#future magic school AU

[misshyperbolemakes]

TITLE: In The Path of Totality RATING: G ARCHIVE WARNING: No Archive Warnings Apply CHAPTERS: 1/1 WORD COUNT: 2,185 PUBLISH DATE: May 14, 2024

FANDOM(S): The Magic School Bus RELATIONSHIP(S): Dorothy Ann/Carlos Ramon CHARACTERS: Dorothy Ann, Carlos Ramon ADDITIONAL TAGS: future fic, aged up characters, shameless fluff, DA the astrophile, DA the drama queen

SUMMARY: Dorothy Ann and Carlos take a trip to view a solar eclipse. Things don't quite go as they planned.

[asordidbarwere]

madeline and pepito trans icons

[azlrse]

➳ the headwardens as fathers (twst x gn!reader headcanons; separate)

cw: 'a decade later' au, fluff, accurate/canon take on the houswardens' background, angst in some parts (mostly on vil and idia's part)

a/n: decided to post this just to practice the characters as accurate as possible. also, imma be writing some of the housewardens for the first time soo i hope it's good lol

Riddle Rosehearts 🌹

due to his upbringing, riddle can be strict towards his children, whether it's from their grades and their studies alone since he believes that one's studies are very important to a child's future.

but not all the time riddle is like this. as a father, he only wants what is best to his children and refuses to treat them the way their grandmother does to him in his childhood. he even encourages them to take a certain career his kid wants. do you want to be a musician? he can buy his kid an instrument they've always wanted. not a musician but instead a baker? he can tell their uncle trey to give them private lessons to be the best baker in the queendom of roses.

there are certain times the two of you are arguing over a punishment. riddle knew rosabella punched a kid (he had flashbacks when her godfather punched him) stole her tart and decided that his kid will be grounded for a week. you, on the other hand, rebutted that she only did it out of self-defense and that's the last tart she had. this goes on back and forth, even for an hour, and her punishment reduced to 2 days minimum. rosabella didn't like that but at least it's better than to stare at books for a week straight.

riddle is the type of father to teach his children magic early on. not because it's enforced by his mother but because he just wants them to use magic in case of emergencies and for them to have an advantage to their education. he encourages them so much that he offers them sweets and strawberry tarts if they make it through their lesson.

overall, riddle's just protective over his children and knows what's best for them but at the same time is strict towards them.

Leona Kingscholar 🦁

leona didn't expect to have his own children, especially to the prefect of ramshackle dorm who's grown into a sophisticated and loving adult.

he's the type of father to teach his children the concept of fairness. he doesn't want them to have the same upbringing as he had in his childhood and growing up to have an inferiority complex. leona also embedded to them that one's hardwork can signify what kind of a person are they, especially that they're royalty.

when it comes to his children, he's deep down a girl dad but nonetheless loves his children equally. leona loves spending time with his kids, especially when taking walks around sunset savanna or taking them to ivory springs.

his parenting style can be permissive sometimes but thanks to your constant nagging, he steps in to reprimand them on what's wrong and right. sadly, he doesn't mind when his daughter & son can be demanding sometimes but is behaving very well when it comes to you (thanks to the 'stare' you enforced into them in their childhood).

like riddle, leona also helped his children in terms of their education, he might pull a string or two in order for them to attend a really good school. after all, they don't want the crown prince of sunset savanna and a father to be disappointed, right??

Azul Ashengrotto 🐙

hands down, the type of parent who wants his children to pursue the field of finance and marketing. no buts or ifs, he really wants them to pursue such career so that they can take over the business someday when he and their uncles are retiring.

there could be a possibility that his children are half-merfolk since you are human. hence, you and azul wanted to teach your kids both cultures, whether it's on land or water. he can be self-conscious and scared towards his children on the possibility that they inherited his octopus form. what if they didn't like the said form? what if they're being teased because of their body shape? what if they despised it so much that they wished their own father was a merman instead of an cephalopod? you reassured him that the both of you will teach them the importance of self-image and self-love.

speaking of their seaforms, azul is the type of father who will cry when his kid swam on their own for the first time (equivalent to a toddler taking their first steps). it doesn't matter if they're a late bloomer when it comes to their seaform, azul is still proud on the progress his children obtain.

every birthdays & anniversaries or any special occasions are held within the beach. imagine his parents swam on the surface of the ocean just to see their grandchildren. they would gush about how cute their grandchildren were, especially when they're still a little chubby baby.

heavily encourages his kids to fight back just in case they're being bullied by their peers. he's the kind of dad to call them in his office, not to scold them but praising on how they beat up that kid in a pulp (thanks to their uncle floyd ig--)

Kalim Al Asim 💛

husband material + loves children = THE BEST FAMILY MAN OUT OF ALL THE HOUSEWARDENS AND HUSBAND MATERIAL # 1.

probably the type of dad who loves spoiling his children rotten and sometimes gives into their demands but at the same time likes to teach his children the concept of hard work. after all, not all the time everything is handed to them on a silver platter (albeit to their father being raised on a silver spoon).

undoubtedly wants more than 5 children, whether they're biological or not (but will not push through if you are uncomfortable with the idea). this guy is raised having 30+ siblings so it's understandable why he wants that many children and having a huge family.

as usual by kalim, every achievement earned by his children, in academics, extracurriculars or birthdays, holds a grand & extravagant celebration. won the regional spelling bee? a celebration must take place! oh, you hold second place on a swimming completion? here's a parade to celebrate such occasion! a birthday party? that's too plain, how about a 3 day celebration for the birthday kid?

low-key his children would let out an 'aww' when they saw their father kissing you :'33

like leona, kalim would take on a bit on a permissive parenting style since he would give into the demands of his children and saying no makes it difficult for him to say in front of them. thanks to your talks and reprimanding him, he learned to say no directly into them and chose to cool down their tantrums before talking to them again.

Vil Shoenheit 💎

idk how to write vil accurately soo im really sorry if this one sucks and comes across as out of character ;_;;

out of all the housewardens, i believe that vil can be really strict when it comes to his children's appearances but also cares sm for their well-being and is fiercely protective of them. he believes that his children are the splitting of him and his lover (you ofc) plus he's a celebrity and a model so that adds to the fuel on why his children's appearances are really important.

most of his children confided on you on how suffocated they felt due to their father's demands and high standards when it comes to beauty. how they cried, begged and asked you if you still loved them even if they're covered in scars, acne or having oily skin. you reassured them that you and their father loved them so much, much to the children's happiness in hopes that they're father can be less controlling.

of course, you talk about this to your husband regarding this issue and vil can understand the children's point of view. he doesn't want them to be bullied, to be teased or being compared to him since they're the children of the biggest celebrity in the industry. he also promises that he'll talk to the children and apologizes for making them miserable.

on the fluffier side, vil loves spending time with the kids. going shopping or having photography sessions are some of the examples and heavily adores them when his children are being made to be endorsers/models on a children's brand of clothing. when his daughter asked him for tips when it comes to make up, vil didn't hesitate to teach her the basics (also buys her the make up brands she really wanted).

teaches his children the importance of fighting prejudice towards gender norms. vil is the type of father to accept that kind of future his children chose for themselves and does not give a shit when it comes to people's opinions on them; his son wants to wear make up? sure why not, he also wears one during his time as a student in nrc. his daughter wanted to crossdress? why not? it's just clothes and at least she's not waking around naked.

Idia Shroud 💠

to those who voted on the poll and answered idia, ya'll deserve a pat cause he won 😭🙌

as much as i love idia shroud, idia is the houswarden that's least likely to become a father due to his trauma and fucked up family dynamic but what if he does become a father with the only person that he loves and is comfortable to be with?

hands down a helicopter parent fr, like this guy suffered so much that he didn't want his own children to go through the same fate he had in his childhood. man even prohibits his kids to go out w/o telling him first but also values his children's privacy in terms of their gadgets and other private stuff.

when his kids were born, he knew straight up that the kids inherited his flaming blue hair due to his cursed bloodline (and prays that his kids won't hate him for it) but loves it when he saw their (e/c) eyes for the first time (at least his kids looked like the combination of the two of you). aside from that, ortho's excited to become an uncle and wants to be the cool kind of uncle to his brother's children.

as always, when his children were a bit older, he wanted to teach them the basics of coding and video game development. being the children of the director of styx and a professional gamer, he expects his kid to be as good as he is in these kinds of field. if his kids wanted to pursue a different path as he is or a different hobby, he doesn't mind at all but is disappointed to say the least.

due to the shroud curse, at least one of the children has to take over styx when they're now at age sadly. as a father, he really wants them to pursue a future without revolving around in his family's business but they couldn't avoid it.

doesn't care how much his children spent on things due to an immense wealth his family holds. don't be surprised his children's rooms were covered in merch of their favorite video game or fandom. he heavily supports his children having the same passion as he is as a geek.

Malleus Draconia 🐉

HUSBAND MATERIAL #2 FRFRRR

if future malleus told past malleus that he became a father and the husband of the ramshackle dorm's prefect, it's either he'll pass out from happiness or becomes excited so much that he wants to confess his feelings in front of you.

a big family man, aside from his heavy duty as the crowned king of briar valley, he always set aside some time to spend with you and his children on the rose garden by the greenhouse of the castle. he also doesn't care what are the other fae's think about his own half-human faelets, he still loved that the kids are the creation of both of your love to each other.

speaking of the other faes, he will hear a thing or two about children of their ages making fun about their half-human characteristics like having rounded ears instead of pointed ones like their own father. like vil shoenheit, he is fiercely protective about his children and would confront the kid's parents if the bullying had gone too far but he's a really forgiving father don't worry.

adding to the previous statement, his heart would break a bit when he knew either one of his children are either being excluded (preventing them from playing a game with the other kids or isn't invited to a birthday party).

the type of father who let's them sleep in the middle of the both of you when one of them had a nightmare. he can sense it when his children are in dire need of his assistance and wants to sleep beside the both of you for comfort.

really loves it when he sees his children playing on the throne room. he loves the noise they emitted comparing to the quiet and eerie noise the throne room before they were born. one of the playdates you and malleus joined with your children is about a roleplay involving a knight trapped in a tower while a dragon saved them and fell on love with each other. i would imagine them kissing in the final scene as the children gagged from the public display of affection.

Do not republish, edit, or repost to other websites.

Reblogs and likes are appreciated! 💕

[foreveia]

c(alc)ulus ⤨ tsukishima kei

⨭ genre; hard 2 explain but there's a happy ending so u shld read (jk its a college!au, frat boy!au)

⨭ pairing; tsukishima kei x f!reader

⨭ word count; 9.7k

⨭ descriptions; you're the last person kei wants anything to do with, but not even he can deny it: he, and the entire frat, needs you.

⨭ warnings; frat boy levels of alcoholism, explicit language

⨭ a/n; i love math but love blondes more. i also love rly long fanfics with plot and pretty language and feelings, so hope y'all enjoy this super long mess of a frat!universe haikyuu with college-core drinking habits, calculus talk, and a whole lot of simping for kei <3

song i listened to writing this: 'risk' by gracie abrams

one.

Kageyama is failing calculus.

This statement wouldn’t necessarily be a big deal—after all, he had barely passed most of his classes his whole life, getting into college solely with his athletic skills and having zero intentions to stay in academia in the future. He’s in university primarily just to have something to fall back on, and he has made it exceptionally obvious that he does the bare minimum to get his degree by sleeping through his lectures and procrastinating his homework to the night it’s due. He doesn’t, and has never, cared much about school, and has somehow made it through life anyway, so really, in most circumstances, Kageyama failing a class wouldn’t be a big deal at all. 

However, in this circumstance, Kageyama is also a brother of Kappa Alpha Rho, and therefore his grades reflect not just him but the brotherhood, meaning him failing a class has fully become Tsukishima’s problem, making this, in fact, a very, very big deal. He thinks he’s screwed.

And it’s completely your fault.

Tsukishima glares at the email notification sitting at the top of the screen, clenching his jaw so hard that he feels his back molars ache. 

ASU Policy Update: New Funding Requirements for Student Organizations

He’s already read it twice, but he clicks on it again anyway, as if the words would magically change now that it’s his third try. His fingers drum against the desk, anxious and annoyed all at once.

Effective immediately, all university-funded student organizations must maintain a collective GPA of C+ (2.3) or higher to remain eligible for financial support from ASU. Organizations failing to meet this requirement will be placed on academic probation for a select amount of time, after which, if under the minimum, will be denied funding for the academic year. 

He exhales sharply through his nose and shuts his laptop a little harder than necessary. His knee bounces under the desk as he stares at the wall, running the numbers through his head. A D- average to a C+? That’s not a small jump. That’s a fucking leap.

And it’s because of you. But then again, of course it is.

Tsukishima doesn’t even know you personally, but he knows of you. Everyone at Furudate University knows of you. It’s honestly impossible not to.

Your name gets thrown around like a fucking urban legend: the math department’s golden girl, every professors’ favorite. The kind of student whose name gets printed in bold on the Dean’s List every semester, top of the class in every single way, looking down at everyone else from your haughty position up there.

You’re the poster child for academic excellence, and this is exactly the kind of sanctimonious, holier-than-thou rule someone like you would pass.

He can practically see you in his head, sitting in some committee meeting, smug as you argue for “higher academic standards,” completely unaware of the absolute nightmare you’ve just created. 

He rubs his temple. He doesn’t have time for this. If Kappa Alpha Rho loses funding, they lose access to the house stipend, the event budget, the formal venue deposit—

“Fuck,” he hisses under his breath, already clicking through the chapter’s internal roster. He zeroes in on the worst grades. Not surprisingly (albeit disappointing nonetheless), Kageyama’s name jumps out immediately.

He has a 37 in Multivariable Calculus.

Tsukishima closes his eyes and counts to five. It doesn’t help. His laptop screen just glares back at him, the double-digits in bright red. He’s dragging the entire GPA down, significantly so. 

So if Kageyama fails, they’re all fucked. 

Tsukishima opens the frat group chat.

(11:42 AM) tsukishima: who here actually passed multi calc

It takes all of five whole seconds before the chat explodes.

hinata: LOL NOT ME yamaguchi: barely but yea? noya: i didn’t even know multi was real lmao

Tsukishima pinches the bridge of his nose. They’re useless. They’re all fucking useless.

(11:43 AM) yamaguchi: wait is this about the gpa thing? are we actually losing funding? tsukishima: we will if kageyama fails calc hinata: bro just make him pass it then tsukishima: do you think i control his brain (11:44 AM) tanaka: wait hold on. are you saying if we fail we’re actually broke?? yamaguchi: tsukki wouldn’t joke about this lol hinata: WHAT DO U MEAN BROKE. LIKE. BROKE BROKE?? noya: LIKE WE GOTTA PAY FOR KEGS OUTTA POCKET BROKE???

Tsukishima watches the messages roll in, each response growing increasingly more unhinged. He feels his blood pressure rising, ticking up with every single one.

(11:45 AM) tanaka: WE CAN’T LOSE FUNDING FORMAL IS IN 3 MONTHS hinata: NOOOO NOT FORMAL noya: NOOOOOOOOOO NOT FORMAL tanaka: WHO THE FUCK IS GONNA PAY FOR FORMAL

Tsukishima sighs, dragging a hand down his face. This is exactly what he didn’t want. The second these idiots realized the frat’s funding was actually on the line, everything was going to implode. Where’s the rest of the exec board right now? He misses them.

(11:46 AM) yamaguchi: okay but seriously what’s the plan tsukishima: kageyama needs to pass calc obviously tanaka: okay but like. how

Good fucking question.

Tsukishima leans back in his chair, thinking. Kageyama isn’t stupid—not in the traditional sense, anyway. He just doesn’t give a shit. If he had a decent tutor, someone to force the information into his thick skull, he might actually stand a chance.

(11:47 AM) tsukishima: does anyone know a decent tutor (11:48 AM) yamaguchi: y/n

Tsukishima physically recoils.

(11:48 AM) tsukishima: like… vpaa y/n??? yamaguchi: yeah?? she’s the best tutor in the math department hinata: wait isn’t she the one that profs never shut up about lol tanaka: bro we’d be paying for a 5-star tutor with beer money noya: u think she’d go for it tho?? hinata: tsukishima just bat your pretty little eyelashes and get her to help us 🤩 tsukishima: i will block you

There is no way in hell he is asking you for help. Absolutely not. Because if there’s anyone on this entire campus that would not hesitate to let Kappa Alpha Rho crash and burn, it’s you.

But then, Daichi—super convenient timing for the president to come in right now—sends the real kicker.

(11:49 AM) daichi: Text Y/N. Now.

Tsukishima grinds his teeth. His fingers hover over the keyboard. For a very, very long moment, he just stares blankly at the screen, until finally, he types.

(11:50 AM) tsukishima: someone send me her number.

And Tsukishima thinks, for not the last time, that he’s absolutely screwed.

two.

For someone who’s actively ruining his life, you’re surprisingly… okay.

At least, you were over text. You responded within minutes, and—without sarcasm, without question, without any needed negotiation—agreed to a tutoring session the next day. 

Tsukishima thinks he should be wary of this. Surely you have some ulterior motive, something that’s meant to prove to him (and yourself) just how much smarter you are than everyone else. 

Ah, yes. That’s probably it. You’re going to use the dumb frathlete to make yourself feel good.

After some contemplation, Tsukishima decides that he should be there. As idiotic and annoying as Kageyama can be, he’s still his brother, and Tsukishima isn’t about to let some pretentious academic just mock and insult him; Kageyama is shitty with words, so the least Tsukishima can do is be there to snap back for him. 

Tsukishima is almost certain that you’re doing this solely to stroke your ego. After all, why else would someone like you agree?

That being said, twenty four hours later, sitting across from you at a library table, he’s forced to admit—begrudgingly—that you’re actually not… terrible.

Tsukishima watches you carefully, arms crossed over his chest, waiting for the moment you slip up—some trace of superiority, some indication that you think this is beneath you. But to his surprise, you don’t smirk, you don’t sigh in frustration, you don’t roll your eyes every time Kageyama gets something wrong.

You’re just… patient. Shockingly, infuriatingly patient.

“Okay,” you say, tapping the corner of Kageyama’s notebook with your pen. “Walk me through your thought process. How did you get to this step?”

Kageyama stares at his paper, scowling. “I don’t know.”

“Well, you got this part right,” you say, circling something in the equation. “So let’s build from here.”

Kageyama frowns deeper, pressing his pencil so hard that the lead tears a little hole—Tsukishima expects you to finally snap, to lecture him for not paying attention, but instead, you just tilt your head and try again.

“I think you’re having trouble with double integrals, so let’s break those down first, okay?” you say, not at all unkindly, before flipping open your notes and locating the respective chapter in the textbook. Tsukishima notices, with mild surprise, that you don’t even have to check the table of contents—you go straight to the right page.

And then, even stranger: your own notes are written beside the original text. Your annotations are precise but casual, breaking down the wordy explanations into clear, digestible pieces; your diagrams take up the margins, and where there’s extra blank space, you’ve doodled functions, arrows, sometimes little stick figures interacting with equations.

Tsukishima shouldn’t care. He doesn’t.

But something about it—about how thoroughly you understand this shit—sticks with him.

And as you start explaining, Tsukishima quickly comes to understand why they call you the best in the department. 

Your voice is even, steady, and you don’t just read from the textbook—you reframe the concepts completely, breaking them down into comparisons, real-world applications, diagrams that actually make sense. It’s the kind of familiarity that takes years of experience and countless hours of practice, and you obviously have gotten to an incredible degree of expertise. And most importantly, when Kageyama hits a block or stumbles over the formulas, you don’t get irritated.

You just adjust.

Again. And again. And again.

Until finally, something clicks.

Tsukishima watches, arms crossed, as you do something no professor, no TA, and certainly no frat brother has managed before: you make Kageyama think. You make him care. Kageyama straightens slightly in his seat, gripping his pencil a little tighter; he scribbles something down, then nods to himself, like he actually understands. 

Tsukishima leans back, exhaling through his nose. 

He hates to admit it, but Yamaguchi was right: you really do know your shit. 

three.

An hour passes like this. Slowly, but gradually, Kageyama works through his problem set, stopping every so often to ask questions. You answer every single one without hesitation, without even having to double check, with the complete confidence of someone who simply knows that they’re right. 

Then, completely unprompted, you ask, “So, do you play volleyball?”

Kageyama pauses mid-writing. The question catches him off-guard—catches both of them off-guard, actually.

Tsukishima gives you a sharp look, but you just smile, amused.

“You retained information best when I used sports analogies to explain,” you continue, tapping the end of your pen against the table. “And when I used a volleyball as an example for triple integral applications, you corrected me on the radius in like, two seconds.”

Kageyama blinks. Then, looking somewhat sheepish, he mumbles, “Wow, that’s crazy. I’m on the university team.”

“That’s cool,” you say simply, clicking your pen. You doodle absentmindedly on an extra sheet of paper, this time drawing a little volleyball in the corner. “Our executive VP is on the team too. Sakusa.”

Kageyama hums an affirmation. “Yeah, we’re both starters.”

“As a sophomore? That’s really impressive,” you say. Tsukishima thinks that you’re pretty impressive too, considering you’re a sophomore just like them, but you don’t seem to be even thinking about that. “Why are you taking calculus, then? What’s your major?”

“Physics and kinesiology.”

“I didn’t peg you as a STEM guy,” you muse, still sketching in the margins. You’ve now switched to drawing a little banana.

Tsukishima, despite himself, huffs a quiet laugh.

Kageyama flushes slightly. “I, um, want to go pro after college,” he admits, ears bright crimson as he speaks. “So kinesiology felt right for an athlete. And for physics, well, I’m a setter, so I want to, um… I want to be able to calculate the velocity of the balls I send with more accuracy.”

It’s a ridiculous reason. Maybe even a stupid one. Definitely the stupidest reason Tsukishima’s ever heard for taking an incredibly intense and complex major like physics.

But you don’t laugh.

You just nod, smiling to yourself. “Thanks for letting me help you with your process, then.”

There’s a moment of silence, before Tsukishima bluntly remarks, “You’re weird.” 

It comes off slightly ruder than intended, and you pause, your pen coming to a halt on the paper. He adds, quieter than before, “I mean, you notice things like that?”

Your nose and forehead scrunch up in slight confusion, expression so befuddled as if he were simply asking you if the sky was blue. 

“Well, yeah.” You say this as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. “Everyone is different, with different interests and learning styles, and things get easier to understand when you break things down on their terms as opposed to yours. So of course I’ll pick up on things like that. I try to be observant of all the people around me.”

When your eyes meet his, he instinctively is on edge. Your tone is still light, but there’s something pragmatic about your eyes that makes him feel apprehensive, like he’s standing at the edge of a 50-foot fall and you’re watching to see if he’ll take the jump. It’s like you’re taking all of him in, like you’re taking everyone in. Like you see things other people don’t. 

If Tsukishima is being honest with himself, this perceptiveness is something he lacks. He willingly disregards much of the people and the things around him; it's a defense mechanism he has perfected over the years. It’s easier to stay detached. It’s easier to keep to himself; it’s easier to be indifferent. 

To be blunt, your astuteness unnerves him, and it’s a sensation he’s not used to grappling with. There’s a raw honesty in your gaze that feels almost invasive, peeling back the layers of his carefully constructed facade. You two had just met, but for a brief moment, he wonders if you can somehow see through him because despite your cheerful and carefree attitude, you are looking to understand people in a way he never has.

He quickly looks away, breaking the intense eye contact. “I guess that’s one way to look at it,” he mutters.

You don’t reply because your attention has already shifted back to Kageyama, with you leaning over his notebook and exclaiming, “See, you got this!” 

