted him about the growing distance between you two.

“You can’t keep doing this,” you said, your voice a mixture of frustration and concern. “You can’t keep shutting me out every time something happens at work. I don’t know how to be here for you if you don’t let me in.”

David ran a hand through his silver hair, looking weary. “It’s not that simple. I can’t just turn it off. This job... it changes you. Makes it hard to trust. Makes it hard to be vulnerable.”

“I know,” you replied softly. “But I can’t be in a relationship where you’re always pulling away. I want to be there for you, David. But you have to let me.”

There was a long silence, and you

feared you had pushed him too far. But then, David looked at you, his eyes filled with emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, his voice rough. “I didn’t mean to push you away. It’s just hard... it’s hard to let go of all the things I carry with me.”

You moved closer to him, placing your hand on his chest. “I know. But we can do this together. You don’t have to do it alone.”

David hesitated for a moment before leaning down to kiss you. The kiss was slow, filled with all the emotions neither of you had fully expressed before. It was a promise — a promise to keep fighting for each other, no matter how hard it got.

---

Weeks turned into months, and through every challenge, every obstacle, your relationship with David grew stronger. He learned to trust you more with the difficult parts of his life, and you learned to be patient with the unpredictable nature of his work.

One afternoon, after spending the day together in the park, David turned to you, his expression serious but soft.

“I’ve been thinking a lot,” he said, his voice steady. “About us. About the future.”

You looked at him, heart beating a little faster. “What about it?”

“I want to make this work,” he said, his gaze never leaving yours. “I want you in my life, fully. No more half-measures. I want to be with you.”

You felt a rush of emotion, relief flooding through you. “I want that too.”

From that moment on, things fell into place. David made more of an effort to balance his work and personal life. He made room for you in a way that made you feel loved and valued. You, in turn, supported him in every way you could — understanding the demands of his job but always making sure he knew that you were there.

And in the quiet moments, when everything else faded away, you both knew that what you had was real. Something worth fighting for.

---

Epilogue:

Years passed, and your relationship with David only deepened. You became partners, not just in love but in life, supporting each other through all of the highs and lows. Whether it was a weekend getaway, a quiet dinner at home, or simply holding hands as you navigated the complexities of life, you knew one thing for certain:

Together, you were unstoppable.

---

[moonlitstoriess]

The Hidden Legacy- A Ruhn Danaan x Rhysands sister series

Chapter 2: Whispers of a Broken Future

Summary: Rhysand’s sister, Seraphis, long thought dead, was taken by the Asteri/Valgs, her memories erased and turned into a ruthless killer loyal to their cause. After Bryce kills the Asteri, Seraphis seeks vengeance on her and everyone else involved. As she hunts them down, Rhysand and the Inner Circle discover the shocking truth: she’s alive, and now their enemy.

See masterlist

Obscura: A state of being hidden, unknown, or mysterious. A shadow over reality, obscuring what is true or real.

"Do you ever wonder who you really are, Seraphis?"

Rigelus' voice was a low murmur, almost soft as he circled around her, hands clasped behind his back. They stood in one of the private chambers of the Asteri's citadel, far from the cold, calculating halls she had grown used to. This place felt different. Smaller, more personal, with darkened windows that let in the faintest light from the distant stars.

Seraphis didn't answer. Her jaw clenched as she stared at the ground, resisting the pull of his voice, that hypnotic charm that he always used to get inside her head.

"You were nothing when we found you," he continued, coming to stand in front of her, his piercing eyes locking onto hers. "You didn't know your purpose. But we...we gave you one we made you into something extraordinary."

Her fists tightened at her sides. Every word felt like a knife, but it cut deeper because she believed him. Without the Asteri, she would have been lost--just another face forgotten in the endless void.

Rigelus stepped closer, so close she could feel his presence, warm and overwhelming, like the sun burning too bright. "You've always been special, Seraphis. More than any of the others. I see that in you. But you need to embrace what you are, fully."

"And what am I?" she finally asked, her voice barely above a whisper, sharp with the weight of all her buried fears.

He smiled then, but it was not a kind smile. It was the smile of someone who knew he owned you, that you were his to mold, to control. "You are ours. Always."

The words hit her like a blow, but even worse was the fact that part of her wanted to believe it. Wanted to believe she belonged somewhere, even if it was in the darkness of their control.

"You can fight and run from it all you want," Rigelus whispered, his lips inches from her ear. "But the truth is, I will always catch you, my butterfly. Because without me, you are nothing."

The flash of that memory left Seraphis shaking as she stood in front of the window, staring out into the chaotic streets of Lunathion. Her whole life's purpose, was to serve the Asteri and their interests. They trained her differently than the others.

Hell, they didn't even bother with the others.

She was the first and the only being to ever get insight into the six legendary Asteris. To learn from them, to be with them, to be under their protection, their presence. She was special because they always told her so.

Austrus had even once told her that maybe someday in the future, she could be sitting just a foot below, on the second dais, as their first in command.

Well, that was never going to happen because they are all dead now.

How couldn't the others see it? See that the Asteri were always sharing greatness insetad of terror? Stupid mortals, so self-centered, such cowardly beings, always running away, easily scared.

But Bryce was't like them. Oh, no.

That little brat thought she could put on some brave pants and fight the Asteri. What a fool, what an idiot.

She didn't even stop to think that maybe just killing the Asteri doesn't mean the end of the story. That maybe, they had a plan B, C, D, all the way to Z in their hands.

Her lips twitched up in a smirk. And Seraphis was in all of those plans.

The smirk remained on her lips as she turned away from the window, her mind churning with the possibilities. She had been created for this exact moment, for the aftermath. The Asteri had always known that one day their reign might falter, and they had placed all their bets on her.

Seraphis moved to the bed, her fingers lightly brushing over the rough fabric of the blanket. She had no time to waste on sentiment. The game had changed, but the rules were still hers to follow. The Asteri had imbued her with every secret, every contingency, every weapon. And now it was time for her to step out from their shadow and finish what they had started.

Seraphis stared at the window from her seat on the bed, the hum of the city below barely registering in her head as her thoughts spun. It was a delicate balance--one that would take careful planning and precision. She couldn't afford to rush in blindly, not when the stakes were this high.

Her eyes narrowed as she considered her options. The easiest route would be to create small, targeted disruptions across the city—nothing large enough to draw attention from the wrong forces but enough to spark curiosity. Bryce and her crew would eventually notice, especially if the incidents had a familiar touch. She smirked at the thought. It wouldn’t take long before they came sniffing around, trying to understand what was happening. And by then, it would be too late.

She would start small. Plant seeds of unrest in the lower districts, where crime already simmered beneath the surface. A few well-placed provocations, and soon, the city’s order would begin to fray. Nothing too obvious—just enough to make the tension in Lunathion palpable. And then, when the cracks began to widen, she’d start to build the real trap. The kind that would lure Bryce and her friends into the open.

But that was only part of it. Seraphis needed to study them, learn their weaknesses, observe how they moved. It was crucial to find any cracks in their group, and she knew there had to be some. It was only a matter of time.

Her eyes moved away from the window, gazing right towards the wall. The beginnings of her plan were solid, but the details needed to be refined. The hunt for Bryce, her mate and her brother would take time, but she was patient. They would come to her when the city began to unravel.

A twisted smile tugged at her lips. Yes, she would tear their world apart piece by piece, just as Bryce had done to hers.

But first, she needed to light the match.

Seraphis moved toward the table, pulling out a map of the city she had acquired earlier. Spreading it across the table, she traced the streets with her fingers, marking down potential areas where she could plant her seeds of chaos. The slums. The docks. The underground markets.

She wouldn’t need to get her hands too dirty—there were always desperate souls willing to cause havoc for the right price. And she had more than enough resources to pay for what she needed.

Tonight, she would start small. She would test the waters, see how quickly the city reacted. And from there, she would expand her operations. The goal was to draw them out, after all. And when they came? Seraphis would be waiting.

Her lips twitched into a cold, calculating smile. It was time to remind Midgard that the Asteri’s legacy wasn’t dead. It lived on in her.

The pieces of her plan were slowly falling into place. And soon, so would Bryce.

Seraphis sat back in the stiff chair, her gaze sweeping over the map again, committing every detail to memory. She knew the city well enough from her previous reconnaissance-it's layout, it's strengths, it's weak points. The underground market was her first target.

And although it's name sounded similar to the underworld or the Meat market over which the Viper Queen ruled, they could not be more different. The underground is even darker than the Meat market, the lowest point one could ever reach. Whatever you wouldn't find in the underworld, you will most likely find in the underground.

It was a place where both criminals and so-called heroes found themselves entangled, and it would make the perfect starting point for the chaos that she intended to unleash.

With a few well-placed disruptions, the tension between the gangs and the enforcers would rise, and soon enough, word would reach Bryce’s ears. Seraphis didn’t care about the outcome of that petty conflict. The market’s collapse was merely a tool, a prelude to the greater plan.

But that was for later. First, she needed to move unnoticed, blend into the shadows of the city. Despite her plans to sow chaos, her own movements had to remain undetected. For now, anyway.

She rose from the chair and crossed to the small bag she’d brought with her, opening it to reveal a neatly folded, simple cloak—nothing like the regal attire she had once worn in the Asteri’s court. This was meant for blending in, not standing out. She pulled the fabric over her shoulders and tightened the clasp at her neck. Then, she grabbed a few essential tools from her pack—daggers, a gun, lockpicks, and some cash—just enough for tonight’s mission.

As she turned to leave, her gaze flicked to the reflection in the small, dingy mirror hanging above the dresser. The female staring back at her was not the same one she had once been. The cold detachment in her eyes, the calculating glint in her expression—it was all forged from the years under the Asteri’s influence. They had trained her, molded her into a weapon, and now, she would use that power to strike down those who had wronged her.

But something in the pit of her stomach tightened as she looked at her own face, and for a brief moment, she wondered what she would have been without them. Without the manipulation, the teachings, the control.

No. She couldn’t think like that. That path led to doubt, and doubt had no place in her mission.

Seraphis exhaled slowly, forcing the unwelcome thoughts away. There was no room for weakness. Not now, not ever.

She pulled the hood of her cloak up and quietly exited the motel room, blending into the late-night crowds that still lingered on the streets. The city’s pulse was alive around her—bright lights, roaring voices, the distant sound of music and laughter from the nearby bars. But all of it felt muted to her, as though it belonged to a world she no longer had any part in.

The underground market was a good distance away, but Seraphis was in no rush. The night stretched long, and the quieter the streets became, the easier it would be to move through unnoticed.

As she made her way through the alleyways and narrow streets, she began to mentally run through the next phases of her plan. After the initial chaos at the market, she would need to set up a few more “incidents” in other key areas of the city. The slums, in particular, were a breeding ground for unrest. And she would use that unrest to her advantage, stirring the pot just enough to bring everything boiling to the surface.

But all of it—every step she took—would be meaningless if she didn’t ultimately bring Bryce and her allies into the fray. Bryce needed to see the consequences of her actions. She needed to understand that killing the Asteri hadn’t ended their reach, that Seraphis still carried their legacy. And Seraphis would make sure that Bryce knew exactly who had come for her in the end.

Seraphis’ steps slowed as she approached the market district. This was where the first domino would fall. It would be subtle at first—just enough to stir the waters—but it would be enough to start the chain reaction. She smirked beneath the hood of her cloak, her fingers itching to put the plan into motion.

The hunt had begun.

The deeper she went into the market district, the fewer lights illuminated the way. The shadows grew thicker, darker, more welcoming. She preferred it that way. She had always been more comfortable in the darkness--where she could disappear, where no one could track her.

The underground market came into view soon enough, it's entrance tucked between two crumbling buildings in one of the older parts of Lunathion. It wasn't marked, but she knew the signs- the faint hum of activity, the subtle symbols carved into the stone by those who frequented this place. Only those who were meant to be here would find it.

Seraphis pulled her hood lower, her face obscured, and made her way to the door. A lone guard stood by, eyeing her warily, but he made no move to stop her. He wasn't paid to care about who came or went--only to keep the peace inside. That worked to her advantage.

She slipped past him and into the market below.

The underground market was a labrynth of dimly lit corridors, filled with stalls and vendors selling everything from the rarest magical artifacts to specific body parts of powerful beings. The air was thick with the scent of smoke and incense, and the low murmur of voices echoed off the stone walls. It was a place of deals and danger, where money and power changed hands in secret.

And tonight, Seraphis would be the one pulling the strings.

She wandered through the stalls, her eyes scanning the wares, but she wasn't here to buy. No, her interest lay in the individuals--the ones who operated in the shadows, the ones who could help spread the chaos needed. It didn't take long to spot them. They were always the same type--the smugglers, the mercenaries, the power-hungry who would do anything for the right price.

Seraphis approached a small group huddled near the back of the market. Three males. One wolf, one fae, one human. Perfect.

They were rough looking, armed with blades and distrustful eyes. She could feel their wariness as she neared, but they made no move to stop her.

"You look like the kind of men who know how to find things," she said, her voice low, carrying just enough authority to get their attention.

The wolf, a tall male with a scar running down his cheek, gave her a once-over before nodding. "Depends on what you're looking for."

"I'm not looking for anything." She pulled the black cloth from her bag, and slowly unwrapped one of the relics, revealing a small, intricate object glowing faintly with power. The men's eyes widened at the sight. "But I am offering something. This--and more--if you're willing to do a little work for me."

The men exchanged glances, greed already shining in their eyes. The scarred one stepped forward. "What kind of work?"

"Simple," Seraphis said, her voice cold and calculating. "Spread the word. Tell your buyers that something big is coming. A power shift. A chance to get in on something...greater."

She let the words hang in the air, giving them time to bite. The men leaned in closer, intrigued. "And who are you, exactly?"

"Someone who know's whats coming," she replied. "And if you're smart, you'll play your part when the time comes."

The male's eyes flicked to the relic in her hand, then back to her. "And if we do?"

"You'll be rewarded beyond your wildest dreams," she said smoothly, knowing full well that these idiots would sell their souls for even a taste of the power she offered. "But cross me, and you'll be the first to burn when this city falls."

The three seemed to mull it over for a moment, then the scarred one nodded slowly. "We'll spread the word. But we want more than just promises."

Seraphis smiled darkly and handed him the relic. "Consider this a down payment."

She turned on her heel and disappeared back into the maze of stalls, her work here done. The seed of chaos has been planted, and it wouldn't take long for it to spread.

Seraphis slipped out of the market and into the cool night air, her heart steady, her mind clear. It was only the beginning. Soon, the streets would burn, and Bryce would have no choice but to come out of hiding.

And when she did, Seraphis would be waiting.

She pulled the hood of her cloak tighter around her face and melted back into the shadows. Tonight had gone according to plan, but there was still so much work to be done. This was only the first step, the first move in a much larger game.

A game that Seraphis intended to win.

