#[SAID AS CHAPTER 5 IS LOOMING OVER US]

[disastrousfeline]

sorry to butt in but. my group's firehelpers au :]

just realizing that one of my Signature Things™ as a lancer GM seems to be taking the big bad evil guys and making them women. i'm running a heavily modified version of In Golden Flame, and the cult leader in that was originally written as a guy, but now she's a woman. i've also turned the main villain of No Room for a Wallflower into a woman. this just happens in my games i guess

i'm the #1 supporter of women's wrongs and i've got to show it

[moody-alcoholic]

The Missing Piece

Chapter 1 -Coffee

Summary: Ghoap x Reader, throuple. 4.4k words. Reader is female (she/her), army nurse, non descript physical features, names used: Ashe.

CW: Mentions of sex, description of injuries.

masterlist - next AO3

Enjoy <3

“Sergeant MacTavish?” You call into the hallway of soldiers lining the wall, you look up and down to see if anyone reacts to the name. 

“Sergeant John MacTavish?” You call again this time a little louder.

“Here lass!” A man calls hobbling down the hall towards you. Your breath catches in your throat, even being on a base surrounded by plenty of hunky men you had not seen anyone quite like him. His broad shoulders, thick arms and tanned skin. His fluffy mohawk, shining almost bronze in the florescent lights. To top it all off his cheeky grin is sending butterfly's racing in your stomach.

He’s being followed by what seems like an even bigger man trying to help him wobble his way down the hall, his sharp eyes focused on making sure his friend doesn’t topple over. The rest of his face is covered by a balaclava with a skull printed on it. It makes you shiver as they walked towards you. You move to the side of the door letting them in. John finds his way to a chair while the other man stands behind him. You close the door to the room going back over to the desk sitting down and opening his file on the computer. 

“Twisted your ankle during an exercise?” You look past the monitor at him. 

“Aye, I’m fine but LT here insisted I get it checked out.” He replies with a smile on his face thumbing behind at the man looming over him. Christ even his accent is sexy, sottish.

“And I’m staying to make sure you do get it checked out properly instead of flirting your way to a bottle of paracetamol and a cold compress.” The man said, his voice was deep, commanding. You could feel heat rush to your cheeks at the mention of flirting, but you push the thought away trying to remain professional. 

“It is good to get it checked even if it is just a sprain.” You move your chair round so you’re sitting in front of him. 

“Do you mind if I take your boot off?”

“I got it lass,” he winked bending down to untie the laces, and pulling the boot off. You could tell by the scrunching of his face and the grunt he made that this was causing him pain. He put his foot back down on the floor his ankle did look swollen. 

“Have you tried ice or a cold compress?” You ask. 

“Aye,” he replies you hear the man behind him sigh.

“What he means by that is he tried for about 5 minuets before he was back on his feet again.” John huffed at being called out, you smile at him and he winks. 

“You’ll need to try for longer then that,” you say acknowledging the tall man behind John who now has his arms crossed. You pick the foot up watching John try to hide the pain, you only lift it up a little before decided it was going to need an x-ray. 

“I will book an x-ray for you in the mean time if you go into the ward they will give you an ice pack and a bed.” You explain moving your chair back to the desk so you could book the appointment. “Do you want any pain relief?” 

“Na, I can barely feel it.” He says a cheeky smile on his face. You nod typing the report and waiting for the paper to print out. 

“I can give you some crutches you really should keep your weight off it.” You stand up going to the printer.

“It’s okay love I’ve got my own crutch here.” He says hopping up on his foot and wrapping his arm round the other man with him. You smile handing the paper to him.

“Give this to the nurse on the ward.” You say rushing in front of them to open the door. 

“Thanks love,” he says beaming at you as he gets lead out by his friend who looks back at you and nods. You close the door to the room taking a breath out. What the hell was that? You find a smile forming on your lips as your heart flutters in your chest. 

————————

Two days later you find yourself as the night nurse. Not that you mind it’s normally the quieter part of the job and there is no one in the ward so you don’t even have to worry about trying to look busy. About an hour into your shift someone comes through the doors. You recognise him immediately as John, from a few days ago with the sprained ankle. He’s hobbling around on crutches now, his friend is not with him either. 

“Hello sweetheart!” He says his voice full of energy, that ever present smile on his face.

“Hey, John did you need something?” you ask coming round from behind the nurses station. 

“Yeah actually, I was told to come pick up something…” He trails off. “Now what was it?” 

“Painkillers?” You ask. 

“No it begin with a T I think.” He looks up to the corner of the room rubbing his chin.

“A tubigrip?” You ask raising an eyebrow.

“That’s the one lass!” He says snapping his fingers, you can’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm. 

“Sit up on the bed I’ll get you one.” You say turning to the cupboard of supplies. You pick out two sizes then walk back over to John already leaning down to untie his boots. 

“I can do that.” You insist waving his hands away, he sighs but gives in leaning back on the bed. You carefully remove the boot looking back and checking to see how he reacts. He’s ether getting better at hiding it or painkillers have helped. He only winces when you have to pull the boot over his heel.

“What did the doctor say?” You ask. 

“Sprained, I’ve been stuck behind a desk for the last two days.” He makes a pouting face as you pull his sock off. 

“You should sleep with it elevated that will help with the swelling.” You say pulling his trouser leg up. The swelling has definitely improved since you saw it last. 

“I bet with a few more days of rest you’ll be back on your feet like nothing happened.” You smile at him.

“I hope so lass, my unit’s being shipped out at the end of the week.” He says as you pull the tubigrip over his foot and ankle.

“Oh yeah anywhere fun?” You ask. 

“Ah ‘fraid I can’t tell you that love.” He winks, you can tell if he’s joking or not but you pull his trouser leg back down.

“You can keep your boot on but not too tight, and keep it elevated.” You explain putting his boot back on and loosely tying the laces. 

“What painkillers are you taking?” You ask as he swivels his body round so his feet are hanging off the bed. 

“Paracetamol, oh and the doc said I could take ibuprofen too, but I don’t need it I can barely feel a thing.” You look back at him chuckling, his arms flex as he pushes himself up with the crutches. You feel your cheeks heat up again.

“You should take the ibuprofen at least it will also help with the swelling.” You force out leaning over him to pick up his sock from the bed. He smells good, must be his aftershave. You hold the sock out for him and he sheepishly takes it out your hand shoving it in his pocket. You move back so he can hop out the ward back to the nurses station. 

“Well it was nice seeing you again…” He trails off like he’s trying to remember your name his eyes squinting. You cover your badge teasing him. He chuckles. 

“LT is the one with the better memory.” He says turning his body to the doors. 

“Ashe.” You reply uncovering your badge.

“Well then Ashe it was nice to see you again.” His smile is infectious and you could have sworn he winked at you. 

“Good luck on your deployment,” You call back as he pushes his way through the doors. 

“I don’t need luck.” He winks at you. Okay that time it was definitely a wink and it made the butterflies come back to your belly. You sit down at the nurses station with a smile on your face and heat in your cheeks.

————————

One week later you get a text out of the blue.

Hey, this Ashe? 

It’s an unknown number you’re tempted to ignore it, but something inside you forces you to answer it. 

Yeah, who’s this?

It’s only seconds later a response comes.

It’s Johnny, with the fucked up ankle. 

Holy shit, you almost choke on your drink, coughing as the liquid has now gone in your windpipe. You take a few more sips trying to sooth it. How the hell did he get your number? 

How did you get my number?

From a friend of a friend..

You can’t help but chuckle, is this real? Did he make his deployment? You realise you haven’t seen him round the base in a few days, and you would know you’ve been looking. Sometimes without even realising it any time you see a broad tanned soldier hairs stand up on the back of your neck and you crane to look only to be disappointed. His friend with the skull mask you found out his name was lieutenant Riley. You know you definitely hadn’t seen him. 

Anyway... Want to get coffee? 

Such a simple request has your heart thumping in your chest. 

When? 

You reply without thinking, your leg starts to jump under the table nervousness washing over you. Coffee? With you? Why?

How about that coffee place just outside the base, tomorrow 1300?

Your heart is pounding now your throat dry. Is this a date? No that would be very much against base rules. 

Sure :)

Was the smiley too much, you put your phone down embarrassed. You hear it buzz picking up the courage to look 

See ya there :)

You let out a breath your leg stops jumping. Coffee with Johnny, surely it’s just a friendly thing to say thank you for helping with his ankle. Not that he has too, it’s your job. Maybe he’s just being nice, he is always smiling. Or maybe he didn’t make his deployment and he’s bored. 

————————

You show up early, the butterfly's have not left your stomach since the moment you woke up. You managed to switch your shift with another nurse so you could be here instead. Coffee sounded like too much especially with your nerves you opted for a tea. You find yourself checking your watch almost every second, your back is to the door each time it opens your heart stops and you turn to look. Jesus calm down woman, it’s just coffee. You try to tell yourself. A few minutes later and a few sips of hot tea, you start to calm. 

“Hey there lass.” You hear the familiar Scottish accent behind you. You turn in your chair to see him. You stand up to greet him, he pulls you into a hug, patting your back. He lets you go walking round the table and taking his jacket off. 

His skin looks darker or maybe it’s just the light in the room, his hair looks like it’s been freshly groomed. You get a proper look at his eyes, a beautiful deep blue. You can’t help finding yourself smiling.

“Hey,” You reply.

“What’s your poison?” He asks pointing at your cup, you push a strand of hair behind your ear. It feels like the nervousness radiating off you.  

“Eh tea.” You reply realising you’ve almost finished it. 

“Typical brits,” he sighs playfully.

“Let me get it, you should rest your ankle.” You say quickly stopping him in his tracks. 

“Don’t worry love it’s been solid for a few days now.” You sigh that’s good at least. He walks over to the counter and you take out a deep breath, sitting back down. Your head following him as he orders beaming at the staff his accent cutting through the mumbling of the other patrons. You look back at your tea finishing it off as Johnny comes back with the drinks. He smiles as he sits down putting the tea in front of you. 

“Thank you,” You say warming your hands on the new mug. 

“Ne problem don’t you worry about it, I’m supposed to be treating you,” You feel yourself blushing again as that cheeky look comes back on his face.  

“Why?” You blurt out before you can stop yourself. He chuckles.

“You helped me with my ankle, I wanted to say thank you.” He says as a matter of fact. 

“It’s my job,” you reply shrugging, feeling a rush of embarrassment washing over you. No one has ever thanked you like this before. The most the ward gets is a card sometimes. Or if you were lucky someone would tell your CO you did a good job. That was always important for people looking for promotions. 

“You could have just caught me on the base.”

“Yeah,” Now his cheeks looked like they were changing to a gorgeous shade of pink. 

“Did you manage to get deployed?” You ask trying to move the subject on. He smiles leaning back in his chair.

“Na, whole thing got cancelled, I spent a few days in London.” He says smiling.

“Was Riley-I mean-lieutenant Riley was he with you?” You blurt out sipping your tea so the word vomit would stop. 

“Simon?” Johnny asked his smile getting bigger. “Oh yeah we spend a lot of time together.”

“Huh, that’s nice you must be a tight unit.” You say calming myself. So his name was Simon, Simon Riley.

“What about you what have you been up to?” He leans forward sipping his coffee.

“Work, nothing really.” You smile.

“When’s your next leave?” He asks. 

“Two weeks.” He nods like hes thinking about something his lips pressed together. He leans forward on the table more.

“There was another reason I wanted to see you.” He says, his smile disappearing. You hold your breath in anticipation of what he’s going to say next. He takes a breath in for a second looking you in the eyes.

“I really wanted to see you again.” He says, okay that’s not bad. You almost want to laugh at how worked up you got yourself. He just wants to say thank you, he’s buying you coffee because he want’s to be nice. You helped him with his ankle. Now he’s asking if you’re single.

Wait what?    

“Single?” You ask, your brain trying to comprehend what you missed. He nods his smile coming back, at least that puts you at ease. 

“Yeah, I’m single. Are you single?” It seems like the appropriate time to ask him too. His lips are pressed together again like he’s trying to formulate a sentence in his head. 

“It’s complected,” A cheeky smile forms on his lips as he sips his coffee. 

“What do you mean it’s complicated? Do you have a girlfriend?” You ask frowning at him.

“No.” He replies flatly.

“A boyfriend?” He puts his coffee down. 

“I wanted to see you cos I’ve spent the last week tryin’ te get ya out my head and it’s impossible.” He says leaning forward. You blush at his words. 

“What do you mean it’s complicated though?” Your heart beating faster in your chest you can’t tell if it’s the caffeine from the tea or the words from Johnny’s mouth but it was getting harder to concentrate. 

“I’m married to my work.” He says leaning back. You sigh, this has happened before. ‘I can’t be with you the job is too important’ It’s all too familiar, finding love when every one around you is throwing their lives on the front line is near impossible. You’d pretty much given up finding love at work, it’s not even the anti-fraternisation rules. People are just never looking for anything long term. Looking for men outside of work is no better. As soon as they find out you’re an army nurse, or army in general it’s usually met with a slew of sexist comments before you realise looking for love at whatever bar you’ve been dragged to was a bad idea. 

“I get it,” You say trying to hide your disappointment. 

“C’mon lass it don’t mean we can’t still be mates.” He says it sounds almost like a plea. You feel sad and drained, you didn’t know what to expect from the meeting but you weren't expecting to feel like you just got dumped by someone you didn’t even date. You look at johnny his blue eyes look sad, he grips the handle of his coffee mug. Maybe you’re being too emotional, you look down in your tea.  

“It’s okay, you seem like a nice guy but I know how this goes. We’ll talk maybe have sex a few times but sooner or later you’ll move on, or be deployed or I’ll move on or be stationed somewhere else…” You look at Johnny finishing the rest of your tea. And moving to stand up. He reaches out to you trying to get you to stay. 

“C’mon let me at least walk you back to the base.” You can’t help but see the pleading in his eyes his usual smile warms your heart. You go up and place a kiss on his cheek. 

“It’s okay John, I need to go into town anyway.” You smile your hand patting his chest, you can feel the tight muscles under your hand only making it harder to turn away. But you pull your hand off his chest and head for the door.

————————

You spend the next two weeks having to almost actively avoid Johnny. Since whatever mission he was supposed to be on was cancelled he’d been helping round the base with all kinds of different things. You would bump in to him all the time, your eyes always betraying you and wandering to him whenever he was in your view. 

He would always wink at you or smile at you. Good luck if he could physically trap you. He would talk your ears off about anything. The gym is where you would see him the most, usually with Simon or another man you didn’t recognise. He spent a lot of time with Simon, the ‘big scary skull guy’ some of the other nurses would call him. He seemed nice, he’s quiet, the most you hear from him are sighs or grunts. 

“I heard his face was burnt off in a horrible accident.” One of them said one day as you were eating lunch in the mess. Your eyes had barely left Johnny’s face he was sat a few tables ahead of you. He seemed to like the fact you were always watching him. His eyes meeting yours and smiling, sometimes winking making you blush. Sometimes you would look up and it would Simon's eyes staring you down. His gaze would always send shivers up your spine, the hairs on the back of your neck would stand up. 

The nurses round the table are giggling as they spread rumours about him. Nurses sure love to gossip, you try not to participate, there’s not much to do on the base though. Besides everyone ends up knowing everyone's business at some point. 

“I heard he went psycho and took out a whole enemy base in Iraq. He covers his face so no one can ID him.” Another one said. Whatever it was about he definitely seemed to be the talk of the base.

“That’s bullshit, he’d be discharged.” 

“Nope, he’s special forces SAS.” The nurse sitting closest to you whispered as she leaned into the table. It was enough to piss you off.

“We’re not in secondary school anymore! Don’t you have anything better to do?” You snap leaving the table. You knew you could feel Johnny’s eyes digging into you. 

When you’re leaving the base Johnny tries to catch up to you. You don’t want to talk to him, you don’t know what to say to him. You’re leaving the last thing you need is a citation while you’re literally walking out the base. 

“C’mon lass give me 2 minutes.” He calls. Maybe it’s your weakness to help people, maybe it’s because truly deep down you wish you could give him a chance. Something about the break in his voice makes you stop in your tracks. 

“What? I don’t want to miss my bus.” You say turning to face him. 

“I just wanted to say thank you.” He’s smiling, of course he is, he tentatively takes a step forward with his arms outstretched.

“For what?” You ask frowning and shaking your head.  

“In the mess earlier.” His hand rubs the back of his neck as he blushes. “Saved me from having to stop Si- Riley from giving them a piece of his mind.” 

You smile, dropping your head. 

“Yeah well it was nothing. You don’t have to say thank you. You turn looking over at the bus stop. “I really have to go.” 

“No, of course.” He says shaking his hands. “See you round then?” 

“Probably not.” You shrug. If he really is SAS he won’t be around by the time you get your next post. He nods knowingly his smile fading. You smile back at him then turn to leave the base.

…

When you made it home you welcome the rest. Your small London apartment had been rented out for the few months you had been away, the place was going to need a good clean tomorrow. The thought of sleeping in a bed that had been home to a stranger for 5 months felt icky so you ended up curling up on the sofa turning the TV on for background noise. Your mind turning to Johnny. Wonder what he’s doing? Think he’s still at the base?

Your mind some how turned to Simon too, thinking back to all the rumours you’d heard. None of them even remotely sounding plausible. Who cares, he has his reasons for the mask, it’s none of my business. Your phone buzzed and you reached over to pick it up. 

Made it home safe? 

It was Johnny, he hadn’t texted you since the coffee date. Well date was the wrong word. 

Yeah.

You hover over the send button wondering if this was a good idea or not. You take a deep breath in and hit send throwing the phone to the other side of the couch going back to watch whatever distraction was on the TV. You don’t even remember falling asleep.

...

You’re woken by a knock at the door, you look out the window the sun is peaking through the clouds, you check your watch its 10am. There is another knock. You pull yourself off the couch stiff from sleeping in such an awkward position.

“I’m coming.” You call yawning, looking through the peep hole. 

What the fuck? 

You open the door. 

“John?” You ask shocked.

“Hey,” He says, his smile radiating off his face, his hair is a mess he looks like he’s barely slept. You look at him in stunned silence shaking your head. 

“I wasn’t completely honest with you.” He says. “Can I come in? I’ll be quick I promise.” 

“Not really the best opening line if you want to get into someones flat.” You say.

“Scouts honour.” He says holding up 3 fingers. You roll your eyes and step aside so he can come in. 

“When I said it was complicated, it’s not cos I’m married to the job…” He trails off standing in your kitchen door so there is at least a foot distance between you two. 

“I am married, to Simon.” Your mouth falls open at the revelation.

“Simon Riley?” you ask, almost shaking your head in disbelief.

“Yeah,” He shrugs.

“So you’re gay?” 

“Yeah, well bi, both of us. That’s why it’s complicated.” You shake your head not quite understanding. He seems nervous all of a sudden.

“Well, we both still like women, and, you know-or I guess you don’t know-we experimented threesomes and what not.” He ran his hand through his hair. “There is something different about you, we’ve both been obsessed with you, can’t get you out our heads.” 

“Both?” You ask, your mouth hanging open. Obsessed?

“Aye, Simon’s not good with words though, or at least not till he gets to know ya.” He chuckles running his hand through his hair again. You take a deep breath out.  

“What do you want Johnny?” You ask. Is he asking for sex? A threesome? 

“Have coffee with me and Simon.” He asks pressing his hands together.

“That’s it coffee?” You ask somewhat stunned. 

“Yeah.” He says nodding. 

“You came all the way to my flat to ask me to have coffee with you and Simon?” You fold your arms, you can’t tell if you feel disappointed it’s not sex or annoyed that he’s basically invaded your privacy for something so trivial. He shrugs. 

You close your eyes, pinching the bridge of your nose. It’s the first day of your leave and you’ve basically been followed home. You sigh, it’s not like you have anything better to do while you’re on leave, and it is only coffee. You take a big breath in opening your eyes. Johnny’s smiling again, the smile that makes your heart skip a beat and the butterfly's wake up. 

“Okay.” You nod, You don’t get chance to finish your thought cos he’s thrown his arms round you squeezing you. 

“Thank you, thank you.” He says breaking from the hug. Your cheeks are definitely red now, after feeling his body pressed against yours. You can’t help smiling. He reaches over for the door handle.

“I’ll text you a time and a place,” you nod as he goes out the door.

“Hey Johnny how did you find my address?” 

“A friend of a friend,” he smiles up at you from the stairs. You shake your head in disbelief. What the hell just happened? You go back into your flat locking the door behind you and going over to the balcony. You’re looking for a car but you don’t see anything. 

You let out a long breath. What could he want? You push the thought away. It’s just coffee. Coffee with John and Simon who are SAS soldiers. Married and are probably wanting to proposition you for a threesome. 

You go back inside looking over at your immaculately clean bathroom. You better get started, 5 months on base have done you no favours. 

Next

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[smusherina]

yard work - chapter 9 (regina george x reader)

fandom: Mean Girls (all media)

pairing: Regina George x OFC/Reader

summary: You'd been in the same class as Regina George since kindergarten. You'd lived on the same street even longer. Once upon a time, when life was sandbox disputes and who got the swing first arguments, you'd even been friends. Now, in junior year of high school, you doubted she even remembered you. The same couldn't be said about you. You definitely remembered her.

warnings(s): use of the d-slur, the one for lesbians. use of the q-slur, the one that’s been taken back.

chapter 1 / chapter 2 / chapter 3 / chapter 4 / chapter 5 / chapter 6 / chapter 7 / chapter 8 / chapter 10

You lost track of time, mind consumed by Regina's mouth on yours. The feel of her lips, her hands playing with the hairs at the back of your neck, made you tingle. You didn't know much about actual technique when it came to kissing, but taking cues from and mirroring Regina seemed to work. When she opened her mouth and bit your bottom lip, you chanced a little tongue. Met with welcome, the kiss deepened. The sensations had you shivering, hands gripping tightly at Regina's waist.

"Bed, now," Hazy and a little slow, you chased Regina when she pulled away, making a pathetic little sound at the loss of her. She stood up and pulled you with her, roughly pushing you onto your back. Sprawled on the bed, you could only watch as she climbed over you. Soon, her lips descended down on yours again and your eyes blinked shut.

Then, startling you like a bucket of cold water thrown onto you, her hands snuck under your shirt. Her nails brushed at your ribs and you, despite the nervous excitement bubbling, began to feel apprehensive.

"Reg," You mumbled, hands moving from her shoulders to her upper arms. "Reg, I- hold on."

"What?" She kissed down your cheeks to your neck.

"Hold on, I-" Your breath hitched, the tickle of her lips in such a sensitive place hindering your ability to speak. "I don't wanna have sex."

As if shaken from a trance, Regina pulled away abruptly. Her hands slid out of your shirt and rested on either side of your torso, looming above you. The dim, warm tinted lamp light from the nightstand made her hair, hanging around you, seem like a halo. Or a canopy.

"You don't want to have sex." She said, voice a little hoarse and eyes betraying something until she pulled the shutters closed. "You're lucky I'm letting you get this far."

You stared up at her, stunned. "What? Letting me? You're on top of me."

"I know you want this. You've been wanting this for a long time. I've seen the way you look at me, the way you act around me." She spoke fast as if she was trying to convince both you and herself.

Panic was beginning to constrict around your throat. It took a while to find your voice.

"Reg, I'm sorry, but-"

"You should be sorry." She crawled away from on top of you and stood up. You leaned up on your elbows to keep looking at her. "You should be so sorry."

"I- I am," You tried to reassure her, tried to hold down your own hurt. "I just thought this was a little fast."

She rolled her eyes at you, though the action seemed jilted. "You've been pining the whole time we've been friends, I'd say it's been long enough. And now, when you have all you want offered to you, you reject it."

"Is this what this is about? Rejection? Regina, I just meant not yet."

"You're so fucking full of yourself." She accused, pointing a finger at you. The whole display was made weaker by the glistening in her eyes and the redness covering her from neck to ears.

"You think you can walk into my life, cause all sorts of chaos, take my family from me, and then reject me?" She hissed, gesturing with her arms all the while. You swallowed, unsure of what you should do.

She was firing insults at you and the only thing you could think to do was sit there and take it.

"Chaos? I'm not trying to take your family from you, Reggie, where's this coming from?" You stood up, feeling too awkward to be on the bed.

"You think I haven't seen the way you act around my mom or my sister? You want to be me so bad, you're acting like they're your family. They're mine and you're never gonna have them! You're never gonna have a family!"

You reeled back, offended by the uncalled-for insult.

"You have the gall to come to my home, my family's Thanksgiving dinner, acting all holier than thou meanwhile Kylie fawns over you and mom dotes on you."

"Are you jealous? They love you, Regina." Your ability to argue was getting flimsier by the minute, the stinging in your eyes inhibiting any power you could've drawn from.

"Jealous? You think I'm fucking jealous? I have everything and you have nothing!"

"I don't think that's true, Reg. I think that you're hurt and saying things you don't mean."

"You always put words in my mouth, try to manipulate me and change me into someone you think I should be. I'm good the way I am!"

"Change can be good, Reg, I just-"

"God, you're actually so insufferable. Genuinely, I cannot stand to be around you. I hate you." She turned away from you, hands going to her hair and tugging. "I don't need to change. I hate that you try to make me. I hate that you've already done it, with your fucked up mind games."

You blinked rapidly and breathed in deeply, trying to stay calm. She was just being destructive because she was hurt. She didn't mean any of it. She was just earlier kissing you. Didn't that count for something?

"I don't play mind games. I just wish you were kinder."

"You wish I was this and that, and what about me?" She whirled around and strode up to you. "I am this way. I am not kind, I'm not soft, and I thrive."

"Are you thriving, Reg?"

"Do not call me what stupid name!" She yelled, getting right in your face. You flinched back, startled and scared. "Oh, you're gonna cry now that your other tactics don't work anymore? I see right through you, you freak."

"Don't yell at me, Reggie." You said, biting your lip to keep it from trembling. You wiped at your eyes furiously. "I'm sorry, okay, for rejecting you, for trying to change you. I didn't mean to manipulate you."

"I'll do whatever the fuck I want to you." She hissed. "I'll fucking ruin your life. I'll tell people you're a lesbian and what you tried to do to me."

"What?" You breathed. "What do you mean? What I tried to do to you- do you hear yourself?"

"I hear myself, jorts, and so will everybody else when I tell them what a disgusting, perverse little dyke you are."

You wouldn't have described it as something snapping, but you'd had enough by then. It stung, hearing that from her, of all people. It stung more than you liked to admit because you knew her.

You knew she didn't mean it, she was lashing out, and desperately trying to cling to the power she'd lost the moment she'd been vulnerable with you- kissed you.

You didn't want to feel it, so you were mean instead.

"Just like you did to Janis then. Did you kiss her too and when you got scared you decided to ruin her life. Is that how it went?" You laughed bitterly and before she could interrupt, went on. "Is that how you're gonna live your life, Regina? Anytime you feel those dirty, lesbian urges you'll use some innocent bystander to sate your lust and then, because they know too much, you ruin them? Sounds very sustainable."

"How dare you accuse me of being that," Her face was scrunched in anger, red like the devil.

"Oh, I dare, I seem to recall you were just kissing me, on top of me, hands up my shirt. You're not fooling anybody, Reg, you're a filthy queer just like me." You were aiming to hurt now, wanting her to feel like you did. "The truth is, Regina, that you fucking hate yourself. You hate yourself and you just don't know what to do with yourself so you make everybody around you feel the exact same way."

"No, that's not true, I-" Seeing her face crumble, her posture turn defensive, stoked the fire of your anger. You wanted her to hurt, wanted to punish her for leaving you back then and insulting you now.

"You're like some shitty reincarnation of Heather Chandler, all high and mighty until you're inevitably toppled by some nobody you were so sure was so below you that they couldn't even pose a threat."

"Great film analysis there, loser." Regina quipped weakly, already backing down. You weren't done, though.

"It's only a matter of time before Cady Heron pours you a glass of drain cleaner too, and I'll be looking forward to the day." You sniped, watching as Regina's lip curled in an exaggerated show of being unaffected. You knew her. You knew she'd seen Heathers and you knew the parallels weren't pleasing to the eye. You knew you were going too far, but you couldn't stop.

"You think you're such a martyr, you think that-"

"I thought we were friends, Regina! All I wanted was to be your friend. Sure, I liked you, but that didn't have to mean anything until you kissed me."

"It meant something the whole time! You can't act like it was nothing, our whole friendship is tainted by it!"

"Get over yourself, Regina, you could've ignored it like you do every flaw you have!"

"I don't have flaws, I'm above that." She scoffed, but the tremor in her voice told you that even she didn't think that was true. "I'm doing everyone a favour by showing who's on top."

"Who are you? A fucking dictator? Is that how you truly see yourself? Because I see a scared little girl, confused and angry, taking it out on the easiest targets."

"Nobody gets to feel okay when I feel like this! It's not fair! It's not fair they get to be happy and I have to be like this all the time! I hate this and they deserve it!"

You fought to ignore your heart breaking for her, how her words and obvious cries for help made you want to bleed for her. You'd stood idly and let her hurt you for long enough, it was about time you stood up for yourself.

"Oh, well, I'm so sorry then. I'm starting to fucking get Janis. Maybe I could've come up with the Homecoming sprinkler prank myself. Maybe I should've let you use the lard for your face."

You regretted it the moment the words left your lips.

A beat, both of you staring at each other, faces slack and chests heaving from all the screaming, regret and betrayal swirling in the air like a toxic tornado, passed.

"You knew?" Regina whispered, suddenly so quiet the wind from your sails wooshed away. "You knew and you didn't tell me?"

"I... I did." You looked down. Fuck. You'd fucked up. You'd insinuated you wanted to see her die. You didn't want that at all. Tears sprung to your eyes again and you pressed the heels of your palms to them.

Could this even be fixed at this point? You should've just shut up and it wouldn't have escalated like this. You knew why she'd reacted the way she did, you knew, but you hadn't been able to stay level-headed when she'd started coming at you.

"Get out." She spoke normally, volume steady. She was shaking, you could see that even with your faltering vision.

"I'm sorry, Reg, I really am. I should've told you. I shouldn't have said those things to you. I'm sorry."

"I said get out."

Unable to hold it any longer, a sob burst out and you decided to leave before you humiliated yourself any further. You grabbed your overnight bag and practically ran out of the room.

You should've been quieter because Mrs George came to see who was stomping down the stairs so late. She had a wine glass in hand, a silken robe tied at her waist, and a worried look on her face.

"Oh, hi, I packed some leftovers for you to- oh, honey, what's wrong?"

"It's- it's nothing, Mrs George." You hiccuped and looked away, embarrassed by your crying. You couldn't look her in the eye. Did you want her to be your mom? Did it matter when Regina clearly saw it that way even if it wasn't true? Taking any comfort from her now felt like proving her right.

"It doesn't seem like nothing. Why don't we go sit and you can tell me what happened. Did Regina say something mean?"

"I don't wanna talk about it, please."

Mrs George sighed. "There's leftovers in the fridge for you." She lingered as you passed. "Honey?"

"What?" Usually, you didn't have the heart to be so rude to her.

"You're welcome here anytime." She smiled at you gently. Clearly, she was experienced in dealing with volatile teenagers. You turned and headed for the kitchen.

Walking home, bag on your shoulder and various containers of delicious food in your arms, you felt numb. You'd left through the garage door, grabbing your clothes from the mudroom as you went, but you still had on the sweatpants.

Tears dried on your cheeks, eyes swollen and nose stuffy, you didn't know what to do. Snow was falling and the streetlights made the scene look more beautiful than was warranted. You felt empty, hollowed out like you'd spilt your guts, heart, and most other internal organs on the floor of Regina's bedroom.

You got home, put the leftovers in the fridge, and stood in the kitchen. Swallowing on a dry mouth, throat scratchy, you figured there was little else you could do other than smoke a cigarette.

You stepped onto the porch and sank down onto the bench swing. Lighting up and inhaling, you closed your eyes as the smoke passed through you.

Regina by the poolside in her bikini, Regina eating pizza on your couch, Regina on the passenger seat of your car, Regina smoking a cigarette with you under the bleachers.

That was all gone, then.

Notes: I was a little wary of having the chapter be only the argument, but it got so long that I figured it'd be nice to have the next chapters work towards a resolution straight away. No need to stretch out the acute misery for any longer than necessary. I'll say, though, that just like IRL something like this isn't just fixed right away. So look forward to more chapters! This is getting so long. I started writing this like, hey, a cute oneshot with a butch OC! Here we fucking are.

