#and you could tell on his voice (who generally has a LOT of energy) that he is genuine

[handfulofmuses]

their first actual soft moment but also note how he takes his hat off for this

[twistedwonderlandimaginesblog]

How would Leona, Sebek, Vil, and Jade react to their s/o getting catcalled?

This has luckily never happened to me but is still pisses me off 😤

(Gonna write it like they were catcalled while you were walking together)

Jade Leech:

This is something Jade would consider an interesting situation, especially depending on your personality type. If you were the confrontational type he’d have to sit on the sidelines and enjoy the show with some popcorn, watching with amusement as you ripped them a new one and clapping at your interesting use of words that weren’t normally strung together. If you were the quieter type he’d gladly be the threat, his insulting responses smooth and threatening at the same time; the energy he gives off is already intimidating but he seemed to grow even taller when he went into his ‘bodyguard’ mode, the pointed smile never leaving his face as he assured the catcallers would turn tail the next time they saw you.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona takes a moment, glancing at you from the corner of his eye to see if you’re making a move to tell the person off or not. He’ll go based off who you are as a person, whether you could handle a confrontation yourself or if he knew you liked it best when he defended you. Either way, words are going to be exchanged, and they won’t be kind. He’s rather direct with his judgments, accurate too, by the looks on the other parties face, as he demanded they give a proper apology. Leona’s almost begging for an actual fight to break out, the smirk on his face making it apparent that the consequences of their actions were going to be suffered sooner rather than later.

Sebek Zigvolt:

Sebek is naturally protective and reactive, his glare intense when he locked eyes with the catcaller. He didn’t understand the purpose of shouting out inappropriate comments at a person who was clearly on his arm, feeling that the disrespect was clearly aimed at you both. While he might take an insult towards him on the nose (he wouldn’t), he couldn’t take them speaking to you like this lightly. The confrontations could get intense depending on how easily you can convince Sebek to just move on, but his booming voice and intensity was generally more than enough to send basic catcallers running for cover before they faced his wrath.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil is used to getting catcalled himself, so it’s not unusual that a stunning couple like yourselves would draw a lot of attention. He had learned to deal with unwanted attention with elegance, not regarding the catcallers or giving them the time of day as once they didn’t get attention, most would go back to their business. He had talked to you about this method before as it was not to waste time on strangers who didn’t have a basic ounce of respect, but you can tell there’s some irritation in his face when it’s you who’s suffering from the catcalling. He pulled you a little closer to him, a reassurance that there was no danger posed, and it was hard not to be distracted when you could smell the subtle perfume he’d sprayed on his neck that day.

[harmonictechnicality]

model!steve and voice actor!eddie

part 2 here | ao3 link here

Eddie chose a career in voice acting to avoid shit like this.

Forced socializing. Schmoozing with hotshot directors who are used to everyone kissing their ass until their lips bleed. And Eddie doesn’t do that shit. 

… Okay yeah sure, Eddie kisses asses. But only in the literal, consensual kind of way. Usually after a few mediocre dinner dates, at least.

But this particular fuckhole of a director is insisting that Eddie attends the production shoot of the commercial that he’ll be narrating for. Which is weird - that’s not how this process typically goes. Eddie gets the script and records it in his studio. Easy peasy.

“I do things a little differently with my projects.” The director sneers into the phone’s speaker. Eddie silently gags at the oozing amounts of ego on this guy. “I want to immerse you into my vision.”

Ew. Eddie would rather immerse himself into a nap, but whatever. A job is a job.

“Understood.” Eddie agrees with minimal teeth-clenching. “I’ll be on set shortly.”

The phone clicks dead with nothing but a chuckle from the guy. No ‘goodbye,’ no ‘thank you.’ Rude… but that’s kind of an industry standard, so why did Eddie expect anything different?

He folds the script into his back pocket, throws on a shirt that screams ‘Los Angeles disaster gay,’ and makes his way to the studio lot.

Fucking yay. 

Upon arrival, the director immediately escorts Eddie into the green room. Rambles on about needing him to meet the lead model for this commercial.

“Isn’t he just posing with the product?” Eddie lets his snarkiness run loose with that question, knows it right away.

Luckily, the guy is too busy snapping at a crew member to notice. “You’ll be voicing his character’s inner narrations.”

“Right.”

“And I want your tone to be seamless with the energy that he’s giving in this shoot. Got it?”

“Loud and clear.” Mostly loud.

The director swings open the door and reveals maybe the most cosmically beautiful person that Eddie has ever seen.

“Eddie, this is Steve.” The director says. “Steve, this is Eddie.”

Models are beautiful people, that’s the goddamn gig. Makeup, no makeup. Photoshop, no photoshop. They just look better than the general population and society accepts that as a fact.

But Eddie is a grubby little voice actor that burrows himself up in his boxy apartment for days. Very little sunlight, very little human interaction, and a shit ton of takeout.

Long story short, he doesn’t get out much. So this? Seeing a biblically hot heartthrob in the flesh? With his own two eyes? It’s knocking him into deep space. Sending him into an astral projection without sticking a tablet on his tongue first.

“Nice to meet you, man.” Steve holds out his hand while someone brushes more powder onto his shiny, glowy skin. God, that’s the best damn skin Eddie has ever seen. Powder be damned, Steve doesn’t need it’s chalky finish.

Eddie shakes himself out of this spell, takes Steve’s hand like he’s somehow worthy of touching him. “Yeah, you too.”

Lame. So lame. On a scale of one to Star Wars prequels, his response is the CGI in Attack of the Clones. ‘Yeah, you too?’ Ugh, what a dumbass.

The director tells them to get acquainted and to be on set in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Eddie has to be convincingly normal for ten whole minutes. Pfft, that’s laughable, but he’ll give it a shot.

“That guy’s a total asshat.” Steve grumbles.

Oh. Eddie could smother him in kisses for saying that. Lick Steve clean of all that stupid powder and probably die of talc poisoning. Death By Licking a Model is one hell of a way to go.

“Yeah.” Find some new words, Munson. “Major asshat. But he happens to be paying my bills this month, so technically, he’s my favorite major asshat.”

“Oh, same.” Steve laughs. It’s fucking glorious too. Eddie kind of wishes he had brought his microphone so that he could capture such a wonderful sound with high quality recording software. Is that creepy? Maybe he should dial it back. 

... As if. This guy’s hair is sculpted with effortless perfection and his shoulder blades could slice through a French baguette. No way Eddie can dial it back or keep it together.

“So you’re doing the voice work on the commercial, right?” Steve asks.

‘Yup.” Eddie shoves both hands into his pockets. “Indeed I am.” 

Okay, that was borderline Yoda. Get a grip.

Steve seems unfazed though. “That’s cool. Can’t wait to hear what you come up with.”

“Thanks.” Eddie smiles warmly. Nerves mellowing out. “And I can’t wait to see you in action out there.”

“Hope I can give you some good inspiration.” And Steve winks, legit winks at Eddie. Does it like it’s normal too, like he winks at everybody. He probably winks at nuns just to see if he can get them to consider conversion.

Eddie is so hopeless. Fucking tragic at this point.

They walk into the studio and are greeted by a somber, archaic set design. There’s a massive throne in the middle that is draped with fur. 

It’s… tacky. That’s the nicest adjective Eddie has to describe it. Tacky bullshit.

“I thought this was for a cologne ad.” Eddie says, eyeing the snowy backdrop.

Steve nods. “It is.”

“So what’s with the secondhand Game of Thrones set?”

“Mr. Asshat thinks this is his cinematic debut.”

Eddie snorts. Loves that he already has inside jokes with this beautiful, beautiful creature. “Someone should tell Mr. Asshat that this is visual plagiarism.”

“Nah.” Steve runs his hand over the tacky fur piece. Smirks to himself as he speaks. “I say we let him suffer.”

Eddie’s legs wobble. “Damn, you’re hot.”

He sounds ridiculously uncool, so breathy and gone. But Steve shrugs in a non-pitying kind of way, so maybe Eddie's uncoolness is excused. Or expected.

While the camera and lighting crew finalize their positions, Steve takes off his robe, revealing his costume.

Torn, muddied pants. Ripped and clawed to shreds. A billowy white top that’s completely unbuttoned. Un-laced? Eddie’s not entirely sure about the mechanics - just knows that Steve’s chest is out, that’s all he can focus on.

There’s a dented crown that the stylist places next to the throne, right at Steve’s feet. It’s shimmery yet tarnished, catches the light in a kaleidoscope effect.

The product is called The Fallen King, so deductive reasoning tells Eddie that Steve is meant to be the physical embodiment of this scent. He recalls something in the script about his title being slandered by promiscuity and forbidden love. Apparently they’ve bottled up that smell into a cologne. 

Do people really want to smell like a dethroned monarch? That’s a thing? Huh.

Just to make the sexual torture even more unbearable, Eddie gets to spectate alongside Mr. Asshat himself. Which also means that Eddie almost has a center view of Steve’s performance.

Cause that’s exactly what he’s giving. A performance. A full display production of his body, his face. His whole godlike essence. 

It’s unfair how fucked Eddie is from watching Steve pose. He can hold the oddest positions without budging a single tendon. So still. Durable. Strong.

Every last thought in Eddie’s head is impure from that observation. He wants to wrap his fingers around Steve’s muscles until he finally moves, twitches. Eddie wants to watch as Steve’s pretty lips part, falling open with sighs. See how long it takes for those sighs to turn into moans.

Steve slumps back into the throne, legs spread obscenely far apart. His gaze droops low and dark, practically eye-fucking the camera. It’s crazy how jealous Eddie is of that stupid inanimate object. The things he would do to get eye-fucked by that golden sex god up there…

His internal porno gets interrupted by a new pose. A wicked one. Steve is on his knees now, looking up into the camera lens. He sinks into the dreamiest expression. Looks dazed, all spaced-out and helpless. Eddie kneads at the growing heat in his pants with the heel of his palm. Hopes it’s not fucking obvious that he’s so horned up right now.

The director clears his throat and yells over the camera’s constant shuttering. “Can you tilt your head back, Steve?”

And Steve does. So obedient, so exceptional at his job. His head rolls back on his neck, shoulders sagging with the shift of weight.

Eddie is chewing the inside of his cheek, nearly ready to take the horny loss and go jack off in his car. Steve is in the most ideal position now, totally vulnerable. Eddie could fuck him so good like that, let Steve melt into his touch. He’d treat him like treasure, spoil him with dick and praise. Eddie would catch him if his legs give out. Would lick Steve’s kiss-bitten lips until the swelling goes down.

God, Eddie is so sick in the head for conjuring up x-rated scenes like this. In public, surrounded by strangers. Literally on the clock. He seriously needs to get his head checked for having such a whorish imagination.

The shoot ends shortly after that last pose, the one that rocked Eddie’s world. He closes his eyes for a minute, takes a few deep breaths. Tries to inhale some goddamn decency.

“How was it?” Steve heads his way, snaking his arms back into the bathrobe.

Eddie blinks hard. “It was… you were…” And the words stop. Nothing else comes out, his throat is strangled and bare.

Steve gives a soft laugh, nudges Eddie’s arm with his elbow. “Guess you do better when there’s a script in front of you, huh?”

Oh. So he’s pretty and darkly playful? This is too good, too delicious.

Eddie wets his bottom lip, recovers quickly. “I do better when there’s not an earthbound angel in my presence.”

“Wow.” Steve raises both eyebrows. “That’s quite the compliment.”

“Oh come on - you must get compliments all the time.”

“Not like that one though.”

“No?”

Steve takes a step into Eddie’s space. “Definitely not.”

They just stare after that - mostly because it’s Eddie’s turn to speak but words are so secondary when there’s this much beauty to behold. Gazing becomes his top priority.

And before the conversation can lead to an exchange of last names or phone numbers, Steve is rushed off by his agent. Maybe his publicist. Maybe his mom, Eddie has no fucking clue. Just someone taking away his shiny new toy. He sort of feels like reenacting that scene in Cast Away when the volleyball drifts into the ocean. Be dramatic as all hell about this ending.

Eddie doesn’t actually jack off in his car, although he really wants to. No, he decides to use all of his adrenaline and pent-up hormones for the voice recording. It gives his vocals this strained, chesty sound. Sinful and corrupt. Cracking with emotion in certain spots, spiking the volume in all the right ways.

It might be too much, a little bit too suggestive for a lousy cologne advertisement.

But as he listens back, Eddie can’t help but picture Steve. Imagining snapshots of him from every angle, especially the unspeakable ones. The recording barely sounds like a script anymore. It almost sounds like Eddie whispering the lines directly into Steve’s ear. A dirty secret between them.

This is it, he thinks. Sends the audio file to his sound mixer without a second read-through, without a retake. This might be the best voiceover Eddie Munson has ever done.

[simplygojo]

The Devil He Made Me - Ch. 3

Authors Note: Hello friends!! Thank you to everyone who has been reading this so far, I appreciate the kind DMs I’ve gotten :) I’m excited for this series a lot so I hope you enjoy, and oh boy am I only getting started. Let me know if you’d like to be tagged in the next chapter!!

ALSO I have been getting some requests, I am super sick right now so I will get to them asap but I LOVE the ideas y’all are giving me!! THANK YOU!

Pairing: Satoru Gojo x f/reader

Series Summary : After being found by Gojo and his first year students in a sticky situation, y/n joins Jujutsu High under the close supervision of Gojo. As time passes, the two of you become close, with a strong unspoken bond forming as you work together. Although, there is something dark looming over the situation, and those at Jujutsu High are determined to get to the bottom of it, before it is too late.

Chapter Summary : Tensions rise as Gojo and the first-years return from their mission, only to find y/n grappling with the growing mystery of her cursed energy. After a fateful encounter with Maki, and an accidental release of power, the higher-ups demand answers. Gojo decides to bring y/n along on their next mission, but when her cursed energy flares uncontrollably during a high-level curse battle, questions of who—or what—she truly is become impossible to ignore.

Word Count : 5k

Warnings : Some general violence, suggestive themes

Previous Chapter | Next Chapter

The mission at the community college had been tedious but successful. Gojo, Megumi, Nobara, and Yuji walked back onto school grounds, a mix of exhaustion and satisfaction hanging in the air. The sun was already sinking, casting the campus in a soft, warm glow. Despite the day’s events, Gojo’s stride remained as casual as ever, hands resting behind his head, as though he hadn’t just helped exorcise multiple curses.

Megumi was the first to notice you, pacing anxiously near the common area, your movements restless. He nudged Yuji, who caught on immediately and called out, “Y/n! We’re back!”

You stopped mid-step, eyes lighting up with excitement as you walked over to the group. “You guys! You’re back! I’ve been waiting to tell you something!”

Gojo quirked a brow, his usual playful smile stretching across his face, watching you cheerfully walk towards him. “Oh? Miss me?”

You rolled your eyes, though a grin tugged at your lips, your heart produced an extra beat. But, you ignored his comment. “I ran into Maki earlier, and…” You paused for dramatic effect, looking between Yuji, Megumi, and Nobara. “I accidentally released cursed energy. Actual cursed energy!”

There was a moment of silence as your words sunk in. Yuji’s face lit up like a firework, excitement practically bubbling out of him. “No way! That’s awesome, y/n!”