She moved with cold precision, her mind racing through the intricacies of her plan. She didn't care who showed up first--whether it was Bryce, one of her friends, or even her allies. All that mattered was drawing them out, making them feel the chaos she was about to unleash.

The rebellion tearing through the city was the perfect distraction, but she had her own plans to accelerate the destruction. She thrived in the shadows, using the panic to slip unnoticed through the darkened streets toward the heart of the city’s market district.

The bustling square, still relatively untouched by the unrest, was a chaotic web of people moving in and out of crowded shops and vendor stalls. Seraphis stood in the shadows, watching, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

She closed her eyes and summoned her power. Time slowed to a crawl around her as she focused on the flow of energy coursing through the city. She was no master of fire or chaos in the traditional sense, but time… time was her weapon.

Seraphis sent out tendrils of her power, threading them through the crowded square. She began to bend time, subtly at first, slowing the movements of some citizens while speeding up others. A cart that had been rolling steadily down the street suddenly sped up, crashing into a vendor’s stall, spilling supplies everywhere. The vendor, moving too slowly to react, was sent tumbling into a nearby food cart, which quickly tipped over, sparking a small fire as the flames caught onto the cloth covering.

More and more, she manipulated time, sending carts crashing, people stumbling, and machinery malfunctioning. The disruption quickly spread, triggering accidents that led to more destruction—an explosion from a nearby gas lamp, a toppled building as workers moved too fast, outpacing the scaffolding’s stability.

The market district, once vibrant and alive, descended into chaos. Flames licked the edges of buildings as accidents caused by Seraphis’s manipulation spiraled out of control.

Satisfied with the mayhem, she turned her attention to the old power grid hidden in the lower alleyways. Outdated and vulnerable, just like everything else in Lunathion. She reached it swiftly, manipulating time once again to accelerate the aging process of the already fragile system.

The generator cracked, groaned, and then burst into sparks as its components wore down in seconds, unable to withstand the rapid decay. With a final pulse of her power, Seraphis watched as the entire market district was plunged into darkness. The screams that followed filled the air, rising above the crackling fires and collapsing stalls.

People ran in every direction, unable to comprehend the sudden destruction around them. Panic spread, fueled by the darkness, by the confusion Seraphis had meticulously engineered.

She stood in the shadows, watching as chaos unfolded in the streets below. The flames danced in the distance, illuminating the night in a harsh, flickering glow. She felt the familiar pulse of time bend around her, the echoes of the city rippling as if the fabric of reality itself shuddered in response to her presence.

She had done it--set the stage. The tiniest adjustment, a mere shift in the sequence of events, was all it had taken. She smiled, satisfied.

But as she stood there, a thought came to her. This wasn't just about creating chaos. It was about leaving her mark, reminding them--Bryce, and anyone who dared to be as stupid as Bryce--that there were forces at play they couldn't understand.

Seraphis turned away from the window and glanced around the room of one of the closed shops she was watching this chaos unfurl from, her eyes landing on a broken clock in the corner, it's hands twitching erratically. A smirk played at her lips. That would be her mark. Every time she struck, time would ripple around her, warping and twisting the surroundings in subtle but unmistakable ways. Clocks would break, moments would repeat, and objects would age or freeze in time.

She pulled her hood up over her head, the shadow of her cloak swallowing her figure as she made her way out of the room. The streets were in disarray, and the fire had already drawn people out of their homes. She slipped past them with ease, unnoticed as she moved through the growing crowds.

In the chaos, she allowed her powers to work their magic, creating slight distortions in the area--small enough to be overlooked by most, but clear enough for those who were paying attention. It wouldn't be long before one of Bryce's minions noticed. Someone would realize the pattern and start to piece together what was happening.

As the chaos continued to swell around her, she vanished into the night, leaving behind the broken clocks.

********

Seraphis woke early, her mind still buzzing from the previous night's chaos. The dawn light filtering through the thin curtains of her room, casting long shadows on the walls. She dressed and got ready quickly, her thoughts already on the next steps in her plan.

She headed out to a small cafe nearby, it's warmth a stark contrast to the chill of the morning air. As she sat down with a simple breakfast of coffee and bread, the cafe buzzed with the latest gossip. The patrons, their faces tired but animated, spoke in hushed, urgent tones.

"....can you believe it? The whole street's still smoldering. They're saying it was some kind of coordinated attack."

"The 33rd Legion have been working non-stop. It's a mess out there."

"So many dead too, I heard Hunt Athalar on the news, saying how whoever was behind this, will pay dearly for what they have caused."

Seraphis barely managed to stop herself from laughing at that.

The damage was clearly intensive, just as she had planned. Her actions had created the right kind of chaos to draw out Bryce or anyone from her group out. Seems like today is her mate who decided to show himself first. How fantastic.

As she sipped her coffee, her eyes wandered out the window, scanning the busy street. The city was still reeling from the night’s events, and the atmosphere was charged with a mix of fear and urgency. Her plan had succeeded, but she knew she had to remain cautious.

In the midst of the commotion, she spotted Ruhn Danaan and his auxiliary approaching. He was in conversation with his team, but his commanding presence was unmistakable. Seraphis’ heart quickened; she needed to be careful.

She subtly moved from her seat, preparing to leave. But as she slipped out the door, her eyes caught Ruhn’s gaze, just for a fleeting moment. Panic surged through her. This shouldn’t happen, she thought, trying to slip away unnoticed.

Ruhn’s eyes narrowed as he spotted her. He gestured sharply to his auxiliary, and they began to follow her. The café’s patrons were oblivious to the unfolding chase, focused on their own concerns.

Seraphis moved quickly through the streets, her pace quickening as she realized she couldn’t outrun them. Ruhn and his team closed in, their footsteps echoing behind her. She darted into an alley, hoping to lose them in the labyrinth of narrow passages.

But Ruhn was fast. He managed to catch a glimpse of her just as she turned a corner. He shouted for his team to keep up, and they surged forward. Seraphis could feel the pressure mounting; she had to act fast.

As she neared a side street, Ruhn reached out, grabbing her by the arm for a brief moment. The instant his hand touched her, Seraphis felt an electric jolt, an unfamiliar and unsettling sensation that made her pause. Her heart raced, and she felt a strange, almost instinctual pull towards him, but she quickly wrenched her arm free, her senses overloaded.

“Stop!” Ruhn called out, his voice a mixture of authority and urgency. His touch was firm, but she managed to twist away and disappear into the shadows before he could get a full grasp on her.

In her haste, she left behind a small, distinctive object—a silver pendant she always kept hidden. Ruhn noticed it lying on the ground and picked it up, his eyes narrowing as he examined it. The pendant bore intricate designs that seemed out of place in the city’s everyday life.

Seraphis vanished into the maze of streets, her breath coming in quick, ragged gasps. She glanced back only once, seeing Ruhn still searching for her, his gaze scanning the alleys. She knew he would not find her now.

As the sun climbed higher, the city continued its recovery, unaware of the brief encounter that had occurred. Seraphis took a deep breath and moved forward, her thoughts already turning to the next phase of her plan.

She had managed to escape, but the pendant left behind might pose a problem. It was a small slip, but one that could have significant consequences.

And Seraphis had no idea how to get it back.

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

Taglist: @annamariereads16 @tooexhaustedsstuff @a-frog-with-a-laptop @cassie-at-college-blog @itsinherited

[remember-the-fanfics]

Omg I’d love to hear about the earth born reader’s dynamics with the cast!

You get the whole info about the reader because :D

(Y/n) (Middle Name) (L/n)

Age- 17-21

Gender- Nonbinary (They/them)

Height- 5'0 - 5'6

Appearance-

Demon-ish look

• Purple eyes that look like cat eyes

• Pointy ears and sharp teeth

• Claw looking finger that wouldn't actually cut anything

• Hair is multiple color with (h/c) and (any color), hair looks ruffled all the time. Goes to your shoulder.

• Magic necklace to let you look like this is solid metal to not be easily broken.

Human look

• Base human look

• Hair is less ruffled, still a slight mess.

Info

• Clothes are mostly given by any of the main cast, minus a whole suit that Alastor got you fitted for along with a skirt and pants. Charlie did buy you some clothes in your size since most of the cast is taller than you.

• Either you can here by a portal made by some certain imps and got booted to the pride level with how your soul is closest to a sinner and that just whiplash you enough to forget; or random magic nonsense or ritual that someone close to you did and accidentally got you into hell.

• Have yet to figure out the person who gave you the necklace. Maybe someone who use to be in your shoes long time ago.

• Charlie and Vaggie go between acting like your moms or your annoyed older sisters (mostly Vaggie)

• Alastor treats you like a child, like a distant weird uncle when you get to know him more. Gives you random gifts, most get taken away by being deadly weapons by Vaggie.

• Angel Dust reminds you of an annoying older brother or Cousin, that has a 10 year gap between each other. Protective, isn't as sexual in your presence still is though. Never talks about work to you.

• Husk, doesn't let you drink any alcohol even if you want to. Says you're too young, has so water or soda at the bar for you. Definitely an uncle.

• Niffty, weird short hyperactive aunt that hates bugs and loves cleaning. Talks to you about any interest men she sees, also gifts you less deadly weapons or anything interesting she finds. Has given you a bottle of bleach with no context.

• You would kill for any of the pets including Razzle and Dazzle, those two would kill for you too after Charlie request they watched over you as well

• Lucifer mistook you as Vaggies kid and then also Charlie when he learned that the two were dating and that they found you together. Even after finding out that you weren't technically their kid, he would still act like granddad that missed out on half your life and gift you random things, mostly ducks when you said they looked cute.

• Charlie had to tell him not to gift you anymore ones that can produce fire. You've near caught the hotel on fire 3 times and everyone in the cross fire.

• You gave sad puppy eyes for days afterwards towards everyone.

• Sir Pentious had to be tell directly not to make you any deadly weapons after he gave you a hand-held flamethrower when he fell for your puppy eyes.

• Now, Vaggie has collection of weapons that everyone gives you that you almost hurt someone and yourself.

• Everyone defense is that you don't use you demon powers when in danger, not knowing you aren't an actual sinner.

• So you only have a certain few weapons to keep you safe when out if the hotel.

• Charlie and Vaggie know the most of your past that you willing talk about. Knows about your direct family, that you died young.

• Charlie got you as a guest because she doesn't think you should actually be a sinner. Minus the fires that you've accidentally started, you could be here for a pyromaniac.

• But then you apologized right after, not many it to happen.

• The main cast have tried to figure out why you got sent here.

• Alastor doesn't really care, thinking you barely just sinned enough to got sent here.

[greenbubblefactory]

Matchup for @poplynnn

Congratulations you have a match with..

kazuha kaedehara !

★When you first meet Kazuha, he’s drawn to the subtlety of your presence. There’s something about you that’s not loud or obvious, but rather quiet and graceful,your calm aura the way you carry yourself and your gentleness. He’d notice you immediately, not just because of your physical features, but because you seem to radiate a sense of depth. He doesn’t need a loud introduction to know that you’re someone who holds layers, someone with a story that’s waiting to be discovered.

★Kazuha isn’t the type to rush into anything, and he respects the space you give people. He’d be patient as he gets to know you, not pushing but simply observing at first. You’d catch his attention with your sharp wit and subtle humor,your sarcasm wrapped in that calm, almost melancholic tone would have him smirking before he even fully processes the joke. His reactions would be soft, his laughter more of a knowing chuckle, but you’d come to realize he enjoys your little jabs and witty remarks. Kazuha doesn’t take offense easily, in fac, he’d be more than happy to fire back with his own playful comments. He has a lighthearted nature that meshes perfectly with your teasing, and soon, a back-and-forth banter would develop, each moment of shared humor making you feel more comfortable in his presence.

★His warmth would be something you’d quickly notice,the way his gaze lingers when you’re talking about something you love, the quiet but consistent support he offers, even in the smallest things. Whether it’s complimenting your artwork, encouraging you when you’re feeling stuck, or simply offering his own thoughts, Kazuha would show you that he values your creativity. He’d be fascinated by the way your mind works, always willing to listen to whatever new fact or project you’re excited about. He’d even surprise you by sharing some of his own creative works a poem, a song, or a thoughtful observation. He’d never push you to share your own creations, but there would be a deep unspoken understanding between the two of you: you both value art and self-expression, and there’s no judgment, just a shared appreciation for what’s made from the heart.

★Your perfectionism wouldn’t deter Kazuha,in fact it would inspire him. He’d see the care you put into everything you do, whether it’s your art, your studies, or the way you carry yourself in a conversation. But when he notices that you’re being too hard on yourself, he’d step in gently, his words like a soft breeze. “It’s okay to make mistakes,”“Sometimes, the imperfections are what make something truly beautiful.” His ability to see beyond the surface and appreciate the deeper rawer parts of life would make him the perfect person to help you feel secure in your own skin, flaws and all.

★Your love for learning would align beautifully with Kazuha’s own intellectual curiosity. He has a wandering soul, always seeking new experiences and knowledge, and he’d be delighted to learn from you, just as you would from him. He’d enjoy those moments where you shared fascinating facts or explored topics together,whether it’s biology, marine life, or the latest things you’ve learned in your studies. You’d both appreciate the richness of knowledge, and your conversations would be filled with a natural flow of ideas, a dance of words where both of you contribute, share, and learn from each other. Kazuha’s thoughtful nature means he’d never push you to be something you’re not, instead he’d encourage you to embrace your curiosities and celebrate the things that make you passionate.

★And when it comes to your insecurities Kazuha would know how to approach them with gentleness and care. He’s the kind of person who has a deep understanding of the complexities of human emotion, and he would recognize when you’re feeling uncertain about yourself or your worth. Rather than offering empty compliments Kazuha would offer quiet affirmations that help you rediscover your confidence. When you feel tired, frustrated, or unmotivated, he’d simply be there,no grand gestures, no overwhelming attempts to “fix” you, just a calm, steady presence to let you know you’re not alone. His affection for you would be subtle but constant, like the soft rustle of leaves in a breeze, always there, always supporting you.

★You’d find that Kazuha’s love language isn’t about flashy displays of affection but about the little everyday moments that show his care for you. He’d show his love through thoughtful actions, such as giving you a handmade gift, perhaps a poem or a simple trinket that reminded him of you, or taking you on quiet walks through nature, where you could enjoy each other’s company in peaceful silence. He would be the type to always pay attention to the little details knowing exactly what would make you smile, like bringing you a lemon tart or a treat that matches your tastes. He would remember the little thing,the way you get a little quieter when you're feeling off, or how you make art as a way to process the world. To Kazuha every detail is important, and he’d cherish the parts of you that others might overlook.

★Kazuha would also be sensitive to your boundaries, especially when it comes to physical touch. He would understand that it takes time to feel comfortable and wouldn’t rush you. He would gently remind you that physical closeness is just another way of showing care, but he’d let you set the pace, ensuring you never feel pressured. The moments when you do feel comfortable enough to hold hands or share a tender moment would be meaningful to him, and he would savor them quietly, knowing that trust is built slowly but steadily.