Taglist: @autorasexy, @wedfan2, @unadulterated-moron, @modernsapphicism, @9unknown0, @sage-rose2000, @massive-honkas, @nattys-swiftie, @likefirenrain, @luz-enjoyer, @dandelions4us, @natashamaximoff-69, @alexkolax, @jareaul0ver, @here4theqts, @charleeeesworld, @natsbiggestfan1, @brocoliisscared, @yellowwallflowers, @scarlettbitchx, @ayoungexwife, @cyberbonesworld, @syddie-reads, @screechcat, @theenglishswiftie,@gabby-duhh, @sweetmissnothing, @masterofpuppets-10, @l1lass, @starved-mortal

[suguru-getos]

| Bully!Satoru Gojo x F!reader | Part 3 |

Part I, II

Summary: You had just transferred schools, and your first day was an encounter with your new bully. He’s mean, terrifically hot & absolutely a menace. Though there’s more to that personna.

Chapter Summary: After taking an off from school, you are back & Satoru is hovering around you like a looming threat. Suguru is there to defend you this time, but with your rage spiralling, you couldn’t help but ruin the two weeks of you being amicable.

Warnings: Bully!Mean!Satoru ofc, but hey he’s a pookie at heart & he’s contemplating whether to stop!! ✋ Reader-chan snapped in this chapter, soft Sugu<3

Comment down below if you want to be tagged ^^ New chapter comes out every week!

Taglist: @mc-reborn @tvdumarvelhpsimp @alula394 @getoxmahito @knanamii @he4rts444mi @localginger22 @animeisforkings @ran6ia @creative1writings @lenaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaa @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @zoemaelol @shoutascoffeepot @whydohumansss @nyahctrl @a-trashbag @yoontaedotin @tojisworm-5 @mo0nforme @luciledreamz @camilo-uwu @sassyfoxunknown @bitchyinternetinfluencer @bakananya @mizzowizzo @k1y0yo @bl0odycutz @daidaiseam-blog @flirtyjen @nerdiel-has-no-braincells @jihyuniepark @stupiditystaar @lu-lynds @aymasakusa @creative1writings @roscpctals99 @eravariety @nanananananaiknow @b4tm4nn @milkm4nz @millimacis @bubera974 @ranhanabi777 @bleachisfood @thealphagirl @pinkprincessglitterzombie @tojisslxtt @chilichopsticks @deegausserr @tremendousdinosaurpizza @shittyhair234

Satoru feels upset and sick to his stomach, as someone who can be often used to people grovelling for him, being scared of him, and just respecting him as the honored one. You weren’t doing any of those and yet, you were suffering all the same. Any other girl would have chosen the easy way out, what does it need really? Apologize? Cry a little? Why aren’t you doing that?

All he could see was you going back home, the summer sun not being kind to you as you drag your feet back, after carrying his school bag for him. Suguru isn’t talking to him either. He simply said he doesn’t like to associate with feminine men who want to proclaim their ego more than their humanity. Boy that fucking stung & Satoru told Suguru to piss off before he’s beaten to a pulp. It’s not how Satoru was treating you which was a problem for him, he never hoped it would drag so much. All his blinding rage of the moment is fading off easy. He couldn’t drag this for a month for the life of him.

People love hanging out with Satoru also, despite whatever worshipping there is — he still has friends. This is surely one of the reasons they lurk around despite his intrinsic, domineering brattitude. He rolled his eyes upon realizing that he’s been standing there watching you walk away & scoffs, going inside.

Your shoulders hurt but you know his and your home is too far. You decide to use whatever pocket money you have to book a cab and leave home. Once you’ve reached, of course there are questions. Questions from your mum who’s calls you ignored. “Where were you? Why are you coming home from a fucking cab?” She snarled, raising a brow at your tired features. Your parents are normal, not too supportive not too toxic. However, normalcy when you’re imposed with external toxicity sounds toxic. Or maybe they just were… toxic. How would you decide either way? It’s not like you’ve taken trial periods of new parents to come to a decision.

“Sorry; head hurts. I’ll be in my room.” You dragged yourself across the expensive marble flooring of your home. You weren’t poor, per se… you just weren’t made privileged either.

Once you reached home, you sighed, back laid across the mattress and staring out into space. The sight of you drenched in cold water, the way your shoulders have red markings of the bag straps, all because you threw some gravy over the fucking bastard! You grit your teeth, jaw clenching. Fuck you hate him.

You hate that you’re crying again, tears and frustration bubbling in your eyes as you sniffled. Leaning your forehead against the mattress and curling up. You want to kick his ass so bad. If only this parental thing wasn’t involved…

The next day you’re not in school, your period had been unbearably shitty & so was your mental health along with migraines. The next day either, and not even the day after. Satoru is getting restless every day, walking to your class and seeing your seat vacant, walking away. Why the fuck does he not have your number? Why the fuck does it even matter… did he make you leave the school? Nah- why would you leave the school it wasn’t that bad right?

It was Friday again, four days of you not being here… you really thought maybe he would count this in the month? It’s almost two weeks over! Then again, Satoru Gojo would just push it for another four days of you serving him because you were absent. When you enter the school premises, you take a long breath, alright. No biggie, he’s just an annoying bully with Daddy’s money in his pockets.

The moment you enter, you find him lurching towards you, a beaming smile with black glasses. He looks so beautiful if he wasn’t so fucking shitty. You looked up at him and before he could say anything, “I was sick, even in companies and where you work, people are allowed to be sick. You can’t really extend the number of days because I was sick. That’s h-how it normally happens.” You mustered, defensive in your stance.

Oh… wow. He was just here to say hello, ask where you were and that if he had been too annoying that you decided not to come to school. Satoru was going to be nicer. Again, broken a little because you think so shitty of him. Not that he cares… he doesn’t… he— doesn’t…. Does he?

“Yeah, yeah I get you; damn do I scare you that much?” He chuckled, hands in his pockets. You knew you couldn’t say any of the twenty ass biting replies that you had logged at the back of your tongue. “Yeah, you’re my highschool nightmare, Gojo san.” You hummed, walking away.

He’s shamelessly following you, holding your wrist. “Didn’t say I was finished, did I?” His playfulness is gone, replaced by something carnal, icy again. You only manage to shake your head no. “Four days at home got you forgetting how to act right, hm?”

Satoru leaned down, making eye contact with you. You glanced at him back, pouting helplessly and shaking your head no. “Just- didn’t think you need me.”

He didn’t really plan on it, he just wanted to have a conversation! Why were you sick? His stomach was turning upside down at the thought of you handling Japan’s heat at 3 PM that Monday. He could’ve asked if you wanted some water… fuck this. He made this bet to make you suffer & you were suffering. What’s the problem really?

The problem was he wasn’t an asshole he pretended to be… and he didn’t think this would drag so long. Haven’t you seen other girls? They fawn over him endlessly, buzzing around him & always eager to have a speck of his attention. This is what makes him pissed off, again.

“You think a lot for someone who’s as dumb as you.” He chuckled, jabbing at your self respect once more like it’s free reign. “Sorry, tell me what is it you need from me?” You just ignore everything he says and focus on one goal. For this hellish month to end so you are free from Satoru Gojo’s clutches. Though with the way he talks to you, it does seem like you could handle your mother taunting you for months about how stupid you are after giving him the money. At least… she’s blood.

“Hey” the next voice that echoed was Suguru. He was the best friend who was around him of course. You remember his gaze, it wasn’t pity towards you when Satoru practically bore you naked in the cafeteria by spilling water over your white shirt. It was rage, subjected for Satoru & Satoru alone.

Satoru raised his brow, “Don’t interfere where you’re not needed, Suguru.” He snapped, while the latter only smiled in an annoyingly calm manner. “Wasn’t talking to you.” He simply answered your bully, looking at you. “Welcome back, I thought you had left the school.” He smiled, giving you the same popsickle that Satoru had you fetch.

You didn’t take it from him, why is he so hell bent on making things worse for you? Though his act of kindness doesn’t go unnoticed. It was like rain on lava. Bubbling emotions rushing down as you couldn’t help but blink furiously to evade the tears you find coming. “N- no, I’m uh… okay. I was just sick.” You managed, gnawing at your lip and wanting the world to swallow you whole. People on their way to classes were already seeing you between the two hot-shots of the school.

“So you can cry huh?” Satoru laughed, almost in disbelief. This is what he wanted didn’t he? Anything said by Suguru which made you emotional had you snap back instantly. “Do you need anything from me or can I go to class?” You say with such hatred it’s truly shocking.

“Yeah, write one thousand times that you will not leave my side until I’m not finished talking.” Satoru says simply, oh he’s pulling off Suguru’s rage on you now.

“You don’t have to do shit- it’s-” before Suguru could say anything else, you nodded. “Mkay. Can I go to class now?”

Satoru gnawed at his lip, he didn’t want today to be like this. He really thought he could make some progress. “Yeah, handwriting can’t be shitty or you rewrite.” He pushed your boundaries once more, hoping to earn a reaction out of you yet again.

“Understood.” You nodded, walking away. Just two more weeks… just, two more weeks.

During the lunch time, you go to him naturally. “Heh, shouldn’t she sit on the floor?” One of his classmates smirked when you walked to him. Oh?

“Shouldn’t you lay down on the floor?” You asked him, before launching a kick right at his face, knocking him unconscious as he dropped down. Wow… everyone was stunned, including Gojo Satoru. Another reminder that he only has you on a leash because he played dirty, another reminder that you are different.

He snickered, of course he wouldn’t chide you for kicking some random asshole’s ass? He would’ve done the same. How he treats you is his problem. Though, you’re pissed, “This is what I didn’t want.” You looked at him, gritting your teeth. “You treating me like shit gives other people the right to treat me like shit.”

You were… wrong. This wouldn’t end after a month? What were you even thinking? There would be other people who would rise up after him to bother you. “I’ll get you the fucking money to shove far up your pathetic ass.” Here you go, losing it again…

[hoe4hotchner]

Chapter 5 - Cracks in the ice

Pairing: Aaron Hotchner x figure skater (fem)!Reader

Summary: The story follows you a figure skater training for nationals and Aaron Hotchner as your lives intertwine during an investigation into the abductions of young athletic women, including the your close friend, Leah. As the BAU delves deeper into the case, you find yourself captivated by Hotch’s quiet strength and protective presence. When Leah’s body is tragically discovered at the rink, the tension escalates, surrounding you in an atmosphere of fear and uncertainty.

Word count: 6.2k

Warnings: Graphic descriptions of nightmares, blood, stabbing, violence, fear, case-related discussions, mention of potential stalking/harassment, rivalry, use of Y/N, bitterness, failure, and career-ending behavior, mentions of the Olympics.

A/N: The number of videos and articles I’ve watched and read for the latter half of this chapter is insane… My cookies are going to be messed up for the rest of my life, and I’ll forever only get figure skating suggestions.

Masterlist

The investigation had taken a grim, unsettling turn since Leah’s tragic death, leaving an oppressive weight hanging in the BAU. Tension crackled in the air, thick with unspoken fears, and the mood had shifted from determination to something darker, much darker. You sat at the round, cold table in the conference room, the harsh fluorescent lights glaring down on you and the BAU agent's tired faces. Their heated discussions about leads and suspects echoed around the room, voices rising and falling, but none of it truly registered with you. You weren't really paying attention. The words blurred together, becoming distant murmurs as your mind raced, consumed by a whirlwind of disbelief, anxiety, and grief.

The upcoming competition had once been a beacon of excitement and pride, but now, now it loomed over you like an impending storm. What had once been your passion — your escape, your everything — now felt like an obligation, a chore tainted by the shadow of Leah’s death. You knew it would be the talk of the competition. And as much as you longed for and missed Leah, you were sad that an event like this — supposed to be filled with happiness and talent — would be tainted by such tragedy. The rink had once been your sanctuary but no longer felt safe, its ice stained with the memory of Leah's pool of blood. The thought of returning there filled you with dread as if each glide across the ice would be haunted by the echoes of what you had lost — what you could lose.

“Based on the victimology and the profile we’ve constructed, it seems likely that the unsub is someone who’s been involved in the skating community,” Hotch said, his voice was steady and authoritative. His eyes swept the room, making deliberate eye contact with each member of the team, ensuring his words landed with full impact. “They know the routines, the schedules — this is not a random act. It’s targeted.”

His words cut through the tension in the room, sending an icy chill down your spine. The thought that the unsub was not some outsider, but someone within your world, unsettled you deeply. The faces of familiar coaches, skaters, and staff flashed through your mind as you struggled to imagine who could be capable of such a heinous act. You swallowed hard, trying to suppress the rising unease gnawing in your bones. This wasn’t just a case you had somehow gotten involved in anymore — it was personal. The world you had loved, the routines and schedules that had once brought you comfort, now felt like a trap, manipulated by an unseen hand. And the worst part was knowing that you or someone you cared about could be next.

 “Let’s consider the patterns of behavior we’ve seen in previous cases,” Hotch said, guiding the discussion. “Unsubs with similar backgrounds often display obsessive traits. He could be lurking in the shadows, watching practices, studying routines, trying to find his next victim. He likely wants to instill fear within the community, and as far as he can tell, it's working.”

“Garcia,” Hotch called out. “Can you gather information on any past complaints or incidents involving the victims? Anything that stands out — arguments, jealousies, or even online disputes. This might help us uncover underlying tensions in the skating community.”

“On it!” Garcia replied, her fingers dancing across her keyboard. “I’ll start digging into social media as well, looking for posts or comments that could hint at underlying rivalries or tensions. You’d be surprised what people let slip online, especially when emotions are running high.”

You felt uncomfortable by the conversation between the analyst and Hotch, knowing fully well that although you weren't aware of any disputes or fights, the fact that she could dig up your whole digital footprint in a matter of minutes was terrifying. It reminded you of how vulnerable you were, especially in a world where everyone was connected yet so distant.

“Garcia, while you’re at it, could you also pull up any recent reports of harassment or stalking within the skating community?” Hotch asked. “Even if they’re not directly related to our case, they could provide context that helps us understand this unsub’s behavior.”

“Absolutely!” Garcia replied, already typing away. “I’ll prioritize those reports and see if anything stands out. If there are any patterns or common threads. You'll have them faster than you can say; Four fine fresh fish for you"

“Thanks, Garcia,” Hotch said with a nod, appreciating her enthusiasm. “Just remember to focus on cases that have happened in the last year or so. We need the most relevant information.”

“Got it, boss!” she chirped, her fingers a blur across the keyboard.

Turning back to the team, Hotch continued, “Let’s not lose sight of the potential victims. We need to ensure their safety first. Morgan, I want you to coordinate with local law enforcement to increase visibility around the rink during practices and events. Perhaps even set up a temporary command post nearby.”

Morgan straightened in his chair. “I’ll get on it right away. If the unsub thinks he can target skaters without consequence, he’s in for a rude awakening.”

As the discussion continued, theories and speculations flying around the room, a wave of frustration surged within you, crashing against the carefully constructed walls you had built to cope. It was becoming harder to keep those walls intact. Your once meticulously planned training schedule had been thrown into chaos, completely upended by the heightened security measures now in place. Extra patrols at the rink, agents stationed in the shadows, and constant check-ins from Hotch had become your new reality. What used to be a sanctuary — a place where you could lose yourself in the rhythm of the ice and the thrill of competition — now felt suffocating, the weight of the investigation always pressing down on your chest. With every passing day, it grew harder to focus, the pressure of preparing for the competition clashing with the ever-present fear that gripped not only you but the entire staff and skating community.

You felt trapped, caught between the urgency of the investigation and your desperate need to reclaim the life and the passion that skating had always brought you. Every time you laced up your skates, it felt like a battle to push past the fear, the reminders of Leah, and the nagging thought that the person responsible could be watching you from the shadows. You longed for the days when skating had been simple, pure, untouched by the dark realities that had suddenly invaded your life. But now, that world seemed distant, blurred by the same shadows that clouded your thoughts.

You leaned back in your chair, staring blankly at the scattered files on the table as your thoughts swirled like a storm cloud, dark and chaotic. You were sure that Hotch and the team broke every protocol by letting you see these files. The knot of anxiety in your stomach tightened with every passing second, twisting until it felt almost suffocating. It was like standing on the edge of a cliff, unsure of when the ground beneath you might give way.

You could feel Hotch’s gaze on you. And even as you tried to avoid looking in his direction, his concern was noticeable, etched deep into the lines of his face. There was no judgment in his eyes — just understanding, a reminder that he, too, had carried the weight of loss, fear, and duty. But knowing that didn’t make it any easier to face. His presence, though comforting in its own way, was only a reminder of how far this had spiraled beyond your control, maybe even beyond his control.

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, fighting the urge to get up and escape the tension in the room. It felt like everyone was moving forward, searching for answers, while you were stuck, paralyzed by the collision of your personal and professional worlds. The fear that had once been an abstract concept in your life now felt way too real, manifesting in the way your body tensed and your thoughts spun, unable to focus on your routine, your spins, and jumps — they craved precision, one that you weren't able to find. You clenched your hands in your lap, trying to ground yourself, but it was impossible to shake the feeling that everything was slipping through your fingers. You knew you needed to get back on the ice, to feel the cold air in your face. It was truly the only way you knew to ground yourself.

“Y/N,” Hotch said quietly, his voice slicing through the fog of your spiraling thoughts. It was soft but carried enough weight to pull you from the chaos inside your mind. “Are you alright?”

You glanced up, meeting his eyes. There was no demand for an answer, just concern. For a brief moment, the tension in your chest eased, though the knot in your stomach remained. You opened your mouth, trying to find the words, but they stuck, caught between the urge to let it all out and the fear of appearing vulnerable.

His eyes remained on you, he was patient, waiting for whatever response you could or would give.

You forced a smile. “Just trying to figure out how to train with all this going on,” you muttered, the words feeling flat, like an excuse that even you didn’t believe. They felt hollow, as though they were a weak attempt to cover the frustration and fear gnawing at you, but no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t seem to find the right way to express the storm of emotions swirling inside.

The truth was, it wasn’t just about training. It was about trying to function while everything around you seemed to be unraveling.

Hotch’s eyes remained steady on you. You knew he wouldn’t push, but his silence felt like a gentle nudge, urging you to be honest with yourself, to admit that this was all far more than just about disrupted training schedules and competition jitters. It was about how lost you felt, how every part of your life had been infiltrated by fear, leaving you grasping at the last remnants of normalcy.

But you couldn’t admit that — not yet and certainly not to him. So you held onto that smile, fragile as it was, and hoped it would be enough to keep the conversation from delving deeper into your emotions.

Hotch’s expression softened as he took a step closer to you. The sharp lines of concern on his face seemed to ease, replaced by a warmth that made your heart feel a little lighter. “I know it’s difficult, but we’re doing everything we can to keep you safe.”

“Thanks, Hotch. I appreciate it.” You met his gaze, finding a flicker of hope in his unwavering support, and for that instant, the weight on your shoulders lifted for a moment.

As the meeting wore on, you found yourself stealing glances at him, captivated by the way he commanded the room, drawing everyone's attention to him. The measured cadence of his voice had a calming effect, making even the most intense discussions feel more manageable. Each time he spoke, it felt like he wasn’t just leading the conversation; he was anchoring the team, grounding them amidst the chaos of the investigation.

You could only imagine that this was how all their cases went.

You could see how his presence inspired trust and respect in his team and it made you acutely aware of the influence he had over those around him. The way he engaged with each member, listening intently and responding thoughtfully, fostered an environment where everyone felt valued and heard.

When the meeting finally concluded, you stepped outside into the crisp air, which hit your face like a splash of ice water, jolting you back to reality. The stark contrast between the stuffy conference room and the brisk outdoors was initially invigorating, a momentary escape from the weight of your thoughts. You had hoped for a moment of clarity in the cold, fresh air, a chance to catch your breath and regain your focus. However, instead of the relief you sought, it felt like the weight of the world settled more heavily on your shoulders, an almost tangible burden that threatened to crush you.

You took a deep breath, trying to fill your lungs with the fresh air, but it felt heavy with the remnants of your worries. As you leaned against the cool metal railing, you felt a mixture of frustration and despair. How could you prepare for a competition that could define your future when everything felt so uncertain?

“Y/N!” Hotch’s voice called out from behind you, cutting through the fog of your thoughts. You turned to see him striding toward you with purpose and determination. “Can we talk?” he asked, his tone laced with a sense of urgency.

You nodded, curiosity mingling with a flicker of anxiety. The way he approached you suggested that something dire was afoot. As he gestured for you to walk with him, you fell into step beside him.

“Listen,” he started, his voice dropping to a more intimate tone, “I know things have been tough lately.” His expression softened. “I can see the toll it’s taking on you, and I want you to know that you don’t have to be as involved with the investigation if you don't want to”

You swallowed hard, the knot of anxiety in your stomach shifting as his words resonated within you. It was a relief to hear him acknowledge what you had been feeling, to know that your struggles hadn’t gone unnoticed.

But you felt a surge of frustration bubbling to the surface, a mix of anger and helplessness that threatened to spill over. “Easy for you to say,” you shot back, your voice sharper than intended. “You don’t know what it’s like to put everything on the line and have it ripped away from you. I can’t just sit around and do nothing while my entire future hangs in a balance!” Each word felt like a weight lifted, but you could see the flicker of surprise in Hotch’s eyes.

“I understand more than you think,” he replied, his tone shifting, revealing a vulnerability that you hadn't expected. A flicker of emotion crossed his face, something deeper lurking beneath the surface. “This job… it takes and it takes. And in the end, it takes a toll on all of us. But your safety has to come first. We can’t afford to lose anyone else.”

“I just…” you began, searching for the right words to convey the whirlwind inside you. “I’m trying to stay focused on my training, but it feels impossible with everything going on.” You took a deep breath. “I don’t want to let anyone down, especially not you or your team. I want to find Leah's killer.”

Hotch stopped walking and turned to face you fully, his eyes searching yours “You won’t let anyone down,” he reassured you firmly. “We’re all in this together, and I’m here to support you — like I do with my team — in any way you need. If that means stepping back from some responsibilities for a while, then we’ll figure it out.”

His words washed over you. “I just don’t want to fall behind,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “This competition means everything to me. It’s my chance to prove myself.”

“I understand,” Hotch said. “But remember, this isn’t just about the competition. It’s about you and your well-being. That’s what truly matters. The rest will fall into place once I catch the unsub.” He reached out, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder, and you felt a surge of gratitude for his support.

“It’s hard to let go of the pressure I put on myself,” you confessed, allowing a hint of vulnerability to seep through. “I’ve always pushed myself to be the best, and now... it feels like everything is slipping through my fingers.”

“It’s natural to feel that way, especially in times of crisis." He offered you a small smile. He straightened up, his posture shifting back to its familiar authoritative stance, his demeanor transitioning seamlessly from supportive to professional as he glanced at his watch. “You should get to the rink and start your practice. It’s important to keep up your routine in case the unsub is watching you. I'll have a few agents follow you from afar, just in case he decides to show himself.”

The following days blurred together as the investigation deepened, each one slipping by like a fleeting shadow while the team methodically narrowed down their list of suspects. Every morning felt like stepping onto a tightrope, the weight of uncertainty pressing heavily on your shoulders, making it harder to find your balance.

That morning, long before the sun had even risen, you found yourself at the rink, alone. The arena was dimly lit, with only the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above and the echoing silence of your skates cutting through the ice. It should have felt peaceful — you hadn't even been bothered to turn on your playlist — a rare moment where the world was quiet, and no one was watching. No coaches barking corrections, no judges sizing you up, no teammates glancing over with judgment. Just you, the ice, and the rhythm of your blades.

But something was wrong.

You took a deep breath, pushing off from the boards, the familiar glide of your skates over the ice normally brought you solace. Today, however, the ice beneath you felt foreign, unpredictable, like it had a mind of its own. You tried to settle into your routine, warming up with some simple crossovers, the scrape of metal against ice echoing in the air. But even that felt off, your feet slipping slightly as if the ice itself was rebelling against you.

You shook it off, heading into your first combination. A simple waltz jump into a loop. Your muscles should have remembered this — they’d done it a thousand times before — but the moment you took off, your timing faltered. Instead of a graceful arc, you landed awkwardly, your blade catching at the wrong angle, sending you stumbling. A soft grunt escaped your lips as you fought to regain your balance.

"Focus," you whispered under your breath, determined not to let frustration take hold so early in the practice.

You pushed harder, determined to shake the creeping unease from your mind. You launched into an Axel — a jump that normally felt so freeing, defying gravity for just a moment. But as you pulled into the air, your arms too tight, your rotation uneven, you came down hard on your right leg, the edge catching before your ankle buckled beneath you. You hit the ice with a sharp thud, the sting shooting up your side as you let out a breathless groan.

Pushing yourself back up, your hands shaking slightly from the impact, you shook your head. It shouldn’t be this hard. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. You were better than this.

Next, you tried a simple layback spin — something you’d mastered long ago. But as soon as you hit your entrance edge, you felt the wobble. Your leg extended behind you, your back arching, but the spin was unstable. Your free leg swung out too wide, and instead of holding the tight, fast revolutions, you slowed and lost your center, the spin breaking apart awkwardly before you had to step out, gasping in frustration.

The rink was supposed to be your sanctuary. The one place where you could escape everything. But today, it felt like you were battling against it. Every jump, every spin — nothing was landing. Nothing felt right.

You tried again. This time a lutz, but your entry edge wobbled, your weight shifting too far inside, causing you to pop the jump, barely getting off the ice before your feet hit the surface again.

"Come on," you growled to yourself, pushing harder, anger and frustration bubbling up inside you.

A triple-toe loop, then — something that you could do without even thinking on a good day. Surely you should be able to get this right. You gathered speed, your arms pulling in tight as you prepared to launch into the jump. But again, in mid-air, it fell apart. Your body twisted wrong, your arms lost their placement, and you came crashing down to the ice, landing hard on your hip. The sharp sting of the cold surface against your skin made you wince as the air rushed out of your lungs.

You lay there for a moment, staring up at the ceiling, your breath coming in shallow gasps. You wanted to scream, scream out in frustration, not because of your inability to perform your routine, but because of everything surrounding you. Your life had become suffocating.

The rink, it was supposed to be your escape — the one place where the outside world didn’t matter, where it was just you and the ice. No matter how many times you told yourself to focus, your mind was elsewhere. Every jump was weighed down by the knowledge that someone could be watching, studying your every move, learning your routines. Every spin felt heavier, tangled with thoughts of Leah and the nightmares that had followed after her death.

The nightmares had started almost immediately after Leah’s death. At first, they were flashes — brief, jarring images that startled you awake, leaving you gasping in the dark. But as the days passed and the investigation deepened, they grew more vivid, more suffocating. You saw Leah on the ice, one moment she was dancing peacefully across the blank surface, the next her lifeless body was sprawled where you had found her, her eyes just as blank as the ice.

But in the dreams, she wasn’t alone.

The unsub was there, too.

He was always just out of reach, a shadowed figure standing in the background, faceless yet terrifyingly familiar. You never saw his face, but you could feel his presence — that sickening, oppressive aura that clung to him like a second skin. Sometimes, in the dream, you would skate toward Leah, desperate to reach her, to help her, but no matter how hard you pushed, the ice stretched farther and farther ahead of you. The more you skated, the further away she seemed, until the rink disappeared into a vast, empty hole, with only the unsub's shadow moving closer.

Other times, the dream shifted into something far darker — more visceral. You would see him there, standing over Leah’s crumpled form, his face still enveloped in darkness. His hand gripped a long, gleaming knife, its blade catching the cold, artificial light of the rink as he raised it high. And then, he brought it down, again and again, each strike tearing into Leah’s stomach. The sickening sound of the blade sinking into her flesh echoed in the arena.

Blood spattered across the ice in those dreams, bright red against the white, spreading in jagged patterns that stained the pristine surface. It splashed onto the unsub's hands, staining his clothes, but he didn’t falter. He just kept stabbing, over and over, as if possessed by a cold, mechanical need to destroy. You could hear Leah’s gasps for help, weak and broken, her body twitching with each new wound, her eyes wide in terror.

You were frozen, paralyzed with horror, screaming her name but unable to move. The ice felt like quicksand beneath your feet, holding you in place as the unsub’s violence escalated, each stab more vicious than the last.

The unsub never spoke, never showed his face. And then, just when you thought you couldn’t bear it any longer, he would stop. Slowly, deliberately, he would turn his head in your direction, as if he knew you were watching, as if this whole display was meant for you. The faceless shadow would lock eyes with you, his knife still dripping with Leah's blood, and you knew in your bones — he was coming for you next.

And then you would wake up, drenched in sweat, your heart racing in your chest, you always woke up before he had the chance to stand up, to attack. The feeling of dread never fully left you on those days. It clung to you like fog, following you throughout the day, weaving itself into every thought and every moment spent on the ice.

You slowly sat up, your body aching, your muscles stiff from the repeated falls. You sighed, brushing the ice shavings off your leggings determined to try again. Just as you were about to push off for another attempt, you felt you heard your phone ringing. You hesitated for a moment before skating over to the boards, your heart skipping a beat when you saw the caller ID.

Hotch.

The screen glowed with his name, and a knot tightened in your chest. You knew it couldn't be good. You quickly swiped to answer, lifting the phone to your ear. "Hotch?"

His voice was steady but carried a hint of urgency, instantly pulling your mind away from the nightmares. "Y/N, can you come to the Academy? We've made some progress on the case, and we need your input."

A rush of anxiety surged through you. “Progress?” You repeated, your voice quieter than you intended.

“Garcia found something,” Hotch continued. “It’s not definitive yet, but we think it could help us narrow down the suspect list. We’re also cross-referencing it with the harassment reports we pulled the other day. Your insight in the community could be key here.”

You exhaled slowly, a million thoughts swirling in your head, but none of them were clear enough to grasp. The idea of getting closer to identifying Leah’s killer — to identifying the man who had terrorized your thoughts — sent a jolt of adrenaline through you, but it was knotted in fear — fear of what they might find, of how close the danger could be — whether you knew him or not.

“I’ll be there as soon as I can,” you said, gripping the phone tightly, you tried to keep your voice steady despite the uncertainty brewing inside you.

“Good,” Hotch replied, his tone softening slightly. “Take your time. We’ll be waiting.” The line clicked off, and you stood there for a moment, staring at the phone in your hand.

You glanced back at the ice, at the grooves from your failed jumps, the scars etched into the surface. The maintenance guys would fix them before your return — they always did. Normally, you’d stay until you got it right, but today, none of it felt right.

You had somewhere more important to be.

Grabbing your skate guards, you slid them on and quickly packed up your things. As you left the rink, the echo of your footsteps followed you.

You hoped that maybe, just maybe, Hotch and his team were getting closer to stopping him.

The drive to the academy felt longer than usual, the rhythmic hum of your tires on the pavement did little to calm your nerves. The sun was still low in the sky, casting a golden light over the city as you sped through the empty streets. Your thoughts raced, bouncing between the nightmares that had plagued you all week and the urgency in Hotch’s voice over the phone.

By the time you arrived, the familiar sight of the academy’s structure grounded you just a little. You parked and quickly made your way inside, flashing your visitor's badge — Hotch had let you keep for the duration of the investigation — at security before heading up to the 6th floor where the team was waiting.

As you stepped through the door, you were greeted by the low murmur of voices and the glow of the overhead projector casting a map of the skating rink on the screen. You dropped your bag filled with your gear to the floor, not knowing why you had brought it inside with you — perhaps out of instinct. Hotch stood at the front, ready to begin the briefing.

“Y/N, thanks for coming in,” Hotch greeted you with a small nod. You took a seat at the table, your pulse still racing as you glanced at the team, each of them deeply focused on the files in front of them.

Hotch stepped forward, his gaze sweeping the room before landing back on you. “We’ve identified a former skater, Thomas Mercer,” he stated. “He has a history of aggressive behavior and a documented rivalry with Leah. His animosity toward her has been noted by others, both skaters and coaches.”

The name hit you like a slap to the face. Thomas Mercer. You knew him. Everyone in the skating community knew him. He had been a rising star, someone with undeniable talent, but his reputation had been marred by his temper and erratic behavior. Rumors of fights with other male skaters, shouting matches with coaches — it had all but ended his career. Leah had mentioned him once, briefly, but you had never given it much thought.

You swallowed hard, trying to process the information as Hotch continued.

“Garcia has pulled up records of confrontations he’s had at various skating events. Verbal altercations, threats — nothing that was officially reported as violence, but enough to paint a picture of someone who potentially holds a grudge to this day.”

You weren't sure if you believed it was him. No one had seen Thomas in years. It was like he had gone underground.