Nobara, leaning against the doorframe with her arms crossed, raised an eyebrow. “Accidentally? Or are you secretly getting good at this?” She teased with a smile.

You gave a sheepish shrug, the memory of Maki’s provocation still fresh in your mind. “I wasn’t really trying. It just… happened. Maki kind of…well to sum it up I guess I just got frustrated.”

Gojo stepped closer, his curiosity piqued. “Frustration, huh? Strong emotions are usually a pretty good trigger for cursed energy.”

Megumi regarded you with his typical calm, analytical stare. “Was it controlled, or was it just a flare?”

“I think it was more of a flare,” you admitted. “But it was something. Everyone here has been waiting for me to do something.”

Yuji clapped you on the back with an encouraging grin. “Hey, progress is progress! You’re on your way.”

“Mm, a fluke maybe,” Nobara teased, though there was a hint of approval in her voice. “But if you’re already producing cursed energy by accident, imagine what you could do on purpose!”

You couldn’t help but feel a small sense of pride swell in your chest. For the first time since being found in the forest, you felt like you had a tiny bit of control over the strange circumstances you found yourself in. 

Gojo’s voice interrupted your thoughts, his tone light but with a strange undercurrent that you couldn’t quite place. “Well, fluke or not, it’s a good sign. Guess I’m doing a pretty decent job with your training after all.”

Your eyes narrowed playfully at him. “You’re giving yourself too much credit.”

“Oh, come on,” he grinned, leaning a little too close, his voice dropping to a teasing whisper. “You know I’m the best you’ve ever had.” He let out a loud chuckle. “Best teacher, that is.”

You opened your mouth to retort but thought better of it, deciding not to feed into his usual antics. Instead, you took a step back, straightening up. “Yeah, well, I still don’t know how to use the cursed energy.”

Gojo’s grin softened just a bit, “Well then, that’s your focus for the next few days.” You nodded quietly, feeling the weight of the task settling on your shoulders. Without another word, you turned away, heading back to the couches to gather your things. The others had already started heading to their rooms, leaving you in the common area with only the faint echoes of their retreating footsteps.

As you bent down to collect your jacket, you felt eyes on you. Glancing up, you realized Gojo hadn’t left with the others. He stood there, casually leaning against the doorway, watching you with an unreadable expression.

“Is there something else, Gojo?” you asked, unsure why he was lingering.

“Not really,” he said shortly. His usual cocky grin had faded, replaced by a gentle smile that seemed strangely out of place—content, almost peaceful—nothing like the Gojo you were used to. “You know, y/n, most of the students around here call me ‘sensei,’” he added with a teasing lilt as you approached.

You let out a soft laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not doing that. Besides, we’re practically the same age. And I didn’t ask for you to be my teacher, so I think it’s fair I just call you by your name.”

As you tried to step past him, he moved quickly, his arm extending across the doorway, blocking your path. You froze, blinking up at him in surprise, caught off guard by the sudden proximity.

“So, that means we have a more casual relationship, then…” he said, his voice low, his gaze fixed on you with an intensity that made your pulse quicken.

You stared at him, unsure how to respond. There was no way he was serious. Gojo was a notorious tease, always testing boundaries with his playful charm. You told yourself this was just another one of his games—something to fluster you, to keep you on your toes. He didn’t mean anything by it… right?

With a shrug, you forced yourself to meet his gaze, hoping your smirk looked as confident as you wanted it to. “I guess so,” you replied, the words coming out more smug than you intended.

Before he could say anything else, you ducked swiftly under his arm, slipping past him and into the hallway. You kept your pace steady, resisting the urge to glance back, but you could feel his eyes on you the whole way.

Gojo watched you as you walked away, his thoughts lingering on the way you spoke to him, the way you moved, the way you handled yourself. There was something about you—something different, something he couldn’t quite put into words. You weren’t intimidated by him. Not in the way most people were. You challenged him in a way that made him feel… unsettled. Intrigued.

He couldn’t help but smile to himself, shaking his head as he pushed off from the doorway and followed in the direction you had gone. There was a lot he didn’t understand about you yet. But one thing was certain—you were far more interesting than he had expected.

—

Later that evening, after everyone had settled back into their routines, you found yourself alone in the common area, curled up on the couch with a book that Inumaki had lent you about the inner workings of cursed energy. It was peaceful, the kind of quiet that you had grown to appreciate after the chaos of training and missions. You absentmindedly flipped through the pages, your mind wandering back to the encounter with Maki.

It had been such a small moment—an accident, really. But the cursed energy that flared from your hands had felt real, like something buried deep within you–something that wasn’t there before–had been awakened, however briefly. You had no memory of your life before being found in that forest, but for the first time, you wondered if this power had always been inside you.

Your thoughts were interrupted by the sound of footsteps. You glanced up to see Gojo sauntering into the room, his hands in his pockets and his signature grin plastered on his face. He plopped down beside you on the couch without so much as a greeting, stretching out his long legs and letting out a content sigh.

“Enjoying the quiet?” he asked, his voice calm as he leaned closer to you to see what you were reading.

You shrugged, closing your book. “It’s nice… for a change.”

For a moment, neither of you said anything. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something Gojo wasn’t saying. His usually playful demeanor seemed… muted. And it wasn’t like him to sit still for this long.

Eventually, he broke the silence. “Are you sure you don’t remember anything? From the forest?”

Your stomach flipped at the question. You had gone over this a hundred times with Shoko, but every time he brought it up, his voice had a new edge—like he wasn’t just asking out of curiosity anymore.

“I’ve told you,” you said, a little more defensively than you intended. “I don’t remember anything. It’s all a blur. I’m not some enemy trying to infiltrate the ‘jujutsu world’ or whatever.”

Gojo tilted his head, his smile softening into something that almost looked like concern. “No strange dreams? No flashes of memory? Nothing?”

“No,” you replied firmly, though his questions had begun to unsettle you. “Why? Do you think there’s something I should remember?”

Gojo leaned his head back and let his gaze drift to the ceiling. You noticed his jaw clench as he did so. "Nah, I just thought that maybe something might come back eventually."

You narrowed your eyes at him, not quite believing his casual tone. “Is that really why you’re asking?”

Gojo chuckled, though it was a bit more forced than usual. “Maybe I’m just worried about you.”

“Worried about me?” You raised an eyebrow. “Since when did you become a big worrier?”

“Since I found you half-conscious in a forest with no memory,” he replied smoothly, though there was a new tension in his voice. 

There it was—the shift you had been sensing in him lately. He was always teasing, always playing around, but in the past few weeks, there had been moments like this where something in his tone changed. Like he was watching you more closely, paying attention in a way that made your skin tingle and your heart flutter. But just as quickly as it came, it disappeared. His usual smirk returned, and the moment passed.

“Don’t overthink it,” Gojo said, standing up abruptly, a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m a curious guy, and you’re a mystery to us all right now.” He paused, patting down his pockets as if searching for something. “That means you really are just my type, y/n.”

Your breath hitched slightly at his words, but before you could say anything, he casually pulled a small white pastry box from his pocket and placed it on the couch cushion where he had just been sitting. “Picked this up today in Tokyo while heading back from the mission,” he added with a nonchalant shrug before strolling toward the door.

You stared at the box, trying to process the whirlwind that was Gojo Satoru. One moment he was making cryptic comments, the next he was leaving you sweets. ‘What a strange guy,’ you thought to yourself, shaking your head at his unpredictability. There was always something about him that kept you guessing, that made it impossible to fully figure him out. He was an enigma, equal parts charm and mystery, with a habit of leaving you just as intrigued as you were confused.

Curiosity finally got the best of you, and you reached for the box, unfolding it to reveal a freshly baked, delicious-smelling chocolate chunk cookie. You couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at your lips as you stared down at the treat, warmth spreading in your chest. For all his teasing and unpredictability, Gojo had a way of surprising you in the most unexpected ways.

Taking a bite, you practically melted at the taste—it was perfect, like everything else he seemed to do effortlessly. As you savoured the sweetness, you glanced at the door where Gojo had disappeared.

‘Maybe he’s not as impossible as I thought,’ you mused, biting back a grin. Even if he was a strange guy, maybe, just maybe, there was more to him than he let on. And with that, you enjoyed your treat and returned to your studies.

—

Meanwhile, in the administrative wing of the school, Nanami, Principal Yaga, and a few other higher-ranking sorcerers had gathered for a private meeting. The topic of conversation was you—and the growing concern surrounding your mysterious past.

Nanami sat at the table, his brow furrowed as he listened to the others discuss the situation. He had always been one to trust his instincts, and something about you didn’t sit right with him. He wasn’t suspicious of you, per se, but the circumstances surrounding your discovery were troubling.

“We still have no idea where she came from,” one of the sorcerers said, shaking his head. “No family, no records. It’s like she just appeared out of nowhere.”

Principal Yaga nodded thoughtfully, his hands clasped in front of him. “And she has no memory of anything before we found her?”

“None,” Nanami confirmed. “Shoko has done multiple tests. Everything comes up clean. But that doesn’t mean she’s not dangerous.”

Nanami’s words hung in the air, the unspoken implications clear. While you hadn’t shown any signs of malicious intent, the lack of information made everyone uneasy. In the world of jujutsu sorcery, too many unknowns could lead to disaster.

“What about her cursed energy?” Yaga asked.

“She’s shown some potential,” Nanami replied. “But it’s raw. Uncontrolled.”

“And Gojo?” another sorcerer chimed in. “He’s the one working with her most closely.”

Nanami’s jaw tightened slightly at the mention of Gojo’s name. “Gojo believes she’s harmless. But he also has a tendency to take risks.”

Principal Yaga’s eyes narrowed, clearly weighing the situation carefully. “We can’t afford to ignore this. If there’s even a chance she could become a threat…”

“We should monitor her more closely,” Nanami suggested. “Let her accompany Gojo and his students on missions. That way, we can observe how her cursed energy reacts in different situations.”

There was a murmur of agreement around the table, though the atmosphere remained tense. No one wanted to treat you as an enemy, but the unpredictability of your situation was too great to ignore.

Principal Yaga leaned back in his chair, his expression grim. “Keep an eye on her. But if anything changes—if she shows any sign of being a threat—we’ll have to eliminate her.”

Nanami nodded, though there was a heaviness in his chest. He didn’t want to think the worst of you, but he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to your story than anyone realized.

—

It was two days later when Gojo approached you with the news.

“You’re coming with us on the next mission,” he said casually, as though it were the most normal thing in the world.

You blinked, looking up from where you were seated on the outdoor training grounds, a faint breeze rustling through the trees as you practiced your breathing exercises. “Wait, what? I’m going with you?”

Gojo strolled over, hands stuffed in his pockets, before plopping down on the grass beside you, stretching out in his usual relaxed manner. “Yep. Nanami and the higher-ups want to see how you handle real-life situations with curses, so you’ll be tagging along. It’s mostly for observation, though. Don’t worry, I won’t throw you into the fire.”

You frowned, setting aside the faint energy you had been trying to summon. Your fingers trailed over the grass absentmindedly as you narrowed your eyes at him. “And you’re okay with that? Letting them spy on me?”

Gojo’s expression didn’t shift much, but his eyes—those usually carefree, playful eyes—darkened just a little. “They’re just being cautious. No need to take it personally.”

“Right,” you muttered, sarcasm lacing your tone. “Because being treated like a ticking time bomb is totally not personal.”

Gojo sighed, leaning back on his arms and staring up at the blue sky. “It’s not that simple. You’re still a puzzle to everyone, including yourself. Until we know more about where you came from and what you’re capable of, there’s going to be some hesitation. You get that, don’t you?”

You hated to admit it, but he was right. You had no idea who you really were or what had happened to you before Gojo and the first-years found you in that forest. As much as you wanted to believe you were harmless, the unknowns surrounding your situation were hard to ignore.

Still, it stung to be treated like an experiment.

“So, what exactly am I supposed to do on this mission?” you asked, shifting the topic slightly, your voice quieter now.

Gojo’s grin returned, though there was still a hint of seriousness beneath it. “Observe, mostly. Keep an eye on how curses react around you and try to get a feel for controlling your cursed energy in a real situation. I’ll be there to guide you, so no need to panic.”

You shot him a skeptical look, brushing stray grass off your pants. “That’s reassuring.”

He chuckled, leaning in a little closer, his voice lowering just enough to send a shiver down your spine. “Trust me. I’ve got you.”

For a brief moment, his playful mask seemed to slip, and you caught a glimpse of something deeper in his eyes—something protective. It was fleeting, though, and before you could dwell on it, Gojo was back to his usual self, standing up and stretching his arms over his head.

“Anyway, get some rest tonight. We leave early tomorrow.”

He gave you one last lazy wave before turning to head back toward the school, leaving you to sit in the growing twilight, the weight of his words settling in. Trust him… Easier said than done.

—

The next morning, you found yourself standing alongside Gojo, Megumi, and Yuji at the gates of the school. The atmosphere was unusually tense, likely due to the nature of the mission. Gojo had explained that the team had been called to investigate a cemetery that had been plagued by a high-level curse, and while it was supposed to be routine, there was always the possibility that things could go sideways.

You weren’t sure how you felt about being thrown into the mix so soon, especially after the incident with Maki. But Gojo had insisted that it would be fine, and as much as you hated to admit it, you trusted him. His carefree attitude aside, Gojo had proven time and time again that he was more than capable of handling dangerous situations.

“Ready for your first mission?” Yuji asked, bouncing on his heels with excitement.

You offered a small smile, though your stomach was doing flips. “As ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Don’t worry, we’ve got your back,” He said, giving you a reassuring nod. “Just stick close to us.”

Megumi, standing a little further back, glanced at you with his usual unreadable expression. “If anything happens, don’t hesitate to use your cursed energy, even if it’s just a flare. These curses are quick.”

You nodded, appreciating his calm presence. Even though you hadn’t known Megumi for long, there was something about him that put you at ease. Maybe it was his no-nonsense attitude or the way he always seemed to have things under control. Either way, it helped.

Gojo led the way as the group set off toward the cemetery. It wasn’t too far from the school grounds, but the oppressive energy that seemed to hang over the area was enough to send a chill down your spine. As you approached the iron gates, you could feel the cursed energy in the air—thick, heavy, and familiar...

“This is it,” Gojo said, his tone more serious than you were used to. “Stay close, and don’t wander off. We don’t know exactly what we’re dealing with yet.”

The cemetery was eerily quiet as you all stepped inside. The overgrown grass rustled faintly in the wind, and the gravestones seemed to loom larger than they should have. You could feel the cursed energy pulsing beneath your feet, like the ground itself was alive with something dark and dangerous.

Gojo motioned for the group to spread out slightly, keeping a cautious distance from each other as they scanned the area for any signs of the curse. You stayed close to Yuji, your heart pounding in your chest as you tried to keep your own cursed energy in check. It was difficult—the atmosphere here made your skin prickle, and you could feel your cursed energy stirring just beneath the surface. 

“Stay calm,” Gojo’s voice rang out softly, his eyes sharp as they scanned the cemetery. “We’ll handle whatever comes our way.”

