#ALSO will never be over the detail that they’re making a heart in that second screenshot

[nostalgic-bee]

Lumity rain scene <33

[earlysunshines]

love at your door

minatozaki sana x fem!reader

synopsis: you wake up on the couch to find out that it’s actually not your couch and oh my god why is your hot neighbor sitting across from you watching tv???

warnings: sana is a FLIRT ; reader is a loser ; sana is a losersexual ; pacing is iffy but it’s bc i wanted it to be short ; alcohol ; anything else i didn’t mention ; not proofread so prob spelling errors idk i wrote most on my phone

a/n: based off the time i got drunk and fell asleep in the wrong room… anyways my love for sana will NEVER DIE guess who’s BACK.

you wake up with a groan, face smushed against a cushion that's definitely not yours, and the first thing that hits you—aside from the dull pounding in your head—is the faint sound of a tv playing in the background. 

slowly, you crack your eyes open, blinking against the morning light. you finally realize you’re not in your room, and the couch you're sprawled out on… also not yours.

you sit up too quickly and regret it immediately, head spinning, the room around you momentarily blurred. but then it sharpens, and your heart nearly stops when you spot her. sana, your neighbor—your gorgeous, gorgeous neighbor that you’ve been eyeing since you moved in—sitting across from you on her armchair, completely unbothered with her legs tucked underneath her, eyes fixed on the tv but clearly aware you’re awake now. 

she’s holding a ceramic mug in one hand, and for some reason, that little detail makes everything so much worse.

because—how did you end up here?

you glance down at yourself and, of course, you’re still in your luigi costume from last night. the tight green tank top clings to you under the denim overalls (one strap purposely loose and falling off your shoulder because you’re desperate for attention in these trying times) which you had decided to wear in some ill-fated attempt to look “hot” while still committing to the theme. you had succeeded, at least you think, judging from the compliments you vaguely remember through the drunken haze of the halloween party. but now, under sana’s gaze, you suddenly feel a lot less confident about it.

“jesus christ,” you mutter, rubbing your temples, trying to piece together what happened. “what—”

“morning sleepy,” sana says, finally looking over at you, lips curling into a small, amused smile. “you came stumbling in after the party. i figured it was safer to let you crash here than send you back to your place like that.”

this has to be a nightmare.

her voice is casual, like this isn’t completely mortifying for you. like this isn’t the exact scenario your sleep-deprived, engineering-major brain has dreamed up in countless fleeting moments when you’ve caught glimpses of her in the hallways (well, you figured you’d be in a less embarassing scene) but now it’s real, and your heart is thudding painfully loud in your chest, and you can’t decide if you want to disappear or if you never want to leave.

(the first option might be the smartest)

you clear your throat, pushing down the urge to bury your face in your hands. “i’m so sorry. i didn’t—i didn’t mean to crash here like that. i must’ve been drunk out of my mind i— fuck, nayeon, that bitch… im sorry my friends they’re—“

“don’t worry about it,” she waves off your apology, taking a sip from her mug, her gaze briefly dipping down to your outfit before flicking back to your face. “i never knew luigi could look this good.” she adds, a smirk playing on her face that renders you weak.

you feel heat rise to your face instantly, and you’re pretty sure it’s not just the aftermath of all the alcohol you consumed last night. her words hang in the air, teasing, but there’s something else in her tone that sends a jolt through you. something that makes you suddenly hyper-aware of how exposed you feel, the snug fit of the tank top and the way her eyes had lingered on your exposed skin just for a second.

“uh—” you start, but your voice comes out strained, so you clear your throat again, scrambling for a response. “thank you…?”

she grins at your awkwardness, a soft, almost mischievous smile that only adds to the rising tension in the room. “you’re welcome.”

you force a laugh, trying to ignore the way her gaze makes your skin tingle. “right, well… thanks for, uh, taking care of me. and not letting me do something even more embarrassing.”

“more embarrassing than this?” sana raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your discomfort. she gestures toward your outfit with a nod, and you can’t help but huff a laugh this time, the tension breaking just a little.

“point taken,” you mutter, swinging your legs off the couch to stand, only for a wave of dizziness to hit. sana’s on her feet in a second, steadying you with a hand on your arm, her touch gentle but firm.

“easy,” she murmurs, and you freeze, suddenly way too aware of how close she is. her hand lingers just a second too long, and when she finally lets go, you feel like you can breathe again—but it doesn’t stop your pulse from racing.

her eyes dart down to the base of your neck and the intensity of her gaze is amplified.

“quite a hickey, huh?”

“what?” you had to be drunk drunk. you can’t recall anything about kissing girls, you’re not the type to be like that when under the influence. “that’s— i can’t even remember.”

“had fun, didn’t you?” sana looks back into your eyes, making you shrink despite her smaller frame. you feel sorry, you want to apologize for something you can’t even remember—you have no clue why. she’s just your neighbor. she’s the neighbor down the hall that greeted you kindly when you had moved in to town. the same neighbor that you had to blink multiple times at before realizing she’s not a fairytale princess that’s creeped out of the books.

you glance at the door, needing an escape, even though a very large part of you doesn’t want to leave just yet. but standing in her living room in yesterday’s clothes with your head still buzzing is doing nothing for your nerves.

“i should, uh, probably go,” you say, pointing vaguely toward the door.

sana steps back, giving you space, but her expression shifts into something playful as she watches you. “right. but hey—if you ever need a place to crash again, my couch is always open.”

you blink, not sure if she’s joking or if there’s more to that offer. but before you can overthink it, you nod, mumbling a quick, “thanks, i’ll keep that in mind,” before heading for the door.

and just as you’re about to step out, sana calls after you, her voice teasing, warm. “hey, luigi.”

you pause, turning to look at her.

she leans casually against the doorframe, eyes glinting with that same playfulness, and she gives you a slow, once-over before her lips curve into a smirk. “seriously. never knew luigi could be this hot.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and all you can do is laugh, a nervous, breathless sound, before quickly slipping out the door, your mind buzzing as you head back to your place.

sana always caught your eye, but now… now you’re pretty sure you’re never going to stop thinking about her.

—

the whole day you’re quite literally losing your mind. as soon as you crash onto your bed when you get back home, you cringe at how much of an idiot you are, and at the fact that you accepted every single drink handed to you by nayeon.

and then the next day, you’re still replaying the entire morning in your head—how sana’s words lingered, the way her eyes had flickered over you with that teasing smile. it’s been driving you to distraction all day. you couldn’t focus during class, barely heard a word your professor said, and by the time your last lecture ends, you’ve come to a decision.

you’re going to do something about it.

(you’re undeniably an idiot, but everyone in your circle knows that anyway.)

so after class, you stop by the small flower shop near campus. it’s not something you’d typically do—flowers and chocolate, that’s so cliché, right? but somehow it feels like the right move. sana had caught you completely off guard yesterday, and maybe it’s time you do the same.

you have a small conversation with the florist, who recommends her favorite assortment of tulips. you don’t want to do too much, so you settle with yellow tulips, their petals delicate and bright. simple, but thoughtful (you hope).

next, you pick out a small box of chocolates, nothing fancy but enough to show you’ve put some real thought into this. because somehow, leaving things the way they were feels unfinished.

you can’t possibly just leave it like that, you can’t have the only real memory and meaningful interaction between you and sana consist of you flat out drunk and at a loss for words.

you’re already a loser as it is, and especially when sana is around—whether that’s when you two both end up at the mailbox together, with you losing the ability to speak when she simply smiles and compliments you; and also the simple greetings when you two arrive at around the same time on wednesday’s and thursdays (not that you take note of it—you definitely do). 

when you get home, you scribble out a short note on a small card:

hi sana,  

thanks for letting me crash on your couch yesterday. i’m really, really sorry. 

here’s a little something as a thank you. hope you like tulips.

and chocolate.

– luigi 

you read it over twice, fighting the nervous energy bubbling up inside you. it’s playful, casual, but maybe—hopefully—it’ll make her smile. you take the flowers, chocolates, and the note, placing everything neatly in a small brown paper bag before heading down the hall.

when you reach her doorstep, your heart is pounding. you place the bag gently on the ground, adjusting the flowers one last time so they look perfect. then, you take a deep breath and knock, firm but quick, before spinning on your heel and rushing back to your own place.

you barely make it through the door before the nerves fully hit. your heart races, and you lean back against the door, letting out a heavy breath. what if she doesn’t like it? what if it’s too much?

but before your thoughts spiral too far, you hear the faint sound of her door opening down the hall, followed by the quiet shuffle of her picking up the bag.

there’s silence for a bit before you hear the door close again, earning a sigh of relief.

if your friends were to find out literally everything that had happened in the span of less than forty-eight hours, they’d tease you until you had to move out again.

—

the next night, you’re at your desk, buried in the engineering assignment youve been given that same day. something about fluid dynamics, a dense problem set that has you scribbling equations and checking graphs on your laptop. it’s not exactly easy to focus—your mind keeps wandering back to sana, the flowers, the chocolates, and really just everything about her. every time you think about her, a small smile tugs at your lips, despite the headache that’s building from the workload.

then, out of nowhere, you hear a knock at the door.

you blink, glancing at the clock. you’re not expecting anyone, and for a second, you wonder if you imagined it. but when the knock repeats, you push your chair back, setting aside your notes. still a little distracted by the assignment, you take your time getting up, stretching briefly before finally heading to the door.

when you open it, there’s no one there. just silence, the hallway empty. but as you glance down, you spot something on the floor—a folded piece of paper. your heart skips a beat, and you can’t help but grin as you bend down to pick it up, already knowing who it’s from.

you unfold the note, and sana’s handwriting greets you:

so, you’re kinda cute even in that luigi costume—i couldn’t stop thinking about you

(i think you’re cute in uniform and not) 

though i have to ask—what’s with the hickey? did luigi have a little too much fun?  ;)

anyway, i liked the flowers. i liked the chocolates too. 

but i think i like the person giving them more.

you should come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. i mean, you weren’t that shy the other night ;)  

– sana <3

your face heats up instantly as you read the hickey line, hand instinctively reaching to touch your neck. there’s no way, right? you don’t remember—

then it hits you. fuck. it wasn’t a hickey. nayeon had bullied you about how you ran into something that night at her party, some broom? wall? maybe momo elbowed you? or something. you’re not the type to just fuck random girls, not when you’re loyal to your neighbor that you utter maybe three sentences a week to if you’re lucky. but the thought of what had happened that night isn’t even important because now your mind’s racing, thinking about how sana’s teasing you. you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you all giddy and nervous.

you reread the note, feeling that familiar nervous excitement grow. come over in five minutes if you’re not too shy. your pulse picks up. there’s no way you’re saying no to that.

without bothering to change out of your hoodie and sweats, you grab your keys, locking the door behind you as you head down the hall. your heart’s still racing, and your mind’s swirling with a mix of nerves and anticipation as you stop in front of sana’s door.

when she opens it, she’s standing there with that same playful smirk—sultry, seductive, and somehow so cute at the same time. her eyes gleam like she already knows exactly what’s going through your mind. 

"took you long enough," she says, stepping aside to let you in, her voice warm, teasing. "for a second, i thought you’d be too shy to show up."

you huff a laugh, shaking your head as you walk inside, glancing around her apartment again. “i’m– i’m not.” it sounds unconvincing, but the woman in front of you thinks it’s adorable.

she quirks a brow, then smiles at that, closing the door behind you. "good to know." she says, handing you a small glass of wine and suddenly everything is a little bit too intimate. 

the two of you end up sitting on her couch, the tv still softly playing in the background like it had been the other morning. the conversation flows easily—there’s that natural comfort between you now, even with the teasing tension that lingers under the surface.

she talks about herself and you talk about yourself too, piquing both your interests. small talk grows into something bigger and you two enjoy the newfound information you’re both learning about each other. you’re breaking the ice, maybe easing into the cold waters in comparison to splashing into it.

“so, about that hickey,” she says, leaning back into the couch, her grin widening as she glances pointedly at your neck. her leg crosses over the other and she holds the glass in her hand near her lips, a small smirk tugging at one corner. “i’m just saying, it looks a little suspicious.”

you roll your eyes, your face heating up again. “it’s not a hickey. i swear.”

“uh-huh,” she teases, clearly not letting it go. “sure it’s not.”

“apparently i hit a broom or wall—something like that.” you shake your head, laughing lightly, but there’s an undeniable pull between you two. 

the way she looks at you, the way her smile lingers a little too long, and the way her knee brushes against yours every now and then—you have to hold yourself back from saying and doing a lot of things. it’s in the way her voice lowers when she speaks, soft and reeling.

you spend the next hour just talking, laughing, sharing random stories about classes, her teasing you about your engineering homework, and you teasing her back about her terrible taste in tv shows. every time she smiles or laughs, it feels like a small victory, something you want to keep chasing. and every time you speak her eyes are in deep contact with yours, spiking your heartrate without fail.

eventually, the conversation lulls, and there’s a moment of quiet where she looks at you, her eyes softening just slightly. “you know,” she murmurs, “i’m really glad you came over. this… was nice.”

“yeah,” you say, smiling back, your heart racing in your chest. “it was.”

“i always thought you were really cute,” she says before sipping on her white wine, “but i’m not a chaser.”

“is that right?”

“unless you count me responding to your apology, then yes.”

you laugh, setting the empty glass down. 

“well,” you begin, biting your lip. “i like to pursue.”

“quite forward isn’t it?”

“you invited me over for wine, it doesn’t get more forward than what you’ve brought to the table.”

“is that so?” sana hums, tilting her head. she bites the inside of her lip, looking at you with narrowed eyes. “i think it can get more forward.”

your breath hitches in the slightest and you can tell sana’s noticed when she lets out that signature chuckle. 

“well, i think it’s time to end the night. you were working on assignments prior, no?” you frown at the suggestion.

“i— yeah, you’re right.” 

there’s a knowing smile on her lips, but you ignore it and stand up with her as she walks you to her door. 

“i had a great time pretty girl,” she puts her hand on your forearm while saying it, her touch burning your skin. “hopefully we can be much more forward next time.”

you laugh. “i like the sound of that.”

“mhm, goodnight.” she says, grinning at you before meekly closing her door.

you purse your lips before walking down the hall and reaching your door. your hand lingers on the doorknob before you turn it and head in, feeling a sense of regret.

…

sana hears a knock at her door ten minutes later, turning off the sink and drying her hands before walking over to see what’s up. 

the moment the door opens and sana sees you standing there, the look on her face is priceless.

“what—” she starts, raising an eyebrow, clearly confused, but before she can finish, you step forward, your hand reaching out to grab her forearm gently. you pull her just a little closer, your heart pounding as you look at her.

“i want to be more forward,” you admit, voice low, the question hanging in the space between you.

for a second, she just stares at you, wide-eyed, before a soft laugh escapes her. she gets it now. “oh, we’re moving pretty fast, aren’t we?” she teases, her eyes gleaming with amusement. “take me out to dinner.”

you grin, and she hesitates for a beat, but then she nods, and it’s enough—enough to send your pulse racing, enough for you to lean in. before you can close the distance, though, her hand comes up, fingers lightly brushing the base of your neck, and you feel her shiver as she touches you.

“you say that like,” you pause, observing the surprise and allure in her features. “like you didn’t eye-fuck me the other night.”

her cheeks flush as her fingers linger on your skin, and you catch the way she bites her lip, trying to hide her own smile. you don’t wait any longer.

you lean in and meet her lips with yours, melting into it just as she does. 

it starts soft, just a gentle press of your lips against hers, but it quickly deepens as sana lets out a quiet, surprised sound that turns into something more—something she’s clearly enjoying a little too much. her hand moves to tangle in your hair, pulling you closer, and the way she kisses you back sends a thrill through you.

before you know it, she’s dragging you inside, one hand still tangled in your hair, the other guiding you back toward the couch. the door closes behind you, but you barely notice, too focused on the way her lips move against yours.

when you finally pull back for air, she’s breathless, grinning like she’s just won something. “you should’ve been this forward earlier,” she teases, her thumb brushing against the side of your neck.

“yeah?” you ask, a little breathless yourself, but you can’t stop smiling.

“yeah,” she murmurs, eyes flickering down to your lips before she leans in again, kissing you slower this time, savoring it. sana is a great kisser, the type of kisser that leaves you wanting more and more. after a moment, she pulls back, just enough to whisper, “maybe you should stay a little longer.”

you can’t help but laugh softly. “you sure you can handle that?”

“please,” she says, eyes twinkling with that familiar mischievous look. “you weren’t that shy the other night.”

“well i was drunk and—“

before you can even finish your response, she’s kissing you again, and this time, you’re more than happy to let her pull you even closer.

[actiniumwrites]

the perfect pair [part two]

synopsis: their reaction to finding out you have a tcg card of them

characters: scaramouche, alhaitham, arlecchino, childe, and kinich x gn!reader (separately)

warnings: mostly fluff with like a pinch of angst in alhaitham’s. i also didn’t proofread these :(

notes: part one got so much love and so many of you asked me to make a part two with more characters so here you guys go <3

part one

Scaramouche:

Scaramouche sees it one day while you’re both cleaning up your shared house and you accidentally knocked over your deck, scattering the cards on the floor

The card you have of him just so happens to end up right next to his foot

He’s only ever heard of TCG in passing from other people or when Cyno was talking about it back in the tournament ages ago, but he never really cared to look into what it was

He’s immensely confused because what the fuck is his face doing on a playing card

You embarrassedly try to explain it to him, but he just glares at it for a second before raising his brows and looking at you

“This is really weird,” he says bluntly and flips it over in his hands while mumbling to himself, “at least they made me look cool.”

You just snatch it back from him and scoff as you put it away in your deck holder, explaining that you were going to show it to him later

“Yeah, whatever, I better be the strongest card in there.”

Alhaitham:

Very unamused

Although he plays with you and the rest of the group, it isn’t very often and he doesn’t care about it as much as the rest of you do

You pull it out from behind your back one day as you’re both walking home from the Akademiya

“Surprise! Look what I got, isn’t it so cool?” you beam at him, shoving the card in his face

He takes the card from your hand, his reaction not changing from his normal face as he does. He inspects it before giving it back to you, “Seriously? You got a card of me?”

It upsets you because you were really happy and it took nearly a month for the guy to make it for you

So the literal second your face falls and you start to get embarrassed, he backtracks completely

“No, it’s fine. I think it’s really cool,” Alhaitham says almost instantly.

And he isn’t lying either. Is it a little cheesy? Yes. However, Alhaitham secretly does like that you have it and care so much about him that you want to have him in your playing deck

So he grabs your hand and holds it tightly in his, knowing he now has another way of subtly bragging to everyone that he’s dating you

Arlecchino:

“I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she’ll say when you pull out the card to show her, “What is this? A children’s game? Did one of the children put you up to this?”

You take the card back from across the table and pout at her, “No, it’s mine. I got it because we’re dating and I wanted to have a card of you.”

Arlecchino never really understood the point of games, no less TCG of all things. So she’s understandably confused when you start talking about it

It takes you rambling about the games rules and all the little details for her to finally believe that it really wasn’t one of the kids trying to pull a prank on her or something

And she finds it endearing in a way, although she doesn’t let you know that

You notice her looking a little lost and slide the card under the table and back into the rest of the deck sitting in your hands, “Sorry, I can get rid of it if you want.”

“No, there’s no need for that. I think it’s..cute.”

Kinich:

In the nicest way possible, he doesn’t really care

You show him immediately when you get it and Mualani and Kachina totally freak out

“No way! Do they have other ones too?” they’re both more excited than he is and ask if there were any of them since they were made after the competition

Don’t get me wrong though, it isn’t that he doesn’t care, but more specifically, he doesn’t really care about the card

He’s more happy to see that you’re excited about it and that makes his heart swell

And if Ajaw tries to say anything about it, well he wouldn’t even get the chance too because Kinich doesn’t want your moment being spoiled

He’s also very secretly a little giddy over the fact that you love him so much you want to have a card of him

Childe:

The biggest tease ever

Like he literally will never let it go once he finds the card left out on your dinner table from when you were playing with a friend the night before

“Oh wow, you have a card of me? That’s so adorable. I hope you’re destroying all your enemies with my card,” he’ll say arrogantly.

Unimpressed, you take the card from his hands while he’s laughing and shove it back in the deck

“No,” you scoff and decide to tease him back, “you normally die first, matter of fact. I’ve actually been meaning to find a replacement card.”

His jaw drops and he looks at you with the biggest pout, “Hey! That’s not very nice. Who would you even replace me with anyway? There’s no way there’s a stronger card out there than me.”

“Believe me, I could definitely find one,” you smirk at him and wait as he begins to nearly throw a fit. When he really starts to believe you, you laugh and hug him tightly, “Ha! you should’ve seen your face! I’m only joking, you know. Your card is my favorite.”

He stares down at you with his blue eyes and presses a kiss to your lips, “Yeah, that’s more like it.”

[pretentious-blonde]

yours

pairing: remus x reader

summary: after inviting remus's oldest friends to dinner to introduce his new girlfriend, a secret slips that could alter their entire relationship

warning: alcohol

a/n: it is my second fic as the first one seemed to go over well. also this was supposed to be just a happy dinner but I got carried away :)

The kitchen filled with the smell of sauteed garlic and onions, the sound of pots gently simmering on the stove as Remus bustled about, trying to prepare for the evening ahead. The soft, golden light of the afternoon sun was pouring in from the window as it helped illuminate the room. He was dressed the same way he always was, casual but put together, a simple beige jumper and his well-worn jeans. He rolled up his sleeves once more as they kept falling down his long arms, and pushed his glasses back into place so he could get a better look at the task at hand. 

Despite his outward appearance, there was a certain stress that was palpable radiating off him. His eyes kept flicking to the watch on his wrist whenever he had to stir the pot on the stove, awaiting the arrival of his childhood friends. 

You entered the kitchen behind him, now changed out of your pyjamas from that morning, you joined your boyfriend as he moved around the kitchen with practised ease. He flicked his hair back from his face with a sharp movement and you could feel the nerves he was trying to ignore, feeling the flutter of your own heart at the excitement of meeting his two closest friends. 

“Rem, you need to sit down for a moment?” You ask with a chuckle as you place your hand on his shoulder. “You’re going to wear yourself out before they even get here.”

He glanced up from the stove, relaxing slightly as he took you in.

“You look beautiful, darling,” he said with a small smile. He gently kissed the side of your face before turning his attention back to dinner. “Just want everything to be perfect. Like you.”

You playfully tap his shoulder with a grin. “It will be,” you reassure him, squeezing the top of his arms. “I’m sure I’ll love them.”

The brown-haired boy let out a soft smile and shook his head. “They can be quite…boisterous,” he tells you after a little thought. “Don’t take anything that comes out of their mouths too seriously.”

You raise an eyebrow and lean against the counter, crossing your arms with a teasing smile. “Boisterous huh?” You smile at his wording as he frowns, cheeks spattering with red. “I’m sure I can handle that. Besides, if they’re anything like you, I might even enjoy it.”

He laughed at your confidence but he still had a hint of concern, he knew the two well. Very well. Their personalities were huge, and to the wrong person, it could really rub them the wrong way. “Well, I warned you. James is going to start with something juvenile about settling down, and Sirius—“

“—will probably give me all of the details about how you used to be a notorious prankster in your youth?” You completed his sentence with a smirk on your lips. “I can handle that easily, I’ve dealt with worse. Remember the time I accidentally stood on Flitch’s cat in front of him? I survived that…sort of.”

He laughed, a deep warm sound that flooded into the room, it never failed to make your chest feel warm. “Alright, alright. I guess you can survive anything then, dove.”

You gave him a playful wink. “Precisely. Now, why don’t you sit down and let me finish up in here. I swear I will not burn anything.”

He reluctantly strode over to the chair, pulling it back as he relaxed into it, watching you work in his absence. “You have my full trust. Just one thing ok?”

“What is it?” You ask, your eyes sparkling in the dim light, he can’t help but admire the sight of you. All dressed up pretty for this evening. All this effort for his sake. 

“If they get too much, tell them to piss off. They can handle it.” He tells you are he rests his chin on his hand, his lovesick expression completely covering his previous stressed one. 

You shake your head at him. “Stop worrying, I’ve got it covered,” you grin at him. “Just enjoy the fact you have having dinner with your best friends, please?”

The conversation was interrupted by a knock on the door that echoed through the flat, followed by muffled chatter. Remus leapt up and gave you a quick kiss to your temple before he made his way down the stairs to let them up. You smiled as you heard your boyfriend’s voice greeting your guests, the conversation was muted but grew louder as they made their way inside. 

“Domestic life certainly suits you,” a voice called out, filled with playful disbelief. 

“Gonna need the secret,” another chimed in, the tone equally light and teasing as the first. “Is it a charm? Potion perhaps? Is that how you got her to say yes?”

