#I’ve claimed another one. that’s my white boy.

[testing-tranquility]

please god somebody stop me I have GOT to stop collecting YouTube men as my blorbos

[yeyinde]

Brain went brrrrrrrr

Price and the new 141 member getting into an argument. Price is all like if you don't behave ill take you over my knee girl.

She's all like I fucking dare you or you'll have to catch me first or even you don't have the balls.

🫠🫠

i’ve always wanted someone who was super by the book to clash with John “i routinely tell my superiors i’m going to maim/murder/hang them” Price. this gave me the perfect opportunity to do so. 

noncon spanking. abuse of authority. power imbalance. size kink. mean, dom!Price. forced submission.

You have this way of getting under his skin. 

An impossible itch. No matter how many times he picks and prods at his flesh, you worm beneath the dermis, burrowing deep. Sitting pretty against his goddamn bones. Festering. 

Incurable. 

He turns to vice to stem the irritation. Cigars. Whiskey. His hand shoved down his trousers like he's a fuckin' boy and not a man on the wrong side of forty. 

Thinking of you—of breaking that smart mouth of yours on his cock. 

It's the way you saunter around with your head held high, balancing golden eggs on your crown, that irks him something awful. The patronising drawl when you huffily remind him that what he's doing is breaking seven, no, ten, different laws, Price. You can't just do whatever you want, there are rules—

And that's the crux of it. 

A difference of ideas. Experience. You still see the world in shades of black and white. Good and bad. Unwilling to acknowledge that the line between is saturated and blurred. A putrid muck that traps all. Bogish. 

He knew it was a mistake when they sent him your file, asked if he needed the additional help. Hostage negotiator. He's heard of you. By the fucking book. You recite passages like it's gospel, turning printed words into a knife. A terrible fit for a team that works in the pivotal no man's land you claim doesn't exist. 

Yet—

He takes you on. Brings you in. Buries his anger at your fucking gall deep in his chest where it rots. Grows. Swallows down the rage, apoplectic fury, when you undermine him at every opportunity, citing laws and regulations like it's a fucking prayer. 

A calamitous decision, he knows. Terrible. But—

Despite it all, you're good at what you do. Brilliant. A budding rose germinating in fecund soil. You'll grow into something wild, won't you? Something untamed. 

Under his hands, you'll bloom the prettiest. He knows this deep in his bones. But—

“You're breaking the rules, Captain—”

—pedantic little thing, aren't you? 

Obediently following the wrong master. 

It irks him. He's been known to step on the toes of his superior officers for less, caustic words hissing foul from between his teeth. 

But unlike them, you're worth something. Even as the moral antithesis to his utilitarian dogma, he sees your potential. How you can shape this world dangling on a brittle thread if you lay down your senseless principles and follow him. Listen to him. 

But of course, you don't. 

And he supposes he ought to have known better. It's dripping gasoline over an open flame. The sequence of events is easily premeditated, seen, when you refuse to listen to what he says (“it's against the law, Price!”), walking away from him, his team, the mission, and take matters into your own, morally righteous hands. Bringing his underhanded methods to the desk of your superior officer, demanding he be investigated for crimes. The result is a loose warning from someone in a suit several sizes too big for them, and your fury when he pulls you back, has you assigned to another mission with the 141, with himself. Preens at your glower when you march back into his office, into his hands. 

In the fallout, he has no one to blame but himself, really. Anyone could have seen this coming. But the thing about shirking his morality in favour of a better outcome—above all else—is that he doesn't have to. 

And so, he doesn't. 

No. He blames you. 

(How perfect for him, then, that there's no one on base except you and him.)

“If you think I'm not going to report you again if you do something illegal, Price, you're wrong.”

He scoffs, shaking his head at your fucking audacity. 

"Better watch that mouth of yours, Sergeant, or you won't like what happens next." 

His palm itches when you look up, offering him a slow, feline blink. Leonine eyes creasing at the corners. 

"And what is that, sir? I'm just doing my job—" it's whispered breathlessly, all faux professionalism even as jest leaks down your brow. They pinch, then. Drawing together in a mockery of confusion. "Isn't that what you wanted me to do?" 

"What is that, mm?" He mocks, arms folding over his chest. He has to breathe through his nose for a moment. Gather himself together before he does something reckless, something like— 

It's the defiant little jut of your chin that does him in. That unravels this fraying knot of control until threads slip through his fingers. Falling too fast for him to clench down on them. 

He's threatened his superiors for far less. His kin, teammates. You have no one to blame but yourself for this, really. No one at all when he pulls his hand from where it's tucked under his armpit, curling rough, worn fingers around your wrist. Pulls you close, wrenching you into his chest until your nose bumps the buckle of his vest. 

"'m'gonna take you over my fuckin' knee, is what's going to happen." 

Your swallow is a gunshot. “You—you wouldn't dare—”

He leans in close, closer still. Breath scorching over your cheek. Preening when you bare your little teeth at him. “Wanna bet on that, Sergeant?” 

It's easier than he would have expected to wrangle you over his knee, pinning you down with an arm across your lower back. The height of his chair keeps your front bent, belly pressed against his thigh. Ass seated perfectly in his lap. Precious gem. 

He hums low in his throat, teeth sinking into the butt of his cigar as he locks you tight against him. Grabbing your wrist, twisting it up behind your back. Holding steady. A warning. 

The dangerous twinge in your bone stills you. 

One wrong move and he'd snap it in half. 

This has you taking a different approach, legs falling limp over the armrest. Head dropping over the other side. Malleable in his grasp—however artificial it is.

“Price—” you breathe, winded. Panic on a spindle. “What are you—what do you think you're doing—?”

He hums, mouth tense around the cigar. Words muffled, slurred. “What I should have done a long time ago.” 

“What—hey!”

Your words pepper off into a choked scream when his other hand falls to the hem of your pants, grabbing the fabric in his fist. The shock fades into indignation. Anger. He tastes it in the air as your hips squirm, legs kicking at nothing. Furious little growls spilling from your lips as you thrash, unconcerned by the ache in your bone. 

“Better keep still, love,” he taunts, mouth curling over his teeth as he twists his hand high, higher, up the small of your back until your fingers brush the skin between your shoulder blades. Any more and he'll break it—

“I'm going to fucking—!” It ends on a whine. A whimper. The pain makes you shiver. “Fuck, fuck—stop, stop, ow, stop—!”

“Not a fan of a little pain then, mm?” 

Your breath is ragged. Paints the air in a fine mist of defeat. He has you. The only option out of this is breaking your bone, a threshold no one is willing to cross. 

Price purses his lips back around the cigar, inhaling once, thrice, before he slips his fingers out of the hem of your trousers, reaching up to take hold of the cigar. It's all so matter-of-fact. So nonchalant when he places it in the ashtray. When he brings his heavy, warm hand back to your ass, curling his fingers beneath the fabric. Pulling. Tugging. 

They come off easier than he'd expected. A harsh tug, and the cleft of your ass is revealed. Plush skin curving enticingly as he rips them down to mid-thigh—panties and all. 

The shock fades back into indignation. You hiss something foul under your breath that makes him huff out a chuckle. 

“Not really in the position for that, are you, love?” 

“Shut up��”

He likes the way you sound like this. Feral. Furious. There's ash in your throat. It blots soot around each word, giving them weight. Gone is the woman who barged into his office, sniffing like you smelled something foul. Backing him into a corner. Sputtering in his face about rules. Regulation. 

Now you're bare-assed, panting, in his lap. Small little fawn in the maw of a bear. But oh, do you fight back—

Teeth bared, indignation bleeding into embarrassment, blotting pink in the whites of your eyes.

The sight is hewn into his hindbrain. 

“Look at you,” he purrs, petting your cheeks. “Been beggin’ to be bent over my knee since you got here, haven't you?” 

“Begging? Don't be—ahh!”

He brings his hand down with a small huff, eyes glued to your flesh. Watching it shake under his hand. The width of one swallowing up an entire cheek. So big is he that you're nearly made infinitesimal in his clutch. The thought makes him groan.

You squirm more in shock than discomfort. Head craning over your shoulder, eyes misting over with tears. Glaring at him. 

“What the fuck, Price!”

He strokes your skin, feeling the heat of your flesh bleed through his palm. Resilient little thing, aren't you? He huffs again, blood buzzing. Electric. There's a kindling fire in his guts. Embers sparking, catching. 

He can't deny how badly he's been wanting to have you like this. Craving your tears, your agony, your submission.

“Count,” he barks out, rough. Abrasive. “You're getting ten. Count ‘em for me, and if you miss one, I'm adding two more.”

“You're crazy, you're—!”

His hand comes down again. The impact shakes the fat of your ass. The strike makes you yowl, thrashing to get away. You don't get very far, still trapped in his hold. The threat of a broken bone keeps you from lashing out too wildly, and all you can really do is sit in his lap, and take it—

The notion has him groaning low in his throat. Something wicked spooling in his veins. Wanting. The sight of you heaving, bare-assed, and begging for mercy unleashes something inside of him. Something primal. Starving. 

Price takes a breath to steady himself, head buzzing. Heart pounding. It feels like the euphoria of nicotine—all bliss, sedation. Ease. 

Cathartic. 

“I said count,” he rasps, words cinder in his chest. Smoke. Dragged up from that burning pyre in his belly. Nocuous, hungry. “That's an order, Sergeant.” 

His hand is scorching against your skin. Thoughts turning over themselves as you hiccup in his lap. So pretty, he thinks, eyes flitting over to you. Taking in the sight of your shock, your denial. It tastes like fine wine on his tongue. Heady. 

“Here comes one—”

“One?”

“I told you, didn't I?” His nail rakes across your skin, cruel. Mean. Something preens when you gasp. Your pain perfuming the air. “M’addin’ two more if you don't count. Thought your speciality was listenin’?”

You scowl, twisting back to level him with an awful sneer. “Oh, fuck you—!”

His hand comes down again, harder this time. Vicious. The scream is tangled in your throat, gagged. He feels pleasure—dark and ugly—bloom in his chest, dripping, liquid, down the length of his spine. The twist of agony on your face is beatific. 

“Not gonna count?” He taunts, pinching your inflamed flesh between his thumb and forefinger. “We're gonna be here all day at this rate, love.”

He leans down, broad chest curling over the small of your back, hand cupped possessively over your cheeks. “But maybe you want that, mm? Maybe all this, mhm, insubordination has just been for show. You wanted this. Wanted to be taken over my knee—”

“You're wrong. I haven't—” it tapers off into a squeak when he pinches your flesh again. 

Price pulls back, breathes shallowly through his nose. 

“You and that smart fuckin' mouth. Told you it was gonna get you in trouble—”

He doesn't wait. His hand rears, and comes down with a loud smack that echoes in the sparse office he has you trapped inside. Your howl races alongside it, curling up the walls. Beautiful in all its agony. 

“Christ—” it's a dagger to his resolve. You sound so fucking good howling like this. Oscillating between feral anger and pain, hissing vitriol between clenched teeth. Choking on sobs. 

The first few are experimental. Testing the waters. Feeling. You're combative during it all. Fighting. Screaming. Each strike is uncounted, echoed only with a plea for help. One he knows won't come—

The only person on base is his Lieutenant. Ghost knows better than to barge in on his affairs. 

“No one's comin’, love,” he grunts, sweat beading along his hairline, dripping down his temple. The room heats along with the blood in his veins, stifling and oppressive. He reinforces each hit with more strength, increasing the tempo until you're screaming on his lap, begging for mercy, mercy, please, please, Price stop, stop—

Your skin raises with each new strike. Swelling. Becoming inflamed. The perfect imprint of his handprint sits on each cheek, edges intumescent. The globes shake, shuddering deliciously under each hit. 

He gets to eleven before you break. Tears streaming down your face, voice a threadbare whisper. Hoarse from screaming. 

His hand rains down, slaps your left cheek so hard it stings his hand. Burns. You whimper. Mewling. Squirming on his lap, and then—

“O–one—”

He grunts, feels himself thicken in his trousers. “Good girl.” 

You shudder, body breaking out in goosebumps. “Price—”

“Ah, ah, love. You're not allowed to speak unless you're counting.”

He hits you again, cock throbbing when you tense up, sniffling. Grinding out a soft two between trembling lips. 

You don't break the way he wants you to. There's a glare on your face despite the tears, the sniffles. A defiance that burns over the bridge of your nose. 

But that's fine. He has eight more strikes to ruin you, doesn't he? 

He sets to it with a low moan, your pelvis pressing taut to his tumid cock, the friction raging in his guts. 

But that, he finds, isn't really the point. No. The pleasure, the arousal, is secondary to the way you fall to pieces at his hand. Flesh stinging his palm with each loud smack that rings out sharply in the room. Uneven breaths. Shuddering little ah-ah-ahs that tumble out through clenched teeth. 

It's addictive, this. Therapeutic. 

There's static in his head. White noise. It renders everything else mute. Moot. Molasses drips down, thick and entrenching, congealing over every churning thought in the back of his head. There's a sense of peace, ease, he hasn't felt in years. In decades. 

He feels his belly knot each time your ass jiggles, skin bulging up from the trauma of being hit so harshly. Chafed under his palm. Welts forming in the shape of his hand. A tattoo you'll have for weeks when he's through with you. Aching each time you try to sit. And fuck—

You'll think of him. Of this. Being taken over his goddamn knee like the bad fucking girl you are. Broken in over his lap. Helpless. Submissive. 

The whimpers fade, replaced with shallow hiccups. Your throat is torn. Raw, ruined, by your screams, yowls. Each rasping whine sends jolts of pleasure down his spine. Liquid want molten in his marrow. 

“S–seven, nngh—”

The moan slips out—scorched, bleached—and drills deep into his loins. 

He peels his gaze away from your blistered skin, glancing at your face, but you duck from his view. Hide. Dropping your head over the armrest. Evading him. 

It's new, this. This meekness. 

You were so combative, so feral before. His gaze rakes down the expanse of your spine, over the curve of your cheeks, before settling, hot and heavy, at the crease where your thigh meets your pelvis. You squirm in his lap, thighs sliding together. Rubbing. It's no different from before when he'd spank you, but—

He catches it. 

It glints in the soft light when you move, and he feels something dark, ruinous, curl in the tar-stained fibrils of his chest. Congealing in the crevasses. Hardening. 

Price flicks his tongue out, swiping over his lower lip. The bristles of his beard graze the soft flesh, prickling across it. His throat is suddenly dry. Parched. 

His hand comes down again, notably softer than the other hits he subjected you to. Almost—

Tender. 

This isn't meant to hurt. Not this one. 

He strokes his finger over your skin, cock throbbing with the rasping gasp that spills—a twisted amalgamation of pain, skin still smarting, burning to the touch, and—

His lashes flutter. Nostrils flaring. 

Your slick, wet, between your inner thighs. 

He slides his hand down, down, until your ass cheek is cupped in the bracket of his thumb and forefinger. Nestled tight. A perfect fit. The sight of your skin—soft, so soft—against his bearish, hirsute paw is sickeningly addictive. He grunts, pressing his thumb into the crease between your cheek and thigh. 

“P–Price—”

And then he pulls, moaning deep in his chest as he peels the fat of your ass away, unveiling your cunt to his rapacious gaze. Fuck—

“What’s this?” He taunts, breathless. Pinched. You squirm, trying to press your thighs together. Hiding your pussy from his scorching stare. He doesn't let you. “Gettin’ off on me spankin’ your arse?” 

“N–no, I'm—”

He pushes his thumb up, sliding it over your skin. Gathers your slick on the tip. “Don't lie to me, mm. You're fuckin' soaked.”

The air is punched from his lungs. Spills out in a wretched grunt. In the vacuum, something grows. Knots. Festering inside his chest. Animalistic. Primal. There's an itch in the back of his head. 

He lets go of your arm, knows you won't run. Won't try to escape. No. 

You're a good girl, aren't you? One who does what they're told. Follows orders. It tangles in the soporific slurry of his head, pitching a bivouac of need when you bring your arm down, curling it through the gap of the armrest, holding tight. 

Bracing yourself. 

His hum breaks in his throat. He drags his hand away from your cunt, reaching for the snuffed cigar idling in the ashtray. There's a fever in his veins. It makes his hand tremble. Shake. He needs the blunted drag of nicotine to quench this heady anticipation blooming in his guts. A brumous storm gyring inside him, an incipient maelstrom of want thickening. Intensifying. Threatening to spill over. 

He needs something to steady himself before he tears into you like a beast—

You cock your head over your shoulder, staring at him with eyes drenched in midnight ink. There's a flicker across your tear-stained expression. Something coy. Feline. Leonine. 

There's nothing said. Nothing needs to be. He finds what he's looking for in the fracture of your mien, and scoffs under his breath at your sheer gall. Little fuckin' minx. 

Tobacco proves to be a paltry facsimile when he draws in a bursting mouthful. The restive glow of it dulled under the adrenaline coursing through his veins, heady. Syrupy. A roaring deluge of anticipation broiling in the balmy air, crackling around him like a storm cresting over the horizon. Ozone saturates in the thickening atmosphere. 

Something will break. Shatter. 

He tenses, waiting for the first stormcloud to breach, and drops his hand back to your tender ass. Stroking over the raised welts just to make you gasp. Your hips flex under the shocks of pain riveting down your spine, undulating in his lap. Pitched perfectly over his cock. 

His breath shudders through a needlepoint. The friction is electric. 

In petty retaliation—and just to see you squirm—he trails his knuckles over your heated skin, luxuriating in the way you shiver. Head falling back down over the armrest, beautifully alluring in your vulpine submission. His fingers dip between the cleft of your cheeks, feeling the slickness sticking to your soft, sensitive skin. Soaked between your thighs. Wretched girl. 

His index and middle finger slide over your slit, parting your folds. He feels the small pulses of your drenched hole against his flesh when he slides over it with the press of his fingers. Eager little thing.  

He hums under his breath at the sight of his hand seated across your hand, fingers shoved between the globes of your smarting ass. Soft and tender to worn and gnarled. The cropping of dark hair over his knuckles, his hand, against your bare skin is obscene. The picture of sin with your stricken flesh and his thick veins. The contrast curdled in the back of his head, morphing into something ugly and wanting. 

Idly, he thinks of making you bounce your sore ass on his lap later, your pussy swallowing up his fat cock. Taking it all the way to the root. Over and over again. Breaking you on it until you're begging for mercy, until this little attitude of yours is crushed between his teeth. 

Slick gathers against the rough pads of his fingers, drenching them. The hair on his knuckles is matted down, wet with your arousal. Naughty girl. He'll make you pay for that. 

And for the puddle seeping into his trousers. 

You mewl when he slips, sliding over your clit. The noise spilling molten over your lips, bludgeoning into his loins. 

He drags in another mouthful of smoke. Lets it rot between his teeth as he drops the cigar into the ashtray once more, attention riveting to the slip-slide of your slick thighs rubbing together for friction against your aching clit. Cunt pulsing needily against his hand. 

You haven't learned a damn thing at all, have you? 

Smoke funnels out of his nostrils when he growls. “Spoiled, aren't you? Need to be taught a lesson in respect.” 

“I, ah, am respectful, Captain—” 

He sucks in a breath between clenched teeth. This lippiness of yours grates on his nerves. He wants you begging for mercy, limp in his hold. Pretty doll. Waiting obediently for him to put you back together again. Soft and submissive at his heel. 

“Got three more to go, love.” You shiver when he strokes over your ass. Petting gently with wet, tacky fingers. “If you're a good girl and take it for me, I'll play with your pretty cunt, mm. You'd like that, wouldn't you?” 

Price brings his hand down, grunting when you moan out his name. Sharp and needy. Your plaintive posturing is a spark inside a tinderbox. 

“E–eight.” 

The next one is harder, sharper. The force twinges his joints. Rattles through his bone. 

It's unexpected, and the pain makes you yowl, body drawing tight like a bow. There's no pleasure when it's like that. No friction against your cunt. It's just—

“Price—!” You yelp, shrill and distressed. The lead up to this has been child's play. A soft hand to tender a nervous mare. 

His old man taught him to never strike with the whip first but to wean them slowly. 

He waits, humming mockingly to your pettering whimpers as you heave, tremulous, into the air. Shuddering in his grasp at the aftershocks of agony rippling through your body. 

Waits. Waits. And—

“Ah, ah,” he tuts, cooing low and condescending when you gasp, craning your neck to level him with an imploring, pleading stare as you stammer out a frenetic nine in a breathless rush. Tears soak your lashline, clumping them together when you blink through another deluge pooling against the rim. Your lip wobbles. The stream breaks, spilling over. Fresh tears run down your wet, sticky cheeks. 

There's real panic in the whites of your eyes now. That haughty, pedant gleam buried under pyretic desperation. Gone is the coy twist to your lips. The wily little bloom of amusement in your gaze. 

Aw, poor thing. But—

Too late. “You didn't count. You know what that means, love.” 

That knot in his chest unfurls, and leaks acid into his lungs. This want is corrosive. A poison. The sob breaks through your chest. The first thunderclap. He relishes in it. Leans back in his chair to bask in the potency of your unmaking. 

“Good girl,” he husks out, burning lungs spewing black smoke into the air. “Just ten more now, love. Know you can take it for me, can't you?”

Pretty thing. He'll have that haughty attitude snuffed out before the end of the night. Have you begging for his touch, his cock, him, before the sun draws across the horizon. 

Your ruination at his hand. The thought strokes along the kindling smouldering inside of his chest. Burning away at the pyre he's been building since the day he met you. When you looked up at him, pretty in your scorn, and disobeyed his command. Undermined him. So righteous in your fury. A burgeoning flame he wanted nothing more than to snuff out under his heel, and now—

Wide, wet eyes plead with him. “Please, Price. Please, please. I'll be good—I promise I'll be good, sir—”

—ash in the palm of his hand. 

He strokes over your searing flesh, humming softly under his breath. “I know you will, pretty girl—” basks in the hiccup of relief you let out, lets it glue in his ears, echoing over and over again. So sweet. 

He lets your relief live for a moment. Take its first breath of air through aching lungs—

“But I told you, didn't I? That I'd take you over my knee.” Price pats his hand over your cheek, shushing you when you startle, squirming on his lap. 

“Now. Be a good girl and count for me, mm?”

[baby-yongbok]

𝘗𝘪𝘯𝘬 + 𝘞𝘩𝘪𝘵𝘦

Hwang Hyunjin 𝗑 Afab!Reader

��� Genre - Friends to Lovers

♡ CW - Explicit Sexual Content, Unprotected Sex, Nightmares, Alcohol usage by reader, Hyunjin calls reader rose as a nickname, One use of 'y/n'.

♡ Summary - Your avoidant tendencies have allowed the burn of pink and white to keep you Hyunjin at a safe distance until it all comes crashing down. Can the fire that kept you apart also be what brings you together?

♡ Word Count - 9.2k

♡ A/N - I went from not being sure if I liked this fic to being in love with it. I think that it's a very sweet fic and I loved writing it. I worked so hard on it and I'm so proud of it. The goal was for it to be 4k words.. then I almost posted it at 8k but now... yeah. I hope that you love this as much as I do!

♡ Playlist - Pink + White - Frank Ocean, Rainy Days - V, For Us - V, Beautiful Things - Benson Boone, Trajectories - Bruno Major

✧ Masterlist ✧

When you were six years old you punched a boy in the face on the playground. That was the first time that you ever felt the burn of genuine fear.

Your mom along with the many others came swirling around them. When your mother asked you what happened you cried. You clung to her running over to you and the crying brunette boy on the playground with a mix of emotions and explained the best you could through your tears that you didn’t like that he was chasing you, when you agreed to play tag you thought that you’d be the chaser not the one being chased.

That was the day that you learned two things about yourself, you have a habit of acting impulsively when you’re scared and you don’t like being chased. It's suffocating.

As you got older your friends described you as the avoidant type, especially in relationships. You developed a reputation for being an ice queen in your Sophomore year of university which led to you being one of the most sought after girls on campus. 

You’ve lost friends because of this. Their boyfriends saw getting close to them as a gateway to meeting you. Many guys took dating you as a challenge with an end prize of overnight popularity. Unfortunately, some of your closest relationships have been destroyed because of it. You learned not to be sad about it, you’ve come to terms with it, this is just the way that it goes. Of course your other friends were all important to you but you always told yourself that you’re alright with losing them as long as you have your best friend by your side. 

“More roses? Are you in love or something?” You weaved through the cluttered art studio that Hyunjin has claimed as his own. It’s on the dead side of campus on the second floor of a building that was abandoned last year. Your best friend refused to let the studio go when it was shut down, he says that it houses some of his fondest memories. 

“Always in love, never loved back.” He quips, eyes still trained on the canvas. “You’re early.”

You jump up onto one of the few clear desks in the room, right behind his easel. “Chemistry ended early.” Hyunjin stands straight, eyeing his canvas for a second before looking over at you. He knows that you’re skipping class. Your last hook-up is in that class and you're trying to avoid his attempt at getting you in his bed again. If you’re being honest, the decision to sleep with him was impulsive. You blame the beer, all eight of them.

“I thought that we could go to the exhibition early.” He starts another brush stroke and silence swallows you both. “I’m excited about it and if I’m being honest I just wanna spend time with you. I’ve barely seen you for the past three days.”

Hyunjin’s steady hand wavers and he thanks his lucky stars that you didn’t see it. “Aw she misses me. She loves me so much.” The sound of your feet hitting the ground as you jump off of the desk echoes through the dusty room of stacked chairs and forgotten storage items. 

Hyunjin stands and dips the paint brush covered in bright pink in the cup of water next to him. “You could’ve come to my place ya know.” You grab your stuff, swinging your bag onto your shoulder. 

“Your brother is there, you know how he gets.” You scrunch your face at the thought of Hyunjin’s step brother, Jeongin. The two of you get along perfectly, almost as well as you and Hyunjin until Jeongin starts flirting. He confessed to you on New Years and you’ve been avoiding him ever since. He’s too sweet for you, you’d hate to hurt him. “I’m gonna go change, I’ll meet you by your car.”

“You brought a costume change for an art exhibit?” He asks as he starts cleaning his space.

“Of course, I need to look like art too.” You smile at him but he doesn’t smile back, he rolls his eyes and turns his attention back to the mess of paints and rags on the desk in front of him. He waits until he hears the door open and close behind you to finally let the corners of his mouth turn up. He chuckles to himself quietly while his mind comes up with responses that he’d never dare to utter out loud.

“This one looks like you, rose.” The year old nickname slips off of Hyunjin’s tongue like silk. You’ve never fully understood how the name stuck. You figured that it’s because roses are his favorite flower and he thought it was cute. You’ve never asked for its origin but you don’t mind the name. It’s sweet.

You turn to view the series of pink, white and green dots making up a bouquet of roses on the framed canvas in front of Hyunjin. He studies it with smiling eyes though the neutral look on his face could fool those who haven’t experienced him like you have.

“It’s pretty.” You mumble as you lean your head on his shoulder. You wrap your arm around his and the sleeve of the brown oversized flannel shirt that you picked out a year ago rides up his forearm a bit, he blames the chills running up his spine on the breeze against the newly exposed skin. 

