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#it might seem kinda odd that it only lasts for a day or so but i dunno

imfinereallyy · 1 year

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Steve always tells people "I love you" before saying bye to them. Maybe it's the years of Upside Down trauma, worrying that these words could be his last. Maybe it's the fact his parents never say it before leaving (if they even bothered to say anything to him at all). Maybe it's because each time his parents were away he thinks that this might be the time they never come back, and he isn't even sure if they love him. Maybe it's due to his years of King Steve, hurting others more than loving.

It doesn't really matter though, the why. What matters is that Steve has made it his mission to always do it before his goodbyes (especially after round three of the Upside Down). Always making sure to even say a quick "Love you! Bye!" as he is rushing out the door.

At first, everyone is a bit put off by it. Especially Nancy who at first thought it was a love confession until Steve turns to Jonathan and says the exact same thing. The kids think he's being gross and mushy, even an exasperated "mommmm" is thrown in his direction every once in and while. Robin is the only one who is receptive to it right away. A soft, "love you too dingus" she says to him, no matter if they are attached to the hip or in a screaming match that day.

Eventually, though, everyone accepts this as Steve's new normal. Gentle smiles, light snorts, and bruising punches (thanks max) are the responses given. But then after round four of the Upside Down, everyone seems to now embrace this part of Steve. Never forgetting to say "I love you too" in return.

Steve's heart comes a little closer to healing each time.

Steve only begins to realize it's a problem though when it comes to Eddie.

Steve finds that Eddie is the only one he has to resist saying it to. See, Steve over the years has become better at providing verbal affection. Note, his "I love you's" had blossomed into "I am proud of you" and "I'm worried about you" and so much more. He has grown out of the years of repressed emotion (well, he was actively learning to at least).

What Steve hasn't gotten better at is touch. Steve yearns for it, craves it in fact, but can't find it in him to reach out. His fear of rejection is too great. And Steve's friends don't really give out touch to those who don't actively seek it.

Eddie though may be the touchiest person he has ever met. It's small stuff at first.

A shoulder brush.

A clap on the back.

A poke in the ribs.

But then it soon turns into bigger stuff.

A boop on the nose.

A tug at his hair.

A goddamn hug from behind.

It's overwhelming, it's intoxicating. Steve can't really tell if it's good or bad for his health. And Steve knows if he asks Eddie to stop he will. Despite his touchy tendencies, the guy understood boundaries. But the problem is that Steve doesn't want him to stop.

The problem is that Eddie's constant physical affection is starting to collide with Steve's need to express verbal affection. The problem is Eddie is starting to fill the rest of the void in his heart. The problem is Steve...

The problem is Steve has to stop himself from expressing his normal "I love you's" because he knows it will mean something different, something more this time. He knows everyone will notice the difference after their years of hearing him say it.

So, Steve never says it to Eddie.

It's no biggie really. Or so Steve thinks until Eddie corners him in the kitchen during one of their game nights.

"Steve, do you...do you have a problem with me?" Eddie asks shyly, staring down at his boots. It was an odd look on him as Eddie was normally larger than life, commanding a room. It hurt Steve to see him like this.

"What? Why would you think that?" Steve asks shocked.

"Not really a no, Harrington." Eddie chuckles darkly, "And don't think I didn't notice but you kinda have a hangup about saying I love you to everyone except me. And ya know, I wouldn't really be offended really if it was cause we haven't known each other very long and ya know, cause I'm a guy. But then, I see you saying it to Argyle. Real easily in fact. And it wouldn't bother me if it was because we weren't close, but Stevie—" Eddie's voice cracks a little, as he slips into his nickname for Steve. Steve knows now, how serious Eddie is being. "—you've gotten to know me better than anyone in this whole stupid state. And that's including Wayne. Hell, you might even be my best friend even though I'm not yours. I'm not delusional I know no one can knock Robin from that spot." Eddie is rambling so hard that he gives Robin a run for her money. Steve thinks for a moment, that the two have been spending too much time together.

Steve stays silent as he walks towards Eddie to stand directly in front of him. Eddie continues without noticing. "Then I worry, it's because maybe. Maybe it's because you found out that I am gay. And that, you had a problem with that. That you have a problem with me." Eddie's voice starts off shaky but then turns into steel as he finishes. He makes sure to keep direct eye contact with Steve, driving his point.

Steve first thinks, wait Eddie's gay? Then Steve processes everything, panics, and loses his filter completely. Throws his worry about losing his best friend (don't tell Robin, but she's his soulmate so she'll forgive him) out the window, and throws his heart on the table instead. "Jesus, no Eds. I—shit. It's not that at all. Like I don't care about that stuff. You know that. I love Robin regardless."

Eddie gives him a look that screams, we both know why it's different. Steve pushes forwards anyway. "And it's not that I don't want to say it to you. It's just, it's different okay. Like with everyone else, I don't have to worry about it being bullshit. And god that sounds bad, but I don't know how else to say it. And I just know if I say it, if I say it you'll just know it's different, and then you'll hate me and it's one thing for the others to not say it back at first, but I think it might kill me if you didn't. And that's not fair to put that pressure on you." God, now Steve could give Robin a run for her money.

"Sweetheart—"

Steve cuts him off, he knows if he doesn't say it now he won't say it all. "God Eddie if you knew how much I cared—if you knew how much I worried every time you leave. If you knew how much I worry about how I don't say it to you when you leave, how I might not ever get to say it, it would terrify you, Eddie. This isn't a normal amount of affection. This is like—what's the word—astronomical amounts of affection. Cause Eddie, it takes everything in me every single time you walk away to not say I. Love. You."

Steve hears it, how he says it. He knows how it's going to sound before it comes out. How it's different. How it's more. Steve closes his eyes in shame.

Eddie's hand cups Steve's cheek. "Baby."

The hush, but the firm tone makes Steve open his eyes. Eddie has gotten so close they are breathing the same air. Steve's heart stutters.

"Baby," Eddie says again, before giving Steve the one affectionate touch he hasn't gotten yet.

A kiss.

A soft, heartstopping kiss. A kiss that has Steve's soul bursting at the seams.

Steve leans his forehead against Eddie's, feeling content for the first time in weeks. Knowing this was Eddie's way of saying it back.

Though, the delicate "I love you too." that Eddie whispers against Steve's lips doesn't hurt either.

Not even a little bit.

—

sometimes I set out to write a quick little thing…and sometimes that little thing turns into a big thing. enjoy :)

p.s. I apologize if there are any tense changes, I wrote this at 1 am lol

#steddie #ficlet #say I love you before you go #steddie fanfic #steddie writing #my writing #ao3 #Steve Harrington #Eddie Munson #robin buckley #the party #stranger things #ways to say i love you #physical touch #words of affirmation #love langauges #steve x eddie

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ddarker-dreams · 6 months

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Golden Girl.

Gojo Satoru x F Reader x Geto Suguru.

Warnings: The psychological damage inflicted from Gojo Satoru's presence, canon-typical violence, Gojo and Geto are both kinda questionable in their own ways. Word count: 16k.

-Index-

April 1st, 2005.

8:02 a.m.

You don’t get it.

This campus is huge. Unbelievably so. If someone said you’d waltzed into the Imperial Palace, you’d believe them, and not just because you’re gullible. Although, that’d certainly play a significant role.

Your suspicions strengthen after you walk over the third arched bridge. That’s an arched bridge too far. No school can have this many fancy-looking bridges, the schools back home are practically held together by chewed pieces of gum and scotch tape. Your jetlagged brain combs through the whirlwind you’ve endured in the past few hours. Did you give the wrong address to the taxi driver back at the airport?

He did look confused, but you hadn’t given it much thought then.

You go as still as a statue.

… What if this is the Imperial Palace? If that’s the case, you’re definitely trespassing, right?

How do you explain that to any guards that might happen by? You can envision the headlines now — Foreigner Extradited for Trespassing, Sentenced to Life, No Chance at Parole. All those hours you spent working on your student visa would be for nothing! And you’d be in prison, which is a bummer, because you’re not rich enough to weasel out of the criminal justice system.

You’ll have to join a prison gang, there’s no way around it. Would they let a fourteen-year-old in? In the event they don’t, you could always form one yourself. Leadership’s never been your thing, but it beats—

“Hey there,” a feminine voice calls out. “You lost?”

You whip your head around to the sound’s source. Instead of seeing an intimidating guard ready to haul you off, there’s a girl about your age. She has brunette hair styled in a bob, a beauty mark beneath her left eye, and an unlit cigarette hanging from her lips.

Unless the Emperor is issuing major budget cuts, this can’t be a guard.

You consider her uniform. The high collar, sheer tights, long sleeves, and brown shoes match yours, but the skirt’s different. Yours flares out and cuts off right above your knees. This minor discrepancy makes you wonder if you’re breaking the dress code on your first day. You push the concern aside for future you to deal with.

“That obvious, huh?” You laugh.

“Just a bit.”

She introduces herself as Ieiri Shoko, a first-year student like yourself. You respond in kind, offering up your own name and grade. It’s a relief to know you won’t be arrested or wandering this complex for an eternity. She walks by you and turns on her heel, tilting her head.

“Gonna come with?”

You nod and happily fall into step beside her. She doesn’t seem to be in a rush, not that you mind. It gives you time to admire the idyllic scenery around each turn. There are lush green forests, gardens, and more traditional buildings than you can count. The only detail you find odd is how empty the area is. Besides Ieiri, there isn’t a soul to be found.

“Ieiri-san, is today a holiday by any chance?”

“Just Shoko’s fine,” she says, feeling around her various pockets. “And I don’t think so. Why? Too quiet?”

“It’s almost like a ghost town.”

Shoko smiles. “Enjoy the quiet while you can.”

Well, that’s a bit ominous, but you’ve yet to meet anyone in the jujutsu world who is 100% normal. You think it might be an unspoken requirement at this point.

Shoko gives up on whatever she was searching for — a lighter, if you had to guess — and tucks the cigarette away. This reinforces your theory that those involved with jujutsu have one quirk at the bare minimum. By that logic, you must have some peculiar quirk of your own. Recalling your earlier Imperial Palace debacle, you realize it might be more than one…

“Oh, by the way. All our classes got canceled,” Shoko says.

You blink.

“On… the first day…?”

“Yeah. Something about a last-minute meeting,” she stretches her arms above her head and yawns. “I’m heading back to the dorms for a nap. I think yours is near mine, there are boxes with your name on them in the hallway.”

What a relief! There had been no word on the packages full of your personal belongings you shipped here ahead of time. The hellscape that is checked baggage had no bearing on you. Immensely pleased with this revelation, you set aside the urge to explore and accompany Shoko to where you’ll be living for the foreseeable future.

In keeping with the spirit of the rest of the school grounds, your room is spacious.

Shoko left you to your own devices. You can faintly discern her presence in the room beside yours, laying down as she said she would. You thought you’d want to do the same, but something about the crisp morning air sliced through your exhaustion. You’ll ride the high and crash later.

Adventure awaits — the exploration of the unknown, the sharpening of a faint, hazy image.

You’re back outside again. It’s amazing how, no matter where you are, you can feel the wind in your hair and the sun on your cheeks. This serves as a grounding reminder that you’re real. Reality and the ambiguous nature of jujutsu are often at odds with one other, fighting to occupy the same space. Each side spins a convincing speech about why you should give it credence while discounting the other.

Unlike a politician’s diatribe, there’s no changing the channel or turning down the volume. This invisible and perennial battle won’t ever gain total victory or retreat. There’s bound to be collateral, such is the nature of war. For some, it’s their life in a literal sense, for you, it’s sanity. Coherence. The incorrigible truth that two plus two equals four.

See, young kids aren’t given enough credit. They’re always watching, learning, and absorbing. They get the basic idea that two plus two equals four before they even know what numbers are. For instance, as a baby, you cry and writhe until your needs are met. There’s a framework. An adult in the vicinity plus wailing equals getting fed. Then later, it gets more complex. Not eating your vegetables plus getting mouthy equals timeout. So on and so forth.

You accrue this network of information that makes life navigable.

Then, while visiting some distant relative in the hospital, a massive hole gets blown into this previously steady network. Such was your experience.

Something strange sat atop the IV in the small, cramped hospital room. The adults exchanged well wishes for the man surrounded by beeping equipment and blinking screens. Everyone present focused on this man, except you. You observed this thing, about the size of a sparrow, that flitted to and fro. Whatever it was, it had too many eyes. Each rolled in a different direction, like a bowling ball that couldn’t stop spinning.

Eventually, a long yet thin appendage emerged from the unidentifiable creature. You stood petrified as it entered the man’s ear canal and sipped. The man groaned, beeps increased, and numbers flew high. It sipped harder. His screams grew louder. Everything got chaotic. People in white and blue entered the room. You heard words like ‘cardiac arrest’ and ‘defibrillation.’ Your parents dragged you away.

The creature continued to sip.

On the car ride home, you asked why no one stopped it. The creature plus its sipping equaled the man’s horrible pain. That’s what you figured, anyway. They asked for clarification. What creature? Where had it been? What did it look like? Since young kids are smarter than they’re given credit for, you recognized the tone that was directed toward you. Disbelief, but in a nice, adult way.

If you insisted on the creature’s existence, they grew worried. When you told your friends — who in turn, told their parents — their worry grew. If every drawing you scribbled tried to depict the creature’s likeness, their worry overflowed. You overheard words like ‘traumatic experience’ and ‘coping.’

So, you stopped mentioning it. This stopped the concerned murmurings you’d overhear. You tried really hard to believe what they said about nightmares and mean imaginary friends. This worked well enough until you noticed similar creatures everywhere. On the playground, bus, graveyards, and abandoned houses. They weren’t all the size of a sparrow either. Some were tiny enough to be mistaken for gnats. Others were huge and salivated large pools against the ground.

It was around this time that you developed a second shadow. A spinning golden ring that could fit in the palm of your hand followed you everywhere. No one else could see it, but unlike the creatures, this ring didn’t scare you. Just the opposite, in fact. You considered it a guardian angel.

If the gnats got too close, it’d slice through them.

When the huge, drooling ones reached out their mangled hand, it’d cut through their wrists.

Later on, you’d learn this ‘guardian angel’ was called a ‘cursed technique.’

Smiling, you descend a flight of stairs. From today onward, you’ll be surrounded by people who don’t discount the equation you spent your early years erasing. They’ll be around your age too! You already like Shoko, she’s pretty and has a calming presence. You wonder what the others in your class will be like. How many will there be? Twenty? Your social studies class topped out at thirty-four.

You hope you can befriend everyone.

The gears turning in your head grind to a halt upon noticing the view. Maybe it’s how the morning sun casts a soft glow upon the verdure, or maybe you’re just easily impressed. Whatever the case, the sight stokes awe inside you. Trees line both sides of the gravel path ahead, their canopies inclining as if leaning down to hear a whisper. Smudges of green streak through the air, accepting any destiny the wind bestows.

What an image, straight from the pages of a fairytale book!

You fish out your new phone, a hot pink Razr V3, recalling its camera feature. Even if the photograph isn’t award-winning, you want to preserve this moment.

You can’t explain it. This intuition isn’t rational, it doesn’t adhere to that ever so reliable two plus two. It transcends. The fall of a domino, a flap of a butterfly wing. Seemingly unrelated yet intimately interwoven by invisible lines.

Whether preordained or the consequence of chain reactions you’d have to trace since birth to understand, what happens next stains you its color. The soul grasps what logic dismisses. And right now, your soul says this moment in time and space should never be forgotten.

As for why, your soul suggests you uncover that for yourself.

Alas, you can’t actually stop time. Perception and reality don’t always agree. While it felt like everything came to a grinding halt, the wheels never stopped turning.

And so the powerful gust soaring from your right punches the air from your lungs.

Gritting your teeth, you dig your heels into the ground. The sheer force pushes you back some inches. Next comes a hail of debris. Chunks of soil, sediment, and splintered wood descend. Recognizing this threat, your mind yells at your body to move. Those earthly implements are soaring faster than a bullet. However, the baleful gale restricts precise movement. You’re nothing but a bag of flesh and viscera to the indifferent swell. It’ll send you tumbling the instant your feet lift off the ground.

Dodging isn’t an option.

Those rocks… your cursed technique could dice them up, but then you’d get pelted with shrapnel rather than stone.

Which is the better outcome? A body littered with numerous holes or a few craters?

Your arms fly up to protect your major organs. You’ll endure what you can.

Except, instead of enduring an onslaught, nothing happens. Nothing hurts, rips, or gets torn to shreds.

The wind hasn’t stopped, but it no longer touches you. You jump back, out of the line of impact. The debris parts like the Red Sea and grants you safe passage. From this vantage point, you’re a witness rather than an unwitting participant. The unrelenting force rages on. You gape at the path of destruction it’s left behind, indiscriminately swallowing trees, foliage, and the ground. It looks like a meteor surged in a straight line through the forest.

No matter what you’d chosen to do, if it weren’t for that abrupt opening, you would’ve died.

Heart thumping wildly, you snap your head toward the direction this miniature storm originated from. Was it a curse? If it is, then you’re hopelessly outclassed.

No, that doesn’t seem right, you think. You’re familiar with how it feels when a curse is nearby. Should it be close to your power level, it’s like getting splashed with frigid water. For curses above your abilities, that sensation gets amplified. It’s as if you’ve been plunged into the Arctic Ocean. Right now, you’re not experiencing either of those sensory nightmares.

A silhouette walks through the dusty haze that destructive force left behind.

“Whoops,” the person within says, “That was close.”

You run over, swatting the dust lingering in the air. Anyone close to that force could’ve gotten severely injured. Concern seeps into your being as the figure emerges.

“Are you okay?!”

The first thing you notice is a head of white hair. Next is this person’s height, you have to crane your neck to meet his eyes. Eyes that were, for some reason, covered by circular sunglasses. There’s a sideways grin on his face, the absolute last expression you were expecting. From his uniform, you guess he’s a student like yourself. His most prominent feature isn’t anything visible. It’s the sheer aura he exudes, you’ve never experienced anything similar. There’s no hostility, but it’s intense.

You inhale shakily.

“Never better. You?”

He sounds chipper.

“Oh, yeah, I’m fine,” you reply, giving yourself a once-over.

You pinch your eyebrows together while assessing your condition. The white-haired figure notices this and asks, “Ya sure? Nothing hit you, right?”

“That’s the weird thing, though,” you frown. “I should be covered in dust, but there’s not a single speck.”

His grin widens, like he’s in on some joke you aren’t. This plucks a cord of irritation within you. Narrowing your eyes, you take a step back. You focus on the cursed energy engulfing him, then compare it to residuals left behind by the force. The residuals in the path it carved out are too faint to properly discern. All you have implicating his involvement is a hunch.

You remember how the gust itself felt, though. The ferocity that had every nerve in your body ringing funeral bells.

Your eyes flit between the gaping maw and the sunglass-wearing stranger.

“Want a hint?” He asks. You don’t miss the teasing lilt in his voice.

“You caused that surge,” you deadpan.

“Close enough, I’ll give half credit. Next question! What stopped you from getting buried in layers of dust?”

You have no reason to play along, yet scampering off feels like you’d be conceding something. The competitive nature boiling in your blood refuses to admit defeat. Especially after he subjected you to that terror, without even apologizing! It’s the least he could do. What an inconsiderate jerk. You’ll knock him down from that high horse if it’s the last thing you do.

Crossing your arms over your chest, you consider the information you have to work with. Whatever he did had to involve his cursed technique. Did he apply a shield to you? It’s the most obvious answer, but that doesn’t explain everything. A shield would lessen the damage, not negate it entirely.

How did he pull that off…?

As you’re piecing this puzzle together, someone in the distance yells, “Satoru!” drawing out each syllable. The person before you winces but doesn’t lose his boyish smile. You sense another presence heading this way. After you turn around to face this new addition, two large hands settle on your shoulders from behind. You bristle and try shaking them off, but this weirdo doesn’t let go.

An older man with a severe expression stands atop the staircase. His uniform is pitch black, denoting a different status than a student, if you were to guess.

“One hour,” he huffs out, “One hour, I ask for you to sit still and behave. And what do I come back to? An entire tunnel running through the school grounds?”

“It was for good reason, sensei,” this ‘Satoru’ insists. He squeezes your shoulders. “[First] here mistook a bug for a curse and yelped, ‘Kya, there’s a curse!’ I, being the good samaritan I am, dispatched the threat with what I thought to be an appropriate amount of force at the time.”

You make a face. “Eh?”

“Huh?” Yaga must find this explanation as convincing as you do. His countenance filters through multiple emotions. Confusion, frustration, disbelief, and then, finally, exhaustion. He pinches the bridge of his nose. “You couldn’t come up with anything better than that?”

“I didn’t come up with anything! Tell him, [First]! Are you going to abandon your savior when he needs you most?”

Yaga turns his attention to you, pity evident in his eyes.

“Satoru did… sort of protect me from something… in a way?” You mumble.

Satoru’s fingers twitch when you speak his recently learned name.

Yaga sighs. “We’ll discuss this later, Satoru.”

And with that, the first teacher you’ve met walks away, shaking his head. His demeanor reminds you of a disappointed parent. Suddenly cognizant of the unwelcome contact on your body, you jerk your shoulders forward. This time, he releases you. You get the sense he could’ve easily held on if he wanted to.

“Man, you suck at lying,” Satoru whines.

“Me? What sort of cover story was that? If you ever become a defense attorney, your clients are screwed.”