★When it comes to your romantic indecisiveness, Kazuha would be patient and understanding. He’d never rush you or push you into making decisions before you’re ready. He understands the intricacies of the heart and knows that sometimes, it takes time to understand one’s feelings fully. He wouldn’t get frustrated with your hesitation,instead he’d wait for you, giving you the space and time you need.All while offering a steady loving presence. He would be there for you, letting you know that when you're ready, you can trust him with your heart.

★In the end, your relationship with Kazuha would feel like a quiet, safe haven. It wouldn’t be rushed or chaotic, but rather built on mutual respect, deep affection, and shared moments of beauty. You’d both find comfort in each other’s presence,quiet mornings spent in each other’s company, peaceful conversations, and shared adventures where the world feels like it’s just the two of you. Kazuha would offer you the love and understanding that you so deeply deserve, and in turn, you’d bring joy, warmth, and inspiration into his life. It would be a love that’s gentle yet strong,quiet, and full of meaning.

English is not my first language so I'm sorry if there are any spelling mistakes!

[thebunnednun]

You're my Coffee Chapter 4

Shouta Aizawa x Pro hero/Teacher! Reader

After receiving a distressing call from a Japanese hospital, you learn your best friend Nemuri Kayama (Midnight) has briefly awoken from her coma and is desperately screaming for you.

She makes a final request: take care of her students if she doesn't survive.

Chapter 4: Close call

Summary:

You get to have a moment of honesty with Izuku, go out with your new 'friends', help a sad baddie, and clean Kayama's desk without bawling your eyes out!   Before getting caught by banana man.

Songs for this chapter:

Stressed out by 21 pilots It's always a good time - C. Rae Jetson Wish you were here - Avril Lavigne <---- This one really hits hard

ON WITH THE SHOW!!~

“Psst, new girl.”

At first, you ignored the voice, keeping your eyes fixed on the board. But the whisper persisted, tugging at your attention like an annoying fly. You resisted the urge to roll your eyes, determined to stay focused. Finally, you relented, glancing out of the corner of your eye to see who was trying to get your attention.

It was Shinso, his violet eyes narrowed in a mixture of boredom and mischief. He tilted his head slightly, clearly trying to catch your gaze again, but you refused to give in. You could feel his stare practically burning a hole in the side of your head, and the corner of his mouth twitched as if he knew he was getting under your skin.

You tightened your grip on your pen, determined to ignore him. But he wasn’t about to give up so easily. With a sly grin, Shinso leaned forward slightly, as if daring you to react. You let out a silent huff, shifting in your seat and then, with calculated precision, you kicked the leg of his desk with your heel.

The sound was soft but sharp enough to make him stop in his tracks. His eyes widened in surprise for a split second before he smirked, a glint of amusement flashing in his gaze. You shot him a look that clearly said, "Knock it off," and he gave a slight nod, leaning back in his chair.

Just as you thought the exchange was over, something small and rectangular landed on your desk with a light thud. You blinked, looking down to see a neatly folded piece of paper. Opening it, you found a list of phone numbers scribbled inside—Mina, Denki, Kirishima, Ochako, Tsu, Jirou, Momo, and even Iida. A small note at the bottom read, 

"In case you need anything. Welcome to 2-A!"  

‘Fuck they’re so sweet.’

Your heart warmed at the gesture, but a pang of guilt tugged at you for how you’d reacted to Shinso earlier.

Without drawing any attention, you reached into your purse and pulled out a cookie wrapped in a napkin, courtesy of Taishi. Glancing around to make sure Aizawa wasn’t watching, you discreetly dropped the cookie onto Shinso’s foot under his desk. He looked down, his eyes narrowing in confusion, before his lips quirked into a half-smirk as he realized what you’d done. With a quick, subtle motion, he swiped the cookie before anyone else could notice.

You propped open your compact from your purse, using the mirror to catch a glimpse of his expression. Shinso took a quiet bite of the cookie, his smirk softening into something almost resembling appreciation. You couldn’t help but feel a small sense of satisfaction, knowing you’d made amends in your own way.

Returning to your “schoolwork,” you flipped open your sparkly spiral notebook, its pages already decorated with doodles and random notes. You pretended to jot down whatever Aizawa was teaching, though in reality, your pen sketched out small, intricate designs along the margins. 

Aizawa’s voice was a steady, almost soothing drone in the background. Despite his gruff appearance and no-nonsense attitude, there was something comforting about the way he spoke, even if he sounded like he was always on the verge of falling asleep.

Feeling a bit more settled now, you continued to sketch and pretend to take notes, you thought back to what you knew about Aizawa from Mimi. He wasn’t that much different from what she’d described—gruff, strict, but deeply caring in his own, quiet way. You’d never formally met him before now, having been back home for your licensing, and there was a good chance she hadn’t mentioned you to him either. 

Considering all the trouble you used to get into, she probably didn’t want to say until you were ready. 

You glanced up from your doodles, taking the opportunity to observe the rest of the class. Mina was doodling little hearts in the margins of her own notes, her golden eyes darting occasionally toward the front of the room to make sure Aizawa wasn’t looking her way. 

Denki was trying to discreetly charge his phone under the desk, the faint crackle of electricity barely noticeable. Kirishima was scribbling notes furiously, his brow furrowed in concentration as if every word Aizawa spoke was pure gold.

Ochako and Tsu were sharing a textbook, whispering quietly to each other while Jirou tapped her pencil against her desk in time with the soft music still playing from her earphone. Momo was perfectly poised, her notes meticulously organized and her attention fully on Aizawa, while Iida sat ramrod straight, his eyes fixed on the board with unwavering focus.

‘Let’s take a closer look.’

You allowed your aura to gently brush against the energy wavelengths in the room, surveying what everyone was going through and feeling. 

The calm you had spread earlier was still lingering, but there were traces of nervousness, excitement, and the usual teenage uncertainty. 

Izuku’s energy was a mix of curiosity and concern, his thoughts likely still on the note that had been intercepted. He glanced at you from time to time, as if trying to gauge your mood.

Sero, Denki, and Aoyama were visibly struggling to stay awake. Sero’s head kept nodding forward before he jolted himself awake, a thin line of drool escaping the corner of his mouth. 

Denki’s eyes were half-closed, his body slumped over his desk as if the weight of the world was pressing down on him. ‘Probably should just wait to charge your phone dude.’ Aoyama, ever the dramatic, had his hand elegantly draped over his forehead, his other arm supporting his head as he fought a losing battle against sleep. 

‘At least he looks elegant?’

Kirishima was still valiantly trying to take notes, but Bakugou, sitting next to him, kept pinching his arm to keep him awake. Every time Kirishima started to drift off, Bakugou would give him a sharp pinch, and Kirishima would jolt upright, rubbing his arm and muttering a tired “thanks, bro.” Despite Bakugou’s brooding aura and seemingly calm exterior, you could sense a storm of emotions churning beneath the surface. He exuded a mix of frustration and protectiveness, his energy crackling with intensity.

‘Awe, grumpy and sunshine.’

Mina was nervously shaking her leg, her vibrant pink aura soured with gray anxiety. She kept glancing around the room, her hands trembling slightly as if she had pins and needles. Next to her, Kaminari was trying to both stay awake and comfort her by covering her hands with his own, his warmer touch helping to steady her shaking. His aura radiated a gentle warmth, something like candle light, a vibrant contrast to the flickers of nervous energy you could see in Mina’s.

Momo and Sato both seemed hungry but with no appetite. Momo’s stomach growled softly, but she ignored it, her face set in a determined but slightly pained expression. Sato, similarly, rubbed his belly absentmindedly, his eyes distant and unfocused. You could feel the low energy levels in their auras, a sign of their body’s need for sustenance clashing with their lack of desire to eat.

Todoroki sat behind Izuku stoically, his expression calm and composed, but his aura told a different story. Internally, he was distressed, his energy a swirling mix of cold and hot, reflecting his dual quirk. He maintained a serene exterior, but you could sense the turmoil brewing inside him, like a volcano waiting to erupt. 

You had to give it to the kid for not being irritable but if he snapped right now– you couldn’t say you didn’t see it coming. 

Behind you, Shinso’s aura was a mix of exhaustion and something darker. His complexion was pale, and the way his eyes blinked when the lights flickered hinted at sensitivity or perhaps reliving a traumatic memory. He radiated a quiet strength, but you could tell he hadn’t slept well in a long time, his energy levels perpetually low. You wanted to clock him for insomnia but you didn’t know him that well, yet. 

Iida was sitting rigidly, taking deep breaths to steady himself. His aura was a mix of longing and determination, his eyes focused but distant, as if he were trying to hold onto something just out of reach. You could sense the deep sense of responsibility weighing heavily on his shoulders, his energy tinged with a subtle sadness.

Asui now had an obvious headache, her hand pressed to her temple as she tried to concentrate. Her usually calm and collected aura was disrupted by waves of discomfort, her energy levels dipping as she struggled to keep up with the lesson. Ochako, seated next to her, was holding her stomach, her aura flickering with unease and mild pain. You could tell she was trying to tough it out, but her discomfort was palpable. 

‘Is it Shark week or is the lunch fighting back?’

Shifting over, Hagakure’s stress levels were alarming. Even though she was invisible, you could almost see her clutching her chest, her tie loosened in a rare display of dishevelment. Her aura was a chaotic swirl of anxiety and tension, her energy erratic and unsettled. You wanted to hug her right there and then but that would be weird without context and you had to remember you were still an adult. 

Next to her, Ojiro was flexing his numb tail after being still for so long, his aura steady but tinged with mild discomfort. His energy was calm, but the numbness in his tail was clearly bothering him, making him shift in his seat every few minutes.

Jirou also looked to be in pain, her head gently slumping against her desk. Her aura was a steady rhythm of discomfort, her earphones doing little to block out whatever was causing her pain. Momo, always prepared, quickly slid her and the other girls something, likely a painkiller, which Jirou accepted with a grateful nod before trying to discreetly pass it along.

Next to you Shoji’s aura was heavy with something weighing on his chest. He was slowly flexing each of his limbs, his energy methodically moving through his body as if trying to work out the tension. Behind him, Koda, on the other hand, was trembling, his aura a mix of anxiety and cold. But he was seated right under the AC unit, and you couldn’t tell if his shivers were from the cold air or the anxiety radiating off him in waves. He was staring longly out of the window and you could relate to wanting to jump out (responsibly) and just be free for the rest of the school day. 

You turned your attention back to Izuku, noting how his hands were on his shoulders, trying to politely roll them without being a distraction. His aura was still a jumble of emotions, but there was a steady pulse of determination running through it, he had a very indomitable spirit. He was also staring at his hands as if they weren’t really his– which they technically weren’t– and you wanted to hug him too. 

You decided to throw them another bone and disbursed some calming energy from your own aura, hoping to bring a bit of peace to your classmates. You may need to take a fat nap in Rumi’s apartment and inhale Taishiro’s dinner spread but you don't mind. The kids were strong but they were still that– kids. And they were worth it. 

As the calming waves spread through the room, you noticed the immediate effects. 

Sero, Denki, and Aoyama stopped struggling against sleep, their breathing evening out as they finally succumbed to a peaceful nap. Kirishima looked more focused, no longer needing Bakugou’s pinches to stay awake. Mina’s shaking subsided, and Kaminari gave in to placing his head on the desk.

Even Bakugou’s brooding aura seemed to lighten slightly, though he still exuded an intensity that made you wary. Todoroki’s internal distress eased a bit, his aura settling into a more balanced state. Shinso’s tired eyes softened, a hint of gratitude flickering in his gaze. Iida’s breaths became more even, the longing in his aura less pronounced. Asui’s headache seemed to lessen, and Ochako’s discomfort faded into the background.

Hagakure’s stress levels dropped, her aura becoming more stable and less chaotic. Ojiro stopped flexing his tail as frequently, and Jirou’s pain seemed to ease thanks to Momo’s quick assistance. Shoji’s heavy aura lightened, and Koda’s trembling subsided. 

With their energies relaxed, you try to focus on Aizawa’s lecture, but your thoughts keep drifting.  You weren’t fully licensed to practice yet, but the urge to help was strong. Maybe if you used some of the methods you’d learned, you could bring them out of their shells. 

If some of them struggled with outward expression, perhaps being a safe space or creating one would help. But what if they weren't struggling with expressing themselves but felt as if they were dropping hints that no one noticed? That could be the case for someone like Hagakure or Todoroki. 

You shake your head, feeling a wave of doubt. ‘Jeez, why did Nemarui think you could do this?’ The thought nags at you, a persistent whisper in the back of your mind. You glance down at your notebook, and before you realize it, you're sketching her—Nemarui, as you first met her. She’s not in her hero uniform, just normal clothing, her blue eyes warm and gentle.

The image changes with each stroke of your pen. Now, she’s there, bailing you out of jail, her expression firm yet kind. Another memory—she’s in formal attire, defending you in court, her voice strong and unwavering. The last image is from a simpler time, in her kitchen, making pancakes while Rumi playfully bickered with you over who got the first stack. “Focus on your homework,” Nemarui had said, a soft smile on her lips.

You hadn’t thought about that in a while. The nostalgia wraps around you, offering a brief comfort, but then you look up, and the weight of the room returns. Some of the kids look teary-eyed now, the emotions in the room rising like a tide threatening to overwhelm.

‘Ah shit!’

With a deep breath, you quickly shift your aura, flooding the room with calming, positive vibes. The atmosphere gradually changes, the tension easing as your energy spreads out. You can almost see the relief in their faces, a few of them blinking back their tears.

This was why you were here. Maybe you weren’t fully licensed yet, and maybe you had doubts, but you could still help. Even if it was just by being a calming presence, a safe space in a chaotic world.

As the bell rings, the room fills with the sound of shuffling papers and stretching limbs. Those who had dozed off—Sero, Denki, and Aoyama—are gently nudged awake by their desk partners. Sero groans, rubbing his eyes, while Denki stretches his arms above his head, yawning loudly. Kirishima, who had been pinched awake by Bakugou earlier, stands and cracks his neck, looking more energized than before. The atmosphere in the room feels lighter, more relaxed.

Mina is the first to move, practically leaping from her seat to give you a tight hug. Her energy is infectious, and you can’t help but smile as you return the embrace. “The others and I want to chat outside for a bit before you head home. Is that cool?” her voice was bubbly.

You nod, grateful for her warmth. “Totally, and thanks for being so kind today, Mina. I really appreciate it.”

She grins, a little sheepish. “Ah, it’s nothing. We’re all just glad you’re okay.” As you both pull away, Momo steps up, her demeanor calm and composed as always. “I could walk you to Principal Nezu’s office if you’d like,” she offers, adjusting her school bag over her shoulder. “Just to see if you’ll be dorming with us.”

You smile at her thoughtfulness. “Thank you, Momo, but I’ll figure that out with my mentor, Mirko-san. I appreciate the note earlier.” Momo nods, understanding. “Of course. If you need anything, we’re all here.”