You nodded, swallowing hard as you tried to focus on keeping your energy under control. But something about this place was getting to you. The air felt thick, suffocating, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was watching you.

Suddenly, Megumi stopped, his eyes narrowing as he pointed ahead. “There.”

At first, you didn’t see it, but then, out of the corner of your eye, you caught a glimpse of movement. A shadow, slipping between the gravestones, too fast to track. Your heart skipped a beat as the cursed energy in the air spiked, the oppressive force nearly knocking you off balance.

“It’s moving,” Yuji said, tensing as he prepared for a fight.

Gojo’s grin returned, though there was a sharpness in his eyes that told you he was ready for whatever was coming. “Alright, team. Let’s make this quick!” 

The curse made itself known then, rising from the shadows, a grotesque figure with six twisted limbs and three hollow eyes. It moved with unnatural speed, lunging toward Megumi with a snarl, but he was quick to summon his shikigami, meeting the attack head-on.

The battle erupted around you, and for a moment, you were frozen, unsure of what to do. Your cursed energy was still pulsing wildly inside you, but you didn’t know how to control it. You could only watch as Yuji and Megumi moved with practiced precision, their cursed techniques flowing effortlessly as they fought off the creature. And that is when you noticed a lack of Gojo’s presence. You were just stood there watching, frozen in place.

Suddenly, you felt a surge of cursed energy within yourself—stronger than anything you’d felt before. It came out of nowhere, like a dam breaking, and you gasped as the energy flared to life around you. The sensation was overwhelming, electric, as it crackled along your skin, raw and untamed. Your breath hitched, memories of your accidental release in front of Maki flashing in your mind. But this time, there was something different—this time, you could feel it building in your palms, swirling with more intensity than ever before.

“Y/n!” Gojo’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern. You blinked, trying to regain your focus, but everything around you seemed to blur. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw a figure moving jaggedly toward you—a curse, creeping closer.

Your heartbeat quickened, panic rising. Your mind screamed at you to move, to act, but your body felt frozen in place, the cursed energy continuing to surge uncontrollably within you. The adrenaline hit you like a wave, along with an undeniable frustration—an anger, even—at feeling so powerless. Your body reacted on instinct.

Without thinking, your hands glowed a bright blue, cursed energy pouring into your palms. It was hot, too hot, burning as it built up, and before you could process what was happening, you let it go. The blast of raw power shot forward, aimed directly at the curse.

The energy struck the creature with a force that staggered it, causing it to shriek in pain. The cursed form writhed as it absorbed the blow, disoriented and vulnerable. It gave Yuji the opening he needed. He didn’t waste a second, leaping forward with a yell and delivering a final blow laced with a streak of red cursed energy. The curse crumbled into ash, dissolving into the wind.

For a moment, everything was still.

You stood there, breathless, the remnants of cursed energy buzzing faintly across your skin. Your hands tingled, shaking slightly as if they hadn’t quite registered the release of power. The cemetery, once filled with the sounds of battle, was now eerily silent. And then, you noticed it—all eyes were on you. Yuji, Megumi, even Gojo. Everyone was staring, as though they had just witnessed something… different, something they hadn’t expected from you.

The weight of their gazes made your chest tighten. You felt exposed, vulnerable, like a secret part of you had just been revealed—one that you didn’t fully understand yourself.

Gojo was the first to speak, stepping closer. His usual playful demeanor had dimmed, replaced with an emotion you couldn’t quite place. Concern? Pride? Maybe both. His voice was uncharacteristically soft, yet carried a strange intensity. “Well, that was impressive, but a close one, y/n.”

His words hit you like a cold splash of water, pulling you out of your daze. You looked down at your hands, still trembling. “I… I didn’t mean to do that,” you murmured, almost to yourself.

Yuji came up behind you, his hand landing on your back in a reassuring pat. His smile was warm, but his eyes reflected a hint of worry. “Accidental or not, you helped. That’s what matters.”

Even Megumi, who was always so stoic, nodded at you, his gaze steady. “You did well.”

Despite their reassurances, a sinking feeling formed in the pit of your stomach. That power you had unleashed—it didn’t feel like it was entirely yours. The cursed energy felt foreign, almost as though it had been pulled from somewhere deep inside, a place you hadn’t known existed. The sensation unsettled you.

As you stood there, still trying to process what had just happened, you could feel Gojo’s eyes on you. Unlike the others, his expression wasn’t one of relief or approval—it was far more unreadable. His gaze lingered longer than usual, as if he were trying to unravel something, some mystery that only he could sense.

It was the same question that had hung silently between you since the day he found you.

What are you?

His silence carried that question now, as did the way he watched you with a mix of curiosity and concern. He didn’t say it, but you knew. You could feel it. And what scared you most was the nagging fear that you might not want to know the answer.

“You two go see if there are any other low level curses lingering, meet us back here.” Gojo instructed to Yuji and Megumi, who quickly went to secure the area.

Gojo’s voice broke through your thoughts once more, this time quieter, more subdued. “You’re pushing yourself too hard,” he said, his tone laced with an unspoken concern. He took a quick step toward you. “You’re still new to this. You shouldn’t be able to summon cursed energy that strong… not yet.”

You looked up at him, the faint tremor still lingering in your hands, tears welling in your eyes, threatening to spill over. It took you a second to fully realize just how close he was—closer than he usually stood. Your breath caught in your throat as you noticed his blindfold, usually obscuring his gaze, now hung loosely around his neck. It was startling, seeing his ocean-blue eyes for the first time without any barrier, and they were locked onto yours, as if searching for something beneath your surface.

His gaze was intense, almost too much to bear, like a storm brewing just behind the calm sea of his eyes. The way he looked at you, so deeply, so fully—it felt like he could see right through you, down to the very core of your being. Your heart pounded in your chest, and for a moment, it was as though the world had shrunk down to just the two of you standing there, in the aftermath of whatever it was that had just happened.

“I don’t know what happened,” your voice was barely a whisper, shaky, raw with emotion. “It just… came out. Like I couldn’t stop it. I-I’m sorry.”

His frown deepened, the sharp edges of his usual confidence dulling as his expression softened in a way you hadn’t seen before. His eyes, so clear and unguarded now, reflected something you hadn’t expected to see in him: worry. For the briefest moment, the mask he wore, the one that shielded him from the world, slipped. His vulnerability was laid bare, just for you to see.

“That’s exactly what worries me,” he murmured, more to himself than to you, his voice a low, hushed tone that sent a shiver down your spine. His words lingered in the air, heavy with a meaning that neither of you fully understood yet.

For a second, his hand twitched, like he was about to reach out, to touch you, but he stopped himself. The space between you felt charged, a tension hanging in the air that was as palpable as the energy crackling through your fingertips earlier. His closeness, the warmth of his presence, the way his gaze softened as it held yours—it all felt too much, and yet, not enough. You could feel the pull between you, something unspoken, lingering in the narrow distance that separated you.

But then, just as quickly as it had appeared, that moment of vulnerability was gone. Gojo stepped back, the mask of his usual calm, collected self sliding back into place like a practiced routine. His playful smirk returned, though there was still something different about it, like the echoes of his concern hadn’t fully faded yet.

“Don’t think too much about it for now,” he said, his tone light but his gaze still serious. “Just… rest. We’ll figure this out. You’re okay.” And with two fingers he lifted his blindfold back into place.

You nodded, though your mind was far from calm. Your hands still shook slightly, your heart still raced from the intensity of the moment. But more than anything, it was the memory of his eyes, his bare, unfiltered gaze, that lingered long after he turned to walk away, leaving you with more questions than answers.

As Gojo turned to walk away, his usual swagger in each step, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something was shifting—that this wasn’t just about you anymore. All of the mystery surrounding you was concerning.

And in that moment, you realized he wasn’t just concerned about your situation—he was concerned for you.

[dirtyvulture]

Darkest Knight

Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Mutant!Reader

18+ only, read at your own risk

Summary: You meet a pretty woman in a bar...

AN: Came up with a new idea, let me know if you all like it. 👀

Natasha shivers when the door opens behind her, wrapping herself tighter in the thin jacket jacket that is not meant to be worn during the winter. Although she’s sitting in the corner, trying to make herself as invisible as possible, the icy wind stabs at her back and it practically takes her breath away. Her whole body aches from a lack of sleep and food, although so far the bartender had only been generous enough to give her a single glass of water.

It’s almost 9:00pm, evident by the pitch-black gloom outside the windows stained with dirt and snow. Natasha doesn’t know what time the restaurant closes, but she has no way of leaving it safely, having used the last of her energy to stumble here through the surrounding woods on foot. The next city over was probably at least 25 miles away. She closes her eyes, overwhelmed and despondent, reaching for her water glass with trembling fingers. 

A lot of luck had gotten her this far, more so than her own skills, but she feared tonight would be when it finally ran out.   

Someone drops noisily onto a barstool three seats away from her. “I’ll have a beer.”

Natasha looks over warily at the person joining her. You’re wearing a leather jacket over a flannel shirt that is only buttoned halfway up, and Natasha feels colder just looking at you. You puff on a cigar as you pull out a few folded bills and toss them on the counter. The smell of smoke causes her to cringe away in distaste and she notices you immediately take the cigar out of your mouth and stamp it out on the counter.

The bartender comes over, frowning at the new ashy ring on his wood countertop. 

“Add it to my bill,” you grunt, pushing the money towards him and swapping them for a bottle. After you take a sip, you glance over at Natasha for a second, turning to face ahead and watch the television behind the bar. 

Natasha drinks her water, wondering if she has the dexterity to steal from the tip jar when she can’t even feel her fingers. She had seen how much cash you had in your pocket–at least another $50–maybe if she played you up a little you’d buy her dinner. You were the only one in the restaurant who hadn’t eyed her like a meal, and Natasha knows you only put your cigar out for her. She has to put her plans on hold, however, when she hears heavy footsteps pad up from behind her. Someone taps on her shoulder.

“Hey, honey,” a gruff voice mumbles. 

She doesn’t turn to look at him, but from the corner of her eye sees that it’s the big bald man who had been watching her from a booth since the moment she entered the restaurant. 

“You came here alone, didn’t you?” the man asks. “You walked here.”

Natasha doesn’t respond. She notices your attention has moved from the television to the man standing behind her. 

“Let me give you a ride home,” the man says, his voice heavy with unsaid intentions. 

“No, thank you,” she says. 

The man leans in closer to her until his alcohol-laced breath is hot against her ear. “It wasn’t an offer, honey.”

“She said no,” you growl. Both Natasha and the man looked surprised at your intervention. 

“Fuck off,” the man spits. “You’re always taking girls home, let me have this one.”

You roll your eyes at his comment. Natasha looks at you with trepidation now as you get up, your footsteps somehow heavier than the man’s despite being shorter than him.

“Go home, Stu,” you tell him. “Alone.”

“Not tonight,” he spits, grabbing onto Natasha’s arm. Normally, she would never allow herself to be handled like this and would have broken Stu’s nose on the counter by now, but that’s a fight she didn’t know she could win in her current state. She tries squirming out of his iron grip but is dragged off the barstool instead. No one sees you lunge forward, cranking your arm back and punching Stu in the face. Natasha cringes when she hears what sounds like clanging metal and pushes away from Stu as he falls to his knees, crying and screaming while clutching his face.

“Are you okay?” 

Natasha looks up and sees you offering her a hand. She grabs it, your palm rough but warm, and hops over Stu to stand next to you. She’s shocked to see that the lower half of his face is completely drenched in blood from his broken nose. 

“You motherfucker!” Stu gasps, struggling to his feet.

“Stay down,” you suggest. “We should probably leave,” you tell Natasha, and against her better judgment, she eagerly follows you outside even after witnessing you take down a full-grown man with a single punch. 

The wind is prickly against her skin and the cold weighs down her bones. Snow falls in hard pellets and Natasha lifts her arms over her face to protect it.  

“My truck is over here!” you shout over the wind and Natasha numbly chases after you. It’s a beat-up red pickup truck that has certainly seen better days, but Natasha gives no comment as she climbs in and you turn on the heater, blasting her with warmth. “Sorry about Stu. I’ve never known him not to be an asshole,” you say, adjusting the vents in Natasha’s direction.

“Thank you,” she blurts out.

“Oh. Uh, you’re welcome.” You sound like you’re not used to being thanked. You turn the windshield wipers on to clear off the snow collected there. “I know Stu was right about one thing, though. You’re not from around here.”

“No,” Natasha admits. “Do you know if there’s a motel nearby I can stay in?”

“The closest one is thirty miles out,” you say. “But we’d be lucky to move even five with the snow picking up.” The windshield is almost fully caked in a layer of white again. “My place is only two miles from here. You can crash for the night and I’ll take you up to the city first thing tomorrow when the weather clears.”

Natasha wants to tear up at your generosity. She hasn’t known you for more than five minutes, and you’ve already rescued her from a creep and offered her a place to stay. Maybe her good luck is hanging on longer than she’d thought. 

“I’d like that,” she says, and you nod, revving up the engine and driving out of the parking lot. The drive is completely silent but in a comforting way. Although you’re focused on the road, you only have one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gear shift in a very relaxed, almost casual way. Natasha stares at your hands, curious as to why she can’t see any bruising on your knuckles from when you practically turned Stu’s face inside-out. You seem to notice her staring because you suddenly clear your throat and adjust your position, moving both your hands to the 5 and 7 o’clock positions of the steering wheel.

True to your word, your cabin is relatively close to the restaurant, although the drive feels longer to Natasha because you can’t go faster than 15mph. You park on the driveway, hurrying out before Natasha can even unbuckle her seatbelt to have her door open for her.

“Thank you,” she says, although reluctant to step back out into the cold. 

“Go through the front door,” you tell her, handing her your house key. “I need to get some firewood from the garage first.”

Natasha darts to your porch, fumbling with the key frustratingly before she can get the door open. She stumbles into your home, stamping snow off her shoes. She finds the light switch, flipping it on and surprised to see how barren your house is. There’s a couch, a television, and a potbelly stove in the first room, and an opening to the kitchen on the left and your bedroom ahead. There’s not even a shelf of books or knick knacks as far as she can see.  

“Sorry about the mess,” you grumble as you come in behind her, carrying an armload of splintered wood. “I wasn’t anticipating any visitors tonight.”

“It’s cozy,” Natasha comments as you throw a few pieces of wood into the stove and light some tinder underneath. 

“The bathroom is through the bedroom if you need it,” you say. “I’ll sleep on the couch tonight.”

“Oh, wait, you don’t have to do that,” Natasha starts. “I’m your guest–”

“Don’t worry about it.” You wave her off. Natasha doesn’t know how to respond to your unending kindness. Sometimes, she forgets that good still exists in the world after all the evil she’s been running from. “I’ll heat up some soup. I hope you’re okay with ham and potato.”

“Thank you,” is all she can manage.

“Go ahead and wash up. I’ll need some time to warm up the soup. Use whatever you need. There’s a clean towel and some clothes on the left side of my closet that might fit you. They belonged to…an old friend.” Natasha hears the wistfulness in your voice, her curiosity piqued. But she doesn’t pry and goes into your bedroom, closing the door. She finds the clothes and a folded up towel that you mentioned, so she carries them all into the bathroom.  