He throws his arms behind his head and grins. “You gotta admit, the impression was solid.”

“That was the most egregious part!”

“I thought it was a nice touch.”

You roll your eyes. Before this back-and-forth drags on, there’s a specific detail that’s nagging at you.

“By the way, how do you know my name—”

“Suguru, how long are you gonna sit back and watch? Voyeurism is frowned upon, y’know,” he cuts you off mid-sentence.

Your eyes practically bulge out of their sockets at his not-so-subtle implication. Thrown back into a weirded-out limbo, you start slinking off. Forget trying to understand how he knows your name despite never telling him. These are the types your parents warned you about, you need to flee! Hormonal high school boys should be sectioned off until they’re no longer threats to society. Nuclear warfare pales in comparison.

“She’ll never want to come near you again if you keep saying things like that.”

Another student calmly strides out from behind a nearby tree. You squint, ensuring this isn’t an illusion. How long has this guy been here? Why couldn’t you sense his presence? Especially when he’s been so close, just a few measly feet back. The black-haired addition gives you a closed-mouth smile. Similar to Satoru, he’s rather tall. You’ll need a neck massage from all this looking up.

“Geto Suguru. It’s nice to meet you,” Geto greets.

You introduce yourself as well.

“It’s your first day here, correct? How are you finding everything? Have any questions?”

“None that I can think of, but thank you! It’s been uneventful, up to a certain point.”

Satoru yawns obnoxiously loud, interrupting your exchange. “Look what you did, Suguru. She’s all prim and proper now. I might fall asleep.”

You shoot him a scathing look but bite your tongue.

“What? No need to hold back. Say whatever you want, I can take it,” he asserts, tilting his head enough for his sunglasses to slide down. Two pools of frosty blues bore through you. You freeze up at the sight. Snowy eyelashes, glittering, gemstone-like eyes, why would he ever hide them? You’ve never seen such a bewitching color.

He strikes like a serpent at the opening you’ve given him.

“All this staring’s gonna make me shy. You can take a picture, if you want. I don’t mind.”

Any spell you were under withers and dies.

“Actually, I was just thinking that you remind me of a celebrity,” you say.

Satoru preens, interpreting your words as a compliment. Before his ego inflates enough for him to float away, however, you give him a smug smile of your own.

“Ever heard of Sanrio’s Cinnamoroll? You two could be twins! It’s adorable.”

His shoulders droop and Suguru chuckles, the sound coming out muffled from behind his hand. You spin around, content, humming to yourself as you walk up the stairs. You block out whatever Satoru shouts in retaliation. His words go in one ear and out the other. Something tells you this is the best strategy for dealing with him.

So far, you’ve met three classmates, and that was enough to exhaust you thoroughly.

You wonder what everyone else is like.

Later that evening, Shoko explains it’s just you four in your class.

You finish chewing your takeout, swallow, and then reply, “Eh? Seriously? But this place is crazy big.”

“Not many folks can use jujutsu,” Shoko says. She picks a mushroom up with her chopsticks and places it in your container. “Four students is a high amount, all things considered.”

You plop the mushroom into your mouth. Savory flavors coat your tongue, warming your heart and your soul. Delicious food is the antidote to all woes. Presently, your biggest woe happens to have white hair, unfairly pretty eyes, and a knack for getting under your skin. Recalling your previous encounter makes you grimace.

“Hey, Shoko. Would I get in trouble for spraying Satoru with water?”

Instead of responding, she stares at you, blinking owlishly.

“What’s up?”

“Haven’t heard any student but Geto call Gojo by his first name,” she explains. “We’ve only been here a few days though, so who knows.”

You tilt your head. “Who is Gojo?”

“Satoru. Gojo Satoru’s his full name.”

“... Ah.”

You swipe a pillow from Shoko’s bed and slam it into your face.

“I’ve been calling him by his first name?!” You whisper yell, heat rushing to your cheeks.

That’s far too intimate. This is awful, a tragedy, the end of your life that had just begun!

Shoko rubs your back reassuringly as you process the harrowing information.

This has been the first proper school day.

Teachers have come and gone depending on the class. You and Geto have been taking notes, Shoko’s fallen asleep, and Gojo occasionally throws a wadded-up note at the three of you. Shoko’s collection piles up on her desk, Geto throws his away after reading them, and you chuck yours back at Gojo when the teacher isn’t looking.

He catches it with a grin each time, as if you’re playing a friendly game of baseball.

This guy really irks you.

When it’s time to eat lunch, he’s the first to get up.

“What does everyone want from the vending machine?” Gojo asks while clapping, earning your attention. “It’s on me.”

Suguru requests Coca-Cola and Shoko, newly awake, says Oi Ocha.

“I’m okay, but thank you,” is your response.

Gojo swaggers over and you immediately regret sounding so polite.

“First you don’t open my notes and now you won’t accept my generosity? Is this what it’s like to get bullied?”

“I think bullying is typically worse than that,” you respond. His deep frown, although likely an act, still tugs on your heartstrings. Empathy is truly a double-edged sword. “... Georgia canned coffee, please.”

Gojo points a finger at you. “Aha! I knew it! Something about you struck me as a caffeine addict.”

(You throw a pen at him, which he easily sidesteps).

“Does the resident sugar addict have any room to talk?” Geto hums.

“Plenty. When you eat sweets, it’s to enjoy the flavor. In other words, an experience! When you drink coffee, though, you’re only torturing yourself to keep your eyes open.”

“Some people like coffee’s flavor,” Shoko chimes in. She rests her chin on her fist. “You would if it was sickeningly sweet.”

You take in the sight of your classmates bickering. It stirs a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest, like walking outside on the first day of spring. Such a simple exchange instills a sense of normalcy, no matter how fleeting. Gojo’s larger-than-life personality, Geto’s sneaky ways of goading him on, and Shoko’s occasional wry comment; you sear it into your memory.

There’s no real weight to the jabs everyone flings around, it’s like water off a duck’s back.

“You’ll meet lots of interesting folks, I’m sure,” your jujutsu mentor, Ishimoto Akane, had told you. “Make the most of each day. Forgetting to live is the worst injustice you can commit toward yourself.”

Smiling, you retrieve your pen/ammunition, intent on hitting Gojo with it eventually.

Drizzle and heat olive oil in a pan. Add grape tomatoes, seasoning, and minced garlic. Stir occasionally until the grape tomatoes break down.

A mouthwatering scent fills the dormitory’s kitchen. The clock reads 10:04 p.m, indicating how late this dinner is. You keep an eye on your pan as different shades of red smear together, forming the basis for your sauce. Content to leave it unsupervised for a spell, you walk to the drawer silverware is kept in.

The plates are up in an overhead cupboard. You stand on your tiptoes, straining your arm to grab a plate that has no business being up so high.

“Need help?”

You could recognize that voice in your sleep. Or, to be more specific, your nightmares.

“I’ve got it,” you insist.

“Yes, obviously, my sincerest apologies,” Gojo's cadence shifts to a somber, apologetic tone. “Please proceed.”

You stretch your body to its limits, the muscles in your arm crying out for reprieve. Your fingertips brush over the plate’s outer rim. Mistaking this for victory, you pull it out at an awkward angle. The porcelain comes tumbling down to its imminent demise. Out of instinct, you squeeze your eyes shut, bracing for impact.

In the moments that follow, you hear nothing shatter.

Confused, you reopen your eyes to see Gojo Satoru holding the still-intact plate.

You stare at him.

He stares at you (from behind his sunglasses, despite the sun not being out).

Remembering your manners, you say, “Thank you.”

Gojo hums. The low note injects dread throughout your system, as you can guess how the melody will continue. You reach for the troublesome plate. In accordance with your premonition, he takes sadistic glee in raising it high above your head. It stays up there as if it were a full moon.

You take a deep, deep breath.

“Gojo-san, can I have that back?”

“Say ‘Pretty please, Satoru,’ and I’ll think about it.”

“...”

He stares at you.

You stare at him.

“From this day forward, you cannot have any more of my cooking,” you announce as if you were a politician making a new law known.

In what’s an exceedingly rare occurrence, Gojo doesn’t have an immediate retort. You may be unable to see his eyes, but you can tell his expression fell at your proclamation by the muscles in his face.

“Wait, really?”

“Really.”

“Really really?”

“Really really.”

Gojo silently hands over the plate with a bow.

“For you, madam.”

His melancholic act is so convincing and disproportionate to the situation that you can’t hold back your laughter. Gojo’s true strength is his ability to annoy and endear in the same breath. For this reason, your irritation toward his antics never lasts long. You’re sure he’s aware of this and uses it to his advantage. So long as it remains innocuous, you’ll play along.

“Start helping by chopping that basil and I’ll reconsider your verdict.”

Gojo gives a hearty salute.

“Yes ma’am!”

Geto plucks the manilla folder you’re holding and says your name. Perplexed, you glance at him.

“This isn’t worth rereading a fourth time,” he explains. “It won’t be anything near as dangerous as it’s been made out to be.”

He closes it and slides it across the table. You watch through heavy eyelids, blinking off sleep’s seductive whisper. The contents within — census data, maps, photographs — each piece of information refuses to absorb into your weary brain. You’re amazed you had the cogency to slap some proper loungewear on and stumble to the dormitory’s shared living space.

“S’gotta be somewhat important, though, if we got woken up at three in the morning over it.”

Geto laughs airily at that. “You’d be surprised.”

“What do you mean?”

“He means that anything involving the Zenins gets a fast track to becoming everyone’s problem,” Gojo adds from the doorway.

You turn your head in the direction of his hoarse voice. He didn’t bother to fix his bedhead or put on anything half-decent. He’s wearing a gray v-neck and slacks, unlike Geto, who at least put on a pair of jeans. His trademark sunglasses sit ajar on his nose.

Despite yourself, your heart skips a beat. He’s kinda cute.

Gojo gives you a lazy wave and grin. “Wow, you’re actually awake. I thought we’d have to drag you out of bed.”

“In the spirit of maintaining harmony, I’m going to ignore that comment,” you grumble, getting up from the floor to sit on the couch. Gojo sits to your left, slouches into the armrest, and throws his legs on the table. What terrible posture. “Going back to what you said — who are the Zenins? Are they important or something?”

Gojo furrows his eyebrows.

Geto blinks.

You glance between the two of them, feeling increasingly out of the loop. “W-What?”

Gojo, being the fiend that he is, breaks out into unapologetic laughter. You gape at him, your cheeks going from cold to scorching. Geto shakes his head in disapproval over Gojo’s behavior. Still, a small smile works onto his face, further exacerbating your embarrassment. Gojo loudly poking fun at you is one thing, but you’re used to Geto having your back Or at least abstaining from either side.

Vexed, you shoot up, ready to storm off, but Gojo’s hand encircles your wrist.

“My bad, my bad,” he manages through the occasional chuckle. “Come back. We’ll explain it to you.”

You grumble beneath your breath yet ultimately acquiesce.

Gojo peers at you from above his sunglasses. “Ever heard of the Big Three Sorcerer Families?”

You shoot him an unimpressed look. “Would we be having this conversation if I had?”

“Man, that must be nice. I almost feel bad ruining your innocence like this,” Gojo sighs, ever the melodramatic performer. “Hm… let’s see… think of them as the lame, jujutsu versions of Zapdos, Articuno, and Moltres.”

Sitting patiently, you wait for him to elaborate.

He doesn’t.

“Geto-kun, care to translate?”

“With pleasure. So, since cursed techniques are inherited, families often want them passed on from one generation to the next. The Big Three come from bloodlines that hold some of the strongest techniques. As you can imagine, this has granted them lots of influence and power over the centuries. How they leverage these advantages, well…”

Geto trails off and clears his throat.

“—They use it to advance their own agendas and snuff out any meaningful change,” Gojo finishes for him.

You nod.

“Okay, I think I get it! So they’re like jujutsu lobbyists?”

Gojo bursts into another fit of laughter. “I like that! Yeah, let’s call them that. Most of those geezers aren’t even jujutsu sorcerers themselves. They just sit around in the dark and scheme. It’s pathetic.”

Gojo doesn’t care about mincing words. He’s the type to call it as he sees it, for better or for worse. Rarely do you sense such acrimony festering beneath the surface of his remarks. This matter is different. He’s smiling, but there’s a tense underpinning to how he sets his jaw.

“Wait, okay, so, there’s the Zenins, but… who are the other two?” You ask.

“The Kamo and Gojo families,” Geto answers.

Gojo, gojo… that name sounds awfully familiar, doesn’t it?

This reveal doesn’t knock the breath from your lungs. You’ve been able to guess for some time now that Gojo came from money. How much exactly, you weren’t sure, but his designer clothes raised your estimates high. Your rich kid radar is as accurate as ever.

You point an accusatory finger toward the white-haired male beside you. “We have a double agent in our midst, Geto-kun.”

“It would appear so. How should we proceed?”

You stride over to Geto’s side, creating the appropriate distance between you and the traitor.

“Imprisonment without trial,” you declare, much to Gojo’s chagrin. “Solitary confinement too. Cosplaying as the working class is a federal offense.”

“Hah? What sort of kangaroo court is this?” Gojo complains. He removes his legs from the table and sits properly, then crosses his arms over his chest. Continuing your charade, you pay him no mind. Instead, you stand on your tiptoes, cup your hands, and whisper into Geto’s ear:

“The convict is disparaging our blameless judicial system. Shall we add ten years of hard labor?”

A malevolent gleam passes over Geto’s eyes.

“Let’s make it twenty,” he whispers back. You nod. Great minds think alike.

You return your attention to the couch, intending to update Gojo’s sentence, only to find he isn’t there. Yours and Geto’s deliberation couldn’t have lasted more than five seconds! Where did your prisoner run off to? His presence vanished as well, leaving not a single trace. It should unnerve you how in control he is of every aspect of his being. Maybe it would’ve had you not known him personally.

Warm breath fans against your ear from behind. “I’m taking this corrupt official hostage.”

With that, your legs give out faster than your brain can register. Your equilibrium is thrown into chaos as two arms lift you. The abruptness of it all has your limbs flailing for purchase and a squeak escaping your lips. Gojo takes care to ensure you don’t fall or harm yourself, but he doesn’t bother hiding his sadistic glee. You’re held bridal style against his firm chest.

Trying to wriggle loose is a meaningless endeavor. Accepting your fate, you go limp, but not without requesting assistance.

“Geto, are you really going to abandon me to the machinations of this criminal?”

Geto walks over, consideration etched into his countenance, stoking hope of rescue in your chest. He reaches for you. It’s almost imperceptible, but Gojo’s grip tightens ever so slightly. However, his hand doesn’t pry you from the jaws of the beast. He just pulls down your shirt, which has risen to reveal a sliver of your stomach.

Wow, what a gentleman.

“Did you ever consider that I might be a double agent?” Geto challenges, relishing in your visible frustration as much as Gojo. Such is the plight of those who wear their heart on their sleeve.

“Oh, don’t worry, I’ve learned my lesson alright,” you retort. The foreboding nature of your words isn’t lost on them. They await your next move, which you swiftly deliver. “Gojo-san, let me down. If you don’t, I will bite you.”

You can feel how he beams down at you. “Oh, I never would’ve guessed that’s what you’re into— ah, Suguru, a little help here…?”

Geto assesses the situation. After thinking it over, he helps steady you, then uses his newfound leverage to pull you free. He takes great care in putting you down, holding you steady until your feet are firmly on the floor. Your balance rushes to restore itself. In the meantime, Gojo clicks his tongue, processing the weight of Geto’s betrayal.

You give Geto a thumbs up. “Good work. No one ever sees a triple agent coming.”

“It was a split-second decision,” Gojo dismisses with a wave. His impassive expression morphs into a knowing smirk, like he just had a seismic revelation. “Ah, I get it.”

“You do?” Geto hums.

“He does?” You ask.

“Yes and yes. Suguru, you were holding out to see if she’d use her cursed technique, right?”

Geto doesn’t respond immediately, indicating Gojo’s theory holds some merit. Gojo stuffs his hands into his pockets and slinks back to the couch. His gait radiates smugness, although you can’t imagine why. Is that supposed to be a ‘gotcha!’ moment?

“I’ll admit, I am curious,” is what Geto settles on saying, his smile apologetic. Or it’s meant to come off as such.

“Why didn’t you say so sooner? It’s not like it’s a big secret or anything.”

Geto and Gojo exchange looks.

“You should be careful who you go about revealing information like that to,” Gojo warns. You’re not used to hearing this serious timbre in his voice. “Some cards should remain close to your chest.”

Even if he’s being sincere, you can’t help but feel patronized. You’ll be the first to admit it — certain nuances of jujutsu society are lost on you. Akane wasn’t the type to care for such details. She said worrying about all that bureaucracy would age you prematurely. You half agree with her. Certainly, you shouldn’t let that influence you in the areas it matters most, like combat. However, while you’re in Japan, you’re under their regulations. It wouldn’t be wise to forget that.

You purse your lips. “Obviously, yeah. I’m not going to go blabbering it off everywhere. But, I mean, you two are my friends. This’ll be our first time on the field together. Knowing what cards you have to deal with seems useful to me.”

Gojo turns his head to the side and a few seconds pass.

“Friends, huh?” Geto finally murmurs, testing the word on his tongue. His next smile reaches his eyes. “Who would’ve thought a little sincerity is all it takes to get you flustered?”

Gojo snaps his head back at Geto’s taunt. “Sorry, what was that? Aren’t you the one who—”

You clap to redirect their attention.

“Hey, hey, cut it out already. We’re going to be together for the next few days, right? Let’s all get along.”

“You just care about going back to sleep,” Gojo accuses.

“Yes. Exactly. That is all I care about right now. So, if it’s all the same to you, I’m headed to bed.”

You don’t wait for their response. As stealthily as you can, you sneak through the hallways, careful to avoid creaky floorboards. Upon returning to your room, you kick your house slippers off. The digital alarm clock on your nightstand says 3:53 p.m. Those two kept you up far later than necessary! If this assignment isn’t a big deal like Geto claims, you wish he would’ve said so sooner.

There’s always the option of sleeping during the car ride, but if there’s anything you know about Gojo, it’s that everything in his vicinity can be subjected to torment. You wouldn’t put it past him to draw on your face or blare the horn once you finally nod off.

Your head hits the pillow and you pray for rest to take you soon.

Meanwhile, back in the shared living space, Gojo stares at the spot you once occupied.

“Satoru.”

“Hm?”

“I think I get it now.”

“That so?” Gojo runs a hand through his hair. “As long as you don’t get it too much.”

Geto chuckles. After a pause, he muses, “Neither of us would be very good for her.”

“You gonna let someone else scoop her up?”

“Are you?”

“They can try,” Gojo smiles. There’s no kindness behind it.

Although this conversation could last well into the morning, in an unspoken understanding, they leave it at that.

“Emerge from the darkness, blacker than darkness. Purify that which is impure.”

Ink blots descend from above as if the sky were weeping. The viscous teardrops curve downward, creating a dome that swallows the surrounding area. Geto and Suguru have gone ahead, leaving you to carry out basic protocol. You jog to catch up with them. Geto slows down enough to make rejoining them easier, unlike Gojo, who carries on.

“So, this is the stomping grounds of the mean ol’ curse that sent Kenji Zenin packing?” Gojo hums.

“He sustained some serious injuries,” you remind him. Gojo just shrugs. “A fractured sternum and twelve broken ribs… that’s not exactly a walk in the park.”

“A Grade One sorcerer getting whooped that bad by a Grade Two curse? Probably deserved it.”

You sigh, recognizing that Gojo won’t empathize no matter what you say.

The three of you were driven from Tokyo Jujutsu High to Kaizu for this assignment. According to Geto, the information you received likely exaggerated the curse’s capabilities as a way for Kenji Zenin to save face. It looks better for him if the higher-ups deem the threat he faced severe enough to ship off two of the school’s most promising students to handle it. Regarding your inclusion, Gojo so kindly said,

“You’re like the little garnish on top of the entrée.”

You can’t find the energy to get upset if he’s right.

There’s no denying the immense gap in your abilities compared to theirs. You could feel it in the air the instant you met Gojo. For Geto, all it took was hearing a description of his cursed technique. The potential for storing and controlling curses at will is beyond your comprehension. There are so many applications, and so many advantages… you’re utterly outclassed.

Should this demotivate you? Perhaps. You’ll never be as strong as them, it’s delusional to think otherwise. An individual’s proficiency with jujutsu is almost determined at birth. That doesn’t mean it’s static, it just means you have to find ways to excel with what you’re given. Envy is a waste of time. You want to learn from them and hone your abilities. For this reason, you’ve avoided an inferiority complex.

What could be better than learning from the best?

The atmosphere inside the curtain is dingy. It’s like a dark filter glazed over your eyes, maiming any bright or vibrant colors.

Grass crunches beneath your feet despite summer’s abundant rainfall. Nature itself flees the scene, retreating into the woods surrounding this derelict nursery. The briefing you were given went over the business’ murky past. In the seventies, there was an unprecedented boom in births around this area. Working parents needed proper childcare until their children were old enough to attend school. What few facilities existed nearby found themselves overwhelmed. Then an older, childless couple, Mikami and Fujikawa Tetsuo, purchased a plot of land outside the town with their retirement money. They cited the picturesque scenery as their reason for choosing this location, believing that the unpolluted air would be good for the children.