You hear a thunk and suppress a giggle, Remus had probably tapped one of them to shut them up. “It’s called ‘being patient’, you heard of it?” He asks sarcastically. “Behave, otherwise you are being kicked out the way you came.”

Only a few moments later, two men appeared in the doorway of the kitchen, their eyes glowing as they took in the sight of you and smiles growing even wider. The one with glasses, James you presume from the conversations you have had previously, was the first to speak. 

“Well, well, well,” He began, entering the space. “Looks like Remus is a lucky guy. I’m James.”

He holds out a hand for you to shake, which you do with pleasure. “Lovely to meet you.”

The darker-haired man followed, his expression playful. “I agree with James here, you sure you didn’t use any spells here Moony?”

You lock eyes with Remus and look at him puzzled, he had never mentioned that nickname before and looked flushed. Oh, you were so going to enjoy finding out more of what your sweet boyfriend had kept from you, and you were going to love every second of it. 

You shook Sirius’s hand and matched both boy’s expressions with a confident smile. “I’m afraid there was no magic involved,” you told them with a small chuckle. “Pure luck and fate.”

Remus rolled his eyes but his heart swelled with your admission. “Okay, okay, enough,” he placed a hand on each boy’s shoulder, ushering them to the dining table. “Darling, why don’t you go sit at the table? I can handle the rest.”

You nodded at him, not noticing James and Sirius sharing the same look as the pet name fell from their friend’s lips. You sit down at the table, which is still in the kitchen thank god, you were happy that Remus was still in the room and hadn’t left you to fend for yourself. 

James and Sirius took their seats opposite you, glancing at your boyfriend with overdramatic smiles. “Settle down,” he said, his parental attitude had you stifling a laugh. “I hope you’re both hungry.”

“Starved,” James said dramatically whilst placing his hand on his stomach. “You have outdone yourself here Moony. Where have you been hiding your culinary skills all this time.”

It was Sirius’s turn to speak. “Yeah, I always thought you were more of a ‘charred toast’ kind of guy.”

You rolled your eyes at their antics. “It was a joint effort,” you pipe up. “I like to think of Remus as my trusted sous-chef.”

“Sous-chef?” James’s expression feigned surprise. “I didn’t know you had culinary ambitions, Remus.”

The man hovering over dinner scoffed. “I shall have you know I am very skilled with a spatula,” he waved it in front of him to emphasise his words. “Just don’t ask me to make a soufflé any time soon.”

Sirius laughed and leaned back in his chair, clearly feeling well at home. “So, what’s on the menu tonight, chef?”

“Ratatouille and herb potatoes,” you tell them. “Remus’s choice, he has been asking for it all week.”

“Sounds French so it must be fancy,” Sirius says with a more serious tone, making you giggle. “I shall see if it lives up to your praise.”

Remus made his way over from the kitchen counter, oven mits on as he delivered the steaming hot food to the table. He removes the gloves from his hands and throws them absentmindedly on the table next to him as he takes his seat next to you. He gave you a reassuring nod as he tugged his chair in, brushing his leg against your own, perhaps an accident but still the action made your heart soar.

“It looks lovely sweetheart,” he tells you softly, his eyes shining with nothing but adoration, looking proud, finally able to show you off to his friends. They both shared another glance as they witnessed the interaction. 

“Well, Moony,” James said with a teasing grin plastered on his face. “Never would have pegged you for such a sap. It’s…nice.”

Sirius chimes in next. “You’re practically glowing mate, all loved up.”

His cheeks reddened slightly but his expression never faltered. “You are just jealous because you are the last bachelor,” he smugly replies. 

You playfully nudge his shoulder before turning your attention back to the boys. “So, I’ve only heard bits and pieces from your time at Hogwarts. Care to share any stories Remus may have been keeping from me?”

A spark appeared behind James’s eyes, clearly ready to divulge precious information. “Oh, where do we even begin? What about the food fight in The Great Hall? Or the time we charmed the sorting hat to only speak Swahili during the sorting ceremony?”

Sirius barked out a laugh as the memories came flooding back to him. “And don’t forget the time we made everyone's hair turn red for the Quidditch house cup! That left everyone pissed for weeks!”

The boy next to you couldn’t hide the embarrassment on his face as he shifted in his seat. “Yeah, well…I didn’t really have a say in these schemes. I was just dragged along for the ride.”

You laughed gently, leaning into his side as to reassure him, trying to ease his mortification. “Oh, I bet you had a lot of fun, though. Sounds like you relished making mischief.”

He blew a large puff of air out of his lungs, amusement gracing his features. “I do admit, it was fun. But only because I was with these idiots.” He gave the two boys sitting opposite an affectionate, albeit exasperated look. “It got me out of my shell, that’s for sure.”

James lifts his glass as if making a toast. “To our precious Moony, then. For not only surviving our escapades but apparently, also surviving us.”

Sirius nodded along before raising his own glass. “And to his lovely girlfriend, for entertaining him in our absence. We are eternally grateful for your sacrifice.”

You laughed wholeheartedly at their words before looking over at Remus. He was entirely fixated on you, his eyes filled with the familiar warmth they always have when directed at you. “I’m flattered,” you say teasingly. “Glad to see my sacrifice has been acknowledged.”

You felt a gentle hand rest on your leg under the table, Remus’s gaze never leaving yours. “Thank you, darling.”

It was now your turn to blush, feeling a wave of fondness rush through you. The dinner flowed smoothly, with the boys speaking over one another in their attempts to relive their past misadventures. Remus’s hand never left your thigh, even when he waved an accusatory finger at Sirius trying to blame him for some previous mishap in a prank long ago. You rested your palm over his own, intertwining with his, letting him know you were right there with him, even among the raucous that was ensuing at the table. 

Sirius, clearly merry on one too many glasses of wine, leaned back in the chair with a tipsy grin. “You know,” he began, his body now turned to face your own. “It’s really something the way you handle our Remus. Not everyone can manage his…unique schedule.”

You paused just before you were about to take another bite, the words hanging in the air, fork hovering above your plate. You turned your attention to Remus next to you and his expression made your nerves spike. His face was pale. Too pale. Like all of the blood had been drained from him. His eyes were locked on Sirius, who seemed oblivious to your boyfriend’s clear horror.

You placed your utensils down and frowned, confusion swirled around in your head. “Unique schedule?” You echoed his words, trying to make sense of Sirius’s previous comment. “What do you mean?”

Remus’s knuckles were turning a shade of white as he gripped the table, trying to keep his composure before clearing his throat awkwardly. “Sirius,” he said, but the strain in his voice was noticeable.

James picked up on what was happening and kicked the man next to him under the table. “Mate, I think you’ve had enough,” his laugh is fake as he taps the side of Sirius’s now empty glass. The action does nothing to lessen your clear confusion. You glance up at Remus as if to ask for an explanation. 

“It’s nothing, dove,” he said, clearly trying to regain his composure. “Just an inside joke.”

Sirius and Remus share a quick glance, the darker-haired boy holds his hands up in mock surrender and begins to speak again. “Alright, new topic. Did we tell you about the time the Lily finally pranked James for the first time? If you thought he was head over heels before, nothing would have prepared you for how he acted after that.”

You shook your head and urged him to carry on, but you couldn’t help the seed of doubt that had just been planted in your mind. Questions buzzed around in your head and the fact that your boyfriend’s leg would not stop bouncing next to yours did little to calm you down. He was silent as Sirius dove into his story, not even smiling at the jokes he was sneaking into the tale. He just felt…frozen. As if all the joy had been sucked out of him in that moment. You weren’t sure if you even wanted to bring this up later. 

The rest of the evening proceeded with a renewed focus on lighter topics, but the shadow of Sirius’s comment lingered in the air, adding a layer of tension to the otherwise warm and affectionate atmosphere. 

After the plates had been cleared away, James and Sirius insisted on doing the washing up for the two of you. What would have been a thoughtful gesture was clouded as Remus refused to look in your direction for more than a few seconds. It was clear that whatever was brought up this evening had rattled him. He was scared. 

The evening came to an end with James and Sirius gathering their things, still cracking light jokes about Remus and his new girlfriend, though the air was notably tenser than it had been earlier. Remus’s smile was tight as you both walked them downstairs and to the door.

Sirius lingered slightly behind, now looking a little bit more subdued, his earlier drunken state had mellowed out as he pulled Remus in for a quiet apology, one only he could hear. “I’m sorry, mate. I didn’t mean to—I thought—”

Remus just nodded solemnly, already dreading what might occur once the two of you were left alone. His jaw was clenched as he reached over to open the door, avoiding his friend’s eyes. “Get home safe, Pads,” he said with defeat, voice hoarse with emotion. 

James offered you a warm smile as he passed you by, his face softer as he spoke to you seriously for the first time that evening. “It was great meeting you, I have to introduce you to Lily sometime,” he glanced over at Remus, his posture still stiff. “Take care of him for us, yeah?”

“Of course,” you replied earnestly, but when you looked over at the tall man next to you, he seemed completely detached from what was transpiring around him. 

When the door clicked shut, the silence that followed was unbearable. He was the first one to move, climbing up the stairs back to your flat, waiting for you to follow. You both stood frozen in the kitchen, waiting for the inevitable conversation to start. He was rigid, his mind going a hundred miles an hour. 

This is what he had been dreading, you finding out. There was no doubt in his mind. If he told you the truth, you would leave. You would shove all of your things in a bag and just leave. The only reminder that you were once here would be the toothbrush left in the bathroom which he would stare at in the morning when he inevitably got up. Taunting him about what he could have had. 

You could feel the pressure in the room increase, and as much as you didn’t want to bring it up, you knew that there was no other choice if you wanted to get answers. You couldn’t live with the doubt you felt after seeing his reaction. Not when it seemed this important. 

“Rem, what was Sirius talking about?” You ask cautiously, not wanting to scare him more than he already was. 

His back stiffened even more at the question, he turned slowly to face you, his expression failing to mask the panic underneath it. 

“It’s nothing,” he spoke too fast, too quickly, his words sharp and defensive. “He was just… drunk. You misheard.”

You frowned, trying hard not to feel hurt by the clear lie and dismissive tone. “No, I didn’t. What did he mean by ‘unique schedule’? Please, do not lie to me.”

“I’m not,” he said sharply, harsh tone making it hard not to flinch away. His hands clenched and unclenched at his sides, his knuckles changing colour as he tried to keep his emotions from leaking out. “Just drop it.”

“Why are you being like this?” You pressed, your question valid. He had never acted this way before. Ever. He was always so open with you, even down to the most mundane things. This was the same boy who answered your every question, every query. Were all those answers just lies as well? “I just want to understand.”

But the poor boy couldn’t even look at you, couldn’t meet your gaze as he knew the expression you would be wearing. The one that would break him completely, especially with the knowledge that he made you feel that way. The fear inside him began bubbling over, his ribs tightened and his breath quickened, chest rising and falling rapidly as the facade he wore so well started to unravel. He shook his head and began to pace, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I can’t—“ his voice cracked painfully. “You don’t understand—I can’t lose you.”

The words caught you off guard, they were not the ones you expected. “Lose me? Remus, you are not going to lose me.”

“You don’t get it!” He suddenly burst out, voice ragged and raw. His breathing was erratic now, on the verge of hyperventilating and it took everything in your power not to reach out and touch him. Hold him. Tell him everything is going to be okay. “If you knew—if you knew what I am—you’d leave. You’d be gone, just like everyone else. And the worst part is I wouldn’t even blame you.”

You watched as the man you love completely shattered in front of you. His hands were shaking uncontrollably as he ran them over his face, a weak attempt to hide the tears that were already forming in his eyes. His breathing was shallow as if he was fighting against an invisible force trying to suffocate him. 

“Remus,” you whispered gently, taking a step towards him, but he jerked backwards, scared of you touching him. He spoke, his voice was filled with anguish. 

“I’m a monster,” he choked out, his words tumbling over one another as they exited him, rushing to get out. “W—werewolf.”

Pained, he managed to get the last word out, but there was no relief when it was finally uttered it. “Every month I turn into something dangerous, something that could—will hurt you, and I—I didn’t tell you because I was terrified. Terrified you would leave. Terrified that if you knew the truth, you’d see me for what I am. I know it’s selfish but—”

His voice broke completely and his legs gave out beneath him as he collapsed on the couch, his face now buried in his hands as his body vibrated with adrenaline. “I’m so sorry,” he sobbed, his body shaking more with every ragged breath that left him. “I should have told you, but I’m selfish. I wanted to keep you, even if that meant lying to you. Sweetheart I’m—I’m so sorry.”

Your heart shattered for the man in front of you, watching him fall apart, consumed with nothing but fear and guilt. You had never seen him like this, so vulnerable, so catastrophically broken. The sight made your own eyes sting with tears as you wanted nothing more than to reach out for him. 

Without saying a word, you moved towards him, kneeling down slowly and gently prying his hands away from his tear-streaked face. “Remus,” you say shakily, cradling his face in your hands with all of the softness you could muster, forcing him to meet your eyes. “Remus, look at me. Please.”

His watery eyes met yours, filled with so much pain and self-loathing, it nearly took your breath away. He gazed at his sweet girl, too sweet for him. She didn’t deserve this burden. She didn’t deserve any of it. If he could take it all back and never have met her he would, the look on her face was almost too much to bear. He wanted to run away. Far away from here. But he had to listen, you deserved that. He would hear what you had to say. He would do anything you asked of him. 

“I don’t care,” you tell him firmly, trying to keep the tears from spilling and your voice steady. He needed this right now. Needed you to tell him it was all going to be okay. “I don’t care what you are. You could never be a monster to me. You’re my Remus. You’re the man I love. The man who is kind to me, who is gentle. The man who treats me like I am the most precious thing in the world. That is all I care about.”

He stared at you with utter disbelief, not fathoming the words you just spoke to him. The words were spoken softly, as if they were the simplest of truths. “But—but I could hurt you. I could—“

“You won’t.” You interrupted him, brushing a fallen tear from his cheek with your thumb. “You would never hurt me. I trust you, Remus. I trust you with everything.”

His lip quivered again and more tears followed. “I don’t deserve you, you know that? Not in a million years do I—”

You lean in before he can continue his sentence, pressing a soft, reassuring kiss to his lips. Your hand cupping his face gently as you try to pour everything you felt into him, you feel his hesitancy as he doesn’t reciprocate. “Yes, you do,” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just enough to meet those amber eyes you have grown to love so much. “You deserve love, Remus. You deserve to be happy. I’m not going anywhere.”

He let out a broken sob, lurching forward and burying his face in your shoulder as he clung to you like a lifeline. Holding you close as if you would disappear from him. “I love you,” he whispered in your ear over and over again like a mantra, words slightly muffled against your now tear-soaked skin. “I love you so much.”

You run gentle fingers through his brown hair, shushing him and pressing soft kisses to the top of his head. “I love you too,” you whisper as you hold him close. You would tell him as many times as he needed to hear it, letting him cry until the storm inside him finally began to calm. 

After a long moment, not that you minded one bit, you pulled back slightly. You brushed the tears from his cheeks with a tenderness he had long forgotten. “You know,” you said with a wet smile, trying to lighten the mood between you both. “For a self-confessed ‘monster’, you really are just a big softie.”

A watery chuckle escaped him and he shook his head at your audacity, his grip still holding onto you firmly. “Only for you, dove,” he murmured, his voice still thick with emotion, but at least there was a small smile playing on his mouth, tugging at the corners. 

You grinned and pressed another firm kiss to his lips, this one he allowed himself to feel and he melted into you, arms tightening around you once more as if he was afraid to let you go. “I’m yours,” you tell him. “No matter what.”

Remus pulls back just slightly, gazing at your face with a mix of shock and adoration, his brown eyes softer than you’ve ever seen them and full of emotion. His lips twitched into a playful smile as he brushed a strand of your hair behind your ear. “Mine huh?” He asked, his voice quiet but teasing. “Sweetheart, I have to warn you—it’s a terrible deal. Comes with occasional transformations and an excessive collection of books, overwhelming amounts of tea too.”

You laugh softly, seeing your Remus return with the same playfulness you were unaware you missed so much. He leaned in closer, his lips brushed against your ear, sending a shiver up your spine. “But I’ve got a pretty decent return policy. You’ll get a lifetime of love, some awful jokes and me being hopelessly, utterly devoted to you, sweetheart."

Your heart swelled at his words, but before you could respond, he pressed his lips to yours once again, this time slower, softer, and full of all the love he had just confessed. When he reluctantly pulled away, he rested his forehead against yours, still keeping you in his arms. “I’m yours, darling,” he said with raw honesty. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

[satorusugurugurl]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT.

I’ve been seeing so many videos about how Japanese people view prostitution wherein they don’t think that such is a form of cheating.

Can I please get JJK men headcanons of whether or not they would visit a prostitute (for the context, the boys can be single of taken)

TY

Lady of the Night

Characters: Gojo Satoru, Nanami Kento, Ryomen Sukuna (modern ceo au), Geto Suguru (curse user)

Warnings: Mentions of sex work, escort/prostitution, rough sex, silly gojo, blindfolds, spanking, cursing, balcony sex, contracts being bought, sold off, virginity loss, mentions of violence/blood/death/fire (all in Geto’s)

Word Count: 5,000

A/N: Wowzers, this one was intense. Please note consent is key!!! I don’t support cheating or anything, so these boys are just looking for a good time. Please know in Geto’s, there’s no SA. It’s hinted there was an attempt, but I didn’t go into details! If you’re not comfortable, please do not read!

Gojo Satoru:

Gojo wouldn't intentionally hire an escort. He would, however, order one on accident. The man is exhausted and can easily teleport home, but the tiny village he’s in is famous for its taro mochi. He finds a motel where they’re renowned for their sweet treat and books a room for the night.

The second Satoru steps inside, his blindfold is off, his shoes kicked to the side, and he's making his way for the phone to call room service. Glancing over the menu, he ordered the mochi his mouth was watering over, along with a silk robe that must be woven with gold because who in their right mind spends ¥200,000 on a robe? Oh well, it's pocket change for him.

Little did Satoru know there was a reason the robe was so expensive. The hotel he’s staying at is a love hotel. They are known not only for their delectable mochi but also for their lovely escorts. So the reason his robe was so damn expensive was because you were a part of the order. A package deal of sorts! So imagine his surprise when he opens his hotel room door expecting someone to roll in a cart with a silver platter and lid to find a woman standing in his ¥200,000 robe that barely covers your beautiful glowing skin.

“Room service~” Your sultry voice cooes as you pull the robe out a little, revealing more of your breasts.

Satoru takes one look at you before turning a bright shade of red. Then he does something no one in all your years as an escort does. He slams the door in your face, leaving you staring at the wood grain in utter shock.

“I-I’m sorry!” He sputters out, turning to stare at the door. “I-I think there's been some kind of mistake!”

Confirming that you’re at the right room, you tilt your head to the side. “This is the room I was given. Is your name Gojo? You ordered a specialty robe.” A nervous laugh sounds from the other side of the door.

”I assumed it was a robe for me to wear!’

He was slamming his head against the wall, grimacing as you burst out into a fit of giggles. Not only were you incredibly attractive, but your laugh was fucking adorable?! Satoru just wanted to throw himself out of the window without his infinity up.

You wiped at the tears forming in your eyes. “I’m sorry; I shouldn’t be laughing, but this has never happened to me before.”

”Yeah,” Satoru chuckled, “I guess that makes two of us.” His face was burning as his eyes lingered on the door. You laughed again louder, this time making his heart flutter. “I guess this explains why the robe was so expensive.” You barked another laugh as he slowly opened the door, leaning against the frame, grinning down at you.

”That would explain it.” You held the platter of his mochi out for him. “Sorry for the mixup. Here’s your mochi, and I’ll bring you up a robe that hasn’t been worn.” Turning back to the elevator, your movements ceased as the handsome man gently grabbed your wrist, preventing you from moving.

“Would you like to come in?” he offered, stepping to the side. “Share some mochi?” with a broad smile, you slowly nodded.

“You did pay for a night with me.”

“No, I paid for a robe, a robe that just so happens to be attached to a beautiful woman.”

“Right~ I would love to come in.”

When you first got off the elevator, you had a general idea of what the evening would entail. Sex with a customer, a hot shower, and then you would head home. You had never been more wrong in your entire life, and you were glad that you were.

You didn’t have sex; instead, you just laid in bed with Satoru tied up in the robe that he had ordered for himself. You fed each other mochi while laughing and getting to know each other. In the two hours you had with him, you had never had so much fun in your career. Gojo felt the same way; you were so easy to talk to, and you were gorgeous.

Time didn’t seem to exist in that hotel room as you took a bite of mochi Satoru held out for you. But the moment the phone rang, it pulled you out of your happy fantasy back into reality. A disappointed sigh escaped you as you answered the phone, grimacing as your manager yelled at you that he’d had another client waiting for you despite your rule of only taking one a night. Before you could argue with him, Satoru snatched the phone from your hands.

”Sorry, I’m not done; I’d like to add to my time.”

”Satoru wh—“ he cut you off by shoving a ball of mochi into your mouth, shutting you up.

”You know what, just put me down with her all night.” Your manager's excitement was audible from the phone as Gojo just told him the price for the whole night. “That’s it?” Satoru’s nose turned up. “She’s worth more than that and then some. Just charge it to my card.”

”Satoru,” He grinned, pulling you into his chest. “You didn’t have to do that.”

”You honestly think I’m just going to let you slip away? Hell no.” You cuddled into his side. “How would you feel about leaving this shitty job and becoming a sugar baby of sorts instead?”

”Are you offering to be my sugar daddy?” You teased with a giggle, running your hand up and down his chest.

”Depends. What would you say if I did offer to do just that?”

You gently straddled his hips, trailing kisses down his jawline. “Well, I would start by saying you’re too young to be one.” His cock twitched underneath the curve of your ass as you moved past his neck.

”I might be young, but I’m filthy rich.” His hands reached up, groping your ass, gently rocking you against his hardening bulge. “If you allowed me the pleasure of taking care of you, you wouldn’t have to worry about a damn thing.”

Sitting back with a breathless giggle, you rocked faster. “Well, when you put it that way, I would have to be stupid to say no to the lovely gentleman who accidentally ordered a prostitute.” Satoru’s chest heaved as he watched your hands move to the robe's sash. “But there’s just one thing we should do before we proceed with this agreement.”

Your hips moved painfully slow over Satoru’s cock. He thought he might lose himself if you kept going at that pace. “Y-Yeah, fuuuck, what is that sweetheart?” With a gentle tug on the sash, Satoru stared at you in awe as you exposed your naked body to him. “O-Oh my god, you’re beautiful, so pretty.” Reaching down, you unbuttoned his pants with a purpose, taking your bottom lip between your teeth with a giggle.

”I need to show you my resume.”

The next day, Gojo returned to Tokyo with a bag full of taro mochi and a girlfriend on his arm. Ordering that robe from a tiny love hotel was the best accident he’d ever made. You couldn’t have agreed more with him,

Nanami Kento:

Nanami was a very busy man who was constantly working and valued the little free time that he had. On his days off, he liked to go out to eat and partake in a few drinks. Other times, he likes to stay at home reading a book and enjoying a glass of wine.

Living this sort of lifestyle could be very lonely at times. Typically Nanami had no problem or issue with going out on dates, but some nights he would prefer to just fuck his frustrations out. And without a partner, he found it challenging to fulfill his desires at times.

Eventually, the pent-up frustration had become too much for him to handle. So, without another choice, he called an escort service where he met you. Your first initial meeting had been a consultation of sorts. Nanami asked for your limits and what you were okay with. When he decided you would be a perfect partner, he paid you in advance, gave you a safe word, and nearly destroyed you the night you were hired.

Your hands were being held behind your back with one of Nanami’s. His other hand was forcing your head into the mattress as he fucked into you brutally. His cock hits your g-spot and cervix with every pull. Nanami Kento was like a growling beast above you as your tight, wet walls hugged him.

”That feels good, love?” He asked in a husky feral tone, his hips grinding snuggly against your ass. The tip of his cock, in turn, teased your g-spot, rubbing it just enough to stimulate the spongy spot. But there wasn’t enough pressure to send you over the edge you were dangerously teetering on. “I—“ Nanami’s hand left your head, striking your ass with a powerful strike, “asked you a question.” Another slap, this one hard enough to have your walls clenching around his veiny cock. “And when I ask you a question, I expect an answer.”

Nanami’s hand massaged the sting out of your ass. “Y—Yes god, yes it feels s-so good N-Nanami!” His hips rocked faster against your ass, “Oooh, Nana—”

“Kento.” A sharp growl interrupted you. “Call me Kento—” His fingers left your ass, wrapping around the tails of the yellow spotted tie he had blindfolded you with. “When I’m fucking you into the mattress.”