You shifted uncomfortably in your seat, a sinking feeling in your gut. “Leah never mentioned anything to me,” you murmured, trying to recall any conversation, any hint that this could have been brewing beneath the surface. But there was nothing.

“Don’t blame yourself,” JJ said softly, her eyes kind as they met yours. “People like Mercer are good at hiding their intentions until it’s too late.”

Hotch nodded, his expression unreadable. “Garcia is working on tracking his movements in the days leading up to Leah’s death. If he’s our unsub, we need to move fast before he finds another victim.”

“Do we have any concrete evidence linking him to the crime?” Rossi asked the same question that had lingered in your mind.

“Not yet,” Hotch replied, turning back to the screen where Mercer's picture had been pulled up. “But we’re working on it. Y/N, your knowledge of his career might help us fill in some gaps. Is there anything you can tell us about Mercer’s relationship with Leah or other skaters?”

You hesitated, searching your memory for anything that could be useful. “He was always… intense,” you finally said, choosing your words carefully. “Everyone knew he had a temper, but Leah never said much about him, she knew him better than I did. I think she tried to stay out of his way, but maybe that might’ve made him angrier. Leah had a reputation for being untouchable, and I've been told that that kind of thing usually fueled his anger. But there's been rumours, ever since I started training in the pavilion.”

Hotch turned his gaze toward you, his brow furrowed. “What kind of rumors?”

“About Mercer,” you replied, your voice steadied as you recalled the whispers you’d heard in the locker rooms at competitions. “People said he was bitter about not making it to the Olympics. He used to blame others for his failures. It wouldn’t surprise me if he had a vendetta against those who he thought stood in his way.”

Hotch nodded, the wheels in his mind visibly turning. “And Leah was a rising star. She likely represented everything he wished he could’ve achieved.”

“Perhaps,” you said, your heart racing at the thought. “He wasn’t just competing against her talent; he was competing against his past failures. I think that fueled his obsession. There were nights when I would hear him shouting in the rink after practice, cursing himself or others. He just never seemed to take responsibility for his actions. It was always someone else’s fault — but I was young, so I didn't think much of it then, I just thought that sort of anger followed loss.”

Hotch scribbled some notes on his notepad.

He gave a short nod, acknowledging your input. “We’ll look deeper into that.” He turned to the rest of the team, wrapping up the briefing as they gathered their files and began to disperse.

“Alright, everyone,” he said, his voice felt authoritative, resonating in the now-quiet room. “Let’s regroup in 4 hours to discuss our findings. Keep digging into the backgrounds of our suspects and monitor any new leads."

As the team nodded and filed out, their chatter faded into the hallway, you watched as they left, each one consumed by their thoughts and tasks. The room gradually emptied until it was just the two of you, the air thick with unspoken words. You need to tell him about Mercer.

Doubts gnawed at you. Deep down, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Mercer wasn’t the unsub. Yes, he had a temper and a documented rivalry with Leah, but you remembered the last time you’d seen him — a shadow of himself, of the skater he once was, barely holding himself together — he had looked miserable. Since then, he’d become a ghost, disappearing from the skating scene, the traces of him in the pavilion slowly fading away, his trophies and pictures disappearing — It was like he had completely vanished off the face of the earth.

It didn’t sit right with you to blame him for Leah’s murder when he seemed to be fighting his own demons. The thought of him being capable of such brutality felt wrong, even if others whispered about his bitterness.

What if he was just a convenient scapegoat for the killer, making sure the unsub could still lurk in the shadows? What if he had nothing to do with it? You shook your head, frustration bubbling up inside you. You couldn’t let your emotions cloud your judgment, but the idea that an innocent man might be wrongfully accused weighed heavily on your conscience.

A man you had once looked up to.

With a deep breath, you looked up at Hotch. “Can I speak to you for a moment?”

He nodded, pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down. The air was heavy with unsaid thoughts. “What’s on your mind?” he asked, his tone was gentle, his eyes searching yours for any hint of distress.

“I just… I don’t think it’s Mercer,” you blurted out, your voice shaking slightly. “As far as I’m aware, he doesn’t even live on this side of the country anymore. He’s been a ghost since the last competition when he successfully ended his own career with his temper.”

Hotch regarded you, processing your words. “I understand your hesitation. It’s natural to want to protect the community you care about. But the evidence we’ve gathered—”

“I get that,” you interrupted. “But what if you're chasing shadows? I mean, there are so many other skaters who could be more likely suspects. Thomas was always… erratic, but he never crossed the line into actual violence, at least not like this. Not to my knowledge.”

“So, you believe we should look elsewhere?”

“Yes!” You leaned forward, the intensity of your conviction spilling over. “There were so many skaters at his last competition. Anyone could hold a grudge against Leah — She did win the competition after all. Mercer was volatile, but he wasn’t the only one who felt overshadowed by her talent.”

Hotch took a moment to absorb your concerns, his fingers steepling in front of him. “I appreciate your insight. You know the dynamics of this community better than anyone. If there’s even a chance that Mercer isn’t involved, we need to consider other options, but we'll keep him on our radar just in case.”

Relief washed over you, but you quickly stifled it, wanting to remain focused. “I just want to make sure we’re looking in the right direction. The thought of it being someone else from the rink — it terrifies me — I can't put the thought past me that I might know them. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt.”

“You’re right to be concerned. We will reevaluate our suspects and dig deeper into the skaters who were at that last competition. If there’s any chance that someone else was motivated to harm Leah, we’ll find them.”

“Thank you,” you said softly, feeling a relief of gratitude wash over you, although the anxiety still lingered deep down. “I just… I want to make sure we’re doing everything we can. I don't want the wrong guy to be harmed.”

He smiled slightly, admiring you for a moment. He admired how much you cared about the people around you, about your sport, about everything.

With that, Hotch stood up, his demeanor shifting back into work mode. “I’ll have Garcia pull additional records from the competition. Please stay safe for the time being.”

“Will do,” you replied, determination coursing through you as you watched him head toward the door. “And Hotch?”

He turned back, raising an eyebrow in inquiry.

“Just… be careful. I don’t want to see you or anyone from the team get hurt either.”

@love4lando @therealbaberuthless @crazyunsexycool @pear-1206 @bookworm124 @itsmytimetoodream @c-losur3 @lumestar @evvy96 @booknerd2004 @werebearcocoon

[notsocooljess]

i know this conversation comes up every now and then, but i am again thinking about the lack of organized religion and other preexisting culture in panem outside of the mentioned traditions in each district.

this is really in my mind today because at the start of chapter 5 in catching fire when haymitch brings katniss and peeta through the hallways in the justice building in district 11, she mentions the room prepared for their use has “double doors,” “the ceiling must be twenty feet high,” there are “designs of fruit and flowers cut into the molding, and small, fat children with wings look down at [them] from every angle.”

this passage is strongly reminiscent of a church with cathedral ceilings that are adorned with cherubs, and it also implies that katniss does not know what cherubs are (or really the idea of angels at all for that matter).

considering district 11 is placed in the bible belt, i think this is a really interesting detail, and given katniss’s earlier details about how the justice building is worn and smells of mildew, it highlights how panem is likely using structures that existed before the country itself and how little they know about the world that existed before their country did.

it also shows how heavily united states ideals still influence panem, since though it is said to have “separation of church and state,” our country is very influenced by christian ideals, and these ideals are still somewhat looming over the people of panem.

[apollogeticx]

✧˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ LABOUR ♡·˚

— [♡] ; souls tied by fate will inevitably cross paths again. ｡°. gojo satoru

tags: endgame gojo satoru, afab!reader, slow burn, pregnancy, regret, hurt/comfort, angst, co-parenting, vulnerable gojo satoru, past suguru geto x reader, past rejection, longing, bittersweet, I'm dramatic so I write dramatic shit, chapter seven of ten

wc. 2.6K

prologue | part 1 | part 2 | part 3| part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 8

The journey back to the hideout was a blur. Gojo had kept his promise, moving swiftly through the remnants of the battle with you at his side. The landscape around you seemed surreal—broken, but eerily calm after the violence that had just unfolded. Every step felt heavy, each breath weighed down by the crushing grief that still clung to your heart.

Your mind raced, but your body moved on autopilot. The only thing keeping you grounded was the rhythmic pulse of your twins kicking inside you. Your body was aching, both from the strain of your pregnancy and the emotional toll of watching Suguru die, but there was no time to break down. You needed to get back to the hideout, back to your daughter, who was blissfully unaware of the storm that had ravaged your world.

Gojo walked beside you in silence. The tension between you was palpable, thick with unspoken words and unresolved emotions. You didn’t want to speak, and it seemed like he was giving you the space you needed. But you both knew that the confrontation you had avoided for so long was looming over you. There were things that needed to be said, things that had been buried beneath layers of resentment and regret for far too long.

The hideout came into view, hidden deep within the forest, shrouded in na almost unnatural quiet. It had once felt like a sanctuary, a place where you and Geto had begun to build a new life, far from the prying eyes of Jujutsu High. But now, it felt hollow, like an echo of a future that would never be.

When you reached the entrance, Gojo hesitated, his hand resting on the door as if unsure whether to proceed. You glanced at him, seeing the conflict in his expression. This wasn’t just about you anymore. It was about your daughter. Suguru’s daughter.

Without a word, Gojo pushed open the door, and the two of you stepped inside. The familiar scent of the hideout greeted you—wood, damp earth, and a faint hint of the herbs you used to calm your nerves. It was quiet, almost too quiet, and for a moment, you feared something had gone wrong.

But then you heard the soft sound of your daughter’s voice, babbling innocently from the nursery.

The tension in your chest eased slightly, though the weight of the situation still pressed down on you like a vice. You turned to Gojo, his gaze unreadable as he stood at the threshold, seemingly frozen in place.

“I’ll go to her,” you whispered, your voice thick with emotion. “Stay here.”

Gojo gave a curt nod, his jaw clenched, and you could feel the storm brewing beneath his calm exterior. You stepped away, leaving him behind as you made your way to the nursery.

When you reached the door, you paused, taking a moment to steady yourself. Your daughter was there, playing on the floor with one of the soft toys Geto had brought her. She looked up as soon as she saw you, her face breaking into a bright smile.

“Mama!” she chirped, her voice full of joy.

Your heart cracked at the sound. You knelt down, pulling her into your arms, holding her close as tears began to spill from your eyes. She didn’t know. She didn’t understand what had just happened, how her world had changed forever.

“Mama’s here,” you whispered, pressing your cheek to the top of her head. “I’m here.”

For a long time, you simply held her, the warmth of her small body against yours the only thing keeping you grounded. But even as you clung to her, you knew that this moment of peace was fleeting. The reality of what had happened, of what you had to face, was looming just beyond the door.

You heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind you, and you turned to see Gojo standing in the doorway. He looked at you, then at your daughter, and for a moment, something flickered in his eyes—something you couldn’t quite name. Pain, maybe. Regret.

Gojo’s expression softened for a brief moment, but then his gaze darkened again, the weight of what he had come here for pressing down on him. You stood, holding your daughter in your arms as you faced him.

“This is her?” Gojo asked quietly, though the answer was already clear.

You nodded, unable to speak. Your daughter looked at Gojo with wide, curious eyes, sensing that something was different about him but not yet understanding what. There was na eerie silence in the air as Gojo took a tentative step closer, his eyes scanning her face as though searching for traces of Suguru in her features.

“She’s… his,” Gojo said, his voice tight with something you couldn’t quite place. “Suguru’s.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your throat tight. “She’s ours.”

Gojo exhaled softly, the tension in his body visible as he ran a hand through his hair. “I didn’t think—” He stopped himself, shaking his head. “I didn’t know how to prepare for this.”

You understood what he meant. This wasn’t just about the death of Geto. It wasn’t just about the child you had with him. It was about everything that had led up to this moment—the rejection, the choices you had made, and the things that had been left unsaid between you and Gojo for so long.

“I never meant for any of this to happen,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t plan on… on falling in love with him.”

Gojo’s jaw tightened, his gaze shifting back to you, his eyes filled with a storm of emotions. “Then why?” he asked, his voice trembling with frustration and something close to hurt. “Why did you leave? Why him?”

You took a deep breath, knowing that this conversation was inevitable but dreading it all the same. “Because you made me feel invisible,” you said softly, the words finally spilling out after so long. “I confessed to you, Satoru. I tried to tell you how I felt, and you pushed me away.”

Gojo’s eyes widened slightly, the realization settling in. He had known, on some level, that his rejection had hurt you, but he hadn’t understood the full extent of it.

“You didn’t even look at me,” you continued, your voice breaking as the weight of those old wounds resurfaced. “I was nothing to you. And Suguru… he saw me. He made me feel like I mattered.”

Gojo flinched at the words, his usual confidence shattered in the face of the truth. He stood there, silent, as the gravity of his actions sank in. The space between you felt impossibly wide, the rift that had grown between you over the years now laid bare.

“I never wanted to hurt you,” Gojo said, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “I didn’t know… I didn’t understand what you needed. I thought pushing you away was protecting you.”

You shook your head, tears welling up again. “But it wasn’t. It drove me to him. And now, he’s gone, and I don’t know what to do.”

Gojo stepped closer, his eyes filled with a rare vulnerability. “I know I can’t fix this. I know I can’t bring him back. But I can help you now.”

There was a long silence between you as you looked at him, trying to process everything. Gojo had always been the strongest, the most untouchable person in your life, but now, here he was, standing before you with his own regrets, his own pain laid bare.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me,” Gojo said softly. “But I want to help. I owe you that much. And I owe it to her.” He glanced down at your daughter, his gaze softening as he looked at her again. “She’s part of this too.”

You hesitated, your heart torn between the past and the uncertain future that lay ahead. There was so much pain, so much loss, but there was also the undeniable reality that Gojo was offering you something—a way forward.

“We’ll need to talk,” you whispered, your voice shaking with emotion. “About everything. The future. The children.”

Gojo nodded, his expression resolute. “We will. But for now, let me help you.”

And for the first time in a long while, you nodded, accepting the hand that had once pushed you away.

It was the beginning of something new—uncertain, fragile, but real.

The next few days passed in a haze. The weight of Suguru Geto’s death still lingered in the air, thick and oppressive, but there was no time to mourn the way you truly wanted to. Your daughter needed you. Your unborn twins needed you. And now, in the most unexpected twist of fate, Gojo was part of your life again.

You sat in the nursery, the soft sounds of your daughter playing beside you filling the otherwise quiet room. She had settled back into her routine, unaware of the storm that had raged beyond the walls of the hideout, unaware of the loss of her father.

And unaware of the tension that still hung between you and Gojo.

You had let him stay at the hideout. There hadn’t been much of a choice, really. With Geto gone, and the threat of Jujutsu High and other factions looming larger than ever, you needed Gojo’s protection. He had assured you that he would help, that he would be there for you and the children, but you couldn’t help but feel the unresolved weight of your past with him pressing down on every interaction.

Gojo had mostly kept to himself, giving you space. He wasn’t the same brash, overly confident man you had known before. There was a quietness to him now, a somberness that hadn’t been there before. You could see it in his eyes, the way he looked at you, at your daughter—he was carrying his own guilt, his own grief. The loss of Geto had affected him deeply, more deeply than you had ever expected.

But there was still so much left unsaid between you.

That evening, as the sun set and the warm light filtered through the windows of the hideout, you sat alone in the kitchen, your hands resting on your swollen belly. The twins were restless tonight, their movements constant, as though they could sense the unease in you.

You weren’t surprised when you heard the soft sound of footsteps approaching. Gojo had a way of moving almost silently when he wanted to, but you had learned to sense his presence.

He appeared in the doorway, his usual confident posture subdued, his eyes carrying a weight you rarely saw. He hesitated for a moment, then stepped inside, his hands in his pockets as he leaned against the counter, watching you.

“You’re thinking,” he said softly, breaking the silence.

You nodded, not bothering to hide the exhaustion in your voice. “I’m always thinking now. There’s too much to process.”

Gojo remained quiet for a moment, his gaze drifting to your belly. You knew what he was thinking. You knew the questions that lingered in his mind. But he didn’t ask. Not yet.

“Do you want to talk?” he asked, his voice softer than usual.

You looked up at him, your heart heavy with the unspoken words that had been building between you since the moment you returned to the hideout. There was no point in avoiding it anymore. You needed to have this conversation. You needed to clear the air.

“I don’t know where to start,” you admitted, your voice trembling slightly.

Gojo’s expression softened, and for a moment, you saw a glimpse of the boy he had once been—the boy who had been your friend, the boy you had once trusted before everything fell apart. “Start wherever you need to,” he said gently.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself as you prepared to finally face the past. “I loved him,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I loved Suguru, and he loved me. I didn’t expect it to happen, but it did.”

Gojo nodded, his gaze steady but filled with something that resembled quiet acceptance. “I know,” he said. “I could see it, even before I came here.”

You bit your lip, the old wound of your feelings for Gojo—the rejection that had driven you to Geto—still fresh, still painful. “I didn’t leave Jujutsu High because I didn’t care about you, Satoru,” you continued, your voice trembling. “I left because you made me feel like I didn’t matter.”

Gojo flinched, his hand tightening into a fist at his side. “I never meant to hurt you like that,” he said, his voice thick with regret. “I thought I was protecting you. I thought that by keeping my distance, I was keeping you safe.”

You shook your head, tears welling up in your eyes. “You weren’t protecting me. You were pushing me away.”

The words hung between you, heavy with the weight of years of misunderstandings and unspoken feelings. You had never fully confronted him about the rejection, never told him how deeply it had hurt you, but now, with Geto gone, the wound had been ripped open again.

“I know I messed up,” Gojo said, his voice barely above a whisper. “I should have seen you. I should have… done something. But I didn’t, and I can’t change that now.”

You looked away, your emotions swirling inside you. “Suguru was there for me when you weren’t,” you said softly. “He made me feel like I mattered. Like I was important. And we built a life together, despite everything.”

Gojo’s shoulders slumped, his usual confidence replaced with a raw vulnerability that you had rarely seen. “I can’t take back what I did,” he said. “But I want to help now. I want to make sure you and your children are safe.”

You took a deep breath, trying to hold back the tears that threatened to spill over. “It’s not just about being safe, Satoru,” you whispered. “It’s about the fact that I loved him. He was going to be my future. And now… now he’s gone.”

Gojo stepped closer, his eyes filled with a sadness that mirrored your own. “I know I can’t replace him,” he said quietly. “And I’m not trying to. But I do want to help you build whatever future you want, with your children.”

For a long moment, the two of you stood in silence, the weight of the conversation pressing down on you. There was no fixing what had happened, no going back to undo the pain and loss. But there was a path forward, however fragile and uncertain it might be.

Finally, you met Gojo’s gaze, the vulnerability in his eyes matching your own. “I don’t know what the future looks like now,” you admitted, your voice soft. “But I want my children to be safe. I want them to have a chance to grow up without fear.”

Gojo nodded, his expression resolute. “I’ll protect them,” he said firmly. “I’ll protect all of you.”

You nodded, accepting his words. There was still so much unresolved between you, so much that couldn’t be fixed overnight. But for now, you would take this step forward, however uncertain it might be.

“I don’t know what happens next,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “But thank you.”

Gojo didn’t say anything else. He just stood there, offering you a small, sad smile, as the weight of your shared past finally began to lift, just a little. There was still a long road ahead—one filled with pain, with uncertainty, but also, perhaps, with hope.

For your daughter, for your unborn twins, and for whatever future lay ahead.

notes: if you wanna be tagged just let me know! <3

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[scary-grace]

Enough to Go By (Chapter 7) - a Shigaraki x f!Reader fic

Your best friend vanished on the same night his family was murdered, and even though the world forgot about him, you never did. When a chance encounter brings you back into contact with Shimura Tenko, you'll do anything to make sure you don't lose him again. Keep his secrets? Sure. Aid the League of Villains? Of course. Sacrifice everything? You would - but as the battle between the League of Villains and hero society unfolds, it becomes clear that everything is far more than you or anyone else imagined it would be. (cross-posted to Ao3)

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8

Chapter 7

Kurogiri snatches you from the alleyway behind the clinic. You’re ready for it, or as ready as it’s possible to be when you don’t know what Tenko’s planning. When you reappear, you’re not in the bar – instead you’re in the hallway outside Tenko’s room, and the door to his room is open. He looks pleased to see you. The hand’s already down off his face.

“You’re here. Good,” he says – but his expression shifts from anticipation into something sharper almost instantly. “What is it? Are you –”

This has been the worst twenty-four hours you’ve had since the night you first saw Tenko again. Between the visit with your family and the news about Kazuo and your encounter with Tenko’s master, you don’t have it in you to pretend. You take an unsteady step closer to him. “Can I, um –”

“What?” Tenko asks, but some part of him must know, because his arms lift from his sides, opening to leave space between them. You take another step closer, until you’re well within the space, and you know when he realizes, because he takes a sharp breath. “Yeah, you can. Go ahead.”

He hugs you back too tightly, but you’re probably hugging him too tightly in the first place. He can’t decide where to put his hands. He keeps trying different spots, but no matter where he touches you, it’s never with more than three fingers down. For your part, you keep your hands still on his back, resisting the urge to run them over his shoulder blades or along his spine. He’s really thin. Almost malnourished thin. No wonder his wounds take so long to heal.

You let your head fall against his shoulder, let your eyes fall shut. “What happened?” Tenko asks. He adjusts his grip on you without fully letting go. “Why do you look like that?”

His master said not to tell Tenko – no, advised you not to tell Tomura. But he also said he’d have no further dealings with you. You don’t know where Kurogiri is, what Kurogiri might say, so you speak as quietly as you can, your mouth just below Tenko’s ear. “I met your master.”

Tenko stiffens. “What?”

“Kurogiri took me to him. I thought he was taking me to you, but –”

“What did he want?” Tenko asks. His voice is tense, already going flat. “What did you tell him?”

“He wanted to know how I knew you. I told him about how we met last year, when you came to the clinic.” You feel Tenko’s shoulders relax slightly at that. “I used the right name. I don’t –”

“Here.” Tenko pulls away from you, but only long enough to pull you through the door to his room and shut it behind you both. “What else did he ask?”

“About my quirk. He said he’d give me one, but he changed his mind.” You try to remember, but it’s hard verging on impossible. All you can think of is the hand closing over your face, the enormous figure looming over you. “He said I was your game piece, not his. What does that mean?”

You look up at Tenko. Tenko’s expression is somehow grim and calculating at the same time. “He says everything’s for me. Everything should be as I want it, so he won’t take you away,” he says. Then, almost to himself: “But he was suspicious. If he finds out –”

“Finds out what?”

“Here.” Tenko pulls you closer than before. This time you feel his chapped lips against your ear. “I was supposed to say goodbye to my old name. When he gave me my family to wear.”

His family to wear. His family – the hands. You almost throw up. Tenko keeps talking, faster now. “I didn’t think about it. I hadn’t in years, until – and I feel different when I hear it. Different than I’m supposed to. I want the same things, but more things. I don’t know how to say it.”

“You’re not supposed to be Tenko anymore.” You feel him nod. “You feel more like that when you’re with me.”

Tenko nods again. “You always know how to say it right.”

“I know you,” you say. His grip on you tightens. “You’re in trouble with him because of me.”

“No.” Tenko’s index finger taps a pattern on your back. “I feel better when you’re here.”

That doesn’t mean he’s not in trouble. It just means he cares about it less, or he’s less worried than you are. “Just be careful with my name,” he continues. “Call me Sensei’s name around everyone else, even Kurogiri. When it’s just us, like right now –”

“Tenko,” you say, and he nods. You feel a little better, maybe. You don’t know for sure. And you know you’ve been hugging him for way too long. You step back. “Sorry about this. I –”

“Don’t,” Tenko says. “I told you. I don’t mind.”

The two of you look at each other for a moment. In your peripheral vision, you can see that the room’s even cleaner than it was the last time you were here. The coffee table still has a pileup of games on it, but there’s also an open energy drink can sitting there. With a flower sticking out of it.

You fixate on the flower. “Where’d you get that?”

“I found it,” Tenko says, but he can’t hold your gaze, which means he’s lying and he probably stole it. “So you wouldn’t get confused this time.”

“About whether it’s a date?” you ask. He nods without looking at you. “Okay. It’s a date.”

“It’s a date right now,” Tenko corrects. “The new members of the League will be here at midnight. Do you have a disguise?”

“I think so.” You’ve been carrying it around in your bag, since you don’t have a way to predict when Tenko will call for you. “Do you want to see it?”

He nods. You fish both pieces of it out of your bag and put it on, situating the veil over your face and peering at Tenko through the filmy fabric. “Can you see my face?”

“Not really.” Tenko tilts his head, studying you. “What is it?”

“My friends and I dressed up as vampire brides last Halloween, but I went a little too hard on the bride part,” you say. “I was going to use a mask, but it was hard to breathe, and I couldn’t see very well. And the veil covers my hair, too.”

Tenko nods again. “What’s the crown made of?”

“It’s supposed to look like thorns.” You cringe a little bit. “Hirono made me wear it with the costume, and I still needed something to hold the veil in place. Does it work?”

Tenko comes closer. A lot closer. “Not at this range,” he says. You’d have to agree. If you can count his eyelashes through the veil, he can definitely see your face. “I’m not letting any of them that close to you or me. You can take it off now.”

You lift the crown off, and the veil after it, and Tenko takes them from you, setting them down on the end of the coffee table next to the hand he usually wears on his face. They look unbelievably weird laid out next to each other – like the costume pieces they are, things the two of you can take on and off whenever you want to instead of symbols of what Tenko already is, what you’re getting yourself into. “The others won’t be here for a few hours,” Tenko says. “Do you want to play a game?”

“Do you need to do anything to get ready for the meeting?” you ask. “It sounds important.”

“The plan’s already done. I’ll tell you about who will be there, but we don’t need anything else. Just –” Tenko lifts his head as if to scratch at his neck, then lowers it again. “I don’t want to think about it right now. I’ve thought about it enough. Can we –”

“Yeah,” you say at once. “Let’s just play.”

You play Call of Duty again, starting off in co-op mode this time. You were so worried that your skills would atrophy that you made Ryuhei and Mitsuru play with you until you got better, something Tenko remarks on right away. “I can’t believe you practiced.”

“I wouldn’t be much of a sidekick if I stayed dead weight,” you say. “Don’t worry. It won’t last long.”

The two of you still have a ways to go before the intermediate levels, and with the pressure off, Tenko starts telling you about the allies he’s collected. Mostly guys – for whatever reason, there aren’t a lot of female villains. The two women are Hiikishi, who goes by Magne, and Toga, who goes by Toga. Magne’s an adult with a serious record, and Toga would have a serious record if she was an adult, which she isn’t. “Seventeen?” you say, startled. “She’s just a kid.”

“She’s a Stain fan,” Tenko says. He rolls his eyes, then takes out an entire group of enemies advancing on the two of you without looking at the screen. “So are two of the others. One of them’s got a fire quirk. He’s an asshole. The other one – he’s hard to get a read on. Keep an eye on him.”

“I can do that,” you say. You see a solitary enemy sneaking up behind Tenko’s character, adjust your viewpoint minutely, and shoot them before they can shoot him. “Who else?”

Toga apparently isn’t the only kid who’s taking on a life of villainy. There’s another high school student, too, and you think about what Kazuo said, about the question of whether the creation of new villains can be prevented. Two of the other new allies fall into the category of those Kazuo said would be drawn to violence regardless. You recognize both names from the news, and you’ve listened to enough true-crime podcasts at Mitsuru’s behest to know that at least one of them is supposed to be behind bars. “Did you break them out?”

“Kurogiri’s doing that,” Tenko says, unworried. “They’re the distraction. Compress will be doing the real work.”

“Compress?”

“We were lucky to find him,” Tenko says. There’s a nasty grin on his face. “You’ll hear more about him when we go over the plan. We – dammit.”

The two of you leveled up while you were talking, and there are twice as many enemies as before. You decide to drop the line of questioning and focus on the game. Playing with Mitsuru and Ryuhei, you never got through the first of the intermediate levels. Tenko’s better than they are by a long shot, but you’ll need all your wits about you to avoid dragging him down.

You and Tenko play in silence for the most part, working together as a team, and you notice the two of you shifting closer together as the game continues, moving from your separate corners of the couch to the middle of it. You’re paying attention to the game, but every so often your mind drifts – to the flower in the energy drink can, to the fact that this is apparently a date, to the fact that Tenko let you hug him and hugged you back. If this is a date, if he keeps calling it a date, there must be something he wants from you that’s more than this, more than whatever the two of you are doing right now. You could ask what it is. Part of you doesn’t want to know.

You and Tenko clear one or two intermediate levels, but on the third one, you know the two of you are in deep trouble. You’re low on health already, courtesy of getting dinged a few times on the level before, and your skills, while improved, aren’t good enough to let you hold your own. Tenko’s having to protect you, just like you were worried he would, and in the process, he’s taking damage, too. Despite that, courtesy of Tenko’s skills and your weird accuracy, the two of you progress to the end of the level. Almost.

“Come on,” Tenko hisses. He’s two seconds away from disintegrating his controller. “We can make it.”

No, you can’t. Not both of you. But if Tenko can get through, he can get to a save point, and you can finish the level later. If you both die, you have to go back to the beginning. With that in mind, it’s an easy choice. You maneuver your character between Tenko’s and the enemies sneaking up on him from behind, and shoot as many of them as you can before they overwhelm you. Tenko turns to stare at you in horror. “You died?”

“You didn’t. Go!”

Tenko swears, shoots the enemies you couldn’t kill, and clears the level at speed. He saves his progress. Then he turns on you. “What happened?”

You point at the screen, which is showing a slow-motion replay of your character getting absolutely shredded by enemy fire. “You were blocking for me?” Tenko looks unhappy. “Idiot. We could have won.”

“I was slowing you down too much,” you say. “I could help you get through, so I did. Now you don’t have to start over.”

“But you do.”

“I’m the sidekick. It’s okay,” you say. You’re not sure why he’s looking at you like that. “And even if I wasn’t your sidekick – there’s no way I’d let my best friend lose.”

Tenko doesn’t say a word in response. Instead he sets his controller aside, then lifts yours out of your hands and does the same. You’re sitting really close together right now. He said this was a date. You make eye contact with Tenko, or try to. He’s not looking into your eyes. He’s looking at your mouth.

He’s being really obvious. You wonder if he knows. “Have you kissed anyone before?”

“Yeah. You.” Tenko doesn’t look away from your mouth. “Don’t you remember?”

For a moment you don’t. But then you remember the picture of the two of you on Valentine’s Day, and what happened after the picture was taken – you taking the valentine from him, planting a poorly-aimed kiss half on his mouth and half on his cheek, and promptly running away. You’re surprised he’s counting that. But you would count it, too, if it was the only thing you had to count.

“I remember,” you say. “So this is going to be our second kiss.”

“Who said I was going to kiss you?”

“You’ve been staring at my mouth for the last minute and a half. I’m not sure what else you could be doing,” you say. Tenko’s face turns red, which means you’re right, but he still doesn’t make a move. “Did you change your mind?”

“No.” Tenko shakes his head. “I don’t know where to put my hands.”

“Don’t do anything with them for now,” you suggest. Your heart is beating faster. “Let’s just try it and see how it goes.”

He’s leaning closer now, shifting position to close the gap even further. The flush in his cheeks is darker than before. “I’m not going to be good at it.”

“Hey, I was pretty bad at Call of Duty last time,” you say. Tenko starts to argue that kissing and Call of Duty have absolutely nothing in common, and you cut him off. “You know how I got better? I practiced.”

Tenko finally tears his eyes away from your mouth. “You wouldn’t have had anything to practice if I hadn’t taught you how. You should kiss me.”

“I kissed you the first time,” you say. “It’s your turn.”

It’s quiet for a second. “Fine,” Tenko says. He leans in and you tilt your head to the proper angle and your lips meet for the first time in fifteen years.

You really don’t want to count the kiss when you were five as your first kiss, but Tenko’s counting it, so you sort of have to. His lips are rough against yours, not in pressure but in texture, and you’re careful as you kiss him back. Careful for a whole host of reasons. His hands are curled into fists on his thighs, and you don’t want him to move without thinking. You don’t want him to pull away, either, which is what he’ll do if you go overboard. It’s not the hottest first kiss you’ve ever had, but it’s the most intense by far. The fact that your lips are the only point of contact makes it even more so.

You’re trying to be careful, but you’re not careful enough – Tenko’s lower lip splits, and you taste blood. You sit back in a hurry. “Sorry. I didn’t mean –”

“I don’t care.” Tenko closes the gap between you again, presses his lips against yours a second time. “Do you?”