The nursery was built and opened. For years, parents entrusted their little ones with the tight-knit staff headed by the Tetsuo’s. Nothing of note occurred until early in the eighties. On March 24th, 1982, a child was hospitalized after crying ceaselessly for three hours straight. The mother reported that when she picked her daughter up from the daycare, her daughter had been unusually distraught. She didn’t think much of it at first. Toddlers are known for being emotional. However, as time went by and her screams became hoarse, she felt something was terribly wrong. The little girl was given mild sedatives and IV fluids as her body began to suffer from dehydration.

The next day, all seventeen children at the daycare suffered the same mysterious ailment.

Each child underwent tests ranging from bloodwork to brain MRIs to determine what the inexplicable cause of this nightmare could be. Professionals in every area, ranging from renowned neurologists to child psychiatrists flew in from around the world. Naturally, an investigation was opened into the nursery and its owners. No formal charges were made against Mikami and Fujikawa, since no evidence of foul play could be found. Regardless, the community ostracized them and any employees present during the incident.

Tragically, none of the eighteen children recovered. From the instant their sedatives wore off until they were administered again, they’d screech, thrash, and display aggressive behavior toward nurses and family members alike. Parents were faced with the impossible decision of keeping their child ‘alive’ through life support, holding out for a cure that may never come, or granting them a peaceful yet permanent rest.

Only one family kept their child on life support. He remained in a vegetative state and died from complications related to an infection two months later. The seventeen other families, who had grown close through the harrowing ordeal, turned the machines keeping their little ones alive at the same time.

This report might be one of the worst things you’ve read.

Scanning the area, you note faint residuals of cursed energy throughout the decrepit playground. The swings, slide, and both sides of the seesaw contain trace amounts. Did curses form as a consequence of what happened here, or did a curse initiate the disaster? It may not matter now, but all those families never receiving proper closure makes your chest feel tight.

Painfully so.

Considering the officials never found physical evidence, you believe a curse was the cause. What were the victims supposed to do? What could they do? Non-sorcerers can’t perceive curses, much less defend themselves. They have to be chewed, swallowed, and digested.

You kneel at the playground’s edge, inspecting the planks of rotten and peeling wood. It must’ve been assembled by hand. Each piece was planned, cut, and dutifully laid down. All to hold the wood chips that’d protect the kids as they ran, laughed, and played. This place should’ve been a fond memory for them to recall throughout their life.

Instead, it’s the reason they’d never got to have one.

“The cursed energy is concentrated in the nursery room itself,” Gojo determines.

You follow his line of sight and squint. You could tell the building was submerged in cursed energy, but you couldn’t pinpoint an exact location.

“It’s moving in the same pattern, like a grid,” Geto says. Another observation you couldn’t make. “Starting in the top left corner, ending in the bottom right, then starting the process all over again.”

Standing up, you dust the dirt off your skirt. “Why would a curse do that?”

From a tactical standpoint, moving predictably is reckless. Any combatants could use the knowledge to their advantage. Curses have some degree of self-preservation, hence why they don’t waltz everywhere without a care in the world. They’re intelligent enough to avoid spots that sorcerers frequent. Fly heads are the lone exception, but that’s because they lack the intellect necessary to care for their survival.

A curse capable of inflicting such serious wounds on a Grade One sorcerer can’t be that weak.

Gojo exchanges glances with Geto, a semblance of understanding connecting them. You’ve witnessed this wordless exchange before. No matter how much they bicker over conflicting values or petty non-issues, they maintain the ability to synchronize their thoughts and actions.

“What is it?” You snap. As soon as the acrid words leave your mouth, you regret it, although they don’t react. Taking a deep breath, you try again. “Communication is important for these missions, guys. Keep me in the loop… please?”

Geto parts his lips, but Gojo cuts him off. “There are eighteen cribs inside. The curse is fixing the blankets in each one.”

You shiver.

“... Oh.”

“How do you want to go about this, Satoru?” Geto asks. “It can’t be as simple as walking in and exorcising it.”

“Why not? Its cursed energy is consistent with what you’d expect of a Second Grade. We both know this job’s smoke and mirrors, anyway. Let’s wrap it up already and head home.”

“Isn’t it strange the curse hasn’t been drawn out, despite a curtain being cast?” You point out.

For the first time since exiting the car, Gojo looks at you. You stare back at the two black circles that obscure his omnipotent eyes. Something’s been off ever since you embarked on this mission. It’s like an itch you can’t scratch, as its location shifts elsewhere whenever you try. His words have had an edge to them when directed at you. You’re used to his lackluster manners, but this is different.

This cuts and it cuts deep.

Are you that incompetent to him…?

Gojo redirects his gaze toward the ramshackle building.

“I’m getting this over with,” he says. Simply, decisively. Leaving no room for argument.

Leaving no room for you.

Massive tendrils of cursed energy coil around him, flowing unimpeded like water through a rushing brook. You step back solely from reflex. Anticipation thrums through the air and ignites every nerve in your body. You’re left wide-eyed and breathless as it gathers and grows, its potency hundreds of times greater than anything you’ve been able to achieve. It feels as though minutes have dragged by, reacquainting you with the surreal sensation you underwent upon meeting Gojo Satoru that fateful day.

“Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue.”

Up until this point in your life, you thought you knew destruction. What hubris, what naivety. Gunfire, grenades, tanks, bombs, missiles; they are nothing but ants before the looming skyscraper that is Gojo Satoru.

This is destruction in its raw, purest form.

This is what it means to be the strongest.

… Somehow, you feel lesser than that ant.

A speck of dust would be a more fitting description.

You expect total disintegration when you reopen your eyes. You aren’t disappointed.

Concrete, wood, glass, steel, plastic, stone, and fabric alike were eviscerated. The ground where the nursery once stood is gone. A bygone era wrought with tragedy. The force behind this apex of energy blasted the wood partition around the playground, leaving nothing but a shadow to signify it ever existed.

Gojo lowers his hand and turns away from the wreckage.

“Don’t you think you went a bit overboard, Satoru?” Geto’s tone reminds you of the many scoldings Yaga has given the white-haired menace.

“Just wanted to ensure the threat was dealt with, so Kenji can sleep through the night without wetting himself,” Gojo replies, smirking. “Alrighty then, who wants to sightsee—”

“Naptime… naptime…” A garbled voice intones from the aftermath of Gojo’s attack.

The deformed curse lifts itself like a marionette fastened to invisible strings. It’s tall, with an emaciated build and haggard skin. Long clumps of thick hair emerge from its scalp, greasy and matted. Each feeble step it takes is accompanied by a snapping sound, as if its joints are begging for collapse. The humanoid shape disturbs you most of all. Cracked lips, bloodied eye sockets, chunks of deathly pale skin sloughing off brittle bones; this curse looks more like a corpse than anything else.

Most damning, however, is the sheer power it’s radiating.

“Do… they… slumber…?” It croaks.

Suguru assumes an offensive position, but Gojo puts an arm out, stopping him.

“Something’s off,” Gojo warns. If you thought he sounded serious before, that doesn’t compare to his timbre now. “Don’t attack it.”

The curse’s legs give out. That doesn’t stop it from crawling on. Lanky fingers claw at the rubble, searching desperately.

Geto summons a handful of curses in its radius. He keeps them on standby while the three of you track every movement, every ebb and flow of cursed energy. The curse grabs and cradles the sediment in its crooked hands, then rocks the amalgamation as if it were a baby.

“Did you hit it?” You whisper, knowing fully well the question is pointless. You don’t care. You need any semblance of control possible when confronted with the terrifying unknown.

“I did. The impact inflicted zero damage,” Gojo removes his sunglasses and tucks them away.

“A special condition, then?” Geto proposes. “One that makes it impervious to all harm until…”

You hear a sniffle.

Then a whimper.

And a gurgle.

“Hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush, hush—”

The curse repeats this mantra with increasing aggravation until its shrill voice is all you can hear. The cursed energy that enveloped it seconds prior flows out in multiple directions, like a heart pumping blood to the rest of the body. The energy is absorbed. Not a meager trace remains, every drop was sucked dry by multiple sources.

All is still.

All is silent.

A bloodcurdling wail reverberates throughout the curtain.

Eighteen appendages propel out of the curse in the middle, puncturing it from the inside out as if the limp mass was a cocoon.

There’s no need for deliberation.

The three of you scatter in different directions.

“Cursed Technique: Ophanim.”

Two glowing, golden rings the size of wheels manifest by your side. The outside surface is adorned with closed eyes, each arranged individually on top of the other rather than in pairs. The two rings work in tandem to slice through the appendage barreling toward you. You recall them to your side, running at a breakneck speed to avoid the five fleshy appendages still seeking your demise.

Gojo and Geto are in a similar predicament. Running, leaping, and dodging the seismic attacks that leave massive craters in its wake. A single hit from that would crush your body in an instant. Then there’s the disorienting wailing, originating from multiple locations throughout the curtain’s interior. You can’t pinpoint where the sounds are coming from.

Adrenaline pumps through your veins, oxygen rushes with each sharp inhale, and your muscles strain to keep up with the demands you make of them.

The sixth appendage, which your cursed technique cut through, lurches from above. Whole and better than ever. Unlike before, its momentum is lightning-fast. The change is so instantaneous that you have no time to respond accordingly. Death’s harbinger looms, engulfing your existence in its hungry shadow. Instead of slicing it off at the wrist, you propel your rings up, accelerating their spin at the cost of speed. Flesh and cartilage rips above you in the shape of a thin slit.

The appendage plummets down.

Through the ringing in your ears, you hear voices yelling out your name.

An unpleasant, viscous substance coats you from head to toe.

You grimace and wipe off what you can. Geto’s curses managed to cut the appendage off at the joint, preventing it from rising and trying to crush you again. Your rings barely managed to carve a hole big enough to span the width of your body. That doesn’t mean you’re safe just yet — the five remaining appendages that have you as their target are seconds away. Unlike the one you just faced, their speed is manageable.

The more damage inflicted, the faster they are after healing, you think. This must be why Gojo and Geto are dodging instead of going on the offense.

However, since you remained still to avoid getting crushed by what your rings hadn’t cut through, the other five appendages are inbound. They’ve fanned out, blocking any angle you’d use to dodge.

You dismiss your cursed technique.

What can be done here? This curse is easily a Grade One. The centermost part is invulnerable and the eighteen limbs growing off it speed up when damaged. Summoning more rings so you can escape this attack means the next will come swifter, building and building to unimaginable speeds. You know your limits. The second healed limb was a hair below the fastest you’ve ever run.

Gojo and Geto could handle the levels above that. Maybe there’s a limit to how many times the limbs can regenerate, reaching that could exorcise the curse. No curse is truly invincible, even if it seems like it in the moment. You must be the reason why they haven’t commenced a counterattack. They knew anything above a second regeneration would do you in.

Is that really the only way?

Something wet drips on your head.

You use what little time you have to glance up.

Suspended midair is a small outline, made visible by the viscera that spurted from your cursed technique’s earlier attack. Sluggishly, you blink, wiping the blood from your eyes to ensure you aren’t hallucinating. The outline’s edges wriggle and squirm. You realize that it’s doing so in time with the incessant wailing.

“What do you think you’re doing, spacing out in the middle of a fight?”

Gojo must’ve warped in front of you.

You recognize the hand motion he’s making, and cry out, “Don’t! That’ll only make it—”

“I know, I know,” Gojo launches a devastating blow that obliterates the five incoming appendages, reducing them to pitiful scraps. “I didn’t just run a marathon for you to give up and become a pancake.”

“I didn’t give up,” you snap back.

He glances over his shoulder and grins. “Good. Cause we need to hose you off as soon as possible.”

You let out a noise in between a laugh and a cry. How can he crack jokes under these dire circumstances?

“Gojo—”

“Ah ah ah,” The menace cuts you off, “Satoru. Call me anything else and I’m leaving you to handle this on your own.”

While speaking his untimely quips, he continuously forms and releases his Cursed Technique Lapse, Blue. This forces the broken appendages into a cycle of stitching themselves together only to get destroyed again. It stuns you, how he can casually hold a conversation while performing a technique that’d use all your cursed energy to execute once. Never mind countless times in rapid succession.

“Satoru,” you try again, to which he hums, “This… thing above me, do you think it’s…?”

“The weak spot for this Ju-On ripoff? Yeah. Just noticed that. Suguru’s curses are self-destructing near them, so their invisibility’s useless.”

The six appendages that tracked Satoru join the fray, granting Geto additional space to maneuver unhindered. Floating blobs covered in the innards of curses appear one by one like macabre lanterns in the night sky. You can’t stop yourself from admiring how effortless they make it look. It was all you could do to avoid the curses’ attacks, that required every ounce of your cognition. Meanwhile, they pieced together the curses’ gimmick and started countermeasures.

“Anything broken?” Satoru asks.

“Just a few sprains.”

“Great. Now, I’m about to ask for a lot, but it’s nothing I don’t think you can’t handle.”

You exhale shakily.

“There’s another application of your cursed technique, right?”

How does he know that?

You’ll worry about this oddity later.

“There is, but,” you stare down at your blood-soaked hands, “Why are you asking?”

Satoru takes a moment to consider his response. The gory splatters are reforming faster and faster, you’ve lost count of how many blasts he’s used to cut them down. It’s almost imperceptible, but you can tell he can’t keep this up forever. Each subsequent use of Cursed Technique Lapse: Blue requires more energy than the last. If he’s a sliver off in his calculations, then the appendages will heal instantaneously and skewer your body faster than death can claim you.

Geto leaps down from a hovering curse.

“There are seventeen sources, just like you said,” he huffs, wiping the perspiration trickling down his temple. “Each one is visible now.”

Seventeen sources?

“This eyesore’s a distraction. Those screaming curses — they’re the real target here,” Satoru says.

You consider the curse a few feet above your head. “So we should attack them, right?”

Geto shakes his head. “We tried that. They didn’t sustain any damage.”

“Seriously?”

“This is just a theory, but,” Satoru takes a deep breath, “Seventeen of the eighteen victims from this place had their life support pulled simultaneously, right?”

Huh. So he did read the briefing after all.

This conjecture prickles at your skin like tiny needles. The screaming, the small stature these curses have, every detail comes crashing down at once. Maggots writhing beneath your skin would be more pleasant.

It isn’t them, you tell yourself, because you have to. It’s an echo. The curse they left behind.

You steeple your fingers. Cursed energy thrums around and through you, reverberating in your bones, and crackling throughout your soul. Simultaneously. That’s the key here. These curses can pull off their various immunities by using conditions to their advantage.

The two warding off the original curses’ attacks before you are strong, yes, but this niche fits you well.

If you’re able to perform it properly, that is.

You accept every drop of cursed energy your body can handle. Once you’re filled to the brim, it’s expelled, rushing through the air like geysers.

“Cursed Technique: Null.”

Your ability is versatile if not simple.

You can call forth golden rings that perpetually spin clockwise. Their size, speed, and sharpness are determined by you. At this point in your training, you can maintain two of these rings without sacrificing speed or sharpness. Should you bring out any more, they will dull and slow down for each addition made. Two could slash through steel, four could cut the same slab halfway, six would make a sizable dent, eight would leave a scratch; so on and so forth.

There’s an additional application beyond this.

Cursed Technique: Null — the pinnacle of the innate ability you inherited, Ophanim.

The sorcerer creates three rings around any object or organism. One spins around the target horizontally. The other two slant left and right respectively, all spinning counterclockwise. The closed eyes adorning the ring’s outside fly open. Unblinking, hypervigilant. If what they’re enclosed around is significantly weaker than the sorcerer, it can halt the movements of whatever or whoever is within.

Your record is halting thirty mice for a total of two minutes and four seconds.

Afterward, you can either dispel the rings or pull them toward the epicenter. The rings then slash through the target like a fruit slicer.

You see the seventeen silhouettes emphasized with blood.

As you will it, three golden rings surround each one. The cursed energy swaddling them hisses and resists your designs. Their wailing crescendos, culminating at an ear-piercing pitch. The fussing stops abruptly as the eyes on each ring open wide. Seventeen different targets, fifty-one rings… it is draining cursed energy from you fast.

Four seconds. This is as long as you trust the halt to work.

That leaves the issue of cutting through them.

These aren’t the used soda cans you’ve practiced on. They are curses, Semi-Grade One if you were to guess. You’re a Grade Three sorcerer. The chasm here won’t be bridged by a miracle, you’ll have to risk catapulting across and plummeting to your demise. Satoru’s likely unaware of your technique’s specifics, as even you required trial and error to determine this much. You never found documentation on Ophanim. Every unraveled facet is owed to you.

These fifty-one rings are too dull. They won’t make so much as an indent.

What you need here is a binding vow. Your own strength isn’t enough. Risk, danger, and death breathing down your neck; these are the ingredients you require. There’s a chance it won’t work and you’re condemning yourself to an early grave. If you don’t try, though, you don’t know how long Satoru and Geto can keep those appendages down.

Time to leap across.

For every second I don’t exorcise these curses, ten of my bones will break, you think. Should I reach ten seconds, my heart will stop.

Cursed energy surges through you. It finds the prospect of your end tantalizing, but without providing itself, won’t have the opportunity to claim you.

One.

(The rings gain immeasurable speed).

Two.

(It hurts, but the curses will hurt too).

Three.

(Simultaneous incisions are made through seventeen curses).

The wailing stops.

…

So does your breathing.

August 15th, 2005. Grade One Curse ‘The Caretaker’ and Semi-Grade One Curses ‘Little Ones’ were exorcised at 9:34 p.m. in Kaizu.

Hospital rooms aren’t renowned for their interior design.

Flimsy pillows, scratchy gowns, thin blankets, bright yellow lights, ghostly white walls, it’s an affront to the eyes. You almost want to continue resting if that’s all you’ll get to look at. Considering how stiff your neck is and how your limbs feel heavier than a grand piano, you assume you’ve done enough sleeping.

You prop yourself up as much as you can. This slight shift makes your body complain, nice and loud.

Footsteps rush over to your bed. You hear your name spoken, intermixed with a relieved sigh.

“You don’t stay knocked down for long, do you?” Geto muses. His smile is gentle and his eyes crinkle in delight. “Welcome back. How do you feel?”

“Like I got run over by a train,” you rasp.

You’re in desperate need of some vocal warmups.

Geto grabs a water bottle from the windowsill and hands it over. While you gulp the heavenly elixir down, he continues speaking.

“You weren’t out for long — two days. Well, two and a half days. It’s noon now.”

You relax after hearing this. Geto knew how to assuage any worries you might have before you dared to voice them. Everyone has their own way of bringing kindness into the world, this happens to be his.

“Seriously? I was expecting you to say it’s the year 2010 or something. No flying cars yet?”

“None that I’ve seen,” Geto’s laugh sounds light and airy. “Shoko’s reversed cursed technique is truly a marvel. It accelerated your healing, but I imagine the pain will linger a while longer.”

You’ll have to cook Shoko one of her favorite dishes when you get back. You don’t want to think about how long it would’ve taken for you to heal naturally, much less if it’d heal right. Bones are finicky like that. You imagine yours weren’t happy at how you offered them up on a silver platter.

She spared your family so much pain. You’ll forever be indebted to her for that.

Glancing around, you notice three mismatched chairs surrounding your bed. Geto follows your line of sight.

“Shoko and I finally chased Satoru out about an hour ago. He’s lived in this room since you were admitted. Didn’t sleep a wink either,” Geto gives you an expression you can’t quite place. “Around the forty-two-hour mark, he started making strange suggestions.”

Heaviness seeps into the air, thick and palpable, like a noxious gas.

“What kind of suggestions?”

“Suggestions like killing the higher-ups, for starters.”

Your thudding heart leaps to your throat. “... Huh?”

“It’s not anything he hasn’t said in jest before. This time, however,” Geto fixates his attention on the intravenous line threaded into your arm. You can feel the weight of his stare. “He wasn’t joking.”

It feels like you’re in one of those dreams that mimics reality so well, the line separating the two becomes increasingly distorted. You entertain the theory briefly. A single sweep of the room dispels the illusion. The loose thread on Geto’s shoulder, the sounds of carts rolling down the long hospital corridors, the lemon-tinged scent from cleaning supplies; could a dream be this detailed?

You don’t think so.

Sensing your haziness, he clarifies, “I talked him out of it by speaking in your stead. I assumed you wouldn’t want that.”

“What… what do the higher-ups have to do with anything…?”

How do they factor into the two plus two equals four equation?

Geto pulls a chair over to your bedside, sits, and contemplates. Such a grave visage doesn’t belong on a fifteen-year-old’s face. It reminds you of a father preparing to explain why he and their mother are getting a divorce to their children.

He weighs his next words on a scale only he’s privy to.

“Satoru had a gut feeling that there was more to the Kaizu mission. He must not have wanted you to have that in the back of your mind out on the field, since all it takes is one mistake to—”

He cuts himself off. His complexion takes a pallid shade.

You give him a gentle smile. Geto is more considerate than you initially gave him credit for. Ignoring the dull ache, you lean forward, placing your hand over his.

“It’s okay. You can keep going.”

The tips of his ears turn red.

He blinks rapidly, clears his throat, and then soldiers on. “R-Right. Well, you saw how he acted. With his Six Eyes, he spotted the remains of another sorcerer when he looked at the nursery. The briefing conveniently omitted the fact that Kenji wasn’t alone. This confirmed Satoru’s suspicions. He wanted to wrap things up fast to get you out of there, but… that curse proved challenging.”