Kageyama has solved the several problems you gave him, his work still amateur but complete. You scan his notebook, pointing out the few areas where he could simplify his work, but the overwhelming beam on your face is nothing short of proud, and it incites a completely new determination in Kageyama. Despite his usual stoicism, your encouragement has visibly boosted his confidence and Tsukishima watches as the boy smiles and nods along when you flip the textbook to a new chapter, declaring loudly, “Okay! Let’s move onto vectors!” 

As you continue to explain, Tsukishima watches the two of you with a slight mixture of exasperation and something else he can’t quite put a name to. You are honest and true and it’s wholly unfamiliar, tiring in a way where he is overwhelmed. He’s not quite sure how to describe how he feels right now, sitting here with you together: maybe it’s a touch of admiration for you, maybe it’s just relief that someone else is dealing with Kageyama’s math woes for a change, but either way, at the end of it all, he finds himself settling back into his chair, a small, almost imperceptible amusement playing at the corners of his mouth. 

Minutes turn into hours, and before you know it, the sun is dipping lower and lower in the sky, casting long shadows across the library floors. By the time the library's closing announcement echoes through the halls, you have made it through half the vector fields unit and Kageyama has filled several pages of his notebook with neatly written solutions. 

“Well, let’s finish up. I think we’ve made some good progress today,” you decide, stretching your arms above your head. You begin to gather your things—if you’re not all out soon, the librarians will come and yell at you for sure.

“Thank you so much, Y/N,” Kageyama says earnestly, closing his notebook. “I think I’m starting to get it.”

“You are. Just keep practicing those problems, okay? You’ll pass this week’s quiz for sure if you keep at it,” you say cheerily. “Just text if you ever need any help. I’m always around.”

Your enthusiasm seems genuine, like you really do want to help Kageyama succeed. Tsukishima’s not sure what to do with this information.

He should be suspicious. Should assume there’s something in it for you—some academic accolade, some resumé boost, some smug satisfaction in proving you’re better than everyone else. But you don’t gloat. You don’t even act like this is a favor Kageyama—or, by extension, the frat—owes you for the rest of time. 

You just offer your help like it’s nothing. Like it’s normal to give this much of your time, your energy, your effort.

It’s strange. It makes him uncomfortable.

“You’re always around?” he says, unable to stop himself. His voice comes out dry, skeptical. “Sounds like you have way too much time on your hands.”

You blink, then laugh, genuine and light.

“Not really,” you say, slipping your notes into your bag. “I’m just good at making time for things that matter.”

Your eyes flicker up to meet his, and for some reason, that sentence sticks in his brain.

Good at making time for things that matter.

Before he can think too hard about what that implies, Kageyama—completely unaware of the odd shift in atmosphere—stands, slinging his bag over his shoulder. “I’ll text you,” he says. “Uh. If I get stuck.”

“Good,” you say, satisfied. “See you both next time.”

And with that, you’re gone, stepping out of the library doors, the evening sun catching in your hair before you disappear down the hall.

There’s a brief silence.

“…She’s nice,” Kageyama says, stuffing his hands into his hoodie pockets.

Tsukishima sighs, shaking his head. “Don’t be weird about it.”

“I’m not.”

“You sound weird about it.”

Kageyama scowls but says nothing, already distracted by whatever thought process is rattling around in his thick skull.

Tsukishima, however, lingers.

He doesn’t want to admit that today went better than expected. That you weren’t condescending, that you didn’t treat Kageyama like a lost cause, that you were actually kind of impressive to watch. That there’s something about the way you carry yourself—the way you see people, notice things, care about things—that makes his stomach twist in a way he doesn’t like.

He exhales sharply. Nope. Not going there.

Instead, he shoves his hands into his jacket pockets and starts toward the exit, brushing off whatever this feeling is. After all, this is just the first session.

There’s still plenty of time for you to prove him right.

four.

After the fifth tutoring session, Tsukishima notices two things.

First: since you’ve started helping Kageyama, his calculus average has jumped dramatically from a 37 to a 60. Considering he has to catch up on the whole semester, this much progress in such a short amount of time is insane, and Tsukishima—who has spent years watching Kageyama be a stubborn idiot—is actually kinda baffled by it.

Second: it’s not that you look down on him, or Kageyama, specifically. You just look down on Greek life as a whole.

It takes him a while to realize it. At first, he assumes it’s personal—that you have some vendetta against Kappa Alpha Rho, some deep-seated superiority complex. But then, over the next few weeks, he starts paying closer attention.

You don’t sneer at Kageyama’s jersey. You don’t mock him for struggling, don’t look at him like he’s a dumb jock barely worth your time.

But when Tanaka and Noya come to pick Kageyama up after a session, still wearing their frat hoodies from some brotherhood event, Tsukishima catches the way your eyes flick to their letters. The way your lips press together, just slightly.

When Kageyama makes an offhanded comment about formal, you barely react—just a small exhale through your nose, something unimpressed.

And then there’s today.

You’re explaining another concept—Tsukishima isn’t really listening; Kageyama is nodding along, so he figures he doesn’t need to pay attention—when Hinata, of all people, shows up at the library. He bursts through the doors like a chaotic, overexcited golden retriever, completely disregarding the quiet study environment as he waves both arms above his head.

“Kageyama!”

Kageyama physically tenses. Tsukishima watches, vaguely amused, as he slowly turns to the orange-haired idiot now bounding toward them.

Hinata slaps a recruitment t-shirt onto the table. “You left it at the house, dumbass! Daichi said to bring it to you.”

Kageyama looks vaguely murderous. “Shut up.”

Tsukishima smirks. And then, he glances at you.

And there it is again: that brief flicker of something. That same exhale through your nose.

You don’t say anything, don’t react much at all—but Tsukishima sees it.

You hate frats.

And now, he wants to know why.

Luckily for him, it actually doesn’t take much to find out. 

It comes up casually, in the way most revealing things do—offhanded, unguarded, something you don’t realize you’re giving away. 

Kageyama is the one who brings it up. Not intentionally, obviously—he's never been intentionally insightful a day in his life—but between scribbling down an answer on his problem set, he suddenly asks, “Why’d you make that rule, anyway?”

You glance up, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“The GPA thing,” he clarifies. “You’re the VPAA, right? So it was your idea.”

Tsukishima watches as you blink, your grip tightening just slightly around your pen.

Then, after a moment, you exhale, setting it down. “It wasn’t just me,” you say. “It was a committee decision.”

“But you agree with it,” Tsukishima says, leveling you with a look.

Your lips press together. There it is again—that tiny flicker of something. Then, you sigh. 

“It’s just frustrating seeing people waste their potential,” you say finally, voice careful, deliberate. “I mean, don’t you want to succeed?”

Ah. So that’s what it is: you think that all fraternity boys are idiots who only care about partying and drinking games. You think they don’t care about their futures. That they’re lazy, entitled, wasting the opportunities they have.

Tsukishima exhales slowly through his nose, tipping his chair back just slightly. He should be annoyed. He should be pissed off.

But instead, he just smirks.

“You think we’re all just dumb party boys, don’t you?”

Your eyes flick to his. You don’t answer, which, really, is answer enough.

So obviously, he challenges you.

“Come to the house,” he says. “See for yourself.”

Your expression shifts into something guarded, something skeptical and unimpressed. “Why would I do that?”

“Because you clearly don’t know what the hell you’re talking about,” Tsukishima says simply.

Kageyama, ever helpful, chimes in: “Hinata’s even worse at math than me.”

Tsukishima watches you pause, purse your lips, obviously considering. It’s a long pause, you staring down at the desk for a full minute, until finally, you sigh. “Fine.”

Oh, you’re in for a disaster.

five.

Walking into the Kappa Alpha Rho house for the first time, you’re not sure what you were expecting.

Whatever it was, it wasn’t… this.

The first thing you’re hit with when you enter the house is, simply put, noise. 

The music is loud—too loud for a weeknight, you think absently, because there’s no way none of these guys have morning classes tomorrow. Someone in the kitchen is yelling indistinctly over the sound of clinking glass, and from somewhere deeper inside the house, there’s a resounding crash, followed by an enthusiastic, “It’s fine, it’s fine, don’t worry about it!”

Tsukishima watches as you visibly tense, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, fingers tightening around the strap of your bag. You’re standing near the entrance like you’re considering leaving, like maybe you’d rather walk straight back out the door than step even a foot further into this chaos. You wouldn’t be the first: he’s seen people walking into the house for the first time and immediately regretting every life choice that led them here. The frat is loud, messy, chaotic in a way that isn’t easy to handle if you’re not used to it. And you—pristine, calculated, Type-A to your very core—are definitely not used to it.

He watches you closely, waiting for you to scoff any second now, to turn around and walk out.

But then, you hear it. 

“Integrate or drink, loser!”

As an applied and theoretical math double major, the sentence instantly piques your curiosity, and you can’t, in your conscience, just walk out after hearing that. So you square your shoulders, and saunter in.

And when you see it, you stop in your tracks.

The scene before you is, frankly, absurd. Kageyama is standing at the end of a beer pong table, furrowing his brows like he’s solving a differential equation rather than playing a drinking game, and Hinata, vibrating with excitement, looks one misplaced shot away from combusting. Around them, the rest of the guys are watching with varying degrees of amusement: Tanaka and Nishinoya are grinning like they already know something Kageyama doesn’t, Yamaguchi is stifling laughter behind his hand, and Tsukishima—leaning against the wall, arms crossed—is watching you.

You glance at the table. The setup is questionable, at best. The cups are unevenly spaced, some tilted at an angle that defies both gravity and common sense. The whiteboard behind them has the remnants of what was probably meant to be a scoring system, though it's mostly illegible thanks to a combination of bad handwriting and smeared marker. And then, of course, there’s the absolute nonsense of what just came out of someone’s mouth.

You shift your gaze to the ping-pong ball in Hinata’s hand, then to Kageyama, who still looks personally insulted by whatever just happened. You blink once, then twice.

“What,” you say flatly, “am I looking at?”

“The future,” Nishinoya says dramatically, throwing an arm around Tanaka. “The greatest intellectual drinking game of our generation.”

“That’s one way to put it,” Sugawara mutters. You didn’t even notice him and the other two, presumably, seniors, sitting lazily on a couch against the wall and supposedly monitoring. 

“It’s simple,” Hinata says, barely containing his enthusiasm. “You make a shot, the other guy has to solve a math problem right, or they drink.”

Silence. You stare at him.

Kageyama’s expression darkens. “It’s stupid.”

“You’re just mad because I got the last one right,” Hinata shoots back.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did! The integral of sine is cosine, dumbass!”

“The answer was negative cosine—”

“Same thing!”

“It is literally not.”

“You know what,” you interrupt, pinching the bridge of your nose. “Forget I asked.”

At this, Tsukishima makes a quiet noise—something between a laugh and a scoff—but you don’t look at him. You’re too busy assessing the catastrophe in front of you.

Because, to be honest, this is ridiculous. A complete mess of a game, poorly thought out and even more poorly executed. But…

You bite the inside of your cheek.

The concept isn’t terrible.

It’s just wrong. And you, for better or worse, cannot let a flawed system stand.

Tsukishima watches as something in your expression shifts. You set your bag down with purpose, stepping closer to the table, eyes narrowing as you take in the setup. Then, voice completely serious, you say, “You’re playing it wrong.”

The entire room pauses.

Tanaka, who has a ping-pong ball balanced on the tip of his finger, squints. “Huh?”

“You’re playing it wrong,” you repeat, arms crossing as you survey the table like it’s a crime scene.

Hinata frowns. “No, we’re not.”

“Yes,” you say, “you are.”

Tsukishima raises a brow, intrigued. You’re not mad at them for playing. You’re not disgusted by their antics. You’re just… offended by the execution.

“The whole premise doesn’t work,” you continue, gesturing vaguely at the cups. “You can’t just shout out an integral and expect them to solve it in two seconds. You need rules. A system.”

Tanaka exchanges a glance with Nishinoya. “Bro,” he says, in awe. “We don’t have a system?”

“We do have a system,” Kageyama huffs.

You promptly ignore him, already reaching for a marker. “Okay. If we’re going to do this right, it should work like this.”

And just like that, you take over.

In what seems like an instant, the frat house—which is usually ruled by sheer chaos and barely functioning groupthink—is now operating under your direction. You’ve got the whiteboard in a chokehold, a marker uncapped and poised between your fingers as you outline a system so airtight, so horrifyingly efficient, that even Tsukishima has to admit it’s impressive.

Suddenly, the game makes sense. Instead of random, impossible integrals, each shot now corresponds to a category—concepts from the last five chapters, ranked by difficulty.

And as if just to add to the disbelief, everyone is listening.

Kageyama, glaring at the rules with an unreal intensity, is following along, his brows furrowed like he’s mentally poking holes in your system but failing to find any. Tanaka and Noya are nodding like you’ve just changed their lives. Ennoshita, who had previously been lurking near the drinks table, is watching you rewrite the game’s structure with increasing fascination.

Even Sugawara nods sagely. “She makes a good point,” he says solemnly. “The game did lack structure.”

“Thank you,” you reply, as if this is a serious academic debate and not an impromptu beer pong overhaul.

Tsukishima can’t even be mad about it. Not when you’ve very quickly become the most interesting thing in the house.

And especially not when he watches you, against all fucking odds, join in. As if you were some god tier frat boy in a past life, you sink a cup with infuriating ease on your very first throw, the ball arcing perfectly without any slightest bounce back. You don’t even blink. 

As if on cue, the whole house erupts.

Tanaka and Noya nearly combust on the spot, clutching each other in sheer exhilaration, while Kageyama’s jaw drops so fast you think it might actually unhinge. Even the seniors look mildly impressed. 

And Hinata… well, Hinata looks very afraid. 

“You—” he starts, pointing at you like he’s about to accuse you of something heinous.

But you don’t let him. You simply cross your arms, unimpressed, and say, voice smooth as ever, “Basic derivative. Give me an answer, or drink.”

There’s a split second of silence.

Then, absolute carnage.

Hinata scrambles for the marker like his life depends on it. “Uh—uh—five x to the—no, wait—”

You tilt your head. “Is that your final answer?”

“Shit, no—”

“You took too long,” you say, entirely unsympathetic. “Drink.”

Hinata lets out a strangled noise of distress as Tanaka and Noya dissolve into laughter. Even Daichi, who up until now has been observing like a wise elder, shakes his head in amusement as Hinata accepts his fate, downing his drink in defeat.

Tsukishima watches the entire thing unfold, eyes half-lidded, expression unreadable.

Huh.

He’d expected you to bail before even stepping past the threshold. Expected you to scoff, maybe say something scathing about how frat boys had the collective IQ of a teaspoon, and leave without looking back.

And yet, here you are, rewriting the rules of a drinking game with the kind of ruthless efficiency that would put actual math professors to shame. Even worse: you’re winning.

By the time you sink your third consecutive shot, the rest of the guys have gone from mildly entertained to genuinely invested. Even Kageyama, who Tsukishima assumed would be sick of math by now, is begrudgingly playing along, answering derivatives and integrals like his pride is at stake.

Tanaka and Noya have fully accepted you as one of their own, chanting your name every time you land a shot. Hinata, despite his earlier humiliation, is practically buzzing, clearly determined to redeem himself. Even Yamaguchi, who usually prefers watching Tsukishima verbally eviscerate people from the sidelines, has been sucked into the chaos, trying (and failing) to solve an integral before Kageyama can.

It’s a disaster. A ridiculous, mathematically-inclined disaster.

And you—poised, serious, utterly deadpan as you call out equations like you’re running a boot camp—are the reason for it.

Tsukishima doesn’t even realize he’s staring until Yamaguchi elbows him.

“You’re enjoying this,” Yamaguchi says, low enough that only Tsukishima can hear.

Tsukishima scoffs. “Please.”

But Yamaguchi just gives him a knowing look, then pointedly nods toward you.

Toward the way you command attention without even trying. The way you challenge their game without hesitation. The way your focus sharpens when you're confronted with something that, even in the realm of absurdity, still needs to be corrected.

Tsukishima exhales slowly, shaking his head.

Of course you’d walk into a frat house for the first time and immediately take over. 

Of course you’d turn a drunken joke into an actual intellectual challenge. 

Of course you’d be—

“Tsukishima.”

He blinks.

You’re looking at him now, one brow arched, an extra ping-pong ball in your hand. The room quiets just a fraction, the weight of attention shifting ever so slightly. “You haven’t played yet,” you say simply. Your gaze is intense, and it makes his stomach twist, his chest strangely warm. 

Tsukishima stares at you for a long moment.

Then, very slowly, he pushes off the wall. Rolls up his sleeves.

“Alright, genius girl.” He steps up to the table, arms loose, completely at ease. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

The room erupts once again.

And for the first time that night, you grin.

six.

After two months of knowing you, Tsukishima notices something else.

Your bag always contains not just the calculus textbook but several others as well. Every time he sees you on campus, you’re sprinting from place to place, dashing between study halls and libraries and the ASU building. Whenever Kageyama does need help, you’re true to your word and always there, but Tsukishima observes the way you rub at your temples when you think no one is looking, the way you blink a little too long, like you’re stealing micro-moments of rest in the middle of a conversation. The way your hands tremble slightly when you reach for your coffee, as if you’ve been running on caffeine and sheer willpower alone.

So one day, after Kageyama has already run off to his volleyball practice and it’s just the two of you in the frat house’s study room, Tsukishima finally asks the question he’s been wondering for weeks.

“Why do you do this?”

You still, your hands stopping midway as you pack up your belongings. You pause, looking up at him. “What do you mean? Tutoring?”

“Well yeah, tutoring, but also everything else—ASU, TA-ing… all of that. Why?”

You hum as you think over his question, a thoughtful look gracing your features. For a minute, it’s just silent in the room.

“I mean, do I need some grand reason to do it?” You decide after a moment of consideration, shrugging. “There’s a few reasons, I guess. But the biggest one is just that I genuinely like helping people. Like, being there for them and getting to see things click for them. That’s super rewarding in itself.”

“And the other reasons?” He watches you intently.

Clutching your laptop to your chest, you sigh, biting your bottom lip tentatively. It’s the first time he’s really seen you look vulnerable, now that he thinks about it. You’re always so calculated.

“Well– I guess it’s actually only one other reason. It’s also just… the only thing I’m really good for– sorry, at. But whatever, that’s kind of just–” you’re stumbling through your words before you cut yourself off mid-sentence, shaking your head. “At the end of the day, the only reason that matters is that I like seeing other people succeed.”

He nods slowly, sensing your discomfort and deciding not to push any further. “Yeah, okay.”

A small, wistful smile grows on your lips. “In the end, I’ll still be here. The time will pass anyway. I might as well spend it helping people find the happiness I find in math, you know?” 

“So you’re tutoring him again tomorrow?” 

You nod. “Mhm, from noon until two. I would go longer, but I think he has practice, so I’ll probably just do some work. I have a few policy briefs to go over.”

“Were you not busy enough today?” He drawls, gesturing to the sagging bag on your back. 

You laugh with pink cheeks, almost as if embarrassed at the question; you slightly scratch the back of your head. “Um, well, I don’t know. I had a really early class and then I had TA stuff, and then two tutoring sessions, and then a committee meeting and then this. So a pretty packed schedule, I guess,” you admit. Tsukishima gives you a look, and you quickly wave your hands. “I’m good though! I like all of it, so it’s not like it’s bad. It’s a lot, but not the worst, so it’s okay.”

Tsukishima watches you closely, taking in your words and the lilt in your voice. He can see the fatigue etched on your face, the prominent dark circles ringing under your eyes, but there's also a light in your eyes that speaks volumes about your genuine passion for what you do. It’s the same look that sparks up when you watch Kageyama succeed at a problem, the one that makes your eyes look like they’re dancing with fire and sets that weird fuzzy feeling in his stomach going again. It's both admirable and concerning, and he can't help but feel a strange mix of respect and worry.

“You really care about this, don’t you?” he says softly, almost more to himself than to you.

“Yeah, I do,” you reply. Your voice is purely sincere, completely direct. “Even if I’m super busy and stressed out and tired, it’s all worth it because I get to be a part of someone’s life becoming even just a little bit better.”

He’s quiet for a moment, processing everything you’ve said.

He used to hate you. He deemed you pretentious for the GPA rule, assuming you were just another overachiever with a superiority complex, or someone who enjoyed making things harder for people like him and Kageyama. Even beyond you personally, he’d always mocked people like you for flaunting their overtly virtuous and self-righteous personas, always seeming to crave attention and recognition for their altruism. 

But now, for the first time, their actions don’t seem self-serving: it’s a sacrifice, a genuine and earnest effort to make a difference that has nothing to do with personal gain. You don’t push people to do better because you think you’re above them. You do it because you believe they can be better. Because you care. Because, despite everything, you genuinely want to see people succeed. You dedicate all of yourself to others, to strangers unaware of your existence, simply because it’s the right thing to do. Simply because you can. 

You’re standing there, shoulders weighed down by the sheer number of responsibilities you carry, yet still speaking with unwavering certainty. You don’t expect anything back—in fact, you barely even take credit for the work that you do. You are just kind for the sake of being kind; even when you’re exhausted, even when you have nothing left to give, you keep going. You work yourself to the bone for the sake of everyone else, and no one seems to notice—not your professors, not the students you tutor, not the countless committees that rely on you.

Except now, Tsukishima does.

And because he doesn’t know what else to do with this realization, he sighs and just says, “You should eat before you go.”

You blink at him, caught off guard. “Huh?”

“The house is making dinner.” He shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’re here anyway. Might as well eat something before you collapse.”

You huff a quiet laugh, but there’s something warm in your expression, something soft. “I’m not going to collapse.”

Tsukishima raises a brow. “Yeah, well. You look like you might.”

You roll your eyes, but to his surprise, you actually consider it. Then, after a pause, you sigh. “Okay, fine.”

And when you follow him toward the kitchen, Tsukishima tells himself it’s nothing. That he doesn’t care. That he’s just making sure you don’t keel over in the middle of a lecture hall somewhere.

But later, when you’re laughing at something Yamaguchi says, plate balanced in your hands, that strange, unfamiliar warmth creeps up his spine again.

And he thinks, not for the first time, that he might be screwed.

seven.

Since the first day you had dinner with them a few weeks ago, you’ve come to spend more and more time at the KAR house. 

And well, you admittedly didn’t see it coming, but you like the Kappa Alpha Rho boys.

They’re loud. They’re class clowns. They spend many, many weeknights drinking and blasting 2000’s pop at maximum volume, so much so that you can hear the telltale tunes of old Miley Cyrus and Britney Spears from halfway down Frat Row. They are, in many ways, exactly what you expected.

They’re also… really sweet. 

They’re all extremely determined to help each other to succeed. They care about each other so deeply; they’ve opened their arms to you, too, without question or complaint. They’ve looked after you in a way that you’ve never been cared for before. They gifted you a frat hoodie—your initials stitched beside the KAR letters. You have a designated mug in their kitchen cabinet. They don’t even ask if you’re staying to slide a plate in front of you at dinner. Tsukishima watches you closely whenever you pick at your food, and you pretend not to notice when he scoops an extra helping onto your plate.

They’re driven too, in their own way: as if inspired by Kageyama’s improvement, they’ve all begun to care about school, even if their study methods always seem to include some variant of rage cage or beer pong. You’ve seen how passionate they’ve grown about it, celebrating each small academic win as if it were a final exam. The whole fraternity has been clawing their way out of academic ruin, grinding through assignments, struggling through tests, pulling their GPAs up one painstaking decimal point at a time, going from one of the organizations with the lowest GPAs to being so close to the C+ minimum.

They’re so close. So close.

But technically, the frat still falls under that 2.3 minimum.

You realise this, sitting at your desk in the ASU building, because the deadline for organizations on academic probation to get their GPA up is inching closer and closer. The deadline that you set. From the policy that you put into place.