“I knew I’d see you here.” The voice of a woman next to Hyunjin startles you a bit. You stand straight and watch as Hyunjin smiles towards her. He’s cursing her in his head for interrupting the moment between the two of you but he learned a long time ago to just live in the moment when it comes to you.

“Of course, I had to see this exhibition.” He shakes her hand and you chalk it up to her being someone important though she doesn’t look much older than either of you. “You put it together beautifully.”

Ah, she owns the gallery. “Oh, please, it’s nothing. I just hope that you’re enjoying it. I actually thought about you when I put this piece up.” She motions towards the art in front of the two of you. The piece that Hyunjin says resembles you. “It looks like something you’d design. I’m still desperate to organize a local exhibition for you, ya know.”

Hyunjin laughs but it's stiff and polite. He’s being shy. He’s a very cautious person but he reaches a whole new level when it comes to his art. “I’m not quite on that level yet.”

“I disagree but I won’t bother you about it until you graduate. This is your final semester, right?” You can see her eyes smiling just like Hyunjin’s were a second ago as she checks him out. She’s shameless in her actions, the glint in her eyes is far from professional. 

“Yes, just three months to go.” She nods, dragging her gaze up from his lips with a smile. 

“Call me when you graduate, I’d love to have you working with us.” She pulls a business card out of her pocket and flashes one last smile before waving a reluctant goodbye towards your best friend. 

Silence settles between the two of you for just a couple of seconds before you break it. “She wants to fuck you so badly that she didn’t even look at me.” Hyunjin scoffs at your whispered words as he slips the card into his pocket. “Don’t tell me that you didn’t notice. How old is she anyway? She looks a bit young to be in charge of this place.”

“Her father owns it.” He mumbles as he grabs your wrist and leads you over to the next piece of art. 

“Oh, of course. She probably thought I was your girlfriend, ya know. She’s rude as hell for not even asking or looking at me. I know she saw me here, she’s clearly -” You’re pulled into Hyunjin’s side before you can finish your sentence. The sudden action cuts you off with a heavy thump of your heart and that painfully familiar burn rising in your chest. 

“Look at this one.” Your eyes are on him but his are on the art. “This one looks like you too.” You pull your gaze away from him to view the piece. The thumping in your chest doubles once your gaze meets your own. It’s a mirror with pink and white abstract designs floating around and over the glass. The paint is so messy yet strategic. It leaves just enough room for your reflection. 

“It’s messy yet elegant, don’t you think? You can’t help but to stare..” He’s visibly smiling now. The corners of his mouth turn up as he studies the art in front of him. As he studies you. “This one might be my favorite. It’ll be hard to beat it.”

“I don’t like it.” You mutter quickly, pulling away from Hyunjin and turning towards the next piece. You try your best to steady your breathing. You will your heart to calm down so that you can take a complete breath but it’s betraying you. “I’m gonna use the bathroom.” 

You’re walking away before Hyunjin can reply. He watches you with that smile in his eyes as you disappear around the corner. He knew that what he pulled would be a risk but it was one that he was willing to take. He doesn’t call you beautiful nearly as much as he should or as much as he really wants to. 

In the bathroom you’re slumped against the door of a stall while you try to catch your breath. You don’t like how Hyunjin’s words made that white hot burn in your chest kick up. You don’t like the way that his eyes being on you made you feel like you were the only two in the entire gallery. It’s suffocating. 

When you step out of the stall your fingers are busy on your phone screen. You find your friend Isa’s number quickly and take a sigh of relief when she answers on the third ring. You bypass reciprocating her kind greeting and get right to the point. 

“Get-together at yours tomorrow?”

You’re standing in the middle of the Pink and White art exhibition. Other viewers jumble together along the walls of the gallery and crowd the pieces. You can’t see anything but their blurred faces decorating the white walls. There’s a slow yet heavy beating in your ears but you’re comfortable. You’re alone in the middle of it all, watching everyone from a pleasant distance as you turn to study them all as if they’re the art on the walls.

 The beating in your ears skips as you turn and come face to face with Hyunjin. He’s standing in front of you wearing that brown hat that you love and the oversized flannel that he bought just to share with you.

 Suddenly the others in the room are quiet. All eyes are on you but Hyunjin’s gaze is the most piercing. His brown eyes are smiling at you with a softness that makes the flame in your chest burn brighter. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” You look around at everyone else but they’ve vanished along with the art on the walls. The beating in your ears picks up, it’s deafening but Hyunjin’s voice can be heard loud and clear over the noise.  

“I like staring at you.” He takes a step towards you but you take two back. He frowns and steps forward again. You repeat the process until your back is against the wall. “Why do you do that?” 

“I’m not doing anything.” You swallow hard as you try to push him away but he’s stronger than you. As strong as stone caging you against the stark white wall. “I can’t breathe.” You’re pushing as hard as you can but it’s no use. You’re stuck under him.

“Why do you do this?” He’s still staring down at you, a burning gaze setting your skin ablaze. “Why do you keep running?” The beating in your ears drowns out all sensible thoughts. You can feel your veins swelling with fear and the blinding white burning in your chest puffs up with the crushing pressure of having him so close. Too close. 

“Back up.” You inhale the thick air, feeling dizzy. “Move.”

“Stop running.” You try to inhale but it gets stuck in your throat. You want to scream. You need to escape. You need to get out of here. 

You lift your heavy arm the best you can and pull back enough to punch Hyunjin. You aim for his face but your fist goes through him just as your lungs start to burn, you take one last look at him before the wall behind you gives out and you’re falling backwards. Hyunjin watches you, his eyes are void of that sparkling smile and guilt consumes you right before you hit the ground.

You jump up with a gasp as your eyes frantically search the room around you. Your chest rises and falls heavily and sweat beads at your hairline.

It was a dream. 

Friday is a late day for you with your last class ending at nine in the evening. Hyunjin always waits for you in the abandoned art studio, he waits for two hours just to walk you to your dorm across campus. It’s become a routine for the two of you but you told him not to wait up tonight. He was reluctant at first, he insisted on waiting for you but you were adamant about breaking your routine.

He agreed eventually but you could see the dejection in his eyes as he hugged you goodbye before your last class. He watched you walk away just like he always did but this time his heart was heavy in his chest. Did he do something wrong? 

That question haunted him throughout the day. It was loud in his head as he collected his stuff and made his way to the abandoned studio. It echoed in his ears as he tried to finish the painting of his vibrant rose that he’s added notes of dusty pale pink to. But it was the loudest when Jeongin called him to ask if he was going to the get-together at Minho’s place tonight.

He knows that you and Minho’s girlfriend Isa are close so you have to know about this, hell, you might’ve even helped plan it and you kept it from him. You’re avoiding him.

You skipped your class to head to Minho and Isa’s place. They share a small apartment right off of campus that you often use as an escape. Isa is one of the few friends that you still have from sophomore year since her boyfriend has never once tried to get in your pants. 

You sat on Isa’s bed clutching a bottle of soju that is not at all meant for one person while you laid your head in her lap. You loved being with her because there was never any pressure to fill the silence. She understands you in a way that other people just don’t. Not even Hyunjin. 

“So, he called you pretty?” You’ve been telling her everything from what happened at the art gallery to the nightmare you had last night. “And now you’re avoiding him?”

“I’m not avoiding him.” You take a swig from the glass bottle and gulp hard to rush the alcohol into your system. “I’m just being careful.”

“You’re being careful by avoiding your best friend… because he called you pretty and you had a nightmare about it?” You sit up with a groan, lifting the bottle to your mouth again with a sigh. She’s not getting it. 

“You didn’t see the way he looked at me. You didn’t feel the way he pulled me into him, his arm wrapped around my waist and he just stared at me with that smile in his eyes. You know the one that makes his eyes shine when he sees something pretty? He was looking at me like that and he told me that I looked elegant. Messy but elegant and that he couldn’t help but to stare. There was a softness in his voice, I swear, and he just wouldn’t take his eyes off of me. It’s like he was looking into me instead of at me it was… it was..”

“Sweet?” You tap the bottle in your hands with your nails. 

“Suffocating. It was too much. It made my heart skip and it made me feel hot.” 

“That usually means that you like him, ya know.” She takes the bottle from you, drinking from it a bit herself. “ You know that he’s a romantic and this isn’t the first time you’ve felt like this with him.” She hands the cold glass back to you while you think back to the other times that you’ve felt this. The latest being your birthday three months ago when Hyunjin whisked you away to the next city for a mini getaway. 

You stayed in the same hotel room and on the night of your birthday you had a bit too much to drink. He carried you up to your room since you were too out of it to walk but you weren’t too far gone to forget the way that he handled you with such gentle care.

He brushed your hair out of your face when he laid you on your bed and took your make-up off with such a tender touch that it made you want to kiss him. You almost kissed him. 

“I don’t like him like that.” You shrug and she sighs. 

“Whatever you say, ice queen.” That damned nickname makes you cringe but Minho is bursting through the door before you can rebuttal. 

“Jisung and Bin just got here, come on.” You stare at him with confused eyes and he crosses his arms as he stares back at you. “Well? Get up, you wanted to do this.”

“Do what?” You look over at Isa who’s already getting up from the bed.

“Did you not call her asking for a get-together? People are getting here so come on. I’m not hosting this by myself.” Your heart drops and you stare over at Isa who looks back at you with her own look of confusion until it all sinks in.

 “You meant for it to be just us, didn’t you?”

Hyunjin is a cautious person, anyone who knows him knows that about him. He doesn’t like when things go wrong because of him. It eats him alive until he can fix it and if he can’t he lets the anxiety consume him until a part of him dies with the memory of it all. 

His cautious nature is what prompted him to drive home after he got that call from Jeongin. It brought him right to his bedroom where he dropped his bag by the foot of his bed and laid back against the mattress with a death stare set on the dull ceiling. It stared back at him, reflecting his thoughts back to him for him to analyze. 

His brother left for the get-together as soon as he walked through the door and Hyunjin was tempted to follow him down to Seungmin’s car.

He was tempted to drop his bag and turn on his heels and come straight to you but he knew better. He knew you better than you knew yourself. If he shows up at that get-together you’ll avoid him like the plague. You’ll feel trapped by his presence and any hope that he has of fixing this situation will die right in front of his eyes. 

His cautious nature is what’s keeping him on his bed. It’s what’s grounding him to this spot and sating the burning desire to chase you. The problem is that the fire in his chest is bigger than he can handle. He’s seen how you treat the men you want to avoid on campus, he’s seen you take the long way home just to avoid a conversation and the thought of you doing that to him makes him wilt. He can’t let that happen. 

His feet are carrying him across his room before he can even fully process it. He opens his closet and pulls out the brown flannel along with his brown beanie. They’ve become comfort items for the both of you at this point, especially the flannel. It feels like a thread connecting you to him and him to you. He needs to save that connection.

 He sloppily throws on the items while he checks the clock. He’s nearly two hours late but there’s still time. 

Hyunjin has never gotten a speeding ticket but he was nearly positive that he’d get one tonight. He made it to Minho’s place in record time but he’s panting when he knocks on the door like he’s ran there. His heart is hammering when Isa answers the door and the look on her face when she takes him in only makes his heart beat faster. 

She forces a smile, inviting him in and telling him where everything is but he already knows all of that and she knows that he does. “She doesn’t want to see me does she?” Isa sighs, giving him a look that answers each and every one of his questions all at once. 

“Thanks for letting me in.” He walks past her with a nervous huff, making his way into the small party and searching for you immediately. He finds Changbin and Chan before he can find you and the two quickly drag him into a conversation about gods know what while wedging a glass bottle of mystery liquid into his fist. 

Hyunjin’s eyes wander in an attempt to find you as he ignores his friends' conversation. Luckily it didn’t take long for the sound of your loud laughter to echo through the room. His eyes were on you in an instant once he heard it. You’re right in front of him sitting in the truth or dare circle with a can of something strong in your hand. You’re always the loudest in the room but right now you seem to be the drunkest too, you shouldn’t be playing that game you’ll do something reckless.  

He wants to go over and pull you up, he wants to tell you that you’re going home and that you need to sober up. He wants to get you to talk to him but he ignores everything he wants and watches you instead. He stays cautious and keeps his distance. 

“Y/n, truth or dare.” One of your few girl friends, Harvey asks from across the circle. You answer ‘dare’ with a wide smile, it’s no surprise, you always pick that. The raven haired girl looks over to Mingi for assistance since she’s known for picking terrible dares. After a couple seconds of deliberation the blonde perks up with an idea.

“I dare you to kiss whoever this bottle lands on.” Mingi dares with a nonchalant smile and you shrug, the alcohol in your system is surely boosting your confidence but it’s not like you’ll remember any of this tomorrow so who cares, right?

He spins the bottle in the middle of the circle and everyone watches with quiet anticipation as it lands on the copper haired boy sitting three people away from you. It’s Jeongin. 

He stops in the middle of sipping from his cup and flashes you a small innocent smile but what you return to him is nothing less than a look of raw seduction. You’re on your feet in an instant, making your way over to him with low and hazy eyes. You straddle him swiftly, getting comfortable in his lap like you’ve done this a hundred times. 

“You sure about this, noona?” His hands rest on your thighs, he brushes his thumbs over the bareskin and you can feel a shiver down your spine. It almost reminds you of how Hyunjin touched you on your birthday. 

“Do you not wanna kiss me?” You tease him with a slight slur to your voice. You know he wants to kiss you, everyone does except for Hyunjin, right? 

Just as that thought passes your eyes flicker up and meet those of the very man on your mind. He’s watching you with an angry gaze as he fists the neck of the glass bottle in his hand. Your mouth goes dry as you take him in, when did he get here? You feel stuck staring at him, everything around you is suddenly muted and the people around you disappear. It’s only you and Hyunjin.

Both of your hearts are pounding in your chest. 

Both of you feel like you can’t breathe. 

Both of you are about to do something that you shouldn’t.

“Kiss her already!” Ryujin instigates from across the circle and you snap out of your haze and blink down at Jeongin. You both share a smile, one more genuine than the other, before he’s leaning into you. His lips just barely brush against yours before you’re interrupted.

A firm grip on your shoulder startles you and the man under you. You both look up to meet the eyes of the angry Hyunjin above you.“Get up.” He practically growls with a slight tug on your arm. You stare up at him with glassy eyes though you are feeling a bit more sober now. “Get. Up.” 

You’re being pulled up before you can process it. Your feet fight to keep up with him as you stumble towards the bedroom he’s leading you to. You can feel all eyes on you, you can feel the room getting smaller once he locks the bedroom door behind the two of you and pulls his flannel off to drape over your shoulders, something that he does to comfort you. 

“What the fuck?” That’s all you can manage to get out of your mouth as you stare over at him. He stares back with his arms crossed and his chest rising and falling with what you perceive as anger but he would describe as anxiety. Pure fear. 

“Do you understand what you were about to do?” Hyunjin tries to be mindful of his tone. He tries to limit the waver of his words and calm the frantic thoughts in his head. He’s trying. “Why would you kiss him?”

“I didn’t.” The alcohol in your system takes over again and you thank the ridiculous amount of soju you’ve consumed for coming to the rescue. You tug on the flannel resting over your shoulders, pretending that its warmth would protect you from the buzzing in your head and inevitable burning in your chest.

“You would’ve if I didn’t stop you. What happened to you not being into Jeongin? What happened to you not wanting to hurt him?”

You groan, stomping your foot like a child being scolded by their guardian. Like the little girl who punched the brunette boy in the face for chasing her. “Why don’t you mind your business?”

Hyunjin scoffs, his anxiety grows in his chest and he takes a step back. “You are my business.” 

It’s silent for one, two, three heartbeats before the dizzying emotions burning in your chest fill in the silence for you. “Well maybe I shouldn’t be. You’re way too attached to me.”

Hyunjin feels frozen even though he’s stepping back from you. He’s creating more space between the two of you just like you seem to be doing. What do you mean by that? You’re rambling on before he can ask. “You do all of these things that make me feel like I can’t breathe. You call me pretty and you touch me softly and you hold me close and… and you just make me feel hot. You suffocate me.”

Hyunjin whispers through the bubbles forming in his throat. He’s gentle with the way he speaks, he is a cautious person after all, especially when it comes to his art. “Is this about what I said at the gallery?”

His question goes in one ear and right out the other. Your brain formulates words quicker than you can process them, creating a violent episode of word vomit that threatens to spill over your lips and onto the carpet but you swallow hard and condense it all into one simple yet seering sentence. “You keep making my heart race, it’s not fair. You need to go, just go.”

Hyunjin’s blood runs cold and his temples throb like you’ve hit him. Like you’ve punched him in the face. Anxiety bubbles in his veins and swells behind his eyes. It’s his turn to ramble, the word vomit seems to be contagious. 

“I’m not leaving.” His gaze is frantic, cautious, scared. “I am too attached, you’re right. I have been for a while. I’ve loved you for a while and I tried to hide it but I shouldn’t have to. I shouldn’t be scared that I’ll lose my best friend if I tell her that she’s the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

 “No, you are not confessing to me right now. Don’t you dare do that.” You pace to the left then the right in a hurried attempt to escape his words before they could reach you. He can’t be doing this right now. You needed to get out of here.

“I am. I am confessing to you. I need you to hear me say that I love you because I do and it scares me just as much as it scares you but you are the reason that it’s scaring me. Losing you is the reason that I’m afraid and I need you to tell me that that isn’t going to happen.” His voice is shaky just like your hands. He watches you like a dog being dropped off at the pound as you physically try to escape him. He knew this would happen, this is what he was afraid of. 

“Stop. Just stop it, Hyunjin. You’re doing it again, I can’t breathe when you’re this close to me.” He stares over at you from the other side of the room and you stare back at him. This doesn’t make any sense. He isn’t next to you but you still can’t breathe. It doesn’t make any sense. “I have to go - I have - just… just leave me alone.” You turn towards the bedroom door but he speaks up before you can make your escape. 

“I’m not going to chase you.” Hyunjin is unmoving. His feet are still planted to the floor like a statue as he slips his fists into his pocket. “I don’t want to push you further away but don’t you dare go home and convince yourself that I don’t care just because I let you go.” 

You listen to him over your hammering heart with your back turned to him and your unsteady gaze trained on the worn door knob. “I’m letting you go with the hope that you’ll come back. You know where to find me.” 

Your feet threaten to betray you, they try to turn you around and drive you over to him but your heart is screaming. That white flame is burning in your chest and begging you to run. Run as fast as you can and find safety, but your safety is standing behind you. It’s watching you with teary eyes that are desperate to meet yours. 

A tear slips down your cheek as you grab the doorknob and pull it with a quick twist. You follow your heart and rush out of the room with tears decorating your face and your hand over your mouth. You let the burning win again.

You rush past everyone, Isa tries to stop you and Minho even catches you for a minute but you fight him off of you and make your way to the front door. You don’t get too far before the last layer of your resolve snaps, You turn onto the next dark block and sink to the ground. Sobs rip through you as Hyunjin’s words hang in your head. He loves you. He wants you but you left him. You left everything you’ve ever wanted behind you. 

A heavier sob escapes you as the truth of it all comes crashing down. You love him too, don’t you? You’ve loved him for so long. Since your birthday and beyond that but you’ve been avoiding it. You’ve avoided your feelings just like you have everything else. You’ve punched yourself in the face, you’ve chased yourself into a corner and now you might just lose everything you have left. You might lose your best friend.

The storms over the next two days swirl the skies into mysterious clouds of pink and white as rain soaks the grass the same way that you’ve soaked your pillow for hours. You’ve opted to stay in, avoiding anything or anyone that could remind you of Friday’s catastrophe.

 You’ve debated texting Jeongin and apologizing for what you remember of the situation. You almost called Isa to spill the fears bubbling in your lungs to her so that she could help you sort through them but she can’t. This is up to you. You need to make a choice. Will you run away from the fire or towards it? 

On the other side of campus Hyunjin sits in the abandoned studio with paint stained hands and dried tears on his cheeks. He’s left his previous painting incomplete. The bright blushing rose sits across the room with the others just like it while he touches his brush to the canvas and smears a smoky mauve to the pristine white flesh. His lines are messy and uncalculated. Far from cautious. 

For a moment he considers that he was only ever careful because of you. Your lack of control over your emotions inspired him to fill in the blanks for you. Now there’s no need for caution without you.

The rain carried into Monday along with the emptiness in your chest. You’ve typed and deleted paragraphs to Hyunjin who has done the same as he sat on the studio floor.

He stayed in the dusty room until midnight each day that he was without you and you stayed up well past then. He poured himself into painting and you poured yourself onto the carpet of your dorm room. You made lists and mapped your emotions until it all started to make a bit more sense. Until the love that burned alongside your hot white fear was glowing pink in the mirror. 

You skipped your classes on Monday, your feet drove you over to the dead side of campus through the violent rain. You stood in the hallway outside of Hyunjin’s studio. The worn copper doorknob stared back at you like it knew what you were here to do. Like it was daring you to go inside. You suck in a breath as you grab the metal, you’ve never been one to back down from a dare.

The studio is empty when you walk inside. The fading warm light of the lamps that you and Hyunjin bought and snuck in illuminate the space the best that they can given the dull pink skies. Your eyes catch on the new piece sitting up on his easel. It’s dark and runny, it’s raw and it feels like it’s calling your name. 

“Hi.” Hyunjin’s voice snaps you out of your thoughts. His voice is small and surprised as he stares over at your frame clad in that famous brown flannel and sweatpants. 

“Hi.” You whisper back. He looks like a mess. Brown hat, pulled too far over his head and his hair spilling from every exit it can find. “More roses?” 

He stares passed you and over at the wilting petals on the canvas with a sad smile. “It’s like I’m in love or something.” 

Your guilt tinged heart beats a bit faster when he steps further into the room and closes the door behind him. He drops his bag next to the door and stares at the dinghy tile with his hands in his pockets. “I’m sorry. For everything, for the party and everything with your brother and for everything that I said.” 

The word vomit is back. It spilled over your lips before you could attempt to swallow it back but you’re almost thankful for it. You have no clue how you’d get your words out otherwise. “You just made me feel… I just felt..” You kick at the cracked tile as if it holds the answers you’re looking for but Hyunjin beats you to it.

“Suffocated.” His eyes are on you now, they’re low and shadowed in a longing sadness. “I’ve seen this happen a million times to other guys and I thought that I was being careful enough to avoid it.” 

“This is nothing like the other guys.” Your bag slumps off of your shoulder and you carelessly allow it to hit the floor. “Your confession just -” He cuts you off with a tight smile.

 “I know. It ruined everything.” He sighs, sad eyes examining the space between the two of you. “I ruined everything and I’m sorry for that, rose. I really am.”

“It didn't. It didn’t ruin anything, it just scared me. I felt suffocated, yes, but not by you. It was by what I felt for you. That’s why this isn’t like what happened with any of the other guys. I never wanted them. Avoiding them was easy but you… avoiding you..” Hyunjin watches your heaving chest with the caution that he thought had abandoned him. He’s quiet, allowing you time to gather your thoughts. He doesn’t want to corner you, he just wants to hear you. 

“Why do you call me that?” You whisper once your breathing has steadied. “Why did you start calling me rose?”

Suddenly he’s looking past you then down at the tile under his feet. He leans against the door behind him, a faint smile decorating his sad face. “You were wearing one in your hair on the day that I realized I love you.” He looks over to where his easel is set up. “We were sitting right there and you had a pale pink rose behind your left ear. You picked me one to match and I told you that it was my favorite flower because in that moment it was. It was beautiful but you…your beauty is hard to beat.”

Your heart is thumping in your ears, it’s a sound that you’ve grown comfortable with over the past few days. The clutter of the abandoned room almost seems to disappear as you process his words. The burning in your chest makes itself known along with the newly identified pink flame. The white walls of the studio almost seem brighter as you receive Hyunjin’s confession. You let it sink in and drown out the tension little by little. “So when you paint them…”

“I’m painting you. I’m always painting you.” The thumping is deafening but Hyunjin is clear over the noise. He has always been the only one who can cut through it all, even in your dreams. 

You can feel yourself falling just like in your nightmare only it’s forwards. You’re falling forwards as your feet carry you to him. You run. You run to him and you fall into his arms that have been desperate to catch you for months. The burn in your chest is paralyzing, it’s seering and fighting the pink flame for dominance. 

You cry into his chest, you sob as the pain of running into the fire engulfs you. It swallows you whole and you stand in it with him, you cling to him before you burn to ash and he holds you like he knows it all. He cradles the back of your head like he can feel the fire ripping your flesh apart. 

You’re flush against him, tears soaking his shoulder and burning all over until he does what no one has done before. He puts it all out. A simple kiss to the top of your head dowses the flame and reduces it to a measly spark of fear overshadowed by an uncontainable pink and white glow of love in your chest. 

You gasp at the cooling effect. Air rushes into your lungs and you can finally breathe, he’s the oxygen you needed. He’s everything you’ve needed but now you want to give your air away again. You want to give it all to him. 

You pull away from his shoulder in one swift motion, your eyes are shut tight as your lips find his and you pull him into a hard and messy kiss. The sound that escapes you both is desperate and beautiful. His lips move with yours in an uncoordinated rhythm that makes your lungs burn comfortably. They burn the way that they’re supposed to. 

Hyunjin cries into the kiss. Tears stream down his cheeks as he cradles you against him like you’d vanish if he didn’t. He drinks it all in, he allows himself to live in this moment that he’s been dying to have with you for what feels like an eternity before he reluctantly breaks the kiss. 

His eyes are still closed when he pulls away. He whispers to you, careful not to crack the shell of this delicate moment. “I thought you -” 

“I don’t want to keep running. I can’t, I need you. I can’t lose you.” Your eyes flutter open at the same time as his. He stares down at you with that smile in his eyes. That smile he has when he sees something beautiful, when he’s utterly enamored by the sight before him. “I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t know how to do any of this, I only know that I want to do it with you.”

He’s quiet for a couple of seconds before a smile sneaks up on him. It fades just as quickly as it came and his eyebrows pinch together. “You want me?” You nod and the smile shows itself again. 

“I want you.” He leans back in, cupping your cheek as he kisses you hard. His body pushes against yours and you move with him as he walks backwards towards one of the few empty desks and lifts you onto it. 

His hands explore every inch of you that he can reach. He balls his fist over the baggy flannel hiding your body from him while your fingers tangle in his hair and scratch over his shoulders and up his arms.

 He breaks the kiss to run his lips over the flushed flesh of your neck, he whispers into your skin between each kiss “Tell me to stop.” He pulls at the collar of the flannel to kiss the curve of your neck. “I’ve waited so long for this, please tell me to stop. Tell me to wait.”

You push his head further into the crook of your neck as you tilt your head further to give him better access. “I don’t want you to.” He sucks a mark into the skin right below your ear and you pull his tucked in shirt from his pants with an elated moan. 

His clumsy fingers fight to unbutton the oversized flannel as yours attempt to unbutton his jeans. You reach your goal before he does and waste no time capitalizing on your victory. You dip your hand in just enough to fish his growing erection from his briefs and wrap your hand around it. 

Hyunjin moans at the stimulation, leaning his forehead against yours and squeezing his eyes shut as you stroke him slowly. “Fuck, please don’t, I wont - I can’t last.”