“I don’t want to stop kissing you,” you admit. You feel Tenko’s lips curve into a smile, spilling more blood onto yours. “But you have to let me make it up to you.”

“How?”

You unfold your hands from your sides and raise them, setting them on Tenko’s shoulders. Tenko freezes. You risk dragging your thumbs slowly across his collarbones, too prominent just like his shoulder blades and vertebrae are, and see his eyes fall half-lidded. A slow shudder runs through him, shedding tension in its wake. “Do you mind?” you ask.

“No.” Tenko kisses you again.

Kissing Tenko is – strange. It’s not bad. Definitely not bad, and definitely not something you want to stop doing, but still, it feels strange. Part of it is the taste of his blood on your lips, the almost-starved ridges of his shoulders and spine under your hands, the fact that you can touch him but he can’t touch you. And part of it is the missing piece of time, those fifteen years where you would have known each other if this hadn’t happened to Tenko – whatever this was. It feels almost like a blink. When you look back in your memories, you’re little kids, linking pinkies on the way to school. Now you’re kissing on the bed in Tenko’s room with Call of Duty paused in the background. Or making out. If the total lack of daylight between your mouth and Tenko’s is anything to go by, you graduated to making out already.

You can’t get your tongue involved without tasting even more of his blood, but the sound he makes and the shudder that runs through him when you swipe your tongue across his lower lip to clear it away makes it almost worth it. His fists are no longer resting on his thighs – now they’re on yours, fingers uncurling and curling again. You dare to slide one hand upward, tracing the back of his neck, and Tenko groans, shudders. The thought comes to you, again, that you should be careful with him. He’s so thin, so shaky under your hands. If you push him too far, he might break apart.

Tenko’s trying to talk without disconnecting his mouth from yours. That’s not going to work. You wrap your arms around his neck so he knows you’re not going anywhere and sit back. “What is it?”

“I want to touch you.” Tenko’s eyes are locked on yours this time, and the hunger and desperation you see there takes you by surprise. “I don’t know how to make it safe. I don’t want –”

Something happens to him then. You don’t know how to describe it. Something flashes behind his eyes, and his shoulders tense beneath your hands, muscles turning so rigid and brittle that they feel as though they could shatter. “It’s okay,” you say quickly. You shift closer to him without asking first, halfway into his lap, trying to give him some of the contact he wants without getting his hands involved. “You could go slow. Or be careful. Or if you had gloves –”

Tenko’s eyes light up. “Wait here.”

You shift out of his lap as requested and he gets to his feet, heading for one corner of the room. You take a second to get composed.  You can still taste Tenko’s blood on your lips, and when you raise your hands to touch your cheeks, they feel hot. Kissing him feels good, is good – but you’ve always liked your makeouts a little more hands-on, and once Tenko’s able to touch you safely, you can’t vouch for how well you’ll behave yourself. Are you really the only one who’s ever kissed him? He must be a quick study. Even with his blood on your lips, you’re already missing the heat of his mouth on yours.

Tenko’s back a moment later. He has a pair of gloves on – gloves that are missing the first three fingers. It takes all five to activate his quirk, which means you’re safe, and he still has the chance to touch you directly. He hesitates before he sits down again. “Do you really want –”

“Yes.” You catch his hand – it’s safe to do that now – and pull him down beside you. He makes a startled sound, which you immediately muffle in a kiss. It’s cute, but there are sounds you like better. “I want you.”

You were going to be more specific with what you wanted – I want you sounds heavy as all hell when the two of you have only just gotten physical – but Tenko doesn’t give you the chance. He wraps his arms around you tightly, so tight that it’s almost hard to breathe, but he doesn’t hold you that way for long. Soon enough his hands are roaming across your back from shoulder to hip, freezing briefly when they encounter your bra through your shirt, all while he deepens the kiss to an almost unsustainable degree. It’s like he’s trying to steal the air out of your lungs.

Tenko’s hands seize your shoulder, your hip, and grip hard. You don’t like being handled roughly, but held – that’s something different. You swallow a gasp and press closer to him, almost in his lap again. His grip on you tightens further and he pulls you the rest of the way. Your lips unlock from his in the move, coming loose with a slurping sound that would probably make you cringe under other circumstances, with someone else. As it is, you seize the opportunity to catch your breath.

Tenko looks up at you. His fingers are pressing deeply into your skin, hard enough to bruise through your clothes. His chest rises and falls rapidly, pressing against your own, and his red eyes are wide, pupils dilated. When you shift, trying to get settled in his lap, he sucks in a sharp breath. “Hold still.”

You’re comfortable now. You don’t mind. You look at him, studying the small things, the ones you remember from before. The tousled, slightly messy texture of his hair. His eyelashes, always a little longer than you expect them to be. The birthmark at the corner of his mouth, which you lean in to kiss lightly. You’ve always wanted to do that. Half the reason your first kiss was so messy was because you couldn’t decide whether to aim for the birthmark or his lips.

When you draw back, you see a surprised look on Tenko’s face. “You like that?” he asks. You nod, and a strange expression flickers across his face. “My grandma had it too.”

“I don’t remember that.”

“My other one. I saw in a picture.” Tenko’s thumb moves in slow circles over your hip, like he’s rubbing a worry stone. You don’t think he even knows he’s doing it. “She was a hero.”

“Really?” You didn’t expect him to say that. He nods. “You never told me.”

“I was going to.” Tenko’s eyes shift away from yours. “I found out that day.”

That day. It takes you a second to parse that, but once you do, your blood runs cold. The question balances on the tip of your tongue, a question you’ve been asking yourself for fifteen years, a question you know you shouldn’t ask him. You don’t need to know what happened. You saw what happened. All you need to know is that he’s here.

“Hey,” you say softly. Tenko won’t look at you, so you reach out, cupping the curve of his cheek, turning him back to put you face to face, if not eye to eye. “I’m glad you told me now. Better late than never. It would have been good to know for our games.”

Tenko scoffs at that. “We used to play some stupid games.”

“I liked them,” you say. “I like any game I play with you.”

Tenko’s been avoiding eye contact, but now he looks at you, and your breath catches. You can’t let him look at you like that. You’ll say more than you mean to. “Do you want to keep talking?” you ask. “Or do you want to make out some more?”

For a second you think Tenko will opt for talking. He looks like he’s thinking about it. Then the hand on your shoulder shifts to wrap around the back of your neck, and he drags you down for another kiss.

This position seems like it works for the two of you. The difference in your heights is perfect for it, and it gives you a little more control over the kissing while giving Tenko the chance to put his hands wherever he wants. He keeps them well clear of anything too forward, and eventually he finds a place he likes for both of them – one on your lower back, beneath the hem of your shirt, and the other around the back of your neck. It keeps you close, as if there was any chance you’d pull away.

You’re kissing too deeply to talk, except for once, when Tenko pulls away to make eye contact. “No more dates with heroes.”

You only went on that one date with Sugimura. After the night on the rooftop in Hosu, you had to accept that your feelings were elsewhere. “None for you, either.”

Tenko snorts. Then, almost as an afterthought: “No more with anybody.”

“You’re trying to lock it down already?” you tease. “It’s only our second date.”

“I don’t care.” Tenko’s expression is serious. “I don’t want another sidekick. You shouldn’t want another –”

He trails off, searching for the word. The word that follows naturally is ‘hero’, but you understand why he won’t use it. “I don’t want that,” you say. “You can lock me down. As long as I get to lock you down. It’s only fair.”

When you’ve had talks with guys about exclusivity in the past, they’ve looked vaguely annoyed. Tenko actually looks pleased with the thought. Not that that stops him from ribbing you about it. “You’re the one with seven siblings. You don’t like sharing?”

“I hate it.” you say, and he laughs. “You would, too, if you were me.”

Tenko smirks. He leans back from you without loosening his grip. “Go ahead, then,” he says. “Lock me down.”

He really shouldn’t challenge you like that. It gives you ideas. You lean in like you’re going to kiss him again, diverting at the last second to kiss the side of his neck, and Tenko’s complaints about how you don’t get to lock him down if you won’t even kiss him evaporate in seconds. You keep kissing him anyway. He wants you to lock him down? Fine. You’ll make sure everybody who looks at him knows that he belongs to somebody, even if they don’t know who that somebody is.

His neck is sensitive, and he’s not the quiet type. As high as his pain tolerance supposedly is, he’s almost absurdly sensitive to pleasure, and you like the idea of making him feel good a little too much. You know it’s working when Tenko’s grip on you changes, when he starts scrabbling for purchase on your back or your hip rather than holding tight, but even better than that is the unsteady sound of his breathing in your ear, the little noises he makes. You like it when guys are vocal. After one sound that crosses the line into a moan, you stop, and speak without lifting your mouth from his skin. “Locked down enough for you?”

“Fuck,” Tenko mumbles. You draw back to look at him and find his face flushed. “Maybe a little more –”

You kiss his mouth this time. You’re getting used to the taste of blood.

You don’t hear footsteps in the hallway or hear the door open, but you absolutely hear Kurogiri’s voice issuing from the doorway. “Shigaraki Tomura. It is nearly midnight.”

You pull away from Tenko, but not completely enough – there’s a rope of saliva stretching between your lips and his, which you deal with by leaning in to kiss him again. Tenko’s clearly embarrassed by Kurogiri’s presence, but that doesn’t stop him from kissing you back before he pulls away. “Knock next time,” he snaps at Kurogiri. “Are they here?”

“I will retrieve them shortly. Once the two of you are presentable.” Kurogiri apparently doesn’t trust the two of you not to go back to making out. He stands in the doorway, watching as you scramble out of Tenko’s lap and Tenko gets to his feet. “So the date went well?”

There’s that syntax shift again. “Shut up,” Tenko mutters. “Don’t act like you didn’t break my rule. You took her to Sensei. You’re lucky I don’t kill you.”

“If his orders contradict yours, my instructions are to follow his,” Kurogiri says. Tenko’s head snaps up. “I thought you were aware.”

“Now I am.” Tenko straightens his shirt and settles the hand over his face. He turns to face you and you wince. “What?”

You’ve seen the sketch of him from the USJ incident. It’s been all over the news for the past few weeks. “The hands for your neck – you might want them. There’s, um, evidence.”

“Evidence?” Tenko repeats, puzzled. Then his face turns red around the hand. He hurries to the far corner of the room and lifts a set of hands out, quickly securing them around his neck. “Can you see it now?”

You shake your head. “It is well hidden,” Kurogiri remarks. He looks to you. “Your disguise?”

You forgot about that. You collect the veil and crown off the end of the coffee table and secure both over your head. “I will retrieve the others,” Kurogiri says. “But first, the two of you.”

Warp gates open beneath your feet and Tenko’s, and when they close, you find yourselves in the bar again. Kurogiri himself vanishes, and Tenko settles into his usual seat. You stand there awkwardly. “Where do you want me to be?”

“Sit here.” Tenko taps the bar, and you scramble up. “Watch everybody. Keep an eye on the Stain fans. Act like you already know the plan. I should have told you already. I just –”

“You had other things to think about.” Your veil hides your face better than the hand hides Tenko’s – your face can flush until you’re practically glowing and no one will be able to see it unless they’re right up close. “How will I know if you want me to step in?”

“You’ll know when, if you need to. I trust you.” Tenko looks left, then right – then down at his hands. “Fuck. I can’t wear these. They’ll –”

“Here.” You hold out your hands for Tenko’s, and when he extends them, you peel the gloves off and tuck them away. With the model hands on and all ten fingers exposed, he’s different. You’re not sure how to quantify it, but you know it’s there, and it prompts a question. “Should I call you Shigaraki or Tomura?”

“Shigaraki,” he says, and you nod – but then, as the first warp gates begin to appear, he changes his mind. “Tomura. You’re different than they are. They should know from the start.”

So he’s planning to make your status distinct from the others, right from the beginning. You don’t know if that’s a good idea, but before you can protest or push back even slightly, the first of the allies Tenko’s gathered step through the portals, and you fall silent. Unless something goes horrendously wrong, you’re going to stay that way for the duration of the meeting.

The first two villains to arrive are also the youngest – the girl, Toga, and the boy who named himself Mustard, after the gas. Next up is the fire quirk-user, notable because of his patchwork skin and the staples holding the living tissue to the dead. You stare from behind the safety of your veil. You have no idea how his body is holding together. It shouldn’t be possible.

Next is a heteromorph, green-skinned and purple-haired, wearing a Stain mask. He must be the one Tenko – no, Tomura – said was hard to get a read on. The one you’re supposed to watch.

Magne arrives, followed shortly afterwards by a masked man – Compress, definitely, because the two men who arrive last are the murderers Kurogiri must have just broken out of prison. They scare you in a way the others don’t, and you’re so wary of them that you almost miss the arrival of the last villain. And you really shouldn’t miss his arrival. After all, he’s the only villain here who you’ve met before.

“Twice?” you say, startled, and Tomura looks up at you. Luckily, everyone else is still getting their bearings, and at least you said it quietly. “Sorry.”

He shakes his head. “Tell me later,” he says, and then he faces the other villains.

You’re not sure what he’s going to say, where he’s going to start, but in spite of the hands and the crew of monsters he’s assembled, all you can see is your childhood friend when he speaks. He sounds like he always did, laying out the details of the story before the game begins. “The heroes have regained their confidence. Because they dealt with Stain, they think it’s all been solved. I know that at least a few of you have questioned the effectiveness of what the League’s done so far. So have I. So we’re going back to what worked last time. We’re going to attack UA.”

Your stomach lurches. No wonder Tenko didn’t tell you. He must have known you wouldn’t approve. “They’ve tightened up security since your last attack,” Toga pipes up. “I took a look around, like you said. Nobody noticed me, but the whole campus is locked up tight.”

“Good work,” Tomura says, and Toga grins. Her incisors are sharp. “Toga’s reconnaissance confirmed my conclusion: UA is impregnable for now, which is why we’re not attacking the school itself. They’re running a summer training camp at a remote location, with significantly less security. That’s where we’ll hit them.”

“Them,” the fire quirk-user repeats. “Not All Might.”

“Not yet. We need to level up before we take him on.” Tomura’s shoulders are tense. “Hitting the camp, threatening their precious students – if the heroes can’t even protect their own kind, they can’t claim to be capable of protecting everyone else. Besides, that’s not the only reason we’re going there. You all are a good start, but we’ll need more allies if we want to win.”

“Why do you need more?” Mustard asks. “You’ve got us. We’re not good enough?”

Based on the belligerence, this is a sore spot. If Tomura can’t navigate it, you’ll step in – but somewhere beneath the hands, Tomura’s still the kid who knew how to make everybody feel included. “We can’t fight a war on just one front,” he says. “You and the others will win the strategic battle by destroying UA’s sense of superiority. And while you’re doing that, Compress and Toga will collect what we need to win the PR battle as well.”

“Indeed,” Compress agrees. “Are there other students you’d like me to capture, Shigaraki? Or are you interested only in the victor from the Sports Festival?”

The explosion kid. You remember him – the one who was so batshit berserk that he had to be muzzled and chained to a pole for the award ceremony. Tomura wants him for the League? “Use your discretion,” Tomura says. “He’s the priority. If you see others who are better suited to us than to the heroes, take them, too.”

“And I’ll get the blood,” Toga chimes in. Everyone turns to stare at her. “My quirk lets me turn into the people whose blood I drink! I can make myself look like a student, and I can say anything I want.”

Like a living deepfake. You knew Tomura was smart, but this is verging on diabolical. “What about the rest of us, then?” Muscular asks. There’s a sharp smile on his face, and just like Tomura, he’s tense. “Are we supposed to just stand around?”

“There will be pro heroes present,” Tomura says. “Mustard will incapacitate the students, but the pros will be more difficult to handle.”

“Difficult? For me?” Muscular scoffs and takes a step forward. “Just because an underground hero handed you your ass doesn’t mean I’ll have a problem.”

“If Eraserhead cancels your quirk, you’ll be in the same spot as me,” Tomura says shortly. He gets to his feet. Not good. “If you think I’m that easy to defeat, try your luck.”

It looks like Muscular wants to. Tomura’s hands are open at his sides, rising slightly, and just like you did in the convenience store last year, you speak up. “Both of your records speak for themselves,” you say, and Muscular turns to stare at you. “Tomura recognizes that the pros pose a threat to the success of the plan. And he recognizes that you’re well-equipped to handle them. That’s why you’re here.”

It’s quiet for a second. Muscular doesn’t step back into line, and neither does Tomura – but neither of them make a move, and when Tomura speaks again, Muscular doesn’t interrupt. “If you haven’t been given a more specific assignment, your job is to sow chaos,” he says. “Dabi, Spinner, Magne, Muscular, Moonfish – deal with the pros. If you have the opportunity to kill them, do it, as slowly or as quickly as you’d like. If not, keep them out of the way.”

“What about the students?”

Moonfish sounds like he’s speaking through a mouthful of razors. It makes your skin crawl, but Tomura doesn’t flinch. “The focus needs to be on the heroes and their failings, not on a bunch of dead kids. If that happens, that’s all anyone will talk about,” Tomura says. “Hurt them. Don’t kill them. That goes for all of them – except one.”

“Which one?”

“Midoriya Izuku.”

“No.” The green-skinned heteromorph speaks up for the first time. “Not him.”

Tomura turns towards him, incredulous, and the heteromorph keeps talking. “Stain spared his life. He recognized him as a true hero. I won’t subvert Stain’s will like that.”

A joke pops into your head – Stain’s not gonna fuck you – and you clench your jaw shut. “Stain’s will?” Tomura repeats. “Stain lost.”

“His ideas still live,” the heteromorph – Spinner, you think – says. “Are you following in Stain’s footsteps or not?”

You see Tomura’s shoulders tense again and realize that you’ve got approximately three seconds before he blows his top. “Stain and Tomura share a belief that hero society is rotten to the core,” you say. “The fact that the only examples of true heroes Stain could find are All Might and a fifteen-year-old illustrates the decay. Don’t you think?”

You’ve put Tomura and Stain on the same conceptual level, and you’ve put Spinner on the spot – and most importantly, you’ve contained Tomura for the time being. “I guess,” Spinner says after a second. “I still don’t think –”

“If you’re worried about following in Stain’s footsteps, follow them by killing false heroes,” Tomura interrupts. “There will be plenty to choose from at the training camp. Don’t concern yourself with Midoriya Izuku. Act as your ideals demand.”

Tomura glances around the room. “That goes for all of you. Use what methods you’d like. Act as you see fit, so long as those actions don’t imperil our common goal. Disrupt the camp, disable any pro heroes who get in your way, kill them if you want, and assist Toga and Compress in completing their objectives.”

It’s quiet. You can tell Tomura’s waiting for an argument, and when one doesn’t come right away, he picks one. “Does anyone have issues with their assigned role?”

“I have an issue,” the fire quirk-user says. Dabi, you think. The one Tomura said was an asshole, and when he points one finger at you, you decide you agree with Tomura’s assessment. “What’s your role? Who are you?”

“Yeah,” Muscular says. “What’s under that veil? And why do you talk so much?”

“She’s our medic,” Tomura says. “She’s trustworthy.”

“She’s hiding her face.”

“So am I,” Twice pipes up. “And Compress. Shigaraki, too. Besides, it’s good to have a medic! If the medic’s good.”

You owe Twice for having your back, even if he doesn’t know you. Dabi doesn’t look convinced. “What’s your name?” he repeats.

“You get her name when I get yours,” Tomura says. “My alliance with her existed before the League did. She’s trustworthy.”

Toga squints at you, then takes a few steps closer. “I like your costume,” she says. “You look like a bride.”

“I can’t see your face at all,” Magne says. “Hopefully it’s cuter than the veil is.”

“I hope so, too,” you say. Magne laughs.

Tomura doesn’t like that. You can tell. “Kurogiri, bring the maps,” he orders. A warp gate opens in the middle of the room, disgorging a map taped to a rolling whiteboard. “I don’t know your quirks as well as you do. We’ll devise this attack plan collectively.”

Tomura wasn’t in school long enough to learn what a pain in the ass group project are, but given that villains don’t like being bossed around, it’s not the worst strategy. You hang back, physically and verbally, steering clear of Dabi and Muscular and only stepping in when the temperature needs to be turned down. You’re the least powerful person in a room full of people who think nothing of throwing their weight around. In some ways, it’s just like being at home with your family.

Tomura asked you to watch, and you start piecing together an understanding of the group’s dynamic. The most stable individuals in the group are Kurogiri, Magne, and Compress, all by a long shot. The most easily dysregulated is Mustard, and while you think Dabi and Muscular can probably control themselves, you also think they’ll choose not to. You have a pretty good grasp on Twice from your previous meeting. Moonfish doesn’t say enough for you to be able to tell, but he also doesn’t start fights, and Toga’s a dark horse. So is Spinner.

Spinner’s hard for you to figure. He’s got no criminal record, but unlike Toga and Mustard, he’s old enough to have collected one. He’s probably the biggest Stain fan of the group, the only one who pushed back against Tomura on ideological grounds, but he’s also something of a team player. His role in the attack gets settled early, and he shifts to the outskirts of the group. After a few minutes psyching yourself up to do it, you slide down from the bar and join him.

He glances over at you, then double-takes. “You look like a ghost in that thing,” he says. “It works, though. I’d hide my face if my face mattered.”

“How do you mean?” you ask. “You’re joining the League of Villains. Your face is about to get pretty famous if you don’t cover it up.”

Spinner laughs, but there’s a rueful note to it. “I’m not exactly breaking hearts by turning to a life of crime. At least this way I’m doing something with my life.”

Weird and weirder. “What were you before this? If it’s okay for me to ask.”

“Only if it’s okay for me to ask how long you’ve known Shigaraki.”

You think about that. “Does ‘a long time’ count as an answer?”

“That depends. Is it months or years?” Spinner asks. You don’t know if you should answer that, and Spinner can tell. “I know I pissed him off earlier. You shut it down pretty fast. I figure either it’s your quirk or you just know him really well.”

“It’s not my quirk,” you say. You think back to the first time Tenko told you his new name. “Less than forever, more than a year.”

“I was a shut-in,” Spinner says, answering your question without responding to your answer to his. No wonder he’s got a record. It’s hard to get a record when you don’t leave your room. “That video of Stain’s is the first thing I ever saw that made sense. If you all have the same goal as Stain did, then I’m in the right spot.”

You nod. Someone is raising their voice in the group, and you key in – but it’s just one of the versions of Twice, getting excited about something. Spinner glances curiously at you. “You sure you don’t have an alias or something?”

You shake your head. You might be at a meeting of villains, wearing a disguise, listening to them plan to kidnap one high school student and traumatize the hell out of a few more, but picking out a name for yourself feels a little far. If Tomura thinks you need a name, he’ll probably give one to you.

The meeting breaks up two hours after midnight. You missed hearing the date the attack will take place, possibly on purpose, and when the group splits, leaving just you and Tomura and Kurogiri, you don’t ask what it was. Kurogiri pours drinks for you and Tomura. You sit down at the bar next to him, and he speaks without looking up from his glass. “What did you find out about Spinner?”

“He was a shut-in before. As long as you can tie your goals to Stain’s, he’ll follow along,” you say. Tomura nods. “How did the rest of it go?”

“I’m leaving some of the on-site planning to them. I’m not there to give orders, so they need to be able to adapt.” Tomura takes a sip of his drink. “Dabi’s a pain in the ass, like I thought, but I’m giving him temporary control of a Nomu to use during the fight. That should keep him quiet for now.”

He’s thought of everything. “You’re good at this stuff,” you say. “You barely needed me.”

Tomura looks up. “Yes, I do.”

It’s quiet for a little bit after that. You and Tomura drink, you staring down into your glass and Tomura staring at you, until you look up at the clock behind the bar and realize what time it is. “I have work in the morning. I have to go home.”

“Stay.” Tomura catches your sleeve with three fingers, but a small portal opens, depositing your bag a few feet away on the bar. “Kurogiri can take you to work from here.”

“I can’t show up in yesterday’s clothes. And I need to sleep. So do you.” You’re right, and Tomura knows it. He scowls anyway. He’s never happy when you leave, but right now he looks unhappier than usual. “What is it?’

“Once the attack happens, I can’t bring you back until things settle down.” Tomura’s looking unhappier by the second. “The brat can’t see you until I know he’s with us.”

“Oh,” you say. You wonder how long that will take. “That’s okay. I understand.”

“It’s not okay,” Tomura snaps. “It’s – take that thing off. I need to see you.”

You take it off quickly. “Kurogiri,” Tomura says. “Turn around.”

“I will return in five minutes.”

Kurogiri vanishes, and once he does, Tomura lowers the hand from his face, pries the other two from around his neck, and just like that, he’s Tenko again. “It’s not okay,” he repeats. “I need you with me. I feel different when you’re here.”

“Different than what?” you ask. He must think it’s a positive change, or he wouldn’t want you to stay. Tenko doesn’t answer. “Send Kurogiri to get me as soon as it’s safe, Ten. I’ll be waiting.”

You see his eyes light up ever so slightly, but it fades fast. “You’ll forget.”

Your heart aches, but this is something you can fix. “Let me show you something.”

The last forty-eight hours have been chaos, and you’ve spent most of it miserable, terrified, drunk, hungover, or making out with your childhood best friend on his couch. But somewhere in the middle of that, you managed to get into one of the two boxes you brought home from your parents’ purge and take something out. You couldn’t bring yourself to wear the locket, but you tucked it into your bag along with your disguise, and when you put your disguise away, you fish it out.

Tenko looks suspicious. “Who gave you that.”

“My parents, probably. That’s not the important part.” You close your eyes and struggle to come up with an explanation, one that doesn’t make you sound obsessed or insane or too invested in this, in him. “I found this in a box in my parents’ house. There was a lot of stuff in there about you and me.”

“Like what?”

“Pictures,” you say. “A birthday gift from you. The valentine you gave me. I put all that stuff in there when I was ten and taped it shut.”

“Why?”

“My parents were taking me to get my memory wiped the next day, so I really would forget.” You see Tenko’s eyes widen. “I hid that stuff from them, but I saved it for me. So even if the memory wipe worked, I could open it up and remember you again.”

You open the locket and hold it out for Tenko to inspect. You see his expression twist. “I never forgot about you,” you say. “When we saw each other again, that’s why I reacted that way. I always hoped you were alive. If I didn’t forget you in fifteen years, a few days or weeks or months isn’t going to make a difference.”

Tenko’s jaw is clenched. The tendons in his neck stand out, and his hands are curled into fists at his sides. You were trying to help, but it looks like you’ve made it worse. “I’m sorry,” you say. “I shouldn’t have –”

Tenko seizes you and yanks you into his arms. “Shut up,” he mumbles, his voice muffled by your shoulder, or maybe your chest. “How am I supposed to let you leave now?”

“You have to. It’ll be okay,” you say. “I did promise not to go on any dates with heroes.”

It’s quiet for a second. Your arms are around Tenko, and you feel his shoulders shake. “That’s not funny.”

You know that particular note in his voice. It makes you feel better. “Don’t laugh, then.”

Tenko snorts, hugs you closer and tighter. Then he lets you go. “Next time you’ll stay,” he says.

“If I have the next day off, sure,” you say, and Tenko smiles slightly. “We never got to have sleepovers before.”

It’s true. You asked and so did he, but your parents said you were too young, even though neither of you would have been farther from home than right across the street. You see Kurogiri reappear out of the corner of your eye and know you’re out of time. “Be careful,” you say to Tenko. “Come find me as soon as it’s safe.”

“I will.” Tenko gets to his feet. “Turn around, Kurogiri.”

“Believe me, there’s nothing going on over there that I want to see.”

One of these days you’re going to ask Tenko why Kurogiri’s like that, why he seems like he’s two people in one. Not tonight. There isn’t time. You have time for one more kiss with Tenko, but that’s all – and the instant the two of you separate to take a breath, Kurogiri warps you away, dropping you back in your apartment. Your bag lands on the couch next to you. You still have the locket clenched in one hand. There are still a few drops of Tenko’s blood on your lips.

You lick them away, feeling twenty kinds of insane as you do it. Your mind is crowded with dozens of questions, thoughts, images, memories, all of them demanding to be addressed at once. You kick off your shoes, move your bag to the floor, and lie back on the couch. Your eyelids are heavy the instant you’re horizontal, and by the time it occurs to you that you should let go of the locket or at least put it somewhere safe, you’re fast asleep.

[msilwrites]

Papa Bear Material Ch 10 (Captain Price Fic) - THE DATE (FINALLY!!)

Chapter 1  Chapter 1 (Shorter Version) Chapter 2  Chapter 3   Chapter 4  Chapter 5  Chapter 6  Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9  Chapter 11 (Last Chapter)

@darkangel4121@teenagellamaangel@madzzz0797@callsignferal @marmaladespread02 @poohkie90 To the other’s who want me to tag you when there’s an update, just tell me at the comments) A/N: Well, look at you now—on a date with the Captain! No escape, I'm afraid! Is this going to be good? Bad? Or very good? (Spoiler alert: it's probably the latter... 😉) Find out below and brace yourself! LOL! Warning: side effects include excessive giggling, spontaneous squealing, and an undeniable urge to swoon. You've been warned! 😂

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John’s large hand remained firmly entwined with hers, his grip both steady and commanding. His palm was warm against her skin, and the strength in his hold left no room for argument—or escape. Despite her half-hearted attempts to resist, he led her through the crowded bar with an ease that made her feel as though she was being swept away, her protests as inconsequential as leaves in a current.

By the time they stepped into the cool night air, her cheeks were flushed, not from the temperature but from the mix of frustration and the undeniable charge in his presence. His hand tightened slightly, a silent reassurance—or a warning—that he wasn’t about to let go. The parking lot was quiet, the distant hum of passing cars the only sound breaking the stillness, but even that seemed to fade into the background as they approached his vehicle.

Her eyes landed on his 4x4, sleek and imposing in the dim light. The black paint gleamed faintly under the glow of the streetlamp, and the sturdy build seemed a perfect reflection of the man guiding her toward it.

“John,” she started, her voice laced with exasperation. “Can you at least—”

But her words were cut short as he stopped beside the passenger door and turned to face her. His broad shoulders loomed, casting a shadow over her smaller frame even in her heels, and she was suddenly reminded of just how tall and physically commanding he was. Her heart gave a little jolt as his free hand reached for the door handle.

Without releasing her hand, he pulled the door open with an easy grace. Standing between her and any possible escape, he tilted his head slightly, his blue eyes fixed on hers with that maddening mix of amusement and quiet intent.

“After you,” he said, his voice low and edged with something unspoken.

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in resignation. His unwavering determination, combined with the way he blocked any route of retreat, left her with little choice. “Fine,” she muttered, stepping into the 4x4.

The interior was as polished as she might have expected: clean, organized, and exuding an understated practicality. Her gaze swept over the dashboard, where a metallic tumbler sat snugly in the drink holder, its surface worn from frequent use. The faint glow of the touchscreen lit up as the vehicle came to life, showcasing a neatly curated playlist. A soft, earthy scent filled the interior—woody, warm, and slightly smoky, like the forest after a rainstorm mixed with the comforting heat of a fireplace. It was undeniably him, a scent that seemed to settle into the very air around her.

As she adjusted herself in the seat, the door shut with a firm click, enclosing her in his world. John rounded the front of the vehicle, his steps purposeful, and climbed into the driver’s seat with the same quiet confidence that had her pulse inexplicably racing.

He pressed the start button, and the engine rumbled to life, a steady vibration that seemed to echo through the small space between them. The low hum of the music filled the silence, and as he shifted into gear, she cast a sideways glance at him, her frustration battling with an undeniable curiosity.

The scent of him, the closeness, and the easy control with which he handled the vehicle—it was all too much, too intoxicating. He hadn’t just taken her hand back in the bar; he’d taken the lead, and now all she could do was follow.

----------

As they drove, she realized she still had no idea where John was taking her. Any attempt to ask was met with a hum, a grin, or one of his teasing comebacks that seemed designed solely to get under her skin.

She found herself staring at him, her thoughts drifting. How long had it been since she’d been intimate with anyone? A decade? Maybe more. Her gaze lingered on him—handsome, rugged, and undeniably sexy. But then, her mind turned cynical. Men like John were all the same, weren’t they? They wanted one thing, and she knew it.

Not that she minded. A man like John Price was as good a candidate as any. Sex with someone that attractive couldn’t be all bad. And with her... particular preferences, it could even be convenient. Anal, oral, fingering—it didn’t matter. She was technically still a virgin, and that was her secret to keep. A secret no one, especially John, needed to know. Maybe he’d even prefer it this way—no messy entanglements, no risk of pregnancy, no scares.