Before you leave, you turn to Shinso, who is lazily gathering his things. “Sorry about kicking your desk earlier,” you say, feeling a bit guilty. He shrugs, a small smirk playing on his lips. “No harm done. Thanks for the cookie, by the way.”

You return the smirk with a nod, then turn to Izuku, who’s busy organizing his notes. You slip him a small piece of paper, your fingers brushing against his. He looks up at you with curiosity in his eyes, and opens it, “Meet me on the roof after everyone’s gone. Don’t get followed.”

Izuku’s eyes widen slightly, but he nods, tucking the note into his pocket. You give him a reassuring smile before stepping back to your desk. You hadn’t taken out much, just a few things that now find their way back into your multicolored butterfly bookbag. You grab your Juicy Couture purse, feeling its familiar weight in your hand.

As you head toward the front of the room, Denki calls out, “Don’t get eaten!” His tone is playful, but before he can say anything else, Jirou grabs him by the ear and starts dragging him out of the classroom, muttering something about not getting detention.

You chuckle to yourself as you watch them leave, the last of the students filtering out of the room. Now, it’s just you and Aizawa.

The door closes behind you, leaving the room in a comfortable silence. Aizawa, who had been sipping from his mug of coffee, sets it down and looks at you with those tired, yet perceptive eyes. The atmosphere shifts, the lightness from moments before replaced with something more serious, more focused. You take a deep breath, steadying yourself for the conversation ahead.

It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, and you find yourself shifting slightly under the weight of his scrutiny. That dark blue aura washing over him in lumpy waves. 

You wouldn’t take anything too seriously– yes, you were a grown woman pretending to be a student at your best friend's work and you can see how weird it was. But everyone else could fuck off because you didn’t see any other adult getting on these kids level to comfort them. 

You’re not sure what to expect from this conversation. He’s a man of few words, and despite what you’ve heard from others you don’t know him well enough to predict his reaction. You’ve always been good at reading people, but Aizawa is almost an enigma, a blank canvas that offers no clues. 

You nod, understanding. “I wasn’t trying to disrupt anything, sir. I just… I thought it might help with—” You pause, searching for the right words. “—with morale, maybe.”

He raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “Morale? You think passing notes during class is going to boost morale?”

You resist the urge to fidget, keeping your gaze steady. “Not the note itself, but the connection it represents.”

Aizawa leans back in his chair, his expression softening just a fraction. “You’re not wrong. But there are better ways to show that without undermining classroom discipline.”

You nod again, this time with more confidence. “I understand. I’ll be more mindful in the future.”

He studies you for another long moment, then sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You’re new here, and you’re still finding your footing. I get that. But this isn’t an ordinary school, and your classmates aren’t ordinary students. What they’re going through, what they’ve already been through… it’s not something you can fix with a few kind words or gestures.”

His words sink in, and you can’t help but feel a pang of guilt. You’ve always wanted to help, to be a source of support for others. But this is different. This is more complicated, more dangerous than anything you’ve ever dealt with.

‘Teenagers.’

“I know,” you say quietly. “But I still want to try. Even if it’s just in small ways.” You shift and your bracelets make soft clinks against each other. 

Aizawa’s gaze softens further, and for the first time, you see a hint of understanding in his eyes. “Just remember that this isn’t a one-person job. You’re here to learn, just like they are. Don’t take on more than you can handle.”

You nod, the weight of his words settling on your shoulders. “I won’t.”

He leans forward, crossing his arms on the desk. “You’ve got potential, but you need to be careful. These kids are dealing with a lot, and the last thing they need is someone adding to their stress.”

You swallow hard, the responsibility of your role sinking in even deeper. “I’ll do my best to help, not to hinder.” He doesn’t know why you're saying this more for yourself than for him. But you don’t care, you never really liked authority figures, ironically. 

Aizawa watches you for a moment longer before nodding. “Good. Now, about this note business—let’s make sure it doesn’t happen again, at least not during class.”

“Understood,” you reply, your tone sincere.

He dismisses you with a wave of his hand, and you turn to leave, but not before pausing at the door. “Thank you, Aizawa-sensei. I appreciate the advice.”

He doesn’t respond, but you catch the slightest nod from him as you step out into the hallway.

The door clicks shut behind you, and you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. The hallway is empty, the sounds of students heading to their next classes fading into the distance. You glance at the clock on the wall. You still have a few minutes before you’re supposed to meet Izuku on the roof and the others at their lockers. 

As you make your way toward the stairs, your thoughts drift back to the conversation you just had. Aizawa’s words echo in your mind, a reminder of the delicate balance you’ll need to maintain here. You’ve been given a chance to make a difference, but you’ll need to be careful, thoughtful, and above all, patient.

You reach the stairs and begin to climb, each step bringing you closer to the roof, and to whatever comes next.

As you climb the stairs, your mind replays the conversation you just had with Aizawa. The weight of his words still lingers, but so does something else—something subtle yet significant. The conversation gave you more than just advice; it gave you insight.

During your time in the classroom, you couldn’t help but analyze everything about him. His energy, his aura, even the state of his desk—all of it painted a picture of who Aizawa is beneath the surface. 

The scattered papers, the files meticulously organized but clearly well-used, the open email on his phone—it all told a story. You noticed the way his eyes flickered with a mix of weariness and determination, the way his shoulders tensed slightly when he mentioned the students’ struggles, the way his hands rested heavily on his desk as if carrying an unseen burden.

You piece it all together, forming a clearer understanding of the man who just sat across from you. ‘ He probably feels like he failed them,’ you think to yourself. ‘ They’re alive, so that’s good, but a lot of them are still really injured—some inwardly, some outwardly, mostly both.’ You begin to grasp why he’s so tired, why he seems so worn down despite his firm exterior. The battles these students have faced didn’t just leave scars on them; they’ve left marks on him too.

It’s more than just physical exhaustion. It’s the weight of responsibility, the strain of knowing that despite all his efforts, his students are still suffering. You see now that he’s not just tired—he’s carrying the weight of every injury, every emotional scar, every sleepless night his students have endured. And in his mind, no matter how hard he fights for them, it’s never quite enough.

You also caught the subtle ways he was trying to assess you, not just as the student you’re posing as, but judging from that open email on his phone– as the hero you’re supposed to be teaching next week. It’s a careful dance of figuring out how the dust is going to settle once you get everything you need but you don’t feel too bad about it right now. 

Your loyalty lies with Kayama not Banana man. 

Lost in these thoughts, you almost don’t notice that you’ve reached the top of the stairs. The cool breeze hits your face as you push on the door and step out onto the roof, pulling you from your reverie. Your eyes immediately land on a familiar mop of green hair, Izuku standing near the edge, waiting for you.

He turns as he hears the door close behind you, his expression shifting from anxious to relieved when he sees you. You take a moment to observe him, not just his posture or his expression, but the way his energy feels—still slightly jittery, like he’s carrying too much on his shoulders, but with a resolve that’s hard to miss.

You approach him, a soft smile on your face as you try to push away the heaviness that’s been lingering in your mind. “Hey,” you greet him, your voice calm and steady.

Izuku smiles back, though it’s tinged with nervousness. “Hey… I wasn’t sure if you’d come.”

“Of course I did,” you reply, stepping closer. “We didn’t get to finish our conversation, after all.”

Izuku glances around, making sure no one else is nearby before turning his full attention to you. “I’m sorry about earlier. I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

You shake your head, dismissing his concern. “Don’t worry about it. It’s not your fault. Besides, it gave me a chance to come up here.” You look out to the vast greenery surrounding the school and sigh to yourself before looking at the sun and back to a confused cinnamon roll. 

Izuku stands there, his green eyes filled with curiosity and uncertainty as he waits for you to speak. You take a moment to gather your thoughts, then finally ask, "So, why did you show me your notebook earlier?"

He hesitates, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well… there was this incident at the mall a while back. A villain attacked, and there was this off-duty hero who took care of him. She looked… really similar to you, and I wanted to know if maybe she was your mom."

You huff, the idea striking you as so absurd that you can’t help but giggle. The giggle turns into a laugh—one that grows louder, almost uncontrollable, until it takes on an almost manic edge. The sound echoes across the empty rooftop, causing Izuku to take a nervous step back. His eyes widen in alarm, and for a moment, he’s at a loss for what to do.

You eventually manage to pull yourself together, wiping away the tears that formed from your fit of laughter. “Sorry,” you say, still chuckling a bit as you catch your breath. “No, there’s no way that could’ve been my mom.”

He looks at you awkwardly, shifting from one foot to the other. “Oh… is that because she’s back in your home country?”

You shake your head, the smile still lingering on your face. “No, not at all. I’m really sorry for startling you like that. I just found it really funny.” You pause, giving him a sheepish grin. 

You always had a bad habit of laughing at ‘inappropriate’ times. Like when someone gets hurt, that time you got kidnapped, or when you met with your parole officer.

Izuku’s eyes widen at your outburst, but he doesn’t comment on it. Instead, he furrows his brows, clearly trying to make sense of your reaction. “So… if it’s not that, then what?”

You lean in slightly, your gaze challenging. “You’re smarter than this, Izuku. Come on, try again.”

He studies you more intently, his eyes scanning your features as if trying to piece together a puzzle. Then, out of nowhere, he grabs a pencil from his pocket and throws it at you. Instinctively, you flick your finger, sending a small blast of energy that deflects the pencil mid-air. It clatters to the ground, and Izuku’s eyes widen in recognition as he sees the familiar light up close.

“Wait… were you the girl from the mall?” he asks, his voice filled with shock. “I’m so sorry for thinking you were older!”

You roll your eyes, stepping closer to him as he continues his rambling. His freckled cheeks flush as you reach out and cup them with your hands, gently pinching and squeezing them like he’s made out of rubber. The unexpected gesture causes him to freak out, his face growing even redder as he tries to process what’s happening. 

“No, silly,” you say, your tone playful but firm. “Come on now, I’m not usually this open. One last try. I’ll even give you a hint.” You hold your hands up in the shape of a heart over your chest like your hero suit. 

Izuku’s mind races, his cheeks still warm from your touch. He stares at you, searching for the answer, when suddenly it clicks. “You… you weren’t just the hero, were you? You’re Chargebomb !? ”

You smile, finally seeing the realization dawn on him. “Ding! Ding! Ding! There you go! I knew you’d figure it out.” You take your hands from his face and place them back on your hips. 

Izuku looks at you with wide, curious eyes as the weight of your confession hangs in the air. You take a deep breath, realizing the gravity of what you’re about to reveal, and ask him, “Izuku, how much do you value honesty?”

He blinks at the question, a bit surprised. “I value it a lot. It’s important to be honest, especially with people you trust.” He’s so mature about it, how earnest he looks at you with those large green eyes. So clear you can see the reflection of his hands in them. 

You sigh, still managing a small smile as you reach into your Juicy Couture purse, pulling out a large black cloak and a matching jumpsuit. Izuku’s eyes widen in recognition as he sees them. 

You hold them out to him, and he takes them gingerly, running his fingers over the fabric. He looks up at you, shocked, the realization dawning on him as he recognizes the cloak and suit from the Chargebomb figure that sits on his desk. But then, caution fills his eyes, and he asks one simple question: 

“Why?”

You pause, biting your tongue so hard that you taste the metallic tang of blood. Every second you don’t answer, his alarm grows, the tension between you both thickening. Finally, you reach out and take his metallic hand in both of yours, feeling the cool metal against your warm skin.

“I’m friends with your teacher, Midnight,” you begin, your voice steady but soft. “She requested that I take over her classes for a while. I wanted to get to know you all before stepping into that role because… well, I've never taught before and I sometimes suck at large social settings.”

Izuku nods gently, his expression a mixture of understanding and curiosity. He looks down at the mask in his hands, then back up at your face. “What?” you ask, noticing his contemplative gaze.

“How old are you?” he finally asks, his voice tentative.

“Twenty-six,” you reply honestly.

“Why do you look so young?” he asks, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“I take care of myself,” you answer with a smirk. “And next time we go outside, put some sunscreen on.”

Izuku nods, processing the information. “Are you really Chargebomb?”

Instead of answering verbally, you raise your free hand, jingling the bracelets on your wrist as you do. A burst of colorful energy releases from your palm, shooting into the open sky. Down below, you hear the faint sounds of awe from the students on the ground who catch sight of the display. It looks like a fireworks display was just set off that could make 'Merica proud. You pull your hand away and watch as the sky fades to its normal blueness and greet the sun once more. Turning away from the star in the sky, you find yourself meeting squishy broccoli once more. 

“Okay,” he says, still wide-eyed but more accepting now.

“Anything else?” you ask, sensing there’s more he wants to know.

“Why do you wear all black?” he inquires, his tone genuinely curious.

“I like my privacy,” you reply simply, not giving too much away.

“Do you have any family in Japan?” he asks, his voice a bit softer now, as if treading carefully.

“Only Nemuri, Rumi, and Taishiro,” you say, your tone light but genuine. He nods heavily at this, absorbing the information.

“Does Aizawa know?” he asks, his voice a bit more serious now.

“Nope,” you say, popping the ‘P’ and flashing him a smile. The casualness of your response seems to catch him off guard, but he smiles back, a little more relaxed now that the initial shock has worn off.

Izuku looks at you with a new kind of respect in his eyes, mixed with the awe that only someone who’s learned something profound about someone they admire can feel. The rooftop feels quieter now, the breeze carrying away the tension that had built up between you.

“Thank you for telling me,” he says quietly, his voice filled with sincerity.

“Thank you for understanding,” you reply, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze before letting go.

As you both stand there, the last rays of the setting sun casting a warm glow over the rooftop, you feel a sense of peace. You’ve shared something deeply personal, something that could change how he sees you, but you know you’ve made the right choice.

“I should probably get going,” Izuku says after a moment, glancing towards the stairs.

“Yeah, you’re right,” you agree, taking one last look at the sky before turning to follow him. “But hey, remember what I said about sunscreen.”

He chuckles, a sound that makes you smile, and with that, he heads down the stairs, leaving you to stand alone on the rooftop, the breeze tugging at your hair.

As you watch him go, you feel a sense of accomplishment. You’ve made a connection, one that you hope will grow stronger in time. With a final glance at the setting sun, you turn and make your way down the stairs, ready to face whatever comes next.

Running to the lockers, you spot Denki and Mina standing outside the entrance, their gazes fixed on the sky. They’re animatedly discussing something when you accidentally bump into someone.

“Oh, sorry!” you say, steadying yourself as you look up to see Kirishima grinning down at you.

“No worries,” he says, his hand gently supporting your shoulder. He waves the others over, and Mina and Denki quickly join you, curiosity evident in their expressions.

“We just saw some crazy fireworks in the sky,” Kirishima says, excitement in his voice. “You didn’t have anything to do with that, did you?” His eyes sparkle with mischief, though his tone is light.