 You kiss his temple softly, whispering reassurance that you don’t care to have him last, you just want to have him. Once he’s centered himself again he continues his struggle to expose your body to him. The final button falls open like the curtain to a play and he stares down your scantily clad torso like an audience in awe. 

His hand moves on its own as he admires you. It dips into the waistband of your sweatpants and swipes over your clothed clit.

 Your head falls forward to rest on his shoulder with a quiet moan as he groans into the air. Your grip on his cock tightens a bit in response to the sensation and he hisses. “Please tell me I can feel you. Is it okay? Can I?” 

He doesn't want your first time to be here but he wants you. He needs you. 

Hyunjin hooks a finger into the damp gusset of your panties and pulls it to the side just enough to slip a finger into your waiting cunt. You pant in his ear, wanton moans bubble over the brim of your lips as his free hand cradles the side of your neck. “Look at me, please look at me, baby.”

 He runs his thumb over your cheek, brushing over the path of your dried tears. “So pretty, this must be a dream.” You shake your head. Speaking between moans. “Not a dream, baby.”

 He slips in another finger as you circle your palm over the head of his cock and you both moan. “Please tell me I can.” He leans his forehead against yours, his desperate eyes reflect the look in your own.

“You can. Please, I want you to.” 

“Have you ever thought about it?” He’s asking before he can process it and you’re shaking your head before he can even finish his sentence. A shy glaze washes over your desperate gaze as you watch him undress you.

 “You’re all I ever think about.” He whispers as he hooks his thumbs into the band of your pants. “You’re all I’ve wanted for the past year.” 

“I’ve loved you since my birthday.” You blurt out, vulnerable eyes peering into his. “Maybe even before that.” He runs a finger over your clothed cunt and you shudder under the touch.

“I wanted to kiss you the night of your birthday. You looked so beautiful but you were wasted. You wouldn’t have remembered. I just stared at you, I took your make-up off and I brushed the hair from your face and you stared back at me. I was just dying to kiss you. I was dying to confess.” Your hand runs slowly up his shaft and he swears that he feels electric. 

“I wanted to kiss you too.” He’s quiet, staring back at you with a smile. “That’s why I was staring”

“I kissed your forehead when you fell asleep.”  He pulls your panties down your legs, allowing them to pool at his feet with your sweatpants. “I knelt by your bed and whispered my confession to you.” 

His fingers are filling you again and you gasp while staring into his eyes. “I wanna hear it.” You whisper through a moan.

 “You want to hear my confession?” You nod, your gently fucked out gaze stares into his like your hypnotized by the moment. He scissors his finger into you, stretching you out just a bit before you’re gasping from the stretch of him replacing his fingers with his length. 

“Fuck, you’re inside of me.” Hyunjin stills with a groan. His forehead rests on your shoulder while he silently begs himself not to come undone just yet. He sucks in a breath before he recites all that he can remember. 

“You’re everything that I thought it would be to fall in love.” He whispers as he pulls back, thrusting into you slowly. “You really snuck up on me, I don’t know what I expected though.” He lifts his head to look at you as he sinks back into you. “You became my world so quickly. So effortlessly.”

 You cup his face with both of your hands as you bite back your moans. You want to hear him loud and clear. You want to remember every word. “I should’ve known that I’d fall in love when I first met you.” He picks up the pace, falling into a messy rhythm that’s accompanied by a fit of moans and grunts. 

He struggles to keep his eyes on you. They flutter shut with each thrust as he feels himself float closer and closer to his climax. “Baby, I won’t last.” You wrap your arms around his neck and one of his wraps around your waist while the other rests on your thigh before creeping over to softly pinch and rub your clit. 

“Hyune, you’re gonna make me - gonna -” He cuts you off with a sloppy kiss, his tongue brushes over your parted lips to request access before making room for itself against yours.

“If you tell me that you’re gonna cum I won’t last another second.” He whispers against your lips and you moan against his.

“What if I tell you that I love you.” Hyunjin’s eyebrows pinch at the confession. That’s way worse than telling him that you’re close. “I’ve loved you back for as long as - as long as you’ve loved me.”

“Rose, baby, you’re gonna -” It’s your turn to kiss him now, it’s a mess of teeth and tongue but you love it. You love him and him you.

 You both pull away in tandem, twin moans ripping through your chests as you both announce yourself to the other. 

“I’m cumming, I’m cumming.” Hyunjin pulls out of you, painting your thighs in his sticky white release while his fingers toy with your clit to ride you through your orgasm. It’s loud and messy and beautiful. A romantic elegance that you want to live in for as long as it’s available. 

Once you’ve both come down from your high Hyunjin kisses your sweaty forehead and you kiss his. He pulls his bottoms up before grabbing the cleanest paint rag he has to clean you up. A comfortable silence settles around you as you ground yourself and take in the space.

“You didn’t finish that one.”

He follows your gaze over to the painting of the pale pink rose. The middle of the canvas contrasts the rest with nothing but dull line art to show the completed picture. It looks like a work in progress. “I know, but I think I like it like that.” He looks back over at you and you at him.

“It looks like you."

It’s been seven months. Graduation has come and gone in the middle of your blooming relationship with Hyunjin and you’ve dedicated each and every second of your budding love to taming the flame. 

Each kiss from him has kept the spark of fear at bay and each touch has taught you how to stop running. It’s been a slow and cautious process that he is more than proud to be a part of. He takes pride in it. He takes pride in being with you.

The smooth breeze of late summer brushes against your skin as you step out of your car. The white dress that Hyunjin picked out for you sticks to you like paint on a canvas as you make your way up to the art gallery. 

It’s buzzing inside, people stand and stare in awe at each piece while whispering and pointing to their favorite details. You stop and stand in the middle of it all, taking it all in with a slow spin on the balls of your feet. You take in every corner until you turn around completely and you’re met with the face of the artist himself. 

“Hi.” Hyunjin smiles down at you, brown baggy flannel hanging from his shoulders. 

“Hi.” You stare back at him with a gleaming smile in your eyes. You take in every inch of him, scanning him like he should be framed and hanging on the walls around you. 

“Why are you staring at me like that?” Hyunjin wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you closer to him. “I like staring at you.” Your response makes him beam a shy smile. 

“You should be staring at the art. The artist might get sad if you don’t.” He kisses your forehead before letting you go. Some people around you stare over at the two of you with curious eyes. They’re eager to put a face to the muse of the showing artist. 

You take his hand and lead him over to the piece that a couple is walking away from. You stand in front of it hand in hand as you study it for what feels like the millionth time. “This one is my favorite.” The incomplete pale pink rose stares back at you.

“And why is that?” Hyunjin has that smile in his eyes as he stares up with you. The memory of this piece's origin plays behind his eyes like a memorized movie. 

“I’ve been told that it looks like me.” You lay your head on his shoulder and wrap your arm around his. A chill runs up his spine and he blames it on you. You and the love he feels glowing pink and white around you. 

“There you are.” History repeats itself as the lady that you’ve come to know as Dalia interrupts the two of you. “I wanted to check in with you, how does it feel to finally have your own exhibition?” 

Hyunjin smiles at her politely, turning towards her a bit with his fingers still threaded through yours. “It’s amazing. Thank you, you’ve done a wonderful job putting this together.” 

“Oh, please, it’s nothing. This is all you.” You watch her as her eyes smile just as they always have. Her hand brushes over his arm in a carefully calculated move. She’s still shameless and unprofessional. “This piece is my favorite. The unfinished look is unique and raw. What inspired this one?” 

You grin to yourself as you listen to her. She’s trying so hard that it’s difficult not to laugh. 

“Actually.” Hyunjin pulls your hand a bit, leading you forward so that you’re right next to him. It’s impossible for Dalia to ignore you now. Her eyes scan you reluctantly and the smile on her face falters for a second before she pulls it together. Gosh, that's gratifying. 

“My lovely rose here is the inspiration for it all.” Hyunjin looks over at you with a glow that is unmatched even by the largest of flames. “None of this would be possible without her.” 

It’s like Dalia disappears once Hyunjin looks over at you. You’re the only two in the room as far as you’re concerned. “Oh, well that’s just - that’s wonderful.” Her staggered speech pulls you both out of your loving haze. 

“Such a … sweet profession of love.” She glares over at you though you’re sure that in her head she’s doing a wonderful job at hiding her contempt. “I should make sure that everything is running smoothly. Please excuse me.” 

She clears her throat awkwardly before she departs, you and Hyunjin both bid her smiling farewells before turning to each other with wide smiles. “Show off.” You push his shoulder playfully and he laughs.

“I didn’t do anything.” You roll your eyes as you both wander over to the next piece on the wall. You stare up at the two pink roses in a lone vase, a shadow of sunlight casts down on them both as they rise towards its shining glow. 

A comfortable silence blankets the two of you while you listen to the soft buzz of the people around you. You squeeze his hand softly and he squeezes back just as you open your mouth to speak. 

“She still wants to fuck you.” He smiles 

“Shut up.”

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[the-scarlet-witch-22]

the girl is mine (Agatha Harkness x Reader)

Summary: When your fascination with Mayor Agatha Harkness becomes all consuming, what lengths will you go to in order to get her attention?

Word Count: 3.2K

A/N: Helloooo, this is a fun little one shot I’ve had sitting in my drive for a while and I finally got around to finishing it. Title & fic idea are both heavily inspired by Ariana Grande’s music video ‘the boy is mine’. Agatha has been consuming my every waking thought lately, so I hope you enjoy this fun au! Let me know what you think, my asks/dm’s are always open!

Growing up you never showed much interest in politics, and you certainly could never name more than a few politicians off the top of your head. It was dull, and you failed to find a group of white men who were knocking on death’s door to be riveting. But all of that changed with the election for the new mayor. In the past, you were vaguely aware of upcoming elections, and tried to remember to vote. But you never actively followed a campaign; at least, not until her. 

The her in question being Agatha Harkness, newly elected mayor of New York City. Being the only daughter of the former long-time U.S. Senator Evanora Harkness, politics was in her blood. Running a cutthroat campaign full of promises to clean up the city and help its residents, all whilst viciously annihilating her opponents one by one in debate, she quickly became the candidate to back. Posters of her face were plastered over every crevice of the city; with her perfectly messy dark brown curls, plump red lips, pristinely bright white smile, and lustrous blue eyes it was no surprise you became hooked. 

You followed the campaign at a slightly obsessive level, tuning into every debate and press briefing, even having notifications for Agatha Harkness enabled on every platform hoping for a glimpse of the woman who had slowly taken over your every waking thought. She was brilliant, and she had absolutely no idea you existed. 

At least, not yet. 

A few months after the election, Mayor Harkness appeared to be following through on her campaign promises. Unemployment was at a record low, there were different initiatives to help funding for the public school system, even crime and gang activity became nearly nonexistent. 

However there were rumblings from various journalists that perhaps the mayor wasn’t as perfect as she appeared to be. A few reports were suggesting that instead of eradicating the crime syndicates that had been plaguing the city for decades, she had merely moved operations underground. Others hinted that perhaps she had something to do with her mother’s rather mysterious and sudden death. But that was absurd, you thought to yourself as you watched the mayor on your television screen, her bright blue eyes twinkling back at you as she answered a few questions. 

Potion making had never been your speciality, as you were still fairly inexperienced in most realms of magic, but you froze as Agatha gave a sly wink when being asked how she kept crime rates lowered. Stirring the cauldron with renewed vigor, the pink fumes filled the room as you inhaled.

Your eyes drifted over to the outfit you had hung on the outside of your closet, briefly wondering if the plan you had concocted was too unhinged. But the mayor’s authoritative voice caught your attention once more as you turned back to the screen.

“Yes, you,” Agatha motioned to one of the eager reporters holding their hands up. 

“Madam Mayor, how do you respond to allegations that you accepted illegal campaign donations from some of the top crime families in the city?” 

The mayor didn’t appear to be phased by the question, pursing her lips as she frowned. “Well, I’d say that sounds like yet another baseless claim from the media’s fruitless attempts to discredit my accomplishments. The witch hunts didn’t stop in Salem, did they?” 

The clamor of dozens of reporters resulted in the mayor waving her hand to decline any other questions, leaving the press briefing room with her team in tow. Shutting off your tv, you glanced back at the outfit, a feeling of determination washing over you. 

Popping the cork off the vial, you carefully poured the liquid in the bottle. Pretty soon the only thought on the mayor’s mind would be your name. 

After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The next morning, you were out the door before the sun was over the horizon, running through the plan again in your head with your destination clear in mind. You had come up with the idea late one night while researching the effects of various love potions. It was risky, sure, but you had taken the time to perfect this particular potion, leaving no room for error.

The rest of the plan was rather reliant on your ability to trick the mayor’s staff into thinking you were a reporter, but hey, using a few charming spells wasn’t unethical if it was in the name of love, right?

By the time you made it to the mayor’s office you were already having second thoughts. Could you go to jail for impersonating a reporter? 

Unfortunately, you had run out of time to turn around as the friendly looking older woman sitting at the front desk waved you over. Approaching her, you ran through what you had practiced saying in the shower. Quickly looking at the personalized name plate on the edge of her desk, you gave her a wide smile.

“Good morning, Sharon. I have an appointment scheduled this morning with Mayor Harkness,” you greeted the receptionist, keeping any trace of nervousness from your tone.

“Oh, an appointment?” Sharon asked, appearing to be confused as she looked at her computer, clicking around with her mouse. “I hate these things, I can never find what I’m looking for. Do you know what never has silly malfunctions? A nice, simple day planner.”

Raising your eyebrows, you nodded along. “Of course. Very reliable.”

Sharon nodded in agreement, still struggling with her computer. “Exactly. I’ve tried explaining that to the mayor but she just waves me away to get her more tea.” She paused, frowning at whatever was on the screen. “I’m not seeing any appointments for this morning. What did you say your name was again?”

Internally sighing, and hoping you had learned this particular spell correctly, you discreetly waved your left hand, mumbling the incantation under your breath. You had never tried an enchantment before, but the spellbook made it appear to be simple enough. As long as you said the right words and had your intention clear in your mind it would work. It had to.

Clearing your throat, you gave her another bright smile. “I’m sure if you check your calendar again, it will have me marked down for an appointment with the mayor. I’m here for a last minute interview.” 

Sharon blinked, and her eyes appeared hazier than they were a moment prior, signaling your spell had worked. Looking back at her computer, she gave you a mindless smile. “Oh of course! This silly computer. Right this way, I’ll take you to the mayor.”

Following the receptionist down the hallway, you made note of how the enchantment did not appear to make any obvious changes, at least not outwardly. You did feel a slight twinge of guilt at manipulating someone without magic, but those thoughts were expelled from your brain as you saw the woman who had bewitched you from the first moment you saw her.

Agatha Harkness was leaning against her open office door, a sly grin on her face as she chatted with a nervous looking employee. Her long dark brown hair was messily splayed across her shoulders, and you could picture running your fingers through it.

With one hand cocked on her hip, and the other tucked in the pocket of her expensive looking purple slacks, you felt your breath hitch. This was really happening.

After a few moments, Agatha looked over at you and her receptionist, and she waved the employee away as she frowned. 

“Shannon, who do we have here?” Agatha curiously asked, looking you up and down.

You frowned, wasn’t her name Sharon?

Sharon didn’t appear to notice, as she mindlessly smiled. “The reporter for your interview is here, Madam Mayor.”

The mayor’s frown deepened, looking between you and her receptionist. “I thought I told you to clear my schedule this morning. I don’t remember agreeing to any more interviews.”

“It’s the only appointment scheduled for this morning,” Sharon insisted, and you prayed to whatever deity that was listening that your spell didn’t wear off too soon. “I must have forgotten to mention it to you.”

Agatha hummed, a thoughtful expression on her face as her gaze remained fixated on her receptionist. “I see.” She finally looked back over in your direction, curiously eyeing you. “I suppose I can spare a few minutes. Thank you, Shannon, that will be all.”

Sharon, or maybe Shannon, walked back to her desk and Agatha held her hand out, gesturing for you to enter her office. You tentatively walked through the doors, as the mayor followed closely behind, shutting the doors shut.

The mayor’s office wasn’t quite what you had expected. It was a lot bigger than you pictured, and the longer you looked around the more you wondered how it was this size. Large violet tinted drapes hung from the windows, and you were momentarily stunned from the view this high up. 

You knew from various interviews that the mayor was an avid reader, so you were unsurprised to find floor to ceiling rows of bookshelves lining three of the four walls. However, you were surprised to find some of them appeared rather old, and you weren’t close enough to read the titles but you managed to make note that a good chunk of them appeared to be in Latin.

“You can take a seat,” Agatha said cordially, walking past you to her desk. “Let’s try and make this snappy.”

Taking a step forward, you pulled one of the chairs out, but in the process of sitting down, the vial of potion you had in your pocket came tumbling out, crashing on the ground as the glass broke, spilling the contents all over the floor. 

Shit.

“I’m so sorry, I forgot I had that in my pocket,” you quickly apologized, trying to think of a somewhat convincing story. “You know how delicate perfume bottles can be.”

“Perfume?” Agatha repeated, tilting her head as she examined you, a calculated expression on her face as the frown lines on her forehead deepened.

“Yes. It’s…French,” you offered, avoiding eye contact as you cleared your throat. This was a horrible idea.

Agatha frowned, intrigue coloring her features as she eyed the now broken vial of potion. “I see…what publication did you say you were from again?”

“The Times,” you lied, straightening your posture as she turned her attention back to you. “It’s actually my first day.”

Raising her eyebrows, the mayor sat back in her seat. “You don’t say, and they sent you to interview me? How ambitious.”

“I’ve been following your career for a while,” you prompted, brainstorming ways to possibly salvage this opportunity. “The work you’ve done for the city is quite admirable.”

“Admirable?” Agatha scoffed, folding her arms across her chest. “I can’t say I’ve been hearing a lot of that from your esteemed peers.”

“Well, some people hate to watch a woman be successful in a position of power,” you offered, and your answer appeared to appease the mayor, as she gave you a curt nod. “Besides, it’s not like you actually did any of those things, people love making up stories.”

You weren’t sure if it was the lighting in the office or your imagination, but there was a brief flash of something on the mayor’s face. If you didn’t know any better, you would say she seemed amused at what you said. But that was ridiculous, right? 

“Of course,” Agatha answered, slowly licking her lips. “Why don’t we get started?”

It was then that reality set in. You hadn’t anticipated actually having to ask the mayor any questions, the potion would have already kicked in at this point. Unfortunately, Agatha observed your hesitation as she let out a deep sigh, and you could tell she was growing more annoyed.

“You know, most journalists send over their questions beforehand,” Agatha informed you, giving you an inscrutable glance as you nervously fumbled around. “I’m a very busy woman, despite what certain media outlets are spewing out.”

“I apologize, Madam Mayor. I don’t want to waste any of your time,” you insisted, wondering yet again why you thought this plan would work to begin with.

Agatha opened her mouth to say something else, but hesitated for a moment, giving you another inquisitive stare. “Very well, I suppose not everyone can be Christiane Amanpour, hm?”

Christiane Amanpour? The name sounded relatively familiar, but you couldn’t place where you had heard it from. 

“You know, the world renowned journalist?” Agatha added on, deep blue eyes boring into your own, and you quickly nodded.

“Of course, I’m such a big fan of her work,” you gushed, but in the back of your mind you had a sinking feeling this wasn’t going the way you hoped it would.

“I’m sure you are,” Agatha mused, and there was something in her words that led you to believe perhaps this was going worse than you were imagining. “How about I ask my assistant to make us some tea? That always helps calm my nerves.”

She was so kindhearted, you noted, feeling yourself relax again as you nodded in agreement. The responding grin Agatha gave you sent a shiver down your spine.. Maybe you could make this work. Sure, you weren’t actually a journalist at The Times and Agatha would eventually realize that when no story came out, but that was a problem for the future. You barely paid attention as Agatha made a quick call to her assistant, but after she hung up you refocused.

“I have to tell you, Sharon was very helpful this morning,” you said honestly, still feeling some lingering guilt over using an enchantment on her. 

“Who’s Sharon?” Agatha deadpanned, giving you a puzzled look. 

For a moment you thought she was joking as you let out a nervous, quiet laugh, until you realized she was being serious.

“Um, your assistant?” 

“Oh, Shannon?” Agatha corrected you, waving her hand dismissively. “She does what she’s told. A bit too chatty for my personal taste.”

You tried to hide the surprise from your face as you processed what the mayor said. That was a bit strange, but maybe the receptionist’s nameplate was wrong? After all, Agatha was so good. All the work she had been doing for the city, you knew she genuinely cared about helping people. Right?

“Of course, my mistake,” you said quietly, awkwardly crossing your legs.

Sharon, or Shannon, came in a few moments later with two cups of tea. Her eyes were still slightly glazed over, but the enchantment would surely wear off soon…probably. Actually, you weren’t sure how long the spell would last. But she would be fine…probably.

When you were alone again, Agatha let out a low chuckle, and you frowned. You didn’t say any of that out loud, right?

“Oh don’t mind me, dear,” Agatha said, giving you another charming smile and you felt your worries instantly slip away as she held out one of the cups. “Tea?” 

The mayor’s lithe fingers brushed against yours as you accepted the cup, and you let out an involuntary shiver at the lingering contact. Slowly withdrawing her hand, Agatha smirked at the flush you could feel spreading across your cheeks. Raising her own cup to her lips, you were entranced watching her ruby red lips part as she took a small sip. 

Following her lead, you lifted your cup, but hesitated. The tea’s sweet aroma invaded your senses as you inhaled, and for a moment the scent smelled oddly familiar. You weren’t usually a tea drinker, you preferred coffee, but it was odd, the longer you allowed the scent to settle the more you wondered what was in it. 

Looking up, you found Agatha watching you again, her cup lowered back on her desk as she surveyed you. 

“Is the tea not to your liking?” The mayor asked, appearing genuinely concerned.

“No, it smells great,” you insisted, raising the cup closer to your lips.

Her blue eyes were so warm and inviting, and she gave you a small encouraging nod, enticing you to take a sip. The warm liquid was as sweet as it had smelled, almost too sweet, you noted, allowing it to swirl around your mouth as you swallowed. 

“Good girl,” Agatha murmured, so quietly you barely heard her.

Blinking, you felt the room begin to spin as you struggled to make sense of what was happening. The sickeningly sweet taste lingered in your mouth as you felt your body grow heavier with every breath you let out. You barely heard the crash of your teacup hit the floor as your hands fell to your sides. 

Your eyes struggled to remain open as you attempted to fight whatever was happening to you, but felt firm hands hold you in place.

“Don’t fight it, pet, I’d hate to have Shannon clean up even more of a mess,” Agatha whispered in your ear as everything went dark.

The throbbing of your headache was the first thing you were aware of as you finally came to, eyes fluttering open. There was a dull ache that seemed to run through your entire body, and you struggled to recognize your surroundings. It was then you realized why you felt a dull ache, as you came to the startling realization your body was suspended midair, hands and feet bound. 

Were you still dreaming? 

“Not quite, dear.”

What?

You tried to move your head, but failed as you heard a responding chuckle at your fight to free yourself.

“I must say, you’re clever. Inexperienced, but clever,” Agatha mused as she came into focus, walking towards you with a smirk painted across her face. 

“I…” you struggled to speak, your throat far too dry, and Agatha fake pouted, raising her hand to brush against your face.

“Is someone feeling shy? Where’s that confident little witch who used an enchantment spell on my assistant?” Agatha mocked, lightly slapping your cheek before tracing a finger across your lips. “Tell me, what was your plan after slipping me that love potion?”

“I don’t…I don’t understand,” you said deliriously, still feeling an odd sensation in your head.

“Normally I’d have drained you of your magic by now,” Agatha said aloud, her long fingers moving lower, and you gasped as they wrapped around your neck. “It’s been a long time since someone’s managed to surprise me.”

“You’re a witch?” You managed to get out, torn between the paralyzing fear of what was occurring and a more carnal desire as you felt a heat pool between your legs from the way the mayor was looking at you. 

“And here I thought you were clever,” Agatha said, a wicked gleam in her eyes as she squeezed, the pressure causing you to moan.

She moved closer to you, not releasing her hand from your throat as her lips grazed yours. “Now, I think it’s time I break in my new toy, hm? Why don’t you show me how much you worship me.”

The mayor released you from your magical bindings as you hit the floor, and swirls of purple magic surrounded you, forcing you on your knees as she roughly grabbed your chin, forcing you to look up at her. 

“I’ve always wanted my own pet.”

[7s3ven]

ATHENA’S GIRL. luke (pjo) / pt 2

trailer > part 1 > part 2

( masterlist )

IN WHICH… Chaos endures on the trio’s trip to Camp Half-Blood and Luke learns that Y/N isn’t as tough as she projects herself to be. Upon finally arriving at camp, Y/N is met with a pleasant surprise when Athena claims her on the spot.

“Have you forgotten to turn off your heart? This is not you. I see you changing from how I've designed you. Have you forgotten your purpose?"

Warning : LONG chapter

—

Athena had one goal in life; to create a dazzling warrior who would be worthy of calling themselves her golden child. She moulded her kids into the people she wanted them to be but they often strayed from her ideals, only disappointing her. Perhaps her biggest success in life was designing Y/N.

She was such a brilliantly bright teenager with a natural knack for fighting, using her prior learnt skills from numerous sports classes (all compulsory at her school). Athena liked to call Y/N her pride and joy. Or, she would’ve if she didn’t notice the fondness forming between Y/N and a certain Hermes son.

Y/N lay asleep on the train, resting her head in a pillow she had found in one of the compartments. Luke and Chris sat across from her, impatiently tapping their feet.

“Psst.” Luke whispered, nudging his friend, “You wanna check out the food cart?” Chris turned to stare at Luke, slight frowning.

“She told us to stick together.” He muttered back, gesturing over to Y/N who was quietly murmuring in her sleep.

“She’ll be fine. We’ll be quick anyway. By the time she wakes up, we’ll be back.” Luke reassured Chris, ushering him towards the door. The two Hermes boys silently shuffled out of the small room and walked down the hallway, following the smell of food.

Y/N turned on her side, resting her head against the back of the plush seat. She groaned, half conscious yet still half asleep. Everything was a blurred daze as she slipped back into an unconscious state, ending up in a barren desert.

The H/C-haired girl looked around, confused and a little shaken. She quickly pinched her arm and winced when she felt a twinge of pain. “Where am I?” She whispered to herself, yet her voice echoed.

The sand beneath her feet rumbled and twirled around her, forming a hurricane. Y/N panted in panic as grains of debris threatened to hit her eyes. She turned her head to shield her face until the sand finally dropped to the ground again, revealing a beautiful and grand hall.

The walls were pure white with delicate golden details. If Y/N didn’t know any better, she’d think this was what first class would have looked on the Titanic ship. Or what was portrayed in the movies, at least.

“Do you like it, my dear?”

Y/N spun around at the sound of a silky, feminine voice. A tall woman sat on a marble carved throne, resting her elbows on the sides. She smiled at Y/N. Her skin was pale, almost ghostly looking, and her brown eyes held warmth within them. She brushed a lock of long, shiny raven hair aside.

“I know how much you wanted to see the inside of the Titanic.” She spoke again, crossing one leg over the other. “Come closer, don’t be shy, my love.” She beckoned Y/N forward.