The thought crystallized in her mind, and before she could stop herself, she made the offer.

“John?”

“Mmm?” His hum was low, his attention fixed on the road, though his lips twitched in that insufferable smile.

“If I have sex with you, would you stop this silly act of courtship and dating?”

His head turned toward her, his expression shifting as his eyes darkened. The car slowed to a stop at a red light, and he leaned against the steering wheel, studying her with an intensity that sent heat rushing to her cheeks.

Her confidence wavered, but she pressed on. “We could get a room, you know?” she purred, her hand daring to slide over his thigh, testing the waters.

“Mmm.” His raspy voice was all he gave her, a sound that was neither agreement nor denial, as he turned his attention back to the road.

She leaned back, interpreting his silence as a quiet acceptance of her proposition. Yet, somewhere beneath the surface, she couldn’t shake the faint sting of disappointment. Perhaps she was right, after all. Men like John always wanted the same thing.

The drive turned quiet, save for the soft hum of the vehicle and the occasional glance John threw her way. She swallowed hard when they pulled into the drive of a boutique hotel nestled near Hampstead Heath. It was the kind of place that exuded quiet luxury, the kind she’d never have chosen herself.

Her pulse quickened. This was happening. But she had made her choice, hadn’t she? Might as well go along with it and enjoy the ride.

John stepped out of the 4x4 and rounded to her side, opening the door with that maddening confidence of his. Without a word, he reached for her hand, his warm, strong grip wrapping around hers, leaving no room for argument. He helped her down and, just as before, his large hand stayed entwined with hers as he led her forward. His other hand still clutched her bag, a silent reminder that escape wasn’t an option.

They entered the hotel, its lobby a serene blend of polished wood and ambient lighting. As they approached the reception desk, she tugged slightly at his hold. “John, hand me my bag or open it. They’ll need an ID…” she muttered, glancing toward the check-in counter.

He didn’t respond. In fact, he didn’t even slow down, his grip firm as he strode past the reception desk without so much as a glance in its direction.

Her brows knitted in confusion. What was he doing?

The answer came soon enough. John steered her toward the hotel’s restaurant, its warm glow spilling into the lobby. A host greeted them with a welcoming smile, and John’s deep voice cut through her bewilderment.

“Table reservation for Jonathan Price.”

“Ah, yes! Right this way, Mr. Price,” the host said, retrieving two leather-bound menus before motioning them to follow.

She blinked, her confusion giving way to a mix of relief and irritation as the pieces fell into place.

Upon reaching their table, John pulled out a chair for her, she sat down, her eyes sweeping across the restaurant. The space had a warm, rustic charm, with dark wooden panels lining the walls and framed artwork adding personality. Exposed beams crisscrossed the ceiling, and an ornate chandelier cast a soft, inviting glow.

Tables were set with flickering candles, creating an intimate atmosphere, while cushioned benches along the walls offered cozy seating options. In the center, a polished wooden bar stood as the focal point, its shelves stocked with an impressive array of bottles. The soft hum of quiet conversation and the clinking of glasses completed the scene, making it feel welcoming yet refined.

It was the kind of place you could easily lose yourself in—whether in good food, good company, or something more.

John took the seat adjacent to hers, murmuring a polite thank-you as the server handed them their menus. He quickly scanned his, his eyes darting over the options with practiced ease.

She narrowed her gaze at him, skepticism laced in her tone. "Weren’t you supposed to take me to bed? You know, you didn’t have to butter me up with dinner first."

John’s brow arched, and he slowly closed his menu, his piercing eyes locking onto hers with an intensity that made her gulp. He sighed, the sound more weighty than annoyed.

"I don’t want this to be a one-time thing, Y/N," he said firmly.

Her response came quick and sharp, laced with playful incredulity. "Oh, so you want to be ‘friends with benefits,’ then?"

John blinked, his exhale turning into a laugh despite himself. "No!" he exclaimed, shaking his head as if trying to dislodge the absurdity of her suggestion. "What is wrong with you?" His voice was lighthearted, but the exasperation was clear.

"You’ve really put me in a box, haven’t you?!" He let out another sigh, this one tinged with reluctant amusement. "No, I want to do this properly—this silly thing you call courtship and dating." His hand gestured as though he were spelling it out for her. "I don’t just want sex; I want all of you."

He looked at her, his face caught between a smirk and a frown, as if he couldn't decide whether to laugh at her or be offended by the entire exchange.

Upon hearing John’s words, Y/N froze. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell slightly open in surprise. It wasn’t the first time someone had claimed to want her, but experience had taught her to expect disappointment soon after. Yet, there was something in the way John Price said it—calm, steady, and unflinchingly sincere—that felt undeniably different.

She bit her tongue, her lips pressing together as if to keep her thoughts from spilling out. Instead, she glanced down at her menu, finding its polished pages suddenly very interesting. She had been here before, in this liminal space of hope and uncertainty. If John’s actions didn’t match his words—if this thing they were trying didn’t work out—it would be a letdown she didn’t want to think about.

Y/N let out a soft sigh and mentally braced herself, forcing the flicker of vulnerability to the back of her mind.

John, however, didn’t miss her hesitation. His perceptive gaze softened, and he reached across the table, his large hand enveloping hers. His warmth was immediate, grounding her in a way she didn’t expect.

"Y/N?" His voice was low, a thread of concern woven into it.

"Yes, John?" she replied, her voice quieter now.

"Is there something the matter?"

"No, no... it’s nothing," she said quickly, brushing off his concern with a weak smile. She gestured toward the menu, eager to redirect the moment. "Let’s just order."

Dinner began with appetizers—crispy buttermilk fried chicken and delicate mushroom tempura. The rich flavors seemed to mirror the gradual softening of Y/N’s demeanor as John coaxed her into conversation. He started with simple, light-hearted questions: her favorite color, film, book, and other personal quirks.

By the time the main course arrived—a beautifully slow-roasted beef served with gravy and Yorkshire pudding—the ice had melted completely. Their dialogue deepened, revealing surprising commonalities: shared interests, aligned values, and even a few obscure hobbies they both enjoyed. Y/N found herself genuinely enjoying the exchange, caught off guard by how much they had in common.

When dessert was still being prepared, she surprised him further by ordering a specific whisky, neat. The amber liquid arrived in a crystal tumbler, its smoky aroma wafting gently through the air.

"You fancy whisky?" John asked, raising an intrigued brow.

Y/N grinned, swirling the drink lightly in her hand. "Ah, yes, of course! I’m a collector. I bottle samples, sell them, sometimes even trade with other enthusiasts." She took a small sip, savoring the warm, peaty burn that followed. "Want to try?" she offered, holding the glass toward him.

John blinked, clearly not expecting this from her. “A petite lass like you? A whisky connoisseur? Didn’t see that coming.” He let out a chuckle, shaking his head.

"Why not?" she teased with a playful smile.

“Maybe another time,” he replied, his tone teasing but resolute. “I’m driving, remember?”

She chuckled and nodded, amused by his restraint. “Fair enough. Another time, then.”

By the time dessert arrived, the conversation had evolved into shared laughter, punctuated by their stories and jokes. The warmth between them felt natural, as if they had known each other for far longer than a single evening.

John leaned back slightly, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. "You look like you’re actually enjoying yourself."

She giggled, shaking her head as she wiped a stray tear of laughter from her eye. "Unfortunately, it does seem to be the case."

He leaned forward then, his expression softening as his fingers toyed absently with the edge of his napkin. “You know,” he began, his voice low and deliberate, “I said I’d leave it at just one date if you weren’t enjoying yourself... but I don’t think I can let it be a one-time thing now.”

His blue eyes locked onto hers, their intensity sending an unsteady rhythm through her chest. It was as if he could see straight through her, catching the flicker of warmth she had been trying to downplay all evening.

For a moment, she was speechless, searching her thoughts and feelings for clarity. Her gaze lingered on John, who watched her patiently, the sincerity in his expression unyielding. Finally, she let out a sigh, nodding slightly. "Alright," she said, her voice steady. "We can... exclusively date."

John’s grin widened with a boyish charm, and he gently took her hand, pressing a kiss to her knuckles. The gesture was so tender it sent a flutter through her chest.

“Just so we’re clear,” she interjected, narrowing her eyes playfully, “we’re still in the dating phase. This doesn’t mean we’re in a relationship yet!”

A mischievous smile crept across his face as he held her gaze. “Oh, I know,” he replied, his tone teasing. But in his mind, the thought was resolute: She will be mine.

----------

After dinner, once the bill was settled and they left the restaurant, the shift between them was unmistakable. This time, she clung to his arm willingly, her hand looped through his, her posture relaxed. Her bag, which Price had been holding hostage all evening, was finally back in her possession—though it had taken a mix of playful convincing and shameless flirting on her part to retrieve it.

“Alright, alright,” he had relented earlier with an amused shake of his head. “Fine, take it,” he’d said with a mock sigh, handing it over. “But only because I’ve grown rather attached to it.”

“Should I be worried you’ll start carrying a handbag now?” she teased, her grin sly.

“Only if it matches my boots,” he shot back, earning a laugh from her.

As they strolled to the car, her head rested lightly on his shoulder, and her hand settled comfortably on his arm. The gesture was natural, easy, yet it sent a warmth coursing through him. John couldn’t help the grin that tugged at his lips, but he tried—poorly—to hide it.

When they reached the car, he opened the door with an exaggerated flourish. "Your chariot awaits, my lady," he said with a playful bow.

“Very dramatic,” she quipped, stepping in.

But when he leaned over to fasten her seatbelt, she batted his hands away with an exasperated laugh.

“John! I can manage a seatbelt, thank you!”

“Just being thorough,” he shot back, grinning cheekily before closing the door and circling to the driver’s side.

Once he settled in, he turned to her, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “So… are you going to tell me where you live, or am I supposed to play MI6 agent and figure it out myself? Not that I’d mind—it’s kind of in my wheelhouse.”

She rolled her eyes, a chuckle escaping her lips. “Alright, fine. I live in one of those old converted flats along the Thames.”

John drove her home, parking in the lot below her building before accompanying her upstairs. He insisted on walking her to her door, hands casually tucked into his jacket pockets, exuding his usual calm confidence.

At the threshold, she turned to him with a playful smile, leaning against the doorframe. "Care for a nightcap, Commander?" she teased, her tone flirtatious.

John grinned but shook his head. “Tempting, but no. I’m not about to be seduced into your bed.”

She rolled her eyes and swatted his arm, her laugh light and genuine. “That wasn’t my intention, Price!” She grabbed his wrist and pulled him inside, flicking on the lights as they entered.

The space was inviting, a perfect blend of industrial chic and rustic charm. Though medium-sized, it was carefully designed, exuding warmth and personality. The living room featured a small, cozy fireplace, plush seating, and a curated mix of textures and tones that made it feel lived-in yet stylish.

Through a large open archway, her workshop was visible—a creative haven that clearly reflected her skill and dedication as an artisan. A sturdy table held drying clay projects, different tools hanging on the wall, with a turntable on one side and a kiln neatly positioned on the other. Another area was dedicated to glass and metalworking, with tools and materials organized with meticulous care. A desk featuring a large drawing tablet and monitor highlighted her work in design, seamlessly blending traditional craftsmanship with modern techniques. Every corner of the studio showcased her artistry, demonstrating her talent and attention to detail.

“Sit,” she commanded, guiding John to the sofa. He complied, watching her disappear through another arch that led to the kitchen. She returned moments later, holding a small sample bottle of one of her prized spirits.

“Try this,” she said, handing it to him with a smirk.

John raised a brow, uncapping the bottle and giving it a curious sniff. But before he could say anything, she added with a teasing grin, “And now, you may go.”

He stood reluctantly as she tugged at his arm, though he resisted just enough to draw out her efforts. “You’re heavier than you look,” she muttered, swatting his arm again when he chuckled.

She gave him a playful tug, leading him to the door, but when it swung open, she refused to release his hand.

John paused, turning to her with a quizzical look. "What is it now?"

"Really, Price?" she said, her eyes holding a teasing intensity, as if she expected more from him.

John raised an eyebrow and smirked. "What? Did I forget something? Should I be calling a cab for myself?"

Y/N sighed, standing on her tiptoes to plant a sudden, soft kiss on his lips. John froze for a moment, surprised, before his strong arms wrapped around her waist, lifting her off the ground and pulling her closer. Her hands instinctively moved to his shoulders, deepening the kiss as her heart raced.

They broke apart at the same time, their breath coming in short bursts. Y/N swatted him lightly on the chest, and he chuckled softly. She gave him a playful shove toward the door, and with a mischievous grin, closed it with a gentle yet firm thud against his face.

John stood outside for a moment, laughing under his breath, as the soft echo of the door closing lingered in the air, leaving him with a silly grin and a heart full of warmth.

John made his way to the elevator lobby, sighing contentedly as he glanced down at the small taster bottle of whisky in his hand. The kiss still lingered on his lips, and he couldn't wipe the grin off his face. He was practically glowing, already imagining the next date, his mind already plotting how to make sure she couldn’t possibly say no.

He chuckled to himself, shaking his head. "Oh, she’ll be mine. I’ll make sure of it."

His thoughts were a blend of determination and excitement, and already, he could picture the next move in his mind. The only thing left to figure out was how to make it as irresistible as tonight.

She may have closed the door on him this time, but John was resolute—she would be his, and he’d make sure of it. Not just for another date, but for something lasting, something real. He couldn’t help but chuckle to himself, imagining her rolling her eyes at his persistence. But he didn’t care. One way or another, she was going to be his partner—his forever.

A/N: Talk about sweet moments! John is just so thorough, so decisive—you don’t even know what hit you! 😏 The following chapter(s)… well, as promised, things might get a little sexy, spicy, and seductive. Hold on tight, it's just the beginning… and it’s about to get very interesting… because now, my dear, you’re officially at the mercy of John Price! 😈🔥

Edit: On to the last chapter!!!!! 😈🔥 ------->

[tamurilofrivendell]

Sleeping Beauty | Chapter 17

Previous Chapters [1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11, 12, 13, 14, 15, 16] Read on AO3 [x]

Pairing: Thranduil/Fem. Reader Summary: A Sleeping Beauty inspired tale with Thranduil the Elvenking, and a female elf living in Mirkwood under the care of Radagast, who is actually the ‘lost’ daughter of the late High King Gil-Galad. Taglist: @jinlizz-dragondrama @firelightinferno @bubbleyukismile @coopsgirl @achromaticerebus @sleepyamygdala @smalltownbigheart @qmabailor @genderfluid-anime-goth @0chemicalwaste0 @silvercobra @thesunschild777 @atlanticowe @whore-of-many-hot-men

Anarórë.

She had said your name. Your true name. You had always known it. With the name being wiped from the books of history entire, to keep you safe, lost to time and forgotten, Radagast had had no problems with telling you that was your name. But the wizard had made it so that, to you, it was second to Lothíriel. It was still not wise to go around introducing yourself that way to all and sundry just in case - it could never be known who the Enchantress' spies were. So it had become the name that you'd mostly just be called if you were in trouble. He only ever used it in moments of great need, most often when he pushed his call into your mind when you strayed too far away and he could not find you.

You had not told Luithien that name.

It hit you then, far in the deep recesses of your mind.

Luithien. It meant Enchantress in the Sindarin tongue.

Another cold chill ran up your spine and you felt a sense of dread gnawing in the pit of your stomach. You took another step back, eyes locked on the woman's face. "How do you know my name?"

She stood with her hand still outstretched, the corner of her eye twitching slightly when you did not immediately move towards her as she had commanded of you. Slowly, she lowered her hand, clasping both of them together in front of her. She looked you up and down very slowly, in a calculating sort of manner that seemed to make your very soul feel uneasy. When her gaze landed back on your face, her smirk returned. "You are a clever girl." She said softly. "You already know. Don't you?"

You swallowed hard, a lump in your throat. You felt suddenly trapped, cornered, a fawn before a wolf. Yes. You knew. You had walked right into her trap. She had been here the whole time, plotting, watching you. She had already made contact and you were too stupid to realise it. Her name! She had made it so obvious but you were too dense! Oh, how you cursed yourself!

The Enchantress.

"Come. Here." She said again, her voice louder this time, more commanding. Her smile had vanished.

This time you did move, taking a step back towards her, though your mind screamed against it. You felt as if you had no control, as if you could not stop yourself, as if you had to walk towards her. Your eyes widened at this, as you realised finally that she must have laid some spell upon you, that she had such powers of persuasion. You didn't realise that you were stronger than most, that you had already fought against it where usually she met no resistance.

She seemed to relax just slightly as you did as you were commanded. She decided that whatever grip you had kept on your own free will was surely overcome now by her own power. She was stronger. She felt satisfied in that knowledge. "Closer."

Another step, your eyes wide, your heart racing in your chest so fast it was a wonder you did not pass out at her feet. The knowledge that you had walked so dumbly into the very trap Radagast had spent his life protecting you from filled you with despair and anger and shame. How could you be so stupid?

As you stared up at the Enchantress, who somehow now seemed so tall that she was looming over you, her presence no longer comforting despite her pretty exterior, you thought about Thranduil. He flickered unbidden into your mind and it was almost as if the image of him snapped you out of something for a moment.

You blinked.

Your gaze shifted to the side slightly, across the room, to where a large black door stood ajar.

One more glance at the woman in front of you and then you turned and ran.

"Oh, for goodness sake, just get on here!" Radagast urged Feren, who was still having trouble with the horse he was attempting to mount.

The beast wanted to be anywhere but near him, it seemed. Feren was beginning to panic, not wanting his king to be too far away without him, not if there was a chance the Enchantress could come close again. If the girl was out there alone, she was an easy target. Nobody knew how long she had been gone from the palace! And Thranduil should not have run off alone like that!

He glanced at Radagast, looking like he'd rather not get on the back of the rabbit sleigh, but he was too intent on getting after Thranduil as quickly as possible so he gave in very rapidly and hurried towards the wizard and his impatient rabbits.

Just then, there was a commotion from up ahead, in the direction of the settlement. The thundering of hooves and voices crying out in the wind as they called out the name of the new rider who had appeared so suddenly from the trees.

"Ah!" Radagast's eyes lit up at the sight of the approaching figure, who eased his horse to a stop just beside the two.

Gandalf had come at last.

Gandalf looked down at Radagast from beneath his bushy brows as he sat upon his horse. "Something tells me I have arrived later than you expected." He mused, looking around, seeing nothing of The Elvenking and sensing that he was not there at all.

"As usual." Radagast muttered under his breath.

This was heard and quite easily ignored by Gandalf as he turned his attention back to the brown wizard. "Where is Thranduil?"

Thranduil, as it turned out, had made some progress already in the brief time since his departure. His horse was swift and knew its way through the forest well enough to know where to avoid the most twisted of roots.

The Elvenking was making for the clearing where he usually met you. He didn't know if you would even have been able to find your way from the palace back to where Radagast lived, where you'd grown up, but something inside him was screaming at him to go in that direction and so he listened to it.

Still, the longer he rode without seeing you simply lost under the trees, the more his anxiety began to grow. Something didn't feel right about any of this. How was it possible that you had gotten out of that room, out of his hall, and past the settlements without anybody seeing a thing? It did not make sense and the longer he went without seeing anything (you, a trail left behind, something) the more he began to get suspicious.

Surely not...

Surely she could not have gotten her hands on you. You had been safe in his realm, nobody could touch you, not even the Enchantress could get inside and he knew that. Right? Thranduil gritted his teeth as he spurred the horse faster, the poor animal going as quickly as it could go through the forest. A tree branch bit at his face but he barely even felt it.

He didn't like this one bit and the sooner he found you again, safe and well, the sooner he could relax.

"Come on." Gandalf's voice was gruff as he urged Feren and Radagast to hurry.

Feren had relented and gotten onto the back of the wizard's sleigh, uneasily holding on as the rabbits bounded through the forest. Gandalf was running alongside the sleigh on his great steed, which Radagast thought was quite something considering how fast the rabbits could go when they really wanted to.

"Your letter was rather vague." Gandalf stated. "Tell me exactly what has happened."

Feren held on, unsure how the wizards could carry on with a normal conversation while moving so quickly and haphazardly through the trees. The slight swaying of the sleigh was making him feel dizzy.

Radagast filled in the blanks that his letter to Gandalf had left out, the grey wizard's face growing more and more grim with each word uttered. This was not good.

The Enchantress.

Gandalf had actually started to believe that she had vanished from the world altogether. Scarcely had she been heard of or seen in the last few centuries, though of course his own mind had been elsewhere.

This situation troubled him. He had not been in Lindon that day but he knew the story well. He also knew Radagast had been hiding you all these years and for good reason.

His mouth set into a thin line as he pondered all of this information, thinking about how the Enchantress would seek to destroy not only you, but perhaps Thranduil himself as well, who was now alone somewhere up ahead of them, cut off and vulnerable.

"She has her Gandalf, I know it." Radagast said then, voicing what he had not said out loud to Thranduil when they all discovered you missing. But he could sense it, he could feel it in his bones. The Enchantress had you in her grasp.

"Then we'd better hurry." Gandalf said grimly, urging his horse faster as Radagast did the same with the rabbits. Feren squeezed his eyes shut, feeling sick.

[nocturnesanomaly]

Chapter 5: Is your blood authentic?

(Series Masterlist: Divine Violence) (Read on Ao3) (Inspired Playlist)

Series: The Divine Violence - chapter 5: Is your blood authentic?

Wordcount: 6.1K

Pairing: Simon "Ghost" Riley x John "Soap" MacTavish x Gn!Reader

TW: (View masterlist for series tw and tags) - DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT, Religious Trauma, PTSD, Flashbacks, Hallucinations, Anxiety, Paranoia, Disturbing themes, Grooming, depiction of suicide, self harm, blades

Description: You make plans to finally ship out, getting ever closer to your fate.

A/N: Hope you enjoy my work!

[Prev chapter / Next Chapter]

Simon has been absolving his distance a lot faster than you can handle.

He did as he promised, tries to go slow and from the beginning, yet the history between the two of you prevent you from feeling like it's a true beginning. It feels like you're both hiding from it, the looming truth over either of you. He doesn't fully know what happened, he doesn't know why your pen pal ship ended.

Even when it had begun it was tense, more distant than you wanted. Yet you clutched onto those letters from him like lifeline, no matter how much it burnt to read them over and over again, to whisper his words out in the night like a prayer.

You had wet those papers with your tears, crushed them, tore them and taped them back together. You had held those papers tightly in your hands, much like how you hold the files on the man you're meant to detain.

"We have to be discreet, if he senses something is up, he could get spooked and skip" Price proposes. He's holding a fat cigar between his lips; the smoke makes you dizzy. When he had originally been gracious enough to ask if it was alright, you had been enough of a sucker to nod your head.

Simon stood beside you in a rigid stance. He had said nothing either, so who were you to deny the captain his bread and butter.

"It's a small-time, close-knit community but new residents aren't foreign, tourists even less so. If we pose as one of them, stay low, don't attract attention nobody should suspect as anything other than another group of careless tourists." You offer up your idea to the room. You wish he would open a window.

Captain Price takes another long drag from his cigar; he keeps the smoke in for so long you think he might actually choke on it before he let's it go. "Hm, not a bad idea, gives us the advantage" his eyes flicker to Simon taking note of his careful gaze towards the scattered plans on the table.

"Ghost?"

You don't know when he turned this quiet. Even when you were kids, he was never the most talkative person in the class, but he was never this brooding. He's honed his focus a lot more over the years, you wish you could say the same for yourself.

You really wish the captain would open his window. Not only is the smoke starting to smell bad, but the smoke is already hazing the already dimly lit office. Meeting this late in the evening hadn't been your ideal choice, but the captain is a busy man as he said.

"If they find us out, we could be overrun quicker than we could defend ourselves" Simon speaks up after a moment of thought, "we have no idea how many they actually have."

"It's a risk we'll have to take if we're meant to make any progress," Price says while still holding clear consideration for the lieutenant’s proposed dilemma. Simon was objectively right, if the collective were to get aggressive it's likely they wouldn't be able to fend them off. Still death was an unlikely scenario, it wouldn't be their first resort.

He doesn't seem keen on the idea either way. "Even with Spider's intel it's a lot of uncertainty, what they have brought is extensive but...not much in the same lane," he glances towards you. His eyes say nothing but his gesture seems almost apologetic. You don't get why.

Most of the intel you brought on the cult was extensive but only scraped the tip of the iceberg. The things you once knew about the cult could have been changed, and most of the things you had on paper got burned when you went into hiding. All you had now was the few official documents that still counted, and your memory that often times don't serve you all that well.

"Spider?" Price asks confused. Your stomach drops. It hadn't even registered in your brain that he had used the nickname in front of a superior. "You two made up then," he smiles.

What.

"We're fine," Simon interjects before you can cast that bewildered glance you so desperately want to, "civil."

"Works for me," Price shrugs his beard creasing in a weird way when he adjusts his smile. "Spider could work for a good callsign, should you ever consider joining up with us again," he proposes. He is getting way ahead of himself.

"Unlikely..." you whisper quietly in response, the word concealed behind a heavy exhale. "We'll need to make our move soon. We don't actually know whether he will be in one town or the other, and if he is how long will he be."

"I'll clear it with Laswell and with any luck we ship out in the evening, there's no use delaying" Price concludes with a nod "can't waste our talents away here when we're needed out there."

Johnny hasn't felt this anxious in a long time. It borders excitement, but he wouldn't dare call it that openly. The promise of actual direction, the promise of being able to do something worthwhile, plus an interesting new recruit with them left him buzzing with newfound energy.

It has him pacing back and forth in his room, still with energy in his muscles even after Simon had dragged him to the gym in an attempt at tiring him out. "Would you calm down," Simon grumbles at him when he continues to pace back and forth.

The mental checklist in Johnny's head kept getting disordered. He had already packed what he needed for mission; it was an indefinite stay so the restrictions on what he could bring was more lax than usual. He doubted they would get much free time between the work they needed to conduct, but he'd be damned if he didn't put in some time to relax with his sketchbook.

There was a lot to keep focus on, a lot to keep track of and with his brain already focused on the wrong things it was difficult to not get into a frustrated confusion. "Johnny," Simon calls out when he doesn't stop.

He still doesn't answer, and keeps walking back and forth between the duffel bag in front of the bed and the dresser in the other side of the room. He needed to recheck his clothes. Did he have enough socks?

"Johnny."

He did have his pen, right? Extras. He should get extras if there was still space. Who knows how long they'd be staying, until they had something more concrete on the target mayhaps, more likely until there was a more finalized outcome on the whole thing.

"MacTavish..."

He really hoped it wouldn't surpass Christmas. His mother would be furious if he didn't make it home, it's been too long since he was able to see her and the rest of the family again, and despite Simon's apprehensions he knew they'd all want to see him too now that they've finally warmed up to each other.

"Hey! MacTavish, come help me."

Like a chord snapping in his brain, he spins on his heel to come plop down to his knees Infront of the bed where Simon has been sitting impatiently. "What is it," he huffs out looking up into his partners eyes. They had a way of being so expressive even behind the mask and the eye black, it had taken him a long time to learn to read them properly.

"Hold it," Simon hands off a small roll of support bandages into his hands. Johnny gives him an unimpressed look. Simon had been struggling with pains in his wrist, which was ironic as that was usually where he ended up himself with excessive drawing.

"Ye should really change it...get this one washed" he scrunches his nose up pretending there was a smell to get the dramatic effect across.

"I'll do it before we go," Simon mumbles and stretches out his wrist so it pops. His mask twists when, as Johnny assumes, he pulls his face into a grimace. "What's on your mind love," he mumbles out afterwards.

"All of it," Johnny huffs nursing the roll in his hands.

"Out of the ordinary?"

"Yeah, just everything about them," he thinks back to you, back to the meeting. You had been an antsy thing ever since he met you. He had chalked it up to you being shy, but later on he realized that wasn't exactly the case. You weren't as much shy as you were just anxious 99 percent of the time.

"Been getting along with them?" Simon reaches out to grab the roll from him again.

"Let me..." he mumbles reaching out to take a hold of Simon's wrist instead. He begins wrapping it around just like how he wants.

"Yeah, I have," he continues. "Ah think anyway..."

"They're difficult," Simon characterizes you rather nonchalant.

"They're new," Johnny corrects him, "they just need a little time, a little push. I still remember what you were like when I first met you, cold bastard"

"I remember you to be a pain my arse" Simon scoffs and turns over his hand so it's easier to wrap the rest of it.

"Still am sir" He answers cheekily.

He finishes the last wrap around his wrist, sealing it with the two little clasps. He watches as Simon retracts his hand, flexing it and almost stretching it too much before he could stop him. He had been there a few times himself; he knew how restrictive it felt, but any rest would do. It would be hard to get more rest for it when they deployed very soon.

"I like them," Johnny perks up again. "They can be charming in their own way; ah don't even have to drag them to lunch anymore they come willingly."

Simon snorts quietly in response, huffing out amused.

"Ah think yer little talk helped them calm down a bit, they seem more relaxed around me and Garrick too. Still tense but..eh...relaxed. Not so much of a laugh that one, but ah think they just need a bit more time, they have a funny side ah can feel it," he says with a light-hearted smirk.

"Lot of hope coming from you, taking a real liking to them then?" Simon asks, little crinkles forming in the corners of his eyes indicating the smirk beneath his mask.

"Can't tell me ye haven't? Used to like 'em something fierce didn't ye?" Johnny turns a suggestive look, one that is only reciprocated by a groan from his partner. He slowly rises off the floor and back to his feet, his knees starting to throb from the harsh wooden panels.

"That was a long time ago," Simon reaches out for him, puts his hands on his hips to pull him closer.

"But you did. They are a cute one, I definitely see the appeal" Johnny lifts a suggestive eyebrow. Though he somehow doubted it would happen, it wouldn't be the first time they had shared a person, it wouldn't be last if it turned out like it always did. For a brief moment he allowed himself to indulge in a pointless fantasy.

"Careful, Johnny. You don't know them like I do."

"Yeah, well ah seem to have a lot of luck with dark, gloomy, emotionally constipated bastards," he says with a smirk on his face. Simon's hands squeeze the meat on his thighs.

"I don't think they're interested in us like that. Don't got half a mind to know what they've been through; they seem very determined to get the job over and done with quick."

Johnny scoffs at that. He had always found it amusing how Simon couldn't see what was right in front of him. He was right that you weren't showing the same interest that Johnny was looking for, but the subtle attention you put into the details of your surroundings was noticeable.

"Ye have no idea how they look at ye then," Johnny blows air out through his nose, "got ways to go in warming up to myself but ye...ye already got them locked in."

"Easy." Simon says his hands traveling up to grab Johnny's wrists. It gets his attention, gets him to pause. "Just..." Simons clears his throat, "Just go easy on them, we don't know how they'd even feel about that. It's hardly professional, and they don't seem enticed in anything that isn't."

"Bit stuck up then?" Johnny mentions cheekily.

His smile drops when Simon gives him a look. "I'll go easy Simon, jus' jokin' around..." he turns his smile warmer, more welcoming to ease the looming anxiety that's no doubt building in his partners chest.

Johnny brings his hands to Simon's shoulders. They glide over them, squeezing at pressure points he knows gets his partner to relax. He trails his hands up, letting them hold the sides of his neck.

He doesn't miss the way Simon's breath hitches. He smiles at it, only satisfied when Simon finally allows himself to close his eyes and release the air in his lungs through a deep sigh. It wouldn't be the first time they would have invited a third into their bed, though he can see how this would be different for Simon.

He's typically not this worked up over a person. Then again this would be the closest Simon had to family that was still left, and he hadn't even been in contact for years. While he had originally meant the suggestion as a joke to lighten the mood, Simon hadn't exactly said no. It got further questions to stir in his mind, he would make sure to get answers one way or another eventually.

"At the end of the day it's jus' a mission like any other," Johnny reassures him, "with them or not."

Simon stirs, leans forward to bury his face in Johnny's stomach. It makes him feel mushy inside. "I'll tell you eventually...everything." Simon mumbles against him.

"I know..." he let's out a soft breath of relief, his arms moving to encircle around Simon's head instead. He leans down to place a kiss on his scalp. "Whenever ye're ready, we've done this before" he reassures him.

By nightfall it's reaching freezing temperatures. None of the clothes on your body is yours, and its warmth feels superficial. The plane is different than what you're used to, not so much packed to the teeth as what you'd have thought. Laswell was already having your new place of residence prepared with everything you needed.

You had always known her to be a resourceful woman. There wasn't much you could ask of her that she wouldn't be able to get you, the only real question was whether she wanted to or not.