“I’m getting this over with.”

Ah. So that’s why he came off that way, you think. Still… couldn’t there have been a better way? Why is blocking people out his go-to?

“We believe the Zenins — those in Kenji’s immediate circle, to be specific — hoped that you’d be… killed, to emphasize how formidable the threat he faced was. Since this job was assigned through the school, some of the higher-ups must’ve known and granted their blessing.”

“... Oh.”

The room’s air conditioning whirrs to life, billowing the beige curtains draped over the closed window. Outside, a cicada crawls over the glass pane. It pauses to recite its buzzing melody. Since it’s summer, you can expect to see and hear these insects until autumn’s chill sweeps away the heat.

You hope Satoru witnessed a similarly trivial scene while sitting in this room.

It’s important to remember just because you feel stuck, the world won’t stop spinning onward.

“Would it be okay if I called you Suguru?”

He nods without hesitation.

“Suguru, earlier you said that you changed Satoru’s mind by voicing my perspective since I couldn’t,” you start, your cadence gentle. You handpick each word with great care. “Does this mean that, personally, you agreed with him?”

His countenance is like that of a kid caught with their hand in the cookie jar. This look doesn’t overstay its welcome. Once he assesses you, from your open posture to your soft stare, he’s back to his usual self.

“Busted, huh? And here I thought you’d be too groggy to pick up on anything incriminating.”

“A corrupt official such as myself must remain vigilant,” you reply with a cheeky grin. Then, you reorient yourself to communicate what’s been gnawing at you properly. “There’s a lot I don’t know about these ‘higher-ups’ or ‘Zenins,’ that you keep referring to. What little I do know doesn’t paint them in a favorable light. For all I know, they could be irredeemable in every sense of the word. But…”

“... Even though this is a selfish wish, I’m making it anyway. Say they do have to go. That it’s 100% certain they’re just that bad. I don’t want you or Satoru to be the ones to carry it out. Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that? Doesn’t a part of yourself die with them?”

A lump grows in your throat. You force it down.

“So, thank you for stopping him and yourself. Sorcerers are meant to fight curses, right? Protect those who can’t protect themselves. That sort of stuff.”

Suguru squeezes your hand gently, as if you were made of porcelain.

It stops you from shattering.

After a few minutes, your erratic breathing settles. He whispers your name like he’s making a promise.

“You’re right,” he says, a newfound resolve built into the very fabric of those two words. “Protecting the weak is what matters most. Tossing everything into disarray would threaten that. It’s easier to fix what’s broken than to demolish and rebuild from scratch.”

… Is that what you meant?

Exhaustion clouds your senses. You must’ve burnt through your scarce reserves of energy. You can vaguely discern Suguru running the pad of his thumb over your hand, before detaching himself. He readjusts your pillow so it supports your head better. After murmuring your gratitude, you sink into sleep’s warm embrace.

Right as you’re traipsing the fine line between wakefulness and the unconscious, there’s a light sensation of something brushing your hair back.

This unknown doesn’t inspire fear or outrage.

Instead, it lulls you further into the recesses of peace.

You’re discharged from the hospital later that day.

An auxiliary manager from Tokyo Jujutsu High drives you back. You spend the car ride staring out the passenger side window, taking in the bustle of busy citizens and dazzling lights. It never fails to amaze you how people wordlessly maneuver around each other to maintain the flow of traffic. It’s a tempo that can’t be instructed, rather, one must adapt in real time without a conductor.

Can non-sorcerers truly be considered weak?

The description torments you as if it were a thorn in your side.

Your fingers drum over the dashboard.

What does it mean to be strong, anyway?

The next time you activate your cursed technique, you can summon and maintain four rings without sacrificing sharpness or speed.

For the past few days, you’ve been playing around with different formations. Four rings orbiting your body provide considerable defense from projectiles and close combat. Then, if you let two out, you gain the means to attack. Lastly, ditching defense to pour everything into offense is a viable option as well. Your biggest obstacle is how mentally taxing it is to track and manipulate four rings at once.

It requires great concentration. This isn’t an issue if you’re alone, but you doubt that curses will play nice and let you stand perfectly still.

You flip your My Melody notebook to the next page and scribble down,

Two rings uptime — twelve hours.Four rings uptime — one hour. Four rings uptime w/ distractions — ten minutes. Maximum distance — one hundred meters. Maximum rings at once — sixty. Uptime on maximum rings — five seconds.

Thinking back to The Caretaker, you twist your lips.

If you’d been sent on that mission by yourself, would this have been enough to win the fight? You’re alive because you were with Satoru and Suguru. There’s no denying the infallible truth. You can’t always rely on reports to accurately grade a curse. There’s also the chance once certain conditions are met, the curse can gain strength throughout the fight, and—

“Cute handwriting.”

“Eek!”

Hugging your notebook to your chest, you jump back, indignation rushing through you like molten magma. Who snuck up on you? How did they do it? You can ascertain the presence of others in your vicinity well. You know when Shoko’s sneaking out through her window at night, if Suguru’s about to enter the room, or when Utahime is seconds away from busting into the classroom to lecture Satoru about levitating her lunch onto the roof again.

Squinting, you assess the assailant. Pearly white hair, round sunglasses, a lean and towering figure…

“Satoru? You’re back?”

According to Shoko, Satoru was called to Kyoto for business relating to the Big Three not long after they returned from the hospital. It’d been two weeks since then. You’ve gotten so used to having him around, that his absence felt pronounced. Shoko mainly lamented that her ‘walking free meal ticket’ was gone whereas Utahime rejoiced. You’ve never seen your upperclassman so ecstatic.

Her hopes and dreams will be dashed come morning.

“Just got in, yeah. Why? Oh! I know! You must’ve missed me terribly. Here, here. It’s alright. C’mere and tell me all about it— oof!”

There is a barrier that separates Satoru from everyone and everything.

‘Infinity,’ he calls it. The ability to slow down encroaching mass to such a degree that it appears as if it stopped. He can keep it activated for long lengths of time. One day, he intends to reach a level where he’ll never have to turn it off. Anyone else who proposed a goal like that would either be conceited or delusional. The amount of cursed energy necessary to pull that off is immeasurable.

Satoru isn’t just anyone, though.

So when he sets an impossible goal, it enters the realm of feasibility.

His infinity is active once you leap toward him, lasting up until the very last millisecond. When you breach the threshold that denies access to anyone else, it recedes, rushing away to accommodate your presence. Infinity remains present, molding itself around your shape. The top of your head, the slope of your shoulders, down to your soles; for a fleeting moment in time, infinity chooses you over Satoru’s parameters.

Your cheek hits his chest. He has to steady you so you don’t go tumbling back. While he does this, you snake your arms around him, squeezing him tight. In doing so, yet another anomaly occurs.

You’ve rendered Gojo Satoru speechless.

When you pull back, you notice his sunglasses are crooked. You straighten them out for him and nod in approval. Smiling ear to ear, you chirp,

“Welcome home, Satoru!”

He scratches the back of his neck, uncharacteristically quiet.

“... Isn’t this a school, though?” He finally manages to get out.

“Pfft, I didn’t think you were the type to get hung up on details like that,” you laugh. “Home’s anywhere you want it to be. For me, that’s here.”

You gesture to the surrounding area. Tall trees sway per the wind’s wishes, their green leaves painted blue and silver by the night sky. The moon overhead serves as your silent witness. No matter where you are, it will find and pursue you to the ends of the earth. Crickets chirp, cicadas buzz, and frogs croak by ponds rippling with their young. The night air is damp, but the coolness granted by the sun’s absence makes it tolerable.

“Honestly, I don’t know what to make of you sometimes,” Satoru tries painting a veneer of nonchalance over his words, but you can see through the cracks. You’re getting better at doing that. “Suguru said you were as peppy as ever; I didn’t believe him. They checked for brain damage, right? How many fingers am I holding up?”

(He holds up two).

“Ten,” you reply without missing a beat.

“Funny girl.”

“I learned from the best.”

You both silently size one another up. Or, in Satoru’s case, down, because he’s freakishly tall. You’re the first to break the supposed standoff. Laughter rings through the air, just yours at first, but it’s soon joined by his. The two of you stand in the middle of a forest at midnight cackling like a bunch of witches before a sabbath.

You feel absurd and giddy in a way that only comes from being around Satoru.

Some point after the laughter dies off, you can feel Satoru’s eyes scanning over every dip and curve of your being.

After reaching some conclusion, his shoulders droop. The dopey grin on his face shifts into something more neutral, more reserved. His hands find their way into his pockets. He kicks a pebble into the woods, and you both listen to it tumbling downhill until the sound fades away. The thickets shift from wildlife’s constant antics, accommodating what little fauna lives inside Tengen’s barrier.

“I’m not going to take back what I said, because I meant it,” Satoru asserts. He doesn’t have to elaborate — you know what he’s referring to. “Had you… had that mission gone as they intended, I wouldn’t have hesitated.”

An owl hoots on a distant tree branch.

Chills nibble all over your skin like little bug bites. You hug yourself to stave the sensation off.

“Even if you knew that isn’t what I’d want?”

“Even then.”

“So, you’re admitting it’d be for your sake?”

“Most things are.”

“I don’t buy that,” you frown. “You’re kinder than you realize.”

His eyebrows pinch together and his rosy lips part. It takes him a moment to dislodge the words stuck in his throat.

“... Not many people would agree,” he smiles thinly.

“Fine, just me then, since that’s easier to prove,” you hold up a single finger and raise another for each subsequent point. “One, you always leave my favorite coffee cans where you know I’ll find them. Two, whenever we’re facing a curse, you step in front to guard me. Three, if I look all sad and homesick, you make stupid jokes to take my mind off things. And four, there’s what happened in Kaizu. You—”

“I told you to use a technique you weren’t ready for.”

You blink.

He tucks his sunglasses away, removing yet another barrier. His crystalline eyes shimmer beneath the moon’s glow.

“How much do you know about your mentor’s history?”

Ah, yes, your mentor — Ishimoto Akane.

She stands at 5’8, boasts piercing green eyes, short, tousled black hair, and a tattoo of a thorny rose that envelops her entire left arm. When it came to reading the room, no one could fail as spectacularly as her. She never minced words, found basic tasks boring, and doted over her iguana named Wormwood like he was the second coming of Christ. When she wasn’t pampering Wormwood, she could be found in her very disorganized garage, tinkering with cars or motorcycles. Her neighbors filed numerous sound complaints thanks to her speakers blasting disco at unholy hours. Somehow, she never got caught.

For lack of a better word, your jujutsu mentor is eccentric.

Most notably, she saved you and your parent’s lives from a curse when you were six. You’ve been joined by the hip ever since.

As for her history…

“Um, well, I know that she’s from Omachi. She moved out of Japan in her late teens because ‘jujutsu sorcerers are an absolute drag,’ or something like that.”

“That’s a start,” Gojo hums. “Let me fill in the blanks. The Ishimoto family goes back a ways. They might not be as influential as the Big Three, but their connections are nothing to scoff at. They’re like little leeches, sustaining themselves off others. Arranged marriages are their whole thing. Akane was set to marry some third son of a Zenin bigwig. She dipped on the day of the wedding.”

That sounds like your mentor alright.

“Personally, I find that hilarious. Her family and the Zenins aren’t of the same opinion. They essentially disowned her. Anyway! Fast forward a few years. Rumors spread that the infamous Akane is popping up in Tokyo every now and then, with some kid by her side. Ring any bells?”

You point to yourself and he nods.

She took you on training trips under the guise of an ‘exchange student program’ in the summer, which your parents considered to be an excellent opportunity. You felt bad for deceiving them, but explaining the whole ‘fighting invisible monster things with emotion magic’ would’ve made for a rough conversation.

“It wasn’t until a couple of months back that I ran into her. I came right out and asked what I’d been curious about — why did she come back? She just shrugged and said she was done being a teacher. That answer didn’t satisfy me. She’s stubborn, I’ll give her that. I’m far worse though,” he boasts, fully looking and sounding the part. “In return for picking up her tab at an izakaya, she fessed up the truth.”

He steeples his fingers together, pantomiming a hand motion you’re intimately familiar with.

“Cursed Technique: Null, the advanced application of Ophanim. Akane’s convinced an ability like that, at its full potential, would be crazy strong.”

She never said anything like that to me, you think.

You shake your head. This isn’t the most pressing matter now.

“Satoru, what are you getting at here?”

“That you shouldn’t think I’m kind. I wanted to judge your technique’s potential for myself, so I had you take on more than you could handle.”

“You wouldn’t have let me die, though.”

He chuckles mirthlessly. “And what a hero I am for that.”

You purse your lips. You’ve never seen Satoru be this hard on himself. His cadence is the same — lighthearted, easygoing — but there’s an underlying acrimony to it. His smile doesn’t reach his brilliant eyes. He comes across as a spirit mimicking another’s likeness. This should unnerve you, maybe it will upon further reflection.

Right now, however, you just want him to get across that you aren’t upset. What’s done is done.

“It’s—”

Satoru puts a hand up, stopping you prematurely. “Oh no you don’t. Don’t forgive me, not yet, anyway. You need to get better at looking out for yourself. You’re nice to a fault.”

You glare at him halfheartedly. “What’s so wrong with being nice?”

“Living in a world like this, where there are people like me.”

“A world full of Gojo Satoru’s… that is a terrifying thought,” you murmur. His lips twitch upward, but he catches himself. “Bleh, what is it with you people and rejecting basic human decency! Akane was the same way. I’m fed up with it!”

You storm toward him, your eyes narrow and jaw set tight.

“I’m going to be who I want to be and that’s that. Maybe I’m naïve—”

“—Oh, it isn’t a maybe, you definitely are—”

You hush him by placing your finger to his lips, much to his surprise, if his wide eyes are of any indication.

“—But you don’t get to tell me how to act or think or feel. That’s my business. I forgive you, alright? Now cut it out with the brooding. Let’s be real here. Doing that’s for you, not for me.”

There’s an intensity to his stare you’ve never experienced prior. It makes your head feel light and hazy. Remembering yourself, you pull your hand back, heat rushing to your face. You may have gotten carried away. He isn’t wrong about you exercising more vigilance, but something about him critiquing a core aspect of your identity stings. The description ‘oversensitive’ can join the same limbo your ‘nice to a fault’ and ‘naïve’ proclivities hang out in.

Finding your current predicament too overwhelming, you break eye contact.

“Alright, alright, I get it, quit scowling. Remind me never to piss you off again, it’s scary,” he sounds more like himself, much to your relief. “I thought of a happy medium, just for you.”

Satoru compromising? Did you die during that fight after all? You never thought you’d see the day. Shoko isn’t going to believe you.

“And that happy medium is…?”

His dumb grin makes a triumphant return. He knows he’s got your attention, no matter how cool you try to play it.

“Keep being your sweet little self. If anyone tries taking advantage of that quality, and I mean anyone, come tell Suguru or myself. We’ll take care of it.”

What is he, a member of the mob?!

Whatever, it’s a step in the right direction. You think. Maybe.

“I’m not a snitch,” you huff.

“Fine, I’ll use my own discretion then.”

“You’re impossible.”

“And you’re gonna have to get used to it.”

You quirk an eyebrow. “How do you figure?”

“Call it intuition,” he hums, smoothly sliding his sunglasses back into place. It makes you angry how cool he looks while doing so. “Or, better yet, love at first sight. Yeah. Let’s go with that, actually.”

Wait, what?

Your heart thunders against your ribcage and you gape at him like a fish.

“You…! Y-You can’t just say something like that!”

“But I did.”

“Ugh, I’ve had enough. I’m headed to bed. Go find somebody else to mess with.”

Satoru pauses, considering the words you’ve spoken without any real bite. Then he smiles. Not in the cocky, arrogant manner he’s infamous for either. The curvature is gentle. Almost sentimental. It takes you aback and makes you wonder if your eyes are malfunctioning.

“I can’t,” he says, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “It has to be you.”

It has to be you, it has to be you, it has to be you…

These five damning words loop in your head like a mantra. Who gave him the right to sound so sincere?

“Sleep well. You get all grumpy if you don’t. Having one Utahime around is more than enough, I don’t need you getting on my case too.”

Satoru turns around, pulling one hand out from his pocket to wave halfheartedly. You observe his retreating figure before snapping out of your daze. He drops a cryptic line like that and dares to casually waltz away, whistling while he does so! The nerve! The audacity! The whistling is off-pitch too! Jujutsu Tech seriously needs to consider adding music theory to the curriculum.

You jog to catch up with him and his stupidly long legs.

“Hey, Satoru!” You call out.

He stops and looks at you from over his shoulder.

“If you’re gonna watch out for me, I plan to return the favor,” you say, your tone leaving no room to argue. “You hear me?”

He waits until he’s facing forward again to respond. For this reason, you can’t see his expression. All you can make out is the outline of him giving a thumbs up, the edges of his skin swathed in silvery moonlight.

“Mhm. Loud and clear.”

December 23rd, 2017.

8:02 p.m.

You assess the man in front of you.

Pearly white hair, bandages wrapped around his eyes, a lean and towering figure… it’s Satoru, alright. There’s no mistaking his remarkable cursed energy. You could sense it — sense him — even in your deepest sleep. Amongst those at Jujutsu Tech, you’re the only one who can tell when he’s about to warp out of thin air. It’s become a running joke of sorts. Gojo Satoru has the Six Eyes and you possess a sixth sense for him.

Or so you thought.

“Are you hearing yourself?”

He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. “Loud and clear, yeah.”

“This isn’t funny, Satoru!”

“I’m not laughing, am I?”

“No, but,” you inhale shakily, wisely taking a second to tame your tongue. “You’re not taking this seriously— not taking me seriously.”

He frowns. You come close to regretting your words, falling just a few inches short. Arguments aren’t your forte. Determining when to surrender ground, bolster your defenses, or charge into enemy territory; this is a skill that requires practice. Especially when facing Satoru. You don’t want to consider him an opponent, but that’s what he feels like right now. An imposing wall blocking you from the road you have to take.

You regret turning up the duplex’s heat. Chilly as it is outside in the throes of winter, the air in this room has become scorching.

“Is that genuinely what you think?”

And there it is. He already knows the answer, as do you. He simply wants you to have your confession on record.

You grab the water bottle you left on the kitchen countertop, drinking enough to help ease the lump in your throat. This isn’t the time to cry. Not yet. Not before anything major occurs. The crisis hasn’t taken the stage, Christmas Eve holds that honor. Illogical as it may be, you don’t think you’ve earned the emotional release crying brings. That should remain a consolation prize to you in the future.

The you who will witness the horrors Geto Suguru plans to orchestrate.

The you who will learn how this decade-long saga ends.

Can the human heart endure anguish worse than this?

Tomorrow, this question will receive an answer, whether you want it or not.

“... It isn’t.”

“Good,” he says, somehow soft and firm. He opens up his arms. “C’mere.”

You’re sinking into him before he finishes the word. He secures you against his chest and the two of you tangle together like you’d unravel should you part. Satoru rests his chin on the crown of your head, mindlessly tracing patterns into your back. Or so you think, until you recognize the distinct grooves and curves of the characters which form Gojo.

He engraves it into you over and over again as if casting a spell.

This action must soothe him. You count each thump of his heart, noting how it settles into a steadier rhythm as the seconds tick by. The world’s strongest sorcerer is made of flesh and blood just like you are. It’s easy to forget that those you love and admire are mortal, regardless of how well they hide it. Those close to godhood must act the part, lest their audience murmur in suspicion.

“I don’t think I could do it, Toru.”

He doesn’t need to ask what you mean.

“Intentionally killing someone… could there be anything worse than that?”

No, you desperately scream to your younger self, as if there were any way to make her hear you. There really isn’t.

“I know.”

“... Could you?”

Satoru’s muscles stiffen. From this alone, you can glean his answer. From your lack of prodding, he must piece this together too. Talkative as you both are, it’s in these pockets of total silence that your communication shines best. Everything from the subtle hitching of breath to the twitch of one another’s lips reveals streams of information to sift through.

You can tell he doesn’t want to let you go, but you manage to wriggle out of his vice-like grip, creating a few inches of distance.

Reaching up, you undo the bandages around his eyes. He leans down to aid you in your task. Once the last strip comes off, you fold the linen neatly and put it aside. Satoru’s pretty eyes follow your every movement. When your attention returns to him, it’s impossible to overlook how hard he’s straining to fight back a smile.

He quickly abandons the farce.

Large hands seek out yours. Subconsciously, you meet him halfway, automatically drawn to him as if you were both different ends of a magnet. His slender fingers interlace with yours. His countenance radiates such fondness, such unfiltered reverence, that you find yourself getting embarrassed.

“W-What?” You choke out.

“Just thinking about how I’m the luckiest guy alive, is all,” he hums. His grin widens at how his unabashed compliments fluster you. Shame isn’t in his lexicon. “You went from looking like you wanted to bite my head off to doting on me.”

You roll your eyes yet chuckle nonetheless. He visibly perks up at the sound. He must’ve made you laugh thousands of times over the years, but he still treats each instance as if he’d experienced the most delightful composition.

He whispers your name.

“You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then do this for me, baby.”

“But…” you trail off, unable and perhaps unwilling to reinforce your argument, “Everyone is going to be risking their lives. Nanamin, Ijichi, ours and Iori’s students; even Shoko’s going out on the field. How am I supposed to sit still knowing that?”

“You don’t have to sit still, my little energizer bunny.”