The hot water has never felt so wonderful as Natasha washes off the grimes from several days’ of traveling. But she enjoys it for too long and soon, the water runs cold. Motivated to step out, she dresses in the clothes you provided, glad for the wool that keeps her insulated and toasty. She joins you in the kitchen, where you’re ladling soup into two chipped bowls on the table.

“Feel better?” you ask her. You’ve taken off your leather jacket now, your checkered flannel fully hanging open over a white tank top. Natasha has no idea how you’re able to withstand the cold in the cabin, although the fire from the potbelly stove has made the temperature much more tolerable. In one less layer of clothing, she can see the muscles in your chest and shoulders, which certainly explained where your powerful punch came from. You have a beaded chain around your neck holding a pair of dog tags. While Natasha is still not sure what to think of you, she has a better idea now. 

“I feel amazing,” she says, “Although I think I used up all the hot water–”

“It’s fine. Do you want a beer?”

“No, thank you. Water is fine.”

“Sure.” You pour her a glass from a pitcher in the fridge and grab a beer for yourself. She waits for you to sit with her before dipping her spoon into her bowl. The soup warms her up from the inside and before she realizes it, her bowl is empty before you’ve even had a few spoonfuls. Her cheeks heat up as you fill her bowl without being prompted. 

“Thanks,” she murmurs and once again you only grunt in response. After you finish your soup, you don’t refill it, instead sitting back and sipping your beer. Neither of you talk, but the silence isn’t uncomfortable. Natasha finishes her third bowl, scraping every drop onto her spoon, before her curiosity finally wins. 

“Can I ask why you’re being so nice to me?” she asks. 

You stare at her as if she’s just asked for your answer to a complex math equation. There’s a few seconds of pause before you respond. “Because you’re someone who doesn’t ask for help, even if you really need it.”

Your answer has Natasha even more confused.

“You remind me of myself,” you add, as if this is enough clarification. When you talk, your voice is low and gruff, almost like you’re not used to having someone listen to you. From the furnishings in your home, or lack of them, it’s clear you live alone and probably have for a while. With the closest settlement 30 miles away, Natasha is surprised you haven’t set up further out. Whatever life you had lived, it seemed like you just wanted to retire in peace, despite that you didn’t look older than 30 years. 

“I can’t thank you enough,” she says. “After tonight, you can drop me off in town and I’ll be out of your way.”

“You’re not a burden,” you reply. 

“And I’m not trying to be.” Natasha takes her bowl to the sink to wash it, but you stop her.

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll clean up in the morning. You should get some rest.”

“Come on, let me do at least one nice thing for you,” Natasha begs.

“Hmm,” you mumble, your face twisting as you appear to think hard about her request. “How about you let me use the cold water in the bathroom to wash up, and then the bedroom is all yours?”

“Deal.” 

But while you’re in the bathroom, Natasha sneaks back into the kitchen and washes the dishes. She can’t help herself; it just feels wrong to take advantage of your hospitality without giving you anything in return. She leaves the dishes to dry on the counter, then guiltily hunts around the remaining rooms for any further insight into your life before you get out of the shower.

In one of the kitchen drawers, she finds a small pocket knife that when folded, can be concealed perfectly in the palm of her hand. She had lost her own knife running through the forest earlier that day, and even though she can’t imagine having to use it against you, it makes her feel better to have a blade on her. She pockets it, hoping you won’t miss it, and keeps looking. But there is nothing to find: no receipts, no tags, not even a handwritten sticky note to yourself.

Natasha jolts when she realizes she hasn’t even asked your name yet. 

You emerge from your bedroom, your hair flattened by the water, a towel slung around your neck. “Bedroom is all yours,” you say, dragging a moth-eaten blanket to the couch and dropping down on it. “I’ll be out here if you need anything.”

“One more question,” Natasha says. “I’m Nat. What’s yours?”

“Y/N.”

Natasha smiles. “Good night, Y/N.”

“Good night, Nat.”

***********************************************************************

BOOM.

You feel like you’ve only just fallen asleep, but you sit up at the sudden noise, momentarily forgetting where you are.

“Police! Open up!”

BOOM. BOOM. BOOM.

“What the…?” You blink in confusion, tripping over the blanket as you stumble to the door. Peeking through the blinds, you see four men in SWAT gear standing on your porch. All of them are armed with multiple guns and one of them holds a battering ram. But you don’t see any police insignia on any of their uniforms. A tank of a truck is parked on your driveway, blocking the path to your own, and any chance of unnoticed escape. 

“Police! Open the damn door!”

“Y/N? What’s going on?” Natasha suddenly pops up in your bedroom doorway, her hair tousled and face drowsy. 

“We’ve got company,” you respond, as there’s pounding at the door again. “They said they’re police, but I don’t think that’s true–”

“Oh, shit,” Natasha gasps. “They found me.”

“Found you? Who?” The hair on the back of your neck stands up. 

“I’m so sorry. Oh my God. I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to drag you into this.” Natasha begins pacing your living room as bright lights stream through the windows. You probably won’t have much more time before they force entry.

“Nat, what’s going on? Who are these people?” you ask, running over to her. You’ve hardly known this woman for 12 hours, but you have a fierce desire to protect her from whatever’s hunting her. When you had first seen her in the bar, looking roughed up and sad, you had the urge to help her. But scaring Stu off wasn’t enough and even taking her to your home couldn’t keep her safe.

“I should have never come here,” Natasha cries. “You don’t deserve this, after everything you’ve done for me–”

“I can help you,” you insist. “Please, Nat. Just tell me who they are–”

She looks up at you, and even in the darkness the fear in her eyes is unmissable.

“The Red Room.”

---------------------------------------------------------------------------

AN: Any guesses on R's mutant inspiration? :)

Click here for Part 2!

Please leave likes, comments, and reblog! Follow for more content. 🥰

[adrinktostopyourthirst]

Bucky Barnes | One Shot | My Queen

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Queen!Reader

Plot: The post-battle energy rush needs a release. Suddenly, there’s a willing soldier at your disposal.

Warnings: 18+. Smut and mentions of violence.

Words: 4OOO

“There are guests, Your Majesty,” John tells you with pity in his voice, not mentioning it because he thinks you have forgotten, but because he needs you to be aware of the important fact. If you tried hard enough, it wasn’t too much of a task to remember your duties and who those entailed, but it was a relief to have John around to remind you of such things, since you valued your duties and relations with the outside world dearly.

You glance around nervously and give him a guilty pout, grabbing the last of your belongings.

“I know, I am so sorry, but this is important. Send them a plane and I will get back to them as soon as I can,” you plead and quickly rush out of the room to the main entrance hall, John following you as you make your way to the prepared jet.

Mind occupied by making sure your small legion is armed and ready to go as you walk, you get brought to an abrupt stop when two large men block your path. Raising your head, you glower curiously at the rude interruption. As busy as you have been the past weeks, you study each and every encounter you plan, so you know exactly who the two men are.

“Captain Wilson. Sergeant Barnes.”

“Your Majesty,” Sam’s greeting is curt, yet kind. “I don’t suppose a sudden departure is part of your infamous warm welcome?”

You narrow your eyes at him. “You have an awful lot of courage speaking to a queen this way,” you warn him, your tone formal before your features soften towards your guests. “But I apologise. Something important came up and I hardly think sending you into war with me is considered a warm welcome.”

The man you recognise as James Barnes lets out a humoured scoff. “Clearly, you don’t know us very well.”

Your eyes dart between the men suspiciously and a smile tugs at the corner of your mouth, hardly able to contain it at the sheer boldness coming from the men. After a pregnant pause and your legion having left the hall to board the jet, you slowly turn to John.

“John. You heard the men. Get them suited and onto the jet.” Sharing one more glance with the men, your eyes lingering on the twinkle of mischief in Bucky’s eyes, you brush past them and step onto the plane without another word.

…

“It’s not often a queen goes into war with her people.”

“Well, unfortunately my legions are struggling on their own,” you explain to Sam calmly.

“What happened?” Bucky asks, brows pulled together in slight worry.

“John? Could you please bring them up to speed while I get ready?”

As John takes over and shows the two heroes what their next mission will be as they serve someone else’s queen, you step over to the side and let one of your generals help you suit up. Slipping into the modern metal, rusted with nano technology, the shimmering suit glides over your body perfectly.

From the corner of your eyes, you notice Bucky Barnes losing interest from John’s briefing and your eyes lock with his. There’s a rush of heat pulsing through your body at the sheer boldness of Bucky not breaking eye contact once he gets caught staring. His eyes rake up and down the sleek suit and lock back onto yours, a knowing smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth before he drags his eyes away and turns back to his previous conversation.

Leaving you absolutely flustered and furious.

Did he just ogle a queen?

…

Bucky is startled enough for it to nearly show on his face when he sees the feral look you have on yours. He knows that look, has worn it plenty of times himself. Battle doesn’t quite leave your body and mind as soon as it is over. Even with your spectacular win, which Bucky knows is mostly because of your reliability and skills as a powerful leader, the raging chaos of adrenaline lingers like you have days worth of battles to fight still.

He came in to check up on you post-battle, easily slipping past your guards, to find you pacing in your blood-splattered gear around the chamber before what he assumes is your bedroom. The hall is large and decorated wonderfully, but so very empty with your restless figure pacing through it. He’s certain he can feel your energy buzzing all the way up to the impossibly high ceilings.

Having enough decency to announce himself, he gently knocks on the door from inside of the room. When you whirl towards him in your frenzy, he finds it amusing enough to plaster a smirk onto his face. “Restless, my queen?”

You huff through your nostrils. “I still have fight in me.” He knows. “I want to kill them for springing that attack on us.” He knows that too, but the gravel in your voice awakens a slumbering beast inside of him and fire starts curling around his bones.

“I think you gave them enough hell for what they did to you,” he assures you and something in your eyes seems to soften at that. You did give them hell. Rightfully so.

“But this energy–” You shake out your trembling hands to rid yourself of that restlessness. Bucky nods and slowly prowls closer, hands gliding into his pockets as he slants his head to the side to observe you.

“I know,” he acknowledges, “it takes a while to wear off.”

“How do you handle it?” you ask him, taking a steadying breath as he crosses the room. “After a fight, how do you get rid of all of that energy?”

Bucky flashes you a grin, his brows raising with intrigue and a mischievous shimmer in his eyes. “I hardly think I could speak about such methods to a sophisticated queen.”

“Sophisticated, my ass,” you snap, narrowing your eyes at the broad soldier. “You hardly felt like you had to be appropriate when you were watching me put on this suit,” you say with a scoff, ushering to the intricate metals you’re wearing.

“In my defence, I hadn’t seen you fight yet. Whereas now,” he shrugs, “I’d prefer staying in your good graces.”

“You fuck it out, don’t you?”

Bucky’s blink is the only sign of his surprise and he cocks his head at you again. “Excuse me?”

“The only way to get rid of the energy after battle is to get your dick wet,” you clarify, “isn’t it?”

Bucky chokes on a laugh, stepping even closer to you now with his hands still in his pockets, close enough to make you have to tilt your chin up. “You have a filthy mouth for a queen,” he breathes and to accentuate his words, his eyes drop to said mouth.

“I didn’t become queen by being prim and proper,” you explain with a little less fire than you intended to say it with.

“No,” he breathes, “you didn’t.”

Another restless shudder up your spine reminds you of your predicament, your thudding heartbeat not coming to a rest. You sigh, searching those blue eyes still trained on your lips. “Care to help a queen out?”

“You want to see me bow for you again, don’t you?” He smirks and finally raises his eyes to meet yours.

You can’t help but smile slightly, giving him a guilty shrug, because yes, you loved seeing him bow for you earlier as you stepped onto the battlefield. Not just that, plenty of pretty men had bowed for you. It was Bucky’s willingness and respect as he took a knee for you that was particularly invigorating. He matches your smile and takes a long second to let you take in what he is about to do, before slowly sinking to his knees in front of you, steady hands moving to rest on your thighs.

“Your people are awfully lucky to get to serve you every day,” he murmurs, looking up at you with eyes of fire and submission. That manages to make heat surge to your cheeks and ears, swallowing hard as you take in the sight before you. “May I?”

It takes all of your power not to nod too eagerly before he starts working off the buckles and belts of your suit, the nanotechnology wingmanning perfectly as the metal retreats into the hard base of the suit.

Soon, you are in nothing but your underwear. Bones and muscles are trembling beneath your skin in response to forcing your body to be utterly still. Chemical reactions are ricocheting against the barrier of your skin to make you spring apart. So much energy. So much fire and passion and fury still roiling inside of you. A heavy blanket settles over it – desire. But before you can order him to act on it, Bucky comes back to a stand.

“Close your eyes,” he mutters.

“I’m close to fighting you, Sergeant Barnes,” you promise him, showing your active restraint, but deciding to close your eyes anyway.

He huffs a soft laugh and you feel his eyes burning into your skin, a knuckle brazenly trailing over your collarbones and down the centre of your chest. “I will take you up on that another day,” he answers and your blood heats up at the fact that Bucky revels in both of those sides of you. Most men cower at your bloodlust, but not him. He kneels before it.

Speaking of him kneeling–

“I didn’t tell you to get up,” you remind him and his hand pauses.

“I didn’t particularly think it would be fair to leave you standing as I proceed to immobilise your legs, my queen,” he drawls and you snap your mouth shut. Your eyes slowly flutter open and you find him having taken a step back, holding out his hand for you to take.

Carefully taking it with a questioning look in your eyes, Bucky leads you to your bedroom like he has been there a thousand times. Slowly and deliberately, he guides you to your own bed, still fully clothed himself in those black leathers.

“I expected it to be more rough,” you admit steadily. “Fucking out that energy...”

Bucky turns back to you, hands now on your waist as he pivots you with your back to the bed, the backs on your legs touching the foot of it. “Fucking you roughly won’t do the trick,” he explains. “Fucking you thoroughly will.”

If you weren’t quaking before, this would do the trick. Your heartbeat is pulsing between your legs, hammering for attention, the seams of your underwear teasing you more than the man before you. It paralyses you, that desire coursing through your veins like syrup, makes you fall quiet. Only for a short while.

“Then do it.”

Bucky’s brows raise again, not having expected you to fold so fast. “What?”

“Did I fucking stutter?” you hiss at him. “I need you to fuck me before I explode.”

Bucky smirks at you again and you’re so tempted to smother that smirk – you have your ways. “I am not yours to give orders to.”

You restrain from rolling your eyes at him, the close proximity making you prone to holding your breath and making your words coming out strained. “I’m not going to beg for it.”

“You already have,” he reminds you, not an inch of him giving away that he might be unravelling. “And I think you will, sweetheart. I think you are seconds away from begging for it.”

As if in answer to his outrageous insinuation, a shudder racks through your bones and flashes of that wild battle make your nervous system rush to life again. It’s so frustrating, to have so much energy begging to be released.

His solid eyes and steady hands on your waist make you want to sink into him for relief. You want Bucky to tear you apart, almost similar to the way he tore apart those monsters earlier. Calculated, precise and only slightly unhinged. His fighting earlier was like a choreography your body wanted to study and practice until it can memorise nothing else. The way his muscles moved, the precise strikes of his metal arm, the focused crinkles in his handsome face, his thick thighs planting him firmly onto the ground – your ground. Fighting for your lands. For you.