Gaz took your bag from you, throwing it with the rest under a couple of seats. He had clearly stopped questioning your lack of belongings, though he seemed to find it no less weird.

"You got everything?" he asks looking you over as if you were supposed to be hiding something beneath your fuzzy jacket. You nod your head, finding no energy to offer him a verbal response.

The rest had already settled in, with their own things tucked neatly away. You didn't miss a lot about the military, but there was something to be said about the clean order enforced.

You walk past Simon and Soap, sparing them half a glance. Their hands are pressed against each other, a sorry attempt at making their affection subtle. You take a seat besides the captain. He's got a beanie on, tucked into a coat looking just as fuzzy as your own.

His eyes are closed, head tilted back, his hands folded neatly in his lap as if he were in a meeting. "You got a problem spider?" he asks amused, sensing your stare. Your chest heats up, your neck too from the sudden rush of blood.

You can't decide whether you dislike the new nickname or not. It sounds weird coming from his mouth; it sounds weird coming from anyone but Simon. It had been something intimate once, then it died along with some old memories, only to be reawakened on the wrong tongue.

"No sir."

You rip your eyes away from him, you could admire his beard from afar. The spiking pain you've been ignoring starts to come back through your nerves when you start to feel something warm and smooth trickle in your palm. Masking your hand with your other, you unwrap the chain from your wrist and pry the little crucifix from your skin. You wipe the fresh blood on your cargos, taking a moment let yourself linger on it.

You're getting closer to the source now, closer than you've been in a long time. There was little chance to back out now, but you knew you still wanted to. The only thing to carry you forward back into the den of wolves were the pure hatred you held for it. You could do little from afar, you needed to get in real close if you were to set it ablaze one last time.

You could already see it in your mind. Another system set on fire, coated in oil and with a single lighter flame, you could burn it all down like you were taught to. You could bring down the hellfire on the right person this time.

"Oh, are ye religious?" the feint Scottish accent pulls you out of your fiery thoughts. You clutch the chain back into the little wound you've created. It stings beautifully.

"No."

Liar, liar, liar.

You tuck it back around your neck, hiding it beneath the layers that feel foreign on your skin. It's heavier than normal.

The chain rests comfortably beneath the military slacks that was just one size too big. Your heart is all the way up in your throat, pounding furiously against your ribcage. You had been ignoring the nausea for the last 10 minutes, but one encouraging clap on your back from a teammate had you bucking over and heaving for air.

You could still hear his mocking laugh at the sight.

When you had finally agreed to join up, you had expected it to be hard but not this excruciating. You'd had at least 10 thoughts of quitting this morning alone. Though you couldn't deny there was a sense of community among your teammates, you also couldn't seem to penetrate the invisible barrier that kept you from being apart of that community.

The sun is blaring atop the blue sky making it hard to see. Sweat dripples down your forehead, you no longer know whether it's from the heat of the sun, or from the drills you've been running the entire morning.

Everybody here had their own layer of cruelty to them. It could loud and brash like the group on base that you always made sure to avoid, or it could be quieter more calculated. Ones you had fallen for more than once before learning your lesson. You tiptoed around it, making yourself just good enough to qualify without standing out terribly much.

"You alright?"

You raise your head to look at her. About the only person you could rely on even a little here. You had joined up around the same time, through the same unconventional way. She had taken notice of you first, practically pushed her way through the crowd to introduce herself to you specifically. The weirdness of it in general was still throwing you off till this day.

"Thanks, Emma...yeah I'll live" you accept her outstretched hand offering support despite not truly needing it. At least she had always been nice, never demanding.

She claps her hand over your back, letting out the sweetest sunshine giggle you've ever heard. It makes you want to barf, yet you can't help but love it all the same. A nice cooling gust of winds pass the two of you, and her hand shoots up in a protective manner for her hair. She was still seeming to struggle with her new hairstyle, long black hair wound up in the tightest bun known to man. How her scalp isn't hurting constantly you have no idea.

"Don't worry, lunch will be here soon, can get some nutrition into you- "

A loud whistle interrupts her and sets everyone into motion. She quickly grabs onto your arm to pull you over in the forming line. You do your best to bite back on the hiss of pain, when her thumb presses down on the bruise beneath your long sleeves.

You straighten your back after she has practically shoved you into formation, eager to have you do it right on time. Her own version of a kind gesture after you came last three times in a row, and got pointed out even more than that.

One of your superiors starts walking down the line with someone else awfully familiar. You keep your eyes straight whenever your superior looks your way, but you manage to catch a glimpse of who he is. The man who got you into the whole thing in the first place. You hold back the excitement in your chest.

He stands tall, a true leader, blonde hair sleeked back and an expression on his face that would send any recruit running. It makes you smile. You had a lot to learn from him, and he had promised to teach you.

Your eyes dart to a furry companion he had brought. A big dog, you think. It looks a little too big to just be a dog, a little too wild for you to trust it wouldn't bite. It walks perfectly in line with him, it's tail swaying slowly behind it. Its coat is beautiful if it wasn't for the giant red cross painted across its head and down it's muzzle.

It has something uneasy stirring in your stomach. You force your gaze back up, catching yourself staring at him, he's staring back. He nods towards you, and sends you a smile that makes your legs feel like jelly.

His office is pristine. Not a single thing out of place, not a speck of dust to be found. It didn't get used often. He was always out travelling between places of God knows where, doing things that was to prepare for His grand plan. Or so he said anyway.

"Come in," he calls on you, your name sweet on his lips like the beckoning echo of weeping angels. He'd finally show you the way, like he had promised in the graveyard turned to ash. His elbows rest on his desk, his chin prepped on top of his folded hands as he regards you with a cold gaze.

You advance without falter in your step, coming to a stop at a more respectable distance. The same overgrown dog was resting in a corner of the room. Its black eyes follow you your every movement, as if just waiting for the command to strike at you.

"I'm not going to waste your time with menial formality," he slides an open convolute across the table, yet it's still too far away to read the small text. A formal invitation he clearly doesn't expect you to actually read.

"You'll be finishing your basic training soon, and what will happen to you next will be decided." He takes a moment to watch your reaction, but you remain stoic, giving him a simple nod in confirmation. "I've made a couple of deals to have you transferred directly under my care for my own initiative. All I need is for you to...agree to it," his tone turns leading, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Ofcourse, I'll agre-"

He speaks your name sternly, cutting you off before you can go on your rant about how you were practically ready to devote your life to this thing, whatever it was.

"I need to know that you'll be in it, truly in it. This new project is unconventional to what you've previously been exposed to. It will test your patience, your willpower, your faith. Do you believe you have the strength for it? Do you believe your blood is authentic? and will you be ready to spill it for the cause being run in His name?"

You nod fast. Too fast.

"Good, I didn't expect anything else from you. You'll be finishing your training here, I believe there may be others among your rank that would be inclined to join our cause as well, I expect you to find them and lead them towards the path."

He looks at you with an unrivalled determination, a fire roaring loud and hot inside him to drive him towards his goal. His expression doesn't leave much room for question or doubt, and before you can even comprehend what you're agreeing to, you take the first real step in.

"Don't worry, I have someone in mind, sir."

It's a little cabin in the distance. Laswell hadn't promised anything luxurious, you were there on "vacation," but you apparently couldn't afford something proper closer to the town itself. Still the sorry thing that tips over in hill in the distance made you want to turn around and walk the 30 minutes back to the plane.

You knew it was going to be an uncomfortable few weeks, if the ache in your body had anything to say for it. You had already declared snow your new mortal enemy in the first ten minutes of walking through the forest and sinking into the ground with each step.

There had already been the expectation and the preparations for a colder climate, but you hadn't expected to have snow up to your midthigh in some areas. Luckily it didn't go that deep near the dedicated paths. Some of them must be irregularly cleaned for tourists.

You've been walking at an irregular pace yourself, getting continuously passed by the others until Simon fell into step with you a few minutes ago. He blends in with his surroundings uncannily, each step he takes is thought out, quieter than the rest. You don't doubt that he's made an impeccable soldier, back in your own prime he'd likely have been able to take you down with minimal struggle, if size was something to go off of.

The fatigue was already starting to enter your legs, your brain fighting hard to not give into any brain fog. You could only hope you wouldn't catch a cold from the drastic change in environment. Price shouts out something you don't quite hear, but you know what he wanted to say. You're finally here.

It looks a lot bigger when you're this close. A one story that makes itself look better than it is by raising its roof higher, giving the illusion of more space when none of it is utilized. Soap and Gaz are getting agitated the more Price struggles with the keys.

Simon comes to a stop a few steps behind you. He's always back there, trekking behind everyone else. You'd be lying if you said it didn't make you a little antsy. Price utters a loud curse you haven't heard before when he finally gets the door to budge open.

The five of you seem to have pretty much the same idea of immediately throwing the heavy bags in a big pile on the floor. The fire is already going. Whoever you were renting this from atleast knew a little about hospitality.

"Finally," Gaz groans, stretching out his arms till they give off a nasty pop, going to do the same with his neck.

Soap is the first to go on a little exploration adventure through the living room you stepped into, the open kitchen at the end, and the smaller hallway connected to them both. You had been right, not as big as mistakenly advertised.

"Aye...no food though, going to have to do some shopping asap!" Soap shouts from the kitchen followed by a louder bang, likely having been the fridge door.

You internally thank yourself for packing an extra lunch you could eat as breakfast the morning after, should your stomach allow it.

"Really, this the best Laswell could scrounge up?" Gaz says frustratedly, "I saw at least four better options on the way to this isolated thing."

"Be grateful you get a roof over your head sergeant, it'll do" Price responds in a tone no less frustrated. He didn't seem to be any happier with the place than his subordinate. You couldn't really put fault on either of them, it was far from stellar only the necessities to remain inconspicuous. 

Simon acquires the keys from Price, promptly doing his own little surveillance to make sure all the doors and windows had proper locks on them, and that they were in fact locked. You weren't the only one skittish about this place.

"Alright round up everyone, for tonight you are ordered to rest. It's been a long day, I know some of you are weary from the flight," he gives you a pointed look that feels almost accusatory. Soap walks back to little circle you had unintentionally formed, dragging Simon with him by his sleeve on his way.

"We don't have a lot of space to deal with so, Garrick and I will be the taking the smaller room at the end of the hall, Ghost, Soap and Spider can share the bigger one, figure out sleeping arrangements amongst yourselves."

"Only two beds, shouldn't be a problem for you two to share" Gaz says in a joking tone, putting a hand on Soap's shoulder that gets almost immediately shaken off. You keep your eyes to the ground. It wasn't any of your business. You fear they take notice.

"You're grown adults, I expect you to be able to figure it out," Price says already laying the ground rules of don't disturb him today. "I will be turning in, I suggest you all do the same, the real work starts tomorrow."

"Yeah yeah" Simon grumbles in a lower voice than normal, putting a firm hand on Soap's back to steer him away from the conversation before it drags out. Wordlessly you follow them down the hall, keeping a greater distance, at least as much as the narrow way would allow.

"Better not be cramped" Soap grumbles turning the handle and using more force than necessary on the door. It was his lucky day. The room was a lot more spacious than you had imagine it to be, it almost makes you feel bad for the captain and the other sergeant that they didn't opt for this one.

Two beds, two dressers, a big mirror on top of one of them and large windows at the end of the room looking onto the snowy mountains. It was better than you'd had in over a year, you had little to complain about.

Mountains. The mountains. The idea strikes you like a quiet zap of electricity. If the cave systems were still accessible it would be a viable place to investigate. If you knew the cult well, and you did, they were likely going to put the old pathways to use again.

Soap says something you don't catch as he walks over and claims one of the beds for him and Simon. You walk and claim the other one by placing your duffel on top of it. It was going to be weird sleeping next to them, or opposite of them. You could only pray that you wouldn't be visibly weird about it

"Ah guess It won't be so bad," Soap let's out a relieved sigh, finally able to dispose of some of the heavier gear and clothes that kept him warm.

"As Price said, it'll do" Simon agrees with a quiet hum and nod of his head.

Soap starts to roam around the room, opening the closet doors, moving the curtains around, stifling his curiosity the practical way. "Well should do, we have enough space, plenty of closet space for each of us, a damn good scenery out the window, can almost excuse it for a small vacation."

"Going to be far from a vacation this," you chuckle quietly, slightly enthused by his own newfound excitement over your living space.

"We should keep the curtains closed; we're exposed like this" Simon ever so practical walks over tugging on the curtains. He leaves it halfway open to let some light in while the sun was still up. It wouldn't be long before it would descend again and cloak the woods in a thick darkness.

"What do ye reckon is in there?" Soap gestures towards the door behind you. He walks a little close as you turn around to inspect it yourself. You hadn't even noticed it when you first claimed your bed. It's awfully close too, perhaps you could move your bed a bit further away from it so it wouldn't bother you if anyone should go in there, or out of there.

"Don't know...more closet space?" it's meant as a joke but turned away from them you can't see their reactions. You place your hand on the handle. It's ice cold. Your eyebrow furrows. The rest of the room had been comfortably warm, not even chilly despite the icy temperatures outside.

You open the door towards you to take a look inside. You feel your blood run cold. Your body freezing in place. Your hand gripping the handle impossibly tighter.

It's a bathroom. Ugly tile floor, small toilet to the right, sink next to it, shower right in front. You could almost have missed the blood from how well it mixes in with the orange tiles. But it's hard to ignore the body.

Her dead eyes are staring you down. Her last accusatory yet sad words are still on her lips unspoken. Her body is still wet from the water, the blood pooling from her arm mixing in with the water on the floor too. Her naked body is still littered with scars from head to toe. Though the cut going from wrist down her forearm hadn't been meant to add to the collection.

It had been final.

Intentional.

You can feel the glint of metal in the corner of your eyes. You don't need to look down to your feet to know that the blade is there. You can feel the blood coating your own arms, tainting the door handle with your sin.

Do you feel it yet? The pressure?

The shadows pool around her, grasping at her skin, pulling at her flesh.

They'll know. They'll dig dig dig. They'll cast you out to the wolves.

You don't know what she wants with you now, what she wanted with you then. You can't remember, your brain a vast empty space, a mere echo of who she was. There's a chill in your bones, something lost and angry, wanting you to know and answer. You still haven't answered it.

You try to remember her name, her significance to you. A misplaced droplet of blood runs down her forehead. The red complimented her complexion well. It had been her favourite colour.

"Hey.....hey....you okay?" his voice is muffled, far away, in a different reality from yours. He's going to reach you eventually, they all are. They'll see it all eventually, they'll figure it out, distrust you for it, abandon you, punish you.

Soap places his hand on your shoulders and your reflexes fire like a gun. You grab his wrist hard, looking at him with an angered look that only lasts a second before you tuck far away. His eyes widen, guilty entering his features as he removes his hand and puts them up in defeat.

"Woaah, sorry didn't mean to scare ye," he starts off in a gentling tone "ye weren't answering, it's just a bathroom, right?"

"Oh fuck...yeah...I zoned out" you excuse it moving a few steps back. The back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You look back into the bathroom. Orange tile, toilet, sink, shower. She's gone. Soap nods looking in himself, to your luck he seems to let your weird reaction go, yet you can still feel Simon's stare in the back of your neck. You don't turn around to meet it.

You bite your lip, keeping your eyes on the bathroom as if she would appear again. You almost wish that she would, because you know who she is, who she was to you. You've always known, as if you could ever forget it.

Her name had been Emma, and she was the first to die.

Likes, Reblogs and comments are always appreciated, love ya! <3

Taglist: @chickennn-soupp @unlikelyaperson @ghostlythots @lilynotdilly @islnd-vybz @spicyspicyliving @kaoyamamegami

[lovehotelreservation]

chapter ten: maybe we're so meant to be summary: worldwide fame and a political tie or two has you--one of the biggest pop stars around--in dire need of reliable protection. thankfully you have four ex-military retirees to entrust your wellbeing to. but what happens when that protection turns possessive? rating: r story pairing: f!reader/task force 141 | chapter pairing: f!reader/ghost previous chapter | next chapter

last update of the 5-chapter run, everyone ; v ;

thank you and please enjoy !!!

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“Are you going home or are you going to use that hoodie of yours as a pillow again?”

With a sigh, Ghost poked his head into the dance studio. It was late at night and as he recalled, you were due to leave at least an hour ago.

Not that he ever minded waiting for you, of course. He was just more of the mind that you should be resting up as much as you could, not pushing yourself to the brink.

Hence why he had grabbed a Gatorade for you from the studio fridge, now holding it out for you to take.

Hearing him call out your name, you looked up at him sheepishly as you laughed,

“Sorry, Lt.”

The idea of him suplexing Johnny for his corruptive influence crossed his mind. “Oi.”

Upon accepting the bottle, your attention turned back to your phone before you went over some of the footage you took earlier of one of the recent practices from the day, your voice in a sigh.

“I feel bad because I feel I didn’t get this one part of the routine down, but I already sent the dancers home for the night.”

You pressed your hand against your cheek, your eyes closed in thought.

“It’s a work in progress if I decide to feel more comfortable with letting fans up on stage during the tour. Some fan service, you know?”

His mind thought back to that damn video compilation. 

“...No I don’t.”

However, with the blank look on his eyes, you parted your mouth to speak, “Well, fan service is basically when I–”

“It’s fine,” he spoke, a slight rasp to his voice as he reached forward to rest a heavy hand on your shoulder. “I can look it up after you finally get to the hotel and get some sleep. If you’re late for your interview tomorrow morning, I’m not saving you from Pearl or Price.”

“Simon please–” As you whined, you gazed up at him with a pleading stare, a look that suddenly had an ache in his knee start acting up. However, it was as you looked up into his looming shadow that moment that your eyes suddenly glittered with inspiration, quickly scanning him up and down. “Actually, now that I think about it–”

Simon sighed, having a feeling as to where this was going. “It’s too bloody late to be this wired–”

You clasped your hands together, your eyes shining with a plea. “Just this one thing, Si! A couple times, please–at max 3! I’ll even skip ahead to the part I need to practice so you don’t have to sit through everything.”

He stared at you warily while his response betrayed him. 

“...Fine.”

You smiled in deep appreciation as you then pointed to the chair behind you. “That said, I do need you to sit right here.”

“Very well.”

As he sat down, you inspected him, your look calculating while your lips smiled.

“You can keep your hands out to the sides–pretend that you’re being held by my dancers.”

That compilation ran through his head–every wink, kiss to the camera, roll of your hips.

“How about this?”

He brought his arms back, proceeding to clasp his hands behind the back of the chair.

You clapped your hands joyfully. “Ahh even better! More room to practice!”

The music was queued up and you quickly got into place. It was a sultry beat–the type that gets played at clubs with strangers suddenly crawling over one another in dire need of body heat while lovers dance the night away together in lascivious harmony.

Places one would never find him at.

Because why bother stepping foot in a club when he had the only dancer he would ever want to be with right in front of him and–

He felt your hands rest on his shoulders, slowly sliding down towards the front of his chest as you bent down from behind, nuzzling your face against his.

You weren’t in front of him anymore.

The two of you were closer than ever before.

In a matter of seconds, you were all over him as the track went from slow and seductive to pulsating and frantic with energy. Heat emanated from your body as you pressed your body against his while your hands found their way to his hair, your eyes locked with his.

By contrast.

Stone cold. 

He remembered Johnny dizzily referring to him as such during their escape in Las Almas.

And that was how you probably saw him too–still and frigid like a statue.

Perhaps that was why he was granted this honor of having you dance on him, grinding down on his lap, shimmying around, running your hands all over his body. 

You felt safe around him.

Unlike whichever sweaty and slobbering fanboy who would get to be plucked from the audience to take this seat.

Though, the mere idea of any other man getting to witness, bask in, feel the press of your hips bucking down, perceive your immediate presence, savor your scent–the tundra of his fortitude did its best to quell the scorching boil of his blood.

But again, such a dance was only if you felt ever comfortable enough to have fans on stage with you once more.

Something to ponder on, certainly.

However, it was when you stood behind him to drape your leg around his chest, your thigh pressed against his head, that he really started to feel his self-restraint snap.

He was cold-hearted but he was still a man regardless. Did you know how easily he could scoop you into his arms at this very moment, legs dangling off the ground with your sweatpants and panties being yanked down to your ankles before he–

“Simon, are you blushing–?”

With a blink, he was back to reality, facing ahead at the line of mirrors that encompassed the entire wall of the practice space. The reflection of your growing grin and your leg around his chest–he’d snap a picture if he could.

“No.”

Damn near launched the word out like a missile.

“I think not,” you giggled as you pointed right at the top of his cheeks. Pressing lightly at his skin, you were about to drag your manicured finger down to tug his face mask further to uncover the truth.

Were it not by your phone going off with a blare. 

You scrambled, leg hoisting off of his chest as you hurried to the back wall of the practice space to pick up the call. By the particular groan you let as you glanced at the screen, he knew exactly whose name flashed on the screen.

“Where are you?!”

Even without the call being on speaker, he could hear Pearl screech from where he sat.

“Pearl! Sorry sorry! Had some last minute things to lock in for the studio–I’m being picked up by Simon right now!” Your head turned towards his way as he was already bringing the chair over to the back of the practice room. “Already walking over to the car!”

Gathering your bag and the unopened Gatorade bottle, you made a face at Simon as Pearl continued to whinge on about your schedule.

Though there was not much he could do, as the both of you made your way out of the studio down to the parking garage, he only brought his arm around your shoulders, squeezing gently.

A pillow for sleep, practice for dance, protection for safety–whatever you needed of him, he would oblige.

For you were his goddess and he would serve you the world.

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2nd gen k-pop stans rise up !!! lots of inspo for this chapter was drawn from 2ne1's ero dance segment for "i love you" from their japan tour !!!

i also think it would've been fun to set ghost (and the rest of the guys) up to heart monitors to see how affected they'd be from the reader winding and grinding all over them >:)

but with this !!! that concludes the 5-chapter update run i've prepared for this past holiday season !!! i hope both the holidays and 2025 treat you all well !!!

thank you so much everyone !!! after a marathon of updates, alas i think this piece will need to take a break for the meantime 🙇‍♀️🙇‍♀️ rest assured, i will see this piece through to the end !!! just need some time to recuperate and get back to work on the remaining chapters 🫡🫡

when i return, here's what we'll be diving into next time 🥳🥳

- chapter title: pull it to the side and get all up in it- chapter focus: price

tysm again and i'll catch you around !!! feel free to come by on tumblr if you need to yell about british ikemen !!!

[differentpostrebel]

Lost and Found: A Pirate’s Promise: 

This image would represent Sanji Fighting the Candies for the recipes.

A/N: Welcome guys! We are now on Chapter 7! This chapter is long! With both POVs from Sanji and Y/N, but there's also a few surprise guests at the end of the chapter.. Wink wink. As always thank you guys for following along! As always I have the chapters linked, chapter 8 will be worked on tonight! Now without further ado let's begin! 

Y/N is an established pirate and a formidable warrior, with the third highest bounty in the Straw Hat crew. She's not just another member; her strength and skills have earned her a respected spot among the crew.

Sanji, our favorite lovesick cook, falls head over heels for Y/N almost immediately. True to his nature, he tries every trick in the book to catch her attention, from cooking her favorite meals to showering her with compliments. On the other hand, Y/N may have a small crush on Sanji, but she’s cautious and focused on her goals as a pirate.

As the story progresses, that small crush gradually blossoms into something more profound, but their journey together won't be easy. With the chaos of the New World looming, the dangers they face will test their bond and loyalty to each other. Will their love be strong enough to survive the trials ahead, or will the perils of their pirate life tear them apart?

Get ready for an emotional rollercoaster filled with angst, action, and a dash of romance. I'm thrilled to take you on this adventure with Y/N, Sanji, and the rest of the Straw Hat crew!

Word Count: 7.3K

Sanji x Reader, Sanji X Y/N, One piece x reader

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7 (Here) ,

Chapter 7: A Test of Will 

Y/N POV

"Y/N… I… I can't believe you saved me back there," Sam says, his voice shaky as you both return to the hospital quarters. You can tell the fight against the King is still fresh in his mind, just as it is in yours. The sheer power the King wielded was unlike anything you'd ever faced. The punch he delivered to your midsection had left you on the brink of unconsciousness—astonishing in its force.

"Sam," you grunt as he begins to examine your injuries, checking to see if any other parts of your body were affected. "Like I said back there, you helped me when I was injured. You and John both saved me from the brink of death." A shiver runs down your spine as you recall the moment, the fear of losing everything. You smirk and add, "We’re friends now."

"The King was impressed with your tenacity and fire, Y/N," John finally speaks up, glancing out the window where the moonlight spills into the room. Two days had passed since you arrived on this all-male island, and the lack of a boat to return to Sabaody and rejoin your crew weighs heavily on your mind.

"I wasn’t going to let some man undermine me, John," you reply, your tone sharp. "Besides, the ass had it coming." You wince as Sam tightens the bandages around your wounds, his hands gentle but firm.

"Still, no one has come close to rattling him like you did," Sam admits, a mix of admiration and concern in his voice.

You nod, then turn to John with a question that's been nagging at you. "I do have a question, John, if I may?"

John nods, gesturing for you to continue.

"How did the King manage to divide the floor in two with just a punch? It wasn’t just brute strength—there was something more to it," you ask, replaying the moment in your mind.

John sighs, looking thoughtful as he begins to explain. "It's the technological advancements we have on this island. The King ensures everyone is equipped to handle any enemy that might challenge us. That punch wasn’t just the result of his natural power—it was amplified by a device he wears."

"A device?" you echo, intrigued.

John nods, stepping closer to you. "It’s a ring. When the King clenches his fist, the ring activates, creating a glove that can be manipulated depending on what the wearer desires. For the King, it enhances his strength exponentially, allowing him to cause damage to the ground or any object he targets."

Your eyes widen as you process this information. "So it’s like a weapon disguised as jewelry?"

"Exactly," John confirms. "The ring channels the island's advanced technology, and in the King's case, it gives him the strength of ten men. It’s what allowed him to split the floor with that punch and what makes him so formidable in battle."

"That explains a lot," you mutter, your mind racing with the possibilities. "But still, a device like that… it's almost cheating."

John chuckles softly. "Perhaps, but on this island, survival is the ultimate goal. The King uses every tool at his disposal to ensure he remains in power."

You lean back, processing everything. "Then I’ll need to find a way to counter it if I ever face him again."

Sam and John exchange glances, concern etched on their faces. "Y/N, be careful. The King doesn’t take kindly to those who oppose him," John warns.

You smirk, feeling a surge of determination. "I’m not planning to go down that easily. If the King thinks he can intimidate me with some fancy ring, he’s got another thing coming."

Sam smiles weakly as he finishes bandaging your wounds. "Just… don’t push yourself too hard, Y/N."

"Don’t worry, Sam," you reply, your voice firm. "I’ve got too much to lose to let this island keep me down. Now, what’s the plan to get back to Sabaody?"

John and Sam exchange another look before John speaks. "We’ll help you, Y/N. But first, you need to rest. You’ll need all your strength for what’s to come."

You nod, feeling the exhaustion creeping in. "Alright, but don’t let me sleep too long. The sooner we figure this out, the sooner I can get back to my crew."

As you settle into the bed, your mind drifts back to the King and the power he wielded. You’re not just fighting for yourself—you’re fighting for your crew, for your captain, and for the promise you made to them all.

Sanji’s POV…

"How many times do I have to tell you! Give me a ship! I have a promise I have to keep!" I barked, frustration boiling over as I glared at the “Candies.” Two days had passed, and every second felt like an eternity. Time was slipping away, and I had already endured the humiliation of losing to the "Sub" Queen Charlotte. The memory of that defeat stung worse than any physical blow. "Damn it! There's no time for me to goof around with you guys anymore!"

Charlotte smirked, her condescending tone only adding fuel to the fire. "Try a little harder, Candy boy."

Her words grated on my nerves. "So what if it’s an excuse! I'll come right out and say it!" I snapped back, turning away from them with my arms crossed in a huff. "If I don’t see some pretty girls, I’m gonna die. In case you haven’t noticed, this isn’t my scene."

Charlotte and her entourage of “Candies” giggled, clearly enjoying my outburst.

Just as I was about to storm off, one of the Candies gasped, her voice trembling with excitement. "Wait! Is that…?"

I turned around, curious despite myself. "It is! Queen Iva has arrived!" she squealed, and suddenly, the entire group—including Charlotte—was shaking with admiration, tears of joy flowing from their eyes like rivers.

"Hey, what gives? Compose yourselves!" I shouted, bewildered by their reaction. This was getting ridiculous. But as I followed their gaze, I spotted a figure descending from a boat, surrounded by an aura of authority and flamboyance.

"Why do we care?" I asked, still not understanding the sudden shift in their behavior.

Charlotte turned around, her eyes wide with awe. "She’s the ruler of all Kamabakka Kingdom! Queen Emporio Ivankov!"

"Wait a minute, Ivankov?" I said, the name ringing a bell in my mind. Without hesitation, I made my way toward the sea where the boat had now docked. "That's the queen I read about in the papers. Talk about good timing. She was traveling with Luffy—she’s gotta know something!"

As the heels clicked against the ground, I looked up, stunned, as Ivankov descended the steps from her boat. "Ahh, home at last," she said, her voice carrying an air of familiarity with the island.

"Woahh, what a body!" I blurted out, admiring the woman before me, sighing in awe. But then I shook my head, pressing down the doubts that started creeping in. "No, I can’t. She’s totally someone else under all that hotness; otherwise, she wouldn’t be on this island in the first place!"

Ivankov’s sultry voice cut through my thoughts. "Hmmm, hey there, you got a name?" she asked, her tone dripping with flirtation.

I tried to stand tall, swallowing the lump in my throat. "Is there anything I can do for you... Candy boy?" she continued, her voice adding more fuel to the fire inside me.

"Yeah, I got a lot of questions, buddy," I stammered, trying to regain my composure. "Actually, the first one is—are you single?" As soon as the words left my mouth, I was stunned. "I can't believe I even asked that question!" I muttered, a blush creeping across my face. In a low voice, I quickly added, "I mean, it's about Luffy."

Ivankov’s eyes sparkled with interest. "What, Luffy? The cutie with the straw hat?" she responded, her tone playful yet curious.

"Yeah, that’s the one," I confirmed, trying to shake off the embarrassment of my earlier blunder. 

"Listen, I read in the papers that you were busting heads with him at Marineford," I said, trying to keep my cool despite the chaos around me. "What a lucky bastard that Luffy. Anyway, you might know how he’s doing! So, you mind filling me in on that?" I knelt down dramatically, extending my hand toward Ivankov. "Baby."

She reached for my hand, but just then, her nails extended, and she punctured her body with them. "How about now?" Ivankov said in a low voice as her real, more masculine form began to emerge.

"Awww man, and I saw it coming from a mile away too! Screw you!" I shouted, annoyed at myself for falling for it. "Now, tell me, how do you know Strawboy?" Ivankov demanded.

"We’re shipmates," I replied, still irritated.

"You’re part of his crew?!" Ivankov exclaimed, pulling out all the wanted posters of our crew members, flashing them one by one. "So, Strawboy is your captain?"

"Yeah, so?" I answered, trying to stay calm.

"And so, you’re friends with Pirate Hunter Zoro?" Ivankov asked, narrowing her eyes.

"HELL NO!!" I shot back, the mere thought infuriating me.

"What about Cat Burglar Nami?"

"NAMI, MY SWEET!" I shouted, my tone changing instantly, full of adoration.

"And what about Warrior Y/N?" Ivankov asked, holding up her poster.

I froze, staring at the poster of Y/N. Memories flooded back—her smile, her spirit, everything about her that made her special. I remembered the day she got her first wanted poster like it was yesterday.

Flashback

"You guys!" Y/N said, grinning and jumping up and down with excitement. I couldn’t help but smile back at her. Her expression, her smile—too beautiful to even put into words. That was one of the things I loved about her. Besides being a strong warrior and pirate, she carried herself with so much love and light.

"Check this out!" She pulled me out of my daze, waving her wanted poster in front of me. "It’s my wanted poster! They really need to get a better picture of me, though. Hey, Nami, mind telling me who took your picture? I need an updated one ‘cause this isn’t it." She laughed, her voice like music to my ears. Her bounty had gone from the original 20,000,000 to 50,000,000.

"What do you think, Sanji? How cool is this?" she asked, her eyes sparkling with pride.

I was lost in thought, still mesmerized by her.

"Hello? Candy boy?" Ivankov’s voice snapped me back to reality.

"Yeah, yeah, I do," I said, a small smile tugging at my lips.