The deadpan look he receives has him (wisely) reconsidering his word choice.

“I’m not asking because I don’t trust you, I’m asking because there’s no one I trust more,” Satoru tries again. You bite your lower lip. It’s unfair how much his rare glimpses of sincerity move you.

“And this is all based on a hunch?”

“Mhm.”

Satoru lifts your left hand. He caresses your skin, his smile softening into something tender. An expression that’s exclusively for you.

“Historically, my hunches are rather reliable.”

You can’t argue with the truth.

Suguru appears to have some unknown design for Okkotsu Yuta, who is to remain at Jujutsu Tech during the Night Parade of a Hundred Demons. The special-grade curse Orimoto Rika poses too many risks for him to be on the battlefield alongside allies. Since everyone down to the Ainu society is being called upon to deal with this threat, you’ve been awaiting your assignment. There’s no way they wouldn’t utilize every resource available.

Satoru ruined this assumption.

He personally requested that you remain on standby at the school.

He didn’t even tell you this himself. You found out from Maki of all people, who earlier asked why you were stuck ‘babysitting the exchange student.’ You were confused. This made her confused. Then you both remembered the menace that is Gojo Satoru and everything started adding up.

His explanation upon answering the phone?

“Oh, I was just getting around to telling you about that!”

Needless to say, you didn’t share his enthusiasm.

“Alright,” you sigh. “I’ll keep an eye on Yuta until everything is finished.”

Content, he squeezes your hand. As he does so, the gemstone on your ring finger catches the light, mesmerizing you both.

You close your eyes and smile.

‘Call it intuition,’ huh?

#gojo x reader #gojo satoru x reader #satoru x reader #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen #reader insert #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jjk x reader #golden girl #my stuff

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moodymisty · 2 months

Note

May I request a yandere primarch of your choice getting very jealous after seeing you laughing with one of his brothers at a party and then dragging you back to his room after to remind you who you belong to?

[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Author's Note: the community wanted Yandere Horus, so Yandere Horus you all shall have. I hope you enjoy, anon. I'm ok with this, but there's more I wanted to do. But at the end of the day I had to just bite the bullet and post it so I can take a break without this looming over me.

Summary: It's the first real outing since you've been officially named as Horus' beloved, and he realizes how much he dislikes how curious everyone is of you.

Relationships: Horus Lupercal/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Big Dick Lupercal, Takes place well before the Heresy, Yandere, Toxic relationship, That typical sort of yandere dubcon but not really dubcon kinda thing, Breeding kink if you squint, Size kink/Size difference, Getting absolutely obliterated by a ten foot tall man built like a truck, if you squinted hard you could take some dialogue as a bit sexist but it’s a stretch, Aftercare? lmao this is 40k

Word Count: 2714

Perhaps you aren't the foremost expert on parties, but the last you had thought, a party was supposed to be...

Fun.

And lacking in the drawl of military strategy and logistics. This seems more so like an ineffective way for the High lords of Terra and other high value persons of the Militarium to speak to the Primarchs and their captains, but with wine involved.

As the recently crowned Lady Lupercal, many of those high value persons are now eager to make friends with you, attempting to smile as wide as comfortably possible and earn any sort of good will they can. For many of them speaking to a Primarch, let alone making connections of a Legion would be hysterically rare; Though it seems many of them have the idea to do so through you.

Horus had warned you of it, so you suppose you shouldn't be so surprised.

Only just now have you managed to get away from them all, taking solace in a quiet corner of the palace. A Custodes on guard had given you an odd look- and by look you mean just a glance from the corner of his eyes- but he seems content to allow you somewhat near him as long as you remain quiet. Though you suppose you can't remain here for long. You have to be a part of all this, as much as you might dread it.

“Lady Lupercal?”

You turn the moment you hear the distinctive accent of Macragge-born Guilliman, who approaches you as you stand close to one of the palace's myriad of balconies. That title still feels odd to hear. He brushes just past you to stand on it, and waits until you join him. His head is tilted downward at an angle to make eye contact with you.

It's night now, and you can see the lights of hundreds of ships orbiting Terra up high above. It darkens his armor and the lights of the palace cast a harsh shadow on Guilliman's clean face.

"Had your fill of this evening?"

Normally Guilliman is quite forthright, so his small talk is a bit of a surprise. Everything has lead you to believe he was a very politely blunt sort. Though you've only spoken to the Primarch a handful of times, and very briefly.

Only just recently as Horus has made it known to everyone that you are his beloved, have you begun speaking to his legion; And his fellow Primarchs.

"A little bit. I just need a bit of air, and then I'll come back."

Guilliman crosses his arms over the delicate and expensive looking robes he currently wears, having shed his armor for the evening. It must be from his home world, judging by the interesting style and shape.

"I am a bit surprised he's thrown you to the wolves like this. Before, he was quite secretive about you." You doubt Horus would let you leave his sight unless it was extremely important, and it's not as if you can rely on him forever. Or demand him to stay.

"I assumed someone had managed to catch his attention enough for me to get lost." Guilliman shifts his weight slightly, and lets out a very quiet chuckle. It's sincerity makes you smile.

"Don't tell any of the others, but we've all gotten lost our fair share of times in this maze of a palace." He rubs his temple with two fingers. "It just keeps growing, it's like a Labyrinth. I've begun to wonder if Dorn will ever cease."

His genuine exasperation makes you laugh. It's such a human gesture, and such a human problem. It's quite easy to forget they are human, at times.

You hadn't realized you'd been smiling the whole time, but it grows when you see his disgruntled face. It goes away however when he realizes he amused you.

"If I figure it out before you, maybe I'll make us a map." Guilliman smiles.

"I will hold you to that, you know. If cartography isn't yet familiar to you, perhaps you should begin learning."

You were about to respond to him, a smile on your face, but Guilliman turns his head away towards the inside of the palace; Your own gaze follows shortly thereafter.

He must've heard Horus before he could see him, because not moments later you can see Horus walking towards the both of you; His pelt shifts on his shoulders as he does. He makes a straight line towards the balcony the both of you stand on and ignores anyone else along his path.

"Here you are," Horus smiles at you, but it's not his usual one. The one that's warm and casts the room and a pleasant atmosphere. "I see you've been chatting with one of my brothers." You nod with the smile Guilliman gave you still partly on your face, but before you can speak anything more- perhaps what the two of you were talking about- Horus does so for you.

"Perhaps we should take our leave for the evening. It is quite late, and it seems nothing or anyone worthwhile is going to make it's appearance."

He looks towards Guilliman and for a split second it almost seems like an argument is beginning to brew, with the way they're looking at each other; Guilliman is confused and defensive while Horus' jaw tenses. You can't understand how his mood has so suddenly changed, neither can Guilliman clearly, but it seems something has happened in your absence.

Now you stand literally and figuratively in the middle, before retreating your Primarch's side. He will always serve as your anchor, even when he's this turbulent.

Guilliman simply gives a curt hum in response, and seemingly decides to not uncover Horus' sudden change in disposition.

"Very well. I hope the rest of your evening fares you well," He looks down to you, though the pleasant aura he had has now returned to the cold and structured one he is known for. "And I enjoyed our chat."

Horus gives Guilliman no more than placeholder platitudes and farewells, of which the man takes with a short nod, before leaving with you in tow to return to his chambers.

That entire trip to return to them, is intense.

There is no chatter, and Horus doesn't even have the soft upturn of his lips he usually wears. Instead his face his firm, with something clearly boiling beneath the surface. You wonder if it's something from when he was gone that you could ask about, when he isn't in such a sensitive state.

Even as friendly and easygoing as Horus is, his fellow Primarchs are largely not the same apart from a few, and you wouldn't be surprised if one of them managed to- in a phrase not suited to describe a Primarch- pissed him off.

When you enter the deepest most room in Horus' wing of the palace, what serves as his bedroom, you suddenly feel his hand on your shoulder. You would've turned around even if he hadn't done it for you, as he takes a knee to get more on even height with you. But even with it, you still have to almost look slightly up at him.

Suddenly that hand on your shoulder moves to your face, gripping your jaw and forcing you to look at him. That firm, irritated face has been replaced with an angry, irritated expression. His nose slightly wrinkles at the top, brow furrowed.

He holds your jaw tight, but you’re not fooled into thinking it’s anywhere near him putting in effort.

“What is your title.”

You’re confused for a moment, frightened by the look in his eyes, as he adjusts his grip. You try to stay his name, but it just comes out as a confused stutter. He reiterates with more clarity.

“What is the title I gave you.”

You grasp his wrist tight and whimper out:

“L-Lady Lupercal.”

The noise that arises from him is somewhere between a hum and a growl.

“Did you forget it while you were busy being a little coquette in front of my brother?”

You hadn’t; It had been the focus of your short conversation with Guilliman. You’d tried your hardest to be nothing but polite to him, with the formality expected of speaking to a Primarch. But this is all new to you; Whatever Horus saw wasn’t there, and you’re desperate to prove as such.

"N-No, he just came up to me and I was trying to be polite, Guilli-"

He swallows the name of his fellow primarch with his lips, pressing them against your own. It's angry; Forceful. You can feel his hot breath on your skin as he takes in heavy breaths, and how tense he feels. You moan softly into his mouth but even the brief moment of pleasure is overcast by Horus’ fuming anger.

He pulls away from your lips with a soft pop, and still in a kneel begins undoing the broach of his cape. Once it falls to the floor his eyes meet yours and he states:

"Take it off."

His sentence is vague and you stand unsure in the gargantuan room, as he now removes his wristguards. Once they're off, he puts a hand on your waist and pushes upward, disturbing the fabric of your dress. You feel it pull and stretch against his hand, as if it’s little more than parchment. He could ruin it all in one fell tear.

"I am being patient with you."

It's hard to disobey a primarch, especially one staring at you with those eyes. The fabric of your dress falls to the floor moments later, undone and forgotten. You step out from the circle it makes at your feet.

You imagine the only reason he hadn't simply destroyed it was after having it made just for you, in the colors of the Sons of Horus and to his exact specifications- their legion mother needed to be in worthy attire he has said- his patience won out over the potential days of headache.

But it feels like a blink you go from standing to being nearly swallowed by his sea of a bed, blankets tussled around your naked form. You think you might’ve backed up until you fell onto it, but it’s all a blur.

"The Crusade has taken much of my time, and since I have introduced you to my brothers, perhaps you have forgotten your place,” He says as he undoes the fastening of his belt.

Even on pieces of furniture meant to handle a man of such size it still buckles and bows underneath his weight, shifting your body as he cages you underneath him. His hand grips your thigh, and the sheer size forces them apart. Your body tenses and squirms underneath him.

To think such a short conversation would've had him so fuming, as his hand presses against your cunt. It makes your lips purse and and words that you might’ve considered saying don’t even leave your lips. His fingers roughly press through your folds curl inside of you, an aching stretch that has you squirming underneath him.

Though it’s not as if you have any chance of moving, even the slightest bit of his strength has you completely at his mercy.

You can feel his anger in every motion, but your blood is pounding in your ears enough that you can barely hear him. You think you might've said his name, told him to slow down, but even if you had he doesn't listen in the slightest.

Pulling his hand away from between your thighs he’s quick to flip you onto your stomach, and you lay exposed before you suddenly feel him press again the back of your thighs.

In an odd, impossible to explain way, you at times almost forget that your beloved towers over you at near or over double your height. That he possesses neigh untenable strength.

Now is a moment you do, as he presses his hips against your ass and buries you in the plush material of the bed.

Your fingers grip the blanket like a lifeline as he buries himself as deep as he possibly can, staying for a moment for seemingly little other reason than to torture you. Even with only the slightest bit of his weight on you, you feel trapped and barely able to move.

It's taken time for you to get used to taking Horus without hours of preparation- and while it still does take time, you'll always feel like he's overtaken your entire stomach. It’s that teetering on the edge of pain that has you gasping, a body not made for him being forced to. Horus is normally exceedingly gentle, but less so tonight. He is at least gentle enough as to not break you.

Whatever he saw that wasn't there between you and Guilliman, he seems intent on teaching you a lesson on not doing.

“Horus, pl-“

His massive hand grips the blanket beside your head as he grunts overtop of you.

“You are the legion mother of my sons.”

Your back arches and lips purse as his cock brushes against places so deep that it almost has your eyes watering. You swallow the massive knot in your throat and try not let out enough noise that passersby could hear.

“You will be the mother of my blooded sons, one day.”

The implication has your heart race with fear and something else as the primarch holds you down. You barely have the time to think about it, it only sends a jolt of feeling right down your spine into your gut.

Given his size it’s so easy to push you around, that he often times has to press on your shoulder and hold you like some sort of toy. Even the softest thrust can push you forward and nearly off of him; You don't have the strength to hold strong against it.

Worn and tired your nerves spark from so much sensation, cunt tightening around him. Horus continues to thrust into you with little care and your teeth grind, toes curling.

It feels good, so good, but it teeters on the edge of dangerous. Especially knowing his mood. Then again, sometimes even the simplest things are dangerous, with someone like him.

The primarch curses and swears in both high and low gothic as he finally cums inside of you, the inhuman amount leaking from you when he pulls out.

Horus looks over you, and it seems whatever you’d seen in him earlier is gone- for the time being. Even if you can't look directly at him, it's almost as if you can feel the emotion in the room change. More odd Primarch things, you assume. Not that it matters much in the end.

You lay tired, legs limp as your body aches.

Perhaps in the moment it may feel good, very much so, but oftentimes your body then reminds you that it isn’t made for a Primarch. Particularly one who decides not to be gentle with you.

There has time where no one sees even a hint of you for days, after he's done with you. He apologizes it for it, but you can always tell with that smile of his, he isn't actually apologetic.

He gently pushes you with a hand to that you roll on your back, and you look up at him worried, wondering if he's still angry.

“I am sorry, my love.” His words are sweet like wine, like they so often are, as his hand not gently holds your cheek. He isn't anymore, and you don't question it. You don't want to bring it back.

Though this isn't the first time he's become this way, though it is the first time he's done something physical in response.

“Now that my brothers know of you, I can’t help but feel as if they might take you from me, once they realize how perfect you are.”

There’s words you want to say, many of them, but you can’t manage it. Only a requited whisper of love is what you manage to say. Horus takes it well and his saccharine sweet smile always manages to pull you in and ignore the things behind it.

“I only wish for you to be mine. Always and forever.”

#horus lupercal x reader #primarch x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting #DOBBIE IS FREE!

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creative-caramel-coffee · 11 months

Text

Fever and Fainting

Pairings: Wandanat x R

Word count: 1.6K

Summary: being sick sucked a little less with your girlfriends.

TW: vomiting, fainting (i guess?), like one swear word

A/N this is my first fic so it might kinda suck sorry

You had spent the last five days looking after your old neighbours kid who was sick, so it was no surprise to you when you woke up feeling like your head was packed with sand. The headache you could deal with but the pit of nausea that seemed to only get worse had you throwing back the sheets and sprinting to the ensuite in a heartbeat. As your dinner from the night before made a reappearance you thanked whatever gods were out there Nat and Wanda had training early this morning and weren’t there to watch. As much as you loved them you had never once been sick whilst together. Sure Wanda had the flu a couple months back and Nat had been great but this was different. This wasn’t the flu, and frankly you didn’t know what it was yet. You flushed the toilet and wiped your mouth, wanting nothing more than to climb back into bed. Fixing your hair in the mirror you saw how pale you looked. Ghostly. Changing into Nat’s fluffy long pants and Wandas sweatshirt, and throwing on some makeup you walked down to the kitchen. Pulling your hands into the sleeves as a chill ran up your spine. Clint was sat in the kitchen as Wanda made breakfast Nat hovering nearby and stealing bacon.

The sound of your girls laughing made it an easy decision. You weren’t going to tell them. They looked so happy and they had just come back from a week long mission in Moscow and needed some time to relax. You’d taken a swig of anti-nausea meds that had tasted like dirt so you thought everything would be fine. Clearing your throat, the girls looked up. It had been a bad idea. Now along with the headache your throat hurt too. Smiling you gave them a hug dodging their kisses to your cheek, you missed they looks of surprise. You never avoided kisses. Once you sat down at the table your body seemed to suddenly gain mass. Your limbs now felt like dead weights and it was somehow getting colder. Suppressing a shiver, Wanda came over with a plate of bacon and toast, knowing your dislike for eggs. But after only a couple bites you went back into the kitchen to “get more”, but really you simply put back what you didn’t eat and left.

Wanda frowned at the slightly larger pile of food in the kitchen, her and Nat knew you were acting odd, but lying to them and not eating wasn’t something you did.

Your legs screamed at you as you walked back to the lift. When your eyes landed on your bed your legs seemed to not take no for an answer. Eyes rolling back in your head you didn’t hear the door open.

Walking into their shared room to find you halfway to the floor wasn’t something Nat had ever planned on. “Y/N!” She yelled, reaching you a second too late and having to watch you head connect with the floor. Nat rushed over pulling your unconscious body into her arms.

“Friday, alert Wanda that i need her now.”

“Right away Ms. Roman-off”

A second later Wanda appeared in the doorway.

“Nat you needed m- OMG what happened.” Wanda raced to Nat’s side who now had you clutched tightly to her.

“Im not sure she just passed out, I only got here in time to see her hit her head when she fell” Wanda tapped you cheek lightly in an attempt to brig you around.

“Y/n/n. Wake up sweetheart. Come on”

A muffled sound pulled you out of wherever you were. But as it came clearer so did the pain in your head which had increased ten fold. Groaning you made out the voice to be Wandas.

“Baby, are you ok” Wanda laid a hand on your cheek, only to sharply pull it back a moment later.

“Shit Nat she’s burning up.”

A moment later another hand placed on your cheek. Leaning into the cold touch you moaned slightly at the feeling. Too tired and sick to be embarrassed. Suddenly your eye flew open and you frantically tried to extract yourself from the assassins arms. Wandas eye went wide at your loud thoughts, quickly passing you a bin as what little breakfast you had tumbled into it. Nat’s hands drew back your hair as Wanda shushed you and traced patterns on your back. Tears slipped down you cheeks, you hated being sick. When you were done your head lolled, the girls quick to pull you back before you ended up in your own sick.

“Sweetheart can you hear me?” Wanda asked, you groaned in response, both girls too concerned to laugh, they exchanged looks of worry.

“I’ll take that as a yes” Nat smiled softly.

“Can you stand up baby we need to get your fever down.”

“Based off the pink medicine in the bin I’d say you knew you were sick already, didn’t you” Nat poked.

Wanda glared at her for a moment mouthing “not now” to her. You turned your face into Nat’s shoulder as she picked you up. Wanda already in the next room drawing a tepid bath. You were too tired to process what was happening and too sick to care, as they peeled off your clothes. Damp with your sweat. You half stood half leaned on the counter shaking violently as the girls watched the bath water fill up the tub. When Nat lowered you into the water, which felt freezing against you skin, you almost cried. Clinging to her they shushed you. Together they washed your skin free of the sweat, before wrapping you in a soft fluffy towel and dressing you in Nat and Wanda’s spare Pjs.

Nat carried you back to the bed as Wanda went off in search of a bucket.

“M’ s’rry” you mumbled, feeling slightly more lucid after the bath.

“Oh sweetheart” Wanda said walking back in. “You don’t need to be sorry.”

“You cant help being sick” Nat agreed. The two girls joining you on the bed. Nat ran her hands through your hair whilst Wanda traced shapes on your leg. Slowly you drifted off to sleep.

Only to be awoken a couple hours later in violent need of the bucket Wanda had set down by the bed. Crawling over the top of your girls legs, you hung off the edge of the bed as you threw up again into the bucket. Waking both girls up in the process. You found your hair being pulled back again. Nothing came up but bile, your stomach having rejected all food earlier. More tears fell as you finished, strong hands pulling you back up onto the bed. You sniffled snuggling into their embrace as they whispered sweet nothings in you ear.

“Oh sweet girl. Do you feel better now?” Wanda asked, sighing in relief at you little nod.

“Not going to go again?” Nat asked, sweeping you hair back from your eyes. You shook you head slightly as more tears fell. With the pad of her thumb Wanda brushed them away, as Nat peppered your cheek with kisses.

As you fell asleep again, the two girls shared a look. Normally you were never so quiet and needy, but then again they had never seen you sick before. Pulling you closer to them they spoke in hushed tones. Agreeing if you didn’t get better soon, especially after giving you meds they would take you to Bruce. It seemed you fever had broke but the vomiting hadn’t stopped. Each time they fed you food, soup or other light things it simply came back up around a half hour later. After almost two days Nat and Wanda carried you to Bruce’s lab. Your half asleep form clutched to Wanda’s chest, as you watched through half lidded eyes.

After running some tests Bruce confirmed a bad case of the stomach flu. Giving the girls some stronger meds and a sick bag for the trip back to your room. He gave you some meds and small nibble of food. As the meds were ones you couldn’t take on an empty stomach. You made it all the way to the lift before your eyes snapped open and you threw up on Wanda and yourself. Bursting into tears, Nat and Wanda shared a surprised look before reassuring you and telling you it was alright.

“Its ok sweet girl i know you didn’t mean to.” Wanda cooed brushed back your hair.

“Come on we’ll go back and you can both shower.” Nat smiled pulling Wanda and you down the hall.

After a shower the three of you were back in bed. The two girls verbally wrestling with you and begging you to have more to eat.