My queen, he had called you. You suppose he does answer to your commands, then. But you might just beg for it. If only because it feels so tempting. To whine for his pleasure, sob for it and make him serve you like he wanted to do earlier. How awful, for a queen to want to beg for it.

“Please,” you almost gasp from holding your breath for too long.

He hums, low and deadly, his finger kneading gently and appreciatively into your soft flesh. “That’s a good girl,” he murmurs and before you can shout in outrage, he slowly dips down and presses his pillowy soft lips to your collarbone, instantly making your head tilt backwards.

His hands pull you close enough for your front to be pressed to his and your hands automatically grab his shoulders. His lips part and his tongue traces a singular line over the thinnest piece of skin on your body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His mouth moves up, tongue dipping in and out to raise your pulse as he suckles at your skin. Your fingers curl slightly and your body starts to nearly shake with jitters at the adrenaline coursing through you like an electrical charge.

Bucky bites down on the tense skin beneath your ear where he hums against you, the sound ringing in your head like a gong. His hands have travelled to your back, stroking up and down the bare skin until your bra pops loose with you barely noticing. You tremble with need when all you are left in are your panties and Bucky pulls away to once again sink down to his knees.

You swallow hard at his stare from below you and follow his silent command to sit down at the edge of the bed. Hooking his hands around your knees, he presses them apart and lifts one leg over his shoulder. Your fingers dig into the soft sheets with anticipation and you only break the intense eye contact to watch his tongue trace his bottom lip. He hooks your other leg over his shoulder and drags you to the very edge of the bed, getting comfortable on his knees.

“Is this where you want me?” he asks, but you don’t deign to answer him. “Kneeling before my queen.”

“Something tells me you don’t mind being there at all,” you answer tightly and his hands stroke up and down your calves lovingly. Bucky presses one kiss to your inner thighs, taking in a big whiff of air and groaning at the smell of your arousal.

“There is something about eating a meal on my knees that speaks to me,” he drawls, his eyes settling on said meal, only covered by the thin fabric of your panties. He presses another kiss, right over the damp fabric. You shudder.

“Then eat,” you bite back, scrambling to hang onto your power as a queen.

Bucky gives a wide grin, keeping his eyes on your soaking core. His hand lifts and his finger loops into the fabric, making you bite your lip painfully hard at the brief touch. He pulls the fabric to the side, spreading your legs enough for him to dive in, but not doing so yet. “That is no way to speak to your soldiers.”

Your soldier, Bucky supposes after today he is. You’re torture. Your smell, your voice, your body, the sheer power you have over him – over everyone.

Your hand finds his hair and you rake your fingers through the thick, brown tresses. Your eyes are soft when Bucky looks up to find them. “Will you take the honour of being my soldier?”

You’re genuine, he’s sure of it. Bucky can tell you’re asking him for so much more than just this. And considering his current predicament, he will consider his duties as your soldier later. Right now, he can only nod, entranced by the queen who has her legs wrapped around his head. He can only think of one duty right now and that is to rid you of all of that devastating warrior energy the only way he knows how.

Bucky buries his face between your legs and begins his feasting. Nudging his nose against your clit and prodding his tongue in and out of you. Licking every inch of your warm, wet, lovely cunt as if it’ll guarantee a place in your kingdom for him.

Sam will kill him for never returning home, but by the heavens, he can’t find it in him to care enough. Not with you tasting so heavenly and– fuck, those goddamn moans.

…

He was right, he was so fucking right. The slow and steady and longs thrusts make your body hiss in delight. The thorough swivel of his hips when he’s buried into you as far as possible, releases every bit of pent up energy that suffocates you. The sharp snap of his hips right as he’s about to hit home makes you shudder and sob, clenching around him every time as if you feel every thrust like the very first one.

Bucky strikes your deepest spot with each one, your hair between his fingers, your back arched to meet him and your cheek pressed into the mattress. Your eyes flutter painfully against your will, your toes curling when pleasure wraps around every abdominal muscle, your pussy spasming around him in need for release as the pressure between your hips grows to be unbearable.

The sounds that slip from your parted mouth sound inhumane. Soft and pitiful whimpers between huffs of breath. Oh God, oh God. You need him to slow down for a second, except he’s not going fast at all. He’s slow and deep and oh God, he’s so fucking deep.

You grapple for a grip in the sheets, any tether to reality slipping from your mind after every move he has already made. The last of your control, your power as a queen, slips away from you on a phantom wind, desire clouding every piece of domination inside of you. It’s all his now, you are all his now.

Within a short second, you get hauled up by your hair, arched against his heaving, sweaty chest until his mouth nips at your earlobe. Your hands grab his hips behind you, nails digging into his firm skin.

“You still there, my queen?” he coos, and you feel his grin as his mouth grazes over your neck possessively. Your answer is the harsh tightening of your nails into him and the groan he lets out makes you clench around him wantonly. “Oh, somewhere. You’re somewhere in that sex-riddled brain of yours. Losing your mind a little, are you?”

You swear you mean to speak a sentence – a word, at least – but the sound that comes out sounds like another garbled moan and Bucky laughs at your demise. He quickly presses a loving kiss to your shoulder, a deep thrust settling him so deep inside of you, you flutter helplessly around him.

“Don’t worry,” he hums, another deep thrust following as the hand in your hair slips to securely grip your throat and move your ear back to his mouth. “Next time, I will let you take the reigns. You can tie me to the bed and use me to make yourself come. I’m looking forward to it, actually.” You pulse around him and he snickers. “Oh, you like that, don’t you? Prefer to have control and use the ones that serve you.” He bites your ear softly and squeezes your throat. “Oh, but you look so pretty like this. Don’t take this away from me, sweetheart.”

It's a whirlwind of emotions that rush through you at his words. You feel his desperation to have you like this seep through his ignorant confidence having you exactly like he wants you. The last of your working brain cells are screaming yes, yes, yes at his request. You’ll let him have you like this every day for the rest of your life. And it flashes before your eyes, him waking you up by slowly fucking you, hand back in your hair and lazy mouth muttering filthy things against your skin. God, he’s filthy.

Your vision is swirling as his pace picks up and blood flow to your brain is slightly limited by his grip. Ecstasy is rushing through your head and limbs with heavy tingles, and your moans raise in pitch. The metal hand bruising your hips with its possessive grip, slides between your legs and messily toys with your clit, the feeling making you want to buckle over.

“Shit!” you gasp and throw your head back into his shoulder, thighs quaking at the stimulation. Too much, it’s too much. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as you feel every inch of him glide in and out of you with an ease and precision that feels degrading and embarrassing. Bucky’s breath is equally laboured now and his grip on you turns from possessive to desperate, like he cannot get enough of you into his hands.

“Come for me again, my queen,” he purrs in your ear, knowing what that term now does to you, and you nod blindly. Following his command blindly, unable to resist the feeling of his deep thrusts and his firm circles on your clit any longer, you let the warmth of your orgasm consume you. You tremble and shake and stiffen at his touch and he doesn’t stop. “Come on, keep coming. Keep fucking coming, baby.”

You choke out a sob, surely drawing blood with your nails as you gasp for air, for any word to make him ease up on you, but he only stops when you buckle over and your trembling form succumbs to the sheets below you. Curled up on the sheets, bearing the waves of pleasure that haunt your every nerve, you feel Bucky’s exhausted and sex-glazed eyes watching you carefully. You faintly feel the trickle of him come pulsing out of you and it nearly makes you smile.

Two hands, one scorching with heat and one a welcome cool, gently stroke up the sides of your thighs, cooing sounds coming from Bucky as he watches you come back to your senses. Lips follow his soothing touches, warm kisses being pressed to your quickly cooling skin.

“How’s that post-fight energy?” he asks softly and your eyes finally flutter open to meet his curious ones, the blue shimmering with… Pride.

“Fuck,” you pant, “you.”

He laughs, “Again?”

You breathe a soft laugh and he at last presses a kiss to your lips. If you had the energy, you know your body would betray you by lifting your head to chase his lips.

You finally let out a defeated sigh, letting the corners of your mouth lift to a lazy smile. “Thank you.”

“At your disposal,” he mutters back with slight amusement and you open your eyes again to look at him. God, he’s beautiful.

“Are you,” you dare to ask, earnest in your eyes, “at my disposal…?”

“It would be an honour.”

“Likewise.”

“That is more than I’ve ever had before.”

“The honour?”

He nods. And then leans in, his mouth brushing your ear as your eyes flutter closed again, goosebumps rising over your skin. “I will bow for you any day,” he breathes softly, “my queen.”

[pansy-picnics]

can ask that you spill everything about your Splatoon OCs? 😺

ABSOLUTELY i did not expect anyone to ask to be honest….goodness where do i even begin. Let’s see. I’ll start with my main little doomed love triangle thing i suppose

Cecilia Paek, she/her, 24 yrs old, aka: cece, celia, eight, whore, freak, slut, etc. My agent 8. born in the domes under the name Seo-Mi Paek, but renamed herself to cece post-memory loss. A freak both in the not-safe-for-work sense and just. In general. She says the most unhinged shit in such a passive formal manner. Marina has to consistently tell her she’s not allowed to eat the jelletons. She bites. A lot.

aside from being a freak cece is curious and observant, but incredibly blunt and fierce. In the past Seo-Mi was a much quieter and more repressed person, but hearing the Inkantation awakened a flame within her, so to speak. Cece is incredibly vocal about her thoughts and feelings, and she does not like to be pushed around. although shes always been a very nostalgic person, shes been trying to look forward more often than not. (she was on team future!)

cece has a very mature, almost sisterly presence, and is especially close with neo 3 (ikra) and her pseudo sister agent 4 (yottsu). she also has a daughter of her own, yumi! ikra and yottsu are my friends ocs so i cant say too much about them but ikra is like, basically her and kyle’s adopted kid

Kyle Lastname, (Actual surname to be determined Eventually) he/him, 25 yrs, aka three, cap, kyle, ceces silly rabbit /j. he’s my captain 3. has a stupid ass name bc he’s a stupid ass guy. Basically started as a joke oc but i put him through the Horrors. he’s the malewife of all time.

Grew up the only hearing person in a deaf/hard of hearing household so he’s fluent in sign language. He joined squidbeak when he was like 16 mostly bc he was a MASSIVE FUCKING LOSER with a huge ego who wanted the attention. Now he has Trauma and hates his teen self more than anything. (The egotistical little white kid phase is like, a rite of passage in his family. His little sister is still in that phase.) Now that he’s mellowed out hes just a sopping wet cat. Dating cece and is obsessed with her + will do literally whatever she wants.

Hes a lot more talkative than canon 3, hes the kind of guy who copes with humor all the time. he tries to be cool and mysterious but hes really awkward and gets flustered or worked up super easily. He’s overall a pretty boring guy and thats his charm. She’s barbie and he’s just ken. etc etc.

Hes SO dad coded btw. He and cece have a daughter together, Yumi. Since he was young he spent a lot of time looking after his little sister and he’s basically adopted his protege, neo3 (ikra). he makes me think of RTGame for reasons i could not describe to you, it’s just the energy somehow. He’s my babygirl. My little meow meow if you will (Cece voice)

Victoria Mendoza, she/her, 25 yrs, aka Tori. SHE is the fucked up one. Literally doomed by the narrative. Eye love her.

She comes from a long line of elite soldiers and was a child prodigy, but also the Problem Child. Got expelled from multiple schools for beating up other kids. from a young age she’s been incredibly critical of the octarian society and she was basically your average teen rebel. into alt music/fashion, incredibly vocal about her distaste for the system, fairly closed off with a cold exterior. the only person she truly cared for was Seo-Mi (Cece).

Seo-Mi was quiet and sweet and generally pretty average academically, so she didn’t have nearly as much pressure on her to succeed compared to Tori. the two were childhood friends and teenage lovers. The only ones who truly matched each others freak if you will. When they were little girls they used to dream of escaping to the surface together. this changed when they were about sixteen years old.

the most important thing to know about tori is that she is a pessimist and at her core a Coward. She’s all bark and no bite. She’ll scream her hatred of authority from the rooftops but immediately crumble at the sight of her leader. and as she got older and officially entered her career, she lost hope. she determined the surface wouldn’t have anything more for her than the domes did. she became complacent, while Seo-Mi, who had previously been more neutral, had heard the inkantation and only become more determined to leave the domes.

The two desperately tried to change each other’s minds but they were far too stubborn. both of them were crushed by the supposed “betrayal” of their beloved. Inevitably Seo-Mi left for the surface, eventually being taken in to Kamabo Co. while tori stayed behind to rot.

Since Seo-Mi left, tori became more bitter than ever before. she turns her focus to her career, and her family, but she never truly moves on from the loss. Unfortunately, Cece did. Cece met someone else, she’s started a family, she has a completely new name. she’s essentially a new person. and Tori is still the same.

Canonically i don’t think they would ever meet again and actually recognize each other, but i like to play with the idea sometimes bc if they did they would Hate each other. Tori is completely incapable of accepting that her Seo-Mi has moved on. She is clinging on to a version of someone that doesn’t exist anymore. tori is a deeply self destructive person and will never move on in any sense of the word. Sad!

Also this is Yumi. Age varies but shes like. Very young toddler as of the current timeline. She’s cece and kyle’s favorite surprise (Accident). They’re both freaks and shes the consequences of their actions. She and smollusk have playdates together. She’s obsessed with off the hook but doesn’t realize that her weird lesbian aunts pearl and marina are the same people. She’s baby

[blueberrymocha]

hii! I love ur hcs i don’t want to is fandom to die either LOL! Could i pls request main four x reader slow dancing hcs?

main 4 slow dancing head canons ⑅⋆˚✿˖°༉‧₊˚.

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ׂ╰┈➤ fluff

➢ characters: gon, killua, kurapika, leorio

➢ word count: 562

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

gon

✯ this boy is such a ball of energy

✯ so he’d love to dance with you anytime

✯ and while he’s not particularly skilled at more formal dancing,

✯ he knows the general motions so he wouldn’t mess up too much

✯ while you’re dancing, he’ll talk every now and then in a soft voice about anything

✯ like the time he danced around the living room with aunt mito

✯ or what you two should do tomorrow

✯ he’s also gonna praise you regardless of how good you are

“woah y/n! i didn’t know you were such a great dancer.”

✯ as you step on his foot…

killua

✯ you’re gonna have to do some crazy things to get him on the dance floor with you

✯ he just never learned how to dance and doesn’t wanna look silly

✯ but if you’re completely alone and beg him for hours… he’ll give in

✯ hopefully you have some prior experience because you’re gonna be guiding him through the whole thing

✯ honestly he’s never even seen people slow dance

✯ but luckily, he’s already fluid and a quick learner so he’ll pick it up eventually

✯ although he’s not putting in a ton of effort so he does mess up a few times

“you’re doing that part wrong, it goes like this.”

“then why’d you teach me the wrong way?”