You stare at your desktop screen, at the open PDF of the passed policy, unblinking. The text is sharp and unforgiving. Academic probation lasts one semester. Organizations must raise their cumulative GPA to at least 2.3 by the end of that period or risk losing university funding. No exceptions.

You remember writing that clause, steady in your resolve at the time. It was supposed to be fair. Cut-and-dry. The goal was to push organizations to take academics seriously—to ensure that no fraternity or club skated by on empty promises and minimal effort. But now, the words feel different. They feel wrong.

You click open the academic records, searching for Kageyama’s name. His grades appear on the screen in neat rows: a scatter of past failures, single digits that make your chest ache, then a stark and steady climb. He’s sitting at a B-average now, a remarkable turnaround considering where he started. 

But as you do the math quickly (a habit at this point), calculating projected GPAs based on their current grades and the remaining assignments for the semester, you realise the bitter, indisputable results: no matter how hard they push, it won’t be enough. KAR’s overall GPA still won’t meet the minimum.

The weight of that realization settles deep in your stomach.

Your policy is flawed. 

For the first time since writing it, you see its error clear as day: it measures results, but not effort. It punishes past failure while ignoring present growth. It demands perfection in a system that, by design, allows only for progress in small, slow steps.

Something about that feels deeply, fundamentally unfair.

You think about the very principles that allowed you to sit here in the student union building, to have earned the title of Vice President of Academic Affairs. Because you’re not a natural genius, either: you’ve put in countless hours of hard work and effort into your studies, pulled countless sleepless nights and worked through countless practice problems just to get things right. Your policy was meant to encourage others to do the same. 

To reward hard work, and drive. 

And you’ve witnessed it for yourself, out of a group of rowdy, rambunctious frat boys.

You inhale sharply and sit up, rolling your chair forward. The cursor blinks in the empty document in front of you, a quiet invitation.

Slowly, carefully, you begin to type.

eight.

The night before the deadline, the Kappa Alpha Rho house is unusually quiet.

It’s strange. Even with music thumping from the speakers, even with bodies packed into the living room and voices rising in conversation, the usual energy—the chaotic, unrelenting, borderline obnoxious joy—is gone.

The party isn’t really a party. It’s a wake.

They all know what’s coming. Without funding, they’ll barely be able to keep things running. They’ll have to gut their budget, cut out every major event, every tournament, every social they used to host. They’ll lose their momentum, their presence on campus. They aren’t naive; they know what happens to a fraternity that can’t sustain itself.

So they drink. They celebrate what they were while they still can.

Tsukishima stands near the kitchen, beer in hand, watching the scene with a quiet irritation that hasn’t left him in days. It’s not just the situation—it’s you.

Because you’re not here.

And you haven’t been, not for days. No texts, no calls, no sudden appearances at dinner. No slipping into the house with your laptop and a resigned sigh, no sarcastic quips over Tsukishima’s shoulder while he studies. He knew you’d take this hard—he’s watched the way you’ve thrown yourself into their academic comeback, has seen the way your eyes light up when someone passes a test or raises their grade.

But he never thought you’d disappear.

The realisation sits heavy in his chest, unfamiliar and unwelcome. It bothers him more than he wants to admit.

“Have you heard from her?” Yamaguchi asks, appearing at his side with a drink in hand.

Tsukishima exhales sharply through his nose. “No.”

Yamaguchi frowns, but doesn’t say anything else.

The thought festers in Tsukishima’s mind as the night stretches on. He should be angry at you. A part of him is angry at you. But mostly, it just doesn’t make sense: no possible explanation he comes up with does. You’re not someone who runs from responsibility; if anything, you take too much of it on yourself. But if you’re not here, if you can’t even look at them, then maybe you really do feel guilty. Maybe you really do think you failed them.

The idea makes something twist in his gut, makes the irritation curdle into something else.

He doesn’t know what he’s supposed to do with that feeling.

So he stands there, arms crossed, listening to the frat he’s come to love mourn itself in real time.

And then the front door opens.

The music isn’t loud enough to drown out the sound—the soft creak, the shuffle of movement as someone steps inside. Tsukishima looks up, and the irritation he’s been holding onto vanishes in an instant.

Because it’s you.

You look exhausted. Shadows hang under your eyes, and your hair is slightly disheveled, like you’ve spent too many hours hunched over a desk. But still, you’re here.

And in your hand is a folder.

You walk straight toward him, weaving through the crowd, your expression unreadable. His breath catches in his throat before he realizes he’s holding it.

You stop in front of him, holding out the folder.

“Here,” you say simply.

Tsukishima doesn’t move. He just stares at you, at the folder stamped with the massive, obnoxious university logo, at the way your hand doesn’t waver. Hesitantly, he reaches out and takes it, fingers brushing against yours as he pulls it open.

His eyes scan the page.

ADDENDUM TO THE ACADEMIC PROBATION POLICY

His heart stutters.

It takes a moment for the words to register. The fraternity’s cumulative GPA is still below the requirement. But this—this thing you’ve spent the last few days working on, the thing you’ve evidently been breaking yourself over—it changes everything.

Organizations that show substantial improvement will still qualify for funding. As long as they continue to raise their GPA, they won’t be penalized.

He blinks. Once. Twice. The words blur slightly as he rereads them, brain struggling to keep up.

And then he looks up at you.

“You did this,” he says, voice lower than he intended.

You smile, small and tired but real. “You deserve it.”

Tsukishima feels like the air has been knocked from his lungs. 

For a moment, he can’t speak. He can’t move. He just stares at you, at the quiet certainty in your expression, at the exhaustion lining your face, at the way you’re standing here, in his house, telling him that they deserve this. He’s digesting the fact that you cared enough about them, that you respected their effort so much that you admitted your system’s faults to the entire university, published and notarized with physical proof.

Then, without thinking, without planning, without hesitation—he grabs your wrist.

The folder nearly slips from his grasp as he pulls you toward the center of the room, toward the rest of the fraternity. Someone notices first—Hinata, probably, judging by the sudden yell of surprise. Heads turn. Conversations still.

“What’s going on?” Kageyama asks, brow furrowed.

Tsukishima doesn’t answer. He just holds up the folder.

And then he watches it happen. The shift. The confusion, the realization, the moment the words sink in.

Kageyama’s eyes go wide. Yamaguchi’s jaw drops. Someone swears. Someone else shouts. And then, chaos simply erupts.

Because the next thing Tsukishima knows, they’re celebrating.

It’s different from before. This isn’t a goodbye party anymore. It’s loud, and wild, and joyful. There’s yelling and laughter and Hinata practically tackles you in excitement before you’re pulled into a flurry of hugs and cheers. Someone turns the music up. Someone else pops open a bottle of champagne that they were definitely not supposed to be saving for this occasion.

Tsukishima doesn’t join in.

Instead, he watches you.

Watches the way you’re laughing, exhausted but triumphant, surrounded by the people who care about you more than you realize. Watches the way they pull you into the celebration like you’ve always been one of them.

Watches the way you belong.

And for once, he doesn’t fight the way his chest tightens at the sight.

nine.

The party winds down eventually—not the joy, just the noise.

Most of the fraternity has either passed out in their rooms or sprawled out in various corners of the house, too tired (or too drunk) to make it any further. The music is still playing, but softer now, reduced to a faint hum that drifts through the open windows. Even the air feels different—lighter, easier, like the very house itself is breathing again.

Tsukishima finds you on the back porch, sitting on the steps, nursing a half-finished White Claw. He hesitates for only a second before stepping outside, letting the screen door creak shut behind him.

You glance up at him but don’t say anything as he sits down beside you. There’s no need to. The silence between you isn’t uncomfortable. It lingers, settled, like something well-worn and familiar, like you’ve known him forever.

It’s Tsukishima who breaks it first.

“Why?”

You tilt your head. “Why what?”

He huffs, staring down at his beer. “Why’d you do it?”

You blink at him, then let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. “Because I was wrong.”

Tsukishima looks at you then, sharp eyes flickering with something unreadable. You don’t waver under the weight of it, and he remembers the way you look when you simply know something, that quiet certainty, that unshakable conviction. It sends a warmth through his chest, the same warmth he’s been trying to ignore for weeks now, the same warmth he always seems to feel when he’s with you.

“They deserved to have their efforts rewarded,” you continue, voice steady. “I wrote that policy thinking I was setting a fair standard, but all it did was punish people for starting at a disadvantage. They—” you gesture vaguely toward the house, where distant laughter still filters through the walls—“worked their asses off. I watched them do it. I wasn’t about to let that mean nothing.”

Tsukishima doesn’t respond right away, but he doesn’t need to. The way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers drum once against the step before curling into his palm—he gets it. He knew before you even said it.

“You didn’t have to kill yourself over it, though.”

You roll your eyes. “I didn’t.”

He levels you with a look.

You sigh, glancing away. “Okay. Maybe it wasn’t easy.”

That’s an understatement, and you both know it. You don’t admit just how much effort it took, how much red tape you had to cut through, how many meetings you had to schedule, reschedule, and push through just to get the addendum approved in time. You don’t tell him about the sleepless nights, about the pages of drafted revisions, about the quiet, gnawing fear that it wouldn’t be enough. You don’t tell him how you single handedly powered through academic records for every single organisation on campus, just to make sure this change gets written into law. 

You don’t have to.

Tsukishima already knows.

He clicks his tongue but doesn’t push the subject further. Instead, he shifts, stretching his legs out in front of him, leaning back on his hands. “Tanaka and Noya are already losing their minds over events now that the funding’s secure.”

You snort. “I can only imagine.”

“They’re talking about a full house party lineup, a tournament series, and some kind of insane spring break trip.” He exhales sharply, something that vaguely sounds like a laugh. “It’s exhausting just listening to them.”

You smile softly. “Sounds about right.”

He hums in agreement. Then, almost offhandedly, he adds, “They mentioned formal, too.”

You nod, swirling your drink absentmindedly. “Makes sense.”

A beat of silence.

Then.

“…Can I take you to formal?”

You freeze.

It’s not like you haven’t been asked out before, but it’s different coming from Tsukishima. Maybe it’s the way he says it—not cocky, not casual, not even teasing. Just direct. A little uncertain. A little careful.

You don’t mean to hesitate, but you do. Just for a moment.

It’s a moment too long.

Tsukishima sighs, looking away. “Forget it.”

And that’s when you see it—so brief, so subtle, but there. The way his shoulders tense, the way his lips press into a thin line, the way his fingers twitch like he’s bracing for something. Like he expected you to say no. Like he’s already trying to convince himself that he doesn’t care.

Before you even think about it, you reach for his hand. Your fingers lace through his, warm and solid, and you squeeze lightly, grounding him.

“Yes,” you say. “I want you to take me.”

Tsukishima goes still. He stares first at your joined hands, like he can’t quite process the fact that you’re holding his. Then, slowly, his gaze flickers back up to yours.

His voice is quieter when he asks, “…Not out of pity?”

“Have I ever done anything out of pity?”

He considers that for half a second before huffing out something that’s almost a laugh. “…No.”

“Exactly.”

You don’t let go of his hand, and he doesn’t pull away. Instead, you shift slightly, moving just a little closer, lifting your interlocked fingers as you lean into his side. It’s easy, natural, like something inevitable.

For a moment, Tsukishima doesn’t react.

Then, slowly, hesitantly, he squeezes your hand back.

The porch is quiet, the sounds of the house fading into the background. Somewhere inside, Tanaka and Noya are still arguing about something, Kageyama is grumbling, someone bursts into laughter—but out here, it’s just you and Tsukishima, sitting in the soft glow of the porch light, hands entwined.

Neither of you says anything else. You don’t need to.

And in that moment, Tsukishima is certain that he’s screwed. But right now, with you curled up next to him, knowing you deeply the way you seemed to know him the first time you met him, remembering everything that has brought you two here, to this moment, he is equally certain about this: he will be there. He’ll keep noticing things about you that you think no one bothers to see, and he’ll be the support that you always offer to others but never ask for. He’ll let you—make you, if he has to—rest; he’ll take care of you the way you do for everyone else. 

And above all, he’ll be the person to prove to you that you are incredible. Not just for being good at tutoring, not just for being good at math, not just for being good at school, but that he’s in awe of you and who you are. 

He’ll love you how you should be loved. 

He swears it.

⨭ closing notes; very very attached to this one bc i started it in 2019. yes, 2019. she's gone through an insane amt of rewriting and cuts, but i am super proud of this final draft and i rly rly love it. this is also 1/3 of my asu trilogy so look out for that!!! as always #comment #like #reblog i literally see them all and it keeps me going :') thank u all sm if u made it to the end!

[toruforuu]

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall ch.1 dusk of intrigues

✼pairing:hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearnin (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation

✼word count: 3.7K

✼chapter: 1/?

a/n: hii! thank you so much for deciding to read my writing, it means a lot. hopefully you’ll enjoy what lies ahead and it does not suck. i finally finished the first chapter. might have spent the whole Sunday trying to figure out how shit works here on tumblr instead of studying for my upcoming exams, yikes. i am cooked, but at least this is finished haha. enjoy!

based on this // next chapter

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to vision-board

When a letter came into the mail with your name etched onto it, you immediately knew what it was.

Magic was no mystery to you regardless of the fact that your father was a mere human.

You were so thrilled when you got your fingers on the letter, rushing towards your mother without a second thought. Running through the house like lightning bolt. You tugged at her skirts, all needy as you waved the letter in the air.

Her eyes beamed with something that went unnoticed by the young version of you. Your mother was well aware of the risks which came along with marrying a human as a witch. She didn’t mind the whispers at work from those noble ranked wizards nor she regretted any of it.

Because of the love which had blossomed from her decision over the years.

Because she go to have you in the end, completing your little family.

There was a one thing that made her slightly anxious though. The thought of her sweet little girl never getting the experience at Hogwarts brought her uneasiness, however, it wasn’t anything she sought after desperately. She did her best to not worry you nor herself, simply letting it play out as it was supposed to.

Yet when she saw you clinging to the letter, her original unease dissolved into nothingness as her excitement grew at the sight of you. She was just as excited as you. Perhaps a tad more than that.

Your regular school was finished in a flash. Summer was in full bloom, hotter than the last one you remembered.

You did feel a bit saddened by the thought of leaving your friends behind and lying to them about moving schools, yet the image of your future was what kept you going without looking back too often.

You felt your life was on the verge of undeniable change. You felt it then, even as a child.

You spent the whole summer break wondering and pondering on your lawn, running in the backyard. Occasionally slipping into the streets to play with your neighbours as the humid weather shined down on you.

Before you could grasp it, your mother proudly took you into Diagon Alley as it was already time for shopping. You two had made a list together, containing all the things which were mandatory to bring or simply would make your time at Hogwarts a little easier. As you swam through each shop, ticking off all your essentials, your mother filled you on her years in school. Something she never truly did before, maybe because she didn’t want to build your hopes up. Just in case the letter for you wouldn’t come. She described them as the best time of her life, which made you all jumpy from giddiness as she went on, telling you all sorts of funny stories and things you were longing to be part of. The mere thought of following your mother’s footsteps got you convinced you were also born to be a Ravenclaw. You had to be.

Soon enough you found yourself standing on the train platform, orbs taking in the sweet image of your mother. The tears prickling in the corners of her eyes were impossible to not acknowledge, however, you didn’t dare to comment on them. Afraid you would start crying too so instead you hugged your mother tightly before you bid each other a goodbye with the sole promise of writing each other letters if needed.

Without looking over your shoulder you stepped into the train as the tears found its way out anyway, anxiety was eating at you as you realised you are now among children who are also aware of the wizard world.

It’s not a secret you have to keep anymore and for a second you can’t wrap your silly little head around the fact that all you ever dreamt of is starting already, layed out in front of you.

You pushed through the crowd of bodies, doing your best to seem approachable, smiling at everyone regardless of the gnarling fear in the pit of your stomach.

Seconds later you slipped into one of the cabins in the train which is fully empty, taking the seat closest to the window, because all you were aching to do is to see your mother one more time before you leave.

And you did, both of you were frantically waving at each other. Her sending you kisses, cheeks stained by the salty aftermath of motherhood.

The door sleeked open and your head tilted towards it instantly. You were met with eyes painted the softest shade of blue, they almost looked celestial as they stared back at you. And that doesn’t even begin to cover it, the orbs stood out on the fair canvas of pale skin belonging to the boy standing in the entrance of the cabin. His locks were the colour of crestfallen snow, the purest strands of white your eyes were ever blessed with. You most definitely haven’t seen anyone as captivating as him before in your life. He was angelic even before then.

And of course you knew who he was.

A Gojo.

Who didn’t?

You might have not known his name yet, but it was still utterly clear he had to be a part of the Gojo family. Every wizard, even some lucky muggles, knew who the Gojo family was. Or rather they could point out their striking features in any sort of crowd as it was nearly impossible to overlook them.

It is one of the most eligible families of the wizard world. Not exactly for a flattering reason though, their respect is earned by their old fashioned and brutal ways. Their history reflects their deepest secrets and darkest intentions. They had a habit of following those who were marked as evil by any sane person. Perhaps they still fall back to that habit. Old habits die screaming after all.

Their never ending fortune plays a certain role as well.

He for sure looked like he came straight out of a royal meeting. His hair well kept, only few disobedient strands of hair poking out. Features looking as if they were sharpened and his choice of clothes only added points to the unbreakable imagine of his character.

What you didn’t know back then is the fact your mothers once used to be particularly good friends at Hogwarts. Roommates. As life goes, their friendship crumbled the second your mother married a muggle. Your father. Her best friend was not able to withstand the blow and put her hatred aside. Not even for her dearest friend.

You blinked at the radiant boy, opening your mouth to say a simple greeting since you didn’t want to judge him immediately.

But, God, your blood boiled the second he shot you a simple dismissive glance and scoffed before sitting down on the other side of the cabin without even acknowledging your presence any further.

He scoffed.

From that second a seed of years full of never ending pestering and teasing was planted into the soil.

Luckily, that day was also the day you met your ride or die. Your best friend called Arabella who was the last one to join the cabin of the train, sitting right beside you. Call it a coincidence or fate, whatever.

She spent the whole time talking, telling you how she almost didn’t make it to the train on time due to her father who overslept. You couldn’t help but laugh as you listened attentively.

Gojo Satoru was the complete opposite when it came to attending Hogwarts. From the moment he was born, it was known he would be a wizard since he came from a pureblood lineage of the best amongst the greats.

He wasn’t nearly as excited to start as you were. He wasn’t on the edge of bouncing off the walls from joy, he was rather stressed. Stressed as much as a young boy can be. He had a role to play. An image to keep. A need to make place for himself in order to feel validated by his family which was eagerly sending him off after filling him with their poison for years.

Satoru might have been young, nonetheless he was aware of the burden weighing down on his shoulders.

The old fashioned ways of purebloods seeped into young Satoru’s mind as he grew up in the highest ranks of the wizard society, surrounded by people who shared his family’s views. So taking their morals as his was something inevitable.

When he saw you that day in the train cabin as you were waving to your mother, he felt a twinge of jealousy in his chest. His parents were probably already off to leave the transport. He felt envious of a stranger.

The way your coloured orbs lingered on him didn’t go unnoticed by him either. It wasn’t anything new to the boy, he understood you recognised him the second your eyes fell on his frame. He got pretty used to it over the years. People gawking at him, asking him stupid questions.

He recognised you too. Not for your features nor your family’s history. You were a nobody in the wizard world.

Well, not exactly.

Satoru put the dots together as his eyes landed on you. Your face was somewhat familiar.

He definitely saw it a couple of times in The Daily Prophet since your mother worked at the ministry, department of magic.

Unlike you, Satoru Gojo had a sense of the history between his mother and yours. For a simple reason, their friendship was an example of sacrifice for the greater good of their morals.

At least in his mother’s eyes.

He didn’t mean to scoff at first when you greeted him, it came naturally so he left it at that. He couldn’t be bothered to correct himself, to give in that effort.

To be fair, he found you quite amusing after a while of silence hanging between you. There was something alluring about you that he couldn’t quite put into words, couldn’t explain it no matter how hard he tried. No matter how clever he was.

Looking back it now, he wouldn’t be able to do it even today.

He can recall the moment when he captured you sitting pressed against the window waving a goodbye to your mother so vividly despite the fact it has been years. The day was chaos itself, yet the thought of you in there seems to be steady.

He watched you from the corner of his eyes the whole ride while you chatted up with a strawberry blond girl, the conversation you two were having slurred together as the years wore off.

He himself made friends on the way to Hogwarts as well, the children were basically at his feet the second they took him into their sights. Satoru Gojo recognised most of the children already as he was paraded to society from an early age.

The ride was buzzing, laughter and chatter wild. Older students passing by the cabins, gazing over the new arrivals with curious eyes.

Similar was the way to the actual castle, the atmosphere was filled with excitement bursting through most of the first years who were wondering in which house they would spend their time. The sun was beginning to set in the background, giving the situation a glow which continues to shine like gold in memory.

You kept silently praying for it to be Ravenclaw as the boat dangled on the surface of the Great Lake enveloping Hogwarts.

It quickly vanished from your mind as your gaze captured the beauty of the castle sitting on the hill. Sighs of amused woah’s and aw’s filling the air.

The nerves got you frozen into the ground as you stood in the queue. The Great Hall overwhelming with the bustling of people, slight anticipation hanging in the air as everyone else waited to see who would be the new people joining their houses.

Satoru Gojo went up to the sorting hat before you did, being one of the first ones to be called upon. The hat hummed in deep thought when it was placed on his artic locks. It didn’t take long, handful of seconds.

“Slytherin!” The hat called out throughout the whole hall, cheers erupting from the Slytherin’s table as Satoru snugly smirked. It wasn’t a surprise to anyone in the room, the Gojo’s have a legacy and there wasn’t a single one who didn’t belong to the house of Slytherin, in the last century at least.

You got lost in thought and didn’t notice your name being called, which caused the other first years behind you to chuckle and nudge your shoulder which jerked you back to the reality. Your cheeks flushed with a light blush as you made your way up, sitting down carefully. You could hear your own heart pounding in your chest so hard the blood ringed in your ears.

Admits all that, you certainly didn’t notice the gaze of Satoru Gojo lingering in anticipation as everyone waited for the sorting hat to decide on which house to send you in.

You were too preoccupied, your eyes fluttered shut as you swallowed the dry lump in your throat. Awaiting the decision.

For a second you thought it might have been a dream when the sorting hat mumbled out the word Ravenclaw.

You fluttered your eyes open, the crowd already in cheers and the hat being taken off hour head. Your chest felt significantly lighter when you stepped down to the stairs and happily hurried to the Ravenclaw’s table to sit. In the meantime, the godly like piercing blue eyes burned two holes in your back. A small part of Satoru hoped you would get to share a house, just to find out what was that alluring energy you were surrounded by.

So it felt only natural to feel a pinch of disappointment. You weren’t a Gryffindor so he didn’t mind much, that’s what he thought.

It quickly became clear the two of wouldn’t be considered anything close to the word friends.

Satoru Gojo did not bother to acknowledge you in the first few months, your existence falling into the abyss of the past. You did not bump into each other often. Your classes were seperated.

You too had forgotten about the interaction on the train as time went on. You were living your fantasy, your inner desires becoming reality.

You were so blinded by the image of Hogwarts you painted in your mind that it came as a low blow when you finally realised it wasn’t all that you hoped for. It wasn’t a total disaster, however, once the magic of the arrival evaporated it started to feel like a regular school. That wasn’t the issue, you thrived for knowledge and learning, but your mother portrayed it as a fairytale. Soon you came to a realisation her memories were in a haze of nostalgia, full of yearning which caused her to slightly over exaggerate.

You weren’t lonely, no, you had made couple of peers along the way. Hell, you even ended up sharing a dorm room with the strawberry blonde girl you met on the train, lightening each other’s rough start.