“Hope Aizawa didn’t lay into you too much.”

You smile, feeling a bit of warmth from their concern. “No, nothing too bad,” you reply, brushing off the encounter. “Aizawa’s just… well, you know how he is.”

By now, Izuku is already standing with Todoroki and Bakugou, who seem to be in the middle of a conversation. Mina and Denki make their way over to them, joined by the other girls and a few of the guys. They’re all chatting animatedly, but as they see you approach, they turn their attention to you.

“So, do you have any plans for the evening?” Mina asks, her eyes bright with interest. “We were thinking of maybe doing something fun before heading back.”

Denki nods enthusiastically. “Yeah, we could all hang out! Maybe grab something to eat or just chill somewhere.”

You feel the warmth of their camaraderie wrapping around you, and for a moment, the weight of everything you’ve been through today lifts slightly. You look at the eager faces around you, considering the offer.

Just as you're about to respond to the group’s suggestion, you hear a familiar voice call out your name. Turning around, you spot Rumi and Taishiro waving at you from a short distance away. You shrug sheepishly, giving the group a quick, apologetic smile.

"Give me one second," you tell them before jogging over to meet the two heroes.

"Hey, you coming home?" Rumi asks, a smirk playing on her lips. Taishiro stands beside her, his usual easygoing grin in place.

"Yeah, we’ve got some news to talk about," Taishiro adds, his tone light but with a hint of seriousness underneath.

You pause, a little torn. “Can it wait about two hours? I was planning to hang with the kiddos for a bit.”

Rumi raises an eyebrow, and Taishiro exchanges a look with her before smiling. “Sure, but you gotta be home in two hours, and be careful,” he agrees, his tone almost fatherly.

You smile in relief. “Thanks, I’ll meet you guys back in the teacher lounge. I won’t leave the kids until they’re all back at the dorms safely.”

Taishiro's smile deepens, a touch of pride evident. “I really like seeing you take stride with these kids. I can tell it’s making a difference. Kirishima looks more rested—thank you for that.” 

You glance over at Kirishima, who’s laughing with Denki and Mina, his usual energy a bit more vibrant than earlier. "Just doing what I can," you reply, feeling a sense of fulfillment.

Rumi, meanwhile, is scanning the appearance of some of the other students, her eyes narrowing slightly as she takes in their conditions. It’s then that you notice Mic and Aizawa walking out of the front doors of the school. Aizawa’s gaze lands on you, and after a moment, he turns to Rumi, asking her for a word.

Kirishima, noticing Taishiro, starts walking over with you. As the students recognize the large, familiar hero, they greet him with excitement, asking how he’s doing. Some of them, particularly Mina and Denki, reach out for hugs or candy, which Taishiro gladly offers, laughing at what he calls the "sugar shake down."

You watch the scene with a soft smile, but your attention is drawn to Rumi and Aizawa. They’re talking quietly, and though you can’t hear everything, you catch bits and pieces of their conversation. Aizawa looks a little more tense than usual, his brows furrowed as Rumi responds with a mix of concern and frustration.

Just then, you catch Mic's gaze. He’s standing off to the side, watching you with a curious expression. When you meet his eyes, you press a finger to your lips, signaling for silence. He chuckles quietly through his nose, a playful grin spreading across his face as he gives you a subtle nod.

Rumi’s conversation with Aizawa seems to wrap up, and she glances back at you, her expression softening slightly. You can tell something serious was discussed, but for now, it’s pushed aside as she makes her way back over to you and Taishiro.

"Alright, don’t keep us waiting too long," Rumi says, her tone a bit lighter now. "And make sure these kids get back safely."

You nod, giving her a reassuring smile before turning back to the group, who are now eagerly waiting for you to join them. 

You turn back to your ‘Classmates’ , but something catches your eye. The class, which was casually chatting moments ago, is now surrounded by a crowd of excited freshmen.

Bakugou, in particular, is at the center of the chaos. A gaggle of new freshman girls has cornered him, their eyes wide with admiration and awe. They’re practically vibrating with excitement as they bombard him with questions and compliments. Bakugou’s face is twisted in a mix of annoyance and sheer panic as he waves his arms in a futile attempt to ward them off.

“Get the hell away from me!” he barks, his voice rough with irritation. The girls, however, don’t seem to be deterred, their admiration only growing in intensity.

Midoriya and Kirishima, noticing Bakugou’s distress, rush over to help. Midoriya is trying to talk to the girls gently, his hands raised in a placating gesture. “Um, maybe you should give Kacchan some space...?” he suggests, his voice kind but a bit nervous.

Kirishima, meanwhile, is using his own body to create a barrier between Bakugou and the girls. “Hey, come on now, let’s give him some room!” he says with a grin, trying to diffuse the situation with his usual friendly energy.

Despite their efforts, the girls are relentless, their attention solely focused on the explosive blonde. Bakugou’s eyes are practically bulging out of his head as he snaps at them, “I said, FUCK OFF!”

Not far away, Todoroki is in a similar predicament, though his reaction is much more subdued. He’s surrounded by another group of freshmen, his face calm but his eyes betraying a sense of quiet desperation. The girls are fawning over him, their voices a flurry of compliments about his "coolness" and "handsome" appearance.

Todoroki’s usual stoic demeanor is crumbling slightly, his gaze darting around as if searching for an escape. However, unlike Bakugou, he’s too polite to yell at the girls, so he simply stands there, frozen in place.

Sero and Tokoyami, noticing Todoroki’s silent plea for help, exchange a glance before moving in. Sero tries to use his tape to gently guide the girls away, while Tokoyami, with his deep, calm voice, politely asks them to step back. “Please, allow him some space,” Tokoyami says, his tone firm yet respectful.

But even as they try to help, Iida steps in, attempting to take control of the situation. His hand chopping through the air in his usual authoritative manner, he declares, “Young ladies, this behavior is unbecoming! I must insist that you cease this at once!”

Unfortunately for Iida, his stern lecture backfires. The moment the girls turn their attention to him, they begin to oogle him, their eyes wide with fascination. Iida’s face turns ashen as they start bombarding him with questions about his hero costume and how he manages to be so "cool and disciplined."

For a moment, Iida looks utterly terrified, like a deer caught in headlights. His usually confident stance falters, and he stumbles over his words, completely flustered by the sudden attention. “Uh, w-well, you see, it’s important to maintain d-discipline—” he stammers, his glasses slipping down his nose as he tries to back away.

Ochako and Tsuyu quickly come to his rescue, slipping through the crowd and positioning themselves between Iida and the freshmen. “Okay, girls, let’s not,” Ochako says with a bright smile, while Tsuyu nods, adding, “It’s not fair to overwhelm him like this.”

The moment of relative calm after the freshmen invasion is abruptly interrupted when Jirou sighs in relief, crossing her arms. "Well, at least no one was moving in on the girls," she comments, clearly glad that the situation hadn’t spiraled completely out of control.

But just as she finishes speaking, a voice rings out from the crowd. "Hey, ponytail!" A random guy calls out, waving enthusiastically at Momo.

Jirou’s eyes widen, and she groans in frustration, muttering under her breath, "I jinxed it." Without missing a beat, she spins around, her expression hardening as she steps forward to defend Momo, who is visibly uncomfortable with the sudden attention. The remaining girls huddle closer together, with Jirou now standing in front of them, ready to fend off any unwanted advances. 

As the chaos reignites, the class instinctively forms a protective circle, each student looking out for one another. Kirishima, Bakugou, and Sero are doing their best to keep the overly excited freshmen at bay, while Todoroki, though still a bit dazed, positions himself near the edge of the group, using his presence as a deterrent.

In the midst of the turmoil, Mineta, who had been trying to navigate through the crowd unnoticed, is almost trampled by the stampede of students. Thankfully, Shinso and Shoji swoop in just in time, lifting him out of harm’s way. Shinso’s expression is neutral, but there’s a flicker of sympathy in his eyes, while Shoji’s multiple arms provide the much-needed support to get Mineta back on his feet.

Ojiro, on the other hand, is busy holding up Toru, who, despite being invisible, is shocked to receive any attention at all. She giggles nervously, still not quite used to the idea of people noticing her despite her quirk. "I guess they really noticed me, huh?" she muses, her voice tinged with surprise.

Nearby, Aoyama has found his way over to you, his usual flamboyance slightly subdued by the commotion. He backs up to your side, offering a polite smile. "Pardonne Moi, but do you think you could do something to help calm things down?" he asks, his voice calm but hopeful.

You nod, your mind already working on a solution. Concentrating, you begin to release small, subtle bursts of your energy into the crowd. The effect is almost immediate. The once rowdy students start to slow down, their frantic movements becoming more languid. Taishiro, noticing what you’re doing, joins in, though his method is a bit more... traditional. He starts tossing the remaining candy from his pockets into the air, hoping to distract the students.

Unfortunately, the candy doesn’t have the desired effect—these kids are more interested in the heroes than in sweets. Taishiro scratches his head, chuckling to himself. "Guess kids these days don’t want no candy, huh?" he mutters.

Your energy, however, works wonders. The students around you begin to calm down, their excitement fading into a more passive, trance-like state. You seize the opportunity, speaking softly but firmly, “It’s time for all of the Freshmen to head back to their dorms.”

The idea settles into their minds, and soon, the crowd starts to disperse, moving almost like a herd of sheep, following your subtle guidance.

The class, still somewhat bewildered by the sudden change in atmosphere, exchanges confused glances before shrugging it off. Mina is the first to recover, spotting you and grabbing your arm with a grin. "Come on! We’re heading to a little bowling alley we hang out at sometimes!"

Todoroki, who has been quietly observing the situation, nods in agreement. "I’ll use my dad’s credit card to cover it," he mentions casually, earning a few chuckles from the group.

As you all start walking together, Izuku catches your eye. There’s a knowing smile on his face as he mouths a quick, heartfelt, "thank you." You return the smile, feeling a sense of warmth as the group begins to relax, the earlier tension melting away.

With Mina leading the way, the class chatters excitedly about the upcoming bowling match, their earlier encounters with the freshmen already fading into the background. As you walk alongside them, you can’t help but chuckle at the scene.

Bakugou is still grumbling under his breath, trying to shake off the lingering attention. Midoriya looks relieved that the situation didn’t escalate further, while Kirishima is still trying to keep things light, patting Bakugou on the back with a grin.

Todoroki, now free from the crowd, stands off to the side, quietly adjusting his tie, his expression returning to its usual calm. Sero and Tokoyami share a relieved glance, clearly glad they managed to help.

And Iida, poor Iida, is wiping sweat from his brow as Ochako and Tsuyu offer him reassuring smiles. “Thanks, you two,” he mutters, still looking a bit pale.

All around, the students are stretching and shaking off the remnants of the impromptu ambush, their movements a mix of relief and exhaustion. The air is filled with the sound of laughter and chatter as they regroup, the chaos of the moment slowly dissipating.

The sky above is tinged with the warm hues of late afternoon, the air crisp and filled with the promise of a relaxed evening. As you walk alongside the students, the excitement in the group is palpable, everyone chatting animatedly about the plans for the evening. It’s refreshing, seeing them so carefree after school.

The bowling alley comes into view, and you find yourself pleasantly surprised by how inviting it looks. The exterior has a charming, retro vibe with neon signs and a large marquee that flashes "Strike Zone & More!" The windows reveal a cozy interior bathed in warm light, and you can already hear the faint sounds of pins crashing and the hum of arcade machines.

As you all step inside, the first thing you notice is the decor. The carpet is surprisingly clean, not sticky as you’d half-expected, with a vibrant pattern of swirling colors that almost makes it feel like walking through a kaleidoscope. The walls are adorned with vintage posters of past bowling tournaments and neon-lit signs pointing to different sections: an off-room for pool, a row of older arcade games, a picture booth, and party rooms. 

There’s even a karaoke bar tucked into the corner, the soft glow from its lights spilling out into the main area. The space feels larger than you anticipated, likely due to the joint roller rink next door, which gives everything a more spacious, airy feel.

The bowling alley itself is relatively empty, save for three employees who immediately catch your eye. One of them, a guy with elf-like ears and a brooding expression, has his face resting on the register, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. 

His dark hair, styled in a way that oddly reminds you of Sasuke Uchiha, falls into his eyes. Another employee, with a head of spiky blonde hair and small, bright blue eyes, is energetically greeting everyone who walks in. His enthusiasm is infectious, but you notice Izuku visibly tensing up as he approaches. 

Lastly, there’s a bubbly girl with space buns and the rest of her hair curling around her shoulders in soft purple waves. She’s the most calm and welcoming of the trio, her smile bright and genuine as she waves to the group.

“HEY GUYS!”

“Huh?”

There’s an instant buzz among the class as Mina, always quick with the information, explains to you who they are.

“That’s Tamaki Amajiki,” she points to the guy at the register, who seems content to stay slumped over the counter, “and over there is Mirio Togata. He’s the one with the blond hair.” Mina then gestures to the bubbly girl. “And that’s Nejire Hado. They were third-year students, and they’re amazing heroes now!” She smiles as she jingles your bracelets, “They decided to be part time mentors at UA, so we still see them in school sometimes.”

As the students begin to flock toward the trio, Kirishima’s expression turns concerned. He walks up to Tamaki, gently encouraging him to lift his face from the counter. “Hey, man, you alright? It’s not great to keep your face down like that.” 

Tamaki slowly lifts his head, his expression still gloomy, but he gives Kirishima a nod of acknowledgment. “I’m okay… just… tired,” he mutters, trying to muster a small smile. 

‘DAMN, his energy is so fucking heavy!’

Iida and Bakugou, surprisingly united in their stance, both shake their heads in disapproval. “It’s bad business practice,” Iida says, adjusting his glasses.

Bakugou grunts in agreement, crossing his arms. “Can’t have people thinking you’re shit on the job, idiot.”

Mirio, meanwhile, is completely unfazed by the exchange, his grin as wide as ever. “Welcome, welcome! Let’s get you all set up with some shoes!” He’s already grabbing pairs left and right, guessing sizes with impressive accuracy. His aura was a spicy mix of calm and underlying nerves. 

Nejire, equally welcoming, has taken on the task of collecting food orders from the students, chatting with them as if they were old friends. Her presence is calming, and you can see the tension easing from Izuku’s shoulders as she reassures him with a friendly pat on the back. Her energy levels were consistent with her aura on high alert for some reason, weird. 

As you observe all this, you realize just how dry your throat is after using your quirk so much throughout the day. You consider getting some food but decide against it, remembering your plans for dinner with Rumi and Taishiro.

Instead, you opt for a couple of water bottles from a nearby vending machine. Mina lets you go for the moment and you slam your coins into the slot to get that good kwenchy liquid.

‘Hehehe Cactus juice.’

Grabbing the bottles, you waste no time downing the first one in record time, the cool liquid refreshing your parched throat. You quickly follow it up with the second bottle, finishing it just as fast. A few of the students nearby notice and exchange concerned glances, but you just wave them off with a smile, feeling much better now that you’re hydrated.