He tugged the ends of the tie, forcing your head back and causing your arch to deepen. The sudden change of position results in Nanami’s cock bullying the tip harshly over your sweet spot he’s been torturing for what seems like hours. You cried out as drool dripped down your chin, pooling on the sheets. Your walls were beginning to hug him in pulsing waves; you were so close. Nanami felt it, too. Releasing your hands, he grabbed your hip to steady himself as he began fucking your tight cunt like he hated her.

”Say my name, say it, scream it out loud. I want the entire complex to know who makes you feel this euphoric pleasure.”

”Kento!”

”Louder.”

”Kento!!”

“You. Can. Do. Better. Then. That.” Each word was punctuated by a fast jabbing thrust right against your cervix.

”KENTO!” Your scream bounced off the walls. Making both you and Kent’s ears ring as you came around him, soaking the sheets as he fucked you through the intense orgasm and into his own.

”Cumming!” He growled against your shoulder blade. Beads of sweat ran down his brow, dripping onto your sensitive skin. “Good girl love, take it all, take every last drop I give you.” He kissed and nipped at your skin as his cum filled you.

Once his hips had finally stilled and you could form coherent thoughts, his whole demeanor changed from a frustrated, fuming mass of a man to a gentler soul. His fingers undid the tie around your head before gently massaging circles over your aching joints. His lips trailed soft, gentle kisses over your sweat-shimmering skin. You found yourself leaning into his touch, longing for more. You were desperate to feel every inch of the man who had just fucked you within an inch of your life.

Not many of your clients liked you to do that. Leaning into them once that had quite literally finished using you. They would shove you away before kicking you outNanami Kento was different. The second he felt you shift, leaning towards his body heat, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you into his body, spooning you.

That first night was the start of your partnership with Nanami. He would fuck you to the brink of death before slowly reviving you with gentle kisses, words of affirmation, and aftercare. Nanami quickly became your favorite client; whenever his name appeared on your schedule, you felt as light as air.

Typically, these sorts of relationships stayed strictly professional and revolved around sex. So when you showed up to his apartment one Friday evening, ready to see the pearly gates, you were shocked to be offered a glass of wine. Not only that, but he led you to his dining room, where he pulled out your chair as he served you the delicious dinner he had prepared for just the two of you.

”I thought we’d try something a little different tonight.” He’d confessed in the low flickering glow of the candlelight. “If that’s alright with you, of course.”

You agreed without hesitation, smiling lovingly. Nanami was the client; whatever he wanted to do, you’d be willing to try. You’d had several different clients and gone through so many other kinks. You liked to imagine with all of that, you had a pretty good amount of experience under your belt. Nanami, however, had surprised you for the first time in a very long time.

Some nights, he just wanted a normal, quiet dinner, watch a movie, and go to bed with you in his arms. The initial request had been a bit of a shock, but it was a good one. After that night, your visits with Nanami began alternating from rough, god-like se to sweet, gentle evenings.

Tonight was one of those mundane nights you’d grown to love just as much as the crazy, wild sex you two had. But you found yourself loving these quiet little nights a bit more where you were currently resting your head in his lap as he played with your hair. His eyes roamed over the pages of his newest book.

”Mmm, I love nights like this.” You whispered, shutting your eyes.

”I love you more.” Nanami said while turning his page, not even paying attention to the stunned expression pasted over your face. All he did was smile warmly. “You don’t have to say it back.”

”I love you too.” You answered just as fast.

”Mmm, then perhaps we should consider ripping up our contract. I would prefer to be your boyfriend rather than your client.” That was the night that you had retired, and the night Nanami deleted his account on your escorts page.

Ryomen Sukuna: (modern CEO AU)

Sukuna would purchase an escort for sure, no doubt. He'd go through a site and pick the one he thought was the most beautiful. He would then ask you to come to his apartment to complete your services. The man could fuck; he fucked you hard, deep, and fast. He took you against the door the first time you visited his apartment. Once he was done, he paid you and saw you out.

The following week, Sukuna requested you again. This time he picked up dinner before he fucked your throat while he watched a movie he'd put on for the two of you to enjoy. His large hand was rugged and pulled on your hair, forcing you to take more of him down your throat before yanking you off and giving you a chance to breathe before pushing you back down on his thick throbbing dick. When he finished, he handed you bent over the coffee face buried in your pussy, lapping at your clit.

Sukuna might have been rough and demanding, but he never once hurt you. He always ensured both of you came hard, never leaving you unsatisfied. He quickly became one of your favorite clients. Every Friday night, you'd happily skip to his condo, and every Friday, he would rock your world.

“Oh~ god fuck~!!” Sukuna snarled as you rocked back against him. “Fuuuck~” The bustling city and honking horns sounded from below as your hand gripped his balcony railing. “God, you take my cock so good~”

“Kuna~ Kuna s-so good!” you slam yourself back faster in his cock, losing yourself in the wet squelching sounds that fill your ears.

Sukuna’s hands grope at the fat of your ass, squeezing it as he pulls you harder against him. A smirk tugs at his mouth at the whimpers that shake through you. “I'll never get over how good you feel~” He groaned deeply as his hips snapped faster, his free hand rubbing circles around your swollen clit. “Maybe I should have you stay for a weekend~ maybe longer.” Manicured nails scrape over the metal of the railing as you dip your head forward. “Would you like that~? Being my live-in slut? Huh?” Pillow talk: this was just pillow talk.

“I-I'd like that a-a lot!” you sobbed as his cock hit the deepest part of you. “P-Please Kuna~ I need you.”

“Ah~ you'll get it, my queen, ~ you're gonna get a thick fucking load shoved so deep, you'll be dripping my cum out for days~.”

“Yes! Full me up! Fill me up!”

The begging tone of your voice has Sukuna wishing there wasn't a condom separating him from your wet heat. One of these days, he’ll make sure that he gets to feel all of you. For now, he was more concerned with just feeling you cum around him. He’d take care of the rest later.

“Then cum for me, my sweet little slut.” With a jab at your g-spot, you do as he commands. You scream, not caring about the people walking down below or his neighbors. All that matters in this current moment is losing yourself as Sukuna fucks you through the scream-inducing orgasm and into his own.

“Nggh! Fuckin’ slut!” His grunt of pleasure is bitten off by an almost demonic roar as his cum fills the condom.

You both rock slowly against the other, skin-hitting skin in soft—plops before Sukuna sits on his patio sofa with you in his lap. He's groaning on the nape of your neck as his hands gently massage your hips. Humming softly, you look up at the stars, wishing this moment could last forever.

Where he wasn’t a client, and you weren't an escort. The more you came to his condo on Friday nights, the more you didn't want to leave. But he was paying you for an evening, so the chances of this escalating into something more were slim to none. So you would just be thankful for the moments you had.

The night ended like every other Friday. He gave you the cash, walked you to the lobby, and kissed your cheek. “See you soon.” He said as he helped you into a taxi and waved you off.

When he said soon, you had been thinking he meant next Friday soon. But the following day? Yeah, that was a shock. You had just been called into your manager's office, finding Sukuna leaning against the wall while your manager counted big stacks of money.

“What’s happening?” The question was almost inaudible as your manager leaned back with a sickening smirk.

“This gentleman has bought out your contract, so as of this moment, you’re fired.”

“W-Wha—?!” you don't even get to question your manager as Sukuna is dragging you out. “Kuna?! What the hell is happening?!”

The man who just bought you out of a lifestyle you didn't care for cocked a pink brow. “I asked you last night if you wanted to live with me. You said yes. Buying your contract out was the next step.” He leads you to a sleek black car. “Don't think just because I bought you out of your contract means I assume I own you. You're free to do whatever you please. I enjoy your company.”

“So I can go home whenever I want.”

“Yep.”

“And if I want to stay with you?”

“You can.”

You don't even hesitate; you leap into his arms and kiss him. “Mmm, good, take me home,” Sukuna smirks, kissing you back as he loads you into the car.

“Home it is.”

Geto Suguru:

Geto was searching for a place to stay when he first met you. Back then, you weren't even an escort yet. He was looking for an inn with rooms opened; he'd been informed by one of his cult members of a curse that would be perfect for him to absorb.

At twenty years old, he walked into his first brothel, fully intending to get a room for the night. The establishment reeked of booze and sex, but it was the only place with room available, and the curse he'd just swallowed was one of the worst he'd tasted. Resting was the best thing he could do before returning home.

Once in his room, the best room in the entire building, there was a knock on the door to his room. The manager of the building shoved you inside. You hit Geto’s chest with a wince before the manager bowed his head to Geto. The man you ran into glanced over you; you were dressed in thin white garments before his dark eyes met the man in the doorway.

“What is the meaning of this?”

“A welcome gift, as a token of my appreciation of you buying our best room. I had heard you hadn't ordered any escorts, so please take her as you. She’s a virgin.” Small curses and little leeches appeared, crawling all over the man. These curses typically came from greed and lust, sucking the life out of everything. And the man was covered in them.

Geto felt his stomach twist as he glowered at the stupid monkey—another reason he had to rid the world of these parasites. This man was a disgusting creature who was selling off women like this. But for all he knew, you were just a monkey, too. There was no point for him to waste his time

“I do not need such services.” The handsome man announced, shoving you back to the manager. As he did, one of the leeches lurched for you, and you held up a hand in disgust. Suguru watched as the curse hit a barrier before fading into black ash.

So you weren’t a useless human.

”Oh, I see very well. Come girl, I can use you for the party tonight ins—“

”On second thought, it was rude of me to refuse your offer. I will gladly accept her.” The manager beamed with excitement while you glared at him in disgust.

” Excellent choice, my lord; I will leave you to it.”

The second the door to his room shut, Suguru turned to you, watching you angrily undo the sash at your waist. “Hurry up.” You barked out, voice trembling as you laid on the bed as stiff as a board.

”I have no intention of touching you.” Suguru said, tilting his head to the side with a grin. “I do, however, have questions regarding your technique.”

”Technique?”

Geto sat on the bed next to you, explaining what he had seen you do. You, in turn, told him your life's story. How you could see curses since you were a child, how your parents sold you off to repay a debt. You confided in him that you had been the errand girl for the brothel since you turned eighteen, but when the manager saw your beauty, he started insisting you begin taking customers. Now that you were twenty, he had grown tired of your denials and decided tonight would be the night he offered you for free to any willing customer.

Suguru was disgusted and offered to handle the problem, but you politely declined, stating you would stay. If you didn’t repay your parent's debt, your younger sister would be sold off next, and you refused to allow that to happen.

“I just hate for my first time to be auctioned off to the highest bidder. And once you leave, I know I'll be paraded around some more.” Suguru could see the sorrow in your eyes as you brought your knees to your chest, hugging yourself. “I wouldn't have minded you being my first customer.”

”I will confess, I have never done anything like this myself.” His cheeks flushed as he gently placed his hand over yours. “Perhaps we could be each other’s firsts?”

You were no fool; you knew this would be an ideal opportunity for women in your position. With shaking hands, you cupped Geto's face and kissed him. He was almost too stunned to react, but as you gently rubbed his shoulders, he slowly melted into your touch, kissing you back earnestly. Both of you gently removed your clothes, kissed, and ran your hands down each other's bodies, losing yourself in the other's touch. It was tender and slow. You were mapping out the other, caressing chests, legs, and lips overheated skin.

But those gentle kisses turned into desperate ones, tongues sliding gently against the other, fingers buried inside you while your hand wrapped around him, stroking him. When you were both hot and needy, Suguru gently pushed himself inside of you, pausing as you winced at the sharp sting that accompanied him. Seeing the way you wince, both pained and pleased Suguru. He felt terrible for causing you the briefest moment of pain, but he was also glad that he was the one doing it. Anyone else would have been far too rough with you, and you deserved a memorable first time.

A memorable moment that was not going to last very long because you were so tight, and he was already seconds from losing control. “G-Geto~” you whispered as he kissed your neck, up to your ear, nibbling on the lobe as he gently thrust in and out of you. “Ahhn Geto~” He whined in your ear before chuckling breathlessly.

“Suguru.” He corrected, pulling back to stare into your eyes. “Call me Suguru.”

”S-Suguru.” You tested out, and upon hearing his name pass through your lips, his cock throbbed inside of you. “S-Suguru ah, yes Suguru~.”

“My princess, so warm~ so good.” Cries of your names were whispered into the other mouth as Suguru gently fucked into you, his gentle thrusts losing the messy rhythm he had begun with. “I-I’m sorry, but I’m already close.” His confession and thumb gently brushing over your clit, rubbing the bud back and forth, had you rolling with the waves of your impending orgasm.

”M-Me too, Suguru.”

You came at the same time as the man who had bestowed you with a gift not many other girls in your profession were granted, and for that, you were forever grateful. You almost cried tears of joy when he laid down next to you, holding you close to his chest, his hand gently rubbing up and down your back, caressing you to sleep. The following morning, Geto woke you up before he left. He was bidding farewell and leaving you with his cellphone number. He was persistent on you taking it, urging you to call him if you ever needed him.

Little did he know that your call would come one week later. Rainbow dragon landed outside of the brothel, and Suguru came bursting through the doors, eyes dark in fiery fury as he scanned the entryway finding the scumbag monkey that was a pathetic excuse for a manager cowering behind the bar. Suguru ignored him and bounded up the stairs, heading to the room you had first met.

Opening the door, he froze, finding you sitting on the bed, face swollen and bruised. “Princess?” He spoke softly, not to startle you. “What happened?” You motioned to the corner of the room where an unconscious man lay, a fork jammed into the side of his neck.

”My manager sent a customer to me without my knowledge. The man attacked me, but I fought him off before he could get what he wanted.” Suguru released one of his curses before pulling you into his arms, attempting to shield you from the gruesome sight of the man’s death, But you watched from over his shoulder, never once blinking.

”I’m taking you home with me.” His tone and words left no room for argument, not that you would. “Let’s go.” He lifted you into his arms, carrying you down the stairs, ignoring the whispers and glances in your direction. Before he took you outside to where Rainbow Dragon was waiting, he stopped turning towards the bar where the disgusting human who had betrayed you cowered. “Princess, what shall we do with him?”

You turned, one eye swollen shut, as the other burned with rage. “Kill him.” Suguru smiled coldly, releasing more curses that swarmed around the man. His screams filled you with joy as Suguru sat upon the back of his dragon, holding you close to his chest. As the cursed spirit took flight, you peered down as several girls and patrons escaped the building before it erupted into blue flames. “Worthless monkeys.” You spat out, cuddling into Suguru’s chest.

The next day, Geto happily watched as Nanako and Mimiko braided your hair while other members of his found family spoke with you. Suguru had made sure to get your sister away from your parents before he took care of them as he’d done to his mother and father. Your sister would be placed in the care of one of his devoted followers while you stayed by his side.

“Suguru,” You called out, smiling sweetly as you broke away from the girls. “What are you thinking about?”

He kissed your head, “Just admiring your beauty.” He took one of the braids the girls had done and kissed it. “I’m truly a lucky man.” You smiled this time, kissing him on the lips.

”I think we're both lucky.”

”That we are princess, that we are.”

[tacitusk1llwhore]

Don’t cancel me for this, y’all, but I’ve seen a lot of politically charged posts about RDR (as I should; games about outlaws and the corruption of big and small government are and always will be inherently political), but one thing has really bothered and stuck out to me the most, especially in male-dominated spaces in the fandom. The idea that the Arthur Morgan in this day and age would be a raging MAGA conservative—I’ve gotten so, so many posts about it on my TikTok today, and this is finally me snapping. Here are a few arguments I’ve heard for this. “When he hears that the Democrats want to take his guns, he’d say hell no to that.” “He’s from 1899; you really think he would vote for a Black woman?” And my personal favorite: “Arthur says in-game he doesn’t engage in politics.” I’m not going to go through each of these and explain, in detail with evidence from the games themselves, why I think these are the dumbest takes I’ve ever heard in my life. In a space I hope is more open to this discussion, I hope you’ll join me.

1.) The gun control issue. I know, I know, this one seems pretty obvious; I mean, he’s a red-blooded American man and cowboy. How could anyone possibly think for a second he’d be for the party of gun control?? While this is true, you know what’s also true? The fact that he lost a child to gun violence. Now, of course we don't know exactly how Isaac and Eliza were killed, but judging from the time and efficiency, we can assume they were shot. Now let’s get away from assumptions. Arthur mourned the loss of his son, felt the agonizing, intense pain of losing a child, and said that it changed him forever, hardened his heart. Do we really for a second think that Arthur would listen to the story of Sandy Hook, Parkland, Uvalde, and countless others and say, “No, guns are more important.”? Absolutely fucking not. Not only has Arthur felt that loss, that pain, but he is deeply empathetic; hearing the testimonials of children in these buildings, families that lost their babies, would be more than enough for him to understand and push for common sense gun laws. The erasure of Arthur Morgan's trauma of losing his son and the erasure of his empathy for children and families is rampant in political spaces of the fandom; to simply assume that because Arthur is an outlaw, in modern times he would be this “don’t tread on me.” “Cares more about guns than kids” kind of guy is asinine to me. Even if he hadn’t felt that loss and that pain, there are multiple times in the game where he is given a deeper understanding of things he has never experienced; he becomes angry at that pain inflicted, takes the mission with Charles and the Bison, and hears about the vaccines being diverted from the reservations, and the Black doctor (I think he’s a doctor) you meet in Rhodes. Once he heard these stories, these testimonials, or saw the pain, the hardship, he was quick to step in and do something to make a change. He would not value weapons over the lives of people, as we can see from the game.

2.) This one is always fun to see because it assumes that Arthur is inherently racist. Now, I’m going to state one of my least favorite but still valid arguments: he has minority friends. This is very true; look at Charles, Lenny, Javier, and Tilly. Here is why it’s one of my least favorite arguments: you can have minority friends and still be racist, sexist, homophobic… Having friends doesn’t make you antiracist, so what makes Arthur antiracist? One camp interaction stands out to me the most in regards to this, the one with Tilly when they first move south. Tilly comes to Arthur in specific to talk about how nervous she is being so far south; she understands that the south is a dangerous place for dark-skinned people, especially the location they’re in. Arthur, while he tries to soothe her, pointlessly at first, claiming that it's a good place to run from the law, also understands this, almost immediately changing his tone and telling Tilly not once but twice that e personally will keep her safe, that she has his word that he personally will keep her safe; a man that has hate in his heart for POC would not do that, ever. Another interaction is one with Lenny, where Lenny points out that Arthur wouldn’t notice the difference in the more southern states because the worst they’ll do to him publicly is say that he is friends with POC (less soft than that, watch the clips of it on YouTube if you want the full dialogue), whereas for Lenny the worst that can happen to him publicly is a lynching (which he states all the way back in chapter one where he almost was lynched). Arthur is not ignorant of racism; he knows that it exists—I hate the whole “Arthur doesn’t know about racism.” Because he does, and saying he doesn’t is an insult to his intelligence and awareness of the world around him. He knows racism exists; he personally just cannot fathom it; he cannot picture himself perpetuating racism (again, see the scene in Rhodes with the Black man), which is where I think that confusion that people say he doesn’t understand it comes from—he isn’t confused by racism; he’s confused why that man assumes he’s racist, because in his head he simply can’t fathom being bigoted.

This one has two parts, so bear with me. This also assumes that Arthur is sexist; the argument I see for this is the one-off comment he makes to the working girl at the saloon, "I didn't know I was talkin' to a lady." Was this an ok statement? No. Does it make him a raging sexist? Also no. Let's look at his relationship with Sadie; he does not underestimate her because she's a woman; he trusts in her and her abilities with unwavering confidence, so much so that he entrusts the safety of John, Abigail, and Jack to her. Now let's look at the camp interactions, one of which Arthur states that he sees no difference between men and women (bi king) and that most are bad, but some are worth loving. A man who is a raging sexist would never say something like this; he would never equate men and women, but Arthur does see them as equals. I see a lot of people point out that Arthur is far more protective of the camp girls than most, but this isn't because he sees them as less than him; he just understands that a lot of them lack the ability to fully protect themselves (Love you, Tilly and Mary-Beth). He isn't quite as protective of the women that he knows with confdence can and will protect themselves with confidence, but even then he will stick up for them if needed. Arthur Morgan is a protector of women, which is so incredibly important today and back then.

3.) Here’s my favorite. Arthur doesn’t engage in politics. Looking at this in terms of the game, he absolutely does engage in politics; he has opinions on rights and the government; that is, in fact, political—he doesn’t vote, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t make political statements or isn’t even unintentionally political. Now let’s look at this in the frame of today. Being non-political in 1899 and being non-political in 2025 are two wildly different things; politics has changed drastically in the last almost decade where thngs have circled back around to be voting for or against human rights, and from my evidence above, Arthur would be voting for those rights. In modern times it is almost impossible to be nonpolitical; I dare say it's impossible. Everything now has politics attached to it; that argument is their gotcha moment because they don't understand that, which is why they make the argument in the first place.

So, why does this matter? Arthur is a pixel outlaw in a fictional setting of 1899 America. I guess in the grand scheme of life it really doesn’t, but in fandom culture it absolutely does. Many people, including myself, come to fandom spaces to escape, to cope with things from their past or events of the day, to chat about characters, and to share theories and art, and so on. Imagine someone who lost a child, sibling, or friend to gun violence logging on for their daily dose of distraction only to see someone making points as to why a character who is comforting to so many people wouldn’t care about the death of their lost loved one, just guns. A POC or member of the LGBTQ community doing the same and seeing arguments as to why Arthur is homophobic or racist. Seeing something like that is in fact harmful; taking things and stretching them to fit your narrative despite the actual source material pointing in the opposite direction requires erasure and explaining your own personal biases publicly. Someone stating that Arthur is a racist is just them stating that they themselves are a racist or that they themselves care more about guns than lives—as we’ve seen, the public stating of controversial things or overall morally reprehensible ideals when gone unchecked spirals and spreads, and soon we have a space of people who will openly state bigoted things and push the people in the fandom here for reasons of a shared enjoyment for whatever reason or the people who use things to cope or as a distraction out of the space, effectively ruining it and potentially the outlook on the content of the game. Fandom spaces shouldn’t tolerate bigotry, and lots of Red Dead fans have been expressing bigotry lately, and these people have started to go completely unchecked. It bothers me; it always will, even if it is just a silly cowboy game.

[stellar-haikyuu]

rhythm of the game ☆ kita shinsuke x reader

synopsis: third-year reader is the inarizaki band leader. they have always admired kita from afar, but never had a reason to talk to him—until now. details: fluff, ~1.2k words, gn! reader, relationship leading towards romantic. warnings: none!

Doing one last run through your lists and music sheets, you excuse yourself from the band room to search for the volleyball team’s new captain.

Semestral planning and club application season have kept you and the other third years busy over the summer break. With the myriad of teams that Inarizaki’s orchestra band plays for, you’ve also had to coordinate and schedule meetings with them.

Naturally, your band conductor—who happens to be your best friend—immediately assigned you to the volleyball team. 

“If you’re lucky, you might see him again,” she had teased, a knowing look in her eye. You heart fluttered a little at the possibility of seeing your crush. It’s been a while. 

When you walk into the gym, you’re hit with some sense of comfort. The gym has felt like your third home for the past three years. The band practice room claims second place, of course.

As always, the Miya twins are off in a corner bickering about something. A few other team members surround them, either entertained or concerned. Suna, without fail, is documenting everything.

You look around for the coaches, but they are nowhere to be found.

Looks like I’ve gotta ask the members myself.

But before you approach them, a glimpse of white, fluffy hair in the corner of your eye catches your attention.

Make no mistake, it’s Kita Shinsuke who enters the gym. He pauses mid-step, noticing the commotion.

You wonder what he’s going to do next, but then his eyes lock onto yours.

Woah.

Many have shared how incredibly unnerving it is to be under Kita’s direct gaze. It’s like a quiet force that measures you in an instant.

You’ve heard the whispers from the team members themselves—how his eyes seem to say everything before he opens his mouth. 

The intensity of his deep, brown irises catch you off guard, but they’re not as terrifying as everyone says. In fact, something changes as the seconds pass by. You don’t know if you’re imagining it, but his eyes seem to soften.

“Good afternoon,” he greets you with a perfect bow. 

You snap out of your trance to return the gesture. “Good afternoon, Kita-san!” Before you introduce yourself, he surprises you.

“You’re the band leader this year, right?”

How did he know?

“Y-yeah.” You stammer. Your interactions with him have been limited to fleeting glances and short nods. The extended attention leaves you a little flustered.

“Well, congratulations,” he says, a small grin lighting up his face. “You deserve it, after all yer hard work.”

He smiled at me. He congratulated me. Hard work? Has he been watching? Why is he telling-

You realize you’ve been staring for a bit too long.

“Th-thanks, Kita-san,” your voice shakes a little, almost revealing your internal giddiness. “Means a lot.”

Just then, you notice the number on his jersey.

Number 1. 

The captain’s mark.

A gasp escapes before you can stop it.

“Is somethin’ the matter-”

“You!” You look up at him again, pointing at his shirt.