You missed your parents badly though. The life you left behind for this felt suddenly like a sore wound. You wrote letters home, usually twice a week. Your mother would respond to each one despite her work circumstances. Her words filled with fondness kept you from succumbing to the solitude you grew to feel over the first few months.

If you would look back at it now, you probably wouldn’t recall much of it. Nothing out of the ordinary occurred, it simply felt hard to function in a completely new environment and this feeling caused almost the entirety of the year to blur together.

Acing the exams, learning how to understand the rules of quidditch by which you were mesmerised. Spending your free evenings in the common room, eating in the Great hall. Learning to how to fly your own broomstick. Bonding with Arabella over your shared interests.

By the time spring came to bloom a new beginning, your sorrows were left in the cold winter.

And that’s when your world collided into yet another problem.

One you wouldn’t get rid of so easily.

Satoru Gojo was pleasantly surprised to find out his place at Hogwarts wasn’t something he had to earn, it was already served to him on a silver platter. He expected to loathe each passing second at the school. Instead of that he found himself enjoying being away from his suffocating parents, fooling around with the featherlight friends which tagged by his side since he stepped his feet onto the ground of house Slytherin.

He was a dazzling young wizard, everything came to him without efforts. His grades more than decent to begin with. He became the fastest first year at flying, surpassing some quidditch players with ease.

By the time your first year was almost over, everyone learnt to know who Satoru Gojo was and that it was better to stay on his good side. No one wanted to mess with him, no one dared to step up against him as fear was quickly spread and so were the rumours.

He didn’t mind either of it, he bathed in it.

He actually welcomed such an imagine, not bothering to deny any of the rumours. Regardless of how bizarre they were.

He hadn’t expected to come across someone who would defy him. But there you were, rushing as a hero to stand up for the muggle born boy he was picking at.

“Hey! Leave him alone, he didn’t do anything to you!” You yelled through the hallway as the sun shone through the cracks of windows, casting a halo around the white haired boy. His appearance making him look like an angel. He was far from that though.

He stared at you with a neutral expression, looking down at you as crouched down to help the other first year up. Part of him admired your bravery, however, if your bravery meant defying him then he wouldn’t have it.

“Eh?” he made a confused yet disgusted sound, giving you only that as a response before he let out a laugh filled with poison. He felt a rush of amusement when he briefly noticed the way your nostrils flared, the way the corners of your lips turned downward as you now stood in front him.

The other first year already on his way to get lost from the golden boy and his puppets.

“This is none of your business, so get lost,” Satoru stated with a small shrug, his tone lazy as if you didn’t matter at all.

“Well, it’s not right,” you hummed back, not caring about the lack of interest from his side. Gojo’s friends looked at you with their eyes narrowed, itching to be told to follow the first year or show you why to not mess with them. The signal from him never came, leaving them to simply watch over your interaction.

“So?” he exhaled, pouting his lips at you for a moment.

“Be grateful I am not picking on you,” he added as he turned his back to you, clear sign of dismissal. Your jaw flew open a little at his attitude, you could feel your temper slipping and as he began talking to his friends as if you weren’t there, you lost your cool.

“Aren’t you rude? Seriously, do you think you’re entitled to act like this?” you scoffed at him, expecting him to respond with the same kind of energy, but he barely looked over his shoulder to snicker down at you.

You hoped your interaction on the train wasn’t a definite take on your future, but as you stood in front of him now couple of months later any trace of what you were thinking before was now buried and rejected. He was the spoiled brat you had him for.

“I am talking to you,” you press further, earning yourself looks from the passersby.

He turns to face you then, slight flicker of annoyance etched in the curve of his fair eyebrows. He didn’t appreciate you using that tone. At first he expected you to seize the opportunity to walk away, spare yourself the trouble.

“I don’t take advice from the likes of you,” he spitted out, voice dropping a tone to sound firm as he glared at you. Not a shiver of regret in his piercing eyes.

Due to this very interaction he glued his sights on you.

And suddenly you seemed to be everywhere where he went. The Great Hall where you shared your meals. Your group of friends lingering near the lake. He kept bumping into you at Hogsmead. In the library.

As if on purpose, they merged the first years of Slytherin and Ravenclaw for transfiguration classes due to lack of staff.

Catching a mere glimpse of you during class made his stomach hurl as he recalled your insolence. He couldn’t stand seeing your face. So there wasn’t an opportunity he passed down on which could make your life a little rougher. It started out small and innocent. Throwing curled up pieces of papers into your hair during class. Using cunning spells to spill your ink, crunch your notes. Calling you names and chasing after you in the hallways.

Times you spent in detention couldn’t be indeed counted on your hands. All thanks to the infamous Gojo Satoru who pestered you any chance he got and somehow always managed to get out of it.

It was him who usually started the bickering, yet when it came down to owing it up, his clever mouth ran to spill all the reason why it was your fault and not his. Sparing himself from the detention and driving you crazy.

It’s what seemed right to him back then. And he kept the promise like an oath.

Your future was sealed.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]

[elizzsush]

Future Child | Twisted Wonderland

Malleus Draconia X Reader

----It wasn’t everyday you’d find a three year old running around campus causing a ruckus. Usually students wouldn’t have to deal with this, but with Crowley you had to deal with everything. Now… why is it when you catch this small trouble maker it calls you “momma”?

AUs: None Rating: SFW

Note: Hi, hi! So, basically, I wasn't going to finish this and posted it as a WIP and people really liked it. So, then I had no other choice but to finish it! And I hope you like it.

____________________________________

Crowley in-listed you to help with the child problem around school. No, wait that sounded bad. A young fae no older than five got into night raven campus and has been running amok. Some students say he appeared out of thin air. So, obviously, you: the defenseless, Magic-less human with no knowledge of fae or even how some of these basics of this world work, you were the schools best bet against this ‘threat.’ And so, your oh so kind instructor pushed this task onto you and left.

Not without you demanding an extra allowance, but still.

Thankfully, you were well equipped with a grumpy cat-weasel thing who is so glad to help and definitely did not try and run away. “Ehh? Why do I have to help ya??” Grim whined as he hung limply, your hand firmly grasping his scruff as you held him up. He was so generous and did not need to be bribed at all.

You sighed, “I’ll put some money aside from this to get you tuna.” Technically, that was a lie. No, you were going to fix the window Grim broke from practicing his magic in the house, again.

“I want two cans!” The motivated cat purred and jumped onto your shoulders. Now, you can finally begin your mission and take on this… threat...?

This threat was a real threat!

The sight of the frozen cafeteria did scare you. You had learnt that after you had stumbled upon the frozen dinning hall; all of this was from the baby fae! What on Earth were you suppose to even do once you caught the child?

How would you catch this kid without being frozen exactly? Why were you put on this task?

There was a mountain of ice and a many frozen students who were actively being saved by other students most of whom were made to help. They had gotten lucky in your option. They didn’t have to find the kid. “So much magic…" An awestruck student said, "it’s hard to believe a kid did this.” The nameless person mumbled as they helped thaw the room out. You couldn’t help but hum in agreement to yourself.

What kid could do this when Deuce struggled with making anything but cauldrons while he was somewhere new! It was… overwhelming magic for sure. Even for you to stand in the middle of it, magicless. And this was just the dining hall!

Apparently, you had three more places to check out.

“Not much to see here.” Grim grumbled from your shoulder, just then a ball of fire came hurtling towards the two of you! “Eek!!” Grim squealed jumping of your shoulder while you ducked.

“Sorry!” A no name student called out… He had been using the fire to dethaw some students.

“We should leave… and fast.” You said as you turned to leave in a hurry. You tripped on the ice almost tripped on the ice while you left.

.

.

.

The very next place you checked was the courtyard, where Mr. Vargas liked to make you run in the blistering heat. PE was horrible. Everyone else got to be on their dumb magic brooms while you were stuck doing laps.

Mr. Vargas did like to make the boys sweat afterwards though. You got to sit on the grass and laugh at them cheer them on! Especially Ace, who always lagged behind.

Anyway, in the place of the field of green grass that your peers used to practice flying on a broom, was a field of fire. Green fire no less. At least it was still green? You stayed a distance away while you watched a group of five students try and summon water magic to help fight these flames. “If you don’t do this right, it’ll be off with your heads!” Next to them, a familiar short, red-haired boy was shouting at them and telling them what they were doing wrong.

You liked to think it wouldn't actually be off with their heads, Riddle was above that... Now. You liked to think it was just motivation to make them work harder!

Because it was mostly Heartslabyul students, it worked. "Hey! Riddle?" You called out to the boy. The Housewarden looked at you and jogged up to meet you a way away from the green flames. Was Sebek here as well? You swore you heard his voice shouting...

"You shouldn't be here. This area is off-limits to anyone outside of the Equestrian club because of the danger." Riddle crossed his arms; his tone was pretty gentle though. You nodded along to what he was saying, because it made sense.

"Crowley wants us to find the Fae doing this, do you know anything about it?" You decided to get right to the point. Riddle was busy enough as it was. He seemed to appreciate it too.

The boy glanced back at the students trying to figure out how to calm the fire and shook his head. "I think I heard a few third years mention a blur of H/C going into the school." He mentioned, you mostly knew the kid was in the school. It was one of the places Crowley wanted you to check out, Mr. Trein's class, after that you didn't really know where the kid could be.

You smiled and thanked Riddle before turning to leave, the boy glanced back at the fire before stepping a bit closer to you, a slightly embarrassed look on his face. "Uh- Y/N, I was wondering if you wanted to have tea with me later I-"

"Dorm leader! it's spreading!" A student shouted out, a panicked look on their face as they rushed up to the two of you. Riddle muttered something under his breath, before jogging back to the fire. To step up to calm the flames even more than what the regular student could do so you left.

“This seemed handled enough…” You muttered, a bit disappointed that you didn't get to finish your conversation with Riddle, Grim simply rolled his eyes and you two turned to leave.

.

.

.

You went to Mr. Trein’s classroom next. Your most boring class of twisted wonderland, history, uh... you think. Truthfully you hadn’t stayed awake long enough to know what class he taught.

It was not for lack of trying either!

He just drew out his words and spoke in just a boring robotic tone, it could put anyone to sleep! I digress. The cat: Lucius liked you too, he tended to let you sleep more while waking up other students.

Anyway, in place of the classroom was… an overgrown forest? In the center of it, you noticed a tall, well groomed, teal haired male, squatting down to examine what appeared to be a mushroom….

Obviously. it was Jade. He was part of the Mountain Lovers Club. The sole member actually if you remember right. Crowley mentioned something about the clubs handling the situations. So...

This seemed… handled-ish….

You would be taking your leave now. You closed the door silently and Grim groaned. "This is so boring." He whined, "Why do we have to do this?!" You shrugged slightly.

"Crowley said he'll give an extra allowance this week if we do this." You mumbled, "We could really use it to fix that window you broke." You reminded the cat. He huffed and glared at you a bit childishly, crossing his furry arms silently on your shoulder.

"I thought you said I could have extra tuna?" He realized, jumping off your shoulder he pointed at you in an accusatory manner; you sighed a bit.

You didn’t have time to find him right now. "We can talk about this later." You walked past him but when he didn't follow you, you turned around.

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

Where did Grim go...? You looked around the halls for him, "Grim?!" Didn’t he know not to wonder off while there was a threat on campus!

This fae would eat him alive!

Feeling even more motivated and slightly panicked, you ran off to find the cat and disregard the threat that was getting killed by meeting this Fae kid unarmed. Uncated? Either way.

.

.

.

.

“Someone help me!” You finally heard Grims's voice after looking for him for... quite a while actually. Pushing the door to the classroom open, you found...

Nothing.

Every potion was on its self, the stirring sticks where the usually go, nothing burned, frozen, or overgrown nothing was… well anywhere. At least anywhere out of place. “Someone, help me!” A cried out a very familiar voice squeaked out. Hesitantly, you walked closer to where you heard Grim’s voice.

This felt like something out of a horror movie.

A cauldron, inside of it was the soft glow of blue flames. No doubt caused by Grins fire ears. “Grim…?” You spoke softly. Peeking inside the steel pot, you saw a young boy, a long tail curled up beside him and one horn on the side of his head. In his arms was Grim, held tightly like he was a stuffed animal. He sniffled and then looked up at you with the most striking green eyes you’ve ever seen…

“Y/n!” Grim cried out, relief flooding his voice and breaking you from the little boy's curse of cuteness.

You plucked Grim from the kid's arms and He crawled onto your shoulders.

“Momma!” The boy, still in the cauldron yelled out, stumbling to get up and jump into your arms, get hindered by the caldron he found himself stuck in. His face was red from tears, and he looked scared… his small hands shaking with fear. He sniffled more, his chubby hands rubbing away his tears as they fell. Your heart ached slightly seeing those tears.

This can't be the same boy running amok in the school's campus. He was just so... non-threatening?

So, without a second thought. You picked the small boy up and cooed at him. Grim stared at you bewildered, His experience far more intimidating them yours.

Didn't you know how tight that boy was holding him?! Poor Grim almost didn't make it. He whined and frowned at the attention you were giving the boy.

Now, you just had to take this sweetheart to Crowley.

Either way, the small boy was absolutely adorable! Sure, he may or may not have caused this week's class cancelations but really, Ace was thanking the boy for it, so all was fine! Back at ramshackle, you realized, he was just a kid.

He was using some crayons to draw. He screamed like a bit of a brat when you tried to make him eat some broccoli you got... You thought it would be good for you and grim and neither of you ate it.

His big electric green eyes that reminded you of… someone? But who was it again? Well, it didn’t matter. The boy had green eyes, H/ced hair and these two small slightly curled horns on top of his head.

His ears were pointed just like a fae’s but just slightly? They weren’t as long nor as sharp as a regular fae’s like Lilia. It was hard to explain. It was the oddest thing- he had a tail as well! A long blackish purple one at that. And he was excellent at magic, if the destroyed campus told you anything. “Are you mad at me?” He looked up at you with teary eyes after you informed Crowley you caught him.

“Why would I be mad at you?” You asked the small boy curiously, blinking at him a bit confused at the question. His large electric green puppy eyes weren’t exactly helping you stand strong and not coddle him either.

“Because I made the rooms a mess…” he rubbed his large cheeks free from stray tears. Not that he was any good at it either, you just shook your head and kneeled to the floor, wiping them away for him.

Something about this boy made you wanted to care for him and protect him- he was just do cute. “Nonsense, you were scared. A little mess is fine as long as you weren’t hurt.” When you looked at him you felt something akin to cuteness aggression. This little fae was adorable! If Crowley didn’t find his parents, you’d take him in!

Ignore how poorly you yourself lived in ramshackle! And how much of your food was canned tuna because Grim insisted on it over actual food.

And the window that you still needed to fix and were most likely going to spend this week's allowance on...

The boy nodded, cuddling into your side like a small cuddly cat.

__________________________

He was adorable but children were a handful.

Crowley, after assigning you to catch the kid, gave you the poor child to take care of. So, you had been living with the child for three whole days.

Not to say the kid- who’s name you learned was Casper- was a handful. In fact, he was a sweetheart. He tended to shy away from things a bit, and he was a bundle of nerves sometimes.

He definitely got overwhelmed when left by himself, often resorting to crying and when he cried his magic tended to...

Anyway, Despite the amount of magic he held at his fingertip, he’d rush to you at the slightest creak of the floorboards, held onto you tightly, and hide his face in your shirt.

When it was finally time to go to school you didn’t really know what to do with the kid…? We’re you suppose to just… bring a kid to class with you? I mean, you already bring a cat, and the kid would probably be more well behaved then Grim.

So you brought Casper with you. And it was fine He was very sweet, maybe a little to shy, the teachers did love him. He introduced himself to them from behind your leg.

That was two days ago, now you were in the cafeteria. You hadn't been here in two days because, well you weren't sure if Casper would be okay around the crowd of students. Some of whom were still bitter about the Ice things... and the green fire thing.

“Fufufu, what do we have here?” Lilia popped up out of absolutely nowhere. "I heard a rumor about a trouble make~" He smirked.

“Grandpa Lilia!” The kid for once didn’t shy away. You had expected him to start crying. (He had before after all, when Jade introduced himself to the boy.) Lilia simply smiled and accepted the boy's affections, nodding along as he babbled about his day. Meanwhile, you were staring bewildered at the boy.

And... That was your lunch.

With of course, Ace and Deuce coming to keep you company while Lilia entertained Casper.

Most of your lunch you'd glance at the two. 'Grandpa Lilia?' You wondered why he was unusually not shy? He was a talkative boy to you, but with a stranger, no way... “Where Papa?” He asked looking up at the older fae with his large sparkling eyes. Oh, maybe Lilia knew the boy's parents! He was an older fae himself, right?

“Yes, good question indeed where is your papa?” Lilia asked, before he looked at you, a small smirk on his face, he looked at you like you’d know! You didn’t. You had tried to correct the kid on you being his mom before two- he cried and sulked over it for a while after that. “Well, I best be Off now!” Lilia cheered and gave you the kid back before disappearing off somewhere.

That was weird right?

You day went on- Ace and Deuce were good around the kid. Casper was pretty decent around Ace and Deuce, not too shy but he wasn't rambling like he was around Lilia. "Is something on your mind?" Deuce asked curiously, a mild layer of unwarranted concern.

"It's fine..." You shrugged, "I just hope Crowley find Caspers parents soon." You sighed, and the boy in question looked at you confused. He called you Mom and you basically took care of him, so you figured he thought you were his mom.

Not that you really minded, it wasn't like he thought you were old, fae tended to not age and stay good looking forever basically. Case in point, Lilia.

You really didn't mind, you already took care of Grim, so what's another, milder tempered Grim who didn't run away? "Speaking of the kid- Where is he?" Ace asked, looking around.

Scratch that, the kid wondered off.

"Oh no." You sighed and looked at the Adeuce duo with an exhausted look they couldn't say no too. They'd help you find the kid.

__________________________

How on earth did Sebek of all people get Casper?

Sebek, a first year in your class. Some loud guy who you got partnered up with once.

Why didn't Casper run away! You most certainly would and have. Instead, you found Casper on Sebek Zigvolt of all people's shoulders. Now you and Ace were whispering about how to get the kid back. No way you were going to go up to Sebek of all people and have to listen to his "fae are superior" speech... again.

"We should... Lure Casper away with candy." You whispered, Ace gave you a look and shot down your idea.

"Do you want to give him the impression that you should follow random people with candy?" He said looking at you like you just had the worst idea ever. "I say we just grab him and run."

"No, Sebek is faster than us." You noted, "Especially you, he runs laps past you in PE." Ace bumped your shoulder with an eyeroll.

"Where's Deuce?" Ace frowned, you watched with wide eyes as you saw Deuce confidently walk up to Sebek... "oh no." Ace groaned and run up behind Deuce.

You cursed to yourself. "We don't have to follow right...?" you asked the cat who agreed with you, but you knew you kind of had to follow them.

"Hey- Sebek." You smiled awkwardly.

"Mama!" The kid called out to you and reached out towards you. he almost fell off Sebek's shoulders- thankfully you caught him. Sebek looked at you in confusion and maybe a bit judgmentally...?

"No- he isn't..." You sighed and gave up.

"A human couldn't mother a Fae of Caspers caliber!" And so... Sebek began his rant. He started with how Lilia informed him of the situation, and he was here to lift the burden of Casper from your human shoulders.

Really, it saved you the time of informing Sebek you were in fact, not a teen mom. Also, it was weirdly insulting? Like hey, come on, you’ve taken care of him for three days! Almost four, “Casper is pretty happy with me, right sweetie?” You asked the boy who nodded hesitatingly. Wait- hesitantly? “Huh?”

Sebek looked a bit disheartened the Fae kid rejected him, but he was also kind of confused as well. “It’s just… I miss Papa, Mama…” the boys lips quivered a bit.

“No, no! You're not in trouble.” You fell to your knees to comfort the boy.

Apparently Sebek was hanging out with the child because he thought he was Malleus but something went wrong. Perhaps someone used their unique magic in the future ruler of briar valley.

Um… who’s Malleus?

________________

Day four of having a child.

Today you were going to find this kid someone who looked close enough to his dad. I mean, you apparently looked like his mom enough, so… yeah!

Also, perhaps his brother went to this school and that was how he ended up here. Finding him a dad sounded fun though.

It was a solid plan… “Casper?” You woke the boy up. You put Casper in the guest bedroom ace usually occupied when he was collared. Which was often. Even with Riddle being looser on the rules Ace always pushed sadly. “Today we’re finding your father.” You informed the boy.

“Really!” His eyes lit up. Why didn’t you do this sooner?

“Mhm, just tell me what he looks like-“ and so began Caspers rant on how amazing his father was. How he always makes time for you two even though he’s so busy, how good he was at playing superhero’s- and so on.

You didn’t even realize superhero’s existed here. Crazy. “He has black horns like me!” He grinned up at you, “oh- and black hair and we have the same eyes!” He giggled before again going on about how awesome his dad was.

“Horns, black hair, green eyes…” you mumbled, “and you're a fae, so we should probably go to Diasomnia, they have the most fae of the dorms” you smiled brightly. “This Malleus guy seems promising- and if he doesn’t want to, I’ll just make him!” You cheered and with Casper on your shoulders you were out the door!

.

.

.

Was it just you or was Diasomnia slightly terrifying?

 Either way, with Casper on your shoulders like you were going to the zoo, you walked on the winding path with thorns around it and into the dorm. The halls were… very long and castle-like. 

Eventually you found the dorm's common room. Witch had three students, only one of which was a fae. With as much confidence you could muster, you approached them. “Hello! Good evening gentlemen… Um, do you happen to know someone whom this child looks like?” You smiled and proceeded to the kid. 

They very politely actually said that they think he looks like Malleus. You asked them to point you to this Malleus, and they again very politely refused. Apparently he was a busy man which was fair. But he was a father now! If casper deems him fit enough (By that you mean mistake him for his father like the boy did you.)

Still, throughout this process, you couldn't help but wonder if you were forgetting someone. 

You kept glancing at Caspers horns… who else did you know with horns? “Tsunotarou! That's who you look like!” You finally realized after an embarrassingly long time. In your defense you had only met the guy once or twice while you were dealing with Leona’s stupid plan, and didn’t Leona mention Malleus during his overblot?

“That's what you call Papa!” Casper cheered, his eyes widening in awe. Okay so, either that was a common name… which you doubt or Casper had a weird background. 

“Khee Khee what do we have here?” Lilia appeared out of nowhere! …again, still you jumped! 

“Mama is going to find Papa today!” Casper cheered in all his three year old glory. Picking the boy up and lifting him to sit on your hit you nodded. 

“Mhm! I’m going to meet this… Malleus demands he becomes Caspers father or pay child support!” You claim confidently because in reality, you were beginning to doubt the plan you came up with at 3am and woke up early for. “Tsunotarou would be a better bet but I really don’t know where that guy is… or his real name.” you muttered to yourself. 

Either way, Lilia clapped and with a large smile said this: “You're in luck! Malleus just finished his breakfast and should be heading over for his morning coffee.” So, without verbally questioning why he knew that you smiled and plopped down on the common room’s chairs watching a bit nervously as Lilia wandered off again. 

So… You were really dumb. Realistically this was a horrible plan bound to fail, but you already came this far. 

Didn’t all your friends always comment about how scary Malleus was? Wasn’t he like one of the top mages of this world? 

Okay, maybe if you didn’t come up with this plan at 3am last night you wouldn’t be so royally screwed! Hah, get it because Malleus is supposed to be some royal of… a whole nation right? Yeah, this was a bad idea. 

Getting up to leave, you heard Casper cheer for his father.

“Child Of Man?” 