Mina, ever the social butterfly, finds you again and links her arm with yours. “Come on, let’s get our lane! I can’t wait to see you bowl!” She’s practically bouncing with excitement as she pulls you along toward the lane that’s been set aside for your group.

The evening at the bowling alley was turning into a fierce competition, much to the amusement of everyone involved. It quickly became apparent that you were no novice when it came to bowling.

Your form was perfect, and each roll of the ball seemed to effortlessly find its way to a strike. The others had started to notice too, especially Bakugou, whose competitive streak had kicked into overdrive. The game had come down to just the two of you duking it out for the number one spot, and the tension was thick enough to cut with a knife.

Mineta, on the other hand, had not fared well. He was dead last, pouting in the corner as he watched the scoreboard with dismay. His frustrations were compounded when Iida, ever the picture of grace and discipline, had slipped on the floor during his turn, much to the shock of everyone. He had tried to recover with dignity, but the red flush on his cheeks was hard to miss.

Denki, in typical fashion, had managed to break one of the lanes, though how he did it remained a mystery. Jirou had promptly put him in "time out," her arms crossed and her foot tapping impatiently as she kept an eye on him. Denki slouched in his chair, looking thoroughly chastised but also a little amused at his own misfortune.

Kirishima had his own mishap when he accidentally cracked his bowling ball in half, much to his dismay. "I just put a little too much strength into it," he’d said sheepishly, rubbing the back of his head as the others chuckled.

Todoroki, who had been more of an observer than a participant, needed encouragement from Izuku to even take a turn. It turned out that he just wanted to hang out with everyone and wasn’t too interested in bowling, but he eventually joined in, albeit with a quiet, reluctant smile.

Izuku, despite his own initial hesitation, wasn’t doing too badly. He had a steady game going, his concentration evident in the way he carefully lined up each shot. Sero, however, was giving everyone a run for their money, firmly holding onto third place. Each time he hit a strike, he would break out into a little salsa dance, much to the chagrin of Bakugou, who glared daggers at him every time.

The rest of the students were scattered around, either munching on snacks or trying their luck at the arcade games. Mina and Ochako were busy playing an old-school pinball machine, while Tsuyu and Momo were sharing a plate of nachos, chatting quietly between bites. Shoji and Shinso were deep in conversation near the pool tables, and Ojiro was helping Toru with one of the claw machines, though it was a bit challenging to tell with her being invisible.

As the final frame approached, it was neck-and-neck between you and Bakugou. The pressure was on, but you remained cool and focused. With one last swing of your arm, you sent the ball rolling down the lane, watching with satisfaction as it struck dead center, sending the pins flying. Another strike. You flashed Bakugou a triumphant grin before stepping aside to let him take his turn.

“Beat that,” you teased as you headed toward the restroom, giving Bakugou a little wave.

As you entered the bathroom, the atmosphere shifted. It was quieter, the sounds of the bowling alley muffled by the thick walls. The energy was dark and heavy with tints of You were just about to step into a stall when you heard a faint sniffling sound. You paused, your hand hovering over the door handle.

"Hello? Is someone there?" you called out gently, trying not to startle whoever it was.

There was no response at first, just the soft sound of someone trying to stifle their tears. You waited for a moment before deciding to close the door behind you. Flicking the lights on and off a couple of times, you hoped it might encourage the person to respond.

Finally, you heard a small, familiar voice coming from one of the stalls. "It's me… Toru."

Your heart sank a little as you realized it was Toru, usually so cheerful and upbeat. You approached the stall, your voice soft and concerned.

"Toru, what's going on? Are you okay?"

There was a pause before she spoke again, her voice trembling.

"I'm sorry… I didn’t mean to cry. I just… I feel so invisible sometimes!”

You could hear her sobbing pick up and your heart clenched at the sound of her voice. Toru, who seemed so bubbly and cheerful, sounded so vulnerable now. You approached the stall where she was hiding, your voice gentle and full of concern. "Toru, what’s wrong? What’s got you so upset?"

There was a pause, and for a moment you thought she might not answer. But then, through her sniffles, she spoke. "I just… I feel like people forget about me so easily. Just because I’m invisible, it’s like… it’s like I don’t matter as much, you know? And after everything that happened during the war, I keep thinking… what if I got hurt? What if I died? No one would even find me. I could just… disappear."

Her voice cracked, and you could hear the depth of her fear and pain. It was something she’d probably been carrying for a long time, something that had festered and grown until it overwhelmed her. You could understand why she’d feel that way—Toru’s quirk made her physically invisible, but it was clear that the emotional toll of feeling unseen was even more painful.

You knew you needed to do something to comfort her. Reaching into the stall next to hers, you grabbed a few sheets of toilet paper and slid them under the door to her stall. Then, you squatted down outside her door, leaning your back against it to give her some privacy, while still making it clear that you were there for her.

“Toru,” you began, your voice calm and reassuring, “I want you to know that what you’re feeling is completely valid. It’s okay to be scared and to have these thoughts. But you’re not alone, and you don’t have to carry this by yourself.” 

You heard her sniffling again, but she didn’t speak. So, you continued, hoping your words could reach her.

“Just because you’re invisible doesn’t mean you’re forgotten or unimportant. You’re real, Toru. You’re here, and you matter to all of us. You’ve got a place in this class, in this world, that no one else can fill. And if something ever happened to you, we’d notice. We’d miss you. We wouldn’t stop searching for you. You’re part of our team, our family. We care about you so much.”

You could hear her breathing, steady but still shaky. She was listening, absorbing your words, and that encouraged you to keep going.

“I know it’s scary to think about what could have happened during the war, but you’re here now. You made it through, and that’s because you’re strong, Toru. You’ve got so much to offer, and we’d be hard-pressed to find someone in class who doesn’t think highly of you. And you’re more than just your quirk. You’re funny, you’re kind, and you’ve got this incredible spirit that lights up the room—even if we can’t see you, we can feel it.” You fussed with the smudged marker on your converse and decided to scrub them and start over after dinner. 

There was a small, hesitant chuckle from the other side of the door, and it brought a soft smile to your face. You decided to keep pushing, to lighten the mood a little more. 

“And besides,” you added with a teasing tone, “I’m pretty sure Ojiro would be the first one to notice if you weren’t around. Have you seen how he looks at you? He’s always got your back. Literally.”

Toru let out a small, watery laugh, the sound a mix of relief and lingering emotion. “You think so?” she asked, her voice still a little shaky, but there was a note of hope in it.

“I know so,” you replied confidently. “And you know what? You should give yourself more credit too. You’re more visible than you think, Toru. You’re the real deal, and you’re important to all of us.” Stop stood up from the floor and dusted your hands off. 

There was a moment of silence, and then you heard the soft sound of the stall door unlocking. Toru stepped out, her form still invisible, but you could feel her weight as she hesitated before falling into your arms. You wrapped her in a comforting hug, holding her close as she finally let out all the emotions she’d been bottling up.

As you held her, you spoke softly. “See? You’re talking to me, I can feel your weight in my arms, and I know you’re here. You’re very much real, Toru. And we’re going to make sure you never forget that.”

She sniffled against your shoulder, her arms tightening around you as she took in your words. “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice full of gratitude and relief. “I needed this.”

“Anytime,” you murmured back, rubbing her back soothingly. “Now, how about we splash some water on your face, and then we can head back out there? The others are probably wondering where we are.”

Toru nodded against your shoulder, and after a moment, she pulled back. Though you couldn’t see her face, you could feel the shift in her energy—she felt lighter, more at ease.

“Okay,” she said softly, heading over to the sink to wash her face. You could hear the water running and the faint sound of her taking deep breaths, grounding herself again.

As you waited for her to finish, you couldn’t help but feel a swell of pride. It wasn’t easy being a teacher, but moments like these made it all worth it. Knowing that you could be there for your students, that you could help them through their darkest moments, made every challenge worthwhile.

When Toru was ready, the two of you left the bathroom together. As you walked back toward the bowling lanes, side by side, you hoped that she’d come out of this more confident in who she was. And you’d be there to support her every step of the way in case she needed it. 

The moment you walked out of the bathroom holding hands with Toru, a sudden realization hit you like a ton of bricks: you had completely forgotten to pee. With an awkward, apologetic smile, you quickly excused yourself and made a mad dash back to the restroom, leaving Toru to take your place in the bowling game.

When you emerged, feeling much more relieved, you were greeted by the sight of your students and some of the girls from Class 1-A gathered around the bowling lane, cheering enthusiastically. Toru was at the center of it all, standing confidently as she prepared to bowl.

With a smooth and graceful motion, she sent the ball down the lane, and you watched in amazement as it rolled straight into the pins, knocking them all down in one perfect strike. The cheers erupted even louder, and you couldn’t help but grin as you saw Ojiro rush over, lift her up, and twirl her around in celebration.

Toru’s presence was palpable in the room, despite her invisibility. You could practically feel her eyes on you as she beamed with pride, and you waved back at her, your heart swelling with joy at seeing her so happy and confident. It was a nice contrast to the tearful moment you’d just shared in the bathroom, and it made you realize just how strong she truly was.

As you glanced around the room, your eyes caught Izuku’s. He gave you a knowing smile, his expression full of warmth and understanding. You returned the smile and shrugged, as if to say, "Hey, Toru did all the work." It was a moment of unspoken camaraderie between you two, a shared pride in the progress your students were making.

Meanwhile, Bakugou was breathing deeply, his expression a mix of frustration and determination. Despite his best efforts, Toru had managed to clinch the victory from him, and you could see Kirishima patting him on the back, congratulating him for taking second place. Sero and Denki, on the other hand, were dancing around like they’d just won the lottery, doing their little salsa moves in celebration.

The entire scene was so full of life and energy that you couldn’t help but laugh. The Big Three—Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire—were cheering along with the students, their enthusiasm infectious. Mirio’s booming voice echoed through the bowling alley as he clapped his hands together, while Nejire bounced on her toes, her excitement bubbling over.

Finally, Mirio called out, "Alright, everyone! Finish up your games because we’re closing in ten minutes!"

There was a collective groan from the students, but it was good-natured. They’d had their fun, and now it was time to wrap things up. You joined the group as they began to put away the bowling shoes and gather their belongings, the atmosphere filled with the warmth of shared experiences and laughter.

Toru, still beaming from her victory, gave you a quick hug as she passed by, and you returned it with a squeeze. "You did amazing, Toru," you whispered to her, and she giggled, her voice filled with happiness.

"Thanks! I couldn’t have done it without you," she replied, her invisible hand giving yours a quick squeeze before she joined the others.

As you all started gathering your things to leave, Mina suddenly grabbed your hand, her eyes sparkling with excitement. "Wait, we have to take some pictures to commemorate the evening!" she exclaimed, pulling you toward the photo booth in the corner of the bowling alley.

Laughing, you let her drag you over, and the two of you squeezed into the small booth. The screen blinked to life, and you both threw up peace signs, making finger hearts and goofy faces as the camera clicked away. The energy between you and Mina was infectious, and soon, more of the girls joined in, piling into the booth with giggles and smiles.

You made sure to sit Toru in the middle, wrapping an arm around her invisible shoulders as Mina leaned in from the other side. On cue, you and Mina both kissed her cheeks just as the camera snapped another shot. Toru’s delighted laughter filled the booth, and you could feel the positive energy radiating from her, so much brighter than it had been earlier.

Before you knew it, Jirou and Momo were climbing in over you both, their laughter filling the tiny space. The booth became a chaotic jumble of limbs and laughter as you all tried to fit in, just as Denki, never one to miss out on the fun, threw himself into the booth with a dramatic flair, making everyone laugh even harder.

Realizing that everyone wanted to get in on the action, you kept feeding the machine more money, letting it take multiple photos of the entire class. Each new set of pictures captured a different group of students—everyone getting their turn to make silly faces and pose with their friends.

When it was all over, you paid for the copies, handing them out to each student as they gathered around. Mina protested, insisting she could pay her share, but before she could argue further, Todoroki and Momo both held up their cash, ready to contribute as well.

You just shrugged gently, waving them off with a smile. "Don’t worry about it. This one’s on me."

The mood was even more upbeat than before as everyone clutched their photo strips, grinning from ear to ear. The positive energy in the air was almost tangible, swirling around you like a comforting blanket. It was moments like this that reminded you of why you cared so much for these kids—why you would do anything to see them smile.

As the last of the photos were distributed, you noticed the Big Three near the entrance, their jackets on and ready to leave. You glanced at the clock—6 p.m. already. Time had flown by so quickly. Concerned, you called out to them, "Do you guys have a ride home?" 

Your adult is showing!!~

Mirio grinned, throwing an arm around Tamaki’s shoulders. "Yep! It’s Tamaki’s turn to drive us home tonight." Tamaki, still looking a bit shy but determined, nodded. "Yeah, I’ve got it."

They offered to walk you all to the dorms, but you gently declined, knowing it was better for everyone to head out in different directions. As you and your friends filed out of the bowling alley, Mina and Toru took hold of your hands, their fingers warm and comforting in yours.

As the group slowly made their way out of the doors, the night air hit you, cool and refreshing after the excitement inside. You walked alongside your students, feeling a deep sense of contentment. They had all grown so much, and moments like this reminded you just how much you cared for them—and how much they cared for each other.

With the Big Three waving goodbye as they closed up the bowling alley, you smiled at all the memories you’d made tonight.

You looked up, the sky painted with hues of pink and orange as the sun began to set. The walk back to the dorms was filled with chatter and laughter, everyone still riding the high from the evening’s fun.

As you walked, you felt Toru’s hand squeeze yours a little tighter. You glanced over and saw her looking at you, her eyes—though invisible—clearly filled with gratitude and happiness. You smiled back at her, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze in return.

You continued walking with Mina and Toru at your sides, and couldn’t help but feel a deep sense of contentment. 

Today was a good day.

The walk back to the dorms was almost quiet, the group more subdued after the excitement of the evening. Laughter had faded into a comfortable silence, with only the occasional murmur of conversation breaking the stillness. As you neared the entrance to the dorms, you felt the familiar sense of responsibility settle over you. It was time to say goodbye.

You stopped at the gates, turning to face the class. "Alright, guys, this is where we part ways."

A few of the students looked confused, and Momo was the first to ask, "You're not staying with us?"

You shook your head with a small smile. "Nah, I’ve got to take the subway home."

Immediately, concern washed over their faces. Momo's eyes narrowed in thought, and she placed a hand on her chin. "I could make you a taser. It would only take a few minutes."

Kirishima nodded in agreement. "Or I could walk you to the subway at least. Just to make sure you're safe, y’know? It’s no trouble at all."

You couldn’t help but smile at their protectiveness. "I appreciate it, really, but I'll be fine." Gently, you reached out with your quirk, sensing the restless energy radiating off them. Though they were trying to be brave, you could feel the lingering excitement and concern making it hard for them to wind down.