Kita’s eyes widen a little. You’ve never seen that expression on his face before, but you don’t blame him; even your sudden exclamation takes you aback.

“It’s- you’re the captain this year?”

“I…I am,” Kita’s composure falters for a moment.

“Oh my goodness, really?” Your excitement bubbles over, unable to remain contained.

“Ya seem real…happy about it.” He notes, eyebrows lifting.

“‘Course I am!” You beam at him. “I’ve always seen how good ya play, even if it’s practice. You’re so reliable, on and off the court.”

You see him open his mouth to respond, but you can’t help yourself from continuing.

“Dunno if this makes sense, but you keep the rhythm of the game going. You know exactly how to keep yer members in check. It’s just- I’ve always thought ya were the perfect choice. Like you deserve it, y’know?”

When you finish rambling, a deafening silence hits. You glance around to see that the entire gym has gone still. 

The twins are literally frozen mid-argument, Atsumu’s collar clenched in Osamu’s grip. The rest of the team, even the coaches—who’ve somehow appeared unnoticed—are staring.

Suna’s even pointing the camera at you and Kita.

Oh my god.

You look back at him, heat creeping up your neck. “Ah. Sorry, Kita-san. I may have overdone it. But, uh, what I meant to say was, congrats.”

He stares at you for a moment longer, and for the first time since you’ve known him, Kita Shinsuke lets out a laugh. Soft and warm.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.” Your cheeks burn, trying to ignore the weight of everyone’s stares.

Somehow, Kita reads your mind.

“Alright, everyone, please start your warm ups,” he addresses the team. “Suna, please put the phone away.”

Immediately, all heads turn the other way, the Miya twins’ argument seemingly forgotten. Suna begrudgingly shoves his phone back into his pocket as footsteps start to echo around the gym.

“Thanks,” you exhale, grateful for the reprieve. 

“So, what brings you here today?” Kita inquires and you nearly facepalm.

“Ah.” You pause to clear your throat. “Came to ask about the new captain, but I guess I figured that out on my own.”

The corners of Kita’s eyes crinkle slightly. “Looks like it.”

“Yeah.” You huff in amusement before continuing. “Anyway, I wanted to give you a heads up. The band will be comin’ by next week to observe practice. The newbies need to get a feel of the game.”

He hums in approval. “Sounds good. I appreciate the effort you all put into it.”

“Thanks.” You lower your voice. “We’ve also gotta prep for Atsumu’s background music request during his serves.”

Kita sighs with a hint of fond exasperation. “He’s been talkin’ about that for weeks while practicing his jump floaters. Hope it’s not too much trouble.”

You wave your hand dismissively. “Nah, it’s kinda fun. Boosts morale, anyway.”

“Alright.” He nods thoughtfully. “As long as you say so.”

Before the conversation ends, an idea pops into your head.

“Wait, Kita-san?”

“Yeah?”

“Do you want a theme too? For your serves?”

Kita looks genuinely startled, like a deer caught in the headlights. You think it’s kinda cute.

“Me? I don’t think I need one.”

You shake your head insistently. “Aw, come on! You do pinch servin’ right?”

“Yes, but, I’m sure you already have a lot on your plate. I don’t want to stress you out.”

“Kita-san,” you say his name firmly. “I wanna score it.” 

The absolute conviction in your voice causes a silence to settle between you both. You wonder if you’ve broken him.

“I’m- no, we’re here to back you up.”

When did I get this bold?

You can hear your heart beating in your ears as you wait for his response.

“You’re sure?” His voice wavers a little, but you pretend not to notice.

“Yeah. Promise.”

Kita holds your gaze, and for a moment, neither of you can look away. 

Then, slowly, his lips curve into a smile that feels like staring at the sunrise.

“Alright,” he replies with a lighter tone. “I’m sure you’ll come up with somethin’ great.”

The corners of your mouth instinctively tug upward as he continues.

“Besides, I’m not the only one here who keeps the rhythm of the game goin'.”

masterlist

[butlervibesonly]

𝐵𝑒𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑎𝑖𝑠𝑙𝑒 | Austin Burler

• SUMMARY: Ashley, Austin’s sister, is checking up on her soon to be sister in law, and on her brother too before their wedding, to find out they’re both nervous wreck’s and, well… So made for each other.

• PAIRING: Austin Butler x female reader + Austin’s sister is included 🥰

• WARNINGS: nothing just fluff and most cute nervousness before wedding, maybe typos

“Oh my gosh, Y/n!” you hear Ashley gasp. You're counting down the last minutes until the ceremony. By now, your friends, who helped you with your dress and makeup, also had to get ready, so you were alone in your room. “You look absolutely gorgeous, Y/n!”

You fix some details on your dress, smiling at Ashley who also looks so beautiful in her dress. “Thank you, Ash.” As Ashley comes closer to you, she helps to adjust your veil. “How are you feeling?” she asks, noticing the nervousness in your eyes.

"Honestly?” you sigh. “I feel like my heart is about to jump out of my chest. I’m so nervous. What if... what if something goes wrong? What if I mess up, or he realizes—" Before you can even finish this sentence, Ashley stops you.

"Whoa, slow down. Let me stop you right there. First of all, nothing is going to go wrong, alright? And second you’re marrying my brother and he loves you. Like, completely, unconditionally, can’t-stop-talking-about-you loves you."

You laugh softly and nervously “He does talk a lot, doesn’t he?" Ashley nods while taking your hands in hers. "Oh, trust me, nonstop. He’s been like this since the day he met you. You should hear him when you’re not around. You’re his world, Y/n. And I’ve never seen him so happy."

Ashley’s words make your eyes filled with tears. You can’t believe you’re here, few minutes before marrying the man of your dreams forever. “Really?” you smile surprisingly at her.

“I wouldn’t joke about this. You’re everything he ever wanted. And trust me — this day is the day he always dreamed about.” Ashley was like your sister since the day one. She supports you in everything and loves you like you have always been the part of family.

“I just... don’t want to let him down, you know.”

“You won’t. Just be yourself as you are always “, Y/n, and this day will be perfect. You’ve got this, okay? And we all love you not only him!” Her hands are on your shoulders as he is looking into your eyes - with those eyes that are so familiar to Austin’s.

“Woah, thank you... really. You guys are the best thing that could ever happen to me.” you say, relieved. Ashley wraps her arms around you to pull you into a gentle hug as she doesn’t want to ruin your beautiful dress.

“Anytime. You’ll be part of family after all,” you two giggle. “Now, take another deep breath, and you will make my brother the luckiest man alive in any second.” she says and before she leaves, she turns in the door. “But first let me check on him,” she smirks making you laugh.

As Ashley knocks on her brother’s room, walking in she sees Austin adjusting his tie in the mirror. “Knock, knock. How’s the groom doing?” Austin lets out a breath, running a hand through his “Oh, you know... I’m so nervous. Like I have never been.”

Ashley smiles widely, remembering you told her the exact same thing. “Yea, definitely soulmates…” she murmurs, coming closer to help Austin with his tie. “What was that?” Austin asks as he didn’t understand what Ashley said.

“Oh, nothing. Just confirming what I already knew. You two are perfect for each other.” she replies and is done with his tie. Austin sits down on the bed with a deep sight. “I just... I don’t want to mess this up, you know? She’s everything to me. What if—“

“Nope. Don’t even go there. Listen to me, you’re not going to mess anything up, okay? You are over the heels about Y/n since the day one, do you know how I know?” Ashley looks at her brother as he furrows his eyebrows, waiting for what she wants to tell him.

“Because you never stop talking about Y/n, Austin. I’ve never seen you happier over anyone else like this. She’s good for you. And more importantly, you’re good for her. She loves you just as much as you love her, maybe even more-.

Austin smiles softly, taking notes of what Ashley says. “So stop worrying. She’s walking down that aisle because she wants to. All you have to do is be there, say 'I do,' and try not to cry much."

“No, no… Absolutely no promises on the crying part.” Austin says, pointing at the emergency tissue in his pocket. Ashley laughs, and as Austin stand up, they both hug,

“Remember, Aus, you’ve got this. You’re her everything, her friend, her partner in crime, her future husband. Now take a deep breath and let’s go make her Mrs. Butler.” Austin nods and as the clocks ticks the time of the ceremony, that is where your future begins. Your future as Mr. and Mrs. Butler.

[blackhairedjjun]

late night returns - c.yj

pairing: choi yeonjun x gn reader | genre / tropes: angst with a happy ending, actor!yeonjun x non-celebrity!reader, exes to lovers | word count: 855 | warnings: mentions of being stalked (by tabloids)

part of my 300 followers event (event masterlist)

prompt - OVER?: after a mutually reluctant (and unwanted but necessary) break-up, the sender calls/visits the receiver and tells them that they’re still in love with them. (requested by @seolis-world)

author's notes: seoli!! this ended up longer than planned, nag-enjoy ako masyado haha. your trope choice allowed me to bring out my celebrity!yj x non-celebrity!reader thoughts, which are some of my favorite hcs to think about! (also actor!yj after seeing the behind the scenes of the minisode 3 trailer haha) i hope you like this!

‘Love Like Hydrangeas’ Star Choi Yeonjun Stuns in New Red Carpet Photos “Like a Fairytale Prince”: Netizens React to Viral Photos of Choi Yeonjun

you sigh as you read the social media headlines on your phone. yeonjun does look like a fairytale prince, and you admire the embroidered details of his dark suit while zooming in on the latest batch of photos from his new movie premiere. a heaviness settles over you while you scroll through photo after photo, remembering the first time he showed you that same suit weeks before: “i look handsome, right?” he asked you, and when you said yes, he let out a soft laugh that filled your heart to bursting.

that moment in his apartment feels like a lifetime ago, and all it took was one leaked image of the two of you from a tabloid photographer making the rounds on fansites. yeonjun’s agency went overtime trying to do damage control, and it was a miracle that your identity was never revealed. but once the storm settled down, you and yeonjun sat down not in his room but at the agency office. the two of you needed to break up, you both agreed, for your safety and his 一 and with a lingering embrace and one last kiss, you left.

tears prick at your eyes and you toss the phone back to your nightstand; the clock there reads 2:16 am. you cocoon yourself in your blankets, turn to your side, and shut your eyes. you want to sleep, because at least in your dreams you can escape from reality for a little while. yet the more you wish for sleep to come to you, the more it eludes you, and the restlessness only grows worse as you turn from side to side in your bed over and over again.

buzz!

you jolt up at the sound of your apartment doorbell. you have no idea who the hell is calling for you in the middle of the night, but at least it distracts you from your restlessness.

you open the door a crack. “who’s th一”

it takes a second for you to recognize the tall man in a dark hoodie standing in front of you. the dimness makes it hard to see his figure or his features, until you realize that they look all too familiar...

you immediately you throw the door open and sink into yeonjun’s arms. you sob into his chest, your body shuddering from the force of your tears, and he holds you even more tightly as his own tears stream down his face.

“i missed you,” he says, his voice hoarse. you haven’t heard the sound of his voice in weeks, and it only makes you cry even harder.

eventually your sobs calm down to quieter tears, and when you let go of yeonjun you can still see the tear tracks running from his eyes. with your hands still in his, you tug him inside the warmth of your apartment, and there he pulls you into his embrace once more.

“how did you...” you begin, your voice muffled into his hoodie.

“i snuck out.”

“you shouldn’t have...”

yeonjun kisses the top of your head once, then twice, then again and again. his kisses are feather-light and you sigh at his touch. “i love you,” he murmurs into your hair. “i n-never stopped loving you. i don’t一 i can’t do any of this without you. i miss you so much...”

your arms are around his waist and you give it a gentle squeeze. he rubs circles down your back and you hum. his touch sends waves of calm through your body, the heaviness you once carried slowly leaving you.

you recall the red carpet photos you were just looking at and your bliss is interrupted by a million questions. does anyone else know that he’s here? what happens when his agency finds out? or when his fans find out? are you really getting back together or does he just miss you? how would you even navigate the tabloids, the endless stream of gossip? you try to bury yourself even more in yeonjun’s arms but he doesn’t miss the quickening of your heartbeat.

your thoughts are interrupted by another kiss on your head. yeonjun moves you to the foot of your bed and cradles you as you both sit there, a hand making its way through the tangle of your hair. your arms perch around his neck and you nuzzle into him.

“i’ll protect you, okay?” he says. his voice is quiet yet solemn like a prayer. “i can’t... i can’t lose you again.”

you pull away to meet his gaze and you see the same shine in his eyes that you always loved. he gazes at you with such tenderness, and behind his firm words you see the affection that underlies them. he needs you, and you need him just as much too.

“i love you too, jjunie... please don’t leave me.”

“i promise i won’t.”

you still don’t have the answers to your questions, but you’d rather leave then unanswered than have yeonjun leave you again.

[riboism]

haunted ═╬ act I: the arrival

♱ content tags: centuries old vampire! seonghwa x fem reader, vampire au, gothic romance, gothic horror, story takes place circa early 1900s, reincarnation, smut, angst, forbidden love, slowburn, lots of yearning, no happy ending, blood, satanism, animal cruelty, nosferatu/bram stroker’s dracula/edward scissorhands vibes

♱ wordcount: 5.2k

↳ series masterlist

A wave of relief swept over you as the crisp, refreshing breeze of late October kissed your cheeks. The train ride to Cromer Ridge had been a seemingly endless ordeal—stuffy, suffocating, and filled with doubts that gnawed at your tenacity. Every mile of the journey was shadowed by second-guessing and an almost unbearable longing to turn back. Yet, deep down, you knew there was no returning to the life you had left behind. Starting over was daunting, the weight of the unknown pressing heavily on your spirit. But you also knew it was time to release the past, to embrace the opportunity for renewal. Though your unfamiliar surroundings felt discouraging, you steeled yourself to take the first step forward.

Your first task upon arriving at your new home was clear: find a job. The urgency of the times was palpable, and the job board near the platform was already surrounded by a crowd of weary, determined faces.

A sigh escaped you as your shoulders slumped in quiet defeat. The list of available positions read like a declaration of exclusion. Coal miner. Machinist. Bricklayer. Though the words “No women inquirers” weren’t printed, the message was clear. And who would hire you anyway? You were a woman, expected to secure financial stability through marriage—or, if desperation struck, by selling yourself in ways too degrading to voice. Your only skills were the domestic trifecta of sewing, cooking, and cleaning—skills instilled in you by a mother who saw no greater purpose than preparing you for marriage, a means to lighten the financial burden of an unwanted daughter.

Just as hopelessness began to settle in, something caught your eye. At the far end of the board, a single yellowed flyer flapped in the breeze, its ink faded and edges curling. It seemed forgotten, avoided even, as the crowd conspicuously steered clear of that corner. Curious, you stepped closer, your heart inexplicably quickening. The faded words were difficult to make out, but you pieced them together as best you could:

Live-in housekeeper needed. Inquire at the Park Estate.

⸺

“Excuse me, sir, can you tell me how to get to the Park Estate?”

The lively chatter and rhythmic clinking of shot glasses halted. One by one, the tavern’s patrons turned their attention toward you, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. The bartender froze mid-motion, his dishrag suspended above the bar as he gawked at the wide-eyed newcomer who had dared to ask such a question.

“What business do you have there?” he asked, his voice laced with thinly veiled disgust.

“I’m inquiring about a position there,” you replied, the words tumbling out sheepishly as the weight of the room’s gaze settled on you. “The one posted at the rail.”

A ripple of murmurs coursed through the crowd.

“Someone really oughta take that flyer down.”

“I heard that’s how he gets his victims—lures them up there with promises of work, then poof, they’re never seen again!”

“You know, he harvests human limbs for the black market! That’s how he keeps that eyesore of a castle funded.”

“Did you hear what the butcher’s wife said? She swears she saw Count Park skulking around town weeks ago, creeping like a ghost!”

“No way. He wouldn’t dare come down here. He knows he’s unwelcome. That’s why he stays up there, feasting on stray cats and whatever he can find.”

The whispers swirled, growing darker with every utterance. The stories painted a picture of a man—or perhaps a creature—that was nothing short of monstrous. The rumors about Count Park were wild and fantastical, their macabre details echoing the haunting bedtime tales your grandmother once told of strange creatures lurking in the shadows, snatching disobedient children to devour.

The bartender hesitated, his brow furrowed. You didn’t know it then, but you’d made a mistake by asking about what the townsfolk referred to as the “Dead End of Cromer Ridge.”  Park Estate was no ordinary home; it was a brooding castle perched on the edge of town, shrouded in mystery and whispered fear. No one dared to venture close, and few could even confirm whether Count Park was still alive. Some said he’d gone mad with grief after the death of his wife, his isolation breeding festering darkness. Others insisted he had dabbled in Satanic rituals, turning himself into a vampire—a bloodthirsty creature doomed to stalk the night.

Every tale was more grotesque than the last, but one truth remained constant: the very mention of his estate sent a chill down the spines of the townsfolk.

After a long pause, the bartender finally relented. “Straight down, take a left at the old sign, and head west. It’s a steep climb—I doubt it’ll be easy to make it up there.”

You murmured your thanks and quickly exited, trying not to let the hushed gossip of the patrons unsettle you. But as you stepped into the cold evening, a sense of unease lingered. The townspeople weren’t just unfriendly—they seemed haunted, consumed by fear of the Count. And their fear had a way of clinging to you, no matter how hard you tried to shake it off.

⸺

The bartender hadn’t exaggerated—the hill was brutal. Each step felt heavier than the last, your calves burning as fatigue clawed its way into your limbs. The path grew darker with every stride, the last rays of sunlight vanishing beneath the horizon, leaving only the oppressive gloom of night. In the distance, the castle loomed, stark and unwelcoming against the dusky sky. Its jagged silhouette seemed carved from shadow, a brooding presence that radiated unease.

As you drew closer, doubt began to fester. A small voice in your mind whispered to turn back, to abandon this unsettling journey. Something about the air felt off—thick and heavy, as though it carried the weight of a hundred unspoken warnings. Perhaps the townsfolk’s sinister murmurs had worked their way into your head, or perhaps it was the creeping dread that came with nightfall. Yet, no matter how many reasons you found to retreat, one undeniable truth remained: you’d come too far to turn back.

The promise of a warm bed, of shelter from the biting chill, was enough to propel you forward. Where else could you go? Who else would take you in? Pushing your unease aside, you pressed on, even as every instinct screamed otherwise.

The moment your foot touched the porch, an icy shiver raced down your spine. The boards groaned beneath your weight, the sound sharp and accusatory in the oppressive silence. The castle’s windows were boarded up, their blackened edges like gaping scars. The wind howled through unseen cracks, coaxing eerie creaks and groans from the ancient structure, as though it were alive and watching. The bushes lining the walkway were disturbingly pristine, their neatness at odds with the house’s decayed and foreboding aura. If not for their immaculate care, you might have thought the place was abandoned.

Your breath hitched as you reached for the door. The metal hoop of the knocker was freezing against your palm, and for a moment, you hesitated, your heart thudding painfully in your chest. With a trembling hand, you lifted it and knocked, the sound reverberating through the still night like the toll of a bell. A death bell, perhaps. 

You stood there, waiting. Seconds stretched into an eternity, the silence amplifying every stray sound—the rustling of leaves, the creaking of old wood, the faint whisper of the wind. Your nerves began to fray, and just as you were about to knock again, a sudden noise made you whip around.

A crow landed on the railing with a thud, its black eyes glinting like polished onyx. It tilted its head, staring at you with an unnerving intensity, as though it were delivering a silent warning: Turn back. Leave now.

But you couldn’t. It was too late. The journey here had already cost you too much, and the thought of retreating to nothing—a cold, inhospitable town, a life of uncertainty—kept your feet rooted in place. Even as dread coiled tighter around your heart, you remained, the weight of your decision pressing heavier than ever.

You jolted as the grand doors creaked open, the deep, groaning sound echoing in the stillness. The noise rooted you to the spot, your pulse hammering in your ears. Until this moment, you hadn’t stopped to consider who would be behind the door. What sort of person lived in a place like this? Why was he so hated? What if the rumors were true—what if he was dangerous?

Your imagination conjured a monster—sharp yellow teeth bared in a sinister grin, hollow eyes that seemed to pierce the soul, leathery, pale skin stretched tight over angular bones. His voice would be guttural and broken, a sound that carried only misfortune and dread. You sucked in a breath, bracing yourself for this creature to appear.

But the door stopped after only opening slightly, leaving just a sliver of darkness visible beyond. No figure emerged, no silhouette loomed. Silence followed, heavy and expectant.

“Hello?” you called, your voice trembling.

There was no response. You hesitated, glancing back down the shadowy path you’d climbed. The idea of retracing that perilous journey in the dead of night frightened you. Desperation flared within you, pushing you to speak again.

“I saw your ad on the job board. For a housekeeper? I’m sorry to disturb you so late,” you began, the words spilling out quickly. “I-Is the position still open? I’ve been cooking and cleaning all my life. I can stitch a warm coat in two days, and hats, gloves, and scarves in less than one. I noticed your bushes—they’re well cared for. I know a lot about gardening; my father taught me—”

The door suddenly widened, cutting off your nervous rambling. A rush of frigid air spilled out, carrying with it the faint scent of damp wood and aged stone. You hesitated, then stepped inside, expecting warmth to greet you. But instead, the chill intensified, the air biting at your skin like icy needles.

The man who had opened the door had vanished, his presence already dissolved into the shadows. The heavy doors groaned as you pushed them closed, their weight demanding your full effort.

Turning back around, you finally took in the house. In the dim flicker of candlelight, the interior revealed itself in pieces, like a dream shifting into focus. The grand entryway was vast, yet suffocating, the kind of place that seemed to watch you back. The floor was a checkered sea of black and white marble, cracked in places and dulled by time. A massive staircase dominated the space, its dark oak banister coiled like a serpent rising toward the upper floors. The air smelled faintly of wax and mildew.

Dust clung to every surface, turning once beautiful furniture into ghostly relics. A cracked mirror hung crookedly on the far wall, its gilded frame tarnished and webbed with cobwebs. A dark red, velvety tapestry drooped sadly from its mount, its colors faded and threads unraveling. Scattered across a long wooden table were odd, forgotten items: loose buttons, dried ink bottles, and what appeared to be a single leather glove, stiffened with age. Despite the grandeur, the house felt as though it had been abandoned to the passage of time, its opulence rotting away in quiet decay.

You held your chest tightly, your pulse quickening as you tried to quell the unease clawing at you.

“Eighteen dollars a month.”

The voice came from above, low and rich like the stroke of velvet against bare skin. It was smooth, refined, and utterly at odds with the house and its rumors. You snapped your head up, your eyes darting toward the staircase.

There he was. A figure stood at the top of the stairs, his silhouette cloaked in the shadows. He was too far away to make out clearly, his back turned to you as he rested one hand lightly on the banister.

“You start tomorrow,” the voice continued, steady and composed, though tinged with something you couldn’t name. “Do not wake me. Your quarters are down the hall to your left.”

With that, he was gone, disappearing into the upper darkness as quickly and silently as he’d appeared.

You stood there, rooted in place, the chill of the house seeping into your very bones. The unexpected smoothness of his voice lingered in your mind, disarming in its elegance. And yet, it wasn’t enough to shake the oppressive weight of the home, with its decayed grandeur and shadows that seemed to shift when you weren’t looking.

Your quarters, tucked away at the far end of the hall, were modest compared to the rest of the house—but that was to be expected for the help, you supposed. The space was sparse yet functional, its simplicity offering a quiet reprieve from the unsettling grandeur outside its door.

A soft white bed stood against the wall, its quilt worn but clean, promising a much-needed rest for your aching body. Beside it, a small desk sat neatly, complete with an oil lamp and a sheaf of blank paper, an unspoken invitation to write letters you weren’t sure would ever reach anyone. A large armoire dominated the opposite corner, its dark wood polished to an eerie sheen, its brass handles shaped like twisting vines. Though you had packed light, the armoire’s cavernous emptiness made your belongings seem smaller still.

You settled into the room cautiously, smoothing your hand over the quilt as you perched on the edge of the bed. Despite its simplicity, the room felt...off. Perhaps it was the silence that hung so heavily in the air or the faint chill that lingered, despite the walls being thick and the windows shut tight.

Your mind churned as you tried to make sense of everything—the decayed opulence of the house, the cryptic demeanor of the Count, and the strange, fearful gossip that followed his name. What kind of man was he, truly? You realized with a sinking feeling that you still had no idea what he even looked like. The thought nagged at you, stirring up an unease that clung to the edges of your thoughts like cobwebs.

The strangeness of it all—the place, the person, the situation—was unnerving, and yet, there was a small part of you that whispered it was too late to turn back now. The journey had been long and unforgiving, and there was no guarantee of shelter if you left.

Your body, however, had little patience for your anxious mind. The weight of the day bore down on you, and your fatigue eventually overpowered your worries. You stretched out on the bed, its softness wrapping around you like a cocoon. As your eyes fluttered closed, the strangeness of the house loomed over you, lingering in your thoughts like a shadow.