“Tsunotarou?” You turned around, “Actually- no this is better than getting smited by some scary mage! Okay so I have been looking for… you, for a while!” You smiled, “This is our son: casper.” You introduced them. 

“Papa!” 

__________________

“Mm, He does look like me.” Tsunotarou hummed; he knelt beside the child, titling his head curiously as he observed the child. “Your horns are coming in nicely aren't they?” He commented with a small smile, the boy nodded enthusiastically. 

“Mhm! They should be as big as yours soon!” Casper giggled. 

“Your speech is also advanced for a child of your age.” The older boy smiled, It was a very touching sight actually. 

“It is. Ace and Deuce have been helping me teach him some bigger stuff too.” you stated proudly as the younger boy nodded along. You sat beside where the boy stood in front of his new father. Your back against the armrest, you sat planted on the floor. “The headmage said he would be dealing with getting him back home but I have to take care of him till then.” You sighed. 

“I see, so you thought to find me as I am the child's father?” Malleus asked curiously, an eyebrow raised almost teasingly.

“If you’ll believe it, yup.” You nodded along, I mean if he believes that the kid is his, why not get him to take responsibility for that sweet child support money?

“I see, so Crowley is making the proper arrangement to get you back to us in the future.” 

“Wait, so he's actually my kid?” you couldn’t help but blurt out. Tsunotarou merely chuckles. “Am I dumb or are we actually like his parents?” You whispered a bit to Tsunotarou and stood up, he followed after you standing up as well. 

“Mm? Crowely didn’t inform you?” he said with an amused and sly smile. “I suppose it's time anyway we get properly introduced seeing as you are my future spouse” He smirked, his hand on his hips.

“I am Malleus draconia”

__________________________

Fun Fact:

The events of this takes place after Heartslabyul’s and Savanaclaw overblot. So y/n doesn’t know Tsunotarou is Malleus.

Also, Lilia knew all along.

Also, also, I'm sorry this sucked lol

NOTE: Sorry this slightly sucked I didn't really plan to actually finish the WIP I posted it as "Forever unfinished" and people liked it so I thought I'd do this anyway!

________________________ ________________________

Some of Ya'll wanted to be Tagged: @yu-night-raven @kelsyntam @reivelmin @thisisafish123 @cheshire-kitsune @dmiqueles @ranbutler-epicsans-moon @dontmindmelove @swivi @halseyhatter @barbatoss-bitch @itslucieen @bell7duck @whatever-fanfics @ziankenvirus @blcknebula @leilakaro @sarraisme

(I'm not quite sure if I did it right but thank you for liking the WIP enough to comment and want to see another! I hope it was good, I kind of think It wasn't that good but Thats why I made it somewhat long... To compensate!)

[inupibaldspot]

From you, For him

| Part 2 of At him, For him

Note ₊˚⊹♡ : Normal like no curse and stuff AU where Gojo is in love with Geto’s lover but this time he has the chance to change everything. This contains time travel!

I wrote it in a way you can understand what’s happening even if your don’t read part 1 btw

·:*¨༺ Part 1 ༻¨*:·

Gojo Satoru feels as if he can’t breathe.

He inhales. His chest hurts and he has a horrible attempt at keeping his glazing eyes in check as he fakes a smile and claps his hands together; there was a blur silhouette of Geto and you in a distance in tears ,both wearing matching rings.

“Woah—! Congratulations you two.” Shoko smiles wildly as she brings her hands close to her mouth,cheering. She briefly turns to Gojo and looks back at the couple. “Keep it together,Gojo… you’ve done that for years so why bother showing it now.”

Gojo lets out a laugh. “How cruel…” of course Shoko knows he has had this unrequited love for years. He breathes out. “I’ll head out for a second.”

Shoko nods as she reaches out and puts a cigarette and lighter in his pocket. He mutters a ‘thanks’ as he opens the door, cold breeze immediately greeting him. He breaths in again as his hands search for warmth in his pockets, turning to the alleyway.

Once when he is secluded, he brings out the piece of cigarette Shoko handed him earlier as he places it in between his lips, his hands bringing up the lighter with one on the lighter as the other hand wraps to protect the small flame.

He did not smoke often—more like he didn’t even the last last time he did. Gojo sucks in a breath, his throat feels hot but his chest is lighter, no-he remembers smoking back in high school simply because of Shoko and Geto. His only two friends would leave him for smoke breaks and he didn’t want to be left alone so he simply picked up the habit. 

Gojo quit after he met you since he didn’t feel the need to tag along Geto and Shoko anymore.

Somewhere in between college,meeting you and now, he didn’t seem to care anymore.

“Hey kid.”

“Fuck!” Gojo jumps, his teeth biting into the cigarette as his eyes glare sharply in the direction of the sound. A man sits along the far end of the alley way, away from him.

The white haired man contains his jumped heartbeat as he walks over the man who called him over. His eyes trail the dress he wore; it was a traditional dark piece of clothing and beads around his hand. This man was cosplaying as a Priest. 

He didn’t say the word ‘cosplay’ lightly because first, to begin with, the man in front had a ‘magic ball’ in front of him as if he was waiting for people to share their future and second, he wasn’t too serious because boy—! That monk had thick hair on his head, not the shaven look you’d normally see.

Gojo met scammers; near the shopping center, outside popular restaurant and tourist attractions, by his house ringing on his doorbell and right now, infront of him.

“What‘cha gonna tell me,old man.” Gojo says as he peers in, with also taking in a puff of smoke. “That I’ll be having a wife and two kids in my 30s… If it’s not that, it means one of you is lying.” By ‘one of you‘ refers to the scammer-I mean fortune teller he let in his house because he was bored. 

“Hahaha-! That’s not it.” The man laughs as he faces Gojo directly, it was then when he finally notices a stitch mark which stretches across his forehead. “Just wondering if you’d ever regretted things… ‘things’ which you wished you could go back and change..”

Gojo laughs as he drops the half-piece of cigarette on the ground, stomping on it. No long interested. “Of course. I still wish I could go back in time and not erase my answers because my teacher made all the answers to the MCQ ‘c’ just when I didn’t study.” 

Fuck—just why did Yaga REALLY do that? Gojo thinks back at the thought.

“That’s what I like to hear.” Gojo turns when he hears the man speak. 

The man stands close—very close to him as his hands were making a V-sign (a peace sign) , fingers pointed near his eyes before the old man was stabbed into his eyes.

“Oh my god— shit! That hurt, old man.” Gojo places his hands on his eyes as he tries to soothe the pain from it. “What are you trying to do—huh…?”

He blinks once.

Twice.

He takes a deep breath. ‘It’s fine.’ He thinks to himself. ‘I’ve just lost my mind a tiny bit because y/n and Suguru are getting married.’

Gojo let out the breath and opened his eyes. Same scene. He was by a tree, near a building; he remembered this place being behind the building for the Class 1-3 who were studying the normal curriculum whereas advanced classes of class 4-5 students were in another building. 

“What the actual heck is happening?” Gojo grumbles as he looks at the calendar on his phone. He was back in high school. He was sent back in time by about 7 years. “Fuck… I guess that man wasn’t a quack….”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“That’s why I need you to help.” You wiggled your toes in your shoes as you stand, smiling. The teacher,Yaga Masamichi, was in front of you, sitting on his chair as he continued to talk- maybe complain would be a better word- about a certain boy from the advanced class. “The boy is smart but he lacks discipline! He needs someone as hardworking as you and maybe it’ll rub on to him.”

You’ve heard of Gojo Satoru. You’ve never seen him but he was very infamous in high school . First, for being the son of the Gojo Estate. Two, for being a very tall, conventionally attractive boy. Third, for being a delinquent. 

And that last part bothers you a lot, you’ve heard him get into fights, rumors of him smoking along the alleyway, ripping love letters into pieces and recently he skipped over all his tests making him fail his mid-terms. 

You gulp. Hope he doesn’t beat you up… 

Just then the door to the staff room slides open. You see enter, he was tall with white hair and lashes and the eyes in the most beautiful shade. No way this was Gojo right? He was so— beautiful.

Did he just make eye contact with you?

“Gojo come here.” Yaga calls out as he huffs. Gojo clears his throat as he walks to the teacher. When he was close enough Yaga continued. “This is y/n and I’m assigned to be your teacher. She’ll make sure you get all your works done plus make you study for the reassessment for the exam you skipped on.”

You watch Gojo who was towering beside you raise his hands and brought it up to his face, but from the angle you see the upward turn on the corner of his lips. Why was he smiling?

“Isn’t this -he points at you- from the normal department?” You huff when you were referred to as ‘this’. “You sure she is smart?”

“Don’t mess with y/n just because she isn’t from the advanced class— And also! In the last exam she was placed third overall , right below Suguru.” Yaga shouted back.

Your eyes trail back to him when the boy beside you seemed to still, You’ve heard of Geto Suguru too. Apparently a boy from the advanced class who was also popular for his good looks. But not only that— he had a delicate aura around him which makes people like him and to add on he was very much academically smart.

Gojo lets out a breath, as if it were more of an amazement in your opinion. You watch him take a small step back as he turns around and gives you a smile, god was unfair when he crafted this smile. “Then please take care of me, my tutor.” His face was close to yours.

‘My.’ You face almost burst with heat.

“Gojo stop bothering y/n.”

“Ouch—! That hurt sensei.”

Ever since then, once you hear the bell ring indicating school was over for the day, there would be Gojo poking his head into your class with a boyish grin plastered on his face, he takes your book-filled bag, slings it over his shoulder as you guys would walk to the library.

He sometimes passes by your classroom which is in the opposite building whenever he wants to go to the restroom in between classes—I mean he never did specify which restroom, hoping to catch a glimpse of you.

And when he does, his gaze flickered towards you, taking in the way your gaze reflected the warm sun from outside.It becomes clear to Gojo then that even now, despite everything—in between ever but of confusion, anger and guilt, he doesn't actually want to lose you. To his best friend. To anyone else.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

Warm.

The way the curtains fluttered from the gentle wind, letting in a cool breeze and a glow of the evening sun and you. You sitting not even an arm's length away and just like the pace of his heart which picked up, pushing every worry he could still have further and further away because there was no space for those in that moment.

There was just you. And he could feel your presence a lot closer now, her warmth not far away from him.

God, you were beautiful.

So beautiful, he would not mind spending the rest of his life memorizing each feature belonging of yours.

“Stop staring at me.” You let down the pen you were holding, looking away from your homework.

“I can’t stop.” He admitted.

You huff, the smirk on Gojo widened as he could see a faint color rush to your cheeks. “Just do your work…” you wave him off as you grumble.

“I’m already done,love.” He continues his teasing.

You pink as you let out a small shriek at the nickname; you rush close to him as you cover your hands on his mouth. “Shut up—Gojo, I don’t want to be murdered by your fangirls because of this.”

He pecks your hands by pursing his lips forward, into the palm of your hands making you shriek once more pulling away.

“Gojo!” You glare at him as you reach your hands out and comically wipe your hands on his blazer as he laughs at your reaction. He leans forward as he looks at your books. “What’s this?” He asks.

“Ah…” you say as you bring out a book closer to him. “I’m studying for my entrance exam for this university.”

“Already?” But that’s like months away.

“Yeah.” Your voice is laced with a smile, gojo almost sees shining glitters surrounding you. “It’s like… kind of my dream as a kid to go here.”

Gojo laughs at how adorable you sounded. “Why that university though?”

“My parents-“ you turn almost too quickly to face him but then you stop yourself as you clear your throat. “My parents went there and that’s how they met and fell in love.”

“Ah…” Just like you and Geto… His heart pains again as he is reminded.

You bend down as you lean your head on the table, letting out a sigh with your hands on your sides. “I hope I get in though…”

“You will.” He says confidently. He knows you will. “Nerds like you will get in.”

“Gojo, I’m not a nerd.”

“Whatever you say, princess.”

“I’m not princess either!”

“Sure thing, love.”

“Oh— Gojo,stop that!”

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ──

“I need you to be serious, Satoru!”

He listens to you shout, even without turning to your direction he could basically sense you ‘huffing and puffing’, a habit you took till adulthood. He reaches out into the bushes, pushing the leaves away. “I am—! Sheesh, let me breathe.” Gojo laughs.

You two were currently near the patch of grass by the football ground; you had lost your key to the music club room—a room which was basically unused but you guys needed a room so you two can continue on with your study lessons. 

You bend to look over the bushes while Gojo does around the bushes checking every shrub. “Oh lucky— someone’s cigarette and lighter is hidden  here.” His smile widens as he reaches out for the gift, someone had kept here. “Satoru, don’t steal others' stash.” He puts it down upon hearing your words.

“So this where you go after classes,Satoru?”

He knew it was inevitable but he hoped he could extend it for as long as he could.

In front of him, holding a key was Geto Suguru, smiling at him with Shoko, a lollipop in her mouth peers over from beside him. “What you doing?”

Geto throws him the key at him which is catches instantly.He wanted the two of his friends meet you but he selfishly hoped it would be after like maybe, after you and Gojo date. Wow—what an optimistic! Gojo gulps, afterall what would he do if the two of you fall in love again? 

“You found it!” You jump, unaware that the two figures were his friends. You turn your head to look at him, at him. Despite Geto Suguru standing near you, you looked at Gojo. The white haired boy’s heart pulsed, the slow and steady pump now erratic and heavy with emotions. Just you looking at him with a smile, at him like he was the only one on the planet m. For the first time.

“Who is this?” Shoko says as walks to to the bush and sticks her hands in. You laugh. “That cigarette was yours?” Shoko nods.

“This… this is y/n.” Gojo grumbles, speaking low. “She is helping me with my reassessment.”

“That’s what you get for skipping assignments and test.” Shoko teases. 

Geto laughs.

Gojo eyes at your reaction and sighs in relief when you were still acting the same. Thank god, there was nothing of that ‘love at first sight’ going on. “I don’t need to take those test.Even Yaga knows I’m smart.”

Your roll your eyes. “I guess we won’t have those study sessions of now on, Gojo.”

“Wha— no! I need it.” Gojo jumps, as he comically starts shaking you, as if he got the most shocking news of the century. “No- nope! You can’t do that. I need you—!”

“Geto, let’s get going now.” She turns. Shoko looks over to Gojo, they make eye contact and the brown hair girl smiles. 

He knows that smile. 

That’s the smile Shoko gives when ever she figures out something. And equipped with a teasing look, Gojo is certain she knows that he is in love with you. “Good luck,Gojo.” With his studies or with you? Geto gives you guys a wave as he also turns around and walks way. 

From then onwards, it’s as if the friendship which you guys have in the future,college days were happening now. Hanging out, study sessions, sometimes sneaking into parties and café date; the four of you. Just like right now as you’re in Gojo’s room, a flat rented nearby your future college.

“No way.” Shoko starts. “We’re all going to be attending the same college.” Her smile widens when you cheer and jump into her arms, she quickly looks over and sees a fond smile on Gojo’s face…hilarious!

Geto laughs as he takes a sip on his coffee as the two girls snuggle closer to each other. “Did you know about this?” He peers over to Gojo who finally seemed broken from his trance—you.

Gojo nods. “Yeah… I mean I’ve seen her study for her exams.” He clears his throat. “Have you played the new ‘digimon’ game?” He changes topic, whenever Geto speaks of you or to you, it makes him feel small. This isn’t good. He relishes this yet it was suffocation. Gojo would never hate his best friend—never, but sometimes it’s insecurity and sometimes it’s guilt which swallows him whole. ‘Is this okay?’ 

Shoko breaks away from the hug and she pulls on your cheeks fondly, she thinks you’re the most adorable human as she turns to Geto. “Smoke break.” Geto smiles and nods, following behind Shoko who led the way.

Gojo turns to you, eyes carefully trying to take in your presence that is before he notices something—your eyes are ‘lingering.’ He follows your gaze, carefully in the direction.

You were looking at Geto.

All emotions are wiped from his face. Gojo knew this could happen, you can fall in love with Geto all over again. He was the one who was messing with fate and time, yet— it hurt.

You turn to Gojo, your face tilts up to meet his gaze as your lips turn into a teasing smile which quickly flatters when you see Gojo’s expression. Your heart settles and softens, you relax and reach over the table to grab one of his hands. “…Satoru?”

He turns to you, and smiles. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?”

“No…just thinking.”

You gulp wondering why it felt as if suddenly there was a huge rift when they were barely centimeters apart; for someone as big as Gojo his voice was so—so small. “…About?” You were almost scared to ask.

“Are you in love with Suguru?” Gojo beats himself for this, he has gone and done it now! 

You tilt your head. “where did that come from?”

“Friends don’t give each other love-filled lingering looks.” He scoffs. “So tell me-“ no he was being pushy. Gojo felt so backed into a corner for a moment but when he locked eyes with you, he was hurting you with the way he was acting.

He stands up. “I think I need some fresh air.”

“If I did love him, what would you do?” 

Were you testing him? 

“Please—please don’t fall for anyone but me…” he mumbles.

You watch as he slumps down on the floor, on his knees, burying his face into his hands, curling up almost as if to protect himself. Gojo is no longer confident egoistic boy you know, right now he seemed so weak; as if he was tired after a long journey. “I have surrendered myself to you for all of time; past, present and future I am yours…”

Your head is dizzy with all this information. You need time, you need clarity. Gojo feels like he is losing himself in his thoughts and also rambles with no coherence to what his mind has to say. “I don’t know what do do with this emotion but if I try to stop them they overflow and-” 

His heart seemed to thud to a stop in his chest and then start up again erratically, hands seemed to be incapable of doing anything other than hang close by his sides.

“Satoru, I love you…” you whisper and it is only then when he realizes you were also on your knees in front of him, thumbs wiping tears from his cheeks. “I’m sorry for joking— I don’t love Geto. It’s you I love. Don’t hate me?”

How can he hate you when you were still his everything: you were his everything even when you were intertwining hands with someone else?

“It’s me?” He breathes out. “Did you say you’re in love with me?” 

You nod.

“Oh wow.” He says which makes you laugh.

“I love you…” He says, years of these words inside the depth of his heart, was dug out. “From the bottom of my soul, I’m head over heels for you, my love.”

You almost cry at his tone, so gentle.

He caresses your hair, tenderly, running his fingers through the soft, silky strands. When he eventually has his hands on your cheeks; your cheeks flushing as he gazes at you, captivated by your presence. Your eyes sparkle with wonder, your lips plush and rosy. 

You are flawless, perfect in this moment and beautiful in his embrace.

Gojo didn’t even realize when he started to get so close to you. His lips pressed against her pulse in a kiss before he nipped the skin.His limbs burned where he touched you, you were warm. So it was cold after all, he realized somewhere along the line. His hands were freezing, clinging to your lower back. 

Gojo wants to stay like this, holding you for a minute longer or forever.

A whisper in his head was telling him to let go—that it wasn’t right, but Gojo wouldn't. He was hanging onto a life line, it hurt, but if he let go now, he would drown.

Gojo was vulnerable. And you kiss him back. Kiss him till he is fine. Kiss him until all his worries fly— till he understands, you are equally so stupidly in love with him. 

Unbeknownst to you two, Shoko peeks over inside the door, a small crack reveals what’s inside “You think they’re done?”

Geto laughs. “Of course not…but give them more time and they’ll be in bed.”

Shoko laughs lightly making sure she isn’t spotted yet as she then peers over to the taller boy beside her. “What about you? You good?”

“Yeah… it was just a crush.”  Geto looked at Shoko from the corner of his eyes and his lips curl into a smile. Shoko was always so observant. 

Taglist ˙✧˖° 🫧 ⋆｡—I tagged people who voted for time travel! Hope you guys don’t mind: @uuu55r64z46 @leviswifey-act62 @royaleashlyn @bakananya @bejwls @ritsatoru@washeduphasbeen @satorus-babygirl

Reblogs, like and comment are appreciated! Love this work? Check out other here

[queenendless]

TWISTED DEVIL 😈

A/n: Prologue to a potential AU series, mini or otherwise.

May edit this into a masterlist if I write enough fics about this. So sorry about this short piece. Future oneshot parts may be just as short. Wanna write twst x reader fics based off the dorm songs being released lately.

I honestly am having Solo Leveing writers block/burnout. So I need to write other stuff. Sorry about those that are waiting for those Jinwoo fics but I need a break.

CW: GN!human demon hybrid Reader. Yandere esque vibes. One-shot esque AU series. MAJOR SPOILERS INVOLVED!

NO REPOSTING, PLAGIARIZING, TRANSLATING, AI USAGE OR BOT/AGELESS BLOGS ALLOWED. Reblogs, likes and follows are appreciated.

You are the sole child of Chernabog; the King of Bald Mountain, Controller of Demons.

Your birth alone brought about waves of fears

upon the world. The religious naysayers that already feared him hunted you down.

So you and your mother went into hiding, away from the loonies of that variety as well as those that desired to use you for their self-serving machinations.

Because you're half demon, you age much more slowly than mortals. Which was why when your mother was on her death bed that night, you were physically a teenager but your biological age was nearly a century old. The moment she passed away, you already felt your father reaching out through your infernal bond.

Your dormant monster side is only brought forth amidst emergencies or such intense emotions. And thus, your true nature was suppressed from the unaware public masses. Hiding away in seclusion, just you and her, until it was only you in that now lonely cottage.

Yet as you pictured his imposing presence in the far off distance on that eerie foggy night, the double horse black carriage carrying the coffin came out of left field and struck you head on.

The moment you awaken from the coffin at your orientation ceremony at Night Raven College results in your fellow freshmen and senpai tensing up at your already strong magical presence.

Despite your soft features and demure presence, the aura of corruption hung over you. Your eyes glinted with the promise of mystery.

They're all, initially, intimidated by you. Although these prideful mages in training wouldn't let their true faces nor feelings show that much. Some more so than others …

Despite that, your soul didn't align with the other dorms, despite your magical potential. Much like the prefect — prefects actually. There's a few of them.

And so, you were placed in Ramshackle Dorm with them and their dire beast companion Grim.

The ghostly residents flocked to you immediately, retaining your father's ability of attracting the spiritual variety.

Preferring this over being on your own for the first time in your existence or even staying with the literal embodiment of evil himself, you chose to give this arcane boarding school a chance.

And so, you, Y/n L/n, became a freshman at NRC.

Expanding your mind and knowledge about this new world that you were brought into on your first year here.

Becoming close with your fellow schoolmates, mending the scar left upon your beastly heart, leaving your own mark on them, bringing forth their deepest darkest desires.

You had yet to show any of them your suppressed nature, your true form, horrified at the potential cataclysmic chain reaction that would be set off should the time ever come. Until then, you would appreciate your chaotically enjoyable school life for as long as it lasts.

Ah yes, indeed, you fell in love with the world of Twisted Wonderland. For your precious mages existed in it, side by side with you.