Tapping into your power, you sent a calming pulse through the air. Their energy spiked briefly as if awakened by a fresh burst of energy, and then, almost instantly, it began to ebb away. You could feel it working, see it in the way their shoulders relaxed, how their eyelids grew heavier.

Denki yawned, eyes fluttering as he blinked up at you. "Man, I don’t know why, but I’m suddenly so tired," he muttered, swaying on his feet.

Shinsou, standing next to him, wasn’t faring much better. His head bobbed slightly as he fought to stay awake. Before anyone could even react, both of them slumped onto the sofa in the common room, fast asleep before they could even make it to their beds.

Sero, ever the laid-back type, lazily stretched out on two chairs, somehow finding a comfortable position despite the awkward setup. "I’m just gonna... rest here for a minute," he mumbled, eyes closing as he dozed off.

You chuckled softly, watching as the others began to shuffle off toward their rooms. Mina waved sleepily, her steps dragging as she wished you goodnight. Even Bakugou, though still grumbling, couldn’t hide his exhaustion. He scowled, muttering something about it being past 8:30 as he made his way upstairs.

Kirishima shot you one last concerned glance, his fatigue evident in the way he rubbed at his eyes. "You sure you're okay? I could walk you—"

You waved him off with a gentle smile. "I’m sure. You all need your rest. I’ll be fine, I promise."

Reluctantly, he nodded, finally heading inside with the others. As the dorm doors closed behind them, you took a deep breath, feeling the night settle in around you. The city skyline glowed in the distance, and the air was crisp and cool against your skin.

You sighed, both tired and content as you began walking toward the doors. The evening had been more eventful than you anticipated, but seeing the kids so happy—and knowing you had helped ease their restlessness—made it all worth it.

With each step, the echoes of the night’s laughter and joy accompanied you, and though you walked alone now, the warmth of their care stayed with you long after.

As you wave one last time to the last sleepy students disappearing into the dorms, you turn to leave—only to almost trip over Aoyama, who had somehow sprawled out on the ground near the door.

"Oops, sorry!" you whisper, stepping over him carefully as he lets out a dramatic sigh, his sparkling face shining even in the dim light.

With a soft chuckle, you manage to navigate your way past the dorms, out of the back security gate, and into the cool night air. Pulling your phone from your pocket, you dial Rumi, ready to drop your location.

She answers immediately, her voice loud and enthusiastic. "Yo! Where you at? Me and Taishi are chilling in the teacher's lounge. Come up when you're done babysitting!"

A small smile tugs at your lips as you nod, even though she can’t see you. "On my way now. Be there soon."

Hanging up, you start walking through the quiet grounds, eventually slipping into the main building. But as you make your way deeper into the hallways, you can’t help but feel the creeping eeriness of the place. The school at night feels vastly different than it does during the day. The corridors seem to stretch on forever, with each corner you turn feeling like another maze to solve. Every creak and soft shuffle echoes unnaturally, the emptiness making it all the more unsettling.

Your pace quickens slightly as you notice the pools of light spilling in through random windows, leaving sharp patches of brightness on the floor. You instinctively avoid them, staying close to the walls and shadows, a habit from your quirk training that kicks in without thinking.

A cold shiver runs down your spine as the flickering fluorescent lights above buzz louder, the hum blending with the deep silence around you. You shake your head, smiling to yourself. ‘ It’s just a school,’ you remind yourself. 

‘No big deal.’

Deciding to shake off the discomfort, you square your shoulders, lifting your chin and walking straight through the dim patches of darkness. You could feel your pulse steadying as you moved forward confidently, determined not to let a few creepy hallways get to you.

It takes you a good fifteen minutes to navigate the winding halls before you finally arrive at the teacher's lounge. The door is slightly ajar, and as you approach, you can hear a deep, mournful wail coming from inside.

‘What on earth...?’

With a sigh of relief, you push open the door, stepping into the warm, comfortable light and inside to a strange scene. Rumi is sitting casually on the edge of a desk, her sharp ruby eyes already locked onto you as she flashes you a quick grin. Beside her, Taishiro is hunched over in an attempt to comfort a large, muscular man with shaggy blond hair—who, to your surprise, is wearing what looks like a muzzle.

The man, now identified by the loud, heart-wrenching sobs he's emitting, is slumped over at his desk. His head is buried in his arms, his body shaking with each cry. Taishiro’s massive hand is patting his back in a gentle, but somewhat awkward rhythm.

Rumi’s grin widens as she waves you over, throwing an arm around your shoulders as you approach. She leans down, her voice a low whisper in your ear, "That's Hound Dog. Fitting, right?" She snickers softly before pulling back.

"He's the school’s guidance counselor," she continues, keeping her voice low as she gestures toward the distressed man. "Poor guy's going through it."

Hound Dog lifts his head briefly, revealing watery, red eyes. “It’s driving me crazy!” he howls, his voice raw with emotion, before burying his face back into his desk.

“He’s been like this for the past hour,” Taishiro says softly, his tone heavy with sympathy as he glances at you and Rumi. “Really cares about the kids.”

Rumi rolls her eyes slightly, but her smile is warm as she leans against the desk. “Yeah, yeah, we get it. But seriously, he’s worried that the students aren’t getting enough help. Wants more people to come in to support ‘em, but he’s stuck with all the red tape. Hiring processes and training and whatnot.” She waves her hand dismissively. Hound Dog lets out another anguished cry.

“I love them! I really do!”

He bangs his fists on the desk, rattling everything on it. “I’ve known some of these students since they were freshmen! I’ve watched them grow!” His voice cracks with the weight of his emotions. “But damn it, I can’t help them if they won’t open up! And they need more help, more attention, more people to make sure they’re getting what they deserve!”

Taishiro, ever the patient one, tries again to soothe him. “You’re doing your best, man. We all see how hard you’re working. And you’re right, they do need more support, but you can’t carry that weight all on your own.”

Hound Dog growls in frustration, slamming his hands down again, the sound resonating through the room. “It’s not enough! I’m just one person! And the process to bring in a team? It’s so slow, so frustrating! The students are the ones suffering for it!”

Rumi squeezes your shoulder lightly, her breath tickling your ear as she murmurs, “He’s not wrong, y’know. The kids have been through hell, and he’s barely keeping it together trying to be there for all of them.”

You nod in understanding, taking in the sheer weight of Hound Dog’s frustrations. His dedication is undeniable, but the system is slow, and the students need more immediate help than it can currently offer. You can see how much this is tearing him apart.

Rumi tilts her head back and sighs, clearly empathizing but also not entirely sure how to help at the moment. "This job isn’t all sunshine and rainbows, huh?" she says quietly, her usual cocky tone tempered with genuine concern. You think back to your own interactions with the students earlier today, their struggles still fresh in your mind. You’ve been around them for only a short time, and you can already sense how deep their trauma runs. What Hound Dog’s dealing with? It must be crushing.

“Hey,” you speak up gently, your voice soft but firm, “You’re right—this is tough, and it’s not fair for you to bear all of this on your own. The students do need more help. But for now, even just you being there for them, even if they don’t always open up right away, it matters. They notice.”

Hound Dog sniffles, his red eyes meeting yours through the muzzle. “But... it’s not enough,” he mutters, his voice thick with emotion.

“No, it’s not,” you admit, kneeling beside his desk to meet his gaze more closely. “But you’re doing what you can, and they know that. And when they’re ready, they’ll come to you. You can’t force them to open up, but you can keep showing them that you’re there. That means something. A lot, actually.”

There’s a brief pause as your words settle in, and Hound Dog nods in agreement, the corners of his eyes crinkling in what you assume is a smile from the support.

“You’re very bright young lady! Have you ever considered becoming a lifestyle guidance counselor?” 

You all burst out laughing as he gives you a firm pat on the shoulder that almost knocks you off balance before Taishi grabs your bag to steady you. In return, Rumi hops down and pats Hound Dog’s back a bit harder, her playful nature returning. “See, you’re doing good, mutt! Keep it up, and we’ll get those reinforcements soon enough.” She winks at you, then adds, “And maybe we can steal this one to help out, too, huh?”

You chuckle softly, not missing the subtle suggestion, though you’re not sure if it’s just Rumi being Rumi or a genuine thought. Either way, the mood in the room feels just a little lighter.

As Hound Dog’s sobs finally began to subside, he sniffled a few times before rubbing his eyes with the back of his hand. He glanced over at you, seeming to register your presence for the first time, his brows furrowing in confusion.

“Wait… why is there a student here after hours?” he barked, his gruff voice now more composed, though still heavy with lingering emotion. His eyes darted between you and Rumi.

'Shiiiiit.'

Without missing a beat, Rumi tightened her arm around your shoulders, her casual demeanor making the sudden cover-up seem like second nature. “Oh, don’t worry about that. She’s not just any student,” she said, her grin sly but her tone firm. “She’s my mentee. I’ll be taking her home after this.”

Hound Dog, still slightly suspicious but clearly too exhausted to press the matter, blinked and then nodded. “Alright… well, just make sure she gets home safe,” he said with a resigned sigh. His massive hand rubbed his muzzle as he stood up from the desk, towering over all of you. His gaze softened as he looked at you again, his voice much gentler now. “I’ll see if I can speed up the paperwork to get you into the dorms. It’s safer there.”

You nodded back at him, offering a small smile of gratitude. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”

Taishiro gave you a look, shaking his head in silent amusement as if to say ‘ What are you getting yourself into now?’ You could only shrug back in return. You wanted to play along as long as you could and besides, now you knew a staff member that could help in your plan. 

With that, Hound Dog took a deep breath and trudged toward the door, his large boots thudding against the floor. “Goodnight all,” he muttered, his voice still weary.

“Goodnight, Hound Dog,” Taishiro said warmly, watching him go.

You all stood in silence for a moment, listening to the fading sound of his footsteps echoing down the hall until the door finally clicked shut.

The room suddenly felt quieter, as if the air had become stiller in his absence. You let out a long breath, tension you hadn’t realized you were holding finally releasing from your chest. 

The teacher’s lounge seemed… different now. The once cozy warmth of the room had shifted, and you couldn’t ignore the subtle chill creeping in through the dark windows. A thin layer of condensation had gathered on the glass, distorting the view outside, and making the room feel even more closed off from the world.

Rumi stretched her arms above her head, her casual demeanor returning. “So… did you spoil your dinner, or what?” she asked, her sharp ruby eyes glinting mischievously as she leaned back against the desk again.

You shook your head, your lips curving into a slight smile despite the weight still pressing on your chest. “No, I’m fine.”

You stepped away from them, your eyes catching the familiar sight of a desk on the far side of the room—Nemuri's desk. It stood there, untouched, like a ghost in the corner of your vision. The sight of it was enough to pull you across the room without another thought.

Your fingertips grazed the surface of the desk as you approached, running lightly along the smooth edge. There was a subtle warmth to the wood, but it felt different now, colder than you remembered. The chair tucked beneath it was slightly pushed out, as if Nemuri had only stepped away for a moment and could come back any second. 

But you knew she wouldn’t.

The urge to sit down overwhelmed you for a moment, a fleeting desire to feel closer to her, to feel her presence and pretend she was still here. But you couldn’t. 

You just… couldn’t. 

It wasn’t right. Instead, you stood there, fingers lightly tapping against the back of her chair. The leather was cool beneath your touch, the faint scent of her perfume still lingering in the air around you—soft, familiar, intoxicating in a way that was distinctly her. 

It made your chest ache.

She wasn’t just your mentor. She wasn’t just your colleague. Kayama was someone to you. And you couldn’t quite put a label on it. She was like a mother, an aunt, a sister—none of those roles really fit, but at the same time, she was all of them wrapped into one.

Nemuri Kayama was family. Blood didn’t matter. She saved you, in ways that no one else had, or maybe even could. She had been a constant in your life, someone you leaned on, someone you loved deeply.

And now she was lying in a hospital bed, her life hanging in the balance.

You swallowed the lump in your throat as your hand drifted over the desk, pausing at the drawer handles. They’d been replaced with little bars shaped like handcuffs—of course. You couldn’t help the soft chuckle that escaped you, though it was tinged with sadness.

Typical Mimi, always leaving her personal touch on everything, even the most mundane things. It made you smile, but at the same time, it felt like someone had taken a knife and twisted it in your chest.

The reality of her absence hit you harder than ever in that moment. Seeing her desk, the place where she’d spent so much time, the place she’d talked about so often, now cold and empty—it killed you inside. 

You missed her. God, you missed her so much it hurt.

Your fingers drummed lightly against the chair, your eyes misting over as you stood there in silence, feeling her presence even though she wasn’t there. She was everywhere and nowhere, and that was the hardest part. Rumi’s voice cut through the silence, softer than before.

“You good?”

You didn’t answer right away, your eyes still locked on the desk, but you nodded. “Yeah,” you murmured, though your voice felt distant. “Just… thinking.” Rumi let out a slow breath beside you. She didn’t say anything else, but you felt her presence at your side, solid and unwavering.

She knew. She didn’t need to ask more.

The room had grown colder, the night pressing in from outside. The windows, now fogged with condensation, reflected your blurred image back at you. The ticking of the clock on the wall was the only sound, each second a reminder of time passing, of moments slipping away.

You took one last look at Nemuri’s desk, your heart heavy but full of love for the woman who had meant so much to you. Then, with a deep breath, you stepped away, forcing a smile as you turned back to Rumi and Taishiro.

"She’s still with us, you know," Rumi said, her voice low but firm.

"Nemuri. She’ll pull through."

You nodded, though you weren’t sure if you were trying to convince her, or yourself. But it didn’t matter. For now, you just had to hold on to the hope that Rumi was right.

You could feel that same ache in your chest, the one that always surfaced when you thought about how close Nemuri had come to dying. But in that moment, you realized something important—no matter what happened, she would always be family to you. That wasn’t going to change.

For now, that's enough to keep you moving forward.

You shake your head, trying to push away the heaviness in your chest. There’s no point in dwelling on it right now—you’ve still got work to do. Opening your bag, you pull out a packet of disinfectant wipes. The familiar scent of lemon fills the air as you get to work, your hands moving automatically, as if cleaning could somehow clear your mind as well.

You start with Nemuri’s desk, running the wipe across the surface, the candles, and the essential oil bottles she kept arranged so neatly. Each object feels so personal, so distinctly her. You dust off the surface, your fingers grazing the edges of her history books, brushing away weeks of settled neglect. The quiet shuffle of pages makes the room feel less empty, like she’s still here, guiding you with every motion.

Her magazines are next. You reorganize them, stacking them neatly on the corner of her desk, though it’s hard to resist flipping through the pages to see if she’d left any more of her colorful sticky notes inside. The plush purple velvet armchair sits to the side, a favorite of hers. You give it a firm whack, sending a small cloud of dust into the air. It catches the dim light, tiny particles swirling before they settle again.