The H/C-nette slowly stepped towards the goddess. “Who… are you?” She asked when she finally stood not a meter away.

“I’m your mother, dear.”

The more Y/N looked at the woman, the more she saw their similarities. Although Y/N’s hair wasn’t as glossy as her’s, their sharp facial features still held the same stony gaze and their heights reflected one another.

“Why am I here?” Y/N carefully asked, her eyes darting around to stare the crystal chandelier.

“I’ve been watching you, my love. You’re a wonderfully talented girl gifted with such academic skill.” The deity let a small laugh slip past her red lips, “But I must warn you, do be careful on what you choose in life. Not everything is as it seems.”

Y/N sent her mother a confused look. She could decode complicated English written in her beloved books but she couldn’t understand what the goddess was telling her.

“You are still a young girl, Y/N.” Finally, Athena rose. She stood before Y/N in all her beautiful glory. “I understand that the topic of love may plague your mind and hide your true goals from you. But is it worth choosing a boy over high education and your academic studies?”

Y/N was slowly piecing everything together. “Is this…” She spoke softly as she trailed off, “Is this about Luke? Because I don’t like him. Not at all.”

“I didn’t mention a name, dear. You came up with that one on your own. Don’t let a boy cloud your judgment, especially not a Hermes son. They are as tricky as they are mischievous.”

Athena pulled Y/N into a sudden hug that seemed a little too tight to be friendly. Y/N struggled to breathe while Athena rested her chin on her daughter’s shoulder. “Don’t forget the lessons I’ve taught you.” She whispered, “I designed you to be perfect and I’ll be damned if I let a Hermes boy of all people ruin my greatest achievement.”

She spoke so gently but there was a dark edge to her voice; a twisted and wicked side to her beauty that Y/N had failed to notice before. “If you ever forget your purpose, I’ll be sure to remind you.”

Her voice faded as Y/N’s dream began to disappear. Her surroundings floated away like watercolour paint bleeding into thick paper until Y/N found herself sprawled on the couch and Luke and Chris nowhere to be seen.

She groaned as she sat up, her groggy eyes stinging from the bright sun. “Ugh, where did they go?” She muttered to herself as she peeked through the door. She yelped when something suddenly crashed. The floor shook and the train came to an abrupt halt.

“Attention passengers, we seem to be having a few problems with the engine. It’ll be up and running again in at least an hour.” The conductor chimed through the speaker.

Y/N cautiously opened the door, coming face to face with Luke. She frowned as she pulled the pair of demigods inside. “You can’t sneak off like that!” She hissed, “We’re not in vacation, you know that, right?”

“Relax, writer. We were just getting by food.” Luke handed her a squished sandwich, “Besides, I don’t think there’s any monsters on this train.”

“Yeah, but they’ll be close to catching up. We have to keep moving.” Y/N locked the door and closed the blinds, concealing what she was about to do next. She picked up her spear, which seemed to take the form of a weapon at the most convenient times, and smashed it into the window.

The plastic glass broke away in shards, falling to the ground. Luke and Chris gaped at her. “Let’s go.” She demanded, picking up all her stuff.

“Remind me never to mess with her.” Chris mumbled to Luke as they jumped out the window. They stayed low but everybody on the train was too busy gossiping about the engine to notice a trio of teens run into a forest.

“It feels like we’re walking in circles.” Luke groaned while Y/N huffed in annoyance.

“That’s because you are. You’ve been walking around that tree stump for the past ten minutes.” She snapped. The group had sat down to rest and Luke took it as his chance to get on Y/N’s nerves again. He chuckled.

"Camp shouldn't be too far." Chris said, looking around. Though, he wasn't too sure. He was merely saying that to calm Y/N's nerves.

"We should keep moving. Better safe than sorry." Y/N stood up, forcing Luke to finally stop circling around the stump.

"But I'm so tired." Luke complained, whining like a man child.

"Well, I guess you'll have to accept being a dragon's snack then." Y/N snapped, furrowing her brows in frustration. Luke and Chris shared a look.

"She's in charge." Chris exclaimed, not wanting to be the tiebreaker. Luke groaned but begrudgingly followed after Y/N.

“As long as we follow the train tracks, we should be fine.” Y/N piped up.

“That’s going to be hard then.” Luke pointed up ahead where the tracks mysteriously disappeared. All that was left was a singular stick of wood. “The monsters are becoming smarter.”

As if on a cue, a shrill laugh cut through the tense forest. Y/N’s head darted up to see a woman with large, eagle-like wings. Her sharp eyes landed on Y/N first. “Just who I’ve been looking for.” She uttered with a piercing voice. She dove below the trees, outstretching a clawed hand to grasp Y/N. Luke quickly stepped in front, swinging his sword at the harpy.

“Give me the girl and I’ll let you be on your way.” The harpy chittered, clumsily landing and circling around Y/N. Luke followed the actions of the monster, narrowing his eyes.

“Why her? If anything, I’m the most valuable member here.” Luke quickly replied. On the sidelines, Chris brandished his sharp sword, watching the harpy carefully.

“Oh, you don’t know what you have in your possession, my dear boy. She’s not merely a girl. She’s valuable.” An unsettled grin pulled at the harpy’s lips. “Just give her to me and I’ll”- The creature was cut off by Chris slicing one of her wings. Luke leapt forward as well, expertly cutting her in places he knew wouldn’t kill her solely to torture her.

“I’m finishing my quest so unfortunately, I can’t give you her.” Luke spat as the harpy tried to dodge his swift attacks.

“What if I told you Hermes would finally see you again?” Her words made Luke freeze. He stared at her in shock, lips parted like he wanted to say something.

Chris was shoving everything into his bag, getting ready to make a run for it as soon as Luke was snapped out of his trance. He grabbed Y/N. “We have to go.” He said but Y/N was stubborn.

“You want me?” She asked, stepping forward with only her glowing spear in hand. The harpy’s eyes flickered to her and she harshly pushed Luke aside.

“Your confidence will be your undoing, girl.” The harpy hissed. “Can you even use that weapon?”

Y/N mockingly shrugged, “I don’t know. I mean, I took down a dragon but maybe that was a lucky shot.” The harpy wasn’t able to react before the spear stabbed through her stomach. Realising she had made a terrible mistake of underestimating Y/N, all the monster could do was scream as she faded away.

“Are you okay?” Y/N asked Luke, who was still kneeled on the floor.

He scoffed. “I’m fine. I didn’t need you to save me.”

Y/N stared at him in disbelief, “What? I was trying to help!”

“Yeah? Well, stop showing off. For the record, I’m easily capable of taking down a dragon and harpy too. You aren’t special.” Luke glared into Y/N’s eyes and she returned his harsh gaze, “Don’t let your arrogance cloud your mind.” The Hermes boy was so close that Y/N could smell his fading cologne.

She was the first to look away in annoyance. “I never said you couldn’t slay those monsters.”

“Yeah, well you thought it then!” Luke exclaimed as Y/N walked off, getting a head start.

“Dude.” Chris finally spoke, “I thought you were like a chick magnet.”

“I believe in being nice to women but her even breathing air annoys me.” Luke grumbled before he jogged after Y/N.

“Haven’t we already passed that rock?” Y/N questioned after an hour of walking.

“I’ve never seen that rock in my life.” Luke snapped back. Somewhere along the dull trip, he had gotten to the front and was now leading the group.

“We passed it on the train.” Y/N uttered as Luke’s gaze began to wander and landed on a nearby building. “And if the train passed it, then that means”- Luke cut Y/N off.

“We’re going the wrong way.” Luke finished. Y/N took a deep breath to calm her agitation. “The harpy must’ve been sent to confuse us.” Luke quickly turned to Y/N.

“You went the wrong way!” They shouted in unison, pointing and pinning the blame on each other. Y/N scoffed, rolling her eyes.

“Don’t blame me!” She exclaimed, slapping his shoulder.

“This is your fault! You walked off first!”

“And you kept walking! You idiot!”

“Don’t call me an idiot! You… you… manipulative, psycho bitch!”

“Are you sure you’re yelling that at the right person?!”

“No! I got it off Gossip Girl! Percy watches it!”

“Who is Percy?!”

Chris pushed his way between Y/N and Luke, shoving them apart. “Guys! It’s only an hour setback! We can get back on the train!”

“The train tracks are missing, genius!” Y/N turned on him.

“We’ll take another train.” Chris replied.

“The next train is in an hour!” Luke added.

“You guys fight and back each other up like a married couple! Make up your mind!” When Chris was getting frustrated now. Y/N groaned to blow off some steam.

“Okay, here’s what we’re going to do.” She said once she calmed down, “We’re going to catch the next train and we stay low until it arrives. Once we’re on the train, we go to our compartment as quickly as possible and we don’t leave until the train stops. Got it?” Y/N sternly stared at the two boys. They silently nodded.

“Don’t make eye contact with anyone.” Y/N warned, fiddling with the tickets.

“You’re going to rip them. Give them here.” Luke snatched the tickets from her, safely shoving it into his pocket.

“So, what about food?” Chris questioned, “We have to eat something on the train.”

“I preordered our meals. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“And you didn’t ask us? What if we don’t like it?” It seemed like Luke’s goal in life was to frustrate Y/N. And it worked every time.

“Train food is better than plane food.” She grumbled, “If you don’t like it then suck it up, you big baby. Nobody cares about your opinion.”

“You wound me, writer.” Luke quietly chuckled to himself, clasping his hands together.

“Train’s in forty minutes. We shouldn’t be out in the open.” Y/N dragged the two boys back into the shade, away from the burning sun. “We wait here. Don’t move.” Luke tried to walk off but Y/N was quick to grab him.

“What if we need to go to the bathroom?”

“Then be quick. Obviously I’m not going to follow you into the bathroom.” Y/N exhaled in agitation before grabbing her bag, pulling out a book.

“Is this really a good time to read, writer?” Luke asked, peeking over her shoulder. Y/N didn’t reply, which only provoked Luke to annoy her further. Chris was wildly shaking his head but the brunette swordsman only grinned.

“Hey, writer.” He poked her, “Moby Dick is a stupid author.”

Finally, Y/N looked at him again, giving Luke the attention he so desperately craved. “Moby Dick was the whale. The author was Herman Melville.” Luke’s cheeks flushed in embarrassment but he tried to sheepishly play his mistake off.

“I know. I was just tryna get your attention.”

Y/N turned back to her book, silently flipping the page. Chris held back muffled laughs and Luke subtly flipped him off.

The minutes passed like slow hours and eventually, Chris walked off to find a bathroom. Luke was left sitting next to Y/N, his knee bumping her’s occasionally. He clicked his tongue to a random quiet beat to entertain himself.

“Stop that.” Y/N demanded.

“Stop what? I ain’t doing anything, writer.” Luke innocently played it off.

“Stop existing!”

“Woah, I don’t wanna kill myself. Otherwise the girls at camp would be doomed with my charming looks.”

“Yes, well they’d be fine without your so-called wits. You thought Moby Dick was the author. Ha! A whale writing. That’d be something, Castellan.” Y/N laughed, shaking her head in amusement.

“You’re really mean, do you know that?”

“And you’re insufferable. Though, I doubt you know what that word means. It means annoying.”

“I’m not dumb, writer.”

“Moby Dick was a whale.” Y/N tauntingly reminded him with a pointed look which had Luke’s cheeks turning red once more.

“Stop bringing up the whale!” Luke exclaimed, groaned as he pinched the bridge of his nose. Y/N looked away, victoriously smirking.

“The train is ahead of time.” Chris uttered as soon as he returned from the bathroom, “It’ll be here in ten minutes. Let’s get ready to board.”

As Y/N stood on the platform, letting the scorching sun beat down on her, she could feel a pair of eyes stare daggers into her back. She slowly turned her head, locking eyes with a tall Russian man. Almost too tall to be human. He grinned at her, showing off his sharp and pointed teeth.

Luke took notice of the slender man as well. “They know we’re here.” He whispered, subconsciously stepping forward to block Y/N from the man’s view.

“Are we sure he’s a monster or just a little creepy looking?” Chris butted in.

“Let’s get into our compartment as soon as possible. I booked one near the end so it’d be easier for us to get out if anything goes wrong.” Y/N muttered as she stepped onto the steel stairs. She handed the conductor her ticket and he examined it before letting her pass.

“This one.” She mumbled to the two boys. She shoved the door open and once all of them were tucked safely inside, she slammed it shut and locked it.

Luke and Chris watched in confusion as she searched the wall for something they couldn’t see. “What are you doing?” Luke questioned, a little confused.

“Compartments like these often have a door leading to the next one.” Y/N exclaimed, “These doors are able to be locked and unlocked but I don’t doubt a monster’s ability on being able to acquire a key. Oh, and close the curtains, will you?”

Chris was quick to do as Y/N said, grasping onto the velvet fabric and yanking it to conceal the window.

“You seem to know what you’re doing. Are you sure you haven’t run away before?” Luke said that in a joking tone but Y/N’s frantic actions to find the lock paused.

“I… uh… tried running away when I was ten. The orphanage wasn’t exactly the best place to live. But after spending what little savings I had, I returned because there was nowhere else I could go.” Y/N cleared her throat and shook her head. “But that’s in the past. I don’t regret it because I was able to see parts of the world that nobody in the orphanage could. And it was beautiful.”

“So how’d you end up in that private school?” Luke pressed on further.

“The school has a deal with the orphanage. Every year, one child is picked to study at the school. It’s like a scholarship, if you will. All costs, even lunch, are covered. And I knew I wanted out because I couldn’t stand being in a cramped room any longer. So I worked harder than everybody else and I studied overtime because I don’t accept defeat. I get what I want and that scholarship was no different.”

Luke let out a low whistle. “Impressive, writer. But I didn’t expect anything less from you.”

“I found the lock.” Y/N announced, “Do either of you have a key or a pocket knife or anything I can jam in there?” Luke handed Y/N a small pocket knife and she slightly smiled before harshly shoving the blade into the lock. “That’ll hold it.”

She collapsed on a squeaky mattress, her legs dangling off the bed. Luke could hear the faint sound of her back clicking.

“How long will this train take?” He asked as he sat down across from Y/N. Chris had already dozed off, sleep-deprived and exhausted. Y/N subtly shrugged.

“Maybe a day? I want to get off as soon as possible because that man creeped me out. Check the other wall, will you?”

Luke had no choice but to stand again and search the smooth barrier for a lock, running his hands over the wall and furrowing his eyebrows.

“Nothing.” He concluded. Y/N hummed, seemingly pleased.

“Meals will be delivered to us. In the mean time, avoid making interaction with anyone.” She tilted her head back and closed her eyes. Luke hesitated for a moment before he spoke again.

“So… why’d you run away?” Luke was met with silence before he heard Y/N quietly sigh.

“The orphanage didn’t treat us as humans but rather as pests they had to get rid of. They were so happy to see me go to school because it meant they had to spend less time on keeping me in line. I was… a troubled kid. Now I know why. It’s the godly blood, isn’t it?” Y/N cracked open one eye to look at Luke, who nodded.

“You didn’t regret running away?” Luke questioned, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees. He heard Y/N lightly laugh.

“I’ll never regret it because those were the best weeks of my life. I met people I had never seen before and I found comfort in knowing I’d never see them again. There was one girl who was like me, troubled and a little angry. We became best friends for the few nights we spent together until she had to move on.”

“What was she like?”

“Beautiful… and dangerous. She enjoyed starting fights. She was a little younger than me… with brown curled hair and pretty hazel eyes. Her name was…” Y/N trailed off, “Oh… well, I don’t remember now. That’s a shame.”

“Clarisse.” Luke piped up, “That was her name, right? Clarisse?”

Y/N stared at him with her lips parted. “Yes… that was her name. How do you know her?”

“She’s a demigod too. A daughter of Ares. She’s actually at camp as we speak, waiting for new kids to arrive so she can torment them.” Luke chuckled, turning his gaze to stare at the floor.

“You know, you aren’t as mean as you try to be.” He uttered after a full minute of awkward silence. Y/N’s eyes darted to look at him, an eyebrow raised in confusion. “I’ve met girls like you, writer. Girls who do everything to block people out because they don’t see themselves as someone a person could ever like. Those types of girls suffer a lot… don’t be like them, writer. Bring down your walls for even just a few hours.”

Y/N opened her mouth to reply but a shrill scream interrupted her.

“Hey! What happened to the rule of no one leaving?!” Luke shouted as Y/N rushed to the door.

“That doesn’t apply to this situation!” Y/N loudly retorted. Luke spared Chris a glance before he darted after the H/C-haired girl. She was already kneeled beside a woman, frantically shaking her and checking her pulse.

“What happened?” One of the train workers rushed over to see the commotion, his face paling at the sight of the woman’s blood staining the lush carpet below.

“She screamed and ran out of her cabin.” An onlooker explained.

“No pulse… she’s already dead.” Y/N whispered.

“Everyone, to your compartments. Do not move until we give the all clear!” The worker yelled, blowing his whistle harshly. Y/N fumbled around with something in the body’s pocket and Luke was quick to drag her away.

“Someone killed her, Castellan… a swift stab to her chest. Was it a monster?” Y/N breathed as Luke led her to a quiet corner. He shook his head.

“Monsters shouldn’t affect mortals. The mist covers them. This might be actually murder.”

Y/N shuddered. “Warn Chris.” She demanded while Luke furrowed his eyebrows.

“What are you going to do?” He questioned.

“I’m going to search for evidence.” Y/N up a large stolen key, “I wasn’t up until three in the morning solving true crime stories for nothing.”

•

Y/N carefully slipped into the woman’s cabin, her eyes searching for anything out of the ordinary. She crouched down, looking underneath the messy bed. Below the rickety wooden frame lay a single pipette. Y/N reached out her arm, grasping onto it.

“Why would someone need this? Unless this lady was an arts and craft kind of person.” Everywhere Y/N looked, all she found were scraps of paper and an occasional book. “Oh, you deserved to be stabbed for reading this. What a monstrosity.”

Y/N wrinkled up her face as she pulled out a copy of Lolita. She threw it aside but a quiet clang caught her attention. A small brooch had fallen out of the novel and rolled across the floor, hitting Y/N’s shoe.

She crouched down and examined it, running her thumb over the letter H that was engraved in the rusty metal.

“What was this woman’s name?” Y/N grabbed the bags, looking for any kind of name. “Mia… not starting with H. This was left behind… and this pipette… it’s used for cleaning smoking pipes but I see nothing. She wasn’t a smoker.” Y/N shoved the two items into her pocket and quickly exited the compartment, coming face to face with the unusually tall man from before.

“It’s not safe to be lurking around.” He grinned, which gave Y/N no comfort.

“I was just leaving.” She muttered, letting him brush past her. He tipped his hat.

“As you were, miss.” He slinked away and something white fell out of his pocket. Y/N was quick to rush over and pick it up. “A pipette…” The man didn’t smell like the strong scent of tobacco that always seemed to trail after smokers. Y/N narrowed her eyes.

“Where have you been?” Luke stood in front of the door like an angry mom waiting for her kid to arrive home. “The workers called a mandatory meeting. They didn’t know you were missing, luckily.”

“Was there anyone who smoked a pipe?” Y/N asked, ignoring Luke’s previous statement.

“Uh, yeah. A male doctor. Why?”

“Did you get his name?” Y/N was relentless with her inquires.

“The worker called the doctor Harvard Armstrong.”

“Harvard? Like the university? Who names their kid that? That’s just sad.” Y/N scoffed her herself. “But it works.”

“What works?” Luke was sick of being left out of whatever Y/N was planning. He could practically see the cogs turning in her head.

“I found these in the woman’s cabin. Her name’s Mia.” Y/N threw her sad evidence onto her bed, “A brooch with an H on it and a pipette. This pipette is specifically for cleaning pipe cigarettes and Harvard and H match up.”

Chris lifted his brows. “Are we seriously solving this murder crime right now?”

Y/N tuned out his words. “There’s not many people who use a pipe these days. It’s rare to come across. And it was a stupid clue to leave, even under a bed. Is it safe to walk around the train?”

“Yes, but it isn’t advised- Woah, where are you going?!” Luke grabbed Y/N’s arm before she could walk away again. “Look, you may be half god but you’re also half human. You can die just as easily! Don’t go off and risk your life for some Mia lady you didn’t even know!”

“Then come with me, Castellan. What’re you afraid of?” Y/N shoved him aside while Luke glanced at Chris for help.

“Just go, dude. I’ll lock the door. Knock three times when you come back.”

That’s how Luke ended up trailing after Y/N in the deserted corridor.

“I can assure you, Mister Norman, that we are doing everything in our power to catch the culprit.”

As Y/N walked around a corner, she spotted the same sharp-toothed man talking with another staff member.

“Bullshit.” Norman spat and scoffed.

“Are you sure you aren’t the culprit, Mister Norman?” Y/N spoke up. Luke glared at her, trying to shush her.

“Miss L/N, this is a private conversation.” The worker uttered, “You shouldn’t even be out.”

“You’re Russian, right?” Y/N stepped forward, much to Luke’s dismay. “H… I found it in a book written by a Russian author. Isn’t H in the Russian Alphabet pronounced as N? Harvard… Norman. That was a tricky one you left. And the pipette. Very cunning to try and blame someone else. But Harvard Armstrong, the man you tried accusing, was in the room next to us and he never left until after.”

“You’re a nosy girl.” Norman grumbled.

“Yeah… and I just don’t like your vibe altogether. This is your’s, right? Your next reaction will confirm it.” Y/N tossed the brooch high into the air and smiled as it neared the floor. Norman was quick to catch it, holding it close to his chest as if it were a sacred treasure.

Y/N winked, “Bingo.”

Norman quickly turned tail and tried to run but the train worker was faster, practically tackling him to the ground.

“You just solved a fucking murder crime in under an hour.” Luke said, astounded. “How did you know it was even him?"

“As I said, I didn’t like his vibe… and it was a gamble anyway. I took a lucky guess.”

•

“I can’t believe she solved a murder with only two pieces of evidence.” Chris whispered to Luke as they strolled through the woods towards camp.

“Again, I can hear you.” Y/N turned to glare at the boys, “I haven’t disappeared or suddenly gone deaf.”

“Dealing with a deaf you probably would’ve been easier.” Luke cheekily smiled as he spoke his mind.

“Ugh.” Y/N groaned, rolling her eyes. “I can’t stand you.”

“Then sit on my face.” Luke mumbled but it was loud enough for the other two to hear.

Chris choked on air while Y/N spun around bewilderment. "What?" She seethed in shock. Luke battered his lashes like he had done no wrong.

"What? I didn't say anything." He played along, much to Y/N's annoyance.

"You weirdo." She muttered, "How far is camp? It's getting dark and I don't really want to be a harpy's midnight snack."

Chris pointed at a tree on top of a hill that stood not too far away. “At least two more minutes.” He said. Y/N was relieved to finally step past the tree and into the temporary shade it gave her.

“It seems people are already waiting for you.” Luke mumbled under his breath as he spotted the small crowd of demigods standing behind Chiron, trying to catch a glimpse of the girl the oracle wanted Luke and Chris to retrieve.

“She doesn’t look like anything special.” A pretty blond with glossy lips whispered to the equally stunning group surrounding her.

A golden haze began to form the moment Y/N paused in front of Chiron. The golden mist swirled like the sand in Y/N’s dream, forming a majestic looking owl that loudly cooed and flew high into the sky. It dived back down, exploding into golden glitter that rained down on Y/N like heavy pieces of hail.

“Welcome Y/N, daughter of Athena, to Camp Half-Blood.”

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[atombombkaytee]

I’ve watched the entire series again today in a hungover state and I CAN’T DEAL with all the parallels.

I mean, when Lucy finds out about her Dad’s true actions and origins - her whole world falls apart. She saw the vaults as safety - she looked up to her Dad more than anyone else in the world. She learns that he’s lied about who he is as a man and as her father, but also she must realise that the vault’s are hiding their own dirty secrets (especially after her experience at vault 4) and that her Dad is a part of that too. She even says to Max, after leaving vault 4, that if she destroyed a whole community to save him, he would be heartbroken: when that’s exactly what he did on an even grander and more terrible scale. Lucy’s life wasn’t even in direct danger to warrant that reaction - he’s just an insecure selfish arsehole.

At the very same time we see the flashback scene of Coop hearing Barb suggest that they drop the bombs on America. This woman that he loves and trusts and has made a family with - who he said he fell in love with because she always tries to do the right thing. Their reactions at the point of realisation - shock, inability to speak, almost dissociation - are both extremely similar. Him having gone through that betrayal before (and likely plenty of times since) is EXACTLY why he talks to Lucy how he does. He’s preparing her for the eventual heartbreak - because he has experience which states that nothing could ever be as perfect as she claims her life is. When he’s making ass jerky from Roger, he even tells her: there’s what people say they do and then there’s what they really do.

When you look at all of that, really, in the scheme of things, Coop - the man that she’s seen as this inhuman, cruel, murderous monster - he’s the good guy. He too thought his wife’s business with vault tec was abhorrent. Yes, he’s been warped and twisted by the wasteland and by his own trauma - but he does see this brightness in Lucy. He thought she was just naive and full of bullshit (especially being a vault dweller. Something which I’m sure triggered him considering his past with vault tec and the links to his wife) but when she proved herself by giving him the vials instead of letting him die, he’s probably amazed that there’s someone left in the world who isn’t just a liar and a terrible person. He’s so used to betrayal and violence by this point. She’s a good person - a trait that he literally said he was in love with his wife because of. She softens him.

But she also proves herself in another way - by shooting her feralled mother - showing that she’s also grown and learnt that not everything is black and white. It’s not just “good and bad” in this world. And although Coop has questionable morals, he’s honest, like her. He tells it how it is. Plus, after her Dad’s huge life changing betrayal and her time in the wasteland, she understands a little more why Coop has done all the things that she’s seen him do - I mean he did meet her pretty much day one out of the vault initially - hence why she goes with him. He has hardened her up to protect her in the wasteland.

Wilzig even says “will you still want the same things when you’re a different animal altogether.”

My god. It’s just genius. Absolutely genius.

“You comin’?”

Edit: Can we also talk about how Coop is basically the inspiration for the vault boy - who Lucy basically looks to (physically a few times throughout the series) for inspiration to do the right thing. AND the fact that her Dad was obviously a bit obsessed with Coop and probably still was when Lucy was born, seeing as he’d been in a pod and had only just woken up, retaining recent memories. So Lucy likely watched all of his films and her Dad maybe even saw him as a bit of a role model (or at least his in-film characters). AND the obvious exchange of index fingers. Yup. Honestly if this relationship doesn’t become cannon, I will start dropping bombs too.

ANOTHER EDIT: Sorry one last thing but, I just want to add: nothing that post-war Coop does is personal. It’s either: to get a job done, survival, because he’s been triggered by something (understandable after what’s he been through) or, in Lucy’s case, to teach a (admittedly often harsh) lesson. He doesn’t just mindlessly kill - or particularly enjoy killing - he just has no issue with it, it’s all just means to an end. He even still remembers to pay for his tomatoes in Filly ffs haha… I imagine he’s extremely numb and devoid of all feeling - except for when it comes to his wife and little girl. That’s the only time we see more visceral reactions in either actions or dialogue from him. He’s such an intricate character and Walton did an amazing job of portraying him.