[bee-the-loser-recs]

~✩✮ My Haechan One-shot Fic Recs ✩✮~

★ Drippin' By @ncteez 16.2k, NCT Dream 00' line x reader, non-specified au, close friends, birthday sex, smut, technically polyamorous, messy, slight fluff, comedy, teasing

★ Send in the clowns By @smileysuh 10.6k, Haechan|Mark|Jaehyun x reader, college au, frat boys NCT, best friend Jungwoo, friends to lovers, karaoke friends, smut, polyamory, slight fluff, Halloween parties, dressing up

★ Roommates By @smileysuh 8.3k, Mark x reader x Haechan, college au, frat house NCT, best friend Jungwoo, polyamory, smut, stoners, getting high together, slight fluff, mentions of Jeno having a crush on reader

★ The V week spy By @smileysuh 20.1k, Jaehyun x reader (romantic) ft. Haechan | Yangyang | Jungwoo | Jeno, college au, frat house NCT, sorority member reader, stupid traditions, no strings attached situation, smut, slight fluff

★ Energizer bunny By @smileysuh 19.1k, hybrid au, bunny reader, dragon Haechan, bartender reader, club owner Haechan, boss x employee relationship, genuine interest between the two, smut, slight fluff, Mark is reader's brother

★ Carpe diem By @kiachiako 5.1k, college au, gamer!Haechan, coder!reader, mutual friends, slight fuckboy Haechan, genuine feelings for one another, fluff, angst

★ Indica dreams By @hazyhae 11.7k, unspecified au, non-idol au, plug Haechan, reader gets high for the first time, one bad experience on edibles, fluff, slight angst, smut, best friend Jeno, reader has problems sleeping

★ Us By @hazyhae 900, stoner!best friend!Haechan, high conversations together, confessions when high, mutual pining, anxieties about the future

★ Cold By @rainbowhao 0.5k, established relationship, fluff, cuddling in their apartment, bribery, temperature being rather cold, clingy Haechan

★ Sugar, butter & the royal crown By @haechwrites 17.1k, royal au, prince Donghyuck, baker's daughter reader, fluff, slight angst, unsupportive mother, pining, forbidden relationship, reconnecting after multiple years, pet names

★ Sucks to be him By @loudstan Magic au, werewolf Haechan, witch reader, fluff, imprinting, slight angst, reader has a boyfriend at first, Haechan refuses to give up, reader is slightly older and owns a store

★ Triple Lee; naughtier the better By @p4p1l0nn 9.1k, Mark | Haechan | Jeno x reader, non-idol au, stoner au, plug Haechan & Mark, stoner Jeno & reader, roommates, smut, slight fluff

★ NCT dream exposes y/n's crush on Haechan in the gc By @wooyukh SMAU, non-specified au, meddling friends, exposing their friend's crushes, fluff, trying to hide their feelings, confessions, cute

★ Quarantine chronicles 3 By @domjaehyun 43k, Jungwoo|Jaehyun|Johnny|Jaemin|Mark|Jeno|Haechan x reader, Quarantine au, roommates (except Mark, Jeno, Haechan), lots of tension & flirting, smut, slight fluff, friends with benefits situation, crack, part of a series

★ Hush Hush By @domjaehyun 19.5k, Jeno|Jaemin|Haechan x reader, college au, friends to lovers??, sleepovers, smut, foursome, mentions of friends Mark & Renjun

★ Surviving no nut November By @domjaehyun 28.8k, Haechan x reader x Mark, college au, friends to lovers, no nut November challenges, smut, trying to trip them up, teasing, slight fluff, weed consumption, pet names

★ Pussy fiend [part 1] & [part 2] By @domjaehyun 28.2k & 40.7k, college au, enemies to fuck buddies to lovers, smut, humour, pissing each other off, cocky Haechan, denial of feelings

★ Tangerine love [favourite] By @domjaehyun 21.8k, neighbours au, mutual attraction, smut, domestic behaviour between the two, fluff, light humours, mentions of a Christmas party

★ Random texts with bf!Hyuck By @catboyieejeno SMAU, established relationship, menace Haechan, jealousy, suggestive comments, fluff

★ Achromatopsia By @neoneversleeps 8.7k, Haechan has Achromatopsia (colour blindness), school au, meet cutes, relationship developments, fluff, angst, anger outbursts, making out

★ Truth or dare By @irregular-idol-imagines 1.2k, friends to lovers, playing truth or dare, fluff, kissing on a dare, friendly teasing, alcohol

★ 'Manifesting Mayhem' [part 1], [part 2], & [part 3] By @suhnshinehaos SMAU, mini series, university au, mostly fluff, a little bit of angst, humour, Haechan has a crush on a classmate, reader runs a crystal shop, reader has a crush on Haechan, hidden identity

★ Round & round By @hwaflms 6.1k, college au, weed use, stoners 00'line & reader, playing spin the bottle, wanting to kiss one another, bad luck, smut, slight fluff

★ Hits different By @neowinestainedress 44.8k, college au, strangers to fwb to lovers, smut, angst, fluff, reader self destructs a lot, emotional support, best friend Jonny, past traumas, reasoning behind their actions, emotionally running away

★ And they were roommates By @tyonfs 17k, college au, part of a one-shot series, reader is Haechan's "crushes" roommate, smut, friends to lovers, dumb Haechan, realising feelings, fluff [I suggest reading the prequel & other one-shots too, they're all so well written]

★ Lucky strike By @heartseungs-archive 2.3k, arcade employee Haechan, high school au, Haechan has a crush on a reader, cute, fluff, asking them out

[hpdabbles]

Harry Potter Fanfic Idea: One Change, Two Lives.

I want time travel, Tomarry au, where Harry arrives before Tom goes insane. Before he even goes to Hogwarts.

I want an au where Harry is just two years older than Tom, due to the time magic, regressing his soul into a Potter's squib that was thrown away and is at Wool's orphanage with Tom. One where he steps in cover for Tom's accidental magic. One who explains why Tom sometimes wants to do what he does and curve his more dangerous tendencies.

Where Harry goes out to find Tom Riddle Sr. to see if the man is willing (and able because he had a terrible thing happen to him by Tom's mother) to take Tom in. He finds that Riddle Sr. is still struggling with what happened to him but is willing to at least provide for his son, even if he can't stand the sight of him sometimes without panic.

Harry remains anonymous in his role of reuniting the Riddles. When Tom is taken out of Wools into a stable home that has a somewhat distant but loving father, kind grandmother, and proud grandfather, he slowly starts to go from being afraid of dying to being scared of letting them down.

He still has some mental issues, but he's no longer dangerous. His father is coming around and, with Harry's help, has repaired his image with the town. They set it up that the Gaunts were illegally stealing from a Riddle water well on the far end of their property, where Riddle Sr. would be the only one to drink out of after riding his horses.

The well was supposedly contaminated because the Gaunts kept using a bucket made of silver, and that caused "madness". This is years later, but Tom eventually finds out Harry saved his father's image.

Tom sees Harry as this hero-like figure, and when he comes to Hogwarts, he finds that Harry is a popular Gryffindor. Because Harry remained at Wools Orphanage, seeing as the Potters had obliviated the potter squib he took over, he changed his name to Harry Evans and pretended to be a muggle-born.

He is one of the most talented muggle-borns to ever step into Hogwarts, and he makes the Potters sweat because he looks so familiar. They just can't tell where. (The Squib had been seven. He looks different now at eleven when he came back).

As a third-year, he's even Quidditch Captain of the Gryffindor team, and literally half the school is in love with him.

Tom Riddle, who has changed enough to be a hat stall, eventually goes to Ravenclaw because his desire for knowledge for knowledge's sake is significantly larger than his ambition in this timeline. He also discovers that in the Wizarding world, gender norms and views on sexuality are so much different than the muggle ones.

He found out that his having a crush on the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain is not an odd thing. Just a different preference and a few of the boys in Ravenclaw have the same opinion as him.

It takes him until the end of his first year to admit it, though.

Meanwhile, Harry decides to try the theory of "nature vs nurture" and live a normal life while Riddle Sr. deals with Tom. He figures that he will take him out if Tom is still a dark lord after having a different childhood.

He also swore off dating, much to the pain of many young mages. Harry had broken so many hearts that Albus Dumbledore side-eyed him, thinking of him as evil, but Harry finds that before he was the headmaster and hero of the war, Dumbledore didn't have much power over him.

If anything, he reminded him of Snape's potion class.

He just isn't prepared for Tom being....a regular teenager. One that is annoyingly open about his crush on him and, over the years, attempts to woo Harry.

Basically, a time travel Au that leads to Tom and Harry's entire relationship is like this:

Of course, after Hogwarts, Harry can't help himself, so he joins the war and, surprisingly, is the one to take down Gellert Grindelwald after taking his education seriously. He becomes the new professor at Hogwarts to become Headmaster.

He took Dumbldore's future since Dumbldore sacrificed his past.

Tom, meanwhile, is busy preparing to take over the Earlship from his father and chooses to focus his obsession with old magic and historical artifacts to become a magical archaeologist.

He's accredited for being the one to find the Hogwarts Founders' four artifacts. Tom uses this fame to search Hogwarts for the Chamber of Secrets- he knows where it is. It's just an excuse to flirt with Headmaster Evans.

[veerbles]

Pynch Fic Rec Wrap-Up

35 fics you would be doing yourself a favor by reading. divided into 5 (+1) neat categories for your convenience.

GOATs

the best to ever (ever ever) do it.

Free as a Bird by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 31k (10 chapters) | musician au this fic is at the very top of this top tier list not because my heart was pounding and I was giggling and teary-eyed and overwhelmed and emotional throughout it - although it's all true; but because I obsessed over it non-stop for a week after reading it, and still think about it with alarming frequency. this is, truly and embarrassingly, my roman empire. if you ever read an au from this fandom, please dear lord: let it be this one.

Ronan is the lead guitarist of the Ravens, and Adam is a roadie. Romance ensues.

Friends We Keep by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 56k (10 chapters) | non-magical future this section of the list only has three recs, and this is the second one by pinkhorizon. this is not by mistake. in this case, ronan and adam are occasionally friends with benefits but continuously deeply in love; this fic gives you the kind of good pain that puts a lump in your throat but keeps you so, so hopeful for that happy ending because it earns it. for bonus points, it deals with mental health issues and trauma and just all the heavy stuff from canon in a truly superb way.

Adam doesn’t know what he wants, and Ronan wants whatever he can have.

Fall Back by flightspath rating: E | wc: 14k (6 chapters) | college au unlike free as a bird, I didn't fall into obsession with this fic immediately. I read it once and enjoyed it, found myself craving a reread shockingly soon thereafter, and loved it more and more each time. I only noticed how special it was when I easily passed the 10+ rereads. much like adam and ronan in this fic, friends with benefits whose feelings creep up upon, my deep pure love for this fic creeped up on me.

Adam, at the library, scanning books with a pen behind his ear. Adam, trudging across the quad in the snow. A recurring dream, all throughout fall semester, a bright spot in Ronan’s days.

Canon Compliant

* compliant with the original series; I tend to ignore td3's existence.

Of Being the Tenders of Gardens by shaenie rating: E | wc: 85k it's honestly beyond my comprehension how this fic isn't its own classic in this fandom, if only for its arguably unparalleled focus on the magic system and adam's powers and the connection to cabeswater. in short, it's a post-canon take on adam and ronan trying to bring cabeswater back, but not by dreaming a new one.

It's Adam Ronan takes to what he thinks might be a remnant of Cabeswater first.

Rock Me Like by zephfair / @zephfair rating: E | wc: 6k I read many fics about different aspects of adam and ronan cohabiting during the summer after high school, but I specifically liked how this fic alludes to their different upbringing in the more practical ways.

When bad weather threatens the Barns, Adam does his best to take care of his loved ones.

negative capability by smileymikey / @smileymikey rating: G | wc: 3k the general consensus is that these two find it easier to communicate through touch than through words, so I really liked how this tackles the way touch may present its own issues as well.

If Adam were poetic, he and Ronan would be spinning planets, constantly drawn together by gravity and the sheer power of the universe, sometimes aligning so they would be both at the furthest points of their orbits at the same time with millions of miles of emptiness and dust between them, but sometimes aligning so they would be at the other edge of their orbits, hovering inches away from one another, the dust between ionised and pulsing with tension. But he’s not. So they’re just assholes.

lavender and burning skin by deathlessaphrodite rating: E | wc: 8k very early in their relationship, spending time in the barns with the lynch brothers and fumbling around sex and communication the way god intended.

To: Adam Parrish From: Ronan Lynch Subject: (no subject) come round tonight? not if you’re working obv r. Adam stared at the email for several seconds before he could even begin to comprehend it. Ronan Lynch and email did not belong in the same sentence.

Between Eternities by BeautifulSoup / @thebeautifulsoup rating: T | wc: 12k (10 chapters) actually fucking brilliant vignettes of moments from the year after trk ended.

The world is waiting for them. Not the world they saved last night, but the other one. The solid, undreamt and undreamlike world of Aglionby and Ganseys.

Wringing Out the Hours by quietcoast / @sentimentalspiders rating: T | wc: 8k one of the very few future fics which gave me that exactly-right feeling.

It felt irresponsible to leave. He had willed the thought away, and breathed in the sleep-sweat of Ronan’s neck instead. He thought about the scratch of Ronan’s jaw, and the soft fury of his mouth. He thought about how far into the drive his first exit would be. He thought about Opal, who had hidden herself in the enthusiastic buttonbush that grew alongside the house; she had taken to crouching there whenever it looked like Adam and Ronan were doing things related to Leaving, and had gnawed an entire branch clean. She watched them as they swayed and whispered, and Adam had thought she would stay in the bush and not come see him at all, but he was wrong: at the last minute she had been unable to stand it, and had burst out to wrap herself around his legs. It was impossible to leave them. He had gotten in the car.

The hang of being alive again by Goshen (applecrumbledore) / @goshen-applecrumbledore rating: E | wc: 13k I can say with a good amount of authority that I've read every single iteration of immediately-post-canon pynch, and every single take on their first time, and this is just the most heart-stopping and disarming and gorgeously written one of them all.

Falling for Ronan had felt like going to speak at the same time as someone else after a long silence, two people bumbling over their words to say, no, sorry, go ahead before one of them says what they were going to say.

Roses in Between My Thighs by orphan_account (*) rating: E | wc: 6k I marked this with an asterisk because technically speaking, it's not canon compliant - it was written before the series was completed. but its grasp on the characters is so good that it's honestly impossible to tell it wasn't written post-trk, so I'm counting it.

Four things that could have ruined them but didn't.

Canon Divergence/Non-Magical

where the setting is close enough to the original universe, with minor changes.

Never Knock by burn_it_slow / @burn-it-slow rating: E | wc: 28k | non-magical adam goes off to college and unintentionally loses touch with his best friend ronan, all the while realizing he's in love with him. a summer later they meet again. also: all the emails adam never sent, but probably should have.

“We good here?” Ronan sweeps a knuckle across his lower lip and glares at Adam as if daring him to say something about… any of this whole situation. Whether it’s the destroyed car, the forgotten phone number, or the gratuitous kiss from a super hot dude with an expensive motorcycle, Adam can’t exactly determine.

A Strange and Complicated Thing by ungoodpirate / @ungoodgatsby rating: T | wc: 39k (12 chapters) | non-magical a retelling of select parts of a non-magical canon if adam and ronan started sneaking around to hook up first and became friends and boyfriends later - with a slow and excellent build of emotional intimacy.

Didn’t Adam Parrish deserve nice things? Didn’t Adam Parrish deserve to be pushed against the back wall of Boyd’s and be kissed like he was addictive by a boy who had the cheekbones of a model? Didn’t he deserve hands grasping at his waist with an eagerness to be held close that Adam had never known? Adam Parrish didn’t have many nice things in his life, and he wasn’t going to question this one that had happened unanticipated this one random, Saturday afternoon.

every dream i've ever had has been of myself by cloverspies / @parrishh rating: T | wc: 8k a different version of how their first kiss could've gone that literally had me breathless and kicking my feet.

Chasing down a mysterious address left behind by a dead psychic was much more attainable than getting ice cream, which was all sorts of messed up but also the truest thought Ronan had had all day, so he shifted into reverse and peeled out of the two spots the BMW had been taking up without even bothering to glance at his mirrors. He was already burning rubber, practically drifting around the corner of the parking lot exit, when he asked, "Where to?"

Every Stupid Little Thing by Diana_Dreams / @diana-dreams rating: M | wc: 10k a canon-divergence vaguely placed in the timeline in which floundering teenagers struggle through expressing their emotions. more importantly, this has a first kiss car scene that still lives rent free in my brain.

Courting. Jesus. It sounds like an awful joke. Parrishs don't court. They get girls knocked up and beat the shit out of the people they're supposed to love.

Alternate Universe

A Moment in Time by pinkhorizon rating: M | wc: 132k (20 chapters) falling in love, getting together, breaking up, pining, getting back together, all crafted by pinkhorizon's masterful hand. if you're still not convinced to read all of their works: why, and also, do.

Ronan likes being alone. Adam's looking for summer work.

(i’ll clean up) the mess that you are by ecoterrorism / @bartskull rating: M | wc: 5k there's just something about baseball au's and soulmatism.

It will work because Adam willed it so. Even when Ronan doubts God, he still knows better than to doubt this.

go running by thesehands / @ahotknife rating: E | wc: 72k (5 chapters) emotionally unavailable rich professional adam starts having kinky sex with his co-worker's brother ronan and somehow convinces himself there are no feelings involved. then it blows up in his face.

most of the time, ronan takes his crucifix off when they have sex. sometimes, he doesn't. sometimes, adam thinks he might be ready for a relationship. most of the time, he doesn’t.

light by paintedpolarbear rating: T | wc: 3k a paramedic au with the tangible sort of attraction that makes you want to read meet-cutes in the first place.

When the tones drop at four in the morning, Adam briefly entertains the fantasy of rolling over and getting more sleep. Then he puts his boots on.

seek ye the living by charactershoes / @charactershoesfic rating: T | wc: 40k (9 chapters) a fleabag au that I enjoyed with all my whole ass self despite committing the cardinal sin of not really enjoying fleabag. this deals with grief and religion and god-slash-magic and purpose versus autonomy in a way that changed my interpretation of trc forevermore.

Ronan says, “What’s the church’s stance on fratricide?” “Frowned upon,” says the almost-priest. He’s got a remote, orphan-eyed face like something off a prayer card, but his voice is as Henrietta as cicada song. “Although there’s precedent.”

gets late early by charactershoes / @charactershoesfic rating: G | wc: 18k I've already made my point about baseball au's and soulmatism, so let me add this: there is just something about authentic depictions of teenage boys and their repressed emotions. also, like, essentially everything by this author is gold.

That year, Ronan was Declan Lynch’s Little Brother, The Kid With The Dead Dad. That year Adam Parrish was The Public School Kid. That year Adam Parrish was God’s Gift To Southpaws. That year they went to the league championship and blew it badly. Next year, Ronan was Academically Ineligible. Next year, Adam Parrish was gone. Now, Ronan is a senior and starting catcher on the Aglionby Ravens. Now, Adam is back on the clubhouse bench, tightening the ragged laces on his cleats.

A stillness at once awful and sublime by Wisteria_Leigh / @purrincesscatitude rating: T | wc: 18k adam experiences a crisis and applies to be a fire lookout on an isolated mountaintop in montana. this is a truly remarkable lesson in interweaving canon into a completely alternate setting, which manages to be both beautiful and poignant.

It’s a momentary lapse of emotional regulation, if one is generous. An absolute fucking meltdown, if one is honest. When Adam comes back into his body, he’s lying on his bed, empty styrofoam staining his duvet with red chili oil, blank-eyed scrolling through his LinkedIn feed of job openings at Harley-Davidson for motorcycle engineers. He doesn’t want to work for Harley; he’s got brand loyalty to Honda. Also, being a mechanic again would be backsliding, and he is absolutely, most certainly, not backsliding. No, he just needs a sabbatical. A break from reality. Something temporary. Remote. Far from Virginia. Then he sees it: "Fire lookout."

The Course of Certain Stars by quietcoast / @sentimentalspiders rating: T | wc: 9k truly an exemplary take on adam's characterization and the existence of demons and the catholic church.

Once upon a time, Adam Parrish had not - if you’ll pardon him - given a good God damn about God or the devil. At eleven, Adam took for granted that praying did not mean an answered prayer. At twelve, he understood that devil was just another word for the man who lived in his house and shared his eye color. At thirteen, Adam realized that, actually, he was fucking wrong, that the devil was literal and maybe so was God. He knew this because one day, a demon crept into his parents’ trailer. As an adult, unmaking the rules of good and evil consumed Adam Parrish. Proving his experience was the undercurrent to everything he did. That was why it was so absolutely fucked up that when he did finally encounter a demon for the second time, he wasn’t even trying to do it.

Careful the Tale You Tell by shinealightonme rating: T | wc: 26k (4 chapters) if there's one thing I like, it's trope subversion. this had that misty, fairytale-like grimms vibe and incredible relationship development, but more notably, it managed to not be at all what I was expecting.

Ronan makes a deal with a witch. It's okay, though. He'll never have to go through with his end of the bargain.

This Is Canon To Me

a collection of short fics-turned-headcanons that you could not pry from my cold dead hands.

How To Train Your Fire-Breathing Reptile by pinkhorizon rating: T | wc: 1k if you weren't hoping for this during the end of tdt, idk what is up with you.

If you asked Adam, Ronan's latest dreamthing is absolutely not a dragon. (If you asked Ronan, it totally is.)

worship by ssstrychnine / @oneangryshot rating: T | wc: 1k do you ever remember that ronan canonically worships adam like his god. because I sure do.

ronan dreams stained glass.

oreos and peanut butter by lizpaige / @lizpaige rating: G | wc: 1k this is actually bronan in a pynch disguise, and I fully mean that in a complimentary way.

Adam shows up at Monmouth after work and Gansey is breathing into a paper bag while Blue pierces Ronan's ear with a sewing needle and an apple Parent Trap style.

Dog Days by cheeryos / @cheeeryos rating: T | wc: 1.5k I legitimately wondered about this while reading trb and was sad it never came up again.

Ronan picks up a surprise for Adam.

Unfold Me by cherishadamparrish / @cherishadamparrish rating: N/A | wc: 1k the idea of ronan pulling embarrassingly mushy things out of his dreams, especially after they have sex, is so important to me (you can also find this scenario referenced in another fic on this list, and it's great both times).

The entire bedspread was covered in a canvas of rose petals.

like a dog with a bird by charactershoes rating: G | wc: 3k so many attempts have been made at what this conversation would be like, but none have stuck with me quite as much as this one, so this is the Canon one to me.

The bruises at Ronan’s neck are fading, the pools of dark green and purple dispersing. Adam knows intimately the phases of a bruise, how the brutal press of fingers washes out dingy and yellow. Still, if he looks, he can discern where his nails bit in, where his thumbs pressed hard against Ronan’s windpipe.  “I’m sorry,” he says. His hands shiver.  “Don’t start,” Ronan says.

out of the dark day, into the brighter night by York / @ellipsesetcetera rating: G | wc: 4k I always wished we'd seen more of their st. agnes sleepovers and their burgeoning friendship moments.

"Blink and you'll miss it. I'm not doing this shit all night, so when it does happen, don't be fucking daydreaming and gripe about it later like some —" "I won't miss it," Adam promised. "It's not a circus act." "Ronan. I won't miss it."

Honorary Mentions

made me laugh / surprised me somehow.

i told the moon about you by broyals rating: T | wc: N/A (10 chapters) mixed media fic, told through fake social media images

ronan lynch and adam parrish grew up together on the set of the strange case of jane armstrong, and as their careers took very different paths the media couldn’t help but compare them every step of the way, creating a rivalry that wasn’t quite there. as they accidentally feed into the rumors, they must now get along publicly to dispel them, and get to know each other once again.

vanitas vanitatum, omnia (pro Adam) by JayJEx rating: T | wc: 11k in a truly unhinged post-canon universe that somehow almost feels plausible, ronan becomes instagram famous.

“You can’t really blame him,” Ronan hears Adam shifting on the other end of the call, like he’s moving into a more comfortable position. “You’re using your phone. Willingly. That’s gotta be, like, a sign of the apocalypse, or something.”

should've left my phone at home ('cause this is a disaster) by shinealightonme rating: T | wc: 4.5k the only thing you need to know is that I laughed out loud through the vast majority of this fic.

Most of the interesting customers that Adam meets are terrible interesting rather than fun interesting. The hot guy who can't keep a cell phone alive might be both.

[winterzsurprise]

Crimson Lovers • KSJ

Pairing: Seokjin x reader

SUMMARY: “I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” Jin whispered into your lips like a promise. If it weren't for your lust addled mind, you'd believe him. “You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

Or alternatively, your friend’s only solution to you being a broke college student with a family to feed is to attend a private feeding party where the most affluent vampires are in attendance to drink fresh blood in exchange for money and get yourself in trouble with the infamous Kim Coven. 