But soon, the stillness of sleep claimed you and the unsettling mysteries of your new life were left to haunt the night.

⸺

You awoke just as the first rays of dawn slipped through the cracks in the heavy curtains, casting faint golden streaks across the room. To your surprise, you felt well-rested, the ache of yesterday’s journey soothed by the quiet stillness of the night. The house, with all its looming shadows and unsettling whispers, had not disturbed your sleep.

Sitting up slowly, you stretched your arms overhead, feeling the stiffness melt from your shoulders. A yawn escaped your lips as you rubbed the lingering drowsiness from your eyes, the warmth of the quilt still clinging to your skin. For a brief moment, the morning felt almost normal—peaceful, even.

But as your feet touched the cold floor, that fleeting comfort dissolved. The air in the room was still and heavy as if the house itself had been holding its breath while you slept. You couldn’t shake the feeling that something had been watching, waiting.

Shaking off the thought, you steeled yourself for the day ahead. Whatever the peculiarities of this house or its master, you had work to do.

In the cold kitchen, you set the tea kettle over the fire, the soft crackle of the flames breaking the otherwise oppressive silence. As you watched the water begin to simmer, a thought crept into your mind: should you prepare a cup for the Count? It seemed polite, perhaps even expected, but then you remembered his firm instruction not to wake him.

Maybe he simply valued his solitude—or his sleep. You could understand that; mornings were a sanctuary for some. Still, the uncertainty of your role gnawed at you. What kind of man didn’t even outline what he wanted from his housekeeper? You glanced at the kettle again, steam curling lazily toward the ceiling.

You reassured yourself that time would bring clarity. By nightfall, surely, you would understand his routine and expectations. For now, you took comfort in the steady rhythm of small tasks, grounding yourself in the familiar while the unfamiliar loomed just beyond your reach.

As you moved around the kitchen, its grandeur dulled by the thick coat of dust, the scale of your work became painfully clear. The counters, once polished to a gleaming finish, were now layered with grime. A tower of mismatched dishes teetered precariously in the sink, their surfaces streaked with stains that told of long-neglected meals. The pantry was nearly bare—just a few stale loaves of bread, an old jar of jam, and some long-forgotten tins tucked into the corners.

You sighed, shaking your head as you rummaged through the cabinets. At least there were some spare biscuits, and with the tea brewing steadily, you’d make do for now. A trip to town for supplies seemed inevitable, though the thought of braving the peculiar townsfolk again didn’t thrill you.

After nibbling on the dry biscuits and sipping the hot tea, you wandered through the halls, taking in your new surroundings. Even as the sun’s rays peeked over the horizon, the house remained shrouded in shadows. The wooden panels nailed over the windows blocked most of the light, forcing you to rely on the flickering glow of the few lit candles. The air felt thick and heavy, the faint scent of mildew lingering in the corners.

The living room, if you could call it that, was a chaos of clutter. Melted candle wax had pooled and hardened on the floorboards, books lay scattered across the furniture, and a once-elegant rug was curled at the edges, its patterns obscured by dust. A broken clock leaned precariously against a wall, its glass face cracked and the hands forever frozen in time.

You crouched down to scrape some of the hardened wax from the floor, the task already feeling endless. A sigh escaped your lips. Yes, there was much work to be done—more than you had expected.

But as daunting as it seemed, you reminded yourself of the warmth and security that this place, for all its strangeness, provided. Rolling up your sleeves, you resolved to tackle the disarray piece by piece, determined to bring some semblance of order to the house. Whatever secrets this place held, at least you’d have the satisfaction of a clean floor beneath your feet.

⸺

The afternoon had slipped away, and your work felt far from done. The kitchen and dining room had consumed the better part of the day, leaving your back aching and your hands stiff. The thought of tackling the grand living room and foyer loomed over you like a heavy cloud. You’d been busy with the senseless tasks of cleaning and reorganizing, but there were still errands to run. The idea of facing more work in the house was enough to make you pause. 

You slipped into your warm coat, wrapped a scarf tightly around your head, and stood at the door, pausing for a moment. You glanced up the staircase, half-expecting to see a glimpse of your master. But there was only silence. No movement, no sign of him. Perhaps he was still asleep. 

With a loud sigh, you grabbed your purse and stepped out into the chilly air, the weight of the day still heavy on your shoulders. The path down to town felt long, but it was a welcome distraction from the house and the work that awaited you when you returned.

The journey down the hill felt longer today, your never-ending thoughts slowing your steps. You passed the same familiar buildings, the same curious eyes peering at you from behind the small shops and homes, but today, there was a different sort of tension in the air. You knew the townsfolk still whispered behind your back, their words like echoes of a story you couldn’t quite grasp. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the task at hand: groceries. Yet, their comments continued to swirl in your mind.

“Don’t meet her eyes, she carries his curse within her,” one of the shopkeepers muttered under her breath to a customer as you walked past. You caught only fragments of their conversation, but the few words you did hear made you shudder in place. 

Their whispers were distinct—filled with warnings, judgments, and fear. It was as if the townspeople saw you as a shadow of the Count, carrying with you a dark energy that left them uneasy in your presence. Their words wrapped around you like a curse, as though you, too, were tainted by something malevolent. They spoke of you as if you were a mirror of the Count’s darkness, forcing them to avert their eyes and steer clear of your path altogether.

You pushed yourself forward, determined to finish your task. The items you needed weren’t difficult to gather, but the weight of their gaze made everything feel heavier. You hurried, and by the time you reached the shop’s counter, you realized you had forgotten a few things, the very basics that had slipped from your mind in the rush of the day.

With a sigh, you made your way back to the estate, the basket of groceries now even more cumbersome. The long hill back up to the house made your legs ache, but it wasn’t just your body that felt worn—your mind too felt numb, with feelings of anxiety and uncertainty making it impossible to think about what to do for dinner. 

When you returned, the sun was already making its way down, and the house was as silent as before. You set the groceries down in the kitchen, eyes wandering over the untouched spaces, the dust that still lingered.

You quickly got to work, preparing a simple dinner for yourself and your master. The faint smell of burning wood and the steady crackle of the fire filled the air, offering you little comfort as you set the table for one. The clink of the dishes was the loudest sound in the room, your own heartbeat keeping time with each dish you placed.

As you adjusted the final details on the table, you heard the soft creak of the door. The flames flickered unexpectedly, casting dancing shadows across the room. A chill swept over you, settling in the pit of your stomach as the temperature seemed to drop with his arrival.

You turned, and there he stood, filling the doorway with a presence so striking it almost stole your breath. His gaze locked onto you, and the cold that had crept in from the draft seemed to melt away, replaced by something much warmer—an almost familiar tension that pulled at your chest, making it harder to breathe.

He wasn’t what you had expected. His appearance was nothing like the monster the townspeople had whispered about. There were no signs of age or decay, only ethereal beauty—as if he was sculpted by some divine hand. His skin was pale, smooth like porcelain, with a soft glow that seemed to catch the dim light from the candles. His dark, glossy eyes were like deep pools, glinting with a mystery that held your gaze far longer than you intended. His perfectly sculpted cheekbones added to the sharpness of his face, giving him a sense of quiet nobility, yet there was something undeniably otherworldly about him.

He lingered at the doorway for a moment, his eyes scanning the room before settling on you. His expression was unreadable, but something flickered in his eyes—shock, maybe, as though he hadn’t expected you to be there. His eyes narrowed slightly, studying you, and the weight of his gaze made your shoulders tense. Your fingers found the hem of your apron, fidgeting as you tried not to squirm under his scrutiny.

Then, almost imperceptibly, he seemed to catch himself. His posture straightened, and his expression softened, the sharpness of his gaze retreating behind a veil of composure, as though he’d realized he might have given too much of himself away.

Your heart pounded as you thought of what to say. Gathering your courage, you managed a small, polite smile. "Good evening, sir," you began, your voice trembling slightly. "I—I prepared some soup and fresh bread. I thought it might be to your liking."

He approached you slowly, each measured step echoing in the room, the sound of his heels against the wooden floor making your chest tighten with anticipation. As he drew nearer, the air seemed to shift, heavier with every step. Just as he reached your side, he stopped abruptly, his gaze dropping to the dinner you had so carefully prepared.

"Thank you," he said, his voice smooth and velvety, resonating like a soft hum that seemed to linger in the stillness. There was a pause before his eyes flicked back to you, and his next words came softly but firmly. "What is your name?"

The weight of his presence pressed against you, and your nerves heightened as you whispered, “Y/N, sir…” You kept your voice low, unsure whether to meet his gaze or keep your eyes lowered. The tension prickled at the back of your neck, your hands clasping tightly before you.

He didn’t sit immediately but instead lingered at the head of the table, his long fingers idly tracing the wood of the chair. When he finally spoke, his voice was commanding yet smooth, every word material.

“I apologize for meeting you so late,” he began, his dark eyes briefly glancing at you before settling on the untouched bowl before him. “I work well into the night and, as such, must sleep during the day.” His tone carried authority, leaving no room for argument.

He picked up the spoon, stirring the soup languidly, the movement unnervingly slow. “You’ve done well so far,” he remarked, the faintest trace of approval in his words. “The dining room is spotless. It has been far too long since I dined in here. My work consumes my time, leaving my poor estate neglected.” He paused, his gaze sharpening as it flicked back to you. “Cleanliness is paramount. My work demands focus, and I will not tolerate distractions. I trust you will uphold these expectations.”

“Yes, sir,” you replied quickly, your voice barely above a whisper. “I hope to please you and exceed your standards.”

His jaw tightened subtly, and for a moment, you worried you had misspoken. But he continued, his tone precise. “As I said, I cannot tolerate distractions. You are not to enter my workspace or my chambers. The entire upstairs is off-limits. There are valuables there that require privacy and care.” He hesitated briefly, his mouth parted slightly as he struggled to find the right words. “There is little up there that requires your attention.”

The restriction struck you as strange, but you nodded. “Understood, sir.”

“Your duties,” he continued, his tone crisp, “include daily cleaning, maintaining the estate grounds, and running errands in town as needed. For groceries and supplies, bring back receipts, and I will reimburse you with your pay.” He paused, his voice growing softer but no less firm. “There are also a few rules you must follow.”

“Yes, sir?” You straightened slightly, bracing yourself.

“Firstly,” he said, leaning forward slightly, “I am not to be disturbed during the day. My rest is crucial, and interruptions will not be tolerated unless it is a matter of life or death.”

“Yes, sir,” you said quickly, nodding.

“Second…” He cleared his throat, “Do not touch the wooden planks. The windows are boarded up due to a previous mishap, and unfortunately, there aren’t many architects nearby to fix it.”

“I won’t, sir.”

“And finally,” his voice dropped lower, carrying an ominous edge, “do not venture outside after sunset. The forest is dangerous—predators prowl in the dark. You would do well to heed my warning.”

A chill coursed through you at the severity of his words, the weight of his warning making it clear he meant every syllable. “I understand,” you murmured.

He gestured toward the table before finally lowering himself into the chair. “You’ve done well today,” he said, adjusting the napkin in his lap with methodical care. “I trust you’ll continue to prove yourself capable.”

“Thank you, sir,” you replied, your voice steady despite the unease curling in your chest.

He picked up the spoon again, swirling the soup without taking a bite. The hesitation made you anxious—had you made the wrong choice of meal? Your mind raced back to the town, chastising yourself for forgetting to stop at the butcher. You watched as the vegetables spun lazily in the broth, but his expression remained impassive.

“That will be all for tonight,” he said abruptly, his tone cool. He set the spoon down, folding his hands over the edge of the table. “You may take your dinner to your quarters.”

“Goodnight, sir.” You nodded, retreating with careful steps, the weight of his presence lingering long after you exited the room.

⸺

You eased your tired body onto the mattress, but sleep eluded you. The encounter with the Count played over and over in your mind, every word, every glance dissected in the stillness of your room. There was something peculiar about him—his aloofness, the subtle weight in his voice, the way he seemed to measure his every movement.

What exactly did he do? He hadn’t mentioned it, though whatever it was must be lucrative, given the grandeur of the estate. Yet, that same home felt hollow, like a gilded cage rather than a place of comfort.

Your thoughts wandered to his appearance—so striking, so unexpected. He was undeniably beautiful. How could someone so captivating hide away in such a bleak and isolated castle, so far removed from the rest of the world? And why was someone who seemed so young living alone in such a vast and lonely estate? Where was his family?

And then there was that look he gave you—just for a fleeting moment, but enough to unsettle you. It was as though he was disappointed upon seeing you, his dark eyes carrying a strange mixture of pain and defeat. You couldn’t name it precisely, but it lingered in your mind, an odd tension you couldn’t shake.

Everything about him was odd—the house, his demeanor, his rules. And yet, there was something magnetic about him that kept your thoughts tethered to him, even as your body begged for rest. It would be no surprise if you dreamed of him too. His image lingered in your mind like a shadow cast by moonlight—too vivid to ignore, too enigmatic to understand. You closed your eyes, trying to banish the thoughts, but his face remained, carved into the fabric of your imagination as you fell deeper into sleep. 

taglist: @a1sh1teruu @filmnings @professormingisglasses @felixs-voice-makes-me-wanna @yunyunrin-reads @seonghwasstar @innocygnet

for taglist request or removal, please send me an ask

act II: the count ➜

[untoldstar]

Your writing is addictiveeeee. Can u do ur ocs reaction to being cheated on by reader? Im so down bad for jesse 😫 hes just a lil guy who wants to be loved! Sue me!

The yanderes reaction to you cheating on them

Thank you smmm🫶 but fr I’m down bad for Jesse as well even tho he’s a lil psycho🫠

I can make a part two for the rest of the oc’s if anyone’s interested I just usually go for these oc’s because they’re the most popular and seem like a common favorite.

warnings: obsessive behavior, stalking, yandere themes, murder, stealing appearance and changing appearance (not reader), nsfw content, imprisonment, keeping reader locked up.

find out more about these characters here.

Ava (yandere best friend)

She’d go off the rails. She’ll cry and sob her heart out. she won’t talk to anyone except for you. Her phone is filled with missed calls and worried messages from her family and friends. Everyone gets so worried they start showing up at her apartment door but she’s too busy crying into her pillow waiting for your call or to hear your sweet voice outside her door.

She’d take you back in a heartbeat. Just please please don’t leave her.

Even if you already moved on and decided to be with your partner she’s still stuck on you and obsessing over how to get you back.

She’d go over every detail of the physical traits of the bitch you cheated on her with and tries to match it. What did you even see in them? they’re nothing compared to her!

Doesn’t matter. She’ll do whatever it takes. She’ll go as far as dying her hair, getting new piercings if they had any, changing her makeup, changing her entire wardrobe.

You’re absolutely mortified when she shows up at your doorstep looking like your partners lost twin.

Theo (yandere boss)

All his past paranoia will come right up to the surface. He’s always wanted to lock you up so no one would look at you so. No one would breathe your air. He didn’t want anyone to have the pleasure of even looking at you.

And you’ve finally given him a reason.

He has you cooped up in his mansion with no way of getting out. You’re always watched and monitored. Most of the week he’s working from home to be around you. Clothing you, feeding you, bathing you. He won’t let you out of your sight for a single second.

And every time you ask about your partner he’d smile softly and tell you to not worry about them. They don’t mean anything to you anymore.

Because they’re not here anymore.

Warner (rich yandere)

He can never be angry with you. No never~

But he will give you the punishment you deserve.

And he has certain methods for punishment like having you tied up to his bed and leaving you all alone in a dark lonely room with a vibrator strapped to your cunt.

You’re not truly alone of course, he’s always watching you with the cameras he set up.

Howw else is he supposed to stop the vibrator right when you’re about to cum?

Other than making you struggle for his forgiveness he also has to keep you busy while he gets rid of your little problem. He’s hurt people for you before and certainly has killed them but he’s never gotten to this level of cold blooded torture.

He spills their blood while in a trance like state, he’s absolutely drenched in their blood and the scene is gruesome enough to have his body guards who have seen many similar things while working with him not withstand this particular scene.

But you won’t know any of it, you don’t have to. They’re a distant memory by the time he’s back home in brand new clothes and looking as sharp as ever. Some of that rage is still simmering under that cool exterior though so he’s not quite finished with you yet.

Yandere bully

You’re not even in a relationship the guy tortures you on a daily basis! but he saw you get all blushy and smiling while another guy was teasing you in the hallway.

You never blush when he messes you what the fuck is that about?

That’s as good as cheating in his delusional mind.

He starts clinging to you everyday even more than before. Scowling and glaring at any guy who passes you by like a guard dog. You’re too focused on his asshole behavior to notice that you haven’t even seen the guy since.

You’ve heard students around you murmuring about a student who’s been in such a bad accident that he can’t even walk anymore. So many broken bones, swollen flesh, he might have even gotten a brain injury. Poor thing can’t even come to school anymore.

You never made the dots…

bonus! Yandere tentacle monster

Nom.

Let’s not forget this guy is an actual monster the second that guy gets on top of you on the bed he has already devoured him.

He walks toward you with an icy expression while wiping the blood off his mouth not paying any mind to your mortified expressions.

“You could’ve of at least brought a proper meal pet. That tasted absolutely terrible. I’d much rather eat you instead~”

the person reader cheated with knowing they’re absolutely fucked no matter who the oc is:

[aritsukemo]

HELLOOOOOO IT’S MEEEEEEEE

GENSHIN REQ FOR KAZUHA WITH A READER WHO’S SICK & THEY’RE CHILDHOOD BESTIES <33

THANKUTHANKUTHANKU IF U DO THIS I JS FNSKDNNDKSKSNDKSKSKDKSKX

LOVE UR WORKS BTW <333333‼️🥰💕💞

Sickly Hallucinations | Kaedehara Kazuha

Kazuha Kaedehara x Sick reader ( @nursedflowers / @kazusys )

Summary: After being bedridden for days, it seems that you have started to hallucinate the worse thing possible; your dead best friend.

Warnings: Reader is sick, and because of that, snot is mentioned in a sorta detailed way. Abstract descriptions ahead ( I don't know why I describe the simplest things the way I did.. ) Reader is also avid on believing they're hallucinating seeing and hearing Kazuha. ( Spoiler Alert, they're not ) A lot of crying and reader breakdown more than once, but there's a happy ending I swear! With all that said, you have been warned! <3

A/N: HERE IT IS NURSED, AFTER WAY TOO LONG OF MAKING YOU WAIT!! 😖 I'm sorry if this is not up to par. I had an idea going into this but completely lost it by the end so I'm sorry if it doesn't make sense or the ending seems suddenly or anything! I truly didn't mean for it to end up that way!

"This is so stupid!" A frustrated cry sounded throughout the bare room, bouncing off the walls—the metal swords on the wall in particular—and resonating throughout the ear canal's of a certain platinum blonde who was, partially, the reason for such anger.

"You almost had me there at the end. You truly are skilled with the blade, Y/n," He complimented politely. If anyone else was in the situation with the future leader of the prestigious Kaedehara Clan helping them up and blowing sweet words in their ear, they'd probably swoon, even with the rumors of their deteriorating fortune making one believe that his flowery words were for mere show. Even if it was true, none of that mattered to you. In fact, in the face of such petal-soft kindness, your blood boil over like a raging inferno.

But despite that, all you could muster to do to that soft face dressed in a gentle smile was a gruff at it and mumble, "Shush," to which your kind friend spared you the courtesy of giggling in your face and instead silently complied to your wish...only to immediately go against that wish seconds later.

"I mean it, truly. If it were a situation where you and I were fighting for real as enemies, for example, and stood forth one another wielding our blades for the sake of our own ideals, you surely would've bested me."

You found yourself frowning at his statement. Enemies? The thought immediately stained it's ink on your heart and made it clench from the poison. If something so obscene were to occur in some hell-filled alternate reality, you doubt you'd be able to lift your sword in his direction or even stare him in the eyes with hues darkened by hate. Not Kazuha. Not your dear friend who seemed to be the only one willing to befriend someone such as yourself—who's family was feared all across Inazuma due to built up rumors and fabrications people have thought up over the millennia.

..But you couldn't say that to him. Especially not after a defeat so embarrassing that your parents surely would turn their noses away from disappointment at your meek swordsmanship.

And so, you decided to play nonchalance and roll your eyes, mumbling out an uncaring, "Whatever.. As if that'd seriously happen."

"And what if it did?" He egged on as innocently as a little kid asking their parents how they were created. You found your mouth moving before your mind could process and filter your words, causing this aggressive affirmation to leave your throat.

"It wouldn't. I'd never let that happen."

"You can't control fate, Y/n. If me and you parted to walk different paths—" And you cut him off—something you've never once done to him before.

"It wouldn't happen! I'd strike down the Shogun myself before I'd even think of raising my sword to you for anything other than a friendly display of our swordwork!" And you pause, your face growing wide at the surprise of your own words. Kazuha's face seems to mirror yours, albeit he still managed to keep his expression civil and appropriate even when it started turning into a cherry blossom tree.

"..I feel the same way," He confesses sheepishly before his smile returns and he brings his finger to his lips and spoke in a lowered tone, "But, lets keep that amongst ourselves. 'Wouldn't want our parents carrying our words away, now would we?"

And to spare the little dignity you had remaining, you turn your face away—which was burning to the point of tingling—and nod your head.

"Ye- Yeah..whatever."

A gruff, nasally hack resonates from the depth of your chest, shooting itself up your congested throat and forcing itself outwards which caused a bit of that congestion to splatter into the tissue you had curled into your hands. As you came up for air, you glanced down only to immediately revert your gaze away from the snotty liquid—which was definitely not the color it was suppose to be—that had now coated the once clean tissue out of fear of throwing up the little bit of lunch the Traveler insisted you eat.

It had happened yet again. This counts the..what? Seventh, maybe ninth time you've daydreamed about the dead since you fell bedridden? It raises the question of why? Why is it that you're thinking about him now of all times? Why were these memories only now flooding your mind years after his death? Deep down, you knew the answers but chose—no, refused to acknowledge them. You've done that a lot since the day you found out he died. Maybe that's why this is happening at a random time such as this. Maybe it's simply because your mind and body has been weakened by this devilish illness.

Whatever it was, you hated it, and even more so you utterly despised your mind for bring him up after so many years just to make you suffer even more than you already are. You despised it for making you remember his face in such vivid detail. His laugh, his smile, his gorgeous rubies for eyes—all of it.

But, unfortunately, hating something doesn't make it go away. No matter how upset you get, your mind still makes it's way back to the cool touch of his hand caressing yours as he'd direct you on hard-to-master sword maneuvers. It went back to the peaceful warmth his hugs would bless you with whenever you snuck into his room during one of your sleepovers to cuddle after a nightmare you had.

It was all so stupid, you thought. More so now that it seems that your daydreams have turned into full blown hallucinations.

"You look worse for wear, my dear friend," His soothing voice, deepened from maturity, echoed in your ears. You closed your eyes and laid back down. If you didn't amuse it, the illusion would surely grow bored and go away.

Even with the plan in mind, it was difficult to follow through with your words. Upon hearing the familiar tune of his warm chuckle, you find yourself biting your lip. Even after so many years, it still sounds the same. It still holds that sense of tranquility that has brought you peace many times in your childhood.

..But you suppose the reason as to why makes sense. After all, many hallucinations are stemmed from the hallucinator's memories. Of course it'd sound the same as you'd remember it'd be.

"I'm sorry, did that upset you? Please believe me when I say I had no ill will behind my comment, dear. You still look as radiant as you did when we were kids."

Your lip is starting to bleed from how hard your digging your teeth into the supple skin. It stings, but the pain doesn't stop you from doing it. You can't stop. You need to distract yourself and not think about anything pertaining to him. That's the only way this delusion will—

You suck in a breath. One sharp, airy, and shaky and caused by the startling feeling of snowflakes falling upon your exposed skin. Though you pretended to not notice it, you found yourself shocked by the feeling of his fingertips freezing your once burning skin over just as it did when you were younger.

..But how was it possible? Hallucinations shouldn't feel so real, right?

"Y/n, can you look at me? I wish to cherish the sight of your face after being stripped of it for so long," The request came as a tender plea and you found your body conflicted upon hearing it. Part of you wanted so desperately to indulge in your delusions—to let it sweep you away and never bring you back—and yet the more reasonable part of you was screaming at you to do everything and anything but but listen. Your mind was at a bloody, cold war with itself and it thrashed your body every which way until it reacted by setting everything ablaze.

The heat shot up your body and in a desperate attempt to quell the uncomfortable feeling, you curled into yourself—curled away from the cooling touch—until your knees hit your chest. Your effort was quickly proven to be futile as the flames continued it's assault on your organs—your skin—where it went about scorching away every last drop of air in your lungs before finally reaching your face. It heated the already warm blood in your veins, causing them to singe your poor flesh. It soon became an unbearable wildfire that your mind couldn't put out no matter how much it drowned the flames in watered down thoughts—not cooling no matter how many tears were shed.