As you work, your fingers linger over the smaller details of her desk—her glasses case, the one you’d seen her pull from countless times. You gingerly open it, revealing the familiar red frames inside. A sad smile tugs at your lips as you pull them out, wiping the lenses with the proper cloth. The action feels intimate, like you’re caring for a piece of her. When you settle them back in the case, the click of the lid closing echoes softly in the quiet room. You place them back in their spot,

exactly how she left them.

“Gonna go grab my bag from the gym,” Taishiro says, breaking the silence as he stretches his arms over his head. “Left it there by accident. I’ll be right back.”

Rumi pushes herself off the desk, her eyes darting toward the door. “Yeah, I’ll be back in a sec. Gotta take a waz before we head out.” Her voice is casual, like it’s any other night, but you know she can feel it too—the heaviness hanging in the air.

You nod to both of them, giving a weak smile as they exit the room. The door swings closed behind them, leaving you alone. The silence feels thicker now, heavier. You avoid looking at Aizawa’s desk on the opposite side of the room. His presence feels like a looming shadow you’re not ready to face just yet.

Instead, you settle on the floor by Nemuri’s desk, pulling one of her textbooks into your lap. The pages are thick beneath your fingers, and you can’t help but take in the smell of the old paper—a mix of age, perfume, and the faintest trace of ink. Nemuri’s writing is everywhere, little scribbles in the margins, sticky notes marking important sections. Her handwriting is as familiar to you as your own, the quick loops of her letters reminding you of the notes she used to leave in your folder during those days when she’d taught you more than any class ever could.

'What would I give to have you here right now? I miss you.'

You blink hard, trying to push back the wave of emotion rising inside you. Tears prickle at the edges of your eyes, but you refuse to let them fall. Suicide 'fore you let a tear fall down your eye. You have to focus, keep moving, keep.... reading. You lean in closer to the textbook, skimming the words, though they blur slightly from the exhaustion and emotions swirling inside you.

Still, you take in everything—the smell of the pages, the feel of Nemuri’s familiar notes under your fingers. You’re catching up on what you’ll be teaching the kids next week, but more than that, you’re clinging to this connection, this small piece of her that’s still here.

'I wish you were here.'

Your quirk leaves a faint buzz in your body from earlier, a soft hum of energy spent from soothing the students. It dulls your senses slightly, making the room feel distant, your mind slipping into the rhythm of turning pages, tracing her handwriting. You’re wrapped up in it all—emotion, exhaustion, memories. So much so that you don’t hear the shift in the atmosphere around you. You don’t hear the approaching footsteps, heavier than Rumi’s or Taishiro’s, echoing down the hallway. The soft thud of boots against the floor doesn’t register.

It’s not until the shadow falls over you, cutting through the dim light, that the hairs on the back of your neck prickle in warning. You freeze, fingers still pressed against the textbook’s spine. Slowly, you lift your gaze.

Standing above you, glaring down with a harsh intensity, his dark, messy hair framing his face, eyes narrowed in suspicion. He’s silent, but his posture radiates disapproval. You feel a chill crawl down your spine.

“What are you doing?”

“AHHHHH!”

Taglist: @elarakive, @thealtofvalleyxdoodles, @naladrawssss, @bakugouswaif, @ivydoesit23 @zennypiee Lemme know if you wanna be added!

Here is the first chapter! Just updated on my ao3 account.

The master list for this.

I own none of the images or art!!!

Be sure to check out my other works and leave likes and comments, they really help motivate me. I have a Bakugou x Sugar Baby Reader here in the master list. Drop a follow as well if you please. Don’t be shy to leave me a little reblog if you want.

I promise I bite~

See you soon my loves!!

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🪓🔥 Hella Monsters. Hella Ancestors. Hella Juneteenth.

Ring Shout by P. Djèlí Clark

📚 Finished Reading: Ring Shout

✍🏾 Author: P Djèlí Clark

📏 Length: 172 pages

Genre: Historical Horror, Southern Gothic

Rating: ⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️

Happy Juneteenth!!! 🖤✊🏾I’m hella excited about this book review and waited until Juneteenth to post about this book. Also, I am so glad I waited to read Ring Shout until after watching Sinners not once, not twice, but THREE times (yessss you read that correctly, three times, don’t judge me 😂😂)

because listen. These two? They go together like grits and fried fish. 😍 The vibes between these two scream rage and liberation, ancestors and prophecy. Straight up 🔥🔥🔥

Unmatched Energy ✨

This read was sooooo good! I can’t believe I had this on my bookshelf for so long, waiting to be read and devoured in one reading.

Ring Shout hits that sweet spot of Southern Black horror that gets under your skin but fills you with pride and power. You’ve got Maryse, our monster slayer, with her singing blade given to her by the ancestors to defeat monsters.

You’ve got Sadie, wild and loyal, rolling up with her shotgun, Winnie, and the most ride or die energy I’ve read in a minute.

“One little Ku Klux deaaaad,” a voice hums near my ear. “Two little Kluxes deaaaad, Three little Kluxes, Four little Kluxes, Five little Kluxes deaaaad.”

You’ve got Chef, holding it down with steady big brother vibes; she lowkey gave me Smoke energy from Sinners. Calm but dangerous, steady but ready to turn up when it’s time, as the driver, or providing weapons and giving a distraction to get out of hazardous situations. 🔫😏

“Back in the war, Cordy picked up the nickname Chef. Not for cooking—at least not food. Frenchie soldiers learned her to make things for blowing up Germans and collapsing trenches.”

And then there’s Molly, Choctaw, and brilliant, bringing her scientific knowledge of the Ku Kluxes to the fight.

“Once infected, morphological transformation seems dependent on the individual.” That’s science talk for how Klan folk turn Ku Klux. Molly says it’s like an infection, or a parasite. And it feed on hate. She says chemicals in the body change up when you hate strong. When the infection meets that hate, it starts growing until it’s powerful enough to turn the person Ku Klux. Ask me, it’s plain evil them Klans let in, eating them up until they hollow inside.“

Her moments always resonated with me because our Indigenous communities always carry deep wisdom, just like in Sinners. They've a grounded connection to the earth, and they’ve always stood right alongside Black people in resistance. Molly’s power felt ancestral, too.

Every chapter had me pausing, like, "This is it." The rage, the grief, the righteous fury, the survival, the joy, the magic, the community; the weight of history is carried with brutal truth and determination. It’s Southern Black horror that refuses to be soft for anybody.

The Monsters Are Real.

“When the Klans ride in all gallant on their horses to save the day, white folk go wild—“like a people possessed,” newspapers say, which ain’t too far from the truth.”

What Ring Shout does that hits me deep is turn the Klan into literal monsters: the Ku Kluxes: ugly creatures feeding off hatred, making pacts with dark forces, thriving on America’s racist sins. Reading about these monsters was horrific,

“The thing standing in his place now can’t rightly be called a man. It’s easily nine feet tall, with legs that bend back like the hindquarters of a beast, joined to a long torso twice as wide as most men… It’s the head that stands out — long and curved to the end in a sharp bony point.

This is a Ku Klux… Every bit of the thing is a pale bone white, down to claws like carved blades of ivory. The only part not white are the eyes. Should be six in all: beads of red on black in rows of threes on either side of that curving head… And what passes for lips on a long muzzle peel back, revealing a nest of teeth like spiky icicles.”

Could you imagine seeing one in real life? But let’s be real. Even without the claws and teeth, those monsters exist. P Djèlí Clark knows how to take our history, twist it just enough, and reflect the absolute horror we’re still facing now in 2025 with police brutality, the Trump administration, and racist, homophobic, transphobic, ableist, sexist laws and policies that are implemented in our society.

“White folk earn something from that hate. Might not be wages. But knowing we on the bottom and they set above us—just as good, maybe better.”

That scene at Frenchy’s juke joint?? 👏🏾😍🥹👏🏾 The way music, resistance, and community come together in that space had me thinking directly about Sinners. You already know which scene I’m talking about, when Sammie sang and my body erupted in goosebumps all over.

Ryan Coogler did something similar, giving us Southern Black spaces in Sinners in the deep Mississippi South filled with Black joy, but not erasing the weight of what our people carry. Both works understand that Black joy and Black rage aren’t opposites. They exist together, side by side.

The Sinner's Energy Is Strong.

Y’all already know how much I loved Sinners this year. The Southern gothic atmosphere. The myth. The rage. The layered storytelling. The unflinching look at what it means to be Black and Southern and still haunted by systems that want to consume us.

Ring Shout feels like it lives in the same cinematic universe. That mix of horror, folklore, ancestral power, and rage that refuses to simmer down is what I’m here for. It feels hella addictive.

Other favorite highlights:

When Maryse’s blade sang?

When Nana Jean whispered truths that only grandmothers know?

When Sadie went full unhinged loyal bestie?

When the monsters came crawling out like demons fed off white supremacy?

The whole book was all giving Sinners energy. ALL DAY!

Sadie Broke Me. 😭😭

I need a moment to talk about Sadie.

The way she loved Maryse? The loyalty. The ride or die. The “I got you even when you don’t got yourself” kind of love, even when she sacrificed herself in a full-on gun battle with the Ku Kluxes.

“My grandpappy say when we die, we get our wings back, the ones white folk cut off when we come here. Maybe I’ll fly and meet my mama. Or all the way back to Africy.”

That final scene when Sadie speaks to Maryse again at the end in spiritual form and revealed her butterfly wings? 🦋Yeah. I ugly cried. Full-on snot cry, no lie.

“My grandpappy was right.” She winks. “We do get them back.” Two wings unfurl from her behind her: beautiful gold feathers with streaks of black. She spreads them wide, lifting and shooting into the air like an arrow, gone.”

That moment wrecked me and healed me at the same time. Her transformation, her freedom; it was beautiful, painful, soft, and everything all at once. She was wild, but she was always love. Always.

The Audiobook? A Whole Experience.

I have to give the audiobook its flowers, too.💐🌺🌸 🌼The narration was flawless, and the sound effects made me feel like I was sitting at somebody’s grandma’s table, hearing this story unfold. It was part horror, part prophecy, part survival song. The rhythm was intensely Black, deep Southern, and deeply ancestral.

This Book Gave Me:

🩸 Generational rage and survival

🔥 Black women with blades, shotguns, sacred power, and unbreakable friendship

🎶 Juke joints as sacred resistance

🐍 Hoodoo, root work, conjure, and ancestral knowing

🫰🏾 Indigenous wisdom alongside Black resistance

This Book Felt Like:

🌪️ A storm rolling in over Southern farmland

🪶 Ancestors humming in your ear while you sharpen your blade

🎙️ Sitting at Nana’s table while she tells you the real story

🎞️ A Black Southern horror film that refuses to soften its edges

Final Thoughts:

Ring Shout was everything I wanted it to be. It gave me rage but also healing. It gave me monsters but also the power to fight them. It’s one of those books where you close the last page and feel your ancestors nodding, "Yeah, baby, you get it."

For this Juneteenth? This is the energy. Stories that refuse to flinch. Stories that honor our survival while letting us scream, fight, laugh, grieve, and reclaim.

Ring Shout should be next on your list if you loved Sinners like I did.

[fatuismooches]

I can't escape Dottore love it seems, so I'll use the "if you can't fight - join" idea, so I present the most unlikely family HCs, this time with Dottore (oh boy!!)

I honestly don't have ideas about how child even appeared in the first place, considering that Dottore.. isn't fond of children. My only thought is child being the only alive memento of fragile!reader

Zandik honestly has no idea how to treat his child properly, so, as much as it hurts his pride, he'll have to take a few parenting lessons from Pulchinella and Arlecchino, but he's a fast learner and passes that knowledge to his segments. Speaking of them, until kid reaches certain age, at least one segment is required to watch over you, unless they want to become subjects for next experiments

Dottore as a father is very very protective over you. Remembering your post about rulebook for interacting w/ his s/o, I imagine there's a same for his child, with similar rules, but possibly there's something like "Keep discussions child-friendly, using analogies that aren't hurtful for child psyche", "If C/N expresses interest in playing with you - don't refuse, otherwise they'll cry and you won't like the consequences. Also it's in your best interest to let them win"

So you know those baby carry bags? Yee, I just imagine Zandik with one and it kills me. He threatens fatui underlings, all while carrying a child on him in this bag..

One of pros of being Dottore's child is that they end up very knowledgeable. Of course he uses.. drastic analogies, but kid catches on quickly. If you listen to their conversation it won't make much sense, but the two(+) of them understand each other rather good.

I think child will copy Doctor quite a lot. They'll repeat his walk with hands behind his back, his laugh, smirk.. Lots of things, really. It's especially terrifying to other people if they inherited his red eyes and sharp teeth. It makes him **just a tiny bit** smug and proud. I think child also steals his coat, mask, earrings to play as him, it's honestly so cute

He's generally really proud of them (unless they want to enroll in academiya, he won't survive such betrayal, no he's not being overdramatic-- joking, joking)

-🥀

DADTTORE I REPEAT IT'S DADTTORE!! Dottore has no clue how to take care of a child, especially if you're no longer here to guide him. Hell, he could barely take care of himself at times without your constant reminders. But now the mad scientist is left with the kid, all alone and confused... though, at least his best trait as a father is his willingness to learn and ability to adapt. He will never live it down, going to the other two Harbingers for advice, even fucking Childe gives him tips as he's raised his siblings as well. Pantalone and Bina chip in too, the fun uncle and auntie. Although Dottore has his... feelings about them, they're better at making the child laugh than him. The child won't be left wanting for company, considering all his segments as well. They're on top of it when it comes to the kid.

HJEWBDEWWE THE FATUI HANDBOOK'S GUIDE TO INTERACTING WITH HIS CHILD 😭😭💗 You know that one is even longer than the first one. He's even more strict which leads to extremely specific rules in the handbook. Memorizing it is a must if you get transferred to work for Dottore. AND THOSE RULES ARE SO CUTE! It's so funny to think about how much his attitude changes when it comes to protecting his kid. He doesn't play. AND AHHAHA the baby bag, i imagine he also threatens them usually quietly because the kid is sleeping, and he finally got them to sleep, he doesn't want to wake up after trying for so long 😭 the agents are just like 🧍‍♀️

I imagine Dottore wonders a lot if his child will surpass him one day. He and the segments will usually indulge the kid's curiosity, and they pick up a lot of stuff easily. Probably can speak multiple languages at a young age 😭 His kid ends up asking lots and lots of questions, to which Dottore always has an answer. Is it always satisfying? No, but he wants his kid to discover things as well, rather than having it handed to them. That's the point of seeking knowledge. (Pls i imagine whenever his kid gets in an argument with him, they always pull 'i'm going to the Akademiya and graduate unlike you' to rile him up 😭)

And the kid definitely copies his dad a lot. 😭 It's like a mini him. 🥺 Dottore may not be the best dad, certainly not a conventional one, but he hopes you would say he's done a good job.

At the very least, Dottore makes sure his kid doesn't suffer the same way he did as a child.