✯ when you probably taught it correctly and he just wasn’t paying attention

✯ once you’re done, he’ll tell you how he’s never doing this again, you’re the worst teacher he’s ever had, and now you owe him

✯ but you’re pretty sure it wasn’t as bad as he makes it out to be

kurapika

✯ he’s actually quite good at ballroom dancing

✯ neon probably dragged him to one too many formal events before he decided to learn

✯ but after a long day at work, it’d take a lot of convincing to get him to dance around for the fun of it

“love, you know i’m tired.”

“you’re always tired, just humor me once please.”

✯ unfortunately he has a hard time saying no to you

✯ don’t feel too guilty though because he enjoyed it a lot

✯ the two of you holding one another in comfortable silence, moving to the same rhythm, gazing into each other’s eyes

✯ any negative feelings he had that day completely dissipate

✯ eventually, he comes to a stop, laying his head on yours (or on your neck if you’re taller), giving you a quiet thank you and smile

leorio

✯ he’s not good at dancing, honestly i wouldn’t even ask

✯ on top of that, he’s very stiff and it just doesn’t come natural to him

“you know i’m horrible at dancing, don’t you?”

✯ he’d definitely preface with that, but if you don’t mind, neither does he

✯ and after putting on some music from the seventies, the two of you dance around your living room

✯ you might have to stop occasionally to reteach him a move, but he’s a good sport about it

✯ and good at applying your criticisms

✯ so who knows, maybe he’s half decent by the time you’re done with him

✯ at the end of the night, you joke about entering a competition

✯ and really, he wouldn’t mind dancing in public next time, as long as you’re having fun

[thenyoumightaswellwrestleangels]

I'm not me anymore (and maybe you're not you)

love is not designed for the cynical - series masterlist here

pairing: jason todd x reader (gender neutral)

length: 1.6k

genre: hurt/comfort, angst (happy ending)

warnings: reader is almost mugged and has zero self-preservation instincts but everything works out, jason doesn't know how to handle being in love, lots of talk of reader grieving jason after his death but it's fine because he's back, reader is vaguely / generally physically unwell

a/n: is this too similar to my dick grayson story? probably but we'll all just have to deal with that, tell me you still like it or I'll cry

It's late - too late for someone like you to be outside in Gotham. But sleep was hard to come by for you and working through the night meant regular trips to the bodega around the corner. You walked back to your apartment complex slowly, stepping one foot pointedly in front of the other as you sipped your energy drink. 

You heard Jason's voice in your head as you walked, slipping into an alley that provided a handy shortcut. 'Avoid the back alleys,' he'd said. 'I want you to be safe.'

And then you died, you thought bitterly. And now you're here but you won't actually be here for me and I had to learn to keep myself safe. And, my god, I'm tired of being safe.

Maybe it was stupid, the way you slouched against the brick wall and took a swig of your drink as the man stood in front of you, knife blade gleaming in the darkness and voice spitting threats and not-so requests for your money. 

You didn't even have a chance to respond, though, before Redhood himself dropped down behind him and put him down.

Jason. Jason. Jason.

But it wasn't Jason who walked towards you, you thought wearily. It was Redhood. And he was angry.

"You didn't even wait for the fun part," you drawled and his fists clenched.

"I'm walking you home," he said gruffly before turning and stomping down the alley, leaving you to follow him.

The two of you stopped by the entrance of your apartment building and you looked up at him, waiting for him to either talk or flee.

"You know you shouldn't be out this late. You're being reckless," he says stiffly.

"I want to talk to you," you respond. "Properly… preferably when I can see your face."

"I'm… working right now."

"Well yes," you sigh, "but presumably you stop at some point. Come by after. Please. I'll only ask you for this one thing." He straightens at that, a surprised sort of gesture, before reaching his hand towards you as if to cup your cheek the way he so often used to. He seemed to think better of it halfway through, though, as he let his hand drop back to his side.

"You can always ask me for what you need. I'm here. I'll… I'll be here."

"So be here. Whenever you're done, come by. I'll be awake." You don't let him respond to that, slipping through the door of your building and pointedly not looking back.

Just as you'd promised, by the time Redhood is standing on your balcony tapping gently on the glass, you're still awake. You look up from your laptop and gesture for him to come in, and he does, pulling his helmet off and sliding the glass door closed behind him before pointedly locking it.

"You shouldn't leave that unlocked. Anyone could get in here," he scolds as he comes to stand in front of you, eyeing the way you sit straight-backed on your couch.

You shrug. "It doesn't bother me." Jason opens his mouth to respond as his fists clench, and your eyes flicker to the duffle bag he has slung across his shoulder.

"You can shower first if you want," you say, nodding your head towards your hall. "I'm in no rush." Jason doesn't move, though. He stands, his eyes tracing over you silently in a way that makes you lean back from his gaze.

"You haven't slept yet?" he asks.

"Neither have you," you shoot back. He huffs and tightens his grip on the helmet in his hand.

"I'll be quick," is all he offers before stomping down your hallway towards your bathroom.

Sure enough, it's not long before he's padding back into your living room, t-shirt and sweats replacing his Redhood gear and hair damp and curling. You close your laptop and set it on the coffee table when he comes in, sitting across from you on the couch.

"Should I start?" you say quietly. "Or do you want to?"

"I'm sorry," he offers gently, and you feel the air leave your lungs a bit. "I'm sorry I didn't come for you when I got back. I'm sorry you had to be the one to call Bruce and find out what happened from him. I just…"

"It's ok, Jay." Your smile is small and sad and makes Jason's fingers twitch in an effort not to reach for you. "I left. I never expected you to chase me. And I didn't… I took my time coming back, you know. It's ok."

"Are you… back?" Jason asks tentatively, shifting where he sits. "Are you staying?"

You shrug. "I bought an apartment, didn't I?"

"That's not an answer."

"Well, I didn't call you here to talk about my life plans."

"What do you want to talk about, then?"

"I just… want to know what you want from me?"

"What?" Jason asks, bewilderment clear in his voice. "What do you mean?"

"Come on, Jay," you sigh. "I know you're around, watching me, looking out for me. But… I've been back in Gotham for a month and that's all you've done. I just want to know what you want."

Jason sights, a little oh escaping his lips as he slumps down into the couch cushions. 

"Nothing changed for me," he explains quietly, keeping his eyes trained on the empty space between the two of you. "There was you, always, and then I died. I came back… and it was still you. It wasn't… it hadn't been three years for me. Not really."

"I understand," you soothe gently.

"But - for you it was. For you, three years had passed and your boyfriend was dead and you moved away and I - I had to assume that was so you could build a new life for yourself and… I was there. I heard you on the phone that night with Bruce, saying you missed Gotham with or without me." You inhale sharply at Jason's words and he looks at you with big eyes.

"Hey, no -" he says quickly. "I'm not mad, baby. Never. I'm never mad at you. I just… I thought maybe you'd moved on. It would make sense for you to move on. But then you came back and I saw you and…" Jason trails off, looking you up and down again and you can't help but shrink back ever so slightly, aware of the ways in which you'd deteriorated since he'd been gone.

"I was just so worried about you," he continued. "I wanted to look out for you, that's all. I understand if you've moved on and don't love me anymore - really, I do. But I… I still love you. And I just - I want you to be safe. That's all."

You stare at him after that, letting him shift around in apprehension while your eyes get wide and your bottom lip trembles.

"Oh, Jason," you whisper before reaching out to him. He makes a small, alarmed sound at the tears that have begun dripping down your cheeks and pulls himself towards you instead of letting you reach out into empty space. His heart thumps painfully in his chest as he considers just how many times over the past three years you reached out into nothing, wishing he was there for you to hold on to.

"Hey…" he says gently as you pull him closer, hands fisting his t-shirt and face buried in his neck. He smoothes a hand over your hair and wraps the other around your waist, anchoring you to him as he feels hot tears on his skin where your face is pressed against him.

"You're an idiot," you mumble against him and he huffs out a quiet laugh. You pull away from him and he reluctantly lets you, holding your hips tightly as you stare at him, cupping his face firmly in your hands to make sure he looks at you.

"There was never an after you, Jay," you say, voice warbling slightly with more unshed tears. "It was always, always you. Forever. I'm… I'm sorry I ran away." 

"Well," Jason drawls, but you don't miss the thickness in his own voice and the way his eyes blink back tears. "In your defence, people usually stay dead longer than I did." You huff at that, a smile twitching against the corners of your mouth as you lean back into him. You bury your face back into his neck and hum appreciatively as his arms wrap back around you, holding you tightly to him.

"I'm sorry for acting like that in the alley," you murmur against his skin and he drops a kiss on the top of your head.

"Don't apologize for that, baby. You always have been tough on the outside."

"Yea but you did all that work to get through it when we first got together," you whined. "Now it's gone."

"No way," Jason responds lightly. "This, right here," he continues as he tightens his arms around you, "this is it, sweetheart. And besides… nothing would make me happier than getting to know you again."

"Yea?" your voice is cautious in a way that makes Jason tenderly pull your head away from his neck so he can press kisses across your face.

"Yea," he says sweetly. "Neither of us are the people we used to be, and we both know that. It'll take some time for us to relearn each other."

"Yea," you sigh. "I guess it will."

"Aw, cheer up baby," he says gently. "This is the good part. How lucky is it that we get to do it all over again, huh?"

"Yea," you say, the faintest hint of a laugh leaving your lip and making Jason's heart swell in his chest. "It's nice to have this back."

"Yea it is baby," Jason agrees as he cups your cheek in one of his hands, guiding your lips to his. "It's nice to have this back."

[blackpearlblast]

hey, if my ask is insensitive or simply too much work/you dont want to give your opinion/energy thats ok, and im sorry for bothering you if it is. ive seen many jewish people say "from the river to the sea" is a dogwhistle/generally antisemitic phrase to use, but you used it in your golem art's text part(incredibly moving text btw.) im asking you bc you mentioned youre jewish and i thought you might have insight or thoughts to give on why you use it/what you think about the first statement about the phrase?

hi, yes, i would be glad to talk about my perspective on this! first of all, i do want to say that i think a lot of palestinian bloggers have already talked about this and their voices will always be what you want to seek out first when educating yourself. however, i do know the crowd of people claiming that "from the river to the sea" is antisemitic/genocidal has been very loud so i understand why you would want to hear a jewish perspective on it too. second, in order to explain why i think "from the river to the sea" is not antisemitic will involve me comparing it to actual antisemitic, nazi slogans and dogwhistles and talking about what they mean. so just a heads up for that before it comes up.

the full phrase is "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free!" i think a lot of times in accusations of antisemitism people leave off the second half of the phrase in order to claim it is calling for something else to happen from river to sea (like the expulsion or execution of all jews.) but that's just like, not, ever, a thing? that is said? you can tell the pieces of the phrase go together because they rhyme and also are said together by palestinians and allies near constantly. it's "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free." and i think all of the fearmongering relies on a good bit of ambiguity beyond that too. "what does a 'free palestine' mean? could it meant they want to throw all the jews into the sea?" - some zionist when i tried to look up the origin of the phrase in case there was anything really important i was missing that i should cover in this. there's like this idea that they can't really be asking for a free palestine, there has to be some kind of catch.

i think it's also important to look at the circumstances that this slogan was born under. the thing about modern day palestine and occupied palestine, on which israel tries to build itself, is that even though spatially the land stretches from river to sea, the people's experience of it does not. because of the apartheid system of checkpoints, ID-based restriction of movement, and blockades (in the case of gaza), there exist great gulfs in the land that are impossible or near impossible for people to cross. there can be a place a couple miles away, that due to lacking the "proper credentials", is more distant for palestinians living under apartheid than perhaps a destination a cross-country trip away would be for you. so i see the call for a free palestine specifically "from river to sea" to remove those gulfs and allow freedom of movement for everyone. i find very little of this has to do with jews, personally. the only connection is that the people who set up and maintain this system of apartheid happened to be jewish. and i hope that we would all agree that resisting one's oppressors- even if those oppressors are also marginalized and oppressed in other ways- is not a bad thing.

but it is true that many white supremacist/antisemitic slogans may focus more on the creation of a (white) nation than actually the jews themselves, since they have already established among themselves that a white nation has to mean no jews. so let's look at some of the more famous nazi rallying cries and how different they are from "from the river to the sea."

the fourteen words are most primarily known to be "we must secure the existence of our people and a future for white children." wow! i guess we could find some superficial similarities between this and river and the sea, like if we really wanted to stretch it. but personally, there's a ton of alarm bells in my head that this phrase sets off while river to the sea doesn't. the emphasis of "we" and "our" when used in this way really implies an us versus them narrative. and here the ambiguity really is present and malevolent! a "free palestine" is a palestine unrestricted by apartheid and colonialism. a "secure existence" and "future for white children" is uhhh, what does that Mean. like, we Know what that means right. but they aren't saying it. we can very easily find people saying what a free palestine means if we listen to palestinians. please, please listen to palestinians. there are so many people talking about what their idea of a decolonized palestine looks like, but the basics are generally one state, for all people, with equal rights for all, and the ability for those who were expelled from their homes in the nakba and all of the many long years following it, to return.

"blood and soil" is even vaguer. but thankfully(?), nazis were very enthusiastic about explaining what the phrase meant to them. "blood" is the superior aryan bloodlines and eugenic values that they wished to propagate and the "soil" represents the land of germany and the desire to "reject modernity and embrace tradition" by leaving urban life behind and living in the idealized countryside. (see we got a twofer here!) the only possible connection i could make to from the river to the sea here is the emphasis on the land but that on its own doesn't feel significant to me. land and the place where you live is very important to all kinds of humans all over the world. and i think another particular aspect of "blood and soil" is the emphasis of how you are living on the land. it's not just enough to be able to live in your homeland with freedom of movement and the ability not to be killed with impunity by occupying soldiers (lucky you!), you want to live there in a state of racial purity exemplified by eugenic values. in general, in nazi slogans, there is a particular fixation with a society shaped to represent these specific values. the call is not for freedom from repression, from an actual occupying colony, but instead from the considered bad actors and impure values coming from within their society. freedom from having degenerates sullying their perfect aryan nation. there is a plea to be able to get rid of those who do not match their view of a perfect society. the plea for a free palestine is, so much, a plea to be able to keep their family members, their friends, the friendly stranger down the block. that is not a fascist ideology, that is the will to live. and though i am referring to the ideology surrounding "blood and soil" in past tense because i am referencing the coining of the phase, these sentiments and slogans are obviously (and unfortunately) alive and well today. though, there is a particular irony to white american neo-nazis chanting it on stolen land.