"Don't cry.." You felt it again. Against your will, you felt those snowy fingertips cool the firestorm that was running wild under your skin for just a moment as they wiped at your now wet face. Even worse when it's accompanied by warm words in your ear that told you, "You don't have to cry. Not anymore. I'm here.."

And in a moment of vulnerability, you unconsciously indulged in your delusions and began to scream, "No you're not!"

You suck in a sharp breath—and thick snot in the process—as you shakily repeat in a quieter tone, "No you're not.. You're dead. ..Kazuha is dead!"

"Kazuha is..what?"

Your dumbstruck utterance echoed through the ears of everyone at the table—that of which included your father, who's face only further sullened upon hearing it.

"Kazuha is..dead," He repeated, although it sounded as if he was forcing himself to. As if he couldn't believe the words coming out of his own mouth.

"He was trailed all throughout the city by samurai after his confrontation with the shogunate. When they finally cornered him, he drew his blade. I heard the battle was a hard one fought..but he..—"

"You're lying," You muttered.

"I'm not," Your father retorts before pausing and sucking in a breath, "Look, Y/n. I know that this is hard for you to accept deeming how close you two were, but—"

"You're lying," You repeat, this time much louder. As if your words had been turned up by a speaker, "..You're lying," You repeat. Shaking your head roughly to the point where your hair slips from behind your ears and falls messily down and around your face as a result. It was a silly thought, but it was as if your hair were trying to spare your pride, your dignity, by shielding your face from the onlookers that so happy to be your close family.

"Y/n, please.." Your mother stands to her feet, perfectly poised even at times like this, as she strides across the room and up to you. The haori and tail end of her kimono flows elegantly in her wake, making her look like some goddess walking along the sun—not that you cared to bear witness to any of that.

Her soft, smooth fingers—never once laid hands to a sword—slide along one shoulder to the edge of the other where she then pulls you close to her chest. She was even kind enough to rub circles into your back for a moment before whispering, "Don't do this.. Not here."

Her words were paper thin which quickly tore soon after she began speaking, proof that she was desperately trying to keep her own emotions in check herself..

But her shaky composure didn't register to you nor did her sincere words or genuine sadness. Your ear took in what she had said and your brain tore it apart and gave it an entirely new tone and overall meaning. One that was rather insincere in the face of your obviously grieving state. One that made it seem as if she didn't care for the news. Or rather, she cared more about saving face than anything else and that angered—no, infuriated you. Like a furnace with too much wood inside of it, a fire roared inside you and soon made your body unbearable hot.

Before you knew what you were doing, you had pushed your mother away with all your strength.

"Shut up! You don't get to tell me how to act in a time like this!" Your father and uncle immediately shot up. Racing over from where they once sat to your mother on the ground and helping her up like the damsel she was. Your father then turned to you, his eyes filling with his own fiery fury.

"Y/n! Control yourself! How you're acting right now is unfit of our name!" He commanded, and his words hit you like a ton of bricks to the face.

You just couldn't wrap your head around any of it. How your family stared on at you in shock as if you had just committed some heinous crime. How none of them had so much as a frown or a tear rolling down their cheek. How they're fussing at you as if your entire world didn't just fall apart over a few simple words.

You couldn't grasp how they managed to stay so composed when the world was beginning to turn grey before your eyes. You didn't understand it and that's what overwhelmed you more than anything else. It was all too much to handle. You felt like you had just been letting go to be swept away by a sea of flames. You couldn't decide whether you wanted to scream or sob. You couldn't decide on anything in that moment, in fact.

And so, you acted on the first thing your body could muster to accomplish and that was to run. Shooting up from your seat, you turned and bolted out of the room, ignoring your father screaming for you to come back..

Silence seeps into the room once again, chasing after the ghost of your echo until it took over the entire room once again. You waited, listening as best you can with your own thundering snivels drowning your ears like a river that was once blocked by a dam...but you heard nothing. You found yourself letting out a shaking sigh of relief as you realize that it was finally over. It seemed that the hallucination was finally gone.

Or so you thought.

"..Is that what you've been believing all this time?" That sigh of relief is immediately sucked back in through your stuffed nose. Along with the warm breaths against your ear, his icy touch returns, and this time, it had been lowered down to your waist.

You feel icicles dig into your flesh just hard enough that you're unable to remove them—which you suppose that, to the typical person, his grip would be near bone-crushing.

But again, it makes sense. It makes sense that he knows that you've gotten stronger over the years. It makes sense how he knows exactly how tightly to grab you without going to far and causing his touch to hurt. It makes sense because he isn't actually here. This is all in your head. Just your imagination..

It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just your imagination. It's just—

"I was trying to avoid this, but since I now know what taints your thoughts and prevents you from welcoming me into your arms with stride, I have no other choice.. Please, forgive my roughness this once."

Another gasp leaves you—a painful one that sliced through the depths of your achy, red, irritated throat in order to get out—as you're suddenly flipped on your back and pinned before you can fight back. Not knowing what else to do, your nails come up to desperately dig into the icebergs that envelope and cool your fiery cheeks.

"Y/n," He sings your name just as he did when you two were kids. It only makes the fire grow inside you, and ultimately, cause the dam inside you to burn over and allow water to seep through the gap made all over again.

The flurry of sadness is overwhelming, almost as overwhelming as how you felt when you first heard the news of his sudden and untimely death. That said, you were completely overwhelmed and found yourself begging, pleading with your hallucination, saying, "Stop.. Please go away.. He's gone. I've accepted that a long, long time ago so please—!"

"Y/n," Despite feeling as though you were falling, spinning, tumbling in the air, his voice easily made your landing feel soft and relieving, like pushing out a much needed breath you didn't know you were holding in, "Open your eyes and all will be made clear. You'll be at peace that way."

"No! I'm not going to! You can't make me!"

You refuse to let your mind trick you. You're not letting all that effort—all that work you put into building that dam over and over again—be for nothing!

You aren't opening your eyes. You can't..because if you do and he's not there, this fire inside you will turn into something untamable and the dam will crumble and never be able to be built again. Your mind would be a complete disaster that you wouldn't be able to reconstruct for at least a century or two.

After a while, you hear him sigh but you quickly force it out through one ear. Unfortunately as soon as you do that, his voice is shoved into your other ear once again.

"So stubborn.." His voice was vibrated by the chuckle that was weaved into it. It sounded so inviting, so addictive, but—against your subconscious will—you threw it out of your head as more of his florid words soon came to replace the ones lost, "It seems you truly haven't changed..mentally anyways."

The icebergs on your skin were, at last, removed from your face, but you were given little time to relish in your relief before you felt a weight lift off your body, your bedside dip, and those icy fingers make contact with your sensitive scalp.

"Having you in my arms like this brings me back," He said softly, "I remember...it would almost always rain whenever I visited your home and despite how often it happen, you'd always be petrified of the sounds the rain produced," You feel his fingers glide through your hair, separating the strands with his fingers with ease as he continued.

"After everyone went to sleep, you would always sneak into the guest room where I resided and I'd end up holding you just like this until you fell asleep," He then chuckles, and in doing so, puffs his breath against the shell of your ear, "Your parents would always get so upset about it, but that never stopped you from doing it. Nothing ever stopped you from doing as you pleased..so why allow your own fear to do so now?"

"Shut up—!" "You were the bravest person to me when we were kids, Y/n," He confessed, cutting you off, "You were just like your swordsmanship; no matter what you were taught otherwise, your blade always followed the same technique you created for yourself. It never changed, no matter the opponent or obstacle it faced."

"Shut up!" You yelled, yet it came out more of loud croak due to how hoarse your throat was at that point. You were like a scared little kid under the covers all over again. The only difference now was that it was harder to hide, at least in this moment with the ghost of your dead friend cuddling your backside and whispering nostalgia into your ears.

"You were strong. And you still are, I can tell even after all these years apart from you," He said, "So please, show me that bravery once again. Take the last step and look at me. Please.."

You don't know what happened. You had been so hellbent on doing the opposite of what he asked for this entire time only to obey at the last moment because of a slight tremor in his tone. You had been persuaded into obedience by a slight crack in his voice. A mere whimper. You had threw caution to the wind—at the risk of your mental and physical health—simply because of a past urge to comfort your best friend in his rare moment of weakness.

Your eyes twitched before your mind could process what you were doing. Eyes once sealed tightly by your tears—which were serving as your last line of defense at this point and your last chance to rethink this, flip back over, and continue to ignore the voice in your ear until sunrise—crack open, allowing the light of your to seep into your vision of who know how long of not being able to.

And when it finally happened, when you finally opened your eyes and were able to see the light again, you were reduced to hysteric sobs. It wasn't because you had been proven right though. It was even worse, you had been proven wrong. Kazuha laid right beside you alive and in the flesh. He looked just as he did all those years ago and you just couldn't bear the sight without breaking down.

At least now you can properly relish in the feeling of his touch—in the feeling of his arms caging around you—without feeling as though you were deluding yourself.

"You..dumb idiot.." You sniffled out as his grip on you tightened, "You big..dumb moron.. You had me thinking for so long.. I grieved over you..for so, so long.. I-"

"Shh, shh.." He shushed, his lips now tickling your forehead with his cool breath and fluttery words as he mumbles into your skin, "I'm sorry, my dear. I never meant to cause you such pain. Never. If I had the choice, I would've found you a long time ago.."

He mumbled other things as well, but you honestly could care less what he had to say at this point. Not even if he professed a hidden motive to end your life. You couldn't bring yourself to care about anything, not when you've finally been able to prove that dreadful thought you pushed in the very depths of your mind wrong. Not when such a heavy weight had been lifted off your shoulders. Not when the warmth that surrounds you has finally been confirmed to be from the one you had longed to see, feel, and reminisce with for literal ages.

The only thing you were listening to, at this point, was the thoughts telling you to stay like this in his arms and let his voice serenade you for an eternity.

Dividers were made by me, pictures used are from Pinterest, post formatting is inspired by @xxsabitoxx

[milkistay]

getting STRAY KIDS a gift they only mentioned once

pairing. skz x gn!reader

format. headcanons

request. Hii 👋 I was wondering if you could do skz ot8 when you buy them a present they’ve been wanting really bad, but only mentioned it once 🙏 No rush <3

chan

- chan is the MASTER at this - he’s always remembering every single detail about you - so almost every gift he gives you is something you mentioned in passing like 4 months ago - but he always remember - so when you do the same thing back, he melts - he knows firsthand how much love goes into remembering the small things - so he feels very very loved

minho

- i think he’d decide to marry you - his partner cares enough about him to do this?? wedding bells - minho is a quiet affectionate - acts of service 100% always - so doing something like this that’s not a huge deal but carries a lot of meaning - he’d appreciate it a lot

changbin

changbin

- turns him into the biggest mushy lovey dovey person ever - thinks it’s the cutest and sweetest thing in the whole world - so he’s clinging to you for the rest of the week and showering you with affection - he also shows the gift off to every single person ever and won’t stop flexing it - “oh this? oh you know, just something my amazing perfect partner got for me. no big deal, they’re just the best person in the universe and i’m the luckiest guy alive. you WISH your partner could be this extraordinary-” - definitely giggling and kicking his feet whenever he looks at the gift

hyunjin 

- our favorite hopeless romantic - he’s living in a kdrama suddenly - feels very doted on and loves it - cherishes the gift with his whole heart like you have no idea - definitely teared up a bit when he was alone because it was so sweet - just having a reminder that his partner loves him this much makes him feel so warm

jisung

- i feel like it would catch him off guard - like he’d open the gift and be like “can you read my mind oh my god are you telepathic” - “no you literally mentioned it to me” - then he’s extremely touched - sometimes he just rambles and feels like no one listens to him - so the fact that you listen AND remember just makes him feel immensely appreciated - falls in love with you all over again

felix

- finds it so cute honestly - not one to place much worth on material things - so it’s the love behind it that’s so meaningful - you didn’t have to and he’d never expect you to but you DID - very affectionate with you after - committed to using the gift every possible second - like look! i love it! i use it! - might show it off just a tiny itty bit because his ego gets bigger - what do you expect? he has the sweetest partner, of course it’s going to his head - out of love <3

seungmin

- this is right up seungmin’s alley - one way path straight to his heart - shows his thanks by doing the exact same thing for you later - and then the two of you start some back and forth and become the best gift givers in the whole world - he might not be very outwardly appreciative at first - but you know he loves the gift when you see him use it constantly - he likes that it’s a little reminder of you

jeongin

- “that’s not fair” - “???” - you shouldn’t be this good at gift giving” - blushes real hard and gets all shy all of a sudden - twirling his hair being all “omg how did you know” - he’s at the receiving end of affection from the members 24/7 but that doesn’t make him more immune to love at all - no matter what, little acts of love make him giddy - also one to put in 10x more effort into your next gift just to one up you

[yuwuta]

please elaborate on yuuta being the best to keep your relationship a secret, i would think he's the worst bc of how insane he is

“because of how insane he is” being a normal sentence in the context of talking about yuuta is always gonna send me i love the collective acceptance that he’s off his rocker 😭

okay in my last ranking i said worst toge > nobara > megumi > yuuji/nanami > satoru > yuuta best, but i would like to revise my statement and say that megumi is either worse or equal to nobara, and that yuuji is actually slightly better than nanami

yuuta known liar wannabe actor could probably plan a coup in his sleep okkotsu………………. he was genetically blessed with huge hollow eyes and an off-putting shaky demeanor and that was natural selection, he has a biological advantage and he knows how to use it. also something something possession and he kinda likes having you to himself at least for a little bit, something something there are hearts in his eyes whenever someone breathes the first syllable of your name anyway so nobody ever feels the need to ask him to begin with. they know he’s weird and in love when it comes to you 

satoru learns to shutup solely because there’s a small (large) part of him that’s scared of you and it kinda turns him on, so when you threaten him and make him promise to keep your relationship to himself, at least at first, that mix of fear and pleasure and the threat of pain makes his brain kinda mushy so he just nods and obeys whatever you ask of him. there’s also the praise keeping him at bay—whenever he’s about to let something slip and then he catches himself he’s sure to tell you, sure to reap your praises about how he was so good to not run his mouth. it’s a surprisingly effective (even if you don’t know the true effects you have on him). unfortunately, for him, there’s a time limit on how long he can keep something to himself, and he does end up blabbing about it but it’s okay because he makes it up with lots of kisses and begging you to forgive him and probably a new car even though it’s really not that deep 

yuuji can lie. he’s not always the best at it, but that’s balanced out by natural charm, so he’s usually able to distract or spin the situation to his advantage if he is on the verge of letting his secret out. after some time though, he does come to you with his best puppy dog eyes whining about how he has to tell megumi because he loves you so much he’s going to burst if he has to keep it to himself for any longer 

kento keeps a lot of things private simply by omission. he doesn’t talk about his personal life at work unless there’s good reason to, he doesn’t spill personal details to co-workers or acquaintances, and even when he’s with trusted friends, there’s a threshold of personal information he’s willing to reveal unprompted. the caveat is that if he’s asked about you, he’s bound to talk, and even if he doesn’t say anything incriminating, the mere change in his tone and obvious respect and praise for you is enough for someone to piece together that you’re special to him. and if this someone were to flat-out ask, he could never lie about you

nobara is openly crass and loud about her feelings, your secret was never safe with her to begin with. this is the price of you pulling up a chair and sitting in the audience of the performance of her life; she’s made space for you, so it will be known. also bragging rights over megumi and yuuji if they’re single and she’s not

nobody is losing the idgaf wars more than megumi. on a bad day he’s maybe second to satoru, but even then it’s not for long, megumi is such a faker he cares so much about everything all the time always even when he says he doesn’t, even when he says it’s not personal, it’s a like because he would never do or engage in or talk about anything he doesn’t care about or anything that isn’t personal. and if he brings it up and says he doesn’t care, he’s lying and he’s not even a good liar. such a phony pls it’s exactly why you might think you can keep your relationship under wraps for a decent amount of time with him, but you’re quickly proven wrong. it takes one person teasing him about you for him to grumble something that alludes to you two dating, and the cat’s out of the bag from there. also, before you even get to being in a relationship, he’s so obvious about his crush on you it’s embarrassing—you might not have noticed it, but his friends and gojo definitely did

toge literally cannot talk and that doesn’t stop him from kissing and telling and being the overall loudest about you. absolutely the worst, he updates the group chat by the hour once he confesses��

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 4.2)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: 12k (oh hey look this one is actually shorter than the last)

summary: that second year of high school has a clear division within your mind—before summer and after. this is the after.

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, continuing the existential crisis of realizing a bunch of old dudes poorly control the future of your teenage life, hidden inventory angst, mayhaps some poor coping mechanisms, maybe some codependency

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again, @honeydew-cheesecake

author note: HIDDEN INVENTORY TIME! also, putting on full blast a couple of common things with autism—strong sense of justice and a love of routines! the next year will most likely be split up again because i have so many plans and most of them aren't good! we do be talking about JJK here. please like, reblog, and comment! it makes my heart flutter!

chapter links: ONE, TWO, THREE, FOUR [PART I], AO3

[YEAR TWO.]

[PART II]

At the bottom of the mountain path that leads up to campus, you’re seated on a bench. You were here alone as you waited on the car to pick you up, but Satoru and Suguru showed up. They detail the specifics of the incredibly important mission personally assigned to them by Lord Tengen. The more they reveal to you about this, the more anxious you become, the bigger the cloud of dread over your head grows. Your nervousness is made apparently by the way you nervously spin your cell phone between your fingers.

There’s so much about this that you hate. It’s too big. It truly is the weight of the world on their shoulders—the jujutsu world. It isn’t right that they’re being entrusted with something that could change the course of every sorcerer’s life. Shouldn’t that kind of pressure be left to a more experienced sorcerer? This is the work of adults.

Another thing that’s been bothering you…

“Erase?”

Satoru and Suguru are standing in front of you, most likely too nervous to sit still. You’re glad that they’re not blinded by their ego and seem genuinely troubled. Satoru is nervous, though he’d never admit to such a thing. He rocks on his feet from side to side. Coins jingle as he tosses them up in the air and catches them.

Suguru has his arms crossed over his chest, frowning. “Yes,” he confirms quietly. “When the Star Plasma Vessel fully assimilates with Lord Tengen, there will be nothing left of her.”

“That…” You duck your head to hide the sadness that you know is written all over your face. It doesn’t matter how you feel. You are a sorcerer, and this is no time to be soft. At the cost of one life, Lord Tengen will continue to live, sound of mind, and all the barriers that keep sorcerers safe will remain intact. “That seems cruel,” you blurt.

“So…what do you want us to do?” Satoru suddenly asks.

Your head snaps up, attention back on them, blinking in shock. “Huh?”

Instead of Satoru, it’s Suguru that repeats, “What do you want us to do? That’s why we came to you.”

Your brain stutters over their words, unable to process the things they’re saying to you. You sit there, mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water. “What…what does that even mean?” You press your thumb to the center of your forehead. Stop when you realize you’re copying Suguru. “Why do you want to know my opinion? What does it matter? What I’ve got to say means nothing.”

“What a silly thing to say, Squid,” Suguru scolds. “Your opinion means everything.”

With a little more thought, a little more looking between them and studying them, you finally understand where this is all coming from and where it’s all going. There’s an air about them, more to their nervousness than just stress over the weight on their shoulders. “You want to do something really stupid,” you sigh, “and you want me to give my blessing which also makes me an accomplice.”

“Accomplice is such a dirty word.” Satoru pouts. “Is it illegal to get some advice from our best friend?”

If it was Shoko here, she’d already be walking away. Unfortunately, you care about these assholes. “What stupid thing are you planning to do?”

“Nothing yet,” Satoru answers vaguely.

You ignore him in favor of Suguru. If you need to pout, you will, and he’ll cave because you hardly ever bring it out. “Satoru is right, technically. The decision won’t be up to us. Satoru just asked a logical question—what if the Star Plasma Vessel doesn’t go through with the assimilation?”

“You know what would happen,” you point out flatly.

Satoru pipes up with, “We don’t know that for sure!” You stare at him, deadpan. He gets all huffy because you didn’t just simply accept that. “Look, the world always has a way of balancing itself out. If this person doesn’t want to assimilate with Tengen, then someone else will eventually come along that does want to. Tengen will be fine.”

“Let’s say this girl doesn’t want to go through with the assimilation, what will you do then? Are you going to protect her for the rest of her life? They’ll send every sorcerer after her. You might even have to fight Lord Tengen himself. They’ll label you as curse users—”

“Will they?” The ego is back in play because Satoru declares, “We’re the strongest.”

Suguru tries to soften the severity of this stupid plan by explaining, “We’re too valuable as sorcerers. We’d be severely punished, maybe, but I doubt it. The girl has a caretaker with her, so we can cover them while they make themselves disappear.”

You throw up your arms in frustration. “Why did you even ask me, then? You’ve clearly made up your minds!”

“Yeah, okay, you’re right,” Satoru admits while rubbing the back of his neck.

“Believe it or not, we’ve actually thought about this more than you think we have,” Suguru tells you. “Everything you said is true. We know there’s a possibility that they do actually banish us and declare us as curse users. There’s a chance that we won’t come back—”

“But we don’t want to lose you!” Satoru interrupts. He’s a little too enthusiastic about this prospect because he goes on to excitedly ask, “If we leave, will you run away with us?”

The answer is out of your mouth before you can even give it a second thought. “You know I will.”

There’s a little part of your brain that reasons you should’ve taken more time to think about this, but the bigger part of your brain knows that the answer wouldn’t change. Somehow, that was the easiest yet most difficult answer in the world. No matter which option you chose, there would be a huge shift in your life, so it boils down to what would be easier to accept. If you were to stay behind like a good sorcerer, you would have to find a way to live normally without two of the most important people in your life and that…

The thought of not having Suguru or Satoru in your life is so terrifying that it makes you physically ill.

You’ve started to spiral. It’s not until a hand comes in view and yanks on the string of your hooded sweatshirt that you’re pulled out of your darkening thoughts. When you tilt your head up, Satoru is towering above you, smiling with such a genuineness that it makes your heart hurt.

“Don’t worry. It’ll all work out,” Satoru tries to assure you.

Your voice is weak, shaky. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

It’s either to make you feel better or lighten your mood, but Satoru holds out a crooked pinky. You lock it with your own. Then, to be cheeky, he extends his other pinky to Suguru. “A pinky promise? That’s childish, even for you, Satoru.” But Suguru takes it. And maybe you’re taking this a little too seriously, but you also offer your other hand to Suguru. His expression softens before he’s taking it.

In the end, the three of you are making a promise to each other.

“See?” Satoru grins. “It’s a super promise.”

“Okay,” you accept quietly. “Be safe, then. I’ll see you in a few days.”

***

Gojo Satoru is…

…was a fucking liar.

***

Just as you’ve coaxed the cursed spirit into exorcising itself, Kusakabe’s cell phone rings. He’s been off to the side, insistent to see your cursed technique for himself. Remembering that Sensei said Kusakabe could potentially be the person to vouch for you to become Grade 1, you bowed and did as he asked.

Anyway, the call.

As you approach him, you see him rush through many emotions at once—panic, anger, relief, and resignation. When his gaze darts over to you, he looks at you with a sympathy that makes your stomach start twisting into knots. On instinct, you pull your phone out to check for any texts, but there’s been nothing since Suguru said that he was on a plane back to Tokyo with the Star Plasma Vessel.

Kusakabe calls out your name, gesturing for you to pick up the pace. When you stand across from him, you shift nervously, clutching tightly at your sketchbook. “Yes?”

“I’m sorry,” Kusakabe starts with a soft apology. He takes a step toward you, putting a hand on your shoulder. “There’s been an incident at the school…” You wait on the news with bated breath. It’s bad. It has to be bad, your brain reasons, because you’ve learned Kusakabe is a naturally reserved person. He doesn’t seem like the type to show sympathy so easily unless it’s really, really bad.

“Gojo Satoru is dead.”

The sketchbook lands in the puddle at your feet as you drop everything and run.

You never leave Suguru’s side.

Apparently, he was found outside the Tombs of the Star Corridor—the place Lord Tengen lives. The wounds went deep, needed to be stitched. The medical staff at the infirmary said it was a shock that he hadn’t bled out.

When Shoko returns from Kyoto and clears the medical staff out, she curses their shoddy stitch work. That irritation is turned on you because you refuse to let go of his hand and she snaps at you, but you won’t budge. She harshly tells you to make yourself useful, so you help her remove the top half of his gown. Tears prick the corners of your eyes, and you have to quickly look away when the red, jagged slices across his chest are revealed to you both.