Tags: Vampire! Seokjin, Half-Faerie! Reader, Mythical Creatures AU!, SMUT, Cunnilingus, Magic slick (Seokjin passed out from it lmao), Blood sucking(obvs), not beta read.

Words: 5.1k

I just found this one collecting dust in the vault so I decided to post it here since it'll be a shame if I don't post a 5k words worth work. Its supposed to be the first chapter for a mythical creatures and reincarnation au bts x reader story but I immediately hit a wall.

I'll prolly pick it up in the future idk.

• MASTERLIST •

__________

Never in your life have you ever thought a single sheet of paper could weigh so heavily in the palm of your hands like it holds the heaviness of your future.

Depending on your answer, it does.

The card was a vibrant crimson with a nice golden design of modest swirls as margins for the text that are colored in silver, the material no doubt expensive. It was an invitation to a private feeding after all, how could it look shabby when only a selected few are given the opportunity to attend?

By selecting a few, you meant people from affluent backgrounds and some unfortunate people desperate for money.

It was obvious what category you’d fall into.

If you were to attend the party.

“Stop staring at it like it offended your ancestors, I'm just suggesting it.”

Soomin, your friend since high school, says.

“Where did you even get this? You don't know any vampires, do you?”

She shrugs, leaning back into her armchair. “Got a few favours. You were complaining about needing money and thought I could use some of them.”

Scratching your head, you read the card's contents with careful apprehension.

“Relax, it's not enchanted to track where it goes. It's just a normal card, you know I wouldn't force you into something if safety wasn't guaranteed.”

Before leaving the herd to pursue college far from the safety of family wards, your mother had enchanted your accessories with aura suppressors and glamours to prevent people from knowing your heritage.

You were told of horrors of the inhabitants outside the plane, both mortals and supernaturals turning over every leaf in the forest just for a whiff of a faerie.

Your blood is as precious as its golden colour, said to restore even the weakest mortal on its deathbed to pristine condition with a mere drop and turn a half vampire’s miniscule powers into a bottomless pit of a royal pureblood.

Faeries live in constant danger and you'd be damned if you weren’t taught to overthink everything.

“It’s anonymous, they’ll have you wear a mask, don't overthink it too much. My aunt used to tell me ‘your body is an emergency fund, every part of you is profitable. You just need to know the right place.’ or in my case, a man.”

She says, wiggling her fingers in front of your face where a gigantic pink diamond glimmered under the light above you, an engagement ring from the werewolf she bagged from dancing haphazardly on a stranger one friday night.

It's her pride, being able to capture the attention of one of the country's most attractive bachelors. It gave her a confidence that soared so high in the skies, she had nudged the space terminal. You couldn't even blame her for thinking so, knowing you'd share the same sentiments if it were you.

But still, daring to wander around without the wards your mother has spent years of creating to keep you safe, it makes your stomach churn. 

Placing the card and pushing it as far as you could, you lean back into the chair.

“I don't know… It's really risky.”

“I’m just suggesting here,” she sighs, sliding the paper back in front of you and patting it. “If all goes well, you wouldn't need to work overtime for a year at least.”

“You saying that only makes me overthink it even more.”

She rolls her eyes playfully.

You knew she was right and the prospect of not working for a year is tempting. But a part of you frowned at the thought of risking your safety for a couple of zeroes in your bank account. Pride is such a fickle thing, so easily threatened and dragged through the mud when desperation kicks in.

But what is Pride in the face of your mountainous pending bills?

Not to mention, your mother and little brother's living situation back in the province. Soobin needed new shoes for school, you've seen how well-worn it has been—if well-worn meant clumsily glued back soles onto the upper body for the nth time with shoelaces frizzled and pulled taut from being twisted into knots and years of washing.

Your barista and supermarket cashier job nor your mother's job as a saleslady in the wet market doesn't reward you enough to save for his shoe while trying to sustain both you and your family, you need more. Taking on another 9-5 job is far from the solution.

Grabbing the paper with a newfound heaviness in your body, you sighed. The address encrusted in silver stood out in the seas of crimson reds, rooting your eyes onto the text.

“You asked for my help and I offer this–this somewhat long term solution.”

“But what if someone tries to track my blood back to me?”

Your mother and brother are counting on you, her salary from selling in the market aren't enough for the both of them. If you were to disappear they would sink further than you all already are, Soobin would stop attending school in favour of working. The guilt from seeing your mother bend over her back to be able to put food on the table would kill him.

It's a burdening feeling you wouldn't wish upon him. He should only know to have fun, make friends, and experience life in high school like a normal teen would.

You can't afford to put yourself in danger.

“I’ll put my name on the list instead. I promise you that you'll be safe, you just need to find someone to feed on you and then you can go, easy money!” 

Seeing the hesitance in your eyes, she continued.

“Sometimes you just need to live a little. There's rewards in risking, you know?”

But then again, nor can you afford new shoes for Soobin with your minimum wage jobs.

With a defeated sigh, you looked up to meet your friend's eyes. 

“How should I dress?”

________

He should've known better than attending parties the prehistoric council members had invited him into, you'd think centuries of politics would render him immune to these tricky situations yet here he is, standing awkwardly in the middle of the meeting room while holding said invitation and a cocktail. The old geezer was already gone by the time he realised his mistake. 

The envelope was a deep hue of red, a foretelling sign of what the party might be about.

It wasn't a shock when he saw the neatly imprinted silver text on the thick crimson paper telling him of a private feeding gathering for both the fortunate and the unfortunate on Saturday.

While being a vampire himself, he never had to feed on strangers when he had his coven to fill him up for the next month or so. His age has allowed him longer intervals between feeding and at this point, he has grown nonchalant with that aspect of his life. 

Obviously, he should've ripped it to shreds and incinerated the damn thing.

But a voice whispered at the back of his, urging him to join the small gathering. A nagging feeling tugging at him and telling him he'd miss something important if he were to dismiss the invitation. Yet when asked why he went, he said it's to oversee the event undercover.

He could still feel the burning curious gaze of his brothers on his skin.

Which brings him to his current predicament, fighting off the urge to yawn from the absolute boredom caused by newbloods breaking their backs to impress potential business partners and blood donors.

He silently thanked whoever thought it was a good idea to have guests wear masks. There would've been heaps upon heaps of scandals if he were to be spotted in a feeding party, not to mention, the newbloods trying to peacock their way to being sponsored by the Kim Coven and from the rising irritation burning his back, he might shave off a huge number off the vampire population.

He couldn't remember the times he had done his route around the hall, trying to avoid people vying for a morsel of attention and trying his best to not stay still in one place for people to recognize him but he did know that if he were to go around once more, he's leaving once and for all.

Downing his last martini, he stood up. 

Only for a dizzying scent to knock him back into his seat. It grabbed onto his throat with a tight grip, stuffing his head and demanding his attention. It smelled like the sweetest of sin, honeyed and dripping thick on his tongue. 

A faerie’s blood, although from a half, is still as tantalising as a pure blooded one.

He hears the murmurs, could feel multiple spawns’ auras spilling out of their body, their greed relentless and non-discriminating as it lashed out over each other, fighting to be noticed by the woman in the black bodycon dress. Why are they looking at her? How dare they lay their eyes on what's mine—

He immediately shook the thought away, making a note to review it later.

You strode into the middle of the ballroom with a sway to your hips, lips painted in the hue of blood stretching into a coy smile as vampires of all ages take a step towards your direction. The dress didn't leave much to the imagination with its thin fabric clinging onto your form tightly. From the spaghetti straps hanging flimsily on your shoulders to the low dip of its collar between the mounds of your chest and the high slits on one side to reveal the plumpness of your thighs, you were mouth watering in every way possible.

With pouty lips tinted in crimson red and hair loosely curled on the side of your face. You were a sight to behold.

Seeing you stride in with all that skin displayed for everyone to see, a ravenous monster at the back of his mind resurfaces. Greed and possessiveness of the others seeped into his skin, awakening something he had long buried.

A potential mate, his mind had whispered 

Fuck, you're driving him insane.

Seokjin didn't notice his feet moving, following the alluring scent beckoning him close as if hypnotised but he did see the flirtatious narrowing of your eyes as he approached. If his power is spilling over the floor and deterring everyone from daring to get in between you both, he ignored it. 

In fact, he revelled in their soured faces and shivering bodies.

He wasn't one for claiming territories nor was he the type to flaunt his power but for tonight, he'll make an exception.

No one is to dare interrupt him.

“What's a pretty faerie like you doing outside of their realm?”

He tried so hard not to stare at the delectable view of the mounds of your breast or the unblemished skin of your neck and chest but it's difficult with the view granted by his height. Your heartbeat pulsed nervously despite the flirtatious mask you so perfectly strut with. 

He could practically taste your scent being this close and his throat dries up.

Fuck, you're gonna make him religious.

“The same as the other women in pretty dresses in this room, darling. Money.”

“Aren't you scared people might hurt you?” It was a genuine question, if he wasn't here to step over the pining prospects, he didn't want to imagine how they would've killed each other for a glance.

You would've been ravaged, you were bold for strutting into a room full of ravenous vampires. It was impressive as much as it made his blood curl. He pushed the thought away, he wouldn't want to scare you off by decorating the hall in gore.

Seokjin could feel your fear, could hear it from the racing beats of your heart under flesh and bones. You were nervous, no doubt ready to bolt the moment you were approached by the predators surrounding you in all directions yet you faced him head on with a false confidence he started to think is real.

If fear were to ever linger in the corner of your eyes, he had a feeling it wouldn't end well for every supernatural in this room. 

No one should ever dare scare you.

“I'm desperate. So, if you aren't trying to take me for the night, I have other guys pining for me so excuse—”

“I didn't say I didn't want you, sweetheart. I'm just trying to get to know you better.”

You stopped, looking up at him through your lashes as you stepped closer.

Lithe fingers boldly reached onto his tie pressed neatly behind his blazer—nails painted in a sinful red hue, he notes— tugging and twirling it between fingers as you stepped closer and closer, further drowning him in your delectable fragrance. Your nervous heart beats echoed in his ears and it sounded like the piper's capturing tune, your scent surrounds him like a haze of amortentia, demanding his attention on your eyes, your lips, your skin and to the dip in your waist. All Seokjin could think about was you.

Your soft flesh flashing up at him, teasing him and urging him to have a taste, to feel the rush of your blood coating his tongue and down his throat, to run his hands over your skin and have his marks littering its unblemished surface.

Suddenly his clothes felt suffocating in the heat of his desire.

Was he seriously this floored for someone whose face he hasn't seen?

“All you need to know is that I need a name to moan, handsome.”

He could feel the thread of his patience running thin, lust leaking in and clouding his judgement. He smirked. “Name’s Jin. What should I call you then, sweet thing?”

Your arms reached around his neck, body pressing flush into his chest as you looked up at him through lidded eyes. The size difference not going unnoticed, if anything, it made him want to drive a stake through his heart.

“Cherry.”

He doesn't know who started it first, nor does he remember how you both ended up in a private room after the feeding contract was signed, doors locked behind you both as he pressed you onto its wooden material, the masks long forgotten on the floor. Seokjin felt your lust in how your scent sweetened further like heaven's nectar, grabbing onto his throat and drowning him.

It almost felt sacrilegious that he gets to know you so intimately like this. Almost unfair how your desires grappled with his patience like a cat with a ball of yarn, temptation lighting his skin alight.

Pulling away, his lips immediately zeroed in on your neck. His fangs ached to be buried onto your precious skin but he knows better than to harvest his rewards early. He sucked bruises and marked your throat yet the greediness in his chest didn't relent, if anything, it rampaged further at the sight of you littered with his marks.

They looked so pretty on you.

“You're driving me insane.”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

Taking your lips once again with his, you engaged in a wild dance of teeth dragging over his lips and tongue clashing with yours before picking you up and taking you both to the bed at the far corner of the room.

The straps of your dress falling from your shoulders shouldn't have the effect it does to him yet here he is, throat tight and mouth watering as he hovers over your pliant body, full chest spilling on the sides of your body, raising with your laboured breath with cheeks flushed with desire. His hands pushed the offending fabric of your dress to bunch over your inner thighs, eyes greedily drinking in every inch of skin being revealed to him before noticing how the thick flesh managed to look so small under his palms.

His mouth dries.

He can't wait to see how Namjoon feels about the size difference between you. The man would lose every morsel of control.

“Stop staring!”

“Why should I? You look so pretty like this.”

There's something so sinfully divine in how the fabric only seems to cover the necessary parts of your body, trying its best—and failing—to hide you from his gaze, the devil about to corrupt your purity with a bite.

You whined, hand reaching for him as you flush darker at his comment.

You'd turn Yoongi into a devout worshipper who'd dedicate a thousand songs because of this sight alone.

He ran his hands across your thighs, thumb inching closer to your heat under the fabric and every time it neared your breath hitches. Your heartbeat thuds a little faster, a new melody he's grown to love. 

Yoongi would've somehow composed a song with it.

“If you stare any longer, I'm going to start charging you.”

He didn't mean to laugh as hard as he did at that.

“Not much of a threat for me, sweetheart. I'm fucking rich.”

Your scent flares as you let out a soft moan and he captures your lips once more before pulling away with a smirk. 

“I'd spoil you rotten, put you in the nicest, most expensive clothing and I'd still have more to spend on you for an eternity.” 

You whined and it sounded like the sweetest melody he'd hear once he enters whatever heaven there is for the supernatural. 

Seokjin didn't have a kink for spending money on someone nor did he imagine he'd have one, but as he drawled on, he couldn't help but imagine you in the most lavish fabric to pose for him and his coven members, to see your form covered in the softest of silk and the rarest of gems only their money could purchase, his throat tightened.

Taehyung’s designed clothes would fit you perfectly.

“You like wealth, princess? I have plenty. My coven has a dragon, he'd spoil you rotten, he’d stop at nothing to give you everything you'd ever wanted.”

You didn't react to his revelation and he takes it as a win, a silent acceptance of his coven.

“Please just touch me.”

“Where do you want me, princess?”

You take his hand, lithe and small against him, and bring it close to where you wanted him most between legs, nudging his fingers between folds and shocks shoots through his body. He groans, the lacy fabric already drenched with your arousal, doused with your addicting scent.

“I want your fingers inside me, Jinnie. Please?”

If you asked him for the universe with that voice, he would learn how to shrink it and hand it over to you the next day tied with a bowstring.

Are you aware of the power you hold over him?

Instead of moving, he let you move his wrist, watched you with rapt attention as his fingers dipped down your folds, hovering on your clenching hole before rising to nudge your clit, teasing your already sensitive self and moaning from the slightest of touch. 

If it wasn't for the unfamiliar signature of a faerie in your scent, he would've thought you were a succubus.

“Look at you grinding on my knuckles so prettily, already so needy for me.”

He pressed light figures of eight on your button and drank in the sight of your desperation with rapt attention. Your hips twisted, eager for more. Tugging the fabric aside with the other hand, he toyed with your clit, using different pressures and motions to figure out what brings you the most pleasure before dipping a finger into you.

Your velvety walls fluttered around him, pulsing with need and tightening oh so deliciously on his finger. His cock stirs in his pants as he adds another digit, he can't wait to bury himself into your warmth.

Seeing you thrash around in pleasure as his fingers drove and curled inside you, got his body crawling with the intense feeling of greed. He wanted to see more of you, to have you on the brink of breaking. Suddenly, the dress flimsily covering you grew offensive. He eyed the material restricting his movements before pulling away from your cunt and reaching up to tug your panties off of you, discreetly tossing it into his spatial storage.

The dress is already halfway off your skin, he could easily tear them apart to replace them with a better, more expensive fabric but decided against it.

He sheds the clothing inch by inch, placing soft kisses and gentle nibbles to newly uncovered skin, leaving you breathless beneath him. Your scent flourished with your magic. It was electrifying. Intoxicating how your power seems to react so well with his.

Like you were meant to be.

Sitting back, he admired the divine artwork before him, embedding the sight into the walls of his brain. Your arms moved to cross over your breasts from his gaze making him reach down to entangle your fingers with his and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

“Don't hide from me. You look so pretty like this.”

With you finally revealed bare beneath him, he wasted no more time, leaning down to your cunt where your scent was stronger and licked.

Your flavour explodes on his tongue and he groans. Whether it was just your scent he’s tasting or your arousal he could care less, mouth latching onto your folds and tongue lolling on your erect bead as he sucked. His head buzzed, intoxicated by the fluctuating aroma surrounding him. He could die happy between your shuddering thighs threatening to close around his face, he didn’t mind it though, he can go on without breathing if only he could taste your sweet nectar.

Tasting you felt blasphemous, like he broke every heavenly rule there is by having you drip on his tongue. Sinful and outright disrespectful, and he loved it.

Heat ravaged his entire being alight, desire running rampant and restless under his skin. His fingers roamed your uncharted skin possessively, digging his fingers onto flesh and dragging them down, cupping and squeezing whatever he could reach while his mouth busied with your clit. Your hands grabbed at his head, fingers threading and entangling themselves onto his hair, confused whether to push him away or to tug him closer as you edged closer to the precipice of your high.

“I'm so close…! Jinnie please!”

With your back arched, hair laid around your head like a halo and chest glistening with sweat stuttering as you come to a close, skin illuminated by the soft lights of the room, Seokjin swore he has never seen a more beautiful sight than this.

His fangs ached once more.

“Fuck..! I’m gonna—”

He pulls away, teeth sinking into the plush of your thigh and your body seizes with pleasure, the ecstasy caused by his bite pushing you over.

Your blood is light and rich on his tongue, syrupy and honeyed, like the sweetest nectar found only in the garden of eden, the flavour heightened by your climax. Seokjin could taste the sugariness of your orgasm as if it was his own and he groaned. It was dizzying, the taste clogging his senses and stuffing cottons inside his mind as he took and took. He has never realised how hungry he was until he’s bitten into your skin.

His head swims, intoxicated by the raw magic in your blood entering his system, intertwining and entangling themselves into his own before boldly integrating with the flow of his power as if they've always been there. Energy buzzed under his fingers now erratically plunging and curling inside your cunt, further sweetening your blood as you edged between pleasure and pain from overstimulation.

Then in the midst of all the pleasure and nirvana, something clicks into place and he jerks awake from the haze.

Forcing himself to pull away, he almost black out as if he’s been taken off of life support—he feels like he did. Head blank and lightheaded, blood drunk. Even in his bleary state, he could feel it. An additional trace of your magic latching onto his own, a bond unconsciously made.

The uncomfortable stickiness in his boxers didn't go unnoticed and he buried his face into your thigh, blushing for no one in particular.

He cursed under his breath before pushing himself up and wishing you both into the comfortable clothing he had stocked up in his pocket dimension before taking his phone out of it, immediately greeted by the onslaught of text on his lock screen, all two hundred of them from his brothers who had no doubt felt the addition and his intense pleasure from feeding on you.

Normally, he'd be embarrassed by the thought of them knowing what he's been up to but there were more pressing matters to attend to. 

For example, the bond formed without your consent and his.

There's panic and confusion swirling madly like a hurricane through the six other bonds. He forced calmness down the lines tethered to his magic before turning back to the issue at hand.

He might have to wake you up and inform you of what happened.

But when he looked up and found your eyes closed, most likely blacking out from the intensity of the unprecedented bonding and the overstimulation from a vampire's bite, he figured that he'd deal with it tomorrow. You looked peaceful and he found himself mirroring the same sentiment, exhaustion weighing his bones. He dragged himself up next to you, arms wrapping around your torso as if he has always been doing so.

There's still insistent tugs down the lines of his bond, demanding answers and the constant buzzing from his phone but that's for tomorrow's Seokjin’s problem to solve, for now, he closes his eyes.

For the first time that year, Seokjin sleeps and wakes from the most pleasant rest he's had in centuries only to end it abruptly when he wakes up with the other side of the bed empty and he freaks.

______

“What the fuck do you mean you just left him?!”

“What the fuck was I supposed to do then?! If he's as high profile as you think, I don't think he'd appreciate waking up next to a one night stand!”

“Not all of them you—ARGH!”

Soomin groaned exasperatedly and loudly, folding over herself as she facepalms on the other armchair in your dorm's living room. Deeming it not dramatic enough, she grabs the pink throw pillow behind her and screams onto it.

Truth be told, leaving Jin earlier that morning placed a heavy weight on your heart. It felt so wrong to walk away from him, as if there's a string tying you to him and now it's pulled taut—which is a crazy statement to think about, there was no bonding ritual so how could you feel so dejected from closing the door behind you?

You have a couple of spare zeroes in your bank account now with bills paid and an expensive pair of black shoes already in transit for Soobin. Why would you be sad from leaving a one night stand?

You couldn't even believe you managed to bag someone that high in the social hierarchy. That party was a nightmare, walking in knowing all eyes would turn to you, all predatorial and hungry, it almost made you want to run back to your mother's arms. But you're an actress, theatre experience be damned if you weren't going to put on the greatest act of your life.

Fake till you make it, you always think and it led to you having the most earth shattering, blackout worthy orgasm as well as owning heaps of money.

Soomin has a different sentiment though, now standing up to crossover to where you sat across her before promptly hitting your body with the pillow.

“You're. So. Fucking. Stupid!” She screams like you had pissed and disrespected her ancestors’ grave, striking after each word. “That man might be Kim Seokjin from the most elusive clan in the world! Number one most sought bachelor and the country's most powerful sorcerer and you just walked away from him!”

“How could you be so sure it's him? All we got is a nickname.”

“His name is literally Jin which is short for Seokjin and he's a vampire wizard! You said he has a coven with a dragon? Well, guess what?! That dragon is Kim fucking Namjoon, another member of the Kim coven! That man is one of the richest in the fucking world and you just ditched his coven’s eldest!”

She swings for the last time and you weren't so fortunate the last few times—already letting down your guard when she began ranting—and it hits you square in the face. You groaned in pain, the zipper on the side of the pillow scratching your skin. 

Soomin’s anger immediately dwindled as she realised her error and gasped, falling to her knees and hands already reaching to cup your face to check for visible marks, pillow left abandoned on the carpet.

“Can't be damaging the face that bagged the Kim coven.”

“No damage here.”

“Just my faith in your decision making skills. I mean,” she stands, now more subdued and more disappointed than angry, still you eyed the pillow warily. “You've been wearing yourself down to death for years not only for you but also your family. If you were taken into the Kim Clan, you wouldn't have to worry about money anymore.”

Despite being one of your closest and longest friends, there's always been a huge difference with how you both perceive money. 

You're desperate for it, clawing and digging your hands bloody through the desolate desert for a chance of finding one small nugget to sustain your family while Soomin was familiar with it—she grew comfortably living in her parents’ spoils of years of hard work but never enough to buy the highest of quality items until her fiance came and suddenly, she had more than enough to spend for her luxury and you.

You strived and toiled for a smidge of stability whereas she revelled in anything life throws at her without worry because she has her parents to catch her if everything ever goes wrong.

She thinks of luxury as designer brands and ridiculously highly priced products that don't guarantee the greatest quality but you think of luxury as never having to worry about spending a cent over the designated budget for food shopping.

Even then, you loved her to the bone. Appreciated her like a sister from another mother.

“I can't afford to be distracted right now. I have a course to finish and a family to keep alive, I can't be hanging onto blind hope.”

Soomin's eyes softened, understanding and sighed. Turning around, she licked up the stray pillow before settling back into her chair and crossing her arms.

“I'm just… I just wanted you to be happier. It's a life mission of mine to make sure I won't die before seeing you living without stressing over details.” 

“I know.”

“I love you, leaflet.”

You laugh and she smiles. “I love you too, queen.”