"they will not replace us"/"jews will not replace us" refers to the "great replacement" theory, that jews are orchestrating a mass replacement of white people with immigrants (specifically non-white, often muslim immigrants.) i do not think this slogan has even any superficial similarities to from the river to the sea. you could definitely compare this sentiment to israel's attempts to maintain an artificial ethnic majority, since in many ways the potential "solution" to the "great replacement" would also need to involve creating/maintaining an artificial ethnic majority. (this is obviously not saying that israel subscribes to the great replacement theory, but that the tactic of maintaining artificial ethnic majorities is shared between zionism and great replacement theorists, since both ideologies rely on a specific ethnicity being the majority in their country.)

dogwhistles like 88, triple parenthesis, etc. rely on being vague symbols so that only those who know what the symbols stand for know what they mean. (88=HH=heil hitler, the triple parentheses representing the supposed (((echoes))) of jewish influence throughout history.) "from the river to the sea, palestine will be free" is a complete phrase that directly names its cause. people who say "free palestine" want you to know they stand with palestine. i guess if you wanted to be going for the most bad faith reading possible you could say "free palestine from what?", to which every palestinian and everyone who has been remotely paying attention to what palestinians are saying would shout: "from apartheid, colonialism, ethnic cleansing, and currently, very open and deliberate genocide!" like, it is true that if you felt you did not glean every aspect and detail of what the people in the occupied territories are calling for, you would be correct! but they are answering this. they want to talk about it. the reason i do not believe from the river to the sea is genocidal or antisemitic is because i have been reading and listening to what palestinians are saying and none of them have said they want to kill all jews. they do not want genocide, they want to go home! they just want to go home. i don't know most of this was written pretty tongue in cheek because i was talking about nazi slogans and nazis are pathetic and even more pathetic when held up against a movement of people who are legitimately trying to fight against a great wrong that was committed against them, but i just get so sad saying this. they just want to go home. haven't you ever felt that way before?

in the end, words mean things, and even more importantly, the contexts they're said in mean things. and while it's true that antisemites do hide behind dogwhistles and vague statements for plausible deniability, the alternative meaning does have to actually be established somewhere for them to be effective. from the river to the sea lacks an established alternative meaning. fearmongering from people who refuse to listen to what palestinians are actually saying does not make sense to me as legitimate definitions of the phrase.

also!!!! i'm sorry this got so Fucking long, thank you if you actually made it this far! i intentionally used "from the river to the sea" in my artists statement because it frustrates and upsets me so much to see people making such a big fuss about it when actual antisemitism goes unpunished. like a lot of the phrases i talk about here were chanted at the charlottesville neo-nazi march in 2017 and while many people were deeply upset and angry at what happened, the jewish community was not rallied around even Close to as much as it right now. and with joe biden saying "if it weren't for israel, not a single jew in the world would be safe" at a fucking hanukkah celebration i just. i don't know. the push back against "from the river to the sea" has so much to do with backing colonial and imperial interests and so so little to do with our actual safety. the concept of our identities and safety is being weaponized against palestinians, and at the same time makes it harder to identify actual antisemitism. and that hurts.

[bugs1nmybrain]

Bipolar!Shigaraki Tomura Headcanons

I'm writing it. Because I CAN

Before I start, I am writing these headcanons as someone who has been diagnosed with Bipolar Type 1 for almost three years now. I frankly could not care less if people don't think he has Bipolar Disorder, I'm writing this for my comfort and that of others who either have Bipolar disorder or just resonate with the idea that Tomura does.

and I'm also very aware of Bipolar Disorder being stigmatized as something that affects "bad" people. I'm not trying to suggest this, but that Tomura is someone who is neglected of treatment.

Warning: Bipolar disorder as title suggests (Tomura's symptoms relate to type 1 more), talks of depression, mania, psychosis, suicidality, etc, angst?

Tomura has never been given a formal diagnosis and likely has no clue that he has bipolar disorder himself. He doesn't know much about it, either, other then the stereotype that people with general mood swings are "so bipolar."

The doctor knows, AFO does too, but for them, they see it as more ammo for their arsenal to make sure Tomura's life is nothing but agony. He's never been treated with medications or therapy. Nothing.

Because he isn't medicated, his episodes are pretty strong. His manic episodes sort of blend in with his everyday behavior to a lot of people.

It's during this time that he finds himself planning out grand operations against the heroes. Some of his ideas seem unrealistic and not well thought out. They're more just ideas thrown around, and he jumps to gather people and means to carry out his goal before actually having a calculated plan.

He's up all night doing this. But if he's not, he's likely gaming. He huddles up in his room with multiple cans of energy drinks (as if he didn't already have way too much energy).

(semi-canon) will text his comrades at godforsaken hours either asking, demanding, or just rambling about stuff. If he gets an answer, the recipient often finds themself confused because Tomura just talks and talks and talks, and when he's in the heat of some plan or project he doesn't really stop to compose his sentences or even take a damn breath.

He impulsively buys things, like copious amounts of in-game purchases. Or DoorDash. If he's feeling reeeaaal bold he'll go for a whole-ass gaming console if he can, even if his current one is perfectly fine. Or assembling as many thugs as he can and feeling generous enough to overpay them when they definitely don't need the amount of money he's giving them.

You can see how when AFO was arrested, his lifestyle shifted in this regard.

Tomura is already an irritable guy, and so his mania can make it worse. He gets very overstimulated with all of his sensations that little things, like accidentally stubbing his toe, can make him mad as fuck for a good thirty minutes.

He also gets very paranoid about others. When he talks to people, he's already convinced that they are tricking him somehow and he'll read every cue he can to confirm it, even if the proof isn't even there.

Even when he's out in public and by himself, he thinks everyone is mocking, judging, and looking at him. That also comes with being the most wanted villain around, but that's beside the point.

When something finally goes his way, he is HAPPY. Sometimes the League will catch Tomura smiling his face off for no apparent reason (odd for him), and will ask what's up, only for Tomura to CACKLE back with, "ehehAHAH NOTHING!! THAT's just IT!"

They look at each other like, but just let him go about his day. They'll later hear him giggling to himself in his room, and sometimes talking to himself. He'll deny and just tell them he was on chat (his devices are not open and he is standing in the middle of his room).

Because he's not medicated, his mania can trickle into psychotic symptoms. Especially if he's going through more stress than typical. He hears voices that tell him mean things. Sometimes they're the voices of his dead family.

And because he doesn't sleep much, he sees detailed shadows and things moving that aren't. It disturbs him, but he accepts it and tries to just push on. But sometimes if he hears voices more than he'd like, he gets sad and has to grip his head and whisper "shut up shut up shut up" to negate them.

He's delusional, too. AFO's grooming and constant monitoring of his whole life have definitely emphasized his distrust of everything around him. Sometimes he'll think that the people he's gaming with online are secret hero spies trying to get him to reveal himself. He also has a fear that someone is watching him in every location, and he'll think that even the silliest things are cameras or microphones, or that those around him are also spies. Later on, it becomes paranoia that his master is everywhere.

Then comes the doom of depression

For Tomura, he's technically always depressed. But when he goes into a depressive episode, he's pretty lifeless.

He's complacent about his goals. Sometimes he'll get a tiny idea that makes his brain go !, but then he thinks of all the planning behind it and immediately slouches down on any nearby furniture

He'll lay in bed for a long period of time doing nothing. Sometimes he'll try to play a game on his phone but he gets bored quick.

Tends to eat more during this time because it's the only joy he can get. And he gets bored. He is SO BORED

Anhedonia is a bitch

His brain dwells and rambles, yet his thoughts don't make sense to him? He's constantly thinking about how fucked up his life is, how better other villains are, and how much he hates All Might and heroes altogether. He tells himself that if it wasn't for all of that he wouldn't feel this way (relating to the depressive episode).

It overwhelms him and he tries to sleep it off, but he's somehow so depressed that he's UNCOMFORTABLE. His itching gets bad.

He is very suicidal during this time and hurts himself to try and subside it. If you asked him his reason for living, he'd tell you "to see this world crumble." But he's too busy crumbling in his bed.

Psychotic symptoms can occur during his depression, too. Especially if he hasn't slept.

His lack of medication usually causes him to swap back to mania somewhat soon (2 months or so). He definitely has rapid cycles.

Because his condition isn't managed, his brain is sort of in an in-an-out stance when it comes to his literal sanity. He has moments where he can definitely be level-headed (he gets rrly confident when he notices it) but when his anger and stress fuel him more than usual, he spirals and quite literally sees red. Sometimes he can't even tell if he's dreaming or not. Often mistakes the date and day of the week.

:(

I might write a fic of the reader comforting bipolar tomura. I don't think I've ever seen a fic like that for any character.

[loserlesbianlottie]

hey rosie!!! i was wondering if you could write some fluff cuddling with travnat and they’re just liek… “fighting” for reader’s attention? thank you and i admire your work too much! keep going <3

hey luiza!! of course, and thank you sm for your kind words ^^ if you end up not liking this lmk and i’ll write a new version!!

Cuddlebug

travis martinez x reader x natalie scatorccio, fluff and general silliness, i gave the teddybear the most stupid name possible im so sorry, established relationship, probably modern au?

You’ve been exhausted lately. Between studying for midterms and trying to keep up with your extracurriculars, you have a lot on your plate, so you’re super excited to hang out with your boyfriend and girlfriend. Being around them always rejuvenates you, filling you with happy energy and a warm, content heart. You’re roused from your sappy thoughts when you hear a small whisper argument. Calling it an argument is quite generous; you’re not sure what to call it other than plain stupid.

“Travis, stop hogging them,” Nat exclaims, trying (and failing) to keep her voice to a whisper.

“How the hell do you ‘hog’ a person?” Travis asks, voice similarly low.

“I don’t know,” Nat counters, “Tell me how you’re doing it.”

“Oh, haha,” Travis sarcastically says, although you’re sure that it's accompanied by his stupid smirk, the one that makes both yours and Nat’s hearts flutter. Nat must punch him in the shoulder playfully if his annoyed “Ow!” is anything to go by.

“Children,” you mumble, stifling a yawn, “Please stop fighting.”

They both pause, although you can tell they're laughing by how their chests rise and fall against your front and back. A dopey smile makes its way onto your face, and you snuggle further into whoever is holding you at the moment.

“See?” Travis asks, “They like being held by me. It's not my fault!”

Your eyes fluttered open with an annoyed grimace, and you untangled yourself from Travis' embrace, shifting into Nat's arms.

“Wha-!”

“No one likes a sore winner, Travis,” you mutter, rubbing blearily at your eyes.

“Ha! Take that, Martinez!”

You stare at Nat, completely deadpan, as you push yourself out of her arms and gently cuddle your childhood teddy bear very close. You make a show of sighing happily in the arms of someone who isn’t boasting. They both gasp in mock offense.

"Natalie," Travis says with a fake stony look on his face, his eyes narrowing in disbelief.

"Travis," Nat replies, a look of horror painting her features as she shakes her head in disbelief.

"We just lost to a stuffed animal," Travis mutters, his voice tinged with frustration and amusement.

"That we did... that we did," Nat responds, a wry smile playing at the corner of her lips as she tries to hide her subtle laughter.

You laugh silently while they mutter unhappily, cheeks flushed and face sore from smiling. They both pout, whining about how they’ve lost their partner to another man, which makes you laugh harder. They’re both chuckling, too, with silly smiles on their faces. You feel the urge to kiss them both senseless, but it’ll have to wait. You have a point to prove, after all.

“What can I say?” You ask with a smirk, “He has been in my life longer than both of you...”

Nat snorts at this while Travis throws his hand over his heart as if it’s just shattered.

“You know, Trav, I didn't take Mr. Snugglesworth to be such a homewrecker.”

“Me neither,” Travis agrees. “I fear there’s only one way to get our partner back…”

Nat nods sagely at this while you laugh airily. Honestly, you have no idea what they're about to do, but you know it'll be enjoyable, whatever it is. They take your moment of weakness as an opening, descending upon you and kissing all over your face, your neck, your shoulders…anywhere their lips can reach, really. Your smile grows wider with each kiss.

“Are we forgiven?” Travis asks with his best puppy-dog-eyes. Nat follows suit, giving you her best wounded-kitten look.

“I suppose,” you trail off and place Mr. Snugglesworth on the ground. “Sorry, buddy. I’ll hug you later.”

You catch Travis glaring at the bear and Nat mimicking a neck-slitting motion at it, which only makes you laugh more.

[skynapple]

Hi! Sorry to bother you but could you tell us (me) the plot of Love and Deepspace? I've seen a lot of tiktoks and tumblr post about the main 3 💦voice lines💦 but now I'm really interested about the plot of the game. I've only read about a Caleb dying in an explosion, Zayne seeing mc die in every timeline (?) and Rafayel being a Lemurian but I still don't know the contexts. I'm asking because I can't spend money on the game so I have no idea. Thank you in advance!!!

*cracks knuckles* Alright Anon.

This story is SO, so rich and deep and I can't even begin to cover it but I will try to be as thorough yet brief as I can for people who are interested!

TL;DR:

In a futuristic earth, the audience plays as a new hero in a world of alien invaders. When a sudden tragedy occurs, the world is revealed to be far darker than previously thought, and evil forces seem to be at play behind the scenes. Seeking the truth, our protagonist begins to investigate on her own.

On the outside, the story is about a heroine's journey, and also the internal struggle in seeking revenge and how far she'll go to find answers.

It's really about time loops, alternate universes colliding, and how far will you go for the one you love.

I'm going JUST off the main plot here not the myths or too far into the side stories and trying to avoid the in-game jargon:

About the three love interests in order of proximity to her:

Zayne:

Her childhood friend Zayne is introduced early on as her primary care physician and cardiologist. They spent 8 years apart and only recently reconnected. At this point in the story, he is the one she's closest given that history.

He is outwardly stoic but cares deeply not only about the MC but about people in general. This is widely noted by the hospital staff and patients you encounter.

He has an ice power that he uses sparingly and it's currently unknown whether or not it's because he doesn't have total control over it or because it causes him pain or...?

Secretly good at random things like he studied how to peel an apple perfectly in one go

Is shown to be very thoughtful. Always keeps candy around for MC (and his patients!) (they both have a sweet tooth problem)

Speedran med school (he's 27 good God)

Was a combat medic before taking up his current hospital residency

Plot-wise: he knows the most about MC's heart disease and a little about the evil forces who might be seeking to capture her? To me its obvious he may know a lot more than he lets on but he might be withholding to protect her

Xavier:

Xavier is introduced as a mysterious fellow hunter and colleague who is very powerful. They have odd run-ins and she's initially suspicious of him until his employment and position are confirmed by her supervisor, who seems to trust him greatly. Xavier is very knowledgeable about the antagonist's group (Onychinus, lead by the antagonist named Sylus) and what they are seeking. Proximity wise, he's her work partner and upstairs neighbor but it's unclear how much MC trusts him yet in the current plot.

Many things hint to him having lived a long, long time but his age is unconfirmed (he has mentioned he's around 23)

Has a light superpower, in that he can weaponize and control rays of light. Can also teleport.

Is probably definitely an alien

Has a secret alter-ego as a superhero vigilante called "Lumiere"

Is often shown needing to sleep to recover energy and finding out why killed me dead

Obviously knows more than he lets on

He's a bit standoffish with MC at first but this is revealed to be because he can't let her know too much and it's made clear he's very protective of her and shows up often to rescue her

Has a playful "play dumb" side

Rafayel:

Rafayel is a renown artist who is currently living in the same city. He's introduced as somewhat rude and maybe even arrogant. Because of his wealth and popularity, he's targeted by no-gooders and the MC is sent to investigate. She ends up being coerced into being his personal bodyguard-for-hire, in exchange for some information. Rafayel, too, knows more than he lets on and its clear very quickly that he is no ordinary artist. At this point, while they are friendly it's clear that he might be the person she trusts the least (just because she knows the least about him at this point and it's so, so obvious he's hiding a lot).