“That’s going to scar,” Shoko mumbles as she glides her hands over his chest. You’re so close that you’re in her crossfire and the aches and exhaustion from keeping vigil fade away. “Where is…” Her hands, glowing white with her technique, clench. “Did they say where they put him?”

It takes you a few minutes of swallowing down grief before you answer, “They said his body is missing.”

“Yeah,” she agrees hoarsely. “Yeah, that makes sense. That idiot always bragged about the bounties on his head.”

“Or…or maybe…maybe he’s…”

Shoko knows what you’re going to say before you even say it. “I walked past where it happened,” she explains lowly. “Duck, I’m sorry, but there’s no way he came out of that alive.” She powers down her technique. You assume there wasn’t that much damage and he’s been unconscious so long because of some painkillers the medical staff gave him. “They found the Star Plasma Vessel’s caretaker. I’m going to examine her body. See if there are any clues that can lead us to whoever has his body.”

You know you’re in denial. Logically, if he was alive, he would be here, in the infirmary. But…you can’t accept it. You just can’t. “I’m going to find him,” you swear.

“What are you going to do against someone that killed Gojo Satoru?”

You remember the finger of Ryomen Sukuna. The cursed energy that touched you. “I’ll make him tear his own heart out,” you say furiously.

“You’ll give yourself an aneurysm, if you could do it at all.” Shoko puts her hand on the top of your head. “Don’t make us lose another friend today.” You cover your mouth to muffle a sob. She reels you in, so your face is squished against her chest. “There was nothing we could do. We have to accept that.” She bends over and presses a kiss to the top of your head. “This is our life now. It’s what we chose when we became sorcerers.”

But why does it have to be like this?

It doesn’t take much longer before Suguru is waking up.

You have to help him when he tries to sit up and sways too much to the side. The drugs are still lingering in his system, so you nervously watch as he blinks slowly and tries to process. You don’t want to overwhelm him, but you also want to comfort him, so you compromise by reaching out to take his hand and squeeze tight. That simple gesture holds his attention. There’s something about it…or maybe he’s remembering everything that happened before…

Suguru’s expression doesn’t change, but tears begin to trickle down his cheeks.

You practically drag him forward by the front of his hospital gown, desperate to get your arms around him. “I’m here,” you promise as your own tears begin to fall again. “Suguru, I’m here.” His arms lock around your waist. His quiet, hitching breaths are in your ear, and his shoulders are subtly shaking under your arms.

“I failed, Squid,” he chokes out.

It never should’ve been put on you, you want to say but what point is there in that anymore? It doesn’t change the fact that it happened and Suguru was the only one left behind. We can’t save everyone. Empty words. Strength has cushioned you all from the realities of sorcery. Suguru has been told that he’s the strongest practically since you two came to Tokyo. He’s not supposed to lose.

Satoru wasn’t supposed to die.

“I’m here,” you repeat because it’s the only thing that you can think to say.

Now that he’s completely healed and the painkillers have worn off, there’s no more reason to keep Suguru in the infirmary. And when no one is around, he admits that he wants to be left alone in his room. You can tell yourself that you’re terrified to leave him by himself, but, deep down, you know it’s that you’re scared he’ll disappear if you don’t stay with him. This is all somehow so surreal yet so viscerally true. Simultaneously dream-like and so real. Like a child, you want to cling to him. Have you not lost enough already?

The two of you walk out of the infirmary, hand-in-hand. At the sight of Sensei waiting, you puff up like a street cat. You sidestep and put yourself in front of Suguru, flashing your metaphorical teeth and hissing. “Get out of the way.”

Suguru and Sensei both sigh your name. You don’t back down. Just square your chin. “The campus is still covered in fly heads.”

“Go exorcise them, then. You can make more cursed corpses.”

“I’m not here to ask Suguru to handle it,” Sensei gently corrects your assumption. “I agree with you. Suguru should rest.”

You relax a little. “Oh.”

“It would be easier if you can exorcise them all at once.” Sensei frowns. “Or make them disperse, at least. They can exit the barrier. If they make it off the mountain, into the city, they won’t cause too many problems for non-sorcerers.”

You angle your body toward Suguru, glancing up at him with furrowed brows. “Will you wait for me?”

“I’ll leave the door unlocked,” he whispers.

It’s not what you wanted to hear, but you can’t push him. You wordlessly nod, squeeze his hand, and then he’s walking away, headed toward the dorms. You watch him until he’s completely out of sight, immediately twitchy and nervous when you can’t see him anymore. Desperate to be beside him again, your cursed energy flares up.

“Not here,” Sensei says when he feels you gearing up. “You won’t reach them from here. They’re mostly centralized in one area.” He takes a deep breath. “You need to prepare yourself. They haven’t cleaned up yet.”

Cleaned…?

Oh.

It’s where Satoru was…

For a moment, you doubt that you can ever prepare yourself for something like this. You’re no stranger to gore, though, you remind yourself. You’re a sorcerer. You’ve seen the result of a curse’s rampage. But…those people weren’t your best friend, as cold as it is to think.

The only thing that pushes you forward is realizing that if it isn’t you, it’ll be Suguru.

There’s no way he came out of that alive, Shoko had told you.

You understand now, what she meant.

There’s a small crater that hints to the force that he was thrown down with. Hit with. You don’t know. No, it must’ve been some weapon because…the blood. The blood. There’s so much. It’s splattered everywhere across the concrete. The man that killed Satoru hated him. Loathed him. This wasn’t a clean and professional kill like with the Star Plasma Vessel and her caretaker who were taken down with neat shots to the head.

The monster that did this didn’t even hesitate when he confronted children. Because that’s what you all are, in the end. Children with too much power at your fingertips being guided by old men too scared to get their own hands dirty and all too happy to let the new generations die on their behalf.

And this is already so horrifying as is, but the assassin had to defile these corpses, too.

He wouldn’t even let Satoru have a proper burial.

I just want to find him.

You hunch in on yourself, fists curling, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes. The shattered pieces of your heart scream that one demand—I want to find him, I want to find him, I just want to fucking find him and bring him home. You know it will never be. This world is not kind. But, nonetheless, someone answers your call. Multiple someone’s, actually.

Around you, the fly heads have frozen in place. They float listlessly, even their buzzing quieted, waiting with anticipation for a command that you didn’t recognize you were preparing to make. The command that you should make, the one for them to exorcise themselves, is on the top of your tongue. What use can the fly heads be? From what you were told, the attacker left no residuals behind. The residuals left behind by Satoru and Suguru would be too faint…

…they would be too faint for a sorcerer to track. A cursed spirit is different. Their senses are different. They’re sharper and more attuned to cursed energy because it is both their life force given by non-sorcerers and a threat when wielded by sorcerers. Weaker spirits are constantly on the hunt for more cursed energy to gain power.

You could command them to search for Satoru’s residuals, but your influence over them will wane with distance until they’ve forgotten the order completely.

Unless…

Unless you can influence a spirit that you know is bound to another.

Die, you demand of the fly heads.

Slowly, they all start to expand around you until they explode with a loud pop. You don’t stick around any longer to make sure they’re all gone. Sensei can take care of that. Just like he can handle the few fly heads that have spread around campus. You’re too busy planning now.

For the rest of the afternoon and the whole night through, Suguru doesn’t speak, and you don’t make him. He really only moves when you do because when you crawled into bed with him, he’d manhandled you until he could curl around you and place his head above the beat of your heart. You don’t ask him about it. You understand the reason that he clings to you. It’s why you can’t stop running your fingers through his hair, can’t stop touching him. You don’t want him to slip away.

Around three in the morning, Shoko texts you. She’s done with her autopsy. Eavesdropping, too. There are no clues. She’s overheard Sensei on his cell phone with higher-ups and they have no idea where to start because so many people have put bounties on his head over the years. They’re also scrambling to figure out how to break the news to Lord Tengen that there will be no merger. You tell her that she’s done enough and to try and get some sleep.  

After you snap your phone shut and drop it on the bed, Suguru immediately picks it up. Your fingers itch to stop him from reading the texts, but that’s not your place. From your position above him, you watch his eyes carefully scan over the text, face unmoving.

The room is bathed in darkness once again when he snaps it shut. You think that’s the end of that, but he whispers, “I can’t believe it.”

“I can’t, either,” you confess as quietly. Even seeing all that blood…this is being in denial. Is that what’s going on? You’ve never had a loss like this ever before. You don’t know what to do with yourself. No. That’s a lie. You know what you want to do. “It’s not fair. That they took him, I mean.”

“I’m going to look for him,” Suguru announces. “I…just wanted this one last night with you.”

You tug at his hair meanly. “I’m going with you.”

“No,” Suguru replies with an air of finality.

“Bullshit,” you snap. You’re not letting this go. “No, you’re not leaving me here like some—”

Suguru suddenly rolls over on top of you, knocking the breath out of you. He lifts up on his hands and knees, shifting up so that his face is hovering directly over yours. With only the glow of the moon, it’s hard to make out the fine details of his face, but you can see the frown, the hard set of his jaw. He snatches your wrists, keeping them pinned up by your head, immobilizing you completely and giving you no option but to look at him.

“He has no cursed energy in exchange for a Heavenly Pact. Do you understand what that means?” Suguru asks harshly. “What are you going to do against that? You’re—” weak. You squeeze your eyes shut, hurt lancing through you. He tries to soften the reality with, “You’re not suited against that type of fighting style. You’re better for support.”

“Let me support you, then!” You dig your nails into whatever skin of his you can touch. “I know I’m weak, but…” Your bottom lip wobbles. Definitely not helping your case. “You couldn’t beat him, either. You…you said that you were split up, so…maybe two is better than one…”

“I’m not losing you. I can’t lose you, Squid. Can’t you understand that?”

“But you want to make me grieve you, too?” You scramble for anything that can make him change his mind. “I doubt we’re going to run into danger, anyway. It’s been so long already that…that he’s probably collected the bounty on both heads.” You lean up to knock your forehead against his. “Please, Suguru.”

“No.”

“You promised! You promised that it’d be me and you!”

As your vision blurs, you can make out Suguru’s expression softening. “Don’t cry, Squid,” he begs. One of his big hands let go of your wrist, cupping your cheek. “Why do you have to make this so much harder on me, huh?” He flops down next to you, carefully guiding you to bury your face in the crook of his neck where you continue to cry. “Okay. Okay, I’ll bring you. At the first sign of danger, you have to run.”

You won’t, but you nod and lie, “Okay.”

Little do you know, you’re not the only one who’s lying.

With the sunlight comes the truth of the matter. You wake up alone, the bed empty, and with a note on the nightstand beside both your cell phone and Suguru’s. I’m sorry, the note reads in his neat handwriting. I’ll be safe, but I’m not risking you. At the very end of the note, there’s a line of text, but you can’t tell what he wrote because it’s so scratched out. The page is nearly ripped on that little section.

You, who planned to lie yourself, have no room to feel so betrayed. Anger, though, you think you’re allowed. Grief crashes over you all over again, too. You chose this life, you know, but shouldn’t children be protected a little longer? It never should’ve come to this. Ten minutes is all you can allow yourself because you don’t know how long Suguru has been gone and you need to find him.

Before you rush out the door, you shoot Shoko a text for when she wakes up, letting her know your plan. You also tell her that if he comes back before you then she needs to punch him in the nose on your behalf.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun is setting, there’s a breakthrough.

By this point, you’re jittery and exhausted. You’ve swallowed down so much coffee to keep yourself going that it’s probably in your veins now, but you’re at the point of exhaustion that it’s just not doing anything anymore. Not only have you been walking around the city on foot, but you’ve been keeping your technique running as you have cursed spirits try to lead you to Satoru’s residuals. With as much cursed energy as he had, it should still be radiating off his body enough for a spirit to pick up. That’s what you’d thought, anyway.

Until every spirit that you pull under your influence just…stops. It’s like there’s some invisible barrier that they simply won’t cross. You step past that point, and they’re compelled to follow you, yes, but they struggle against you. Some of the stronger ones outright free themselves and go running.

Something or someone is scaring them.

The problem is that you don’t know how wide the perimeter is of this barrier, how close or far away that Satoru is. But when a pack of vaguely centipede-shaped curses rush past you, out of the invisible area, you know your solution. Just like in movies where animals are the first to know of a disaster and try to outrun it, curses are acting the same. You will run toward where they are running away. At some point, you’ll have to find epicenter.

As you’re still running, further ahead of you, in the distance, there is an explosion—a bright flash of red light, a boom so loud that it vibrates in your chest, and a shake of the earth that makes you stumble. The non-sorcerers around you do the same, some of them even tripping, but they’re not turning in the direction of the flash. No, between all the chatter, you make out people questioning if it was an earthquake or a terrorist attack.

Non-sorcerers can’t see cursed techniques.

And then there was that red light…

Red.

There is something rising up inside you, something dangerous. Hope. All the blood that stained the concrete, the horror that Suguru described that you know extended to Satoru even if Suguru didn’t witness it himself…that all flies out of your head. This is the only thing that makes sense, you reason. There’s only one logical conclusion for why cursed spirits would be running away, refusing to pass that point. A dead boy’s residuals wouldn’t scare them like that.

He’s alive, you think. What else could it be? Nothing, your desperate heart reasons. Then, it’s on repeat. He’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive, he’s alive—

Not even five minutes pass before, in the middle of your sprinting, there’s yet another explosion. With this one comes a bright purple light and an even bigger explosion. It sends you stumbling, tripping over your feet, and you manage to catch yourself on your hands and knees, but they don’t come out unscathed. They’re busted open, but you ignore that pain. Adrenaline has you up and back to running.

Looming tall, getting closer and closer, is a temple. Gold and white marble. An eyesore that makes your retinas burn. Is this…the headquarters of the Star Religious Group that Suguru had told you about? One of the two organizations that was targeting them on their mission? It must be. Kusakabe said that the other group, Q, was defunct. Satoru and Suguru even sent pictures posing with the leaders that they beat.

The path that leads to the entrance is lined with tall pillars on either side. The further down the path you run, the evidence of a fight becomes more and more abundant. Some of the pillars are totally crushed, others chopped in half, rubble everywhere, and practically stinking of Satoru’s cursed energy.

Why…why does it feel so different? Are you…you’re not imagining that, are you? For someone that should be on the verge of death, it’s so strong. Stronger than it’s ever been before. The weight of it is almost oppressive. Familiar, but…sharper. You’ve unthinkingly slowed to a stop. Too stuck in thought to move, maybe, or…too scared. It’s as if the connection with the cursed spirits is lingering and their terror is bleeding over to you. Weak and feeble prey against a predator so unimaginable.

This can’t be your Satoru, can it?

“Sketch.”

And the last year and a half of memories comes crashing down on your head when you hear the sound of his voice, suffocating the noise of your panicked hindbrain. When you raise your head, unaware that you’d ducked it down to stare at nothing, he is standing there. A few meters away from you. His blazer is torn open, white button-up underneath it stained with blood, the same as a section of hair covering his forehead. It’s a horrifying miracle…but a miracle, nonetheless.

“Sa—” your mouth snaps shut because your throat clogged with emotion. You don’t know what the fuck you’d say, so you just don’t bother with it. You shut the hell up and run. Tears are blurring your vision, you’re more out of breath than you were getting here because the sobs are bubbling up in your chest, but you don’t stop. You can’t. Not until you know that he is solid and real and alive.

It’s when you throw yourself right at him, arms locking around his neck, that the dam of emotion inside breaks. Before you know it, you’re sobbing. “Satoru!” You’re being rough with him. Clinging too tight. One of your hands is grasping tightly the hair at the nape of his neck and the other fisting the fabric of his blazer. “Satoru!”

Satoru mumbles your name, shoulders slumping under your grasp. “Oh.” His voice cracks a little. Then, he’s giving you a hug of his own, hands splayed across your back. “Oh,” he repeats, almost dazedly. “It all still feels so, so amazing, Sketch.” You try to lean back, but he smushes his cheek against yours, sighing in something you’d think is pleasure. “I want to keep feeling this way forever…with you, Sketch.”

“Satoru—”

The breath catches in your throat when you can lean back enough to catch his gaze with your own. How did you not see these eyes before? Something has changed. Infinity isn’t active, but they’re still glowing bright. Sparkling like the sun glinting off the clearest ocean waters. These eyes are beautiful, entrancing, and…almost inhuman. His world has shifted. He has stepped up on another level. He—

Satoru is kissing you.

You’d been so stunned that you didn’t pay attention to his face inching closer to yours until you feel the warmth of his breath against your mouth. It’s a soft touch of his lips against yours. You could…you should…stop this. You need to…to…check on him. But…oh. Oh, he cups your cheek, hand so big and so, so warm. His hand is at the small of your back now, a gesture that sends pleasure up your spine.

It’s a clumsy kiss, maybe. You’re not sure what to do with your mouth and your noses bump against each other. Then, he tilts his head to the side a bit and it falls into place like two puzzle pieces coming together. Your eyes flutter shut and instead of pushing him away, you’re tugging him closer by the lapels of his blazer.

Heat explodes across your body when he takes it a step further, tongue gliding across the seam of your lips. You’re not sure if he’s aware of it or not, but it’s a dirty move when he cups your cheeks with both his hands. He tries to pull you closer, like he can’t get enough of this. Of you. And that’s…that fucks with a person’s brain. You’ve been swept up in his whirlwind, so you go with it. Your mouth opens and he’s licking into your mouth. You always thought it’d feel gross, but it’s just…hot. The smacking of your lips, the small noise of pleasure he gives…

Satoru pulls himself away from you, the both of you panting harshly. “I…” He licks his lips. “I am super high right now.”

“High,” you repeat hoarsely without much thought to it. You’re dazed and he’s pinning you down with those eyes again. It takes you a good minute to comprehend what he said. When it hits, your body jerks. “High?”

Instead of doing something like elaborating, his brows furrow, and he turns to look over his shoulder at the temple. “Hey, I need to get Amanai’s body. You might wanna leave.” He faces you again, looking like he’s trying to gather his all thoughts. “I blew a hole in that Zen’in guy with Purple. And…I kind of want to slaughter all those people in there. I can see them in this big meeting room, clapping because she’s dead now. I don’t want you seeing that.”

Don’t do that, you should say.

But how can you find mercy in your heart for people who celebrate the death of a child? Who paid a man to swoop in and shatter your life? Those aren’t good people. They’re not innocent. Shouldn’t they be punished in some way?

“Be safe,” you say instead.

Satoru doesn’t kill them.

Not soon after Satoru left you had called Sensei to tell him that Satoru was alive and found the Star Plasma Vessel’s body. And almost as soon as you hang up the phone after Sensei assures you that Shoko and the cleanup crew will be there shortly, Suguru shows up.

When they walk out of the temple, Suguru comes back to meet you while Satoru goes on ahead to hand over the body to those that will make sure she’s treated with respect. Suguru doesn’t look at you when he tells you that he talked Satoru down from killing them all.

“There would be no meaning it in.”

It’s clear that Suguru is troubled, trying to justify that to himself. While you don’t really believe him…well, no. It’s more that you simply don’t care if there’s meaning.

“You’re right,” you lie as a comfort and reach out to thread your fingers through his.

***

For four days after they come home, you never see them.

Suguru is still texting you—somewhat, anyway, since he’s more focused on taking care of Satoru who hadn’t been able to sleep for three days straight. Still high on…something. You and Suguru were trying to speculate what put him in such a state since there was no point in asking a practically incoherent Satoru. He died, Suguru told you in the middle of night two. I think, he then followed up with. The Six Eyes are fully realized. All the pieces fell in place.

He’s high on the power, you think you summarize correctly.

Suguru thinks that Satoru is finally leveling out when he sleeps for twenty-four hours straight.

You’re the first person to know that he’s awake when you’re walking across campus, planning on a late night konbini run because you can’t sleep, and almost get smacked in the head by a floating wallet. You duck it, but a rock gets tangled in your hair. There’s a bunch of rocks and some empty soda bottles, looking like one of those asteroid fields that you see in space movies.

“Oops,” a familiar voice calls out. “My bad, Sketch.”

“Satoru?” You fully expect him to be there behind you, but when you turn around, there’s nothing. You look off to either side of you, too. Nothing. “Where—” wait. Did it sound like he was speaking above you? You tilt your head up and, yeah, you definitely forgot that Satoru could float even before…everything.

Satoru is cross-legged, floating there in the air. All the debris surrounds him now as if they were planets in his orbit. Your brows furrow. “Why does it feel like you’re showing off?”

“I’m not!” Satoru protests with a pout.

“It just…feels different,” you mumble while trying to figure out what exactly is giving you that idea. This isn’t totally out of the ordinary for him. He was blocking massive chunks of destroyed buildings and tearing apart houses before. “Oh. Your output is so low now.”

“Bingo!”

There was a little delay, but your brain finally catches up. “You’re awake! What are you doing out here? You should’ve gone to see Shoko as soon as you were up!”

Satoru waves the concern off. “I’m running Reverse Curse Technique now. I’m good.”

“You…what?” Logically, that makes the most sense. Despite all the blood, you hadn’t seen a mark on Satoru that day at the temple.

“Yeah! Who knew that getting stabbed in the neck is what it’d take for me to figure out Reverse Curse Technique, huh? Never let Shoko become a teacher. She can’t explain things for shit.”

Avoiding overwhelming emotions isn’t a new concept for you. You’re notorious for it. That doesn’t mean you can’t feel the emotions for Satoru, though. Stabbed in the neck—you didn’t think it was possible for your heart to crack more than it already has.

“Come down here so I can hug you,” you choke out.

Satoru blinks, looking almost baffled by your turn of emotion. Does he really not know how fucked up that is? Can he not understand why you’d be upset? How terrified he must’ve been, you think as you reach out for him when he slowly lowers back to the ground. Sure, he beat Death, but that doesn’t make the sight any less horrifying.

“You gotta stop being such a crybaby or I’m gonna have to give you a new nickname,” he muses when you get your arms around him. His arms slip around your shoulders, crushing you against his chest. “I’m okay, Sketch. Alive and kicking. Got some badass scars and, as the geezers in my clan would say, my Six Eyes are fully realized.”

Be serious about this, you want to demand of him, but who are you to do that? “Don’t make fun of me for worrying about you.”

“Suguru is already doing enough of it, y’know,” Satoru remarks softly. “Go worry about him.”

“I can worry about you both, thanks.”

“You’re cute, Sketch.”

The memory of his mouth against yours makes itself painfully known. Back of your neck prickling with heat, you try to bury your face further against his chest, not wanting him to see whatever might be on your face. In the silence between you two, your mind runs through so many questions. Does he remember? Why in the world did he do that? If it’d been Suguru there instead, would Satoru have kissed him instead? Should you even ask about it? What would you say if you did? Do you even know enough about how you feel for him to have that talk?

Satoru demands to escort you to the konbini when you tell him what has you out so late. He’s almost aggressive when he takes your hand in his and starts tugging you forward again, listing off all the snacks that he wants to buy. At the bottom of the mountain, finally out on the street, you notice that he still hasn’t let go of your hand, so you stop him. You’re fully prepared to talk about it. Okay, you’re not, but you feel like you need to talk about it.

But then, under the glow of a streetlamp, you catch the glint of that scar at the base of his throat.

You’ll bring up the kiss some other time.

***

“What?”

For once, Sensei doesn’t look you in the eye. “You heard me.”

“Did I? Because it sounds like you told me that some old man is here to force Satoru and Suguru out on solo missions—”

He pinches the bridge of his nose and breathes out your name. “It’s just to ease them back out in the field—”

“Stop lying!” Sensei’s mouth snaps shut at the sound of your echoing shout. “I’m not dumb! These are assignments that only they can do as Special Grades. The higher-ups wouldn’t bother with wasting them on something the rest of us grunts can do, would they?”

“Please. Calm down—”

“It hasn’t even been three weeks!”

Sensei calls in backup. Looking over your shoulder, expression pinched in discomfort, he begs by way of order, “Nanami, Haibara, let’s end class early. Can you take her back to the girls’ dorm—”

There have been only a few times that you’ve ever been so furious in your life and, not-so-shockingly, they all had to do with Suguru. When you were both eight, inseparable, Suguru had finally confessed where his bruises truly came from. You learned that the lack of food wasn’t from poverty or neglect, but maliciousness. The bruises weren’t from scraps with spirits that he was trying to tame.

You’d been downright distraught. You hadn’t let him leave your house for as long as you could. Begging your parents to let him live with you, offering your plate up if there wasn’t enough food in the house for four people. When Suguru wasn’t in the room, you told them what he said, insistent on your parents calling the police for help because you knew they were supposed to help with bad people and what else were Suguru’s parents?

The first few times, your parents lied and said that they’d handle it. After a year of nothing happening, you’d gone to a teacher instead because your parents outright told you that how Suguru’s parents disciplined him wasn’t their business. Suguru was out for about a week, and you hadn’t been allowed over. When he came back to school, arm in a cast, he told you about a person visiting, and how furious it’d made his parents when that lady left.