“Come on baby we’ll even let you choose the movie.” Wandas hands held the awful syrup you’d come to despise. Sighing deeply you opened your mouth allowing them to give you the medicine. After twenty minutes, the girls watched you sleep ready to give you a sick bag, not wanting a repeat of the lift situation. Chicago PD playing on the tv in the background. When a half hour passed and so did an hour they relaxed some. Keeping the sick bag by the bed if you needed it later. Snuggling up to you they held you close as you all fell asleep. That night you only woke up twice to be sick, both times your girls held you and comforted you until you were asleep again.

Over the next few days you slowly came good again. Back to your usual self, life in the compound returned to normal. Or as normal as it can be for a witch, an assassin and their girlfriend.

Master list

#wandanat #marvel #sicfic #fanficton #sickness #fever whump #the avengers #wanda maximoff #natasha romanov #natasha romaoff #wandanat x reader #sick reader #self insert #whump fic #fluff

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gretahayes · 1 year

Note

Favourite tim drake recs? :0

Assuming you mean fanfic recs, I've got probably the most for him and this is long, so it's going under the cut;

This is genuinely one of my favorites, it's set post-Red Robin, and deals with Tim's vigilante stalking habits, his family finding out, Cass realizing there's no photos of Tim, them setting out to take/find some of him (a much harder feat than you'd think) and finally, Tim seeing the photos. It's amazing and sweet, and I can't recommend it enough. (I especially like the Bruce & Tim and Tim & Damian in this)

This is by the same author, also set post-Red Robin. This is Damian and Tim focused, Damian POV, in which Damian sees Bruce's contingency plans for him and the rest of the family, and with nobody else to turn to, runs for Tim. Canon divergent in the way Bruce doesn't have a contingency for his children, neither does Tim for his team, or them for him, but it kinda makes sense in this setting. Their interactions are amazing here, and seems so real.

In this, Tim gets a tonsillectomy. An elaboration in the form of a long fic. A must-read, I feel. It's funny and has so many feels and such good characterization.

!!! Can't believe I almost forgot about this one! Tim is Bruce's assistant, not son, and never became a vigilante. He's incredibly overworked, but no less dedicated to the Waynes. It's heartwrenching and sweet and funny and—words can't do it justice. It's a must read. The Al Ghuls make a cameo but Tim knows how to deal with them. Tim's deeply sad but next to nobody knows and those that do just accept it (including him). Kon is the MVP. Cass. Damian and Tim have an odd bond built of mutual respect and disdain for everyone around them. Luthor tries to recruit Tim every year and fails.

This is funny and amazing—Tim lands in a universe where he's technically considered a drug addict, since coffee is a drug and in the regular universe everyone drinks it.

The YJ fic Ever. I've recced this at least three times, and I will continue to. It's amazing characterization all around—both YJ and batfam—and genuinely is so fun. I love everyone in this. When an unknown enemy threatens Robin, Gotham's vigilantes come together to keep him safe. Unfortunately, they're protecting the wrong Robin. Or: Tim Drake plans his own rescue. Things get complicated.

This is Tim & Damian—Tim gets his overprotective big brother moment :) love love LOVE the way everyone is written here.

This is short and hilarious—Tim has amnesia after a head wound (can only remember back to his YJ days) and tries to bullshit his way out of anyone noticing. He might have succeeded if not for Cass.

This is a time loop fic, switching POVs. Tim's stuck in a time loop in which Jason always dies. The loop before the one this was set in, he accidentally kills Damian out of stress and too-fast reflexes. He breaks down when he sees Damian again, the whole thing unravels, and they resolve to help him out of it.

THIS SERIES MAKES ME FERAL. Jack, Tim and sometimes Dana, set when Jack made Tim quit from Robin. Horror-type elements and beautifully poetic, but centered around Jack's POV of the son he realizes he doesn't know, and him realizing he may be a shit dad. Dana's the best stepmom ever, and Tim's far nicer to her than he is Jack. This is the first work, in which Jack tries and fails to understand this Tim, and realizes that this Tim is Robin, not Tim. This is the second (and last) work in the series, in which Tim hasn't fully quit the lifestyle even though he's not going out as Robin, but Jack has no proof he hasn't. Just a hunch and a few odd occurrences that us, the readers, who are familiar with Tim's hero life will find obvious, but Jack does not. Dana makes Tim happier, more Tim than Tim-Robin, than Jack does, and Jack hates it. Near the end, he starts calling Tim Robin, not Tim. I LOVE it. Even if you hate Jack (like I do) you need to read this, for the Tim characterization if nothing else. Outsider POV, except he shouldn't be an outsider. But he is.

This is so fucking funny. Tim gets a matching tattoo with Kon, and hides it from Bruce. When Bruce—and the rest of his family—find out, all goes to hell.

Remember when I said the Jack and Tim series was only slightly horror? This is horror. Bruce's got a habit of picking up monsters, and this one is about Tim. If you're sensitive to horror, please read the tags and maybe avoid it, because this is delightful but not for everyone.

In this, Tim becomes an unintentional sugar daddy to the caped community. It's a bit iffy in some places, but hilarious.

This is Dick and Tim (surprised it took me this long to rec one with them as the main focus tbh) and it's Dick checking up on his little brother. Pure fluff, and genuinely amazing.

This is Tim & Bruce but also Tim & Tam in some places. Bruce forgets Tim is the majority shareholder for WE and is thus invited to shareholder meetings, Tim finds this very amusing and is generally a menace. You can FEEL the teenager in this Tim. Amazing.

Tim's de-aged to a kid in this, and re-meets his family. Fluff and feels ensue.

This is Bruce and Tim. Bruce isn't prepared for his newest Robin's neuroses.

This has Tim & Cassie meeting at an archaeologist event as kids and having to fight a monster thing :) it's cute

GODDD this fic? This fic ruined me. Beautiful Tim characterization, a gorgeous look at Bruce and how much he fucks up despite caring, and Dick being a stressed but amazing big brother with gorgeous writing. I love their brotherly affections here, and Tim's weird neuroses being shown here. Tim & Bruce is how it starts, and it's very much centered around their relationship, but it tapers off into Dick & Tim, which I'm not complaining about. Kon (and Bart!) makes a cameo and is an amazing friend. Can't rec this enough. If you read none of the other fics, please read this one.

This is Dick and Tim again. Dick forces Tim to go undercover with him to an Elvis convention in a thinly veiled attempt to spend time with the brother who he doesn't think knows how much he loves him. It's set in Tim's POV, though, so until Dick says this, Tim doesn't know. Hilarious and short.

This is Dick and Tim (who's surprised? Nobody) where Dick goes to Robin!Tim's science fair because Tim mentioned it and well, nobody else was going. Short and sweet.

This deals with the batfam finding out about the shitshow that was Tim's BruceQuest. If you're a stickler for canon I'd recommend you skip this one, but if not, it's a great read.

This is Dick and Tim again, and it's amazing. Tim's alone on Christmas Eve. Dick finds out, and does something about it. It's Robin!Tim, so this is Dick, Babs and Tim. This author is amazing at writing their interactions, plus inside Dick's head is a tricky place to write and they nail it perfectly. Mostly Dick & Tim, but since he invites Tim to Babs' holiday party, Babs makes a good number of cameos.

This is Tim talking a jumper off the ledge while Damian watches. Then they talk about it. Tim from Damian's POV is always interesting, but this especially is amazing.

This is a core four fic, Tim's POV! Pure humor. Tim finds a dildo in the dishwasher and he drags them for a team meeting so he can sus out whose it is.

I've recced this before, I think, but I'll do it again. Red Robin canon divergence fic in which Bruce is actually dead, and Tim calls Dick to tell him he thinks he may have been wrong. Dick's POV, short, but the emotion in this is outstanding.

In this fic, Damian has trouble with the transition from Dick's Batman to Bruce's Batman. Tim, who's also had both, is surprisingly helpful. This has so many Tim and Damian feels that I'm literally bursting at the seams. Melancholy, camaraderie, and all the good stuff. Damian's POV, and since he sucks at so much as guessing at what's going on in Tim's head, it's all the more great.

This is Dick and Tim, a soft Christmastime fic.

This is Bruce and Tim. Bruce and Tim have a sort-of game that started when Tim was thirteen. Initially, it was Tim stealing sips (or occasionally whole mugs) of Bruce’s coffee, back when he was too young for Alfred to allow him to drink it. Now, though, Bruce is getting his own back, and steals Tim’s coffee when he can. Sweet and fluffy.

Here, Tim gets a headwound and only remembers back to his Robin days, and forgets to be awkward around Dick and Damian. Tugs at the heartstrings. Dick's reminded of how much he misses this Tim.

This is really funny. Remember that time during the YJ days where the adult heroes were de-aged and the kid ones grew to be adults? Tim didn't reach six foot. In this, he's mocked ruthlessly for it.

Here, Tim goes to high school again after dropping out :) it's core four and hilarious

In this, Tim accidentally kills his dad in self defense—or rather, thinks he does, Jack's still alive but he doesn't know that until Dick shows up—and scrambles to call Dick. He calls Jason instead. Dick eventually gets called and shows up, and the brotherly feels in this are amazing. Tim's in shock for a good portion of it, and it's his POV, so you've got to piece some stuff together. Bad dad Jack, as in worse than canon bad dad Jack. Tugs on the heartstrings, and have I said I love Dick in this? Because I do. Bruce shows up near the end, and to everyone's surprise, doesn't absolutely fuck things up and/or fail as a parent.

Here, Tim is sick and alone. Dick, after not hearing from Tim at all for three days, goes to his apartment, finds him sick, and takes care of him. Eventually he gets dragged to the Manor for some actual r&r. It's sweet, and this writer has an amazing way with words and an intriguing flow.

In this, Bruce knows Tim. They have a routine, have habits, they know each other. This is so so touching, and I love it so much.

Here, Tim and Steph give Bruce a headache. It's amazing.

I..can't even begin to describe this. Bruce is fresh from the timeline, and this is a sort of introspection/character study type thing about him and Tim and how Tim's changed. Mostly, though? Mostly, Bruce just gives his son a hug.

Here, Kon is Tim's work husband. Bruce suffers. Pure fluff and humor, with a touch of feels.

Here, Bruce takes Tim to get his wisdom teeth out. They're both worried, but together, they're alright. Tim cries while doped up on the drugs. He cries a lot.

Here, 90's!Tim Drake wakes up in his Red Robin body. Exhausted from a YJ mission, he chooses to focus on getting through a normal day so as not to disrupt things for his future self. But, y'know, his way. Hilarious and so in-character, if exaggerated for comedy.

This is Tim and Damian—Damian gets hit with truth serum on patrol, and a pissed off Tim has to come and get him. Damian resolves to not tell Tim he's been hit with truth serum. They get closer as a result. Love their dynamic in this.

This is core four again, but just general teenager superhero chaos. Can't rec it enough

Here, Tim tries to build a LEGO Gotham, but his family just can't leave it—or him—alone. He calls a family meeting to tell them to knock it off, and they do not. Fluff and humor.

Here, Tim has appendicitis and gets his appendix removed. The best mix of fluff, feels, and good old complicated family dynamics ever

In this, Bruce tries to navigate giving affection to his odd son, Tim. Touching and funny.

This is Tim and Damian—Damian crashes on Tim's bed in the Watchtower when injured, Tim finds him. They talk, and maybe bond a bit, even though they'd never admit it.

Here, Bruce hugs Tim. Really nothing else to it.

Another fic where Tim wakes up with amnesia and pretends to know his family so he's not rude. He's found out when he correctly deduces Bruce is his dad, but makes the mistake of calling Bruce dad.

This is Dick and Tim again. Tim gets de-aged into a six-month-old, and Dick takes care of him. Soft and so so sweet.

In this, Tim's trying to work in his apartment when his siblings keep showing up to distract him and get him to take a break. It's sweet of them, if very annoying.

This is Bruce and Tim. Tim's injured and lying in bed, Bruce gets him takeout. Feels fuzzy and just...good. You've got to read it to know what I'm talking about, no summary does it justice.

Here, Damian tries to make amends with Tim. He does it very oddly though, so Tim thinks he has a crush on him, and avoids him all the more for it because ew-gross-ew-ew.

In this, Tim gets his teeth knocked out and grabs Dick as a mediator so he tells Bruce. Short and funny-sweet. You can tell this is in Tim's Robin run, due to all the little hints dropped.

This is Tim and Kon, funny and nonsensical. Tim calls Kon in the early hours of the morning, drunk. Kon thinks he deserves sainthood for this.

In this, Tim has road rage and most of his family find that out in the most hilarious way possible.

Bruce and Tim—a test sort of fic? Interesting, definitely.

This is timkon, Tim has memory loss and is amazed by Kon all over again.

Core four go to a gala :)

This is Dick and Tim, Tim breaks into Dick's house, accidentally interrupts his nap, tries to leave out of guilt, and gets wrangled into hugs. So so soft and so so sweet.

Another de-aged Tim fic, but this time with six year old Tim and Bruce taking care of him. This is so melancholy and...ugh. I love them.

Here, Tim and Dick are thrown into an alternate universe and have to try and get back with no other support system and no way out. They meet this world's version of Bruce and Alfred, though.

CEO Tim, and hates it. He makes that Luthor's problem.

Timkon, in which Tim plans all his dates VIA corkboard and Kon is so attracted to that.

CEO Tim (again), except he's still a teenager and people end up thinking he's a communist. This is short and hilarious all the way through. Also, Bruce is there.

This is The kid!Tim fic ever. Tim, having found a weird hole after a storm, decides to go exploring ignoring the fact that This Is Gotham and They Probably Have Cursed Stuff Down There.Luckily, it was just a cave system that spans the entire Gotham underground. Unluckily, Tim is a very curious child. Tim's a sorta eldritch being at the end?? Amazing, 100 would recommend.

In this, Tim finds out he isn't his parents' biological son. This changes everything. This changes nothing. Can't say anything else without spoiling, but I can't rec it enough.

In this fic, Bruce is back in time in Drake Manor, and meets baby Tim. It's like you're frozen in time, and all that matters is Bruce and his infant not-yet-son.

Here, Kon and Tim date. Tim's a cryptid stalker that refuses to be photographed, Dick is a big brother that loves his little brother, and it's cute.

Sorry it took me so long to compile this list anon, happy reading!

#asks #anon #tim drake #fic rec #god this is. a lot #took me a while to compile

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of-many-aus · 1 year

Text

Less Than Ideal Living Situations

Summary: you and jake are put into a situation that is less than ideal

Warning: slight mention of violence

A/N: I’m kinda worried that this sucks; but also, feel free to send in requests for one shots for this series if you feel like it!!

Take Me Out to the Ball Game Masterlist

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

You would like to reiterate the fact that this was completely Natasha Trace’s fault. Nothing about this did you do on your own free will.

She was the one who began the school year by commuting to classes after she got an apartment off campus with her boyfriend of two years, leaving you roommate-less.

True, she had apologized over and over again and even offered to keep being your roommate and give up the chance of staying with her boyfriend, but you wouldn’t let her. You were her best friend after all, and what kind of friend would you be if you kept her from happiness on your own selfish accords?

So, you reassured her that it was fine and you would find new living arrangements. She didn’t have to worry about you.

Turns out, she probably should have been worried. Because after posting up flyers all over the campus and social media- offering a room in your apartment for anyone who would like to accept your offer- not a single reply came your way.

That was when you really began to stress out.

It was one day until roommates had to be finalized, and you didn’t have one.

You had even begun to contemplate how you could trick the college staff into thinking that you were still with Nat, but not a single idea that could actually be done without breaking a couple of laws came to mind.

Then, a notification came through on your phone halfway through history class. Someone had accepted your offer.

The relief and joy that spread through you was almost too overpowering to even read the name of the person that would be your new roommate.

Jake Seresin.

Star player of your college's baseball team with an ego larger than the campus and a reputation to back it up.

The two of you had literature together. That is, when he actually bothered to show up. And when he did, he would mostly sleep through it. The only reason he wasn’t failing any of his classes was because your school couldn’t afford losing the best baseball player they had seen in over fifteen years. According to the gossiping group of girls you overheard in the dining hall, that is.

It was clearly too close to the final date to change it and desperately try to search everywhere for somebody else- anybody else- so now, you would just have to suffer through it.

“-and then, I went to go check on Jake, only to find him face down on the lawn.” Bradley Bradshaw, first baseman for the baseball team, laughed, shifting the box in his arms, “So naturally, we all just decided roommates without him. I mean, he should have seen it coming. There’s an odd number of us, including our manager, so of course one of us is going to have to find a different living arrangement- he just shouldn’t have missed it. It’s a good thing he saw your ad though, or else he might be living in the alley behind the campus kitchen-“

The man had been happily chatting your ear off for the last hour now, as he helped his friend unload all of his stuff into your apartment. And while he seemed nice enough, you just wished he would stop talking. You were exhausted and, quite frankly, nervous about the whole situation, so you weren’t exactly in a chatty mood.

Both of you walked through the door of your apartment after trudging up the stairs for the tenth time

“Rooster, leave the girl alone. You’re gonna scare my new roommate away.” Jake's voice floated smoothly through his lips and reached your ears in a way that made you shiver. You now had to live with this man.

Bradley grinned, “You don’t need me for that, Hangman, I trust that you’re gonna do that all by yourself.”

It was an annual tradition at your school that every athlete as a freshman in your sports centered college would get a nickname that would follow along with them for the rest of their years.

You gave the blond a tight lipped smile, “Not yet scared away.”

The man beside you dropped the box onto the ground beside all the other ones, “Welp, that’s the last of them, Bagman.”

Your smile morphed into a small, genuine one as you turned to face him, “Thank you for the help.”

He threw a playful wink at you, “Anytime. Just give me a call if Seresin is giving you any trouble. I’ll rough him up for you.”

A laugh left your lips as Bradley gave you a two finger salute before turning on his heel and exiting your apartment, ignoring the warning look his teammate was giving him.

There was a silence that followed Bradshaw's absence, as if any form of conversation had been taken by the hand and led out by the man.

Jake cleared his throat, drawing your eyes to lock with his devastatingly green ones, “Thank you again for letting me live here.”

There was a sort of sincerity in his voice that would have made you do a double take if you weren’t already looking at him. It was a tone that you never in a million years would have expected to hear out of him.

You coughed lightly, forcing yourself to roll your eyes, “Yeah, well, didn’t have much choice.”

His look didn’t falter like you had expected it to, “No, I suppose not.”

“Well, I’ll be in my room. Let me know if you need any help unpacking.” You desperately needed to get out of this situation.

He waved his hand dismissively, “I think I can manage.”

With that, you practically scurried off to your room, tightly closing the door behind you before sliding your back down it until your legs were curled up to your chest.

Your hand flailed to the side, gripping onto a pillow from your bed and bringing it into your lap before shoving your face into it and screaming, letting it muffle the sound.

So yes, this was completely Natasha Trace's fault. You were stuck in a small apartment with the last person you would ever had thought, and you would never let her hear the end of it.

Taglist: @djs8891 @pono-pura-vida @shanimallina87 @melllinaa @callsignbirdy @fogle97 @randomfandomgirl97

#take me out to the ball game series #jake seresin #jake seresin x y/n #jake seresin x reader #jake seresin x you #jake seresin au #top gun x you #top gun x reader #top gun x y/n #baseball au #top gun au #college au

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telvess · 8 months

Note

Headcanons for all the characters including Jack since it’s based on Hamlet watching The lion king with the reader. (the original animated movie not the live action remake.)

Record Of Ragnarok Characters x Reader watching together The Lion King (headcanons) 🔞

You know, I haven’t watched The Lion King in… well I watched it once when I was kid and that’s it. Mulan, Hercules and Tarzan were my movies. Anyway I ended up watching The Lion King again to refresh my memory.

Qin

A what? Are you involved? Then Qin would agree to do anything.

He’s like a big kid - chill and carefree, even more than usually. Both of you goof around, Mr. Emperor tries to sing without knowing words, popcorn flies around, you pause a movie in stupid moments to make him laugh etc.

You get a stomachache from laughing too much and Qin obviously has to get infected.

Just two morons have time of their afterlife.

The only moment when there is silence is when Simba loses his father. That scene just hits too close to home and remains Qin about Chun Yan. However he doesn’t let it bother him too much.

HAKUNA MATATA

You both loudly encourage lions to battle.

At the end he asks what other movies you like.

Jack

Because he isn’t familiar with the concept of love and how to express it, spending time with you is probably Jack’s way to show his affection. If you ask him to watch an animated movie together, he’d politely agree, even if it’s not his thing.

Expect tea. And cheddar apple pie.

Jack sees Simba’s journey as a lovely and naive story. Deep inside he does compare himself to that lion cub and wonders what kind of person he would've become if he had only received help from strangers. On top of that Jack actually killed his parents, so it’s odd to him to see how much Simba struggles with remorse over Mufasa’s death which wasn’t his fault.

Truth to be told Jack might mentions some quotes from Shakespeare IF you point out similarities between the movie and Hamlet. These resemblances aren’t very visible. But it may be enough to start an interesting conversation.

The ending of the story may seems a bit bitter to Jack. Whoever was meant to be good, stayed good, and whoever was meant to be bad - stayed bad. Kinda depressing outcome for a man who’s trying to change himself, right? You’d have to talk about it and remind that it’s just a simplification made for children.

Now it’s time for a cuddle session.

Loki

Do you really want to do this to yourself? You’re very naive if you expect to have a fun with this guy while watching this kind of movie.