[tenderleavesbob]

To fix the timeline, they needed to break the timeline.

Lana watched the trio of heroes and bit her lip. She wrung her hands silently, keeping to the shadows so no one saw her distress. They might ask and she didn’t know what to say. She couldn’t tell the truth. This had to happen. This was a piece missing from the timeline, one that had baffled her/Cia for thousands of years.

The timeline needed to break. For Tune to even be born, the timeline needed to break.

Captain Link looked as beautiful as ever as he spoke with Tune and Mask. Lana’s heart ached as she looked at him. Most of the other warriors had traveled home. Some would stay. She had searched for the home of Marin and her people, but that was another mystery not even she could solve.

Lana knew she shouldn’t. She needed to finish with the portals and then leave herself. Heal the shattered timeline once and for all and leave her own broken heart behind. Maybe her split from Cia wasn’t complete, though. Maybe some of the corruption lingered. Whatever the reason, Lana found herself creeping closer to the trio. She wanted to hear his voice again before she resumed her protective role.

“I’m going to miss you both so much,” Tune was saying, holding tight to Captain Link and Mask. 

For once, Mask had no snark to offer. He didn’t look triumphant. He looked devastated, like Ganon had won. He had a white-knuckle grip on the captain, and Link’s grip was just as tight back.

Link smiled at both of them, anyway. Lana hated herself for how she admired him right then. His tears made his blue eyes shine like jewels. “I’m going to miss you both, too. So much.” He leaned down and kissed Tune’s hair, then Mask’s. “But you two are going to go home and see your loved ones again and go on more adventures. I’m sure you’ll forget this crusty old captain in no time.”

Mask sniffled and buried his face in Link’s chest. “No,” he said at last. “No, I won’t. I don’t want to leave.”

Link closed his eyes like Mask’s words had physically pained him. “Goddess, Mask, if I could, I would keep you forever. You know that. But you have your own time waiting for you. Your own destiny --”

“I’ve completed plenty of adventures by now!” Mask cut off sharply. He pulled back from Link but didn’t lose his white-knuckled grip on him. He was crying in earnest now, and when Link opened his eyes, he began silently weeping, too. “Tune has his family waiting for him back home, but I don’t! You know that! My family is here!” He sniffled and only let go of Link to angrily wipe at his face. “Don’t send me away!”

“Mask…” Tune tenderly touched his shoulder, tears streaming down his own face, but Mask knocked his hand away. His desperate gaze never left Link’s heartbroken face.

It was time for Lana to intercede. She braced herself and forced a bright smile. She had her own duty to complete. “He’s right.”

All three heroes whipped around to face her. The spirit of the hero shone brightly in all of them, brighter than their tears, even with how Mask and Link had been born with it and how Tune had independently claimed it for his own. “Lana?” Link rasped. Lana didn’t think Link caught how he clutched at both boys, like Lana was going to steal them away.

“Mask is right,” Lana explained. It wasn’t quite a lie. Not really. Not with how the timelines worked. “If everyone is all right with it… it won’t damage his timeline if he isn’t sent home with the rest.”

That was both one of the greatest lies she had ever told and one of the few real truths. Mask had to stay. He had to. He would stay, and his timeline would splinter into another part.

Lana’s eyes flickered toward Tune’s flushed, tear-damp face. If the splinter didn’t occur, Tune’s timeline would never be born.

“He can stay?” Link demanded hoarsely. He grabbed Mask and yanked him back into his arms. Mask clung to him and hid his face in Link’s tunic, small shoulders shaking.

Both Link and Lana looked at Tune, who leaned into Link’s side. “I know I can’t,” Tune said simply, without fanfare. “But I’m happy one of us can.” He touched Mask’s shoulder again. This time, Mask didn’t hit him. “You have to keep an eye on our captain for us both now, Mask. You can’t leave him alone. He’ll do something stupid for sure.”

Mask made an odd, wet sound and then grabbed Tune back into their hug. “Damn straight I will.”

“Language,” Link scolded, but he didn’t put an ounce of feeling into it. He began crying anew as he looked at Lana. “He can really stay?”

“He can really stay,” Lana agreed and felt the small crack in time form.

When the evil returned and the land needed a hero, the hero would not respond. He would be safely at home in Captain Link’s era, Link’s beloved younger brother and charge. They would both have their happily-ever-after. After all of this, it was the least that was owed to them.

“You can stay,” Link whispered disbelievingly, hugging Mask close. Oblivious to the countless people who would drown when the hero did not answer the call.

“I’m home,” Mask whispered back, just as disbelieving. 

To fix the timeline, first Lana needed to break it. Looking at the small family in front of her, Lana couldn’t bring herself to regret it.

[alwaysahiccupandastrid]

As an autistic person, I want to say something about The Good Doctor.

Over the last month or so - but especially the last two days - Twitter has gone nuts about dragging the absolute piss out of this show. Because autism representation is so rare in major television shows or movies, I’ve been finding myself questioning whether The Good Doctor is in fact “good” representation in the slightest or if I’m just clinging onto it because it’s one of the few shows out there with an autistic lead… and people dragging the shit out of it has made me even more unsure because I’ve only seen one and a half seasons of the show so far and so I can’t really speak on how the show has done recently in regards to portraying autism.

Personally, do I feel that Shaun in TGD represents me and how I am autistic? No. But to be honest, I wasn’t expecting him to because autism is a spectrum and the areas where my autism affects my life will be different to other people’s; it’s also worth noting that it’s been shown that autistic traits are different in girls than in boys, and that girls tend to mask more etc. Obviously this does not apply to ALL boys and ALL girls, but in general it’s thought that girls and women tend to have different traits to boys and men.

With this in mind, Shaun actually does remind me at times of a child at the school I’m currently at - again, not 100% the same but there’s similarities in regards to how they talk, what they say etc. However, that child is five-nearly-six, and Shaun is a grown man so… do with that information what you will. There have also been a couple of moments I’ve had so far watching the show where it’s seemed like lightening has struck and I’m like “Oh that’s me!” - namely the social awkwardness and a meltdown scene. It’s not every episode, it’s only on occasion, but it’s been nice to see nonetheless because the only other time I’ve witnessed that with an actual confirmed autistic character is Newt Scamander.

Obviously I don’t speak for all autistic people, and I’m very aware that many other autistic people have expressed dislike and criticism of the show - and I get it, I truly do. I do think the show isn’t exactly the best written (to put it nicely) and that it gives a very stereotypical representation of autism, namely “white boy/man autism”. I don’t want to bash the show too much because while I’ve seen complaints about it, I’ve also had some fellow autistic people say to me that they love the show and that they feel Shaun represents them - and that’s great.

I do want to express my discomfort about the fact that people have turned a scene where Shaun is having a meltdown into a meme. There is a very fine line between criticizing a piece of media for bad representation and then mocking autistic meltdowns - and I think a lot of neurotypicals are in fact just using it as an excuse to laugh at autistic people and mock us. It’s not just that scene either: I’ve seen people mocking clips showing how he stands, how he talks, how he interacts with people, and it very much feels like people just wanted a chance to make ableist comments about autistic people.

It’s also interesting that this show has so far had six whole seasons air, it’s got extremely high viewership, and yet it’s only now that people are taking offence to a scene that occurred at least four years ago. I know that Twitter has had a field day over another scene in the first season where Shaun at first struggles to understand why a trans woman is “she” (which, you know, is a whole other kettle of fish given that I’ve seen it claimed that autistic people are more likely to be trans/NB etc), and far right TERFs/bigots were using that scene as some kind of “gotcha!”… right up until it was pointed out that by the end of the episode, Shaun fully accepted the trans woman’s gender identity and used the correct pronouns.

Again, I’m not saying this was brilliant writing or anything, but it was several years ago and is only now being brought up, same with other scenes taken out of context in the show… Yes, autistic people have voiced grievances with it before, but were ignored - I don’t believe for one minute that the neurotypicals making the memes and being preachy give one shit about actually autistic people or care about us, because otherwise why were our voices ignored before? It’s only now that it’s been getting public notice for the trans episode that people are going “ohhhh this show sucks and is bad representation” as if members of the autistic community haven’t voiced that opinion for years. It just rubs me the wrong way quite frankly.

What I will say is that I’m tired of seeing people drag Freddie Highmore though. He’s a good actor, anyone who’s seen him in things he’s done since his childhood will know that, it’s not his fault if he’s given shit scripts to work with. I do also think Freddie means well with his portrayal, even if he’s (as far as we know) allistic and the fact he appeared in an Autism $peaks video (because of TGD/all the cast did it) - the man has zero social media presence whatsoever though and didn’t even know what Pokémon Go was, so I’m going to give him the benefit of the doubt this time and assume he truly hasn’t been informed about how harmful that organisation is. Or maybe I’m just going soft on him because seven year old me had an age appropriate crush on him eighteen years ago, who knows at this point?

I’m hoping all of this talk will open up a dialogue about the show and about the representation of autism, if nothing else.

[breathings-of-the-heart]

Somebody I Used to Know (Giyuu x Reader)

(A/N): I haven’t written anything in a looong time on this account, and in general. I don’t kno why I suddenly found the inspiration to do so, but I’ve been in my Demon Slayer era so here it is. I’ve found that there is a serious lacking of fics for my favorite hashira, so I’ve taken it upon myself to write my own haha. Hope you all enjoy! Strap in, because this is going to be multiple parts. 

Word Count: 3.2k 

If it were up to him, Giyuu Tomioka would never have agreed to take up a Tsuguko. He wanted to avoid feeling the consequences of losing another person important to him– maybe that’s what Shinobu meant when she claimed that no one liked him. It was most likely better that way, anyway. But with Rengoku’s passing and Tengen’s retirement, finding the next possible Hashira was exactly what the Corps needed.

(Y/N) (L/N) represented everything admirable in a fighter: Talented, hard working, and highly intelligent. And as Urokodaki’s niece, your lineage spoke for itself. A water breathing apprentice with much promise, assigned for Giyuu to mentor by none other than Kagaya Ubuyashiki himself. The two of you knew each other. You used to be tentative friends to say the least. But that was another lifetime ago.

Giyuu had no interest in training someone who may amount to another death he can’t afford to mourn. He'd chosen the path of solitude, staying away from you to keep you safe. But apparently you had followed in his footsteps and became a Demon Slayer anyway. When Giyuu’s crow informed him to find his new Tsuguko, he nodded solemnly. 

That was another reason he was reluctant. Because it was you in particular. Time and grief had already driven the two of you apart, and he wasn’t thrilled to face the skeletons in his closet. Afterall, Giyuu hadn’t seen you since before he left for his Final Selection. 

~~~~~~~~

Snowflakes danced in the air, descending from the sky as your warm breath clouded in front of you. This winter was as cold as it was peaceful, the landscape covered in a blanket of white. Your eyes dazzled and heart pounded in admiration of the scene in front of you. It was like you were in a trance, all sounds caught in your throat as speechlessness overcame you. Across the field was a young swordsman clad in uniform– long dark hair tossed past his shoulders. Raven bangs fell in front of his face, framing his features in a way that made it difficult for you to look away. Not that you wanted to, anyway. 

The nichirin sword around his hip left tracks in the snow, the young man not quite being tall enough to keep it from dragging behind him. You barely noticed Sabito trailing slightly in front of him. Has he always been there? Who was this mysterious boy that he brought with him this time? As the two boys drew closer, you were snapped out of your trance by Urokodaki placing a kind hand on the top of your head. You glanced up at your uncle, eyes wide and curious. 

“Come child, Giyuu and Sabito have arrived to greet us.” 

“Giyuu…” you repeated, red suddenly coloring your cheeks. It was a nice name indeed. 

“(Y/N)!! You’ve gotten bigger since I last saw you,” Sabito chimed, wrapping an arm around your shoulders. You grinned in response, standing on your tiptoes and sticking your chin out proudly. 

“I’ve been drinking milk,” you boasted, glad that he seemed to notice your growth. The orange-haired boy chuckled, ruffling your hair as this “Giyuu” stood next to him. Your shyness returned as you noticed his gaze. He was the most beautiful person you’d ever seen. 

“Hello,” he greeted, offering you a small smile. You glanced up at your uncle in your uncertainty, who nodded in encouragement. Up close, Giyuu was even more handsome than before. He was looking right at you, his deep blue eyes like pools of sapphire. 

“Pretty…” you whispered, subconsciously pointing at his face.

Your transfixed stare was interrupted by Sabito’s loud snort. 

“Looks like you've got an admirer, Tomioka!” He cackled, slapping his friend on the back. Giyuu was blushing a bright red, suddenly averting your gaze as Sabito doubled over. You definitely should have kept your mouth shut. 

“Sabito, stop laughing! You're such a meanie!” You pouted, cheeks burning.  

An escape plan hatched in your brain, you turned around and bolted, Sabito’s howling laughter carrying through the snowy forest. Giyuu reached up to touch his face, staring at your departing figure with a dumbfounded expression. His youthful heart felt giddy, his body now warm despite the biting temperature. 

The next time he visited, he was looking forward to seeing you again. You on the other hand, held a grudge against being teased and vowed to never embarrass yourself in front of Tomioka ever again. Seeing him walk over the hill to your house sent you running in the other direction. When he called out to you, you'd hide. It was silly, but you couldn’t help it. Giyuu made you timid, and you much preferred watching him at a distance in safety. 

Besides, it was the best view to observe him train anyway. When he fought, it left you in awe. Even your young eyes could tell he was a Hashira in the making. 

He was curently out in the field, cold air filling his small lungs as he tried for the umpteenth time to cut through the large rock in front of him. You could tell from your spot behind the tree that the boy was growing increasingly frustrated with himself. In an act of annoyance he plopped to the ground, resting his head in his hands. You frowned. 

Tapping your chin, you pondered on a solution to cheer him up and grinned when an idea came to you. The field nearby grew blue snowdrops, the only flower that could grow during the winter time. 

“For you,” you smiled, small arm outstretched to offer your gift. The petals were a rich navy hue. 

Giyuu looked from his hands, eyes widening to see you so close. You waved your hand in front of him in encouragement. When he stayed silent you leaned down to grab his sword and hand that to him too. 

“Don't give up just yet. I know you’ll become the best swordsman in the world.” 

“You came out?” He inquired in surprise. 

“I didn't like seeing you sad,” you shrugged casually. It was the truth. 

The boy grinned, opting to tuck the flower behind your ear. Your words were the only encouragement he needed. 

“My final selection is tomorrow. Will you be cheering me on?” He inquired sincerely. 

“Of course! Even if you don't see me, I will be. Always.”

If only life were that triumphant and simple.  

Your uncle was the one who broke the news after their Final Selection. The months that passed afterwards were a blur as you sunk into despair. You waited for Giyuu to walk up that hill like he always did, so you could at least see one of them return to you. But he never did. You grieved for Sabito and Mokomo alone, and you grieved for Tomioka too. You lost two of your friends in one fell swoop, and had been abandoned by the third. Chanelling your pain in another way, it was your turn to take up the sword now too. To fight through the despair. And to avenge the peaceful life that should have been yours. 

And you kept your word to Giyuu, vowing to cheer him on in all his endeavors, even if your heart broke after he never returned. 

~~~~~~~~

The first time Tomioka saw you in action, beneath his stoic facade was an air of immediate respect. He’d been instructed to find and assist you on a mission with a demon more dangerous than previously anticipated– one of the Twelve Kizuki made its appearance, but that didn’t waver your bravery. The scene was grim, with your team of lower rank Demon Slayers paralyzed on the ground. 

As Giyuu assessed the situation and watched you fight from the trees above, he realized you truly were a prodigy. Your Nichirin sword was an extension of yourself– you wielded water unlike any swordsman he’d seen in the past, as if taking part in an eternal dance with your blade. You fought with elegance, selflessly dashing in front of one of your fellow swordsmen and deflecting blood art attacks thrown in her direction. Was this really (Y/N)? Clumsy, loud, small (Y/N)? When did you become so… mature?

“(Y/N)-san! Behind you!” One of your remaining comrades screamed. Giyuu’s hand fell onto the hilt of his own sword in preparation to take action, yet you twisted with ease to evade the demon’s attack as another fighter charged towards it. Their swift slash to the neck failed to cut through, snapping the metal of their weapon in half. Its spiny, scorpion-like exoskeleton was nearly impossible for the average Demon Slayer to cut through, and close ranged attacks were dangerous considering the poison tipped pincers growing from its torso. 

“No!” You screamed, arm outstretched towards your other comrade as the demon turned its attention towards him, malice and amusement glittering in its hollow irises. Giyuu dashed forward, grabbing onto him and springing back to safety before the demon’s long claws could impale the trembling boy. You bolted forward to close an incredible distance in the blink of an eye, haori fluttering behind your figure as if you were running on air. 

“Water Breathing, third form. Flowing Dance.” You rotated in the air, dodging the legs that threatened to interrupt your attack with their piercing thrusts. The opening thread had made itself apparent, but you had been punctured with several wounds and your stamina was depleting. This battle must have been going on for longer than Giyuu originally anticipated. 

“Go for the legs, I’ll slice its neck,” The Water pillar called to you. 

He rushed forward as you unleashed attacks to cut the demon’s many arms and legs, preventing them from stabbing Tomioka as he made his move. The Kizuki let out an enraged howl, thrusting its fangs towards you. It never got the chance to bite into you, however, as the Water Hashira’s blade came in contact with its neck, slicing through like butter in one solid stroke. 

As the demon disintegrated, your knees went wobbly. The formerly collected swordsman upon closer inspection was now an exhausted girl, battered and bruised on the verge of collapse as your adrenaline faded away. Giyuu placed his hand on your shoulder.  

“I’m sorry for not getting here sooner. You fought well.” 

You knew that voice. You barely had time to register his pretense in the heat of battle, but it was undeniable now. 

“Tomioka-sama?” you turned your head to look at him, the warmth of his gentle yet firm grip spreading through your body. His deep blue eyes bore into yours. You realized you still loved those eyes. They felt familiar to you, like a small piece of your home. It had been too long since you had gazed upon them. “Y-you’re here, you came?” 

“It’s my duty to look after you now,” he replied plainly, supporting your weight as you stumbled. 

“I'm so glad,” you whispered, pain searing in your lower torso as you spoke. “I'm happy to see you again.” Giyuu shook his head, noticing the small winces you tried to hide between your shallow breaths. As your knees buckled he scooped you up in his arms and held you close. 

“Nevermind that. You need to start recovery breathing, (Y/N).” 

You inhaled softly, fatigue settling in your bones as you did what you were instructed. Giyuu silently waved off a Kakushi who offered to carry you, his focus never leaving the girl in his arms. 

“Where did the demon get you?” 

“My torso, he nicked me real bad earlier,” you informed, nose scrunching as blood began to soak through your uniform. Giyuu’s eyebrows furrowed in concern. 

“Let's get you back swiftly then,” he murmured into your hair. It still smelled the same as he remembered, like wisteria and snow. 

Your crow later informed the Pillar that because you fiercely defended the others, many of your comrades escaped certain death. You fought selflessly. It reminded him of much of your mutual friend, the one who’s name still made shame burn in his heart to remember. The one whose death drove you guys apart. 

The man looked down at you in his arms. The walk back was long and you had long since been lost from the waking world, curling up into his shoulder as he carried you. He wondered how anyone who witnessed such horrors as demon slayers did, could look so peaceful in their sleep. 

He took you into his home, which as his Tsuguko, would be yours now as well. It was strange to think he would begin sharing this space with someone else. His large estate wasn’t lived in like Tengen’s or Shinobu’s– many nights it remained cold and empty. The vastness of the mansion is unfit for just one man, but he’d always chosen to isolate himself in the past. Maybe the emptiness of his home would change now.

Tomioka had laid you down on the futon in one of his several spare rooms. As he dutifully tended to your wounds, you continued to sleep, blissfully unaware of the glances he stole at your face. It too had changed since the last time you'd seen him– more serious, but also more beautiful. 

After disinfecting and wrapping up your more serious wounds, he dabbed a wet cloth at a cut on your cheek. You murmured unintelligibly as he did so, and Giyuu hesitated as you leaned into his touch. Were you waking up? The water pillar stilled in his movements, but you did not stir further. He sighed. It had been years since he’d seen you, but only now was all that time catching up to him. 

He could feel his heart unwillingly squeeze in his chest as you snuggled into his hand in your state of unconsciousness. 

Feeling a state of unrest, he rose to his feet and walked to the backyard to train. Fighting demons allowed him to take his mind off of most things. He could exercise for hours without the slightest hint of fatigue, and when the exhaustion caught up to him, it was all the more a distraction from everything he wanted to run away from. Time really did slip away from him in these moments. 

Inside the mansion, you had risen, deciding to take in your new surroundings. You explored each room aside from Tomioka’s private quarters, observing the minimalist design of the entire estate. Many of the rooms had sparse furniture, but it was spacious and organized. Mostly because they were untouched. It pulled at your heartstrings to know that Giyuu lived here by himself for all these years. It felt so conflicting being back here: you wanted to make up for lost time with him, but you felt like an intrusion. Tomioka was housing you because it was his job. Not because it was voluntary. 

He was a stranger to you now, but it didn’t feel like it. You cared for him, even if that wasn’t reciprocated. 

The sound of metal swinging through the air caught your attention as you made your way to the back of the house, sliding the outer partition to reveal the Water Hashira outside. A cool breeze rushed past you, making you shiver. What was he doing at this hour?

“Have you been out here all night?” You questioned 

“No.” The word slipped out easily for him, with his monotone voice and stoic expression. No one ever questioned it. 

“You’re lying, Tomioka-sama.” 

Except you, apparently. 

He didn’t budge nor acknowledge you this time, continuing to swing his sword and cut through the air. You sighed, approaching him and resting a hand on his arm. Smaller you would have been shocked at how easily you walked up to him. You really had changed since then. 

“C’mon, it’s getting chilly. Come inside with me?” 

Again, you got no response. You knew Giyuu had become more withdrawn since his youth, but it hurt you to feel so emotionally distant. For you, the minute you saw him again it was like no time had passed at all. Your heart admired him all the same, but for him, you guessed it was different. 

Well, it’s only natural of course, you told yourself. He was the one who left you behind afterall.  

You pushed away the sting of disappointment. 

“Please?” You took his wrist in your hand, but prepared for the man to slip out off your grip in rejection. But to your surprise he meerely looked down at you, lowering his sword to search your eyes. That was his first mistake, as he realized he couldn’t deny the request when you held such an earnest expression. His skin was cold to the touch, except for where your gentle grip was. 

He realized you had the same effect as training did, for all of his racing thoughts went quiet as you kept him grounded to the earth. 

“Okay,” he conceded, letting you guide him back to the house. 

The walk to your room was quiet, a silence that you desperately wanted to break but were lost on how to. Unbesknown to you, Giyuu felt the same, but you both reached the shoji to your sleeping quarters before either had a chance to speak. The water hashira cleared his throat. 

“Rest your injuries, and then we’ll start training,” Your mentor entoned, staring at the ground. “I will be gone often on missions. Make yourself comfortable in that time.” 

With that, he turned away, almost relieved to end the interaction.  

“I’m sorry,” you blurted suddenly, catching Giyuu off guard. 

“For what?” There were a million reasons he could think for him to apologize to you, but you could never do a thing wrong in his eyes. 

“I just... I know this probably isn’t your ideal situation. Me being here, invading your home. I’ll try to say out of your way.”  

You looked so unsure, so small and out of place. He took a step closer to you, relenting at the guilt that you might think of yourself as a burden. The last thing Giyuu wished for was for you to feel unwanted. He was bad with words, but he felt different when you were around. A good different that he spend years trying avoiding, because he didn’t deserve you. 

“Don’t. It’s already barren enough here,” Tomioka sighed, placing a hand on top of your head reassuringly. 

You smiled at him brightly, relieved at his words. In truth, you didn’t want to stay away. After all this time, you wanted to show him he was cared about. That he didn’t have to shut everyone out and be alone. Giyuu’s breath caught in his throat. When was the last time anyone showed him such a happy expression? 

His house never felt like home, but with your light inside of it, maybe it would start to. 

[madameaug]

Work Wife || JJK x OC

Pairing: Jungkook x Jennette

Context: Jungkook's self-appointed work wife oversteps at the Christmas party.

*woman is not a face claim for Jennette

"Is this Mick Jung's residence?" Jennette was polite when speaking to the woman who answered the door. She could not attend the office ceremony because she was securing child care for Peanut. She would have a sleepover at her Godmother Nala “Lala” house. So Jungkook texted her just to come to the after-party at Mick’s house. She had sat in the car for five minutes, ringing Jungkook’s phone. But knowing him, he was probably in some deep conversation, not paying any attention to his phone.

Yasmin, the woman answering the door was the gyms talent acquisition director. Jennette had seen her before in passing at some of Jungkook and Jaehyun’s fights. However this was the first she ever directly interacted with her.

"Whose asking?" Penny stands up straighter to prevent Jennette from looking inside the house. Unlike Penny, Yasmin knew exactly who Jennette was. The girlfriend of the most famous fighter at the gym. She thought she would have Jungkook to herself since there was no sign of her at the office ceremony.

“Jennette.” She didn’t like that her response came out like a question. If Penny kept staring her down, she would feel compelled to pull out her driver's license.

"Yo!" Coming to Jennette's rescue was Mick. "Don't keep her outside. Come on in."

Reluctantly, Yasmin stepped aside to let Jenentte inside the house. The home decor was seasonal, with a gold and white Christmas theme.

“Mick you must clearly be in the Christmas mood.” Jennette complimented. This was her first time stepping foot in his home in person but she’s seen pictures. It was a bachelor pad, but not as messy. Sexually suggestive artwork with proudly displayed alcohol bottles.

It was what you expect a boy decorating his first college apartment to look like. Mick was past his college days by at least a decade. But shared the same taste as one.

“I have very important company over.” His head turned toward an asian woman looking around the apartment. A red solo cup in her hand, but she had on thigh high heels. Her salt and pepper hair was blowed out straight and framed her thin face nicely. She looked like she meant business. A sharp contrast to Mick’s goofy demeanor.

“I see.”

“She’s so pretty.”

Mick was clearly drunk, but in good spirits. He was chatty, escorting Jenentte into the thick of the party. Friends of Mick were socializing with cups of jello shots in their hands.

"How's my girl doing. She talking yet?" Mick asked about his honorary niece.

"Is she talking? She won't stop talking." Jennette gushed. Peanut was finding her voice. Instead of relying on hand gestures to communicate what she wants, she'll use her voice. Her voice was raspy, but so adorable.

"All day, she just tells Jungkook and me 'no.' "

Jennette soon realized she was talking to herself, as Mick was swayed into another conversation. Slightly awkward Jennette went on the hunt for Jungkook. The person she was accompanying at this event in the first place.

--------

Jennette hadn't realized she stepped into the lioness's den. It didn't take her long to find Jungkook in the house. He was in the kitchen talking to Jaehyun and Yasmin. His back was to her front.

Yasmin put on her friendly act, announcing Jennette's arrival. Jungkook was overly excited and kissed her forehead affectionately.