Finally, you learned a cruel lesson—that trying to help would only punish Suguru.

Maybe that’s something you should remember right now, but…you’re blinded by that same sense of justice that you’d had as an eight-year-old girl. You have a voice here. You’ll scream until your throat bleeds. If they want sacrifices, you’ll offer yourself up in place of Suguru and Satoru. Just to let them have peace a little while longer.

“Senpai?” Haibara hesitantly touches your shoulder.

Nanami and Haibara, smartly, move out of your way when you whirl around and storm out of the classroom. You’re not sure how much time you have left, but you need to ditch your escorts, so you go back to the dorms like Sensei requested, fuming the entire time. You don’t speak a word to your juniors, scared that you’ll snap at them unnecessarily. They’re just following orders, same as every other fucking sorcerer.

As soon as you’re inside your room, you’re immediately sneaking out the window, and pinpointing Satoru and Suguru’s cursed energies. They’re at the entrance’s torii gate, getting lectured by some withered husk. Satoru, as always, looks disinterested, but Suguru…

Suguru looks tired.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!”

The old man slowly turns around to face you, eyes narrowed. “Who do you think you’re talking to like that?” For someone that’s hunched over and clutches to his cane with a trembling hand, he sure does have his nose stuck up pretty high in the air. “Ah, I know you.” He says your name. “Mind your tongue, girl. You’ll ruin your chances at success with this type of behavior.”

“They almost died and you’re throwing them back out in the field this soon?”

He scoffs. “Is that what this is about? I’ve spoken with Yaga. They’ve been healed.”

“Are you stupid?” If he can’t scrounge up an emotion in his black heart, you’ll appeal to logic. “Do you not understand that if you don’t give them proper rest and run them ragged then they’re more likely to make mistakes and die? Let someone else handle whatever you want them to do.”

“Who? Like you? Stop acting like a child. You may be a sorcerer, but don’t think you could be of any use other than collecting information. You’re weak.” You hate this man, but you hate that he’s right even more. Is running your mouth really the only thing that you can do? “Know your place.”  

Behind the old man, Suguru and Satoru puff up.

Something ugly is festering inside you as you watch him walk away. You’re not sure that you’ve ever felt so much hatred toward another person. How can such weak people have all this power? What more can you compare them to other than an invasive parasite—hiding themselves away as their host supports them and weakens itself until there’s nothing left and then they’re on to the next pray. That’s how they rose so high. Everyone else threw themselves on the sword until only these cowards remained. It isn’t fair that you’re forced to bow down to them.

You should worship us, you think viciously. Rage is making your body go haywire. You’re trembling all over, fists clenched so tightly that your nails are digging into your skin causing sticky, wet blood to slip through your fingers. Prostrate yourself before us, you wish you could scream at him. How much blood have they spilt with their callous and cruel demands? You can’t even begin to imagine, but you smell it. You taste it. You can’t even register that something is slipping from your nose, over the bow of your lips. Your eyes are losing focus, your ears are ringing, and you’re shocked that you can focus enough to think anymore with how agonizing this headache is.

Prostrate yourself.

A lot happens all at once. Just as someone snatches your upper arm, the higher-up goes down with a crack. An actual crack of a bone. He twists himself awkwardly as he’s going down, ending up spread eagle on the ground right in front of your feet. He turns his head to the side, forehead coated with blood from getting busted open on the concrete. He clutches at his hip, trying to move, but failing every single time.

Then, you’re gone.

Feeling like your stomach drops out under you, along with your feet, you’re warped to a completely different part of campus by Satoru’s hold on your arm. All at once, the world comes rushing back in, and you’re suddenly aware of your body. You collapse to your hands and knees, watching as drops of blood plop on the blades of grass beneath your face. Even this much, holding yourself up by your shaking arms, is hard.

Just being conscious is hard, apparently, because you wobble before you’re crashing on the ground and passing out.

“You were right to bring me to her first. Fuck. She had a brain bleed. What the fuck happened?”

Shoko’s raised voice might be what pulls you back to consciousness. Or the fact that you’re clearly healed now. The only remnant that there had been something wrong is the flaking blood on your face, sensitivity to light, and the lingering exhaustion because she can’t fully replenish cursed energy.

The lack of noise has you turning your head to the side. Shoko, Satoru, and Suguru—all in a circle—have turned to stare down at you. There are varying degrees of concern on their faces, but Shoko is the only one that’s also furious. She points an accusatory finger at you. “You’re going to tell me what you did later, Duck. Do you understand me? Right now, I have to go heal some old geezer’s broken hip.”

Ah. You’d been right, then. A bone had broken.

You broke that bone.

Because you…

In the heat of that moment, you weren’t comprehending what was going on. What you were doing. But you know now. And the implications of it terrify you. What’s even worse is that you weren’t even consciously thinking about doing it. It just happened, so what if it happens again by accident? What if one of those things thought in the heat of the moment that you’d never say out loud comes true?

You didn’t want this. Not this. You never asked for it. This is too much power for one person. How do you shoulder the weight of something like this? You can’t. You don’t have it in you. You’ll hurt someone, you know it, and it’ll be someone that you love, and when it happens—

“Squid.”

Suguru’s hands appear in your blurry line of vision. They’re meant to be a silent question, to ask if you’re okay to be touched right now. You answer by grabbing his wrists and yanking them down to your cheeks. You don’t know what possesses you to do it. Maybe it’s to pull him in closer because seeing his softening expression makes you feel less overwhelmed. They understand better than anyone, after all, that power is a burden.

It’s not a full breakdown. More a moment of overwhelming pressure and guilt. Suguru and Satoru, both now sitting down next to you in the grass, don’t say anything until you calm down. When you’re just sniffling, Suguru’s thumb that’s been stroking your cheek stills. “What happened, Squid?”

“I’ve been thinking about it,” Satoru speaks up. “Your persuasion isn’t only limited to cursed spirits anymore. It’s anything with cursed energy, isn’t it?” You nod, mouth twisted with misery. “We really need to come up with a name for your technique.”

“Not the time, Satoru,” Suguru sighs. He brushes away some hair that’s plastered across your forehead. “You don’t seem as surprised by this as I think you should be.”

“Shoko put the idea in my head at the start of the term,” you mumble. “I told her about that mission with you—the one where I caught your cursed spirit and that other sorcerer’s shikigami. I could maybe understand why yours was affected because the spirits have different cursed energy than yours, but…the shikigami is a manifestation of a sorcerer’s energy. Shoko took it to its next logical step. I didn’t want to believe her.”

“It was so weird.” Satoru is tapping his bottom lip, thoughtful. “It was like your cursed energy was infecting that geezer. It was only a second, but I guess whenever you gave your command, I swear that it was like there were two of you. It was seriously trippy.”

“And then you gave yourself a brain bleed. Do you know how lucky you were that Shoko was on campus?” Suguru presses his palm against your forehead, and you look back up at him. The corners of his eyes are tight with worry. “Promise me you won’t do that again.”

“I didn’t mean to do it,” you purposely deflect. Does this power scare you? Yes. Would you use it again if it meant keeping the people you love safe in both body and mind? Another yes. “I’m just…worried about you both.”

“Squid, you can’t keep us here forever. I know you’re worried, but—” he fumbles. Briefly, his gaze darkens, but that emotion quickly passes. “We’re the strongest. We can take care of ourselves.”

“It’s not about whether you can do it or not,” you whisper. “It’s about rest. You almost died. You…you lost. And…that leaves wounds that Shoko can’t heal. Why can’t you have more time? Why does it have to be you?”

“The world has to keep spinning, Sketch.”

Yes, the world is cruel like that, isn’t it?

***

The start of middle school had felt like a month-long blowout in your household.

About two weeks in, while you were curled up under the blankets with a hot water bag pressed against your pelvis, grandparents that you rarely saw had come to visit from the village over. It’d felt like such an invasion of privacy when your both your mother and grandmother presented a bowl of red rice and congratulations on becoming a woman that you’d snapped. Why celebrate such a stupid thing? You’d ranted and raved. It’s what the body does. Why make a big deal? Do you do this with boys when they get their first erection? And all hell had broken loose.

Your father had outright smacked you in the mouth for speaking so crudely and disrespectfully to his mother. After an hour or so of being banished to your room, your frazzled mother and shrewd grandmother had come to interrogate you on how you knew about such a thing—the thing being erections. You’d told them because you saw nothing wrong with the truth. You hadn’t known it then, but Suguru had started puberty a few months before you. He’d told you about the exhausting and awkward conversation his father had been forced to give him.

By the end of the weekend, you’d been ready to choke your grandmother. The way she hovered over your mother, stirring up shit by whispering in your mother’s ear. The worst offense, in your opinion, had been how they turned Suguru away at the door every single day. You couldn’t sneak out because your grandmother slept in your room at night while days were spent going over what boiled down to glorified etiquette classes. Ladies don’t talk about crude things which included basic bodily functions, ladies don’t sleep with men unless they’re married, ladies are demure yet try to make friends with their peers, ladies this, ladies that, and on and on it went.

And you’d overheard conversations at school, knew that most of your classmates hated it as much as you did when their grandparents visited, so you’d hoped the hell would end when they were gone. It hadn’t. That Monday night, your mother had declared that there would no longer be any sleepovers, and you think that may have been the first ever time you screamed yourself hoarse.

You’ve always been too close to that boy! Your father had been the one to step in, absolutely laying into you. I tolerated it because you needed to have one friend, at least, so we could pretend our daughter is normal, but this is just becoming borderline inappropriate now! You’re lucky that I don’t ban you from seeing him, period! And think of him! Don’t you think that he’s sick of spending so much time with you? He’ll never have any other friends if he’s seen spending so much time with you! Let the boy be a boy, damn it!

That’s when the doubt started, you think.

This fear has always plagued you—the idea that you need Suguru more than he needs you.

Zen’in Toji changes that.

Sometimes, when you’re too stuck in your head, you worry that you’re still acting like a child, tugging at his sleeves, annoyingly demanding his attention. Now, it almost feels like the roles have reversed. Not that you’re annoyed. No, if he tried to hide himself away, you’re pretty sure that you’d be waiting outside his door like a lost puppy begging to come home.

Really, the only difference between now and those childhood days where you two were practically joined at the hip is that Satoru is included.

Now that Satoru and Suguru are on their own, you’ve been unofficially added to Nanami and Haibara’s team. What happened to headquarters wanting you to spy on Suguru, huh? This might be a punishment. You don’t mind it, obviously, because you like to be a good mentor, but it’s not just them that you’re helping. Helping is a loose term, though. You’re almost as busy as Suguru and Satoru are, running to pacify and record spirits for the seasoned sorcerers.  

A thing that you’ve started to learn is that sorcerers are…eccentric. More often than not, they don’t try to make small talk with you which you’re happy for, but it’s still exhausting to be around all these strangers. It seems like you’re always running on empty. It feels like your art is suffering, too, because you can’t find it in yourself to practice in your spare time. You feel as if you always have to be available.

Things might be easier if you had some time alone, but you never are anymore, even when you’re on campus. Would Satoru and Suguru respect your wishes if you asked? Yes. But you never do. You always feel too guilty to ask for such a thing when they’re working so hard all the time. Thankfully, Suguru is fine to sit in silence with you and Satoru can talk and talk without you ever saying a word back.

Things are changing between the three of you—even a person like you who always has things going over her head can see that.

You’re not quite sure when it started but there is always someone in your bed. None of you talk about it, though. If they hadn’t started leaving pieces of themselves behind in your room, you’d wonder if they even knew that the other is with you when they aren’t around. In your need to have things in the correct places, you’ve assigned them spots—Suguru’s cigarettes are tucked in the corner of your nightstand, Satoru’s stash of blueberry sodas is neatly stacked inside your minifridge, Suguru’s spicy ramen is in the cabinet closest to the door and Satoru’s melon bread are next to the ramen.

People talk about walking in the shadows of The Strongest, but…for you, it feels like their shadows are swallowing you whole.

Where do they end and where do you begin?

It’s getting weird inside your head. Not that it hasn’t always been. It’s just…you sometimes feel suffocated. On bad days, you wonder if you’ve started to create a mask for them—something you’ve never felt the need to do, especially with Suguru. And yet, in spite of it all, you’re terrified to push them away, and not because of what happened to them.

Bitterly, you think about that river in your village, and how if you were thrown in it with no way out but forward that you’d let yourself drown in that familiarity rather than face the unknown that awaits on the other side of the river.

You’d scolded Suguru for picking up smoking, but maybe he and Shoko are on to something with it.

The stars have aligned just right so that you, Satoru, and Suguru are all on campus at the exact same time. It’s a bitterly cold December morning and you’re gathered in the smoking area. Sitting next to Suguru on a bench, you eye the cigarette, tempted to try, but decide better of it. You’ll settle for the smoke that curls in the air and clings to his clothes. You tilt to the side, putting your head on his shoulder, and Suguru settles his cheek on the top of your head. Satoru, across from you and munching on pocky, has been watching you two with an eerie intensity.

“You two should come home to Kyoto with me.”

“Meeting the parents already?” The question was intoned by you and Suguru, at the exact same time. You lean away, glancing up at Suguru with the same surprise mirrored on his face, and then the two of you break out in a loud fit of laughter that’s becoming depressingly rare these days.

Satoru stands there, red-faced and fuming. “Sorry for wanting to spend my birthday weekend with you, you assholes!”

After collecting yourself and catching your breath, you ask, “Are we even allowed?”

“Doesn’t matter if you are or not,” he replies with a shrug of the shoulder. “I’m head of the clan, baby. I can do whatever I want, and no one can say a damn thing about it.”

From next to you, Suguru snorts. “Why don’t you just stay here since you obviously don’t want to go, Lord Gojo.”

“Future head of the clan,” Satoru reluctantly grumbles. “I could stay here,” he goes on to defensively. “I’m just being a nice person! The last time I saw my parents was last year when I moved on campus. I’m doing them a favor before I’m eighteen and never looking back.”

“Oh? Are you giving up your position when you graduate? Otherwise, you’ll probably be seeing them to do fancy, important clan stuff,” you tease.

“Screw both of you!” If life were an anime, there would be steam blowing out of his ears right now. “I was even going to let you guys go all out when we get fitted, but now I’m choosing for you, and I’ll put you in the ugliest colors!”

You cock your head to the side. “Fitted?”

“They want traditional clothes for the birthday celebration.”

“How traditional?”

“Ofurisode for you and montsuki for us,” he answers casually.

Oh, no. No, no, no. There have been only a few times where your parents rented a kimono for you, and you hated every single second of it. Granted, you were young, but you remember how much you hated it. “No.” You shake your head. “Absolutely not. I refuse.”

Satoru’s brows furrow. “Eh? Why?”

“What do you mean why? I can’t believe you’re okay with it! You don’t like clothes clinging to you, right?”

“Actually, it’s more like I hate when my clothes get wet. Besides, if something feels like it’s rubbing against me wrong, I can shift Infinity to sit between my skin and the fabric. Anyway, my montsuki are always silk, and I like how that feels.”

Your eye twitches. “Yeah, well, not everyone has Infinity. Do you even know how many pieces there are in an ofurisode? It’s so heavy and tight and—” you visibly shudder.

“Good point.” Satoru hums and taps his chin in thought. “Best I can do is a chu-furisode, though. I don’t doubt that they’d kick you out on your ass if you showed up in anything less formal or if we tried putting you in something for the married women.”

“You’re forgetting something,” you point out wryly. “I can just not go.”

“Sketch,” Satoru whines. “It’s my birthday.”

“We can celebrate here before or after you leave.”

“Also,” Suguru finally speaks up, “that’s too much money.”

“Oh, don’t worry, my little country bumpkins. It’s all on the Gojo dime and it won’t even be a drop in the bucket.”

Deadpan and once again at the same time, you and Suguru say, “Rich boy.”

Satoru claps his hands together in front of himself, ducking his head. “Please, please, please,” he loudly begs. “Don’t leave me on my own with my shitty clan! It’ll be like a sleepover! You guys did those when you were kids, right? My one wish is that I get a turn having a sleepover with Sketch and Suguru!”

We have sleepovers every time you’re on campus, you aggressively think. But, after a moment of reflection, you realize that, actually, not all three of you have slept in the same room. On the few times that they’ve been on campus at the same time, neither of them tries to sneak into your room at night or text you to ask. You think you know what they do, though. Just as they’ve started to leave pieces of themselves in your room, you see them in each other’s. And, sure, you could put that as them hanging out, but you’ll sometimes catch whiffs of cigarette smoke on Satoru’s sheets and pillows.

You still want to tell him no. It’s a daunting thought, being in an uncomfortable kimono, surrounded by people that don’t even respect their own future clan head let alone people like you and Suguru who have no sorcery in your bloodlines. But what else is there to get the boy who has everything? And…it’s a rare chance to have them to yourself because the higher-ups are giving him leave and, if Satoru insists, his family will request the same for you and Suguru.

“Fine,” you agree with a frustrated sigh.

Suguru also gives a sigh of his own. “I’m smoking, whether I’m allowed to or not.”

“Best birthday ever!” Satoru cheers.

***

For obvious reasons, Satoru puts off going on his clan’s estate as long as possible. There are people at the estate that could measure you and Suguru, but Satoru pulls you both into a shop that’s probably so expensive that it costs to breathe. You’re glad the prices aren’t displayed. Thankfully, you don’t really have to put up with strange hands all over you yet. They simply take a tape measurer to you and then let you pick out the fabric. Like Satoru, you decide on a beautiful silk that starts out forest green before fading to a navy blue near the bottom.

Kyoto is mostly religious sits—temples, castles, shrines, and the like. It’s very beautiful. Satoru takes you both to the Fushimi Inari-taisha, a long path that’s nothing but bright red torii gates. Satoru is surprisingly quiet, so it’s a peaceful moment. After the shrine, you wonder if it was just a way to calm you down before you’re forced to face the crowds to find food. It’s…honestly not as bad as you expected because with Satoru and Suguru’s huge bodies in front of and behind you, people can’t bump into you that much.

Late in the afternoon, as the sun is setting, the three of you are in a random park. Satoru is dozing off, head in Suguru’s lap, and Suguru is reading a book. It’s good inspiration, so you draw them. Not like that’s anything unusual. You do feel a little sad, a little nostalgic when you flip through your personal sketchbook and see the gradual loss of…youth, you guess. Even Shoko isn’t unaffected. You wonder how you look to everyone else.

At twilight, Satoru decides he can’t stall anymore, and he finally picks up the phone that he’s been ignoring all day.

jjk

“Your parents aren’t what I expected,” Suguru comments when the three of you shuffle into his obscenely large bedroom.

Meanwhile, your question is, “Is this not your room?” Sure, Satoru brought a lot of stuff when he moved on campus, but this room is…weirdly empty. Not a hint of his love for Digimon, no posters, and the bedsheets look like they belong to an older person rather than a teenager.

“Right? My parents are super weak. They were low on the Gojo ladder, but then they had yours truly, and they’re practically worshipped now. I’ve never lived with them much, though. They handed me over to tutors and people who could teach me about sorcery,” Satoru explains. “I was in another section of the compound, but when I come to Kyoto, I’m a good son and stay with my parents.”

Suguru voices what you’re both thinking. “Satoru, that’s…really sad. You know that, right?”

“Eh.” Satoru shrugs off the concern. “It’s probably how every other rich kid is treated. Non-sorcerers get boarding schools, and I got training and missions.”

“Missions?”

“Yeah?” Satoru cocks his head to the side, genuinely confused by your disbelief. “What? I’m Gojo Satoru, wielder of the Six Eyes. You think I was sitting around on my ass until high school?”

Suguru is pressing a thumb against the center of his forehead. “I’m too tired to tell you how fucked up that is, Satoru. We’ll save it for another day.”

“Agreed,” you say with a nod. “And don’t expect me to be polite to any of your family.”

“I don’t get you guys, but okay. Let’s go to bed.”

It takes a bit of maneuvering. There’s some giggling when, as you three try to get settled in Satoru’s massive bed, you all bump into some ticklish spots. You argue even more about the positioning. Finally, you decide that the birthday boy is stuck in the middle. Besides, he’s always ice cold, so he won’t get too hot, anyway.

Satoru has an arm thrown around your shoulders and Suguru’s. Suguru’s cheek is up in the crook of Satoru’s neck while yours is above his heart. It’s a nice sensation, listening to the frantic beat of Satoru’s heart slow as the minutes pass by. Suguru is half-asleep when he reaches out to lace his fingers through yours, placing them on Satoru’s stomach. They’re both asleep before you, which isn’t a surprise. They must be exhausted, constantly coming and going on missions.

I wish I was stronger.

Strong enough to shoulder these burdens with them, strong enough to face down the old men that treat Satoru and Suguru like weapons to be used and feared, strong enough to stop childishly clinging to everyone else, strong enough to protect these so very precious moments, strong enough…

I’m weak.

And that’s a bitter truth but a still a truth regardless.

[save-the-villainous-cat]

Okay so how about a delirious or gravely injured hero / villain who starts telling the other details about their secret identity because they’re so sure they’re not going to make it while the other is like don’t even think about dying on me ?

"Look," the villain hissed. They pressed their hand into the wound the supervillain had stabbed into them. Flesh had ripped open and blood had been mercilessly dropping to the ground for the last few minutes. It was fair to say that the hero had...overdone it. The villain knew they could forget their own strength every now and then but they hadn't expected them to kill the supervillain that brutally. "I am dying."

The villain leaned their head back but the headache would not die. They dared to peek at the supervillain's body and somehow allowed themselves to relax. Years of anger and anxiety were gone now. Some peace was a good thing. Ignoring the tears and the pain, their eyes found the hero.

"Don't be ridiculous," the hero said but still, the villain could hear their voice shake. Whenever the hero's wall which they had built around their heart crumbled like this, the villain felt some weird sense of accomplishment. Wasn't this their job? Changing the hero? Even if the villain wasn't a good person, was this a good deed?

"No," the villain said. They grabbed the hero's wrist. Their nemesis was panicking, staring at the villain's wound in shock. "I am dying, love."

The hero shook their head and the villain wasn't sure if the pain made them hallucinate the tears in the hero's eyes or if those were actually real. They had never seen the hero this emotional.

"My parents aren't buried in the city," the villain said. "But I wouldn't mind if you chose a cemetery here."

"No."

"I have a cat, also. You need to take care of her. She's only five months old. I found her on the streets a while ago." The villain's hand crawled up the hero's arm until they found their hand and squeezed. "God, I thought I'd have some more time."

They couldn't even stop the tears. Couldn't control anything. Their vision spun and they felt bad for forcing the hero to watch them die. It was a little selfish, wasn't it? But wasn't it also a human desire?

Not to die alone?

"I have a sister, too. She lives far away, though. Maybe you'll find her phone number in my apartment? Could you take care of that? I know it's a lot to ask..."

"Don't you dare. I didn't murder someone for you to die now. I didn't protect you all these months for you to..." The hero swallowed and wiped thick tears away. For a second, the villain seriously thought they were dead already. I didn't protect you... "You cannot die now. I won't let you. You're too important to me."

"It's fine, I..." The hero pulled out their phone and dialed 911 with shaky fingers. The villain's eyes widened but they were too weak to protest. The hero tried to breathe but it was clear that it was quite troubling for them to take normal breaths. They were fighting just as much as the villain.

The villain had given up already, though.

"Yes, hello. I would like to report a murder. I killed someone. I also need an ambulance...I injured someone else, too," the hero said. "Locate my position."

They hung up.

"Fuck, what are you...?" The villain's heart was beating faster than ever. They couldn't believe what the hero had just told the authorities. Confessing a murder like this...asking for an ambulance? The villain wouldn't make it in time and the hero would go to jail either way.

This couldn't be happening. The villain had wanted them to live a quiet life, not dying young in prison. The amount of villain's the hero had already sent to jail was impressive and if the hero joined them, they wouldn't survive the first night.

The villain moaned when they moved. Pain was taking over and they weren't sure if they wanted to throw up or pass out.

"They won't put you in jail when you're injured like this. Especially not when I am the one who's responsible. They've been hunting you for quite a while now but in this case I am the criminal. This buys you time and they can actually save you at the hospital." The hero took in a greedy breath and closed their eyes. More tears.

"You're insane, you're-" The hero took their hand.

"It's the only way to save you. Your blood type is A+, right?" Perhaps? The villain wanted to throw up. This wasn't happening, the hero hadn't just pulled their Go to Jail Card intentionally.

"I think so?" The villain started to sweat and suddenly, it felt as if the world wanted to push them into the afterlife. They refused to die, now that the hero had confessed to a crime. But they feared they had no control over that either.

"Mine is A-, so I can donate. I'll try to stay on the ambulance, if they let me." The hero seemed to be back in their cold self. Always calculating, always thinking. Their poor hero. Always fighting.

"You'll go to prison," the villain whispered.

"And I will find a way to crawl back to you," the hero said. "I always will."