At first it’s just boring to him, but after awhile he amuses himself by coming up with new ways to destroy the show. He makes a loud comment every time the opportunity arises. For example, there is a scene where Zaku tells young Simba and Nala that they’d be married one day, to which Simba replies: No way! She’s my friend! You can hear a loud snort on the side, followed by She’s your SISTER, dumbass!

Loud chewing.

Hey, y/n, do you know that once Simba becomes the king, he will have kids with every lioness? Even his mom?

Do they have to sing all the time?

DON’T YOU DARE mention that you can see a similarity between him and hyenas or forget about chips, popcorn, whatever you two are eating.

Phew! It’s finally over. Wanna do something funny, y/n?

Adamas

Childish entertainment but once he sees that your eyes get wet with tears, he quickly agrees.

A cheerful start bores him but except tactless way of sitting, he doesn’t do anything to ruin your fun.

Even if Mufasa’s death was expected, it still hits hard Adamas. Basically catches him off guard. It remains him about his last meeting with Poseidon: his brother’s pure contempt towards him, that dead, indifferent expression of his face when he pierced Adamas with his trident, then cold surrounding body and Poseidon’s back as he walked away. But while the movie continues, a new digression haunts Adamas. He plays that scene again in his head and it hits him harder, because he realizes that he almost became Scar to Zeus.

So now he sits stiffly on his ass with a very depressed expression. One look at him is enough for you to know that you have to pause the movie and talk to a guy. At first he rejects your attempts, but very quickly ends up letting you hug him tight. Still plays a tough idiot tho…

Beelzebub

Most of the time he just sits next to you with lifeless expression.

Hakuna matata his ass.

Beelzebub secretly enjoys when you sing, but it’s really hard to catch him with a smile on his face. If you manage to do so, he reluctantly admits it. Good luck with convincing him to join you.

He doesn’t have any deeper thoughts about the movie.

If you mention that Timon and Pumba remain you Samael and Azazel, Beelzebub would just give you a dull look. After awhile he starts to notice that too and has mixed feelings about it.

Hrist

She finds this idea very sweet. It’s relaxing and enjoyable.

When Scar kills Mufasa: RAGE MODE ACTIVATION!

Since then you sit with angry Hrist who really does not like phrase hakuna matata. She starts to hate Simba for being so thoughtless.

Screams SHUT UP every time they start singing.

When Simba lets Scar leave, Hrist in heat of the moment chokes you and loudly screams how dumb he is. You wonder if it can get worse and the answer comes very quickly - Simba fights Scar on the TV screen and you fight for every breath on a couch.

Hermes

Hermes approaches the movie from a different angle: he focuses more on a soundtrack. The movie itself is simple story with moral, standard for humans’ approval.

You both consider an improvement of some songs and probably start doing it in the middle of a movie. Sorry, Simba.

Ares

Ares doesn’t care much about Mufasa’s death - it's necessary plot twist to move on with thread… but the ending kinda touches him. It's very climatic in his opinion.

He is NOT crying, okay?

Well you are. Or you pretend very convincingly so he doesn’t have to play tough boy. He has no idea…

Hades

Because he is a gentleman, your wish would be granted.

It’s animated movie but Hades drinks wine. No cola, no popcorn or other snacks. Please, have some dignity.

Hades has weird uncomfortable feeling in his chest when Scar kills his own brother. Scene just awakes something he doesn’t like to mention: conflict between Poseidon, Adamas and Zeus. Hades never could bring himself to blame any of them for how things turned out, so now he doesn’t try to look too deep into Musafa’s murder.

Afterwards he would share his honest opinion with you, almost like professional critic.

Poseidon

No expression throughout the entire movie.

Scar is pathetic.

Mufasa is pathetic.

Simba is pathetic.

Timon and Pumba aren’t even worth mentioning.

That movie proves that humans are lower forms of life.

At least you have chance to hug Poseidon. If he spends time with you, it means he demands it.

After a movie: Y/n, such entertainment is unworthy of the gods.

Leonidas

Books are better than movies. But fine, if you insist, the King of Sparta would spare some time.

The best comforter: Why are you crying? It’s fiction! It’s not even human! By the way - that lion could kill you with a single paw swing. These mfs are huge! Better him than you, hon!

He smokes so much that you have trouble seeing the TV screen.

Stop couching, hon! I can’t hear what they’re sayin’!

The moment Pumba approach, Leonidas starts talking about his love for venison.

You need truly heroic self-denial to not kick him out. The only option to get him to shut up is to kiss him. He doesn’t get why the kiss is angry but he likes it that way.

You two probably miss the ending. Leonidas thinks Simba isn’t worthy of being king anyway.

Apollo

Ah, y/n, aren’t you adorable for loving such innocent enjoyment? Of course he agrees!

You have to feed him snacks.

He sings along with the characters and makes the movie much better. You end up watching him showing off instead of the movie. Your dirty side may bait off a bit more mature show.

He knows exactly what you're doing and doesn't mind at all.

Later you might catch him humming songs from the movie.

Hello, dear. May I be your king tonight?

Rudra

Simba’s and Nala’s childhood brings nostalgia. Rudra spent his entire youth with Shiva and they were both free spirits. Watching these lion cubs brings back many funny memories.

Rudra’s favourite moment is Simba’s reunion with Nala. He gets mad if he notices you smirking.

Parvati, Kali, Durga and Shiva

You decide it’s time for girls’ night out.

None of you is focus on the movie, it’s just an addition. You mostly talk and laugh. Very loud that it may attracts Shiva.

He just sits down between you with Whatcha doin’? then proceeds to eats all the popcorn and other snacks like vacuum cleaner.

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absolutebl · 6 months

Note

BL recs (from any country) that don't have any s*x scenes? I'm too ace to enjoy them at all. Happy ending preferred, angst v welcome:)

BLs Without Sex Scenes

Oof, this is a hard one. Is a dead fish kiss okay? I do have a heat sorting on the spreadsheet of doom, and there are some with no kissing at all, but a dead fish kiss is in most of the HEA ones.

BLs with No Kisses

21 Days Theory (Thailand, YouTube) - the only thing I didn't like about this pulp was the fact that they don't kiss, so... yeah, this is my first pick for you. Very YA first love angsty, fantastic queer rep and side characters. RECOMMENDED

My Esports Genius Brother (China, Gaga?) - it's hella odd censored bromance but enjoyable. No real angst tho.

HIStory My Hero (Taiwan, Viki) - basically a BL with no sex or kissing, but also body-swap so is it BL? I can't remember the end but I think it's happy?

Silhouette of Your Voice AKA Hidamari ga Kikoeru (Japan, ????) - this 2017 yaoi adaptation is a full on BL just no kissing at all. The source manga (I Hear the Sunspot) is a favorite of mine and the casting was decent. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED for you (but not in general). Grey only.

Love of Siam (Thailand, ????) ALL THE ANGST, I'm pretty sure the most they do is hug, I could be v wrong though because too sad for me to ever rewatch. Very formative to the Thai BL industry.

The Lover (BL cut) (Korea ????) sometimes you can find the BL cut on YT, it has slapstick comedic sexualized moments that are maybe a little homophobic (or something), no actual sex or kissing, but no angst at all. (Korea's working some shizz out with this early offering.)

Kabe Koji AKA Kabesaa Doujin Sakka no Neko Yashiki-kun wa Shounin Yokkyuu wo Kojirasete iru (Japan, Viki) - I watched this and I was excited about it before it aired, but I seem to have expunged it from my memory and kept no screen caps in annoyance, so that's all I got.

Love in Spring AKA Spring of Crush (Korea, ????) - a crossdressing historical that flew utterly under the radar. I decided it just wasn't really BL, but it has BL aspects and it's kinda a little queer... or something. Grey only.

Evening Cafe (Thai pulp, YouTube) - No heat and no kisses, but a decent lead pair, about a boy who works in a cafe and the new employee who has a crush on him. That’s it, that's the whole story.

A Shoulder to Cry On (Korea, Viki) - Has no kissing and many people found it really good as @isisanna-blog reminded me, thank you). It certainly has ALL THE ANGST. (I did not like it at all, but I'm a terrible judge of this kind of BL.)

What Did You Eat Yesterday? (Japan ???) - this is such a lovely show, very warm and comforting and slice of life. There is very little angst, they too old for that shit, but little to no sexual content either. It's very warm and loving. A safe extremely yet queer show - and oh boy do we not get many of those. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Censored Bromances

So No Kisses (TM) for the gays but the hets might do stuff I didn't pay attention to. All these from China. Some happy, most not.

The Untamed

Word of Honor

Guardian

SCI Mysteries

Stay With Me AKA Addicted 2.0 (I never watched this so there may be rough play)

Mr CEO Falling in Love With Me

The Fairy Fox

Youth in the Breeze

Precise Shot

Advance Bravely

His Cat AKA His Cat Boyfriend

The Male Queen: Han Zi Gao

The "Ghost Boyfriend" series

Past Youth

I Go To School Not By Bus (Hong Kong short)

Recommended Shorts with no kisses, but cute & fun

The 8.2 Second Rule (Japan YouTube)

One Last Order (Korea, Gaga)

Love Advisor (Thailand, YouTube)

BLs with Dead Fish Kisses (maybe? only one, if any)

His the series: I Didn't Think I Would Fall In Love (Japan ????) - (NOT His the movie) this one has all the angst you could want in your whole life. ALL OF IT. Japan wins at emo, it's their THING.

Cherry Magic AKA 30 Years of Virginity Can Make You a Wizard AKA 30-sai made Dotei Da to Mahotsukai ni Nareru rashii AKA Cheri Maho (Japan ????) - there's sort of some bed tussling and implied sex but you could imagine them just being snuggles for the mains, the sides have dead fish kiss. In general there's some angst but not much. It's fluffy and great. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

Bonus: overt ace representation for one of the side characters.

Meow Ears Up (Thailand Viki) - sides may kiss? I enjoyed this pulp especially at the start, the premise is fun. I think my biggest complaint was lack of kissing.

My Love Mix Up AKA Kieta Hatsukoi (Japan Viki), a case could be made for a demi seme in this BL. So much frenetic angst around bisexual identity crisis. HIGHLY RECOMMENDED

My Ride (Thailand Gaga) - my favorite Thai BL pulp the sides have a good kiss and the mains do kiss but it's v dead fish, not at all sexual, and it comes at the very end. Otherwise extremely chaste, I HIGHLY RECOMMEND this BL, queer and complex and engaging.

I Want to See Only You AKA Kimi no Koto Dake Mite Itai (Japan ????) - This is a beautiful piece of cinema well acted, about two boys who are opposite personalities and grew up together. The only kiss is the one pictured above, v dead fish. Full review here.

Nobleman Ryu's Wedding (Korea WeTV) - 12th Night goes BL in this cross dressing historical that ended up feeling like a Cinderfella fairy tale, lightly dramatic and utterly charming. Full review. There is one dead fishy kiss at the end but it's otherwise aggressively pure.

If you like this last style of KBL (with a kiss at the end being okay, I have quite a few more to recommend). Until 2022, most KBLs only had one dead fish kiss in them, so you are pretty safe with pre 2022 KBLs. They tend to be quite chaste and de-sexualized. Other good examples: Wish You, Light on Me.

That's all folx.

Some of the above I may be misremembering (since I don't rewatch this kind of BL and my memory is shit). And I may have forgotten some too, so I hope comments with jump in.

Others to consider:

(source)

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allmoshnobrain · 3 months

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𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐛𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐫

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧

part 28 of ? | masterpost

word count: 2167 | ao3 link | fic's playlist

For the first time in days, I felt something beyond apathy, even if it was a messy mix of sadness, anger, and confusion. How could he think I hated him? How could he think I didn't love him, that he wasn't enough, that I wouldn't do anything to have him around? It wasn't fair. It was tearing me up inside.

✦ on this chapter: dave mustaine x female!oc, james hetfield x female! oc, oc is cliff's cousin, +18, language, slice of life, angst, love triangle

✧ On the night that we met / I looked cool, rolling cigarettes / You were fooled by my jokes / I was too, I didn't know you / And I woke up alone / In a frozen, broken home / And my cousin gave me the flu / So, I flew back to L.A., but not back to you ✧

Cliff stuck around for most of the next week. If my parents found it odd that I moved back in with them and got dumped by my boyfriend out of nowhere, they didn't say a word. Honestly, I hadn't seen them so thrilled in ages. Yet, in my bitter and gloomy state, I could only picture that their joy, especially my mom's, had more to do with having me back under their thumb, away from friendships and romances they didn't approve of, than actually having their daughter back in their lives.

A couple of days later, Cliff and my dad rolled out to grab my stuff. I felt kinda bad for dragging Cliff into all this mess; first, he drove all the way from LA to Long Beach to bring me home on that rainy Sunday, and then he had to make the trip back to LA to snag my motorcycle and all the other junk still hanging around the apartment Dave and I used to share. Even if I had the guts to go, I knew Cliff and my dad wouldn’t have let me. So, I just stayed behind in Long Beach, sprawled on my bed, watching the sunlight lazily dance across the ceiling, the hours ticking away without any real purpose.

Of course, Cliff offered to help me unpack everything afterward; I figured he just wanted to make sure I wouldn't try to tackle it solo. I'd been so zoned out and drained during the last few days that anything that could be remotely unsettling to me had become a shared concern between him and my parents. I played it cool, ignoring the hushed comments they exchanged when they thought I couldn't hear; their worries about how fragile I supposedly was, that I might not be strong enough to bounce back.

I just sat on my bed, watching in silence as Cliff lugged in box after box; my clothes, my records, my whole life from the past few months, all packed and sorted like it meant nothing. He dropped the last box on the floor with a grunt before settling down next to me on the bed.

"Ready?" he asked, his fingers running through my dark brown hair, untangling some of the knots that had formed in the past few days. Despite my mom's attempts to help me, I hadn't mustered the strength to care about my appearance lately. I shook my head no, my gaze unfocused, and Cliff held my hand before saying, "Hey, it's okay. We can head downstairs, grab a bite. What do you think?"

"No," I murmured, my voice coming out hoarse and faltering from lack of use. "No, let's get this over with now."

"Okay," Cliff said, getting up, seeming pumped that I had finally said something. It hit me that those were indeed my first words of the day. "I'll grab this box with your clothes, and you can sort out that small one over there."

I sighed, giving a nod. Despite not being a pro at organizing my room, Cliff kept pushing to shield me, tackling the bulkier and trickier tasks. It didn't really lift my spirits; if anything, I felt guilty for piling all this work on him. But I pushed those thoughts away as I sat on the floor, cracking open a box and checking out what was inside.

I let out a sigh when I stumbled upon my vinyl record collection, and there was my jewelry box tucked into an extra space. I grabbed it, popping it open and blinking when I found an envelope inside. I tore it open, pulling out the blue necklace Dave had given me for my birthday. I hadn't worn it when I went to grab my jacket at Mike's house, but now its chain was broken, and that made my throat tighten because I knew it was intact the last time I had it on.

I couldn't help but wonder if Dave had broken it, if his anger toward me was so intense that he wanted to wreck one of the gifts he'd given me. Giving the envelope a shake to be sure there was nothing else inside, a little piece of paper tumbled into my lap. I picked it up, curious, my eyes filling with tears as I read what was written on it.

I'm sorry for being such a shitty person. I never meant to hurt you; I'm so sorry I wasn't enough. Just please promise you won't forget me, or at least that you won't hate me forever.

I started bawling before even finishing the note, tossing the paper away. For the first time in days, I felt something beyond apathy, even if it was a messy mix of sadness, anger, and confusion. How could he think I hated him? How could he think I didn't love him, that he wasn't enough, that I wouldn't do anything to have him around? It wasn't fair. It was tearing me up inside.

Cliff swiftly ditched the box he was packing and plopped down next to me, giving me a tight hug, pulling me close to his chest as tears rolled down my face. He hoisted me up like it was nothing, carrying me over to my bed and lying down beside me, wrapping me up in his arms and whispering that everything would be okay. I could barely hear him, though, drowning in my own distress.

It took a while for me to calm down, but he didn't leave my side for a second, his fingers running through my hair in a comforting move as I buried my face in his chest. When my tears finally dried up, all that lingered was silence; silence and exhaustion as I tried to brush off the pulsating emptiness in my chest.

"Maybe you should talk to him," Cliff finally murmured, sounding hesitant, like his words might trigger another round of tears, which, honestly, wasn't too far off the mark. "If you like him so much, you should talk to him."

"Cliff, I can't... I can't do it," I whispered, my voice faltering. And it was true; I couldn't talk to him without breaking into tears. Worse, if he didn't want to listen, if he didn't want to believe me, it felt like I could shatter into a million pieces. All I wanted was to have him back, but I didn't know what I would do if he rejected me, if nothing worked out, and that scared me beyond words.

"It's okay, sweetheart. I'm sorry," he said, kissing my cheek and holding me close. "It will pass, I promise. Everything will be okay."

I gave a nod, sniffling as I wiped my face, that same apathy from before hitting me even harder. But Cliff's embrace made me feel a bit better. It was like slipping into something familiar: the scent of his skin, his hair, just like back in the day when we were kids and used to crash at each other's places, just to end up sleeping on the same bed. I couldn't help but feel grateful he was there with me.

"You know..." Cliff started, then hesitated. "James really cares about you. You know he didn't want this to happen, right?"

I stayed silent. Thinking about James over the past few days was something I consciously avoided, mostly because I was pissed. Not necessarily at him, but more about how everything went down between us. He'd tried calling me a few times since Sunday, but I swerved all his calls. I just didn't have the energy to deal with him right now, to unravel the whirlwind of emotions he stirred up. And I knew that, despite all the pain from the breakup with Dave, my feelings weren't any less intense: I still loved him, and that hurt me the most.

Cliff didn't push it. We just hung there, wrapped up in each other's arms until I eventually crashed out. Despite it all, being with him made me feel secure; sheltered and loved, for the first time since everything went sideways.

Things didn't exactly get easier after Cliff left. He didn't want to bail, but I knew he had band commitments and, let's be real, there was no legit reason for him to keep babysitting me. Those wounds weren't magically gonna heal overnight, after all.

December rolled in, and my parents decided to whisk me off on a European trip to shake things up. Yet, despite the change of scenery, it was hands down one of the crappiest New Year's of my life. I'd paid a jeweler to patch up the chain of my necklace, and started wearing it as a bracelet all the time. At first, that hurt too, but as days rolled by, the pain and sadness twisted into a strange kind of fondness.

Post New Year's, we rolled back to Long Beach. While my parents were busy fine-tuning their grand plans for my education over the next few years, I was on a mission to piece myself back together, bit by bit. Long Beach hadn't changed much in a year, and I found myself gravitating back to some of my high school buddies. Charlotte, a Drama Club friend, became my main go-to. She'd hopped on the theater train after graduation, and I started tagging along to rehearsals, first as a spectator, then as an assistant.

Most importantly, I dove back into art, especially drawing. Most of the time, I ended up sketching everything I could recall about Dave — his hands, his hair, his eyes, the curve of his lips, the way his nose crinkled when he grinned. All the things I longed to have back. All the things I couldn't bear to forget. Turns out, my drawing and painting skills, though a bit rusty from the neglect, hadn't completely ditched me.

The end of January rolled in fast. On a particularly chilly and gloomy day, I got a call from Cliff.

"Hey, Nore," he greeted me, the usual laid-back tone in his voice.I could almost picture him chilling on the couch, probably puffing on a cigarette while holding the phone with one hand. "How are you?"

"I... I'm okay," I replied, though the truth was, I was still working on getting there. "And how 'bout you guys?"

"Ah, we're good. Same old," Cliff answered. I hesitated. I almost asked if he had any news about Dave, but then it hit me — I was scared as hell to hear the answer. Scared he hated me. Scared he forgot me. Scared he moved on, or worse, still loved me. So, I didn’t ask, and he didn't tell me. "Listen, I got an invite for you."

"An... Invite?" I asked, a bit on edge. I'd been cocooning myself in a bubble for the past few months, keeping crazy busy to dodge thinking about all the drama with me, Dave, and James. I wasn't sure if I was ready to peel away from the safety of that isolation, but I figured I might as well hear Cliff out. "What invite?"

"Well, the guys and I locked in a tour... in Europe. Just a handful of gigs, you know, but I was thinking if you'd be up for joining us."

"Oh. I literally just got back from Europe, Cliff. Spent New Year's there."

"Really? I had no clue," the classic irony in his voice made me scoff, rolling my eyes. "I won't bug you if you're not up for it, but it's gonna be our first international tour. Oh, and we're opening for Venom, by the way. I just reckon you'd be a dummy to pass on this chance."

"Alright, fine. I'm in," I agreed, more to keep him happy than for any other reason. My stomach did a bit of a flip, the thought of facing Lars, Kirk, and especially James again stirring up a cocktail of excitement, nervousness, and anxiety. "But you gotta work your magic on my parents."

"I've already had a chat with them. Your old man thought it'd be a good plan for you to shake things up a bit. It's just ten days; we'll be back before you know it. Deal?"

"Okay," I murmured, trying to suppress the little grin that insisted on spreading through my face. "I'll go, then."

"Cool, I'll tell the others," Cliff replied, his laid-back tone now tinged with excitement. "I'm stoked you're coming... Missed you, you know?"

"Yeah, I missed you too," I said with a smile.