“So this is the Jennette I’ve heard so much about.” Yasmin started, catching the attention of Jungkook. The statement was odd. He didn’t go rambling about his relationship with Jennette. Unless he was in Mick’s office then he would talk his head off about his family. Never to regular employees at the gym. Especially not to those that work more in the office than the physical gym.

“So what are y’all? Like friends or something.”

“We’re dating.” Jennette answered shirt and sweetly. Unsure of what Yasmin’s motives taking a sudden interest in her relationship with Jungkook. She could assume that it wasn’t good, from the cold welcome she got at the door.

“She’s the mother of my child.” Jungkook corrected.

“Oh so she’s just your baby momma.” She swallowed the jell-o shot. The liquid courage making her bolder with the following statements.

“Are you expecting again?”

“No, the fuck.”

“Oh! Oh my goodness. I’m so sorry.” She turned to make a face, believing the at if she twisted her body, Jennette couldn’t see the fake guilty on her face.

“Let’s talk about something else.” Jaehyun steered the conversation away the emotional landmines, Yasmin was trying to set.

“I didn’t mean to be rudeee. I just thought Jungkook and I were close.”

“When we trained together a couple of times, sitting beside each other in meetings, road trips to meet potential clients together all those years ago. We had a lot of good times together.” Her voice was drawn out trying to create a seductive drawl.

The mind tricks did little to Jennette. Plus, she didn’t know Jungkook when he first moved to America. So whatever and whoever he was doing in his romantic life was none of her business.

“Yasmin that was one time and almost six years ago. When I first moved to Georgia.”

“Did you know that so many people shipped us together? We were like husband and wife. We were like the ideal couple, that never was. I was the one who got away.”

“Work wife?” Jungkook nearly choked on his shot.

Yasmin was trying to frame her words to have a deeper meaning than what truly happened like a lioness showing her claws to warn prey that she was dangerous. If Yasmin was trying to spark a light of jealousy in Jennette, then she was failing. If anything, she was only making Jungkook more annoyed and irritated by her presence.

"Are yall in love or something? Or is this a temporary thing?"

"Yasmin I think you've had too many shots. They literally have a kid together." Jaehyun chimed in. Not sure why Yasmin was choosing this moment in particular to interogate Jungkook.

"I didn’t get this tattoo for nothing.” He stretched his neck, showing his tattoo dedicated to Jennette. It was Jennette's lip print on the right side of his neck, with the letter 'J' in cursive.

He also just got a tattoo dedicated to Peanut as well. Except it was on his chest. Her infant foot prints on his chest, above his heart. There was no doubt in his mind about how committed he was to his family. Jennette and Peanut were his girls for life.

"I think the babysitter is calling." Jennette spoke up to Jungkook. It was the secret code that they would use to excuse themselves out in public. Taking his cue, he exuded himself from the conversation. Saying goodbye to Jaehyun in Korean.

Once back outside in front of Jennette's car, the couple immediately started laughing.

"If looks could kill." Jennette started. "I think Yasmin like you."

"Literally no."

"She was definitely marking her territory. It would explain the warm welcome I got at the door."

"Wait, what did she say to you?"

"It's not necessarily what she said. It was more of how she said it. Her body language spoke volumes.”

"I've literally only seen her four times. And I'm not even exaggerating."

"Sounds like you've made quite the impression, Mr. Jeon."

"Marry me."

"Is that your proposal?"

"Not the official one. But I do want to marry you."

"Looks I need to marry you, before ole girl comes snatches you up."

"Hush." Jungkook looked over his shoulder.

"I wouldn't let that happend. I didn't push out your baby just stay a baby momma."

"My sexy baby momma. Soon to be wife.”

"Damn right."

Jungkook opened Jennette's door. Running to his side and opening up his door.

"What about Mick?" Jennette's seatbelt clicked.

"He's playing host, so he's distracted." Jungkook shrugged waisting no time pulling out of the lot.

In the mist of their comfortable silence, Jungkook brought up the question.

"You didn't technically answer my question."

"Well you didn't techincally ask so I don’t have to answer."

"I just want some reassurance. You still want to be the future Mrs. Jeon."

"Assuming I'm still gonna get a real proposal when I'm not in cheesy Christmas pajamas. Yes, Jungkook I'll marry you."

Jungkook didn't respond but a huge grin appeared on his face. He pumped his fist, hitting his knuckles on the overhead of the car.

“Ow!”

[kekaki-cupcakes]

Hello kekaki! Cloud you please write something for Jason with a stoic/shy body painter reader? I feel like he’d be a great model, cause he’s very patient and all. What do you think? No worries if u don’t feel like it, obvs!

I actually loved this idea and ended up putting heaps of headcanons and shit in it too because I love this kinda ask! [everyone usually just does simple stuff which is all g lol but this is so creative maybe its just cause im artsy haha] Anyway this is mixed in with an ask I got for a London Boy [Taylor Swift] type ask x Jason <3 <3 <3

There's still a trace of body paint--- Jason x Body paint artist!reader [London Boy-Taylor Swift]

»»————-　★　————-««

Jason tried not to laugh.

It was so hard though, because holy Hades the paintbrush was so cold and it was tickling his sides and he began chewing on his lip to stop himself from squirming away.

He sat as still as he could, which wasn’t hard, one thing Camp Jupiter got right was the whole soldier thing, and Jason could stand still for hours at a time without moving if he had to. And this way he was sitting on a cushioned stool watching your expression shift when you thought no one was watching you, or eating MnM’s, listening to whatever pop song came over the little radio by the open window. 

The smell of strawberries wafted through with the warm summer air from the fields a few cabins over, and it made him hungry, but he wasn’t about to get up and ruin the carefully designed strokes all down his back and over his shoulders.

He didn’t even get to know what it was until the end, apparently, which was so mean of you, but then you’d stick your tongue out while you worked a little bit in concentration and he forgave you. 

You looked up and made eye contact too quickly for Jason to play it off, and you took the tiny brush off his shoulder slowly, “what?”

“Nothing,” Jason said quickly, chewing the inside of his lip to stop his grin this time, and turned to the rest of the cabin. There was one set of bunks, but the rest of the beds were all retro hammocks hung between messy easels and tapestries and a few statues in progress. 

There was a mini fridge with a salt lamp on top, and every windowsill had little trays of incense next to the mugs filled with paint brushes or lemonade. His view was skewed when you spun the stool around a little and took another brush from the table, this time with an inky dark blue. 

Jason looked up at the roof to move his hair when the cold began to dot lightly where his neck met his shoulder. There was a big circle cut out of the white stone ceiling, replaced with glass that let the light in like a halo. It fit the whole scene though, you looked like an angel, even with the bit of melted MnM on your cheek.

“Hey,” he started, noticing the polaroid’s stuck to the wall around the mustard colored hammock belonging to you. “Can I ask..” 

“Hm?” You asked, getting a sponge and dabbing at the scars shredding up the right of Jason’s lower back. 

He wasn’t sure what your answer to the question would be, and if it was something bad, he didn’t want to make you upset, but he was curious. “How did you… how did you get here? When were you claimed?”

“Well, it wasn’t as dramatic as falling out of a burning chariot into the lake,” you muttered, wiping yellow paint from your hands onto your forehead without noticing. “My mum booked a flight to New York when I was ten, and then drove me to the borders of Camp.”

Jason looked down at his shoes, “your mortal mum?...She just left you?” 

You shook your head quickly, “oh, no, it wasn’t like that. She told me I was a demigod when I was six. Didn’t want to keep secrets. Said she went out with a lady at Glastonbury that dropped me off a few months later with a bunch of flowers.”

“I lasted a lot longer than the flowers,” you chuckled quietly, “I knew I was coming here for ages, and I knew I was a son of Iris. We didn’t get a lot of monsters in England, I’ve been attacked more by going to Starbucks on the weekends here than living in Manchester for ten years.”

Jason didn’t like talking about his own mum, but the way you smiled talking about yours, he figured you didn’t mind. “Do you miss her?”

“A lot, but Iris messages aren’t exactly hard for me,” you said with a shrug, dipping the paintbrush into the little tub Jason was balancing on his thigh. “Besides, Iris pays for my mum to fly over every summer, cause she feels bad that she had a kid with someone so far away.”

“Really?”

You smiled again, and the little shiny crystals on your necklaces clicked against the beads, “she’s a pretty great mum, as far as godly parents go. She’s gonna pay for art school, as long as I show her everything I paint.”

Jason blinked. “Does that include me?”

“Surely you’ve met her, you’ve met all the gods, right?” You asked, eating an MnM and swishing the paintbrush around in a cup. Jason was pretty sure you’d just cleaned it with lemonade, but he didn’t say anything. 

He blinked, watching the colorful stained glass of your earrings catch in the light, “Yeah, but that was before…”

Before he’d found you with Racheal using the blank stone wall of his cabin as a space for her next mural. He didn’t really care if Zeus got annoyed, because you had pink paint on your cheeks and you were using a pegasus called Clover to put all of the paint tubs on and Racheal was saying something stupid and you were laughing with your nose all crinkled up and if Zeus got annoyed by that, Jason would take the smiting himself.

Before he’d somehow ended up in the same activities together after he told Piper about you [who could convince Annabeth to do anything for her somehow, even without her mothers tongue].

Before he’d offered to sit still for hours at a time so that you could build a portfolio of paintings on his scarred skin. He’d had to ask instead of agree, because you weren’t exactly the outgoing type. Neither was Jason, so you could sit together for hours with only the sound of the tens of wind chimes outside the cabin and paint tubes being used to their last drop.

Before Jason found himself more invested in the process of the painting then the outcome. 

He gulped, and mentally shook his head, “well, I hope the art school people don’t mind scars. You’d have to use someone else.”

“I don’t care if they do. I’d still paint you,” you said quietly, looking up from the dark blue sketchy strokes Jason could only just see without his glasses. Then you looked away, changing your paintbrush for the yellow one, “unless you didn’t want to.”

“I do.”

It was silent for a moment, and then you smiled, your lip piercing shining in the sun that streamed in, “okay.”

“I’m done,” you said a few minutes later, passing Jason the rest of the MnM’s once he could move without fear of ruining the paint. He watched as you pulled a mirror out from behind an easel depicting what looked like a robot bear with square teeth and red eyes. 

Jason stared at the blues and golds with wide eyes. He didn’t want to blink, he didn’t want to not see it. He didn’t know how to put it into words. “...Wow.” 

Wow didn’t seem like enough, but you grinned nonetheless with a shy shrug, “It’s a Van Gogh, well my version of it. Everyone likes Starry night, but I like Starry Night Over The Rhone a lot more, so…” 

»»————-　★　————-««

“Is that her?”

You rolled your eyes at the question, the only one Jason had been able to ask the past ten minutes as you both sat at a park bench outside the movies, an old one near the markets that just played grainy reruns in its shabby chic theater. “If you ask one more-”

“No I think that’s Iris,” he whispered with wide eyes, “she’s staring at me.”

About to explain that the old lady with a basket of kittens and a black lace umbrella [it was sunny. She was probably a vampire] was not your mother, you turned to see the woman who was actually your mother, in her bell bottoms and matching top, hoop earrings made of tiny dreamcatchers casting colorful light everywhere. 

You grabbed his wrist, and pulled him along into her cloud of floral perfume that hurt your nose when she brought you into a bearhug. “Hi mum.”

“Darling!” She shrieked, kissing your cheeks and holding your shoulders and she shook them violently, then snuck another hug while you were making sure your head was still attached to your shoulders, “oh, how I’ve missed you!” 

“Missed you to mum,” you said, pulling away with a smile, and turned to Jason, who had the same expression big dogs get when they’re picked up. “Um, mum… this is Jason.”

“Yes, yes! I’ve heard all about you!”

“...He’s my boyfriend.” 

»»————-　★　————-««

[mirai1269]

Guardian Angel AU (Leon x [MC])

[MC] has a peculiar friend. An angel. The two grew up together, looking out for one another. The angel claimed that he was there to protect him, in exchange, [MC] showed him friendship (and unknowingly even more). 

But this angel is a little bit more than meets the eye... 

Words: 2652  

Fluff, a bit of angst, Leon x [MC], supernatural elements, slight yandere themes 

*Pink words in the fic are whispered*

Stuck in a Yandere Visual Novel...HELP!! is the game of @pumpkin-spike18

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

One warm February day, on the school’s courtyard, [MC] was peacefully eating his lunch. When suddenly... 

"FOR THE LAST TIME!" The echo of a distressed shout rang throughout the building. "I. DON'T. WANT. YOUR. CUPCAKES!!!" 

"So, it begins." [MC] thought.  

Ah, yes. Valentine's Day is just around the corner (meaning the start of the attack of the Drama Club's Valentine's Day Sale).  

A day [MC] could not resonate with. Romance has always avoided him somehow (unlike the Drama Club's salesmen). 

"Wow, they're getting more persistent this year, eh?" 

[MC] turned to where the voice came from. "Like always. But they won't get me this time!" He announced proudly, a sly smile drawing on his face.  

His companion stood up to stretch, his eyes not leaving [MC].  

"How about you let me handle them this time? That's pretty much my job, you know." 

Looking up to keep the eye contact, [MC] could feel his neck cracking. Were it not for his bangs hanging in front of his eyes, the light reflected by his companion's white suit and pinkish hair would've made him go blind. 

"Leon, they're not 'demons'. Your job is to protect me only from those." [MC] answered. The other rolled his eyes, dropping himself back next to the brunet. 

"You're not wrong. But you see, I'm special~." 

Wrapping an arm and a feathery wing around [MC]'s shoulder, the pink haired boy continued in a more determined tone.  

"I'm tasked to protect you from anything and everything that may cause you harm. Demons, spirits, ghouls, sketchy salesmen, vampires and other monstrosities of the dark side. Whatever it is, I shall protect you with my (immortal) life." 

Letting out a chuckle, [MC] shook his head, sighing in defeat.  

"Well, they do fit one of those categories..." He mumbled. In an instant, Leon jumped up from his seat, his wings spread wide, his eyes shot open. 

"So can I-" 

"No." [MC] shot him off, going back to finishing his lunch. 

The taller boy crossed his arms, plopped back next to the brunet and started to pout. [MC] didn’t pay much attention to it. He knew the angel's tricks too well to fall for them. Finally, Leon decided to try another approach. 

“I’ve done an excellent job for the past 8 or so years- “ 

“And I’m ever so grateful for it.” [MC] cut him off, patting Leon’s back gently. “What would I even do without you?” 

As a response, Leon quietly growled, puffing up his cheeks bigger. 

“...do you at least have a plan?” He asked after a few moments of silence. [MC] chuckled with a smug look on his face. 

"Well, do I~? Want me to elaborate~?" He asked, feeling like a villain mastermind. Leon hopped off from his seat and started floating in the air, laying on his stomach, his eyes at the same level as [MC]'s. Supported by his elbows, his rested his head in his hands. 

"Oh, I 'cannot' wait to hear it." He said, mockingly. But before [MC] could even take a breath, the bell rang. 

"Ah shoot! You made me forget about the time." [MC] scolded Leon, while he picked up his backpack. Leon, shocked from the accusation, grabbed at his heart. 

"Me? Make you forget? How could you say that [MC]?" He whined, as the other bolted into the building. Chuckling to himself, the angel flew up to the window of the classroom in two flaps of his wings. Sitting on the edge, he loyally waited for his companion, until... 

"LEAVE ME ALONE!!" [MC] cried out, as he tried to get away from the "demons", the sound of his running ringing into Leon's ears like music. 

"Ehe~" He smirked to himself. "There goes Mr. 'I have a plan'!" 

After some time, [MC] crashed in the room, panting and sweating. 

"So~...how did that plan of yours work out?" Leon asked. [MC] glared at him as he dragged himself to his seat and plopped onto the chair. 

"They..." One huff.  

"...didn't sell..." A quick swallow. 

"...me..." Another huff. 

"...anything...justsoyouknow-" With one final huff, [MC] face planted onto his desk. Leon hopped into the room and slowly made his way to the poor guy. Too exhausted from the chase, he didn't give any mind to the angel stroking his raven locks. Leon cooed the youth with a gentle whisper. 

"Rest, my dear! I'll keep watch." 

After school, the two best friends decided to take a break at the café by the train station. Though eating wasn't essential for Leon, [MC] found that it might be fair to the angel to receive an occasional reward for his services. So, twice a week, on Monday and Friday, [MC] would treat his 'personal celestial bodyguard' to a pastry. Even though Leon wasn't picky, he sure took long to choose. 

"Ugh, there's even more things to choose from today. [MC], help me!" The angel wept. Unfortunately, his cry has landed on deaf ears, as the brunet was looking out the shop's window. 

Their town has always been oddly ecstatic about the day of love. Heck, even every other day, the streets were decorated with hearts, roses, anything pink and/or red. [MC] could never figure out the reasons of it, so in time, he gave up and accepted it. It's better than the dull, grey depression holes he saw when his class went on trips anyway. Plus, he liked pink. 

The streets were flooded with the decorations and the main stars of the holiday, couples. Pairs and small groups of 3 or more passed by, displaying affection. To his right, on the other side of the street, a small group of girls were buying flowers at the flower shop, chatting to themselves. Opposite to them, to his left, two guys were passing by, holding hands. Near that pair, a girl and a boy were checking out the shops' displays. 

The sight gave [MC] mixed feelings. On one hand, the display of romance made him feel warm and comfortable. Like he was at home, safe. On the other, he felt... a bit jealous. 

Why is it, that all his life, this magical feeling has avoided him? Heck, he’s never even had any celebrity crushes! Sure, he could tell if someone looked handsome or pretty (or outright hot), but other than that, nothing.  

In the end, he figured it doesn't matter. It's not like he'll die if he won't fall in love. Maybe he'll never fall in love.  

Maybe...it's just not meant to be for him. 

"[MC]?" The sound of him being called made him snap back to reality. Leon was standing right behind him. "I know what I want." 

In the end, [MC] choose for him. They got two slices of strawberry shortcakes and for Newt, a pastry that looked like the head of a teddy bear. At home, [MC] discovered that his brother was still away. 

"Oh right, he's out with his friends." He reminded himself. 

Leon was waiting for him on the couch, his eyes twinkling, and his wings flapping impatiently. He was eager for his 'salary'.  

"Leon... we'll eat these on the 'dinner' table." [MC] called out to him. 

"But it's so comfortable on the couch. Hurry up instead!" The angel protested. In defeat, [MC] sighed and carried on. 

Once in his 'at home attire', [MC] put the shortcakes onto two separate plates, and put Newt's dessert into the fridge. He wrote a note for him about it. Back by the couch, Leon took the first bite. 

"Mmm~, sweet and soft! I knew you'd choose well. Thank you for the dessert!" The angel said, licking his fork. At first, [MC] wondered how Leon could eat if he wasn't able to be perceived by others, but, like other things, he didn't delve too much on it. In between bites, the two exchanged some light conversation. 

"So... Valentine's Day, huh?" [MC] said, munching on a bite of cake. Leon swallowed before answering. 

"It's next week. What about it?" 

The boy in front of him was playing with a strawberry, rolling it around with his fork. "I don't know." [MC] replied. "It's just..." With a heavy sigh, he set the utensil on the table. "I was just thinking about...uhm..." 

Leon's gaze on him started to become more and more curious. "About what?" The angel asked. 

"About...cupids?" [MC] answered, sounding unsure. For a short moment, his 'answer' was met with silence. 

"...what about them?" Leon asked, putting the last bite of his dessert into his mouth, his ruby eyes never leaving [MC]'s face. 

"Well...are they real? I mean, since you're an angel, a 'specialized' angel, I was just wondering, what other 'professions' you guys do." After saying this, [MC] defensively put his hands up. "You don't have to give an answer, it's more of a-" 

Leon lightly waved his hand. "It's okay. It's not a secret." He stood up to put his dishes in the sink. "There's a wide variety of angels. In terms of power, I'm on the lower ranks. In fact, most of the 'specialized' angels are lower rank. Other than guardian angels, some of us work for Death, some of us deal with human souls in the afterlife, and..." 

[MC] walked up to Leon's back. "There's cupids?" He asked. The taller male turned to face him, nodding in silence. "Do you not like them?" The brunet asked. 

"What makes you say that?" Leon asked back. 

"You obviously don't want to talk about them. I guess you're not a fan of romance, huh?" [MC] added, putting his dishes on top of Leon's. The other shook his head. 

"I do like romance. We've even watched movies like that before, remember?" 

[MC] did remember. Leon's eyes were glued to the Tv screen for the whole duration of those movies, in complete silence. He always thought Leon was just not used to the technology. 

"Then I suppose it's for another reason. Are they annoying to work with?" 

Leon started to look more and more uncomfortable. "...well, some of them are..." 

"Hm?" [MC] tilted his head. The angel put his hands up. 

"I-I wouldn't know. I've...barely met any." 

[MC] looked down, feeling a bit dejected. "Yeah, makes sense." Leon gave him a look that he's rarely seen. It was...apologetic? 

"Welp, want to do something before calling it a day?" [MC] clapped his hand together, then went back into the living room, with Leon tagging along.  

They decided to watch a crappy horror movie. At first, they just laughed at the terrible costumes and effects, but the plot was so boring, [MC]'s eyes began to wonder off. His gaze shifted to Leon instead. Like every other time, the angel's red irises were fixated on the screen.  

A curious feeling started to bloom in the brunet's chest. As sneakily as he could, he snooped closer to Leon, until their hips touched. The other didn't give any reaction, so [MC] shifted his gaze back to the Tv. In that moment, a jump-scare occurred, making him shiver a little. Behind him, the shifting sound of fabric made him more antsy, until he felt soft feathers tickle the side of his face. Looking back up at Leon, he found the other doing the same, with a soft smile of his face. 

"I noticed you got a bit scared there." The angel whispered, wrapping his wings around the boy a bit more tightly. To avoid the pesky stray feathers tickling his face, [MC] rested his head on Leon's shoulder, until the end of the movie. If he would've let his eyes wander again, he would've seen Leon blush, and fight the urge to let his smile grow bigger. 

Once the movie ended, they both agreed to never watch anything like this ever again (Leon suggested watching something scarier next time). [MC] carried out his bedtime routine, and since Newt has messaged him that he'd spend the night at a friend's house, went straight to bed. 

"Good night, [MC]!" Leon said, sitting on the edge of his best friend's bed. 

"See you tomorrow, Leon!" And with that, [MC] wandered into the land of dreams.  

The angel carefully swiped the bangs away from [MC]'s face. With a soft smile, he carefully bent down, making sure not to disturb the youth's sleep. Before his lips could touch [MC]'s forehead, the sound of wings' flapping snapped him out of his moment. 

"...f*ck." 

In mere seconds, as quietly as he could, he was roaring up in the night sky. By the roof of the building, 3 winged figures were waiting for him. One of them looked particularly angry, as they crossed their arms when Leon came into view. 

"So, did you finally find him someone?" The angry angel asked. Leon remained silent. His eyes were fixated on the ground. The angel to his right approached him. 

"Leon, you were asked a question. Answer!" They ordered. 

"...I... I'm still working on it." Leon replied, shaking. The 3rd angel huffed. 

"What does that entail pray tell? Last time I checked, eating desserts is not part of it." They mocked. Leon huffed to relieve the anger that started to build up. 

"It's just hard to find-" But before Leon could finish, the 3rd angel cut him off. 

" 'Hard to find'? Well of course! It is hard to find something, when you weren't even looking for it!" The other angels frowned at them, making the mocking angel shut their mouth. 

"They have point, you know." The angel near Leon said. "You can't keep playing around, Leon. We have overlooked your misbehaviour for too long. Impersonating as a guardian angel, sabotaging your co-workers, you, avoiding your responsibilities! Enough is enough!" 

Leon averted his gaze, getting more and more irritated. "I still bring couples together. So technically-" 

The angry angel appeared right before him in a blink of an eye. They grabbed his chin, making it impossible to look away. Leon’s irises glowed, an act of defence. 

"Don't you dare talk back! Do your job, you imbecile! After that, you can pretend to be the guard dog of whoever you want. I don't care. This human's soul needs love. If his heart is not on fire, a demon could easily take control over him. Do you want that?" Finishing the speech, they let Leon go. 

Upon the reminder of what's at stake, the pink haired boy froze. Right... making [MC] fall in love is for his own good. He must stop being selfish. He must... 

"I think Leon here is just jealous." The mocking angel cut in. Everyone looked at them. In Leon's eyes, fury flamed. "He doesn't want the human to fall in love, because he's 'in love' with him. Aww, how romantic!" 

"SHUT UP!" Leon shouted. "What do you know about how I feel?" 

The other two angels huffed. "Oh please. Leon doesn't even know what he's feeling. Cupids don't fall in love, after all." 

Leon shut his eyes. His anger was bubbling so hot, he could feel... 

"You have until Valentine's Day. Either you find someone for him... or someone more competent will." 

The 3 angels left so fast it was like they were never there. They left Leon frozen in place by the 'threat'. 

Back in [MC]'s room, he carefully approached the bed, laying his head on the edge. The brunet's hands were laying by his side, out of the blanket. Gently, Leon grabbed the one closest to him and gave it a tender kiss. Looking at the boy's sleeping figure, his heart couldn't take it anymore. 

His tears were flowing like a river. His legs felt so weak, he knew he couldn't stand up to leave the room. With his remaining strength, he fought to keep his voice down, covering his figure with his wings. 

"It's not fair." He mumbled between sobs. "I can love him. I do love him..."  

After crying for long, he mumbled one last thing, before passing out on the floor. 

"I won't give him up..." 

[tra-archive]

Warning: I’m about to talk about the protests that have been going on across college campuses, as I was part of one as well (and assaulted by cops along with my friends). I don’t talk about the current war much because I know it’s a politically charged topic, but I felt like this needed to be said. It’s not really about the protests themselves, but how women involved in political discussions are treated. No matter what side you’re on, I think I make a good point.

Have you noticed that, when discussing the protests that have occurred on college campuses recently, conservative men (and even some liberal men) have been claiming that we (college kids) are just protesting because we want to look cool/go viral and we don’t actually know anything about the topic?

Yeah, well I say that’s misogyny 100%.

Look at the caricatures they’ve been making of us, of all the protesters. It’s 99% of the time a young woman, usually with dyed hair and usually fat as well. The stereotypical “blue-haired feminist” (which I think is a stupid trope). Liberal women in general are stereotyped this way. It’s also well known that teenage girls & college women are hated by grown men and, dare I say, society in general. We’re constantly the subject of ridicule.

Do you really think it’s a coincidence that because many of the protesters have been women, that men are claiming we don’t even know what we’re protesting about? A college girl can’t possibly care about a war and dumb women can’t possibly be aware of what’s going on in the world, right? We must be protesting because we want views on TikTok and oppression points.🙄

And let me point out that the counter-protesters at many schools, including mine, have been white boys and they’ve been being praised for “fighting for America and Israel.” A frat boy at Ole Miss is being praised all over social media for making monkey noises at a Black woman who was part of a pro-Palestine protest, he’s being hailed a hero for being racist to this woman. So the protesters (majority being women and POC) don’t really know what they’re protesting about, but the ones against them (majority white boys) do? The misogyny is so glaringly obvious I can’t believe it took me so long to notice.