Ivankov held up another wanted poster. "So, this must be your wanted poster then?"

"FUCK NO! That hideous drawing is nothing like me!" I yelled, now enraged. 

Ivankov started pounding the images with her fists. "You’re not in any of these wanted posters, so you must be a fraud! How do I know your relation with Strawboy then?"

I slammed my fist on the newspaper she held. "What do I do to convince you? I already told you I am!" I took a deep breath, trying to stay calm. "Tell me what you know about Luffy now! Listen, the paper said you were there with him! So you must know what happened!"

Ivankov raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile playing on her lips. "So you admit this is you, then?"

"No, IT'S NOT!" I protested, falling to my knees in frustration. "I mean, kind of, but..." Bowing my head, gritting my teeth, I finally gave in. "I'm Sanji, but..." I choked and coughed, blood rising in my throat from the stress of the situation. "My, this seems like a problem area for you, doesn't it?" Ivankov said, clearly enjoying my torment.

Struggling, I finally admitted, "Yes, it's me. That hideous wanted poster drawing is me!"

Ivankov held up my wanted poster beside my face, scrutinizing it. "Sorry, but no match," she teased.

"BUT YOU STILL MADE ME SAY IT! I WAS FIGHTING FOR MY LIFE BACK THERE!" I shouted, furious that she forced me to admit it, only to mock me.

"Fine! I'll start swimming!" I turned around, ready to jump into the sea.

Ivankov gasped, clearly taken aback by my determination. "What dedication! You were telling the truth when you said you were a member of the Strawhat crew. I'll tell you everything I know about Strawboy, then."

"Finally," I said, smiling in relief.

"OR MAYBE NOT!" Ivankov suddenly exclaimed, and the candy men on the island burst into cheers, praising her cleverness.

"Damn it!" I cursed under my breath, my patience wearing thin. "Hey, Iva, since I'm a pirate, I've decided I'm gonna take your ship." I looked at her with fierce determination. "I challenge you to a duel!"

Y/N POV…

"Hey… Y/N, wake up." A soft hand shook me gently. Groaning, I turned my body, instinctively grabbing the object close, cuddling it. "Five more minutes, please," I whined, my voice muffled by sleep. Sam hesitated at first but then decided to let me cuddle him, his body stiffening slightly before relaxing into my embrace. His warmth sparked something inside him, and as he looked down, he smiled softly and pecked my forehead, enjoying the rare moment of closeness, even if it was just for a few minutes.

Suddenly, John barged in, his footsteps quick and urgent. "Y/N! Y/N! Wake up!" he called out, turning on the lights without warning. The abrupt brightness made me groan again, and as I turned, trying to get up, I was met with something hard. Blinking, I adjusted my eyes and saw Sam cuddled next to me, his hands securely on my waist. My face flushed as I realized the intimacy behind the act, and I scrambled to get up, causing Sam to tumble off the bed.

"Whoa, sorry, Sam!" I stammered, embarrassed, trying to help him up but failing to hide the blush creeping up my cheeks.

John, either oblivious or too focused on the news, hurriedly handed me a newspaper. "Y/N, I bring today’s newspaper! It appears something happened to your captain, Luffy!" he exclaimed.

"What?!" My heart raced as I scrambled to my feet, yanking the paper from John’s hands. My eyes widened as I saw Luffy’s face plastered on the front page. "Luffy, what the hell is going on?" I murmured, frantically reading through the article, my mind swirling with worry.

Just as I was about to ask John more questions, two soldiers entered unannounced, their presence commanding immediate attention. Between them stood the King, his regal aura undeniable.

"Ahh, I see you are awake," the King said, his voice calm yet authoritative.

I quickly composed myself, standing tall despite the whirlwind of emotions inside me. "Your Majesty," I greeted, trying to mask my concern for Luffy with a respectful tone. "What brings you here?"

The King’s eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and intrigue as he replied, "I know who you are—Y/L/N, Y/N. You're part of the Straw Hat crew!"

My heart skipped a beat, but I stood firm. "Yes, I am. So what of it?"

The King chuckled, clearly entertained by my defiance. "I’m quite impressed. News traveled fast about what occurred in Sabaody, but I just couldn’t believe it was your crew that caused such a ruckus."

"We did it to save our friends," I said through gritted teeth, my mind still reeling as I glanced down at the newspaper, trying to piece together why Luffy had gone back to Marineford. The King noticed my focus on the paper and took a step forward.

"You’d like to know more about your captain, correct?" he said, his voice silky smooth. Sam and John immediately moved to shield me, but I pushed them aside, stepping forward to face the King head-on.

"What do you know about him?" I demanded, my voice unwavering despite the tension in the air.

The King smirked, leaning in closer, his eyes never leaving mine. "Why don’t you come back to my quarters, and I’ll tell you everything I know," he whispered, his breath brushing against my ear as he slowly pushed my hair back, sending shivers down my spine. He leaned in even closer, his lips brushing against my neck as he added, "And come alone, if you will."

I stood tall, placing my hands on his chest and pushing him back slightly with a seductive smile. "At what time does Your Majesty request my presence?" I asked, my voice dripping with an allure that matched his own.

"Come by around 3 p.m.," he responded, his gaze lingering on me. "Don’t keep me waiting." With that, he turned and left the room, his soldiers following closely behind.

As soon as the door closed, Sam burst out, "You seriously aren’t considering it, right?!"

Jealousy flickered in his eyes, and I could see the concern in John’s expression as well. I sighed, knowing what had to be done. "I have no choice," I said, my voice steady. "But I’m not going in alone."

Both Sam and John looked at me, their confusion evident.

I smirked, a plan already forming in my mind. "Let’s give him an evening he’ll never forget," I said, my voice full of determination.

They leaned in, listening intently as I began to detail the plan, ensuring that this meeting would be on my terms, not his.

Sanji POV…

Grunting and panting, I felt the exhaustion settle in. "How is Iva so strong?!" I muttered to myself. The fight had barely started, and it was already proving to be a monumental challenge.

"Diable Jambe, Première Hachis!" I shouted, launching myself at Ivankov. My attack was blocked effortlessly, and before I knew it, I was back where I started, disoriented and struggling to regain my footing.

Ivankov, maintaining a calm demeanor, remarked, "You appear to be a sturdy fellow, but you could benefit from some discipline." With that, Ivankov moved in with fluid grace, launching a series of attacks. "Newkama Kenpo—44—Aesthetic Technique! Hair Removal Fist."

Each precise strike landed with crushing force, leaving me reeling. "Death Wink, Hell Wink, and Galaxy Wink!" Ivankov announced, each technique more powerful than the last, overwhelming me with their intensity. The final blow came, and the bell rang, signaling the end of the match. The winner was clearly Ivankov.

I lay on the ground, gasping for air, my energy spent. Ivankov walked over, a look of satisfaction on their face. "Very well, Mr. Curly Brows, I'll give you an update on Strawboy."

Confused and struggling to recover, I croaked, "So what made you change your mind all of a sudden?"

Ivankov smirked and tossed today’s newspaper in front of me. "Oh, please, there's no need to hide what the whole world already knows."

I flipped through the pages, my heart pounding as I searched for the headline. My eyes widened as I saw Luffy's face plastered on the front page—he was back in Marineford. "LUFFY, WHAT THE HELL?!" I shouted, my frustration and worry clear in my voice. 

Y/N POV…

You took a deep breath, steeling yourself as you glanced at John and Sam. They both wore expressions of concern mixed with resolve, a reflection of your own emotions. "Alright, everyone knows the plan, right?" you asked, trying to sound confident despite the uncertainty you felt.

John gave a nod. "Yeah, Y/N. We’re ready."

Sam hesitated, his gaze lingering on the outfit you wore—a reminder of the gravity of the situation. "You sure about this, Y/N? There’s gotta be another way."

You looked down at the outfit, your reflection showing a dangerous elegance. The dress, with its high slit and form-fitting design, hugged every curve while the bandages concealed the blade hidden within. Your hair was pulled back neatly, and the red lipstick added a bold touch. The heels elevated your stance, giving you an added edge. Instead of responding directly to Sam, you checked the newspaper one last time. Your eyes widened when you noticed Luffy’s left arm, which had a cryptic message: “3 D with an X over it” and “2 Y” written on it.

A smirk played on your lips. "Alright, Captain, if this is what you want, you can count on me."

John’s voice broke through your thoughts. "We’ve arrived, Y/N."

You turned to them, giving a reassuring smile. "Remember to stay in your stations and keep an eye out. Everything’s going to be okay. I’ll handle the rest."

With that, you turned back to the grand entrance of the king’s quarters. The soldiers opened the gates with a ceremonious flourish, and you stepped through, taking a moment to appreciate the opulence of the space before you.

As you walked down the hall, your curiosity was piqued by the elaborate displays. Each section featured a glass case with various weapons and artifacts, their names proudly displayed beneath. You couldn’t help but let your gaze linger on each one, taking in the intricate designs and the history they represented.

Inner dialogue: "So this is the king’s quarters… It’s impressive, but I can’t get distracted. 

Suddenly, a booming voice echoed through the hall, "Ahh, if it isn’t my guest of the evening, Y/N." The king’s voice was smooth, but there was a dangerous undertone. He approached you, a predatory smile on his lips. "Might I add you look rather ravishing today." He reached out and grabbed your hand, placing a kiss on it. You fought the urge to pull away, instead biting back your annoyance and forcing a smile.

"Your majesty," you began, trying to sound casual, "I couldn’t help but notice your impressive collection of weaponry. Might I ask why you’ve put them on display like this?"

The king’s smile faded slightly, and he repositioned himself, his eyes narrowing. "Why don’t I offer you a glass of wine first?" he suggested. "Then we can discuss it further."

He escorted you to the dining hall, where a grand chandelier hung above, casting a warm glow on the room. Soldiers were stationed at every exit, their eyes following your every move.

 Inner dialogue: "He’s thought of every little detail, hasn’t he? There’s no way out without a fight."

The king pulled out a chair for you, and you sat down, maintaining your composure. He then took the seat next to you, much closer than you would have liked, the tension in the air thickening. He poured a glass of wine for each of you, handing you one. "To Y/N," he toasted, his smirk returning. "May tonight be an evening to never forget."

You smiled back, clinking your glass with his, but only pretended to take a sip. "Your majesty," you said, trying to keep your voice steady, "mind telling me what you know about my captain?" You held his gaze, doing your best to appear confident, while subtly trying to seduce him for the information you needed.

The king chuckled, leaning back in his chair. "Well, I suppose so," he said. But just as you thought he might start talking, a soldier from the far right lunged at you. Reacting quickly, you threw your wine at him, blocking his attack and knocking him off balance.

In a flash, you were on your feet, taking down the soldiers one by one with precise strikes, your concealed blade flashing in the dim light. The king stood up, clapping slowly as the last soldier fell. "Bravo," he said, his eyes gleaming with a mix of admiration and menace. "You never fail to amaze me."

You pulled out your blade, ready to strike, but before you could make a move, the king lifted his hands as if to surrender. Just as you hesitated, an electrical charge surged through your body, causing you to collapse to the floor, paralyzed. The king crouched down beside you, grabbing your face with a cruel smile. "Did you really think I’d just hand over information about your beloved captain? Ha!"

He slammed you harshly into the ground, pain radiating through your body. You tried to signal to Sam and John, but the king laughed. "Don’t bother. The windows are protected. Nothing can get past these walls."

Your breath quickened as you struggled to get up, but you soon realized Sam and John had been captured, their arms bound as they were forced to their knees. "Wait!" you gasped, struggling to hold yourself up as the king approached you with a knife pressed against your throat. He grabbed both your wrists with his other hand, binding you in place.

Gritting your teeth, you seethed, "Let them go. I’d rather die than see them harmed."

The king, not used to being defied, slammed your face into the table, and you fell back in pain. "Y/N!!" Sam yelled, trying to break free to help you.

The king ordered his soldiers to dispose of you, but as they moved to obey, you grabbed the king’s ankle, stopping them in their tracks. "Wait!" you breathed out, struggling to keep your head up. "I didn’t come here to fight… I came to ask if I can train with you and on your island."

The king raised an eyebrow, intrigued by your words. "Train with me? And why should I consider that?"

You forced yourself to speak through the pain, "If I’m going to protect my captain, if I’m going to be a warrior worthy of standing by his side, I need to get stronger. I need your training and your weaponry."

The king’s eyes narrowed, assessing you. After a moment, he spoke, "Training with me isn’t easy. Neither I nor my soldiers will go easy on you. You’ll endure more pain than you can imagine."

You nodded, determination in your eyes. "I understand. I’m ready for whatever it takes."

A slow smirk spread across the king’s face. "Very well. But under one condition—you will stay with me in the quarters. No exceptions."

Your breath hitched, and Sam looked at you with wide eyes. "Like hell she will—"

"I accept," you cut him off, your voice firm.

"What?!" Sam exclaimed, disbelief etched on his face.

"I accept," you repeated, your gaze locked on the king. "But only if you agree to make me stronger and allow me access to your weaponry."

The king crouched before you, his gaze shifting from your lips to your eyes. "You, my dear… have a deal." He sealed the agreement with a kiss, his lips pressing hard against yours before he knocked you down with a forceful push. "Training starts bright and early tomorrow," he announced before turning on his heel, leaving the room with his soldiers in tow.

Sam and John rushed to your side, concern written all over their faces. "Y/N, what did you agree to?" Sam asked, his voice trembling.

Gasping, you looked up at Sam and managed a weak smile. "In order for me to be a strong warrior for my captain, to protect him from every threat… I must get stronger." You coughed, the effort of speaking draining you. "When he sees me again after two years… I’ll be an even stronger warrior��� and pirate… fit for the King of the Pirates!"

As the last of your strength left you, you collapsed into Sam’s arms, your injuries overwhelming you. Sam began to shake you gently, trying to keep you conscious. "Y/N, stay with me!"

Before you could respond, the king reappeared in the doorway, his presence commanding the room. "Oh, and before I forget," he said with a smirk, "you two will tend to her wounds and prepare yourselves as well. I won’t show mercy to any of you."

With those words, the king left, leaving you to realize that tonight truly was an evening you would never forget.

Sanji POV…

As I continued to examine the paper, the trees around me providing just enough shade, a smirk tugged at the corner of my lips. Luffy's message was clear as day. "Roger that, Captain," I muttered under my breath, lowering the paper with a sense of purpose.

Ivankov, who had been observing me closely, raised an eyebrow, clearly intrigued. "What’s that?" she asked, her curiosity piqued. "Something interesting in the paper?"

I folded the paper and looked up at her, the smirk still firmly in place. "Just a little something that only a member of the crew would understand. Top secret, you know?"

Ivankov's curiosity deepened, her eyes narrowing. "Top secret, huh? Are you going to keep me in suspense?"

With a chuckle, I pushed myself off the tree, beginning to walk alongside her towards the castle. "Sorry, but it's crew business. Don’t worry your pretty little head about it."

Once we reached the dining room, a lavish meal awaited me, complete with a glass of wine. Ivankov watched me closely, still trying to piece things together. "You must have seen something in that paper. Mind sharing what it is?"

I took a sip of the wine, savoring the rich flavor before answering, "Like I said, it's top secret. But I’ll tell you this much—my Captain has a plan, and I’m all in."

Ivankov leaned forward, clearly intrigued. "So, what’s the plan?"

I couldn’t help but grin, enjoying the game. "Sorry, that’s classified. Only those who are truly part of the crew would get it."

Ivankov huffed, folding her arms. "You’re really going to keep me in the dark, huh? Fine, but don’t think you can tease me forever."

As I continued to eat, I noticed something different. My body felt… stronger, more energized. Each bite seemed to enhance my senses, sharpening my mind. I looked at the food on my plate, then back at Ivankov. "This food… what’s in it? It’s… different."

Ivankov's face lit up with pride. "Ah, you’ve noticed! That’s the power of Attack Cuisine. It’s a special recipe that enhances your body’s capabilities—makes you stronger, faster, more resilient. It’s the food of warriors!"

“Attack Cuisine?” I said, thinking to myself, this can help my crew, and even a little more a subtle blush creeps up as I think of all the ways this meal can make Y/N, Robin and Nami sexier than ever. "Teach me this recipe, Ivankov. I need to learn it."

Ivankov’s expression turned serious, shaking her head. "Sorry, but it’s not that simple. Attack Cuisine isn’t something you can just learn. You have to earn it."

I leaned forward, determination clear in my eyes. "Then tell me what I need to do to earn it."

Ivankov smiled, clearly impressed by my resolve. "Alright, I’ll make you a deal. If you can defeat the 99 masters of New Kama Kenpo, I’ll teach you the recipes for Attack Cuisine. 

My eyes widened at the challenge Ivankov laid before me. But as the initial shock wore off, a smirk tugged at my lips. The thought of what lay ahead was daunting, but it also excited me. "When this is all over," I thought to myself, "and I defeat those 99 masters, I'll become stronger than ever. I’ll become the world’s greatest chef, making meals fit for the King of the Pirates!"

With that resolve burning in my chest, I pulled out a cigarette, lighting it with a practiced flick of my lighter. The familiar taste of smoke filled my lungs, and I exhaled slowly, letting the tension melt away. "Alright, let’s do this," I muttered to myself, determination coursing through me.

Ivankov led me to the training grounds, a sprawling arena where the first of the 99 masters awaited. 

She took a step forward, her smirk widening. "You ready, candy boy?" she taunted, her voice dripping with challenge.

I rolled my shoulders, loosening up and preparing for the fight ahead. "Born ready," I replied, the smirk never leaving my face. The cigarette hung lazily from my lips, a symbol of my calm in the face of the storm.

Meanwhile… Back in Sabaody and in the New World. Word got out of what Luffy did in Marineford. 

Sabaody… 

Trafalgar Law POV…

Trafalgar Law lay resting against Bepo, who was peacefully napping beside him. The soft rustling of leaves and the distant hum of activity from Sabaody were the only sounds filling the air, creating a serene atmosphere. But that serenity was abruptly broken by the voices of his crew.

"What?? You don’t want to leave yet?" One of the Heart Pirates blurted out, his frustration evident. Penguin, unable to sit still, was pacing back and forth. "Let’s go to the New World! We’ve been sitting around here doing nothing! What are we waiting for?"

Law remained calm, his eyes half-lidded as he lazily watched Penguin. His cool demeanor never wavered. "Like I said, we’ll leave when it’s time. Have some patience. The One Piece isn’t going anywhere," he replied, his tone steady and authoritative.

"But Captain, Blackbeard's already taking down pirates to reach the One Piece first!" another crew member chimed in, a note of urgency in his voice.

"Yeah, and a bunch of rookies are heading over there to take Whitebeard’s place as an Emperor," added Shachi, his concern evident as he glanced at Law.

Law smirked, tilting his head slightly as he continued to rest against Bepo. "We’re better off letting them eliminate each other before we get there," he said, a calculating edge to his voice. "That’ll thin out the competition, don’t you think?"

The crew exchanged glances, knowing their captain’s strategic mind was always thinking several steps ahead. But Penguin, never one to pass up an opportunity for mischief, couldn’t resist teasing. He leaned closer to Law, a sly grin spreading across his face. "Are you sure it’s not also to catch a glimpse of Y/N?" he asked, his tone dripping with playful insinuation.

Law, usually so composed, visibly tensed. A faint blush crept onto his cheeks, betraying his emotions. "Don’t be ridiculous," he muttered, trying to keep his cool, but his voice betrayed him with a slight stammer.

"Oh, come on, Captain," Shachi joined in, grinning widely. "We all saw how you looked at Y/N before we left. You sure you’re not just hoping for another chance encounter?"

Penguin, still chuckling, added, "Don’t worry, Captain. We’ll be sure to give you some privacy when we run into Y/N again."

Before anyone could say more, Bepo, still deep in his nap, began to mumble, "I also have Y/N’s number…"

Law’s eyes widened in disbelief as he turned to stare at Bepo, who remained blissfully unaware in his sleep.

Penguin and Shachi both froze for a moment before they erupted. "What?!" they shouted in unison, glaring at Bepo. "You just decided to tell the Captain now?!"

Bepo’s ears twitched as he sleep-talked again, "S-Sorry…"

Penguin and Shachi threw their hands up in exasperation. "Don’t apologize while you’re sleeping!" they yelled, half-annoyed, half-amused.

The crew’s teasing atmosphere was momentarily disrupted, but as the laughter faded, Law’s thoughts drifted back to Y/N. He couldn’t help but wonder what Y/N was up to now and when their paths would cross again. But for now, he had to maintain his composure—especially with his crew watching his every move. 

Somewhere in the New World… 

Captain Kidd stood at the helm of his ship, a newspaper clenched in his gloved hand. His eyes were narrowed, and his lips curled into a sneer as he scanned the bold headline.

"Strawhat Luffy… turns out the bastard’s still alive!" Kidd growled, the newspaper crinkling under his grip. "Rang the bell 16 times in Marineford… blah, blah, blah, so what the hell does this mean?" He looked up, his gaze sharp as he turned to his crew.

Killer, standing nearby, adjusted his mask before speaking up. "The 16 bells have a symbolic meaning, Captain. It’s a declaration of a new era. The end of one and the beginning of another."

Kidd scoffed, tossing the newspaper onto a nearby crate. "He comes out of Marineford pretty cocky, thinking he’s hot shit. Whitebeard’s era is already gone, and now he thinks he’s in charge of the next one?" Kidd’s voice dripped with disdain. "His bounty’s going up, and it’s only going to keep rising if he keeps pulling stunts like this."

He turned away from his crew, his mind clearly on something else, or rather, someone else. "Any news on my fiancée, Y/N?" Kidd asked, his tone almost casual, but there was a possessive edge to his words.

Killer, not missing a beat, quickly chimed in. "Captain, she hasn’t accepted yet. Besides, I’ve got my eyes set on her too." His voice was cool, but the underlying tension was unmistakable.

Kidd’s gaze snapped back to Killer, a dangerous glint in his eyes. "She’ll agree, Killer. Even if I have to kidnap her to make her see reason," Kidd declared, his voice firm. The intensity in his tone left no room for doubt.

Killer tilted his head slightly, not backing down. "And what makes you so sure, Kidd? Y/N’s not someone who can be easily controlled, you know that. She’s got fire, and it’s that fire that draws us both to her."

Kidd smirked, a twisted sense of admiration in his expression. "Exactly. That fire is what makes her perfect. She’s not just some woman; she’s the only one who could keep up with me. I knew it the moment I laid eyes on her…"

Flashback…

The bustling streets of Sabaody Archipelago were always filled with chaos and intrigue, a perfect breeding ground for pirates looking to make a name for themselves. It was here, in the heart of the lawless zone, that Kidd first caught sight of her—not in person, but on a wanted poster plastered against a weathered wall.

Kidd had been walking through Grove 20, eyes scanning the numerous bounty posters lining the street. Some caught his interest briefly, but nothing that truly stood out—until he saw yours. The image was slightly weathered, but the intensity in your eyes was unmistakable. The name underneath read Y/L/N, Y/N, with a bounty that was impressive for someone who wasn’t a captain (115,000,000). Your face, fierce and determined, piqued his curiosity instantly.

"Who the hell is this?" Kidd muttered under his breath, ripping the poster off the wall to get a better look. There was something about you, even in that static image, that intrigued him. A fire in your eyes, a promise of trouble, and a challenge���everything Kidd was drawn to.

He stuffed the poster into his coat, a smirk tugging at his lips. "I’ve gotta meet this woman," he thought to himself, already feeling the thrill of the chase. The poster didn’t do you justice; he needed to see you in action.

The opportunity came sooner than he expected. At the Human Auction House, Kidd had initially come for the spectacle, expecting to see the usual array of unfortunate souls. But when his eyes landed on you, standing on stage next to a mermaid, his world shifted. Your outfit, meant to highlight you as a prize, did nothing to disguise the raw strength and spirit radiating from you. His gaze lingered on the bruises marring your skin—evidence of your fight and resistance. The sight stirred something primal in him, a mix of anger and fierce protectiveness. The thought of you being paraded around like a trophy, shackled and vulnerable, ignited a burning desire within him.

When the auction began and you removed your chains, Kidd watched in awe as you fought back with a small blade, taking down Disco with precision and grit. The way you moved, the fire in your eyes, it was more than just talk and bravado. It was action, power, and defiance, and Kidd found himself captivated. His heart pounded in his chest, a mix of admiration and a fierce, possessive urge.

When the cook from your crew, Sanji, rushed onto the stage to free you, wrapping you in his arms and holding you close, Kidd’s initial reaction was a surge of rage and jealousy. He watched, fists clenched, as the scene unfolded. But when you were pushed towards Kidd, his control was tested. The closeness, the heat of your body against his—it took everything in him to restrain his instincts.

As you stumbled towards him, Kidd’s eyes darkened with a hunger that went beyond mere attraction. The sight of your disheveled state, the way you clung to Sanji and then to him, stoked a fierce, carnal desire within him. His mind was consumed with thoughts of claiming you, of feeling your body pressed against his in a way that spoke of raw, unfiltered need.

In a moment of primal intensity, Kidd’s gaze locked onto you as he leaned in, his tongue grazing your delicate skin. The touch was deliberate, teasing, and when you let out an involuntary moan, it fueled his desires even further. The soft, warm skin beneath his lips was intoxicating, each tremor of your body sending waves of pleasure through him. The warmth of your breath, the softness of your flesh, the vulnerability of your position—all combined to create a heady mix of lust and longing.

Kidd’s control was slipping, his thoughts dark and obsessive. He imagined pulling you close, feeling every curve of your body pressed against his, his hands roaming with a possessive grip. The thought of claiming you, of making you his in every sense, consumed him. He wanted to feel your skin against his, to taste every inch of you, and to dominate you in a way that left no room for doubt.

The fire in your eyes had ignited a blaze in his heart, one that burned with a fierce, unrestrained passion. In that moment, Kidd knew he would stop at nothing to possess you, not just as a trophy but as a partner in his most intimate desires. The need to have you, to make you his, was now an all-encompassing obsession.

Back to the present…

Kidd’s smirk widened as he recalled that moment, his gaze faraway yet intense. "She’s mine, Killer. She just doesn’t know it yet."

Killer, arms crossed and eyes hidden behind his mask, shifted his stance. The air between them was charged with unspoken tension. "You’re not the only one who sees her worth, Kidd. But if you think I’m just going to step aside, you’re mistaken. I’m just as determined to make her mine."

Kidd’s eyes narrowed, a flicker of challenge in his gaze. His voice dropped to a low, dangerous whisper. "Then it looks like we’ve got ourselves a little competition, don’t we?"

Killer’s tone was equally resolute, though his masked face revealed nothing. "Looks like it."

The two men stood in a silent stand-off, the weight of their rivalry hanging heavily in the air. Each knew the stakes of this competition were high, but neither was willing to concede. Y/N had become the center of a storm—a storm driven by the fierce desires of two of the New World’s most formidable pirates.

Kidd’s smirk remained, a dangerous promise of what was to come. "Let’s see who she chooses, then."

Killer’s eyes, though hidden, seemed to bore into Kidd with equal intensity. "Indeed. May the best man win."

The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, the rivalry between the two men palpable. As they stood their ground, the realization set in that Y/N was about to become the focal point of their ruthless competition. Neither would relent, and both were prepared to do whatever it took to claim her, making their contest a matter of both pride and possession.

.

.

.

..Finally! Now, both Sanji and Y/N will start their training! Sanji’s flashback moment, my heart!!! had to add law, kidd, and killer back. I just love them. Also it adds to the plot lmfaooo. For the next chapter I will be bringing the crew back as the 2 years have finally arrived. We head back to Sabaody. There's going to be flashback scenes here. Along with a few guests coming in. I think for chapter 9-10 I will skip fishman island and add a few key notes for our beloved crew as well as a key moment that will shift both Sanji and Y/N. You guys don't want to miss this, cause we will be heading to punk hazard. Thank you guys for liking as well as following the blogs! Thank you for reblogging!. Chapter 8 is being worked on now as we speak!

[tomblythismyhusband]

haunted [coriolanus snow x fem!reader] pt. 5

[summary]: coriolanus snow x fem!reader | After Coriolanus invites you to move in with him, you both having looming thoughts about the idea. Will this be a good thing?

[warnings]: this is an 18+ series!!! | mentions of choking, toxic!corio

[wc]: 1.2k

[note]: tysm for the overwhelming amount of requests for this series! i’ve got new ideas for this series so it’s definitely continuing!!! :)

**master list**

You believed him. You believed every dirty lying word that came from his mouth. You ate from the palm from his hand, agreeing with anything he said because he loved you.

After you made up with Coriolanus on that gloomy afternoon, he had instantly invited you to move in with him. You used to sleep over at his apartment all the time but now this was the next step up. A new chapter.

You felt giddy packing your things up and handing them one by one to the movers. Coriolanus was all yours now. You felt as if the sun was shining on everything he’d ever done. You know him now, all his haunted thoughts, guilty feelings. There was nothing standing between him loving you.

You taped up the last cardboard box of things and wiped your brow with a sigh. You didn’t realize exactly how much stuff you had until you had to move it.

“That should be the last of them.” You said to the burly moving guy who had been helping you all afternoon. He gave a grunt and picked up the box, walking out of your now empty bedroom. You gazed at the bare walls in slight sadness.

“This will be good.” You whispered to yourself. You could almost see it now, early morning breakfasts, late night sex, tender moments alone. Life with Coriolanus would be perfect. Simply perfect.

“Rosetta!” Coriolanus roared down the hall, summoning his maid. She was a sad old hag from the districts. He hated her presence most of the time, she was a constant reminder that district filth still roamed about the Capitol.

Rosetta came scurrying into Coriolanus’s bedroom, cheeks flushed and breathing rapidly. Pathetic.

“Rosetta, the movers for Y/n’s things should be here any moment. You will be the one to overlook the whole process.” He said in a bored tone. Rosetta fidgeted with her skirt. “But-“

Coriolanus’ eyes flashed her a warning look, sending a pang of fear throughout her body. “U-understood.” Rosetta nodded, bowing at her waist before exiting the bedroom.

Coriolanus rolled his eyes and let out a breath. He was tired of all the incompetent people around him. He deserved better. He glanced around his room. The thought of you now living here made him uneasy. Admittedly, he had only asked you to move in with him to distract you from thinking too much about the Lucy Gray situation. At least with you under his roof he could keep careful watch, make sure you don’t get any funny ideas of turning him in.

He could still see the fear in your face so clearly from the night before. The wide doe eyes, parted lips, pale face. Coriolanus hated to admit it but he loved seeing you that way. It reminded him of Lucy Gray.. how she looked before she ran. A fearful innocence that he craved. He liked that you were so naive. You didn’t seem to bat an eye at his words, because you so desperately wanted to see the good in him.

Coriolanus smiled to himself. You were his puppet, his doll. He was sure that if he’d asked you to marry him you would say yes in a heartbeat. All these things would come in handy when he was president. He could already see it now, him, dressed in the finest clothes, standing before Panem, while you, stood at his side respectfully, smiling towards the crowds shining your innocence.

He heard the sound of the front door creaking open, and heels clicking on the floor. Coriolanus sighed. You were here. He glanced at himself in the mirror, laid down a stray curl that never cooperated with the slick back look he had going on, and left the room.

“Corio!” You exclaimed when you saw his tall figure emerge from the hallway. He gave you a wry smile and opened his arms a bit. You took the invitation of an embrace grinning.

His hands were cold, sending shivers down your spine as you hugged. You felt his hand squeeze you tighter before his head dipped down next to your ear.

“Glad you’re here Y/n…” He whispered in a low tone. His voice sounded like music to your ears. He wanted you! He was glad!

Coriolanus let go of you and looked down at you with a look of adoration. His hand slid up your body till it reached your cheek, and cupped it. His thumb brushed against your cheekbones lightly making you feel woozy. You gave him a soft smile.

“Now you’ll never be out of my sight, darling.” Coriolanus murmured. You were surprised at the words. You wondered if he had meant them in a joking way and just had a problem with his tone. Coriolanus had always been one to use dry humor after all. Nevertheless you still grinned up at him, not wanting to ruin this moment you both had going on.

Finally you pulled away. Your gaze flicked to the maid carrying your bags down the hall with care. Your eyebrows furrowed when you noticed that the woman was taking your things in an entirely different direction than where Coriolanus’ bedroom was. You cocked your head at him.

“Why is she taking my stuff to one of your spare rooms?” You asked. Coriolanus stuffed his hands into his pockets.