His paintings are implied to have occasional hypnotic abilities

Is obsessed with the ocean

His special power is fire and it can't be put out by water

Is older than MC

Its revealed to the audience but not MC that he is a Lemurian from the ancient and long gone civilization under the sea (not actually a merman but can and does take the form of one)

Has a strange work partner that may or may not be related to Onychinus but either way he's definitely involved in the underworld somehow

Initially comes off bratty, whiny, and demanding, seemingly thinking only of himself. Overall very over-dramatic

Has a lot of faith in MC for seemingly having just "met her"

Lore-wise: his backstory is very, very deep, tragic, and intriguing where you learn the brattiness is somewhat of an act

The Myths:

Each love interest has an equivalent "mythical" story self, either long, long in the past, long in the future, or simply an alternate world altogether. There's no official word yet on whether they're all connected, or if the myths truly happened. The myths at least add layers and layers to the love interest's personalities and interactions with the MC, at least in showing their deep care and also how they conduct themselves in different circumstances. In each myth, the MC is known to either be romantically involved or wanting to be romantically involved with the corresponding love interest. In all of the myths, the MC has the same heart disease. All the myths have tragic endings.

Rafayel: a former sea god

Xavier: an immortal prince

Zayne: a cursed demigod

About the MC:

The version of her in the main story was adopted by her grandmother-like figure (but no confirmation of true relation) alongside her adoptive brother, Caleb. They fit into the mix for only a brief moment in the story and both die tragically early on in an explosion. This being the event that shakes her world and sets her off on her journey to seek truth of what secrets her grandmother may have been hiding.

Can reincarnate

She's shown to be headstrong, determined, diligent, and a little mischievous.

Her superpower is "resonance" which. I'm still... a little lost on what that means altogether. We do know that she can "connect" and "enhance" other things so in the gameplay by "resonating" with the love interests' powers she can enhance their abilities and make them stronger and maybe even mirror them(??). Don't quote me on this. Anytime she does something I'm like "okk?? I guess she can do that now??"

Her heart is Broken™️ in that she has some kind of disease that only exists in that world. Something struck her heart in a catastrophe when she was young and is now just... lodged itself in there.

Whatever is lodged in her heart is what the evil group (and literally everyone) is seeking.

It's somewhat obvious in the plot that her power is actually going to be crazy OP and strong and that "Only She Has The Power To Save Us All" type of trope

Has a mischievous side

When she wants something, come hell or highwater she's gonna get it

Currently does not have feelings for any of the love interests in the main plot

There you have it!

There's so many layers, so much to uncover, but the main plot is relatively simple so far. The gameplay is fun, and easy. Apparently its similar to Genshin Impact but I've never played that so I can't say!

There's a ton of content on Youtube so if you ever have more questions pls pls bother me I will be glad to send a link or explain more things! My brainrot is spinning so bad.

[muscle-red]

𓂃꒰ GENERAL’S ORDERS ꒱𓂃

* Warnings: amab body, Fae reader, Reader is referred to with I/You, etc, Yuu is a separate person, Reader kinda an OC, a long plot, slow burn, Spoilers if You haven’t read book 7.

* Word count: 1009

A/N: This has been in my head for some time. There will be smut just not in Part one. Hopefully will make more parts.

┆ Lilia Vanrouge/ General Vanrouge x Male Reader ┆Part 1

+18 MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Being In the middle of the woods should’ve been a red flag as soon as you opened your eyes Cause One second, You were At NRC then the next You were at a random forest being aimed at with weapons. I mean at least you were with People.

You glanced at the group surrounding you and the people with you. Yeahhh the odds weren’t looking so well.

Silver. The boy You never really interacted with. He was sorta Hard to talk to. His face gave off the impression that he didn’t want to be disturbed. He look quite Approachable when sleeping but why would You wake up a sleeping person? You noticed he did it a lot and I mean A Lot. Maybe he had narcolepsy? You never thought much of it. I mean why would you, You never talk to the boy so it isn’t any of your business.

You then glanced at the other green haired male within your group.

Sebek.

What a loud mouth he was. You often catch him yelling in the hallways and seemingly having a strong harden expression on his face whenever he made eye contact with everyone in class. He was a first year so you guys had most of your classes together while the other silver haired boy was a second year. They were both in your dorm last time you checked. You would think being in the same dorm would mean you guys knew each other really well but in this case? not really.

Then finally Your eyes met the other Person in your group. Yuu. A magic less student that seemingly appeared out of thin air. No home, no family. You kinda felt bad for them. Imagine having nothing and being in a mysterious place with No Knowledge of anything. Now that was a total nightmare. They were a first year as well as you interacted with them on some occasions so you were familiar with their Situation and Arrangements. They were nice from what you can tell but the other 2 were a mystery.

You then Took your eyes off the random group that seemed to have roped you in some kinda crazy situation and finally looked at the people with masks and weapons that were obviously wanting you guys dead. They all wore different masks with seemingly different animals.

One stood up and Made way to your group. They were on the shorter side and had long black locks with red highlights. How pretty. You always liked the color red.

You couldn’t see their eyes nor face but you can tell they were studying your group’s movements.

“ HUMANS!-“ Another in a mask screeched.

He was taller than the one studying you and had a mask related to a fox due to the Snout on his mask. His sword was raised as if ready to strike us any moment where we stood however before he could, The shorter one raised his hand and turned away from our group to stare the other one down, well he tried to.

“ You fools… Take a closer look at the energy around them. They have been blessed by our people. They are not the enemy.”

His voice was deep and familiar.

“Blessed…? Who are you…?”

“However, they still raise suspicion.” He ignored Silver’s question and turned away from his comrade. He had quite a big sword compared to his small body and it Was a beautiful shade of green.

Sebek’s eye’s widen when his eyes made contact with it.

“A magical lithic…!?”

“Quiet, Human. You are not to speak.” The Black haired masked figure Said, once again shutting down Whatever we had to say.

The rest of the group with them looked down upon us and started Yelling out questions expecting us to explain every single one.

“Who are you children? Answer me.”

“Speak now if you do not wish to get hurt.”

Yuu’s cat, Grim, which you now noticed was here Started struggling and proceeded to yell out about not wanting to be eaten and you couldn’t agree more.

“W-we mean no harm. We are just students from a magic school!”

Sebek was able to Stammer out and you couldn’t be more grateful. Your voice just seemed to disappear and couldn’t say anything so for once, you were grateful for Sebek’s voice.

“We’re from Night Raven College, We have our IDs with us if you’d like to check!”

Great thinking yuu!

“Night Raven College, you say…?”

“Yes, from the Sage’s Island…”

“I’ve already said I’m not interested in a school founded by humans!, You wish to “teach” me magic when all your lot can do are childish tricks? Sending in lackeys as if the letters weren’t enough. How absurd. You really think you have anything you can teach me? Don’t look down on me, brats.”

“Ehh??? We never said anything! Where is this coming from!? “

Oh god, why did you have to say that. You couldn’t help but Facepalm in your head. Great thinking *Reader*.

“N-No, we’re-”

“I’ve got my hands full dealing with those pesky Silver Owls. I don’t have time to play your silly games.” He cut silver off once again and glared as if ready to just let his comrades kill us and move on.

“I’ll let you off just this once. Get out of here, humans.”

And with that, you guys took the opportunity to Run quite a distance away and blow off the Air that you guys so badly needed. It felt intoxicating being near strangers especially ones threatening you with weapons.

[saphronethaleph]

Visiting Time

The front door opened with a crash.

“Sonic!” a voice shouted. “You’re not getting away this time!”

Tails lifted his welding mask, and turned off the torch. Then he hopped out of his garage, and into the main living area of their house.

“Hi, Silver,” he said.

“Tails!” Silver replied, waving. “Great to see you again. Where’s Sonic? I’m here to pay him back for what he did!”

“He’s out at the moment, not sure where,” Tails replied, shrugging. “What did he do, exactly? There’s a lot of stuff it could be…”

“You mean he’s been doing a lot of stuff he needs to pay for?” Silver asked, going over to one of the sofas and sitting down.

Tails shrugged. “No, not really, but he’s done a lot of stuff, and a lot of that could get misinterpreted! That’s the way it usually works, like with the Iblis Trigger or when Shadow got mistaken for him.”

Silver frowned. “Iblis Trigger?”

“I don’t actually know myself, but my research turned up a note from myself!” Tails replied. “It was back last time we broke time… no, maybe the time before last time?”

He scratched his head, then shook it. “Anyway, Sonic isn’t the Iblis Trigger, I’m supposed to tell you that. How’s the future, by the way?”

“You know, same old, same old,” Silver said. “Hey, can I get a mug of cocoa?”

Tails blurred into the kitchen and began mixing some up. “So… post apocalypse?”

“That’s same old, same old, for you,” Silver concurred readily. “This time I guess it’s global warming?”

“Huh,” Tails frowned. “I was pretty sure my Ring Energy Generators would prevent that, by using clean energy instead of fossil fuels. Any specifics?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing to do with fossil fuels,” Silver shrugged. “When I said warming, I meant literally. Volcanic eruptions and lava and stuff.”

“Oh!” Tails said. “I guess we might need to talk to Chip and see if he knows what’s going on… so what do you think Sonic has done, exactly?”

Silver floated over the cocoa and took a sip. “Man, you’re good at that… anyway, he built a giant robot and was using it to attack people.”

Tails gave him a perplexed look.

“Okay, look,” Silver began. “I know that realistically speaking it was probably actually Eggman who did it. But you know Sonic, the best way to get him to help out is to challenge him to a battle and then work from there.”

“I have trouble arguing with that,” Tails said, flicking both his tails, then snapped his fingers. “Oh, hold on a minute! I have something I’ve been working on to try and help with this kind of thing!”

He scampered off into his workshop, and Silver shrugged before drinking some cocoa.

A minute or so later, Tails came back with an odd-looking contraption.

“This is a recent project!” Tails explained, flicking some switches, and a little generator thingummy began to spin faster and faster with an ascending whiiiiir sound. “Aaand… there we go!”

Silver leaned in to see what was going on.

“...so, what does it do, exactly?” he asked.

“It detects inconsistencies in the fabric of space and time!” Tails explained, both his namesake tails flicking back and forth. “I got the idea after Sonic told me about this one time where I never met him and I ended up making myself cyborg tails. And this other time where I was a pirate. And, well, all the other times we’ve messed with that kind of thing… anyway, it detects where parallel lines of time are resonating with our own timeline, and identifies the points where our own history is being driven off course, because a different world is leaking into our own through a micro-hole to a universe only a few picometres in the ana or kata direction.”

Silver frowned.

“I’m not exactly an expert on temporal mechanics, but that sounds extremely specific,” he said. “How could you possibly identify those?”

“Well, it was easy enough once I had a big enough sample set,” Tails shrugged. “Which took about a month. Anyway, uh… okay… there we go!”

He pointed to the screen. “See here? Your personal timeline intersects with Sonic’s timeline in about a week, and you’re carrying one of the Chaos Emeralds at the time. The… yellow one, I think.”

Silver rummaged in his quills, and brought out a blue Chaos Emerald. “The blue one, actually.”

“That must be it!” Tails declared. “You need to bring the yellow one instead, because otherwise you and Sonic are going to be trying to go Super with two blue Emeralds and no yellow one. Once you’ve done that, that should fix the timeline until the next time it breaks.”

“Huh,” Silver mused, draining the last of his cocoa. “I guess that makes sense… I’d better go and find the yellow one instead. And work out what to do with the few weeks I’ll get to enjoy being in a non post apocalypse.”

Tails gave him a thumbs-up. “No problem! This just shows the value of my P.L.O.T. hole detector!”

[darthrevan-lord-of-the-sith]

a worse foe

The blaster bold freezes in mid air, and Krell and the clones all stare at it as it crumbles to nothing.

"Fives," a voice, filtered through a voice modulator, says softly. "Take Dogma's blaster."

Lord Revan is standing at the entrance to the cellblock, tall and imposing and crackling with the energy they know as the Force. Fives takes the blaster from Dogma and unarms it, then tosses it aside. Dogma looks small at his side as Revan approaches, and lays a gloved hand on the side of his neck, thumb brushing just above where Dogma's blacks end.

"It's alright," Revan says softly, and leans forward slightly. Dogma meets him, resting his forehead against the cool, emotionless metal of Revan's helmet. "Fives, take your little brothers back to the barracks. Rex, can you stay?"

"Yes sir," Rex says. "Jesse? Kix?"

"We can stay, sir," the troopers answer.

"Good," Revan says, and everything is quiet as Fives gathers Tup and Dogma and heads to the barracks.

Once they're gone, the rumbling Rex has felt in the air becomes a roar, and then Krell is slammed against the wall.

"You don't scare me," Krell snarls. "You carry his name, but you are just a knight wearing old armour."

"Is that so?" Revan says, quiet. His hands go to the release clasps on his helmet, there's a hissing sound as the suit depressurises, and Revan lifts the helmet free.

It falls unceremoniously to the floor, and the sound echoes out across the room.

Rex sees Krell's throat contort as he swallows.

Revan's eyes are burning, flickering from red to gold to green, every line of his handsome face twisted in rage. His hands are clenched, muscles shaking, the Force roiling around him like a cloak. "You believe you can control the Dark?" Revan asks, and he pulls an unfamiliar lightsaber from inside his robes. "You believe you could be a Sith? You are nothing. You are an insect, vermin, compared to the Sith I have known. Have trained. Have inspired!"

The saber lights, and a ruby blade illuminates the room.

Krell's body is lying smoking and decapitated only a few hours later, tortured with lightning and lightsaber and terrible mind tricks that leave him screaming and babbling for mercy. For death.

Rex doesn't feel sorry for him as he picks up the decapitated head and hands it, smoking stump and all, to Revan, whose eyes still flicker between red and gold and green, but he's relieved to see the green appear more often than any other colour.

"Did Wolffe tell you?" Revan asks, taking the head and shoving it into a cryo-bag. "About-"

He holds up the lightsaber with the red blade, giving Rex a pointed look.

"You being a four thousand year old Dar'Jetii who is also the hero of the bedtime stories Fett used to tell the CC's?" Rex says. "No. General Skywalker complains about you a lot, some of that confidential information slipped out and Ahsoka filled in the rest."

Revan nods. "I want Dogma transferred," he says. "The 104th would be better for him that the 501st, he's lost his trust in the Jedi...Plo will be good for him."

"Permission to speak freely, sir?" Jesse asks.

Revan nods, and picks up his helmet.

"You'd be better for this army if you took command," Jesse says. "If you're really...really the Conquering Jedi-" Revan sighs at the title "-then you should be leading us, not the Council, not the Senate. You...you've done this before. You beat a better army than Grievous and Dooku."

"Mand'alor the Ultimate was a challenging opponent, yes," Revan says. "But after, the Republic faced a worse foe, one I could not defeat."

"Who?" Kix asks, always one for the stories. His eyes are big and full of wonder.

"Me," Revan says, and puts his helmet on. "The reason the Jedi don't want me heading an army is because they're worried I will turn it against them, like I did the last time someone gave me an army."

"But you wouldn't!" Jesse exclaims.

"Maybe I might," Revan says. "Perhaps I might start a war over you all."