Women, especially young women, who involve themselves in political discussions, protests, and activism are looked down on like crazy, while men seem to be praised for it. I’ve seen this happen to both liberal and conservative women, yet another example that neither side supports us. We’re assumed to not know anything about the topic and men think we only care about politics for clout or internet points.

The next time you say something like this about a protest, maybe examine why you think they must not know what they’re fighting for. Especially if you’re a woman yourself. We’ve long been made fun of in political discussions.

This will probably be the last time I talk about this topic but it needed to be said. Don’t even bother arguing with me, especially if you weren’t part of a protest, because I’m speaking from experience about the misogyny I’ve been facing. If you’d like to help the students who are facing unfair academic consequences for exercising their right to peacefully protest, DM me for info about petitions.

[polysyndetonaddictsupportgroup]

HELP your time travel shenanigans fic idea about toji being very much alive but still putting the fate of his two little ass kids in the hands of a bunch of 16-17 year olds even if he’s still breathing. if i was megumi then my abandonment issues would’ve gone crazy if that happened to me 😭. mamaguro is looking down from the pearly white gates IN ANGER at toji’s audacity i just know it.

but now i’m curious on other ideas (that you have) for fics about jjk that you may or may not get to after sea glass gardens.

see the sad thing is that letting a bunch of 16-17 year old bitchy disaster gays discover the magic of teen parenthood is actually a step up because he had already sold Megumi to the Zenin and feral wolverines would be a better alternative to them. This was the best parenting decision toji has ever made.

(Time travel!Megumi: look we don’t have any other options. Anything is better than the Zenin.

Gojo, in the distance: they’re what three? That’s old enough for a red bull

Geto: I will actually kill you over this satoru

Time travel!megumi: *deep breath*)

A loose catalogue of my jjk fics, which may or may not exist one day:

Sea glass gardens verse:

I am forever compelled by the siren call of expanding my fics into universes because one story is never enough for me. I’ve got threeish stories in this universe, with no promises of how many, if any, I’ll write.

1. The Teen Parenting Chronicles: Gojo, Nanami, and Shoko’s expert guide to raising children when you are, in fact, children. Featuring what the fuck happened with the Zenin the first time around.

2. Megumi’s pov of what just happened leading up to sea glass gardens: someone asked me if I’d ever write this and it has the highest chance of existing because I have. Sort of. Started writing it. I have impulse control issues.

3. Okkotsu Yuuta and the world’s longest distance panic attack: crack fic of Yuuta on his study abroad trip becoming increasingly more frantic at the other second year’s updates as to how His Boy’s first year as a jujutsu sorcerer is going. What do you mean sukunas there. What do you mean he doesn’t have a shirt. Well put one on him!

Time travel AU:

1. The Time Traveler’s Guide to Fucking Shit Up And Living Well: following another attempt on their lives by the higher ups, the first year gang is forced into a desperate, high stakes gamble with a time-centric curse that puts their very existences at stake. If they want to survive, they have to complete one task of their choosing in the past before the clock runs out. Their mission?

To punch fushiguros shitty bio dad in the face, something which will surely have no long term consequences on the timeline.

See this one has the most chance of actually existing one day because it is by far my FAVORITE jjk fic I have. It even beats out sea glass gardens. I desperately want to write it.

2. The 2006 Gang and the Art of a Good Union: following a confusing incident with the star plasma vessel and three unknown sorcerers, the 2006 Tokyo jujutsu high first and second year class inexplicably goes off the rails and retires from jujutsu sorcery, claiming that they’ve discovered the magic of teen parenthood and can in no way risk themselves in such a dangerous profession now that they have kids to think about. At least, not with the way things are run now.

No one knows where they got the children from.

3. Toji Fushiguro and the Dead Beat Dad Chronicles: in which toji fushiguro succeeds at being a dead beat baby daddy to two teenaged gay boys and their crew of bitchy lgbtq compadres, who in no way want him to be involved in their children’s lives.

Standalones:

1. “Fushiguro is unleashed in junpei’s school like an invasive superpredator” AU: I’ve talked about this one in way more detail in another post for an ask game, but the idea is that itadori discovers junpeis abuse at school and says Not On His Fucking Watch and escalates the matter to gojo, who decides the funniest possible solution while they try to draw out mahito is to unleash his all star delinquent son into junpeis high school to bully the bullies.

Fushiguro resents this as a problem solving strategy.

2. The Zenin raise Megumi AU: also discussed in more detail in an ask game. In which people took Tsumiki’s little brother from her, but she’s trying to get him back, she promises.

Or, in which the Zenin take megumi, leave tsumiki, and they both spend every day after fighting to get back to the other.

3. Sort of a no curse AU: Itafushi romance story, in which local himbo Itadori Yuuji falls for delinquent Fushiguro Megumi when his grandpa is placed in the room next to Fushiguros comatose sister. Starts as a no curse AU… except there’s totally curses, Tsumikis mom just moved them to Sendai without telling anyone so the Zenin never found Megumi, and he’s just never told anyone about the curses he sees because he’s worried he’s schizophrenic. He thought the shikigami thing was a metaphor for self actualization or something.

4. Fushiguro Megumi and the World’s Most Inconvenient Custody Battle: pre JJK0, Geto decides to be a shithead magic terrorist at a local school that represents all the worst of monkey society: it’s known for a rampant bullying issue, which is a breeding ground for cursed spirits, and it contributes to the risk to jujutsu sorcerers by feeding a local legend of a haunted bridge that could explode into a serious curse any day.

What he didn’t count on? Finding the new Ten Shadows in the student body, who’s fully willing to kamikaze them both if it means saving his sister’s life.

And who doesn’t seem to be aware that he more than has the potential to take suguru in a fight.

In which Fushiguro just wanted to shut up, go to school, and go home, and instead finds himself in a binding vow to give cult life a whirl to save the lives of classmates he doesn’t even like all that much.

It involves oddly more parenting than he expected.

5. Fake Fiancés AU: prodigy and noble prize winning physicist Gojo Satoru, following a very ill advised fuck buddies arrangement with fushiguro toji, has settled down into domestic bliss with the two kids he took from the relationship despite them not, in any way, being related to him. The problem? His ex is back in town. The hot one. The one who broke up with him and started a cult. The one who he wants to convince he got over when he absolutely did not do that.

The solution? Tell everyone he’s happily engaged to Nanami Kento, who cannot express enough how much he does not want him to do that.

… until, all of a sudden, he needs a show of domestic bliss himself. His adoptive son’s older brother, sukuna, has crawled out of the woodwork and decided to make a play for custody himself. And Nanami does not know what Sukuna truly wants, but he knows it does not have Yuuji’s best interests at heart.

I share custody of this story with my best friend, who cocreated it with me over deranged text message. I may convince her to joint write it with me if I ever get her to publish her fanfic.

6. Todo Aoi and Schrodinger’s Boyfriend: Todo’s beloved brother, who is most assuredly a man, suffers some kind of terrible brain damage that leads him to confess he loves an assless boy. Todo cannot abide by this, until it’s pointed out to him that if Fushiguro’s type is his brother, that would make him the most interesting man alive. If it is not, he continues to be a boring and uninteresting boy.

Todo sets off on a mission with two goals: determine if fushiguro megumi is interesting, and get him to do some squats. because there’s simply no ass there.

Fushiguro wonders why his life is suddenly harder.

7. Choso and the Art of Being a Big Brother: choso discovers the truth of kenjaku early and does the only logical thing in response: he kills his father in his sleep, cuts out his brain, and delivers it in a jar to his new brother Itadori Yuuji as the first step in wooing him into domestic sibling love.

Megumi doesn’t know where these people come from. Or why all of them think itadori is their brother.

8. SatoSugu realizes their little boy is all grown up when he gets his first crush on a boy when he meets yuuji.

They do not fucking take it with grace.

Also co-written with my best friend via text message.

9. The instagram chronicles: crack fic in which the jujutsu sorcery personnel crisis gets worse, because nobara Kugisaki keeps trying to hard launch her instagram influencer career, and keeps accidentally making every jujutsu sorcerer instagram famous except for her

10. So I don’t actually ship Yuuta and Megumi, but I do really like the idea of low stakes relationships? Like, especially for teen romances. You tried it, decided you were better off as friends, and just went back to being friends. I just like the idea of fumbling around in relationships and getting a sense of boundaries and what you’re interested in without it being a big, world-shaking romance. It seems like a more realistic portrayal of high school relationships than every one of them being this world-defining mature love.

Pre season 1 but post JJK 0, Yuuta and Megumi dated for maybe a month and half, held hands maybe twice, and decided that they were better off as friends and parted on good terms. The issue?

No one realized they were dating. And when it is realized, everyone thinks their relationship was torpedoed because the second years kept inviting themselves onto their dates.

Cue the jjk high school students trying to amend old mistakes and get Yuuta and Megumi back together, who do not, in fact, want to be back together. Headlining Inumaki Toge, who is half in love with Yuuta and does not know why he’s helping get him together with someone else, and Itadori Yuuji, who is half in love with Megumi and also does not know why he’s helping get him together with someone else.

[emonaculate]

Episode O: Teaser

For as long as I can remember, I've been different—special in ways I couldn’t quite understand. Maybe it was my unusually white hair or my blue eyes that resembled frozen ice cubes. I’ve tried to blend in, to act as if nothing was wrong, but normal has never been my forte.

You’re probably reading this and wondering what I’m babbling about. This isn’t the story you signed up for, right? You want to hear about all the villains I've taken down, the babies’ foreheads I’ve kissed after saving New Tokyo from yet another threat. Well, I’m getting to that—just let me be a little melodramatic for a moment. Jesus, can I ever catch a fucking break?

To those of you who just happened to stumble upon this book and have no idea what I’m talking about, let me explain. My name is Satoru Gojo, and I’m the one and only Spider-Man, protecting my home, New Tokyo, from anything and anyone that threatens its peace.

This little book you’ve found—yes, the one you’re nosily reading—is my diary of sorts. My therapist recommended I write down my feelings. According to her, I’m “severely mentally unstable” and she thinks that voicing my thoughts instead of relying on self-deprecating jokes might help me get “better.” So, here we are.

And don’t worry your pretty little head; I fully intend to start from the very beginning and explain exactly what made me so unstable in the first place. Fair warning: my story is a long one. Not that I think you mind—look at you, all curled up in your cozy pajamas, excitedly waiting for me to share the depressing tale of my life. Yeah, I can see you; don’t act shy now. Fix your posture and go drink some water! I know you’re hunched over and probably haven’t left your room all day (and no, work doesn’t count).

Sorry, that’s an old habit I picked up from—well, it doesn’t matter. Let’s begin, shall we?

Satoru was jolted awake by the sound of his curtains being ripped open, the bright sunlight burning through his closed eyelids.

"Get up, loser."

The now fifteen-year-old boy sat up and glared at his attacker; his piercing sapphire eyes locked onto a pair of matching ones. Of course, who else would wake up the birthday boy in such a cruel fashion but his annoyingly cheerful older sister, Sayori Gojo?

Standing at 5'10", Sayori looked down at her younger brother with a devilish smirk. The piercing in her lower lip gleamed with mischief, mirroring the sparkle in her eyes. Though they shared striking features—those vivid eyes and snowy white hair—the siblings couldn’t be more different. Sayori was as pale as could be, and her once-long, beautiful hair was now a choppy mess that seemed impossible to tame. It also didnt help that she had the features of a model. However, piercings adorned her face: in her nose, on her tongue, and, of course, in her bottom lip, all of which their parents disapproved of.

"You're going on fifty... why do you act like this?" Satoru grumbled, rubbing his eyes tiredly.

A squeak of disbelief escaped Sayori’s lips, clearly shocked by her brother’s claim. "I am only twenty-seven! I just recently turned that age, so let’s not act like it’s anywhere close to fifty, you freak."

Gojo rolled his eyes, slipping out of bed to stretch and prepare for his day—his birthday.

Satoru turned his back to Sayori, moving to his (one of many dressers) to pull out clothes for the day. He could feel her lingering in the doorway, a smirk still plastered on her face.

"Seriously, Sayori, I need to get dressed," he said, trying to keep his voice steady, not wanting her to mock him for anymore voice cracks. "You can’t just barge in here and expect to hang out while I’m half-asleep."

Sayori leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms. "But it’s my job as the older sister to make sure you don’t just throw on whatever looks least wrinkled."

"Well, I’m not a toddler anymore. I can dress myself." He threw a shirt over his shoulder, missing the mark as it landed on his bed instead.

"But can you really?" she teased, stepping further back into the room, her eyes scanning the chaos of clothes, figurines, and gaming controllers strewn about. "What if you end up wearing something ridiculous? You know how embarrassing that would be on your big day?"

"Sayori," Gojo warned, spinning to face her with a glare that could kill. "If you don’t get out of my room right now, I swear I’ll tell mom and dad where you were on family picture day."

Sayori's eyes widened in horror as she lifted her hands up as a sign of surrendering. Yes she was a grown woman, but both she and Satoru knew that making their parents unhappy meant them telling the siblings' grandfather.. and no one wanted to disappoint grandfather.

"Fine. Don't come crying to me if you get bullied for some funky ass fit."

"Yeah, Yeah," Satoru said, smirking as he nudged her toward the door. "Now out you go. I’m serious."

With a dramatic sigh, Sayori finally relented, stepping back into the hallway.

"Otaku loser."

She murmured to herself as she walked away from the door, flipping off the teen.

"Crack whore," he called after her, slamming the door before she could come back to kick his ass. As he turned back to his reflection, he couldn’t help but chuckle at the string of curses that followed the older woman banging on his locked room door. Once the banging died down, Satoru redirected his attention to focusing on getting ready for his birthday celebration.

Today wasn’t just any day for Satoru; it was the one day a year his family pretended he was their top priority. While most kids looked forward to presents or parties, Satoru just looked forward to being noticed.

Sayori’s visit, as chaotic as it was, had been a rare gesture. Usually, she was the ghost of the house, flitting in and out of their lives, almost always in defiance of whatever their parents were trying to enforce at the moment. If their parents praised something, she was bound to hate it. If they disapproved, she’d embrace it with open arms. But even with all her rebellion, she still managed to show up for his birthday each year, barging in to tease him and make a ruckus just because she knew it mattered to him.

His parents, however, were another story. Gojo Enterprise was their true firstborn, and everything else—including him—seemed to come second. They rarely had time for him, and on the off chance they did, their visits usually consisted of half-hearted advice, critiques on his school achievements, or reminders of how he could "be even better." If they bothered to ask about his grades, it wasn’t because they cared about him but because they wanted to show off his straight As in one of their many social gatherings.

Satoru sighed, already preparing for the disappointment he was bound to face today, as he glanced at his blurry reflection in the mirror. Staring back was a scrawny, pale kid with a mess of white hair that never seemed to settle the way he wanted. He gave his reflection a halfhearted smirk. It wasn’t that he hated how he looked—well, maybe a little—but it wasn’t exactly what he’d call intimidating, either.

He squinted, barely making out the details of his own face in the glass.

"I really need to find my glasses," He muttered, groping around on his dresser until his hand brushed the familiar, clunky frames. Sliding them on, his vision cleared, and he grimaced. There he was, in all his nerdy glory, complete with a pair of thick glasses that did nothing to boost his confidence.

Satoru sighed again as he rifled through his clothes, pulling out a graphic tee featuring a retro anime character that probably no one else in his class even knew about. He tugged it over his head and then picked out a pair of faded jeans that were just slightly too big. His sister's teasing rang in his mind, and he huffed, folding up the cuffs so he wouldn’t trip over them.

As he fiddled with his clothes, he caught sight of his reflection once more. Yep, he was thin as a twig, with a body that looked like it might snap if the wind blew too hard. But his mind quickly shifted to his upcoming birthday plans—the new manga release he asked his parents for, the multiplayer game he’d been itching to finish with Geto and Shoko. Those thoughts made him forget, even if just for a moment, about his awkward looks and lack of bulk.

He rolled his eyes as he recalled Sayori’s antics. Sure, she loved poking fun at his “style,” but it wasn’t like he could hide who he was. He was a full-blown nerd, and no amount of fancy clothes or money was going to change that.

Satoru double-checked the lock (he had made it himself using scraps from Geto's parents mechanic shop), feeling a small sense of relief as he heard the click. It wasn’t that he hated the maids or the staff—they were usually polite enough—but he couldn't stand how they’d rearrange everything, trying to turn his room into some pristine display instead of the controlled chaos he preferred.

To anyone else, it might’ve looked like a mess: figurines lined up haphazardly across his shelves, manga volumes stacked in precarious towers, and a jumble of notebooks, controllers, and cables sprawled across his desk. But to him, every item had its place. His favorite games were within arm’s reach, his sketchbooks for drawing piled near the window for the best light, and his notes from school carefully wedged between books on his bed frame. It was a system no one else could understand, but it worked.

He took a final look back at his door, almost as if he could will it to stay locked even if he couldn’t be there to guard it. With a small sigh, he turned and started down the hall, steeling himself for the inevitable attention he’d get today.

Satoru descended the grand, spiraling staircase of the mansion, his fingers trailing along the cool marble railing. It was early, and the house was quiet save for the faint hum of voices echoing from the foyer. As he reached the bottom, he spotted them—two familiar figures standing awkwardly in the grand entryway, dwarfed by towering crystal vases and oversized paintings on the walls.

“Yo, birthday boy!” Shoko called out, offering a lopsided grin as she tucked a strand of dark hair behind her ear. She wore her usual black leather jacket and ripped jeans with some random punk band tanktop, looking relaxed despite the stuffy atmosphere of the mansion.

Beside her stood Geto, hands in his pockets, his expression cool but with the hint of a smile he usually reserved for special occasions. “Took you long enough. I thought you’d abandoned us for some high-society brunch,” he teased, his eyes twinkling.

Satoru couldn’t help but laugh. “As if I’d ever choose those people over you two. I’d rather deal with Sayori’s wake-up calls every morning.”

The three of them exchanged grins, and the comfort of their presence helped Satoru shake off the lingering weight of his family’s expectations. Unlike everyone else in his life, Shoko and Geto never cared about who his family was or how extravagant his home looked. They were here for him, and on his birthday, that meant more than anything else.

Shoko held up a paper bag. “I brought breakfast sandwiches. Figured you might not want to eat whatever rich people snobby shit they serve here.”

Satoru’s face lit up. “You’re a lifesaver. And you know me too well.” He snagged a sandwich from her bag, taking a huge bite as they made their way toward the front door.

“So,” Geto said, raising an eyebrow, “you ready for some serious button-mashing at the arcade? I’ve been practicing, and I’m pretty sure I’ll be taking down the ‘birthday champion’ today.”

Satoru smirked, his mouth full. “Good luck with that, buddy. You’ve never beaten me before, and I don’t plan to let you start today.”

They laughed together as they stepped outside, the morning sun warming their faces. Satoru glanced back at the towering mansion behind him, then back to his friends, who waited for him by the sleek black car his family had arranged for the day.

The arcade was alive with flashing lights and the constant hum of machines, its walls plastered with neon signs and colorful yet corny posters. The air was thick with the familiar clinking of tokens, the beep-beep of high scores being shattered, and the excited chatter of kids and teens alike. Satoru, Shoko, and Geto had been there for hours, fully immersed in the chaotic joy of the place.

They had already blown through several rounds of classics—racing games, fighting games, even a basketball shooter. Geto had tried his best to dethrone Satoru on every machine, but the birthday boy’s natural knack for gaming held strong. Each time, Geto threw his hands up in defeat while Satoru flashed his signature smug grin. Shoko, meanwhile, had spent most of the day lounging in one of the booths with a soda, only occasionally joining in to wipe the floor with them in games that required quick reflexes. It appeared that the young teenage girl was too cool to play with the boys but she still appeared to enjoy watching them play.

As the hours slipped by, they barely noticed the crowd thinning around them. The noise from the machines still pulsed, but it had quieted slightly, with only the diehard players sticking around until closing time. Satoru was at one of his favorite stations—an old-school zombie shooter game with plastic guns that rattled in your hands as you fired.

He stood poised, blasting away at wave after wave of the undead, completely in the zone. Shoko sidled up next to him, leaning casually against the machine, her eyes gleaming with an idea.

"You think you’re hot stuff, huh?" She said, watching as he took out another zombie with ease.

Satoru glanced over, raising an eyebrow. "Please, I’ve been beating this game since I've known how to pronounce the word "Gameboy". What are you getting at?"

Shoko smirked. "I’m saying let’s raise the stakes. One final round before we head out. You versus me, on the zombie shooter. Winner gets to make a bet."

Geto, munching on what was probably his fifth snack of the day, looked up with interest. "Now this I gotta see."

Satoru chuckled. "What kind of bet are we talking about?"

Shoko’s eyes glinted mischievously, as if she knew something that Satoru didn't. "If I win—which, let’s face it, I probably won’t—you have to sneak us into your parents’ lab. I’ve been dying to see what kind of tech they’re cooking up in there."

Satoru froze for a second, blinking at her as if she’d just suggested something insane. "You want me to break into my parents’ private research lab?" he asked incredulously.

Shoko shrugged, nonchalant as ever. "Yeah. What, scared I might actually win?"

Satoru narrowed his eyes, the competitive edge kicking in. "Fine. But when I win, you have to actually go with me to see Alien vs Spider-Ants III"

"Deal," Shoko said, grabbing the second gun controller from the holster.

They both positioned themselves in front of the screen, the machine lighting up with eerie green and red colors as the game counted down to start. Geto leaned on a nearby arcade machine, arms crossed, watching the showdown with a growing grin.

The game began, and for the first few rounds, Satoru dominated as expected, picking off zombies with perfect aim and precision. Shoko kept pace, but just barely, struggling to keep up with his rhythm. As the levels progressed and the zombies came faster, something shifted. Shoko’s aim became sharper, her reflexes quicker, and soon she was gunning down zombies with an accuracy that surprised both Satoru and Geto.

"Shoko, when did you get this good?" Satoru muttered, beads of sweat forming on his brow as the game threw its hardest challenges at them.

She didn’t answer, too focused on the screen, her face a picture of calm concentration. The crowd around them had thinned even more, but a few people gathered to watch the final showdown. The zombie boss loomed on the screen, huge and menacing, but Shoko remained unfazed.

It came down to the final seconds. Satoru’s score was high, but Shoko had caught up, and in a burst of perfect timing, she landed the final critical shot that sent the boss crashing to the ground.

The screen flashed: Player 2 Wins!

Satoru’s jaw dropped. Geto let out a low whistle, laughing. "Well, well, looks like you’ve been hustled, sweetheart."

Shoko stood there, grinning widely, her gun still in hand as she shot Satoru a triumphant look. "Guess it’s time for you to keep up your end of the deal, Gojo."

He shook his head in disbelief, but he couldn’t help smiling. "You seriously just pretended to not be good at this game so I could show you my parents' lab?"

"Looks like it," Shoko said, leaning the gun against the machine with a satisfied click. "Now, speaking of that lab..."

Satoru groaned, rubbing his temples. "You’re insane, you know that?"

"I know," she replied, a glimmer of excitement in her eyes. "But come on, we’re not really gonna pass up an adventure, are we?"

The arcade buzzed softly around them, the flashing lights now dimming as closing time neared. The clock was ticking, and Satoru knew that tomorrow, or sometime soon, he’d be leading them on a whole different kind of game—one far more dangerous than any zombie shooter.. if he got caught that is.

Satoru couldn’t believe he was actually going through with this. The city lights of New Tokyo glowed around him as he led Shoko and Geto down a deserted alley that ran along the back of Gojo Enterprises’ research lab. The building was sleek and high-tech, its walls lined with reinforced glass and flashing security cameras, and the closer they got, the louder Satoru's heartbeat thudded in his chest.

They crouched near a loading dock, out of sight from the main entrance. The thrill of sneaking out in the dead of night was exhilarating, but the stakes felt entirely different now. He took a deep breath, trying to look calm even though his mind raced. After all, he’d convinced his parents' driver to drop them off by claiming they were going to a midnight movie—no one would suspect a thing until morning.

Shoko nudged him, a grin plastered on her face. “So, how are we getting in, Mr. Genius?”

Satoru pulled a small key card from the pocket of his baggy jeans. "Family card. They give one to all Gojo relatives for ‘emergency access,’" he said, quoting the excuse his parents had given when they handed it to him years ago. He’d never had a reason to use it—until now.

Geto raised an eyebrow. “You’ve been sitting on this secret card and never used it?”

“Didn’t exactly plan on breaking into my parents’ lab,” Satoru shot back, swiping the card on a hidden panel by the door. The scanner blinked green, and with a soft hiss, the heavy door slid open. “But let’s move fast. Cameras reset every five minutes, so we don’t have much time before they pick us up again.”

They slipped inside, careful to stay low and quiet as they made their way through a dimly lit corridor. The lab felt eerily empty, with the hum of machinery and faint, blinking lights from high-tech devices casting shadows across the walls. As they crept further into the building, they passed rows of glass cases displaying various prototypes—everything from sleek gadgets to high-tech robotics in the early stages of development.

Shoko’s eyes sparkled as she inspected the devices on display. “Wow, I had no idea they were working on stuff like this,” she whispered, leaning closer to get a look at a sleek, futuristic helmet inside one of the cases.

Geto chuckled softly. “Satoru, you’ve been holding out on us. This is some next-level tech.”

Satoru rolled his eyes, though he couldn’t hide a grin. “You think I know anything about this stuff? They don’t exactly invite me to company presentations.”

They reached the far end of the corridor, where a steel door loomed, marked with a glowing red Authorized Personnel Only sign. Satoru hesitated, glancing at Shoko and Geto, both of whom seemed unfazed.

"Well, here goes nothing," he muttered, swiping his card again. This time, the door opened into an expansive room filled with a dizzying array of tech—computer stations lined the walls, and strange devices blinked and whirred on metal tables. In the center of the room was a large glass chamber, towering over them with cables stretching to the ceiling and intricate wires weaving in and out of its frame.

"What… is this place?" Satoru whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the cavernous lab.

Shoko moved closer to the chamber, her curiosity overriding any fear. “Maybe… some kind of energy source? Or a containment unit?”

Geto joined her, nodding in agreement. “Looks like something out of a sci-fi movie. You sure your parents just work in tech?”

Satoru shrugged, suddenly feeling out of place in his own parents' world. “Beats me. They’re always secretive about what exactly goes on in here.”

They edged closer to the chamber, marveling at the sleek design and the strange, pulsing energy that seemed to radiate from within. Shoko reached a hand out to the glass, her eyes wide. “Think they’d notice if we touched—"

Before she could finish, a faint hum grew louder, and the chamber seemed to activate, the energy inside swirling in bright colors that almost hypnotized them. Alarms began to blare throughout the lab, red lights flashing along the walls.

Smoke poured into the room, thick and suffocating. Satoru coughed, his heart hammering as the reality of their situation sank in. He had known this was a risky plan, but he’d never expected things to spiral out of control like this. Alarms blared louder, echoing off the metal walls, and the sound of heavy footsteps told him that security guards were close—way too close.

Shoko’s eyes darted around the room, her face unusually serious. “Satoru, we need an exit, now!”

Geto was already tugging on his arm, but Satoru hesitated for one precious second, glancing back at the chamber they’d accidentally triggered. Whatever was inside it was still glowing, pulsating faster as if it were alive.