“Darling, you know I work late. Why would I want to wake you?” He gave her a small smile. “You can still sleep in my bed, but I thought it would be best to give you your own space.” You thought over his words and they all seemed to make sense.

“Well that’s…. very thoughtful Corio.. thank you.” You nodded. You grabbed his hand. It felt huge in your own. Sometimes you love the way his body engulfed you, until you remembered how thoes same hands had wrapped around your neck, blocking the air passage in your throat. Hands that had killed. You shook off this memory.

He didn’t mean it. He didn’t mean it. He was angry. He said he was sorry. He loves me.

“You know.. I’m excited to take this step with you Corio.” You said sweetly, gazing up at him. Coriolanus cocked a brow. “Excited?”

You gave him a nod. “I feel as if we’re… connecting you know? Getting closer.” Coriolanus’ stomach felt sick as he gave you a weak smile and nodded.

You had always been a dreamer when it came to him. Growing up in the Capitol, you were always told that status and marrying the powerful was everything. And Coriolanus? Not only had he been your friend for years but he also was extremely well liked in the Capitol. You were hopeful that moving in with him would eventually lead to… well- marriage.

Coriolanus dropped your hand and made a show of checking his watch. You pushed away the hurt that came from the action. He loved you. He’s just a busy man.

“I have a meeting to get to. Get settled in.” He murmured. He gave you a quick kiss on the forehead and left swiftly down the hall to grab his things before making his way out of the apartment. You watched him with a slight sadness you couldn’t explain.

You decided to take this as a sign to go see your room. As you walked down the hall you couldn’t help but notice the cold emptiness of the apartment. Especially with Coriolanus gone, life seemed to be sucked out of the place. Of course everything was clean and tidy, but it almost seemed like a museum. Not an ounce of love was in anything.

You sighed and entered your bedroom, and started to unpack your things, reassuring yourself over and over again that this was good. Coriolanus and you were fine. And you're just a stupid, stupid girl.

tagging: @merlieve

[pengweng-quack]

Bloodbound

Carlisle Cullen x Human!OC

Summary: Place Carlisle in the Edward situation of falling in love with a human, and see what happens

Chapter 3/?

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8

Notes:

This is on Ao3 under the same title and username if you'd like to read it there (https://archiveofourown.org/works/54527830)

Posting (just like before) is random lol, hope you guys enjoy this story

Much much longer than Being a Witch with Vampires by the way, so we're in a long ride (or you are, because I already know the story)

Word Count: 2047 words

General warning: I used some religious references in this story so read with caution if you're not so keen into reading that

TW for this chapter: None

PM or Comment to be added on the taglist for this one!

Masterlist

Pulling over at Celine's house, Carlisle spotted her walking out of her front door, clad in a light blue top paired with a khaki skirt. Without hesitation, he hurried out of his car, eager to escort her to the passenger seat beside him.

“Why are there so many cars behind us?” Celine asked, looking behind them, where Rosalie and Emmett’s cars are behind his

“They heard that I asked you out on a date.” Carlisle answered, having prepared the answer in his mind already “Wanted to be in support. I got them to not follow us where I had planned to bring you though, I think you’d want the privacy.”

“That’s cute.” Celine said with a grin on her face. Carlisle moved faster, reaching for the seatbelt on her end and buckling it, the faintest of their skins touching sending electric shocks on his body

“It was a shock, receiving your call.” Celine said as Carlisle started driving, Rosalie and Emmett’s car getting smaller from his rear mirror “I mean, I’ve gotten hints that you were into me, both from your actions and to what everyone at the hospital told me, so like, I wasn’t shocked shocked but that doesn’t mean that I was like expecting you to ask me out or some—

“You’re cute.” Carlisle could only say, looking at her briefly before focusing his eyes on the road

“How long have you liked me anyways?” Celine asked curiously

“I wish I knew the answer to that, believe me.” Carlisle said, a fond smile growing on his face “I’ve just always…liked you in that way.”

He wanted to bare his soul, to confess that she held his entire being in her hands from the moment they met. That she had reminded him the long-forgotten sensation of having a heart. But he held back, a harsh reminder echoing in his mind that their date had been born of necessity, to protect her from the looming threat of a vampire like himself.

They were pulling up in a nearby bar, Carlisle couldn't shake the feeling of disappointment that this wasn't how he had envisioned their first date. Nevertheless, he reminded himself that this moment, imperfect as it may be, was still a precious opportunity to get the chance to be with Celine. He got out of the car, making his way to her side to open the door for her.

“Always the gentleman.” Celine chuckled, following him in the bar and to the bar area so they were nearer to the bartender

"Of course, only the best behavior with the best girl." Carlisle flirted, sitting on the chair next to her "Know what you want?"

"Oh yeah, one Sangria please." Celine ordered to the bartender "You?"

"Just beer." Carlisle answered, thinking of how he'll make it look like he was drinking. He didn't especially like beer in general, having remembered his past when he was still human

"Oh, so the doctor does drink." Celine teased, admiring the doctor out of his coat

'He looked marvelous' She noted, the navy-blue polo shirt seemed to be tailored perfectly fit for him. Its snug fit hinted at the dedication he put into maintaining a healthy lifestyle, even amidst his demanding schedule. His biceps were subtly flexing as he reaches for his wallet, showing to Celine that even if he's older, his physique says otherwise.

"Open a tab under Cullen." Carlisle said to the bartender, giving him his card, as he gives their drinks to them

"I will admit, it has been a while since I've been on a date." Celine said, taking a sip of her Sangria "So, I apologize if I get a bit too awkward for your liking."

"Don't even think of it. I've been single myself for quite a while now." Carlisle replied, fake drinking his beer, the fizzy effect of his drink resting on his tongue. He carefully spat the beer back in the glass, disgusted with the feeling

"How long?" Celine asked

"Since I adopted Edward, Emmett, and Alice which is roughly 20 to 21 years ago, I think?" He lied effortlessly. He felt bad lying to her, knowing that she sincerely liked him enough to go out on a date with him

"Why'd you adopt if you're alone?" She asked again. Now Carlisle was caught off guard, what story will he say that won't sound creepy for her?

"It was an ex-girlfriend's request." He came up with, looking at Celine so she won't get suspicious. She had a gentle smile, nodding at him to continue

'Now I feel twice as bad' He thought. She was so genuine, listening to his story, when most of it was filled with nothing but lies

"Told me that if I wanted to propose, I would have to give her 3 children." He continued, fake drinking again as he thinks of what to add "I adopted them all at once, Edward technically being my oldest, followed by Emmett, then with Alice being my youngest. But they're all near each other's age, so sometimes I accidentally say that they're triplets."

"What happened?" Celine asked, genuine curiosity on her face

"Turned down the proposal. Said that I wasn't enough for her. Now, my sister helps me in taking care of them." He answered quietly, looking away from her in shame. Shame for making such a fabricated story to her.

"Do you regret doing it?" She asked quietly, her hand resting on his cheek and softly making her face him, almost flinching with how cold he was "Do you regret adopting them?"

"Oh no." Carlisle answered, her eyes captivating him "Among the thousands of things that I've done wrong in my life, they are the only things that I've done right."

"You must really love being a father then." Celine said. Carlisle noticed how her smile faltered for a bit, before making it wider again

"Of course, it makes me feel fulfilled." Carlisle answered, smiling back at her "How about you?"

"How about me?" Celine asked, ordering another glass of Sangria for her to drink, having finished the first one "I'm not a parent, I can't be really."

"Why'd you say so?" Carlisle asked, now curious. He watched Celine finish her second glass of Sangria before ordering another one, it was easy to figure out that she was stalling.

"You don't have to tell me; I'll understand if it isn't something you want to talk about."

"I really can't conceive kids. Got tested multiple times already, all results had the same answer, that I'm infertile." Celine revealed in a low tone, feeling ashamed of it

"Well, don't you think that makes us a perfect pair?" Carlisle asked her, not wanting her to think that having kids was something he still wanted "If you ever want to be a mom of some sort, obviously. You don't owe them in being their parent."

"I mean, what if you want to have kids of your own one day?" Celine asked back, nervousness lingering in her tone

As Carlisle observed Celine's vulnerability and anxiety during their conversation, he couldn't help but empathize with her underlying fears and insecurities.

He understood her reasoning in revealing personal information on their first date, recognizing her desire to prevent him from becoming too emotionally invested if she couldn't meet his expectations. Though the nervousness and anxiety lingering in her at the conversation of having children still made his heart break

"A child of my own isn't something that I would worry about." Carlisle answered her "I'm contented with my three children already. I think any more will just make me look like a womanizer, don't you think?"

"I think I like you a little deeper now." Celine blurted out, having just finished her third glass. She was turning red now, the alcohol taking effect on her “I’m sorry, I wasn’t—

"Alcohol talking now?" Carlisle teased her, feeling her lighten up from the deep discussion that they had

“Are you feeling alright? Do you want some water?” He asked again, not being able to help but worry for her reddened face

"Always the doctor. I’m just not really good with alcohol." Celine murmured; her eyes rested on him. She didn’t voice anything out but it was obvious that she wanted something

And Carlisle needed to give it to her.

“Everything alright?” Carlisle asked, looking at her with concern

"Dance with me?” She murmured quietly; an alluring twinkle in her eyes

"Of course." Carlisle answered lowly, willing to entertain her every request

'This was what Alice meant when she asked if I could deny her' He realized quietly, staring as she asks the bartender for a glass of water to soothe her temperature.

She stood up and pulled him to the dance floor, a particularly sexy song playing. Initially feeling awkward beside her, Carlisle couldn't shake the sensation that someone as extraordinary as her was merely taking pity on him.

But amidst the uncertainty, there was an undeniable sense of rightness, as if they were two puzzle pieces finally clicking into place to complete the picture.

Carlisle decided to let loose, following how Celine moved her body. He was wary to touch her, scared that he'll crave more of the temptation.

But Celine took over, gently coaxing his hands to rest on her waist. As she drew herself closer to him, her hands finding their place on his shoulders.

Her scent was intoxicating, she was intoxicating.

Soon, their bodies were close from touching. Carlisle's hands found a comfortable place on Celine's waist, his grip tightening slightly as he pulled her nearer to him.

In the intimacy of the moment, he could feel the magnetic pull between them, her eyes beckoning to him with unspoken desire, her every touch a silent invitation.

“May I?” Carlisle asked quietly, moving his face closer to hers. They felt alone right now, everything and everyone becoming a blur.

Celine didn’t answer by words, but her pulling him down and kissing him on the lips was an answer that was more than enough for him. Every fiber of his being screamed for restraint, urging him to resist the allure of his primal instincts.

But in the heat of the moment, her kiss felt too irresistible, too perfect to deny himself of.

With a sense of surrender, Carlisle allowed himself to be consumed by the passion that enveloped them, losing himself in the intoxicating rhythm of their kiss.

In that moment, nothing else mattered but the connection they shared, a bond that transcended words and defied logic.

For in that moment, Carlisle sensed a flutter in his chest, his cheeks tingling with warmth, as the essence of his vampiric nature ebbed away. He felt remarkably human, enveloped in the tender emotions evoked by their kiss, granting him a precious taste of humanity after 359 years his of vampiric existence.

In that moment, he knew without a doubt that he was exactly where he was meant to be, and who he was meant to be with.

Carlisle pulled his hand from her waist, placing it softly on her cheek, pulling away from what had been his taste of temptation. A smile grew on his face, having just kissed the woman who had unexpectedly entered his life, bringing with her a sense of joy and fulfillment that he had never before experienced in his 382 years of existence

“Let’s go somewhere…private.” Celine whispered, looking at him with fake innocence in her eyes

“You’ve had something to drink.” Carlisle whispered back, resting his hands back on her waist out of habit “And as tempting as you are right now, I do not wish to bed you while you have alcohol in your system.”

“The alcohol leaves my body very quickly so I’ll feel like I didn’t drink before we get home.” She replied knowingly, looking at him, her eyes screaming nothing but desire

“Please indulge me in this.”

Carlisle knew what she wanted, and he wanted it too, but he could hear Edward and Rosalie in his head. They were screaming for him to stop, for him to be rational, for him to think. But he couldn’t, he wanted her.

He needed her.

And she wanted him too.

And what would that make him if he didn’t give her everything that she wants?

[storyscribeforthesentiment]

the detective & the dark knight | chapter 5

Summary: Detective Marie Manning, investigating a series of brutal murders in Gotham, crosses paths with the mysterious Batman. As they work together, their mutual respect turns into a deep, passionate bond. Amidst danger and corruption, their unlikely partnership evolves into a profound love, forever changing their lives in Gotham’s dark corners.

Pairing: Batman/Bruce Wayne x f!main character

Author’s note: Enjoy lots of good ole’ fluff + emo Bruce falling head over heels for Marie.

Word count: 4.1k

Warnings/tags: mentions of gun violence, police bribes, fighting

Chapter List

The Gotham skyline stretched out like a sprawling maze of steel and shadows. Batman stood on a rooftop, his cape flowing in the crisp night air, his gaze fixed on the city below. The search for leads on the Red Lotus case had turned cold, leaving him restless. The recent confrontation with Marie had left an awkward tension between them that they hadn’t addressed.

Marie, meanwhile, stood beside the bat-signal, her breath misting in the chill as she stared at the beacon’s light. Despite their recent clash, she knew she needed Batman tonight. Her shift in focus had led her to a new line of inquiry, and the Iceberg Lounge was the epicenter of tonight's investigation.

It was a seedy place, notorious for its dangerous clientele, and it was the kind of place that was unforgiving to anyone, let alone a cop. She had learned her lesson from her previous misadventure, and she wasn't about to walk into another trap unprepared.

A shadow detached itself from the darkness and landed beside her. Batman’s imposing figure was outlined against the city lights as he approached. Marie turned to him, trying to hide the nerves she felt.

“Thanks for coming,” Marie said, her voice steady but her eyes betraying a flicker of apprehension. “I’m heading into the Iceberg Lounge. I’m looking for Oswald Cobblepot. This place isn’t exactly friendly to cops, so I could use some backup.”

Batman’s gaze, obscured by the cowl, bore into her with a mix of curiosity and concern. “You need my help?”

Marie’s lips curved into a smirk, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, I’m hoping to avoid another lecture. Remember last time?”

A ghost of a smile touched Batman’s lips, a rare, almost imperceptible hint of amusement. “I’ll do my best to keep my comments to myself.”

Marie’s eyebrow arched, her tone light but tinged with underlying tension. “All business tonight, huh?”

Batman’s voice was a low, rumbling growl. “If it means keeping you safe, then yes.”

Marie’s gaze softened, her eyes lingering on him as he stood next to the bat-signal. “Thanks. I appreciate it. Let’s hope tonight doesn’t turn into another mess.”

Batman nodded, his expression unreadable. “I’ll find a spot near the building to keep an eye on you. Use the earpiece if you need anything.” He said, tossing her a small piece of hardware.

With that, Batman melded back into the shadows, his form disappearing as he moved swiftly and silently across the rooftops. Marie watched him go, feeling the weight of their recent tension but also a flicker of reassurance.

Marie turned and made her way down the stairwell to the street. The chill of the night air hit her as she emerged, and she headed towards the Iceberg Lounge. The nightclub’s entrance loomed ahead, its heavy, ornate doors hinting at the chaos within.

As she approached, Marie’s attention was drawn to a group of shady figures lurking near the alleyway. Their eyes followed her with an unsettling intensity. Marie’s hand instinctively reached for her weapon as she passed the entrance.

"Be careful, looks like you're not alone out there." Batman's voice rang through the earpiece. Marie looked out into the darkness of the night, briefly nodding in response.

Inside, the Iceberg Lounge was a labyrinth of dim lighting and smoky haze. Marie’s gaze swept over the crowd, searching for Cobblepot. The music was loud, and the atmosphere was tense, with patrons watching her every move.

Marie finally spotted Oswald Cobblepot in a private booth, engaged in a heated conversation with two men. She approached cautiously, her heart pounding with a blend of anticipation and apprehension.

“Mr. Cobblepot,” she said loudly over the music, “I’m Detective Marie Manning. I need to speak with you about some recent investigations.”

Cobblepot looked up, his beady eyes assessing her with disdain. “A cop, huh? You’ve got some fuckin’ nerve showing up here.”

Marie’s tone was resolute. “I’m here for information. I know you’ve got answers about Falcone. This isn’t a negotiation.”

Cobblepot’s sneer widened, but he motioned for her to come closer. “Fine. Let’s talk. But not here. Too many ears.”

Marie followed Oswald Cobblepot to a more secluded area of the Iceberg Lounge, noticing his walk that looked more like a waddle. The dimly lit corner offered a modicum of privacy, though the lounge’s usual raucous atmosphere still hummed in the background. Marie cast a wary glance around, then focused on Cobblepot.

“Mr. Cobblepot,” she began, her tone firm yet measured, “I need to talk to you about the Red Lotus murders. I believe you might have some information that could help with the investigation.”

Cobblepot's lips curled into a smirk as he leaned back in his chair, his eyes narrowing with interest. “The Red Lotus, huh? That’s quite a mess. You think I’d be involved in something like that?”

Marie’s gaze was steady. “I’m not accusing you. I just need to know if you’ve heard anything—anything at all—that could point me in the right direction.”

Cobblepot chuckled darkly, his fingers drumming on the table. “Well, since you’re asking so nicely... I have heard whispers. There’s a certain element in Gotham that’s been trying to leverage the chaos caused by the Red Lotus murders. Some say they’re using it to cover their tracks or settle old scores.”

Marie’s eyes sharpened. “Who are they?”

Cobblepot leaned in, lowering his voice. “The whispers mention someone who’s been moving in and out of the city’s underbelly. They say this person has connections with some very powerful players. But who exactly? That’s the million-dollar question. I might be able to dig up more details if you’re willing to scratch my back a bit.”

Before Marie could respond, a loud crash erupted from the entrance of the lounge. The front door flew open, and a group of masked men burst in, their weapons gleaming under the neon lights. The patrons screamed and scrambled for cover, the room erupting into chaos.

Marie instinctively reached for her weapon, her heart racing as she took in the situation. Cobblepot’s face went pale, and he ducked behind the table, clearly terrified.

“Batman,” Marie said into her earpiece, her voice tight with urgency. “We’ve got an armed group attacking the lounge.”

Batman’s voice crackled through the earpiece, calm and commanding. “On my way. Stay safe and get out if it gets too dangerous.”

Marie quickly assessed the scene. The masked men were advancing with purpose, brandishing weapons and shouting orders. They seemed intent on clearing out the space.

She fought her way towards the nearest masked attacker, her movements precise and practiced. Her mind raced as she tried to make sense of the situation. The lounge was a storm of flying debris, shouting patrons, and the smell of smoke.

Amidst the chaos, Batman made his dramatic entrance, his silhouette cutting through the melee with a swift, imposing presence. He immediately began to neutralize the attackers, his actions synchronized with Marie’s as they worked together to fend off the masked men.

“Stay back,” Batman growled as he shielded Marie from an incoming attack, his eyes darting between her and an oncoming masked attacker. 

Relying on her kickboxing skills, Marie managed to subdue one of the attackers. She glanced at Batman, who was now dispatching the last of the intruders. Cobblepot had vanished, his opportunity to escape amidst the chaos.

With the immediate threat dealt with, Batman turned to Marie, his voice laced with concern. “Are you alright?” His eyes scanned her up and down, looking for injuries.

Marie, breathing heavily, nodded. “Yeah, I’m fine. But Cobblepot got away.”

“Then what are we waiting here for?” Batman asked, turning quickly and heading out the back of the club. Marie followed. 

Marie and Batman emerged from the Iceberg Lounge, their breath misting in the chilly night air. They scoured the nearby alley.

“Dammit, he’s gone,” Marie muttered, frustration evident in her voice. She scanned the long alley, but it was empty. “He’s slippery as hell.”

Batman’s gaze was intense, his voice low but firm. “He’s got to be hiding somewhere nearby. He’s not going to risk crossing Falcone.”

Marie sighed, rubbing her temples. “I bet he set up that raid to get rid of me.”

Batman glanced at her, his expression unreadable behind the mask. “I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Marie nodded, trying to keep her frustration in check. “So what now? Do we just wait around hoping he shows up?”

Batman’s jaw tightened. “There’s a good chance he’s got a hideout or safehouse nearby. Knowing Cobblepot, he won’t be able to stay out of trouble for long.”

Marie leaned against the wall, shaking her head. “I don’t want this case dragging on forever. There haven’t been any new murders recently, which means the case is that much closer to going cold.”

Batman stepped closer, his voice softening slightly. “I know. We’ll figure this out. Cobblepot’s not the only player in this game, but he’s a start.”

Marie looked at him, a mix of gratitude and exhaustion in her eyes. “Thanks. I appreciate you sticking by me tonight, especially with everything that went down.”

Batman’s gaze was steady, his voice a low rumble. “Seems like you learned your lesson from last time." He hesitated, then added quietly, almost to himself, “You’ve made the nights a bit more bearable.”

Marie hesitated, then asked, “You think we’ll still be working together after the Red Lotus case is over? I’ve gotten used to having you around.”

His voice was gentle. “I’d like that”

Marie managed a small smile, her tone light. “Alright, let’s head out. I’ve got a date later, and I refuse to be late.”

Batman’s eyes met hers, “A date?”

Marie raised an eyebrow, her smirk widening. “Is it really that surprising that someone wants to date me?”

Batman’s expression shifted back to its usual intensity. "No, just didn't expect it."

Marie shrugged playfully as she started walking towards the precinct. “Well, I’m full of surprises.”

She called over her shoulder, “I’ll bat-signal you if I need you.”

When she looked back, Batman had already vanished into the shadows, leaving the alley empty and silent.

—-------------------------------

Later that evening, Bruce Wayne and Marie enjoyed a quiet dinner at an upscale restaurant. The soft lighting and soothing music created a serene atmosphere, a welcome change from their usual intense interactions.

Marie and Bruce had been on several dates recently, each one drawing them closer. Tonight, they were relaxed and at ease, their conversation flowing effortlessly.

Marie leaned in, her eyes sparkling with excitement. “You wouldn’t believe the run-in I had with Oswald Cobblepot tonight,” she began, her tone animated. “It was something straight out of a crime novel.”

Bruce’s interest was immediately piqued. “Really? I’ve heard he’s quite the character."

Marie's expression became one of amused disbelief. “Oh, he’s every bit as eccentric as they say. I approached him about the Red Lotus case, and he was waddling around like a penguin—no joke. The resemblance is uncanny.”

Bruce leaned in, clearly captivated, even though he’d already known what happened. “And what did he do?”

Marie grinned, clearly enjoying recounting the encounter. “At first, he was all about playing it cool, acting like he was just a regular businessman. But the moment I mentioned the Red Lotus, his demeanor shifted. He got this calculating look in his eye. It was like he was deciding how much he could get away with telling me.”

Bruce’s eyes widened with curiosity. “What did he say?”

Marie’s smile widened as she remembered. “He dropped hints like he had some crucial info but played it super coy. It was like he was getting off on the power trip of making me chase him. Frustrating as hell, but kinda fascinating, too.”

Bruce nodded, clearly engrossed. “Sounds like a challenging encounter. I’m sure dealing with someone like Cobblepot requires a unique set of skills.”

“It does. Every day’s a new battle, but I love it. There’s something addictive about putting the pieces together and outsmarting the criminals.” Marie responded. I know exactly what you mean, Bruce thought.

Marie continued, her eyes meeting his. “It’s nice to be able to laugh about it now. I’m really glad we can unwind like this.”

Bruce’s gaze softened, a look of genuine admiration in his eyes. “I really am. It’s great to have a break from the noise and just enjoy a night out.”

As the evening went on, they chatted about everything, from old college memories to recent news, their laughter mixing with the gentle background music. It felt easy and natural, a welcome change from their usual high-stress interactions.

As they finished up their dinner, Bruce gave Marie a playful grin. “So, how about I show you around Wayne Manor?” he suggested. “Don’t worry, no fancy galas or over-the-top millionaires this time. Just me—if you can put up with me for a few more hours.”

“I’d love that.” Marie smiled.

The drive to Wayne Manor was peaceful, the city lights casting a soft glow on the darkened streets. When they arrived at the manor, Bruce led her inside, his demeanor gentle and inviting.

“This place,” Marie said, looking around at the grandeur of Wayne Manor, “it’s even more breathtaking when it’s empty. There’s something calming about it.”

Bruce nodded, his eyes reflecting a touch of nostalgia. “This place has always been a sanctuary for me,” he said softly. “As a child, it was alive with laughter and energy. Now it’s quieter, but it still holds so many memories.”

“Feel free to look around,” he added, though his mind was already drifting to the Batcave below, where he needed to check in to make sure Gotham was calm for the night.

"I'll be right back." Bruce said, planting a soft kiss on her forehead.

Marie moved through the rooms, her steps light and curious. She admired the grand architecture and the space, but one room particularly captivated her: a sitting room with floor-to-ceiling windows and oversized paintings. She stopped in front of a portrait of Bruce’s parents, their faces warm and kind. Bruce looked so much like his father.

As she stood there, lost in thought and unsure how much time had passed, she suddenly felt Bruce’s presence behind her. His hand gently caressed her lower back.

“They were lovely,” Marie said softly.

“They were,” Bruce replied, his voice low, “I think about them often.”

They stood together in a comfortable silence. After a moment, she spoke again. “You know, I love what I do because it’s a way to make a difference—so others don’t have to go through what we did as kids.”

Bruce took a moment before responding, his gaze softening. “I’m impressed by that. It’s rare to find someone who gets it the way you do.”

Marie looked up, a hint of a smile playing on her lips. “You really think so?”

Bruce returned her smile, his eyes warm. “Definitely. It’s one of the things I admire most about you.”

As they stood in front of the painting, Marie leaned her head against Bruce’s chest, feeling a deep sense of contentment. The mansion’s tranquil atmosphere was a stark contrast to the bustling, noisy world they had navigated earlier.

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Bruce murmured against her ear, his voice soft and sincere.

Marie lifted her gaze to meet his, her eyes filled with warmth. “Me too. This place is incredible.”

He gently cupped her face in his hands, his thumbs brushing lightly against her cheeks. Marie’s breath caught in her throat, and before she could react, Bruce’s lips met hers in a tender, exploratory kiss. It was a soft, lingering touch that spoke volumes.

Marie responded instinctively, her hands reaching up to rest on Bruce’s shoulders. The kiss deepened, growing more passionate as the heat of their emotions took over. Bruce’s arms encircled her, pulling her closer. The outside world vanished, leaving just the two of them in this perfect, heated moment.

When they finally broke apart, both were breathless, their faces flushed with the intensity of their emotions. Bruce’s eyes were filled with a mix of relief and longing. “I’ve been wanting to do that for a while,” he admitted quietly.

Marie’s smile was radiant, her eyes reflecting a sense of joy and surprise. “I’m happy you did.”

Bruce chuckled softly, his gaze filled with affection.

Marie spoke up, “So, what’s next? Do we just stand here or...?”

Bruce’s face lit up with a mischievous grin. “How about some ice cream? I’ve got a tub waiting in the kitchen.”

Marie’s eyes widened in playful excitement. “Ice cream sounds perfect.”

Grabbing her hand, Bruce excitedly led her to the large kitchen, where he retrieved a tub of ice cream from the freezer and grabbed two spoons. Marie perched herself on the counter, her legs swinging slightly as they dug into the ice cream.

Marie looked at him with a playful grin. “You know, I can practically feel this ice cream going straight to my hips.”

Bruce chuckled, leaning on his elbows over the counter beside her. “Your hips are magnificent.”

Marie laughed, playfully nudging him. “You’re just trying to flatter me to distract me from the extra calories.”

Bruce couldn’t help himself. He leaned in, his lips grazing hers in a tender kiss. Marie melted into the touch, the lingering sweetness of the ice cream mingling with the warmth of their embrace.

Their kisses grew deeper and more passionate, a perfect reflection of the emotions that had been building between them. Bruce’s hands gently traced the contours of Marie’s back, their connection intensifying as they lost themselves in each other. The ice cream tub sat forgotten, and began to melt as their attention shifted entirely to each other.

Just then, a soft rustling sound from outside the room interrupted their moment. Bruce’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and amusement. He pulled back slightly, his lips brushing against Marie’s ear as he whispered with a playful grin, “That’s Alfred. My butler.”

Marie’s eyes widened in surprise, and she bit back a giggle. “Should we, um, move...?”

Before she could finish, the door to the kitchen creaked open. Alfred’s voice, filled with curiosity and mild surprise, floated into the room. “Master Bruce, I was just checking if you needed anything—oh!”

Alfred’s voice trailed off as he took in the sight before him: Bruce and Marie, entangled in each other’s arms with remnants of their ice cream adventure scattered around.

Bruce and Marie exchanged a sheepish glance. Bruce held up his ice cream spoon in a mock salute. “Just enjoying some late-night ice cream. Nothing to see here.”

Alfred’s expression softened into a knowing smile. “Ah, I see. Well, I hope you both are having a good time.”

Bruce turned to Marie, an affectionate smile on his face. “Alfred, this is my, uh, Marie,” he said, his tone uneven as he considered how to introduce her.

Alfred bowed his head slightly. “A pleasure to meet you, Miss Marie. I trust the ice cream is to your liking?”

“It’s delicious, Alfred, thank you,” Marie smiled.

As Alfred’s footsteps receded, Bruce turned back to Marie, his face flushed with a mix of embarrassment and affection. “Well, that was a bit of an interruption,” he said with a chuckle.

Marie’s cheeks flushed as she buried her head into Bruce’s chest.

Bruce’s smile widened as he rubbed his hand over her hair. “I promise there won’t be any more surprises.”

—-------------------------------

Marie was half-asleep in Bruce’s expansive, beautifully decorated living room. They were nestled on the grand sectional in front of the crackling fireplace, the warmth from the flames creating a cozy cocoon around them. Bruce’s strong arms were wrapped around her, his heartbeat a steady rhythm beneath her ear.

After hours of talking—sharing stories of their childhoods, their aspirations, and their fears—Marie’s voice was soft and drowsy. “Can I tell you something about my job that I’m not supposed to tell anyone?”

Bruce’s gaze was gentle as he looked down at her. “Of course.”

Marie shifted slightly, her head resting comfortably on his chest. “If I tell you this, you have to promise to keep it a secret. I haven’t shared it with anyone before.”

Bruce’s fingers brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, his touch tender and reassuring. The warmth of his hand against her cheek could have sent her to sleep right then. “You can trust me.”

Marie took a deep breath, her voice barely above a whisper. “Are you familiar with the Batman?”

A pang of guilt twisted in Bruce’s chest. He was acutely aware of the deception—the fact that he had been keeping his dual identity a secret from her while she was currently opening up about her partnership with his alter ego. It felt like an unfair imbalance.

“Bruce?” Marie’s voice brought him back to the moment.

“Sorry, yes, I’m familiar. The guy in the—what is it—leather who beats up bad guys?” He tried to keep his tone light, but his mind was racing.

Marie chuckled softly. “It’s not leather. It’s Kevlar.” She paused, then added with a touch of excitement, “I’ve been working with him for the past few months. Remember that murder case I told you about? He’s been helping me with it. We work together almost every night.”

Marie’s voice was barely a whisper as she fought to stay awake. “He has access to all these resources—more than I can even guess. We don’t talk much about anything personal, just the case. He has all these gadgets that give him direct access to police logs, 911 calls... the whole deal.”

She paused, struggling to stay conscious. “I can tell he cares about me, even if he’s not great at showing it. He really doesn’t want me to get hurt. Honestly, he’s been the best part of my job. He makes a difference in this city.” The final part of her sentence came out with a yawn.

Bruce’s heart ached with the weight of his unspoken truth. He was on the edge of revealing everything—the burden of keeping his secret, the tangled emotions he felt for her—but he hesitated. As Marie’s breathing grew deeper, her head resting more heavily against his chest, Bruce struggled with the internal conflict of wanting to be honest with her yet fearing the consequences.

His gaze softened as he looked down at her peaceful face. As he gently ran his fingers through her hair, he longed to share the truth, to lift the weight from his shoulders. But the moment felt too delicate, too perfect to risk shattering. The words remained lodged in his throat, unspoken and heavy.

Marie’s soft, even breaths were the only sound now, and Bruce found solace in the simple intimacy of the moment. With a heavy heart, he decided against confessing, choosing instead to hold her close and savor the comfort of her presence. He resolved to carry the burden a little longer, hoping that one day he’d find the right moment to reveal the truth.

The night wore on in quiet companionship, the warmth of the fire and Marie’s presence offering a brief respite from the tangled web of secrets and emotions that Bruce grappled with.