For a second, it almost felt like I could shove the sadness that had been trailing me for weeks into the background. I'd been to gigs before, sure, but tagging along on a tour was a whole new deal. And hell yeah, catching Venom live, one of the bands the guys and I worshiped, got me buzzing. Maybe, just maybe, letting myself get swept up in this distraction wasn't such a bad idea.

Maybe, just maybe, it was time to start living again.

✧ if you'd like to be tagged on the next parts, let me know and I'll add you to the tag list! ❤ ✧

tag list: @killazilla777

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mngo-jii · 9 months

Note

UM!!! hiii im kinda new to this but if requests are open and its cool w you (im sorry if you had a list of what you were and weren't willing to write i couldnt find it 😭) i'd like to request daniel page x male!reader where they've been dating for a while but have been rlly lowkey abt it and their friends find out and are surprised but also not surprised at all

totally fine if you cant though! have a good day!

“ A LITTLE DISCREET. ” d. page x m! reader

wc: 963

letter ✉️: i’m alive... god i’m alive... hello male readers, time for dinner. sorry food today is a little mushy and moldy, mother is trying her best 🙁

“[MC] and Daniel? Ah! Such good friends, they are!” — Lottie, answering about you and your boyfriend.

Without a doubt, you and Daniel were good friends, absolutely. I mean, you two were always side-by-side. Arms linked, shoulders glued to one another, teasing remarks thrown at each other.

You two even shared a dorm. You and Daniel were good roommates, for sure. You two would often study together on the dorm room table. Textbooks stacked up, several notebooks open, concentrated faces, and scribbling quills.

On top of that, you and Daniel’re also good classmates. Always pairing up with each other, sulking when you aren’t.

Always saved a seat for the other, sneaked answers scribbled on a small torn paper, passed notes to one another... The like.

Lottie is definitely right. And everyone could see it; even the teachers, the paintings, a few house elves.

...However, for a pair of good friends, you two seem to be closer than Robyn and Kevin... Well, with your faces slightly flushed and your fingers wandering in hopes to find the other’s. With lingering glances at one another and content expressions relaxing on your facial features.

Each and everyone’s Hogwarts uniform isn’t all the same—of course, that goes without saying when it comes to everyone’s body proportions.

Though sometimes you could even identify your own necktie from another’s, even in the same house. It might be a small odd spot on the material that’s color is a little off from the rest, or maybe a rather short thread hanging out from the hem...

However, you stare at you and your roommate’s necktie placed on the dresser in the morning as you prepare, one is shorter than the other. You don’t even think about which one is yours, grabbing which your ‘gut’ tells you is so—which just so happens to be Daniel’s.

And the next morning you pick up his again, and the morning after, and the morning after... Not that any of you would notice.

But sometimes it might not be an accident, sometimes it might not even be your tie.

Like times where he’d lend you his robe when you forget your own, or when you lend him yours.

Sometimes none of you had even forgotten your robes—you simply swap. And for what?

Well, none of you really had the chance to establish the answer. Not when no one asked, anyway.

It’s rather ironic, though? One moment, you and your roommate are deeply delving into the pages of your textbooks, and then you’re leaning towards him, pressing your lips against his, the next. Daniel’s hand grabs a fistful of your shirt, yours grip on the arm of his chair.

Not to mention the fact you and your classmate hold hands under the table during class. Oh, well.

Ah, the flushed look on your faces when Professor McGonagall offers you—“A reminder that the Forbidden Forest is strictly off-limits. I know its mystery and secrets may tempt you. But trust me. Only danger and peril will await those foolish enough to enter.”

And you and Daniel nod as if you didn't just share a kiss in that same exact ‘off-limits’ location last night.

At one point you and Daniel have grown on edge of whether or not your friends had found out.

So you were a little befuddled to see the astonished look on their faces when they caught Daniel—leaning over to place a quick peck on your lips before hurrying to class.

Of course, there was no reason to further keep your relationship a secret, so you tried to unravel the truth as casually as possible.

“Oh. Daniel and I are dating.”

There’s a mix of distinct reactions on their end—surprise, betrayal, aloofness? They’re either too dramatic or too indifferent. But it’s only for a mere second.

Lottie thinks back on the numerous times you and Daniel had acted a little odd and the realisation hits her like... A gust of wind.

Because if she were to be honest, she saw it coming from a mile away. I mean, what else would explain the way she’d doodle you and Daniel together?

That one painting with you and Daniel on one of the benches, fingers intertwined, faces inches away from one another yet you two were only merely having a chat? Well, there’s your explanation.

Ivy titters out loud, a wide smile spread across her face. “I knew it!”

Kevin takes a moment to pause and decides that it wasn’t really much of a surprise, yet he questions why you didn’t tell them sooner—s’well as Robyn, who runs her fingers through her hair with a rather agitated face. “Why didn’t you tell us?!”

“—Well,” she cuts herself off before you could reply, “I kind of already knew, so. I just needed confirmation.”

You blink. “You did?”

“Oh come one, what pair of ‘good friends’ sneak out into Moaning Myrtle’s bathroom to kiss anyway?” Robyn eyes you as she places her hand on her hip.

...Perhaps you and Daniel weren’t so discreet after all.

It's rather ironic though, isn’t it? Because despite you and Daniel being boyfriends, you still act like you haven’t escaped the puppy love stage. Maybe you never will. Not with the dopey grins you exchange from across the room.

Not with the way your hearts still feel like they’re beating out of your chests as you latch onto each other, nearly out of breath from how bad you’re laughing.

The blush forming on your cheeks as you stop momentarily and get a glimpse of his euphoric face, with the same smile you just can’t get enough of.

Or when he crawls into your bed instead of his as you stare at your ceiling, softly rambling about how nice it would be if you and him went outside right now and flew around the castle. Daniel isn’t listening unfortunately. He’s staring at you.

Not when he still gets surprised at the way you suddenly grab ahold of his hand with a grin on your face. A grin that tells him everything he needs to know—that he’s safe. That he’s home. He furrows his eyebrows at the ground with a poorly fought-back smile.

a/n: im falling off so bad aghh jesus take the wheel. anyway you when you and your homie go from delving into textbooks to study to delving into each others lips

#(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ— written by lnr #hpma x reader #daniel page x reader #hogwarts magic awakened x reader #daniel page x male reader

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slashingdisneypasta · 3 months

Text

Horror House AU!Freddy Krueger x Reader || Drabble

Plot: You are So Beyond Uninterested in this guy Jennifer left you with that when you see Freddy in the kitchen you are So Beyond Relieved. Pretending to Evan that Freddy is Your Guy just seemed like the natural course of action!-

Warnings: Sexual references.

As soon as you saw Freddy in the kitchen doing nothing-in-particular, you felt the heaviest rush of relief you've ever felt in this house- which is saying something. Living here is like having your life on the line every second of the damn day.

But with Evan here talking your ears burning red about his job, and 'dumbing it down for you' since it was just so complicated (And you should be s o grateful he's being so inclusive, right?? 😒), Freddy with his dumb puns (That sometimes make you laugh. Admittedly) and creepy remarks That sometimes... aren't t h a t creepy... ) somehow looks... kinda good.

You mean- well- if you were going to go out with anyone here... in this kitchen... well-... it wouldn't be Evan.

Welp. You can use that.

"Freddy!" You exclaim cheerfully, making it across the kitchen in 2 seconds, happy to get away from Evan standing too close behind you, throwing your arms around the demon. You fill your voice up with joy and stick a grin to your face, like you're so pleased to see your guy. Like you missed him, when he was gone from you. "Hey! Where have you been, today?" You ask, tilting your head to the side inquisitively, like just the perfect little sweetheart.

Evan has stopped talking about work, thank god, but he definitely have some questions about this. You don't take your eyes off of Freddy's trying to figure out whether he gets it or not. There's an odd pondering look on his face. "Wait... what's happening here? I thought... Look, Jennifer said I might like you... I thought we were gonna- " He sounds so baffled. you feel slightly bad.

But not that bad.

"Oh yeah," A look of guilt on your face, you turn back to Evan, leaning back against the kitchen bench just like 'your man'. You read somewhere that couples mimic each other. "Um- well- Jennifer doesn't know, yet. Ha." When Freddy is still just standing there, watching you struggle with amusement all over his mean dumb face, you oh-so-subtly elbow his arm off the bench (making him almost fall), before placing it around your waist. Fidgeting, you turn your head to 'glance out the window' behind your both and hiss a desperate, pleading, "Work with me here- " into his ear.

"Really?"

"Uhuh." You nod, not liking the tone of disbelief in Evans voice. Where does he get off thinking you're a liar?? He's known you for 3 minutes!, he doesn't know you- he doesn't know Freddy- how would he know you two aren't a perfect match!?-

"Its new." Freddy finally speaks, and you nod along eagerly. Yes! Thank you. Yes, its new- Great-

"Oh."

"It happened last night." Freddy goes on, and honestly, you wish he wouldn't. Compliancy is all you need from him!!- Theirs a dirty smirk on his face and you do a double take at it. Oh, hell- "Lights off, clothes on the floor, Daddy's tongue drawing- "

"Ha ha OKAY- honey, he doesn't need the r-rated version. Thank you." You give Freddy's shoulder an awkward pat, like, thats enough sweetheart. Thats not enough, though, not for him-

"Oh that wasn't the r-rated version, princess, you know that~ " When you turn your head to see Freddy, because his voice is close to the side of your head now (a mistake you greatly regret, admittedly), Freddy flicks his tongue at you. And you have to hold very still, conjure all of your self control to keep yourself from cringing or exploding or something equally red-handed and just look perturbed at him. Your eyes are only a little squinty and your nose is only a little screwy, so you're very proud of yourself.

His eyes are laughing though, and you so badly want to pinch him really hard, or something, but you cant in front of Evan!

"... sweetheart save that for later." You eventually say very quickly, before turning back to Evan. "Anyway, Evan, as you can see, I'm- " Before immediately freezing there with Freddy.

Jennifer's there, now.

And she's seen your antics.

Oh, dear.

#Freddy Krueger x Reader Drabble #Freddy Krueger x Reader #Freddy Krueger #Drabble #Horror Villains #Slashers #Horror Villain x Reader Drabble #Horror Villain x Reader #Slasher x Reader Drabble #Slasher x Reader

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chipistrate · 3 months

Text

Why I believe Carnival will take place in the modern era, NOT the 70's/80's

featuring a bunch of neurodivergent rambles and hopefully some comprehendible evidence

TLDR; I think Carnival is akin to Help Wanted 1 in that it'll show Fazbear Entertainment bringing back an old event known as Fall Fest to cover up a past incident that happened there, which I believe to be related to Mimic.

Theory under cut cause the it's long

Starting with why I think it's taking place in modern times and not early 80's/70's:

Help Wanted 2 practically confirms that Fall Fest and Carnival are one in the same, and along with that we got some interesting new hints at Carnival through certain minigames.

First Aid features a character called 'Carnival Nurse' guiding us through caring for Helpy. Carousel seems to take place in a carnival. And Fazerblast is said to take place in Fall Fest through one of Carnie's voice lines; "Gather round folks! Come see the worst Fazerblast player in the history of Fall Fest!"

Odd details to be in what's assumed to be a training simulator of sorts based on the other minigames. So, maybe they are still training you, just not exactly for the Pizzaplex- but instead training you for the reopening of Fall Fest. Fazbear Entertainment planning on taking some of the newbies at the Pizzaplex/Pizzaplexes and transferring them to the Fall Fest location while it's opened (assuming it wouldn't be permanent since it seemed to be a seasonal thing) doesn't seem too far fetched for Faz Ent- it's a money saver.

And if I can circle back around to Fazerblast and Carousel specifically, they both heavily feature Pizzaplex animatronics, which wouldn't make sense for an event from the 70's/80's.

Fazerblast 1 includes the glamrock band fighting off threats in space- typical fazerblast stuff. Fazerblast 2 focuses on Glamrock Chica and who we can assume to be Pizzaplex Foxy. Both use cutouts seen in the Pizzaplex, as well as cutouts using the same art style as the ones in the plex- they aren't old or anything.

That's also not mentioning how Fazerblast is most likely a new concept created for the Pizzaplex that hasn't been shown or hinted at having any prior role in the franchise before the Pizzaplexes creation.

And Carousel features Moon as the main/only animatronic hunting you down, and Sun as your "tutorial", aka they're the one that tells you it's broken and you need to fix it. With how Sun talks about it and how the DA is the main center focus on the carousel, it almost feels as though there's some connection between them and the ride, like they were the one who attended to it and its guests during the day- almost like it was "their ride" at the carnival. Though I could totally just be looking too far into it lmao

Now moving away from Help Wanted 2 and backing it up to Help Wanted 1, specifically the DLC.

The DLC with the lobby that has the huge banner saying "Fall Fest '83"! Of course I'd bring it up lmao

With my theory taking the premise of HW1 and using it as a foundation, Fall Fest being referenced in HW1's DLC feels pretty important. A game made to cover up past events having a DLC with a big focus on the most likely location for Carnival. Might expand on this point later, but I feel it's worth mentioning that the Corn Maze level, the same level where we meet Vanny/the reluctant follower for the first time, is VERY explicitly shown to take place in Fall Fest, what with the huge banners saying "Fall Fest '83!" n all.

Kinda of connecting with the last point of Vanny being connected to Fall Fest in HW1- Balloon World, heavily theorized to be Gregory/GGY's Princess Quest equivalent, takes place in a carnival and features the Daycare Attendant, possibly giving more ties between the Glitchtrap followers and the carnival, as well as Sun/Moon.

Alright I have to add this in as a brief point- we have no confirmation that Balloon Circus and Carnival are connected, but since there's a possibility I might as well bring it up;

BC Chica is very clearly based on Glamrock Chica- the only other white Chica that may've been around during the 70's/early 80's was Funtime Chica and there's no similarities between FT Chica and BC Chica other than being white.

And that's essentially all the reasons I think Carnival could possibly take place in the modern era- but swiftly(and briefly) moving on to the Mimic connections to make the second part of this theory make sense;

The carnival catches on fire in the carousel and fazerblast minigame, Grimm Foxy is the main enemy in the corn maze minigame, and the corn maze minigame features this mural that looks like the aftermath of a fire. This all heavily implies a fire happening at the carnival and burning it down. Mimic was found in the epilogues in a burnt state that still hasn't been explained. With Mimics obsession with mascot costumes, something commonly used at carnivals, the event that left it burnt at the beginning of the epilogues could be explained by the fire that happened during Fall Fest.

(the mural in question)

---

With all that being said- what do I think will happen in Carnival exactly?

As stated prior, I think it'll be Fazbear Entertainment bringing back Fall Fest to cover up a prior incident involving the event.

I think someone- whether it be 3 star fam, Lucia, Danny, or a new character- is spreading the word about Mimic and it's starting to catch on. Fazbear Entertainment sees this attention and decides to bring back the event to cover up the rumors Help Wanted style, but it backfires just as hard as it did with Help Wanted. We'll be playing as someone that either goes in with the intention of investigating, or gets roped into investigating the secrets of Fall Fest's past, and get more insight on Mimic and better set him up in game as our new main antagonist.

Depending on when exactly this all takes place, the story could be different-

If it's after Security Breach, I could see it being 3 star family spreading the word and then going to investigate after Fall Fest's reopening to make sure Fazbear Entertainment isn't doing anything fishy (they always are).

If it's before Security Breach, I could see the connections between the Glitchtrap followers and Fall Fest becoming relevant, one or both of them showing up and trying to sabotage our attempts at unveiling the truth.

And it could go on- there's a lot of potential roads this theory could go down, those are just two that came to mind while writing this

----

Well now that that's done- YES I know this sounds batshit insane, but this is fnaf, what do you expect LMAO I just wanted to bring a new perspective to the table since everyone seems so confident that Carnival will take place in the past- and for good reason! But it's always worth thinking of it from a different perspective, yknow?

Shrug, just a fun possibility ^^ I don't have a closer line, but thanks for listening to my insanity! It may happen again!

#Chip Chatter #theories #pre carnival #pre help wanted 2 dlc #<- just in case since I know there's speculation about Carnival being the HW2 DLC-#I don't think it is personally but yknow

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amysubmits · 6 months

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Hi Amy, this is not related to d/s but a question about female orgasm. I have been with my boyfriend for awhile now and I haven’t been able to orgasm during sex. Never during penetration, never from oral sex. Most of the time the sex lasts more than 30 minutes so I don’t think it’s the lack of duration. I’ve only been able to orgasm with a vibrator. I have read that the majority of women cannot orgasm from penetration alone but I can’t seem to orgasm at all unless I use a vibrator. Is this normal?

Hey Anon,

This is mostly from reading the book Come As You Are, by Emily Nagoski. But my understanding is that society as created this really narrow ideal for what we think women's genitalia should look like, how they should orgasm, what makes them horny, how often they want sex, how often or easily they orgasm, etc etc etc. And that the reality is that ALL of these things are highly varied. And while some may be more common than others, none are 'unhealthy' unless they cause some sort of significant problem. So, my answer would be that I can't begin to guess who common your experience is, but even if it is less common, it isn't inherently bad. Like you said, a lot of women can't orgasm from penetration alone and that's not inherently good or bad, though we may have chosen to be able to orgasm that way if we could pick...we can't pick. I'd think that your situation may be quite similar in that it's okay if you would prefer to be able to orgasm in other ways...that's a valid feeling to have. But it doesn't make your body abnormal or bad or wrong, it's just a variation of human, I would think. Another thing I learned in that book though, is that headspace is a HUUUUGE part of sex. I mean, I knew before reading that book that it mattered a lot. But after reading it, I almost feel like it is perhaps the #1 factor for a lot of people. She refers to it as 'context' but it's basically the situation leading up to sex and how it impacts headspace/mood/sexuality. It talked about how for a lot of people the focus on trying to orgasm reduces their odds of being able to orgasm significantly, and how performance anxiety is super common, etc. Basically that anything that doesn't help us relax, can make it hard to fully enjoy sex and/or orgasm. Orgasms come much easier when we are as relaxed as possible. So if you find yourself feeling anxious or pressured about wanting to orgasm without a vibrator, that might be part of why it's so hard...and it might be possible that if you can eventually have less pressure or anxiety around orgasming in other ways, that your body may just surprise you and let it happen. But it's also possible that it won't happen, your body may just not orgasm from those things, and that's okay too. I think of it as a really individual choice kinda thing. If you want to attempt to work on orgasming in other ways, you certainly can keep trying and I'd encourage you to maybe read that book and learn about context to see if you can change the context to see if it changes how your body responds to the sexual things you've done before. But also, if that doesn't sound like a good time and you'd rather just do what you already know works and you're having fun as is? Then there's absolutely nothing wrong with just using vibrators anytime you want to orgasm. And/or just not worrying about orgasming and not using a vibrator if you have fun without the orgasm piece. At the end of the day, whatever makes you happy and your partner happy is good! I think it's human nature to want to be 'normal' but it's mostly a made up concept and I think the more important question is if you and your partner are enjoying your sex life thoroughly. If so, then who cares if it's normal/common or not, right? :)

#asks

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yanderehsr · 6 months

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Hi a request from your 1k followers event (congratulations on hitting that milestone!)

Can I ask for Yandere Childe

The OC name is lukyan, 21 male

Personality wise: he's basically like Diluc, they seem cold and rude though different from Diluc, even when you get to know him he's still cold and distance (he barely interact w anyone and lack social skill badly-)

Backstory: he's basically an orphan in Snezhnaya but was never found out by the fatui, he kinda live in his own w another orphan who also never got found out by the fatui, when they were 15 the friend die and lukyan live alone from then on, he feel so guilty cuz he couldn’t protect his friends, rn he’s doing work like hunting or tree chopping to make sm money and live by the day (I tried to keep it short so now it sound weird😭)

In my canon he never really meet Childe, so you don’t need to write anything long just a general headcanon how would they meet in your mind and how would Yandere Childe work w someone like this

Also if I break any rules do tell me:,)

Ayyyy, thanks for sending the request, hope you'll enjoy😆

Trigger Warning: Yandere, Obsessive behaviour, Possessive behaviour

Childe had always seen him, sometimes out on the streets doing odd jobs, and sometimes through the corner of his eyes, but one thing always stayed the same, no matter how big the crowd, he could always notice Lukyan.

Observing him became kinda an obsession for Childe, seeing how he would run around, working his ass off for minimim payment... okay that last one makes him quite sad, he shouldn't have to work, Childe thinks that Lukyan deserves to be spoiled, to live a life of luxery.

Childe decides to become that person, the person who spoils and give gifts to Lukyan, presents will always appear in front of him without him seeing who leaves him with them. Childe isn't even liekly to get jealous with Lukyan since Lukyan acts cold and distant with others, in fact Childe prefers him to be this way

But Childe's patience can only go for so long, he grows annoyed that Lukyan isn't his, so what does he do? He uses his own authority as a harbinger to make sure no one is willing to give him any more jobs, no more jobs means no more money, and when Lukyan has no money, well some fatui's might loan him some money.

Money that Lukyan can't pay back, and who else but Childe can offer a solution when the fatui is hunting him down for being late on repayment. Become his and all the debt will dissapear, Lukyan doesn't have a choice.

"Well what do we have here, if it isn't Lukyan, it says you are 3 months late on paying us back... no need to fear, why don't you sit down, I have an offer I'm sure you'll be thrilled to hear about"

#yandere #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin #yandere male #yandere childe #yandere childe x reader #oc #oc x canon #oc x character event

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