“Gojo, move!” Geto’s shout snapped him out of his thoughts.

He tore his gaze from the chamber and followed them through the smoke-filled lab, scanning the room for any possible way out. Just as he spotted a side exit, the security guards burst through the main entrance, their flashlights cutting through the smoke.

“Stop right there!” one of them yelled, reaching for his radio to call for backup.

Satoru bolted, adrenaline fueling him as they sprinted toward the side door. He could hear Shoko’s heavy breathing and Geto’s hurried footsteps right behind him. They reached the door just in time, slipping through and slamming it shut behind them. But they weren’t safe yet. A new alarm began to sound, signaling that the side exit had been breached, and they could hear the guards mobilizing to cut them off.

“This is bad—really bad,” Satoru muttered, his voice thick with fear. His parents would never forgive him if they found out he’d broken into their lab, especially after setting off all the alarms. And that’s if he was even lucky enough to make it out without getting caught.

“We’ll worry about that later,” Shoko said, her usual nonchalance now replaced by urgency. “Just focus on getting out of here!”

They rounded a corner, spotting a stairwell that led up to the rooftop. Without hesitation, they bolted up the steps, lungs burning as they climbed. Reaching the top, they burst out onto the rooftop, gulping in fresh air as they skidded to a halt. Below them, security lights swept across the alleyway, and they could hear more guards closing in.

“Look!” Geto pointed to an adjacent rooftop a short distance away.

Satoru’s stomach dropped at the sight, but with no other option, he nodded, steeling himself. “We jump on three.”

With synchronized breaths, they counted down, then ran full speed toward the edge, launching themselves into the air. Satoru’s heart skipped a beat as he flew over the gap, barely managing to land on his feet. Shoko and Geto landed beside him, all of them wobbling but standing.

As they darted toward the next stairwell, Satoru cast one last glance back at the lab, the pulsing glow of the chamber visible through the windows. He didn’t know what they had just unleashed—or what his parents would say when they found out—but he knew that after tonight, nothing would be the same.

Satoru barely had a moment to catch his breath, a triumphant grin just starting to form on his face when the sharp, searing pain shot through his hand. It felt as though fire had exploded beneath his skin, racing up his arm and spreading through his entire body in waves. His muscles locked up instantly, his limbs going rigid as he collapsed onto the rooftop, his vision blurring around the edges.

He tried to scream, but his mouth wouldn't move. He could only lie there, his mind whirling as he struggled to make sense of the pain.

"Satoru!" Shoko's voice cut through the haze, sharp and panicked. Her face swam into his vision, pale against the dark sky as she leaned over him, hands hovering helplessly. "Something bit him—a spider or...something, I don’t know!"

Geto knelt beside her, his own face stricken with worry. "Stay with us, man! Just breathe, slow breaths. You’re okay."

But Satoru was no way in hell okay; he got fucking bit by the damn predator it felt like. The pain was consuming, a hot, pulsing sensation that twisted and convulsed in his muscles. His vision swam, and his hearing faded, Shoko’s frantic voice becoming muffled as though he were underwater. He couldn’t even feel his limbs anymore, just the intense, searing agony and the terrifying sense that he was slipping away.

Focus, he tried to tell himself. Breathe.

But the harder he tried, the worse it got, until the world finally faded entirely, sinking into total blackness.

Satoru blinked, trying to shake off the lingering fog in his mind. The hospital room came into focus, sharp and clear—clearer than he could ever remember seeing, actually. His eyes darted around, adjusting to the sudden brightness that seemed to be assaulting his senses. Everything was so vivid, so intensely defined. His mind stuttered over the realization, then froze as he looked over at the nightstand and saw his glasses lying there, untouched.

He swallowed, the bitter taste in his mouth making him grimace. It was the kind of taste he associated with hospital medication, antiseptic and sharp, but it was nothing compared to the shock of realizing he could see perfectly fine without his glasses.

Satoru brought a shaky hand up to his face, feeling his bare skin where his frames usually rested. He stared at his fingers, noticing the faint prickling sensation running through his hand, where a painful, pulsing ache was subsiding. He clenched his hand experimentally, and to his surprise, the movement felt almost... unnatural. Powerful, even. But also slightly off, like he wasn’t entirely in control of his own strength.

His mind raced as he tried to make sense of everything. Just as he was about to sit up, the door creaked open, and a familiar face poked through—Shoko, eyes red-rimmed and worried, though she managed a weak grin when she saw he was awake.

"Satoru," she whispered, relief flooding her expression as she stepped inside and closed the door behind her. "You’re okay."

"Kind of feels like I got hit by a truck," he muttered, the sound of his own voice startling him with its newfound clarity. "But...I guess I’m fine." He hesitated, looking down at his bare hand, flexing it slowly. "Shoko, what happened? All I remember is that something bit me, and then… nothing."

Shoko glanced at the door, as if worried someone might overhear, then lowered her voice. "The doctors said it was some sort of spider bite. They were… surprised by how intense your reaction was. You were unconscious for almost a full day, Satoru. They were worried you’d need emergency care, but then you suddenly stabilized."

Satoru’s brow furrowed as he listened, the hospital room seeming to sharpen even further in his vision, every speck of dust, every crease in the bedsheets standing out. "A spider bite," he echoed, trying to wrap his head around it. He swallowed, feeling his heart rate start to quicken. "Shoko, this might sound weird, but... I don’t need my glasses."

She looked at him, momentarily confused. "What? Like... your vision’s better?"

"Perfect," he said, still half in disbelief. "Everything’s way sharper than before. And it’s not just my sight—it’s like my whole body feels different. Stronger, somehow."

Shoko’s eyes widened slightly as she watched him, the hints of worry creeping back into her expression. "Maybe… I don’t know. The doctors didn’t say anything about side effects from the bite. I figured you’d just need some meds and rest, but..." She bit her lip. "Maybe this is something else."

"Yeah, maybe," Satoru murmured, glancing down at his hand, flexing it again to see if he could detect any more changes. His hand was still tingling slightly, and for a second, he could swear he felt something coursing through him, like an electric hum simmering just under the surface.

He went quiet seeing how worried his friend had become over his current state and thought quickly to change the subject.

"So what did you tell my parents and did they find out?"

Shoko's gaze softened, and she looked away, scratching the back of her neck. "Well, I... I didn't really have to tell them much," she admitted, her voice dropping. "Your parents didn’t exactly come rushing to check on you."

Satoru nodded, the familiar sting settling in his chest. Of course they hadn’t shown up—not that he’d truly expected them to. They were probably too busy to be bothered with a minor "incident" like their only son lying unconscious in a hospital bed.

"But don’t worry," Shoko continued quickly, "Geto and I took care of everything. We told the doctors it was some freak accident at an arcade and that you didn't want to bother your family. Geto's great at talking to adults, so he handled most of it. I made sure the story didn’t get too detailed, just in case anyone decided to contact your parents."

Satoru managed a small smile, the weight lifting slightly. "You guys are lifesavers. I don’t even know how to thank you.”

Shoko grinned, folding her arms over her chest. “Yeah, well, I’m not missing my friend’s birthday just because he’s out cold in a hospital bed. Besides, that’s what friends are for, right?”

He relaxed a bit, letting himself enjoy the normalcy her words brought. "Still, sorry for dragging you both into this. I swear I’m done with ‘birthday dares’ for a while.”

“Oh, come on. Just means next year we’ll have to top it,” Shoko teased, the worry lifting from her face for the first time. “But no science labs this time. That’s my rule.”

Satoru chuckled, feeling that bittersweet blend of relief and exhaustion.

Satoru left the hospital the next morning, a strange mix of anticipation and uncertainty bubbling under his skin. Shoko and Geto stayed by his side, laughing and teasing him as he forged his parents signatures on the discharge papers and threw on his jacket. On the outside, everything seemed normal. But with each step out of the hospital and into the bustling streets of New Tokyo, Satoru couldn’t ignore the surreal sensations coursing through him.

As they walked, he noticed the colors around him seemed richer, more vivid. The sunlight was brighter than ever, and he could even make out the distant hum of traffic and the rhythmic beat of footsteps on the street in a way he’d never noticed before. Sounds that used to blend into the background now came alive with distinct clarity, like the street vendors calling out their deals or the faint clinking of coins in a cup. He found himself grinning, though he quickly covered it, hoping Shoko and Geto wouldn’t catch on.

Once he parted ways with his friends, Satoru ducked into an alley, eager to test out just how far these changes went. He glanced around, then focused on the nearest building, a three-story structure with narrow ledges and windowsills. He flexed his hands and felt that faint tingle from before, almost like his muscles were thrumming with energy, as though something deep within him was waiting to be unleashed.

With a burst of confidence, he reached up and grabbed the edge of the first window ledge. His hand seemed to stick to the surface, and he felt a strange ease as he hoisted himself up with barely any effort. Climbing felt natural, almost instinctual, as he scaled the building effortlessly, moving from ledge to ledge until he reached the top, breathing only slightly heavier than normal. He looked down, heart pounding with excitement as he realized just how far he'd come with barely a bead of sweat.

For the next few days, Satoru honed these strange abilities in secret. He found that he could leap several feet in the air, lifting his entire weight with ease, and his reflexes had sharpened to the point that he could catch a falling object before it hit the ground without even thinking about it. At home, he practiced in his room, keeping his movements swift and silent. But hiding his new powers became tricky when it came to everyday life.

He had to remind himself to walk at a normal pace, not to slam doors by accident, and to avoid overdoing it when reaching for things. More than once, he found himself gripping something—like a cup or a book—only to nearly crush it in his hands. He made a habit of wearing gloves in front of his family to keep them from noticing how sticky his grip seemed to be at times.

At school, he kept his distance, careful not to reveal just how fast he could dodge or how precise his aim had become. His classmates might have thought he was just focused on his studies, but in reality, he was constantly aware of every sound, every movement around him, his senses alive with newfound sharpness.

Yet, every time he looked in the mirror, Satoru felt a pang of disbelief. This new strength was thrilling, but the mystery of what exactly had happened to him—and what else might still change—kept him on edge. The spider bite had unlocked something inside him, something that seemed beyond his understanding, and for now, all he could do was keep it hidden and hope it wouldn’t get him into even more trouble.

"Yo, earth to Satoru! For fucksakes man, I've been calling you for about five minutes. You good?" Geto questioned his bestfriend, flicking the boy's head.

Satoru blinked seeming hyper aware of his surroundings once more, sitting at the lunch table with his friends.

"Shoko was explaining that she has free time to go see that aliens movie if you still wanna go... Hey, since when did you start wearing contacts?"

Satoru cleared his throat, forcing a grin as he adjusted his seat. "Oh, yeah—uh, thought I'd try the contacts thing. Glasses were getting annoying, you know?" He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck, feeling an uncomfortable warmth creep up as Geto and Shoko both kept their eyes on him.

Shoko arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she let it slide, taking a long sip of her milk tea. “Right. Well, if you’re done spacing out, are you still down for the movie tonight?”

“Of course!” Satoru said, maybe a little too enthusiastically. He winced, then shrugged, trying to play it off as nonchalance. “I mean, yeah, sounds good. I could use the distraction.”

Geto leaned back, crossing his arms and studying him thoughtfully. "Okay, but seriously, man, something’s different about you. You’re... taller? And last week you had those huge bags under your eyes, but now…” He squinted, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. “It’s like you’ve hit some weird puberty growth spurt overnight.”

Satoru forced another laugh, brushing off his friends' observations with a dismissive wave. "Maybe I just finally got a good night's sleep. Been hitting the books too hard, I guess.”

Shoko wasn’t buying it. She watched him closely, her gaze drifting from his eyes to his posture, noting the way he seemed more poised, almost... alert, like he was holding back some bound-up energy. She shook her head slightly but decided to hold her tongue, letting Geto do most of the interrogating.

“Alright, fine,” Geto finally relented, shrugging. “Guess puberty is just hitting you like a truck, or maybe all those spider bites actually boosted your immune system or something.”

“Yeah, maybe it’s the spider bites,” Satoru muttered, forcing himself to look casual as he took a bite of his food, trying not to think about how true those words were.

As they settled back into their usual banter, Satoru’s mind wandered again, this time with a strange sense of exhilaration. He couldn’t wait to test the limits of his newfound abilities later, though he knew he’d have to be careful around Shoko and Geto. They might not have figured out his secret yet, but one wrong move, and they’d be onto him in no time.

The theater was packed, buzzing with the energy of weekend crowds as Satoru met up with Geto and Shoko by the concession stand. They handed him a large soda and a bag of popcorn, and the three of them made their way to their seats, laughing and chatting about random nonsense as the previews rolled.

Settling in, Satoru tried to focus on the movie as it started, the eerie music and ominous landscapes immersing him in the story. But not long after the first scene, a strange sensation began to creep over him—a tingling sense of unease prickling the back of his neck. He shifted in his seat, glancing around the theater, but everyone was engrossed in the movie, their faces dimly lit by the flickering screen.

“Satoru, you good?” Geto whispered, catching his movement.

"Yeah," Satoru replied quickly, forcing a casual smile. "Just... bathroom break, I’ll be back." He slipped out of his seat and exited the theater, the sensation growing stronger with each step he took.

The hallway outside the theater was quiet, with only the faint sounds of distant movie scenes filtering through the walls. Satoru turned toward the restroom, hoping the walk would shake the feeling off. Just as he rounded a corner, however, he heard muffled voices. A quick glance confirmed it: near the vending machines at the far end of the hall, a young girl was cornered by three men, their postures aggressive, her expression one of fear.

His heartbeat quickened, and he took a step closer, instinctively straightening, his mind racing. One of the men looked up and noticed him, his mouth twisting into a sneer.

"Hey, kid," the guy called out, his voice low and menacing, "mind your own business unless you want trouble."

Satoru froze for a moment, considering his options. He clenched his fists, then forced himself to nod and back away, walking to the restroom as if he hadn’t seen anything. But the uneasy feeling gnawed at him, intensifying with every step. There was no way he could just ignore it, not after what he’d seen.

Then, his gaze landed on a rack of merchandise near the entrance—specifically, an alien mask sold as part of a popcorn tub set. An idea sparked, and before he knew it, he grabbed the mask, slipping it over his head as he moved back toward the hallway. He made sure to pull the hood of his jacket up over it, creating a makeshift disguise. Heart pounding, he squared his shoulders and strode back toward the vending machines.

The men were still there, laughing and murmuring threats to the girl, who looked like she was struggling to hold back tears.

"Hey," Satoru called out, his voice slightly muffled by the mask. His stance was calm, but his body thrummed with the same strange energy he’d been feeling all week. "Leave her alone."

The men turned, looking stunned for a moment before bursting into laughter. “Look, it’s a freaking alien coming to save the day!” one of them sneered, stepping closer. “You better walk away now, or you’re gonna regret it.”

Satoru felt a surge of confidence, his senses heightened, and without another word, he lunged forward, his fist connecting with the guy’s stomach hard. A loud crunch was heard (okay Satoru definitely needed to learn how to pull his punches.) The man stumbled back, clutching his middle in shock coughing in agony, and the others gaped before snarling and moving toward him. But Satoru was ready.

He ducked a punch, easily sidestepping and sweeping the man’s leg out from under him, watching as he tumbled to the floor. The other grabbed his shoulder, but Satoru twisted, using his newfound strength to wrench free and land another hit square in the man’s jaw. The guy staggered back, dazed, and before they could regroup, Satoru shot the girl a quick nod.

“Run. Now,” he said, his voice steady.

The girl hesitated, then nodded gratefully and took off down the hall. The men were left disoriented, clutching their bruises as they glared at him.

“You freak!” one of them shouted, reaching out for Satoru again, but he dodged, throwing one final punch that sent the guy crashing against the candy stand. With his heart pounding and his muscles humming, Satoru straightened, watching as the men scrambled to their feet and bolted out of the hall.

"I'd put some ice on those ribs.. maybe see a doctor." He called out after them.

Satisfied, he adjusted the alien mask and slipped back into the theater, where Shoko and Geto were too immersed in the movie to notice his absence. He pulled off the mask, hiding it in his jacket with a quiet, exhilarated breath.

He'd never felt so alive.

As Satoru settled back into his seat, the adrenaline still coursing through him, he felt an odd mix of exhilaration and relief. The movie flickered on, but his mind was a whirlwind of thoughts about what just happened. He glanced at Shoko and Geto, who were completely engrossed in the film, unaware of the small battle he had just fought.

The eerie atmosphere of the movie now felt different to him; it was as if the tension on screen mirrored the heightened state he was in. He shifted in his seat, letting the popcorn bag settle in his lap as he tried to ground himself in the moment. But the feeling of empowerment lingered, nudging at the corners of his mind.

After a few moments, Geto turned to him, a bemused expression on his face. “What took you so long? Did you get lost in there or something?”

Satoru chuckled, brushing it off. “Yeah, just had a little trouble finding the restroom.” He grabbed a handful of popcorn, trying to focus on the movie and not the chaos he'd just left behind. But the image of the girl’s frightened face haunted him.

“Bet you’re glad to be back,” Shoko said, not looking away from the screen. “I heard the part where the spider-ant emerged from the woman's stomach—such a classic jump scare!”

“Totally,” Satoru replied, forcing enthusiasm into his tone. But inside, he was still replaying the confrontation in his head. He didn’t just intervene; he had fought back.

As the movie progressed, Satoru found himself occasionally glancing at the exit, half-expecting the men to return, though they were likely long gone. The thrill of standing up to them filled him with a strange sense of purpose.

“What are you thinking about?” Geto asked, noticing Satoru’s distracted demeanor.

“Just… the movie,” he said, forcing a grin. “It’s pretty intense.” He leaned back, trying to blend into the ambiance of the theater, but the incident weighed heavily on him.

Finally, as the credits began to roll, Satoru felt the energy of the theater shift. People started to stand and chatter, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that he needed to do more. He leaned over to Shoko and Geto.

“Hey, what if we check out that comic shop down the street after this? I heard they have some new releases,” he suggested, hoping to keep the momentum of their night going.

“Sounds good to me!” Shoko replied, stretching her arms. “I could use a new read.”

Geto shrugged. “Sure, why not? Just make sure you don’t get us into any trouble, alien boy.”

Satoru laughed, feeling lighter. “No promises.” As they made their way out of the theater, he took a deep breath, the cool air outside refreshing against his skin. Maybe tonight would be the start of something new for him—something more than just movies and popcorn.

Two Years Later…

At seventeen, Satoru Gojo stood tall, his once-scrawny frame now replaced with defined rippling muscles, the result of relentless training and countless nights spent honing his powers. His snowy white hair had grown out in unruly waves (he should probably cut it), which he made no effort to tame. His dimples—something he never knew he had until recently—now made every smirk dangerous, a fact that hadn’t gone unnoticed by his classmates, who were starting to call him "unreasonably good-looking." Adding to the change were the black stud earrings glinting on both ears, giving him an effortlessly cool edge.

He slid a pair of sleek, pitch-black circular shades onto his face, shielding his hypersensitive sapphire-blue eyes from the glaring sunlight that threatened to overwhelm his vision. His eyes, once a challenge to focus, had become razor-sharp weapons. He could spot movement from blocks away, read the most subtle shifts in a person’s body language, and detect danger long before it arrived. But with these new skills came the annoying side effect of photosensitivity—regular daylight now felt like staring into a floodlight, hence the constant use of his shades.

It wasn’t just his body that had evolved—his entire life had shifted. For the past two years, Satoru had been living a double life, one that required not only skill but secrecy. By day, he was just another high school student at a private academy, juggling exams, family expectations, and the occasional run-in with Shoko and Geto. But by night, he was someone else entirely: Spider-Man, the masked vigilante swinging through the streets of New Tokyo.

The Suit

His transformation into Spider-Man hadn’t been easy. It had taken months of trial and error, sneaking into restricted areas of Gojo Enterprise’s labs, using the tech his parents had locked behind biometric doors and firewalls. He’d spent countless nights disassembling prototypes, siphoning materials, and testing equipment in secret. With no one to guide him, everything was self-taught—a series of failed experiments, some of which nearly blew up in his face. But eventually, the pieces fell into place, and the suit he envisioned became reality.

The final product was a sleek, custom-designed suit with a unique color palette that felt entirely his own. The base was matte black, hugging his athletic frame like a second skin. Blue accents streaked down the sides of his arms and legs, giving the suit a dynamic, aerodynamic look. And over his chest and back was the unmistakable insignia of a spider, rendered in bright white, striking a perfect balance against the black background.

He’d integrated tech from Gojo Enterprise into the suit, scavenging from discarded prototypes and building his own systems. The gloves housed web shooters—miniature, pressurized devices capable of firing synthetic webs strong enough to hold a car. His boots were equipped with magnetic grips that allowed him to cling to any surface effortlessly, and the suit itself was lined with a lightweight polymer, providing enhanced durability without sacrificing mobility.

Inside the mask, he’d embedded sensors that worked like augmented reality displays, feeding him real-time data—heat signatures, environmental readings, and even surveillance feeds he’d hacked from public cameras. He didn’t just fight crime; he studied it, locked in on threats with laser focus, moving like a shadow through the streets.

A Double Life

Two years of living like this had given him more confidence than he ever thought possible. No longer was he the awkward, nerdy kid struggling to fit in. He was stronger, faster, smarter—and it showed. His parents barely noticed the difference, too preoccupied with their business ventures to pay attention to his personal life, but that was just as well. It made it easier to keep his secret. Despite his parents not noticing; his classmates certainly did. Especially the girls.

To his friends, he was still Satoru, the same cocky kid they’d grown up with—just with a bit more... swag (cringe) now. He still met up with Shoko and Geto regularly, playing it cool as if he wasn’t sneaking out at night to swing from rooftops and take down gangs, smugglers, and corrupt politicians. They had no idea about the Spider-Man persona he’d created, and he intended to keep it that way. For now.

But even with all the training, the fights, and the wins, he knew this life wasn’t just fun and games. New Tokyo was a city of shadows, with forces far more dangerous than petty thieves lurking in its corners. And if he wanted to survive, he had to keep evolving—both as Satoru Gojo and Spider-Man.

He stood on the edge of a high-rise building, the night wind tugging at his hood, the city sprawling beneath him in a sea of glowing lights. A subtle smirk played on his lips as he adjusted his mask, tucking the alien mask that had started it all into his belt as a lucky charm.

"Alright," he whispered to himself, the thrill of the hunt thrumming through his veins. "Maximum effort, I got a chem test to study for.. just a quick patrol."

With a flick of his wrist, he fired a webline, the familiar thwip sound bringing a rush of excitement. The line caught on a nearby skyscraper, and in one smooth motion, Satoru launched himself into the night, disappearing into the cityscape like a shadow with a purpose.

Author's note: AHHHH! I've been working on this piece for months and I've done everything in my power to make sure it was perfect! I really hope everyone likes it because I really have worked super hard to make this the best piece of fiction I've ever put out. I plan to make the full story over on Ao3 if this gets enough positive feedback. Yes, Y/n has not been mentioned yet but she is coming and will be present and center in the next installment. The first big baddie is also going to be in the next chapter as well. I also want to note that this story is going to be very angst heavy so prepare yourselves. My last words of the night are be kind to one another, drink water, and live laugh love Gojo Satoru!

[noirandchocolate]

Headcanons About My Master Kohga’s Mama—

Named Hotaru (“firefly”), as I’ve mentioned on a few past posts. Her family has a tradition of insect names. Not everybody in the line has had one, but it’s common enough among them that if you read Clan records and notice somebody named after an insect it’s very likely to be an ancestor of hers.

Was adept at making and then administering poisons, both via subterfuge in food, drink, touches, etc., and via daggers and kunai. She studied under the Clan’s master apothecary for the poison making part. Kohga’s father was one of her mentors on the stabbing people part.

In fact, one of her earliest flirts with Kohga’s Dad (while his own mother was Master), was to, after bringing him over a bowl of food in the Complex’s dining hall, watch him take a few bites and then claim she poisoned it “to see if the stories of the Heir having an uncannily strong constitution were true.” Dad panicked, then laughed his ass off when he realized she was joking. That was what clinched his interest in her romantically.

Hotaru had very long, wavy hair (for real, not as part of her usual magic disguise, although I do not know at this time if it was really black or if that was disguised) and was very meticulous about caring for it. Around the Complex (ie not on missions when she was younger), she’d often have it done up in complicated styles and decorated with hair sticks/pins and kanzashi.

She’s responsible for Kohga’s extensive skin- and hair-care regimes. She washed her lil’ boy’s hair and showed him how to finger-comb and -curl it into pretty, neatly flowing coils and then wrap it up in the style he still does today. <3

I’ve said this before but Hotaru was a musician! She’s the one who taught Koh to play shamisen. She also taught him traditional Ancient Sheikah calligraphy. In general, she was big on preserving Yiga culture and traditions. She was an avid reader too and would go slip into Gerudo Town in disguise to buy (or, yknow, steal) books. If you gave her a good novel as a present she’d be your friend for life.

Very competitive player of the Yiga equivalent of Go. When Nana Master Kohga noticed her son taking an interest in Hotaru, she near-immediately rushed to arrange for them to marry. But not before inviting the girl to play a match against her so they could chat about her interest level. Hotaru won, impressing Nana, and declared that if there was anyone who could rein in the rambunctious Heir and be a good match for him, it would surely be someone who could best the Master herself in a contest of strategy, yes?

As a teen and young adult going out on missions, she liked to make up stories about the Hylians and others she and her comrades spied on or saw at stables/in towns. And then she’d sometimes go up to these people and use her disarming way with words to find out if she was right!

She loved foxes! Especially snowcoat foxes found up in the Highlands. Whenever she met up with any fox, if she had food on her she’d toss it a bit, and even if she didn’t, she’d gesture it a greeting. She was a quite stealthy girl, and she loved getting as close as possible to a pretty perfect white snowcoat whenever possible!

Once killed a target she wasn’t strictly supposed to have, because he tried to put hands on her. Upon reporting to her Blademaster superior, she recited the information she’d gotten and then remarked that she “also learned that he was a lech, and that leches die easily.” She did not get in trouble for killing him.

Almost never raised her voice and felt strongly about maintaining decorum even when she was joking or…well, killing people. As I said in the second linked post up there, she did not use swear words under any circumstances! Now, creative curses were another thing though. Imagine a petite, beautiful woman saying, in an even and possibly mildly sweet tone, “May you be dissolved in the stomach acid of a Molduga” after you take the last dumpling she wanted.

If it’s not obvious already, Hotaru had a dry wit and a saucy sense of humor. She was a master of one-liners. But she was fiercely loving toward her family and the Clan. She was the friend who’d tease you about not being able to handle spicy food but then who’d warn you sincerely if a certain dish in the day’s lineup at the hall had peppers in it. She was good at remembering details about people and asking after them and giving appropriate gifts on birthdays, things like that. As the Clan’s Mistress, that made her a very unifying figure.

She sadly died of what was probably a form of cancer, just shy of a year after her son’s ascension to the Master position. She was only 50. Every year on the anniversary of her passing, Kohga goes to her altar in the Clan’s hall of ancestors and plays some of their favorite songs for her, and at least one new one each time. <3 <3