[delilahsturniolo]

୨୧ people watching . . . ravenclaw!matt x hufflepuff!reader

(this is just a oneshot, but i could make it an au in the future if you guys like it!)

hogwarts, a magical and mysterious place that held many stories of love and rivalry, but none quite like the one between you and matthew sturniolo.

you were a hufflepuff—a quiet, bookish girl with a heart as soft as a whisper. you absolutely adored the smell of paper and ink, the warmth of the hufflepuff common room, and the way sunlight shined through the greenhouse windows during your favorite class, herbology. something you didn’t enjoy however, was attention.

matthew, on the other hand, was a ravenclaw with a reputation. he was brilliant, charming, and—unfortunately for you, utterly adored by nearly every girl at hogwarts. his deep blue eyes held the mysteries of the universe, his intelligence and wittiness made professors smile, and his kindness made people swoon over him like there was no tomorrow. there wasn’t a single girl who didn’t at least flirt with him once or have a crush on him.

except you. or . . . so you gaslight yourself to believe.

you did like him. a lot, actually. but you always told yourself that you were far too shy to ever say anything to him. after all, why would matthew sturniolo, the most sought-after boy in school, notice you? a lame, quiet, and reserved hufflepuff?

yet, to your surprise—he did.

It started in the library. you always sat at the farthest table near the restricted section at the back, where it was quietest. it was a quiet evening to say the least, you head was buried into a book as you studied for your care of magical creatures class. when suddenly, matt strolled in. his head was up high, his blue tie hung around his neck, his brown hair looked slightly disheveled from a recent quidditch match.

“mind if i sit here?” he asked, setting his books down before you could even process what was happening. your heart pounded with anxiety and anticipation, nodding at him.

however, this wasn’t the only time this had happened. over the next few weeks, this became a routine. matt would show up, sit beside you, and strike up quiet conversations. he often asked about your favorite books, interests, and more. matt listened to every word you said. he was good at that, he was genuinely curious about you, never once growing bored of your timid responses. he didn’t really see an issue in getting to know you. you found yourself relax even more each time the two of you would interact.

but, there was a problem. every girl in hogwarts noticed the two of you.

they whispered in the corridors, giggling about you in hushed tones. they sent you sharp, and mean glances when they saw you walking beside him after class. some girls were even bold enough to ask matt directly why he spent so much time with you when he could have anyone else.

you eventually decided to just stop speaking to matt, you thought it was for the best honestly, you didn’t want people to hate you, after all. so, you ignored matt when he approached you in the hallways. you never sat in your usual seat in the library, you walked with someone else to class.

matt noticed how distant and cold you were being towards him, without an explanation. he felt confused, and hurt. why were you suddenly ignoring him? a few days ago you both talked to each other 24/7, what changed? those were the types of thoughts running through matt’s head.

one night, you were sitting on a wooden bench near the black lake, your knees tucked into your chest as you watched the reflection of the moon on the water. you haven’t spoken to matt in a week, and everything felt different, but not in a good way.

“y/n?”

you turned your head, startled. matt stood there, hands in his pockets, looking more uncertain than you had ever seen him.“you’ve been avoiding me.” his voice was quiet, but it held a weight of pain, and hurt in it as well.

you swallowed hard. “i—i haven’t been.” you lied right through your teeth.

he raised a brow. ravenclaws could always see through lies. “you ever gonna stop bullshitting with me and tell me the truth?” matt scoffed in disbelief. you sighed heavily. “it’s just… people are talking. they don’t understand why you’d want to be around…someone like me, y’know?”

matt sat beside you. “let them talk,” he said simply.

you blinked at him, speechless. “what?”

“i don’t care what anyone at this stupid school thinks, y/n. i like spending time with you. and if you’d let me, i’d like to spend even more time with you.”

your breath caught, you were in disbelief from what he was saying to you. “really…? you…would?”

matt chuckled. “of course i would. you’re kind, brilliant, and you don’t care about silly things like popularity. you’re real, and genuine. those other girls? they’re mean, and probably only want to get with me for their reputation. i know you, i know you aren’t like that. it’s…quite refreshing actually.”

you felt warmth spread throughout your chest.

for the first time in a long time, you smiled, you truly and genuinely smiled at him. as matt smiled back, you realized that maybe, just maybe, love wasn’t only reserved for the loud, the bold, or the ones who demanded attention. sometimes, love found the quiet ones, too. you realized in this moment, you didn’t need to change yourself to find love. all you did was be yourself, live authentically, and love found it’s way to you. a fucking ravenclaw, too. who on earth would’ve known?

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© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

a/n 💌: hiii!! i know this is superrr different from what i usually write, i’ve never written anything about harry potter before so i’m really truly sorry if anything is unrealistic, i haven’t watched harry potter in years and lowk had to do some research in order to write this. let me know if you guys want more!

[poisoned-fruit-prose]

𝐜𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐞.

synop: you bring viktor a cup of coffee and have a spiritual experience.

wc: 424.

includes: a disgusting amount of fluff. happy ending au. hexcore was absorbed by you and viktor and somehow you both made it out alive and well.

author's note: yeah, if you couldn't tell, that ending quote had me fucked up. i've already posted today but i'm unwell and churning out stuff left and right. hope you enjoy.

“Viktor,” you whispered softly.

The scientist groaned as his eyes blearily squinted open. His neck hurled disapproval at him, prompting him to raise it off the lab table with another, more pained noise. You were already massaging the back of it with a hand, the other setting down a hot cup of coffee beside him. The steam billowed in the early morning light pouring from the windows.

“Take a break. Just five minutes, to talk to me,” you murmured. You sunk into your seat beside his—the seat that he always kept there for you—and threw a blanket around your bodies. Viktor leaned over to kiss your cheek, then rested his head on your shoulder with a deep sigh.

“Thank you,” he mumbled, voice gravelly from sleep, as he cradled the coffee in his hands. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“Mmm, who knows?” You began rubbing his back. “You know I hate speculating. It just takes time away from the present.”

Viktor used to disagree with you; as a scientist, he had to battle that school of thought. Now, he saw your paradigm. Your world. He understood. The arcane you harnessed gave you knowledge you never would’ve, of futures and pasts and separate timelines where things weren’t as they were here—now. Your destruction of the Hexcore was the hardest thing you ever did but now you both sat side by side on your home plane and in the stars. No one would ever know what you did; that alone saved humanity and gave you a gift that would die with you.

Viktor’s spirit sparked where it touched yours. You both closed your eyes and focused on that; the coffee, the blanket, the lab fell away to stars and infinities and magic.

Only you.

Only me?

Only you, could show me this.

Viktor’s words did what they always did—put tears in your eyes and a smile on your lips. The softness he spoke them with belied his unending love for you, his boundless appreciation for the life you led with him. Despite all the bad, all the terrible things that happened over your lives, he would choose this one over and over again.

He would always choose you.

You leaned over and kissed him, on both planes, and you melded into each other like molten glass. When you parted, you were always changed, always mixed with more of the other, always hesitant to let go.

Five minutes were one thing to any other person. You lived two lives just over a cup of coffee.

dividers used: sparkles • star

[phoenixcatch7]

Omg you're too kind I'm so excited -

So my main overarching plan is based on a fusion of the two games that's basically as close to their own respective canons as possible, where the world building sort of grows around it rather than shaping it. In this, persona awakenings happen basically the same - at least to my understanding!

In Third Eye, personal personas are pulled from the sea of souls to bond with and reflect their user - they're not created from the users soul but are more akin to Bayo's demon summoning, where powerful and exclusive contracts can be forged where both demon and witch can be called upon by the other at their will, their magics entwined.

But bayonetta has multiple contracts, though they're weaker and less loyal than her main with Madame Butterfly, from whom she can use her limbs to attack and her wings to fly. Advanced rituals allow witches to take on halfway forms of their main demons, which may put you in mind of the fanart of joker in arsenes outfits :D. This is actually pretty similar to the wild card ability, where joker has his main/true persona Arsene, but can still form contracts with and use other persona he finds along the way!

Speaking of his persona, though, one of the things that I struggled with was what to do about his own demon contract. I spent ages trying to work satneal being half demon half persona into the world building somehow, but it just wasn't clicking, because I had three slots that needed filling but only two things to fill it with.

But then I found out about that one p5r dlc, which has akiras THIRD freaking awakening: Raoul, the false alias of Arsene Lupin. Sometimes lover, sometimes ally, sometimes the false name he disguised himself by. But his design is giving yellow Sci fi street thug who thinks he's all that compared to Arsene and satneals gorgeous black and red prince vibes ToT. Anyway, the fact that the other personas have actual upgrades, but Akira just has a false identity, that was actually really interesting. So, as long as we can overlook the yellow, it occurred to me that I might change it up.

What if this joker, with his secret identity of being an immortal gun slinging witch in training hiding from the government, awakened to raoul instead of arsene? And only after growing to trust his friends, his new family, and being able to open up to them about his past would he be able to awaken his true persona, the unmasked and unrepentant Arsene.

Because in canon it's the other way round, isn't it? Joker arrives as a kid who has nothing, a kid who got caught for doing the right thing regardless of the government, and it's only later that he builds a second life and learns the deception and subterfuge necessary to being a phantom thief.

And then satneal, the whole actual demon lord, could be his demon summon!! And his shadow would turn into a six winged bat demon hehe.

And the best part is there's a whole secret back story in bayonetta about how the current world began - there was a huge war aeons ago between the forces of heaven and hell that I think killed all of the Actual Universe Creating Deities, called Dea (bar one survivor who fell and now runs an underground weapon shop/bar that a xenomorph wouldn't look out of place in. As a piece of furniture). So both inferno and paradiso are notably lacking their bosses while earth still had Aesir (the guy who later split into loki and loptr). The angels wanted their boss back (who btw is a girl) but got tricked (by evil loptr) alongside the humans into basically an armageddon situation to resurrect loptr in his full power instead. Bayonetta teams up with Jeanne to summon the mysterious demon boss (?) queen, who then throws him into the sun before it gets to that point, destabilising reality. Basically in this au satneal is both very, very old, very, VERY powerful, and has been missing since the universe began. Him showing up to contract with Akira would be a HUGE issue in the bayonetta world, and I'm all for it. Let your kid out of your sight for less than a year and he summons the presumed KIA devil.

Man, I haven't even actually talked about the whole overarching plot. And why it's called Third Eye.

Right, the whole deal is that the trinity of realities are rapidly destabilising after the bayonetta games. Two magic cores called the left and right eye of the world (belonging to the sages and witches) got nuked. Demons are escaping summons, angels are going crazy and failing to pick up souls destined for paradiso, there's freak weather events, earthquakes, that sort of thing. Eventually the whole thing is, within the next millennium or so, going to shake apart completely and then we'll all be back in the primordial soup.

Loki tried to prevent loptr from making it worse (stabilised, yes, but much worse for humanity) by using humanity's free will to establish the meta verse and persona, so that humanity might have guardians of their own immune to the corruption that befell the sages and witches (persona users being immune to the mental corruption that would lead to forming Palaces). He hoped that by returning magic to humans the flow of energy would once more stabilise.

UNFORTUNATELY loptr caught on while he was making his own plans (involving possession and giant statues and I kid you not capitalism cults). And managed to break into the velvet room. Whether ol' yalda (aka demiurge) is loptr reborn or just his special minion idk I'm still working on that. But he finds akechi.

Akechi, who is a distant descendant of the sages on his mother's side. Who is almost unnaturally tall and beautiful and capable of the immense magic needed to be a wildcard, although his non-fool arcana limits him. Akechi would be perfect to sow the fear and destruction he needs to win humanity's thoughts and thus, their minds.

There's always something juicy about a 'last of their kind' finding someone like them, and I think it'd really enhance the tension between Akira and akechi. Akechi, who never knew why he and his mother were so different to everyone else, who could never have gotten the training Akira did. Who grew up having to conform and perform to public scrutiny in ways that Akira needed to reject in order to fully grow into his abilities. And the inevitable tragedy of his death, how he was already too far lost to ever be safe to tell, but he knew Akira knew something anyway. The rage of never being told. The guilt of never telling, even as it keeps your family safe.

But anyway. This story ends with the stabilisation, not destruction of the meta verse, that humanity can forever dream of bigger things than they will ever see. The phantom thieves of hearts might be young, but they have proved the strength of their very souls, and should the day arise that they are needed, they will be called upon once more. Though the two eyes of the world are long destroyed, the third eye, the third path has opened, and as one, humanity shall finally pave their own way.

Basically thank you so much for asking @thegarlicthief 💖💖💖💖

Y'know what my knowledge of bayonetta may be limited to badass witch lady but I'd still like to hear about your Third Eye crossover thingy

Omg what a thing to wake up to thank you so much :D!!!

To quickly summarise, Bayonetta is an unhinged fast paced fighting game (trilogy) about an immortal witch with demon summoning gun wielding powers, who hunts angels for their halos to earn money and feed the demon contracts so they don't eat her instead. It's incredibly campy and shameless, but behind the scenes it's got some seriously well researched lore and a wealth of world building that drew me to writing for it. It's visually gorgeous and amazingly cohesive.

So what started it all was a meme going around the smash bros community a few years ago when joker and bayonetta joined, about how she was joker's mother. And I, having played both games (but not smash, ironically), was instantly hooked. I really wanted to see a story exploring that, but there was only a handful of fics or comics that, while good, weren't what I was looking for.

So I started writing my own. It's a story about joker (I'm using the name Akira for him) being the blood son of bayonetta, and his life being raised by her and fellow witch Jeanne, who in this fic is living with them and co-parenting hehe. It's following him through his trials and tribulations of being the son of the last witch (they were all killed off in a very violent war with their counterparts the sages), his own training to be a witch via time travel (it's a whole thing) and - in the second half - the circumstances around being forced to leave his small circle of protection and being pulled under government scrutiny after saving shidos victim, where any wrong move risks exposing the last dregs of the supernatural to people who would want to ruin everything.

I'm purposely keeping it unclear how Akira was conceived/born, or who the other parent is (if there even is one), because it's not really relevant and I like the mystery! It's also unclear if Jeanne and bayonetta are in a steamy relationship or just doing a besties cohabitation thing for the sake of the kid, but again it's on purpose ;). And lets me avoid writing romance LMAO.

Unsurprisingly, it's the world building that's really making me struggle, but the general gist is that the afterlife is VERY convoluted.

So, in p5 you've got the meta verse and the sea of souls, which is where persona come from. Persona, who are mythological, literary or historical figures. You can summon persona and kill them to make weapons and accessories. Though you don't lose your persona upon entering reality again, it can't manifest.

In bayonetta, there's three planes of reality. You've got the obvious paradiso and inferno, and then purgatorio, a second layer of earth's reality where the games all primarily take place, where living things become faint shadows oblivious to your chaos - though they will freak out when you blow up their car! Angels and demons alike can be summoned to this plane, (though they often show up regardless lol), being sometimes mythological, literary or historical figures but usually just generic mob enemies (hey, just like persona!). Certain enemies can be taken to a guy to be killed and turned into weapons and accessories. There's a lot of similarity!

So, in Third Eye, the sea of souls that living humans cannot reach is referring to the three planes of reality, where angels, demons and human souls can be pulled into the meta verse to become persona. Awakening a 2nd tier persona is an evolution of the user's soul, strengthening it and making the magics easier. It's a third equivalent to the witch/sages, which is going to be VERY relevant in the second phase.

Also, in the second game, spoilers, there's a blue kid called loki who uses tarot cards to fight, who ends up being the amnesiac god of free will trying to save humanity from his evil counterpart loptr who wants to take control of humanity and remake the world in his image, and eventually he sacrificed his life to do so, with a promise to one day be reincarnated.

So that's where philemon was while Igor was taking over his velvet room :D.

Thank you so much for asking ^u^! If you're curious about more I'd be delighted to talk about it, especially the details of jokers altered persona ;)...

[toruforuu]

gojo satoru x reader || hogwarts au (18+)

wonderwall chp.5 incandescent glow

✼pairing:hogwarts au - slytherin!gojo x ravenclaw!reader

✼summary: gojo satoru, the golden boy of a famous family lineage of wizards sets his sights on you, a half blood defying his pureblood morals. he makes it a goal in his life to make yours a living hell. years of endless pestering, teasing and rivalry stretching out. as times goes on, he finds himself thinking about you more than he isn’t. he grows torn between his family’s beliefs and the forbidden ache tickling his chest whenever he sees you

✼meaning: wonderwall - the person you cannot stop thinking about (song by oasis)

✼genre/tags: hogwarts au, female reader, strangers to enemies/sort of academic rivals to forbidden lovers, slow burn, angst, eventual smut, pining and yearning (mostly gojo), built up tension, teasing, bickering and pestering, jealousy, slightly spoiled gojo, obsessed and lovesick gojo, both are pretty oblivious to their feelings

✼warnings: discrimination, death, grief, shitty parents, light bullying, mentions of hook ups, sexual topics, family pressure and trauma, mentions of injuries and violence, degradation, mentions of political views, escalating political situation, lgbtq representation, cheating

✼word count: 8.9k

✼chapter: 5/?

a/n: hello lovelies! I always wondered how these writes pull up with long ass chapters and I guess I get it now lmao. I also decided to include my favourite greek mythology legend of the star crossed lovers. the constellation is gonna play a little cute role later! anyway, i am taking another entrance exam this saturday and my graduation process is starting soon as well and i am not too sure when another chapter is gonna come out. hopefully soon, but my psychology and education topics for viva are sure giving me a hard time:<

based on this //  previous chapter // next chapter

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to the playlist

˚⟡˖ ࣪:link to the vision-board

Present, summer of 07’

The ripe age of adulthood felt bittersweet as you stood on a hill, one close to where Arabella lives in the countryside. You couldn’t help but recall those sweltering days in the countryside spent beneath the trees near her house or running up this very hill till your lungs might’ve given out. This nostalgia you’re feeling is a mere proof you are living a life to be proud of, what a privilege it is to yearn for your own memories. But now you’re both grown, almost old enough to use magic outside of the school walls and it’s almost melancholic. Couple of months and the power to wield magic would be yours.

It’s the start of July, only couple of days ago you were at Hogwarts, listening to the speech given by the headmaster. Nothing changed since then, only that you had managed to calm down your racing mind, which was filled with anxious whereabouts about the near future. Arabella stands at your side, a hat sitting on her head to shield her from the heat, strawberry blonde curls tucked away beneath it. The scent of sunscreen lingering in the air. You were anxiously picking at the cuticles around your fingers as you mindlessly waited for the arrival of the misfits along with their port-key. While the heat wave suffocates you and sweat builds up at the back of your neck.

Portkeys are magical objects that allow travel across extreme distances or to places that have been charmed against detection from entering or leaving. Portkeys may send unsuspecting people anywhere, and so they require Ministry authorisation to use and operate. Port-keys are usually disguised as ordinary rubbish so muggles are more likely to ignore them. They are set to activate either at a prearranged time, or as soon as the person comes in contact with it.

“Are you bloody sure this a good idea?” you protest impatiently with arms resting across your chest as bees buzz in the air, blades of grass itching the bare side of your lower thigh. You certainly weren’t keen on the idea of trusting such an important part of your weekend to the hands of the Slytherins who hate your guts since the start of your first year. The white haired disaster to blame for that.

“Do you want to see the semifinals or not?” Arabella huffs a bit grumpily due to the overwhelming intensity of the weather as she toys around with the adjustable strings of her backpack, which is hanging over her shoulders. Cool breeze hits your frames for a small fraction of a second, bringing relief.

“We could have used apparition,” you shrug your shoulder with the intention of blaming your friend for this obscene situation you found yourself to be in. Because your friend refused to use apparition regardless of the fact you had for license for it handful of months now (she was right though, it was dangerous to use it for such a distance). Given the fact it’s your dream to go to the World Cup, not even crossing paths with the boy who made your life a living hell and depending on him would stop you from going.

The Quidditch World Cup is held every four years since the 15th century. The competition has Quidditch teams representing themselves and their countries sprawled all around the world, fighting for the World Cup and the title of champions. It is simultaneously the most exhilarating sporting event and a logistical nightmare for the host nation, which happens to be your country after nearly fifty years of waiting. When it was announced, you begged all of your friends to attend with you. Sadly, the twins couldn’t afford such a luxury. You understood, the ticket was pricey. Whole 40 Galleons at its cheapest. You yourself had to save for months, skipping on your usual purchases. For your sake, Arabella promised to join you, leaving her to do such drastic changes in her shopping as well. However at the end of the day, it wasn’t only you she went for. Her girlfriend agreed to go along with her older brother who happens to be a part of the untouchables.

The poor girl is connected to both your ex boyfriend and the Slytherins, you thought.

“We’ll transport together and go our separate ways, it’s not a big deal,” she presses further, hoping you would drop the subject and take it as it will come. However, you’re not feeling like letting it to fizzle on its own.

“I don’t trust Gojo. He might as well leave us there,” at the sound of your scoff, Arabella tilts her body towards yours.

“But Margaret wouldn’t,” she lets the words out gently and it instantly fills you with guilt, causing your features to soften up. You were so preoccupied with the fact it’s Gojo out of all people, you didn’t realise Arabella’s girlfriend was going to make a difference. Their relationship was complicated and pointing out your worries didn’t do your friend any good.

Margaret came out of a pureblood household, her older brother mentioned earlier was sorted into Slytherin and is part of the group which includes the blue eyed menace. While she is a year younger than you and surprisingly got sorted into Gryffindor. One of a few in her lineage. Her views are not filled with poison and she is open, therefore, a romance could spark between her and the short strawberry blonde Ravenclaw. Though it has to be held a secret, disguised as mere friendship. The outlook of it was already bad if a pureblood of her rank befriended a muggle born witch (especially in the upcoming times). What would it be like if the truth bubbled up to the surface? Her family would perhaps forbid it, or worse. But you’re certain they wouldn’t let it slide.

“I know, I’m sorry,” you try apologising for doubting the intentions of her lover.

You couldn’t continue the interaction any further as a swirl of wind hurled into the space on top of the hill where you stood, bringing four figures along. The first voice you mapped out was the girlish voice of Margaret, her frame running into a prison formed by Arabella’s arms. She hugged her a little tighter. Something that goes unnoticed by those who don’t know, but not by you. You turned your gaze away from the two of them, the blinding sun making you narrow your eyes in order to catch a glimpse of the others. It’s the first time throughout the years you’re seeing Satoru Gojo outside of your shared school, more importantly in summer — the essence of your free time. The casualness scares you. And as you blink away the sun, the outlines of figures inch closer. When you can make out the their existence, you nod your head as a form of greeting rather than using your words, the three Slytherins chose to replicate the action. All of them draped with backpacks, hats and sweat. Margaret then walks over to you, hugging you in a similar way.

Seeing her reminds you of him, your ex boyfriend.

“I’ll crash in your tent, you won’t mind, Y/N, will you?” her sweet voice rings in your ears as she speaks while her hands cage you in a welcoming hug. You assumed she would since her brother and his company is overpoweringly manly, so you weren’t against it. As a matter of fact, you brought a bigger tent which would serve you over the weekend.

“You’re all good,” your hand pats her back in a comforting manner before you pull away.

She shoots you a grateful smile and proceeds to engage in conversation with Arabella, leaving you to listen to them from the sidelines. It doesn’t bother though, you know if it weren’t for this opportunity they wouldn’t see each other during the break as it was that way last summer. They wrote letters to one another, but writing is far from the magic of meeting in person. Your attention occasionally glides over to the intruders, who stand couple of feet away and watch you while they wait for the three of you to finish talking.

“Taking muggles, are we?” one of Gojo’s friends groans out and your ears perk up at the words, your blood pressure instantly rises. Sadly, all you three managed to make out the words. To Arabella it meant nothing. Sure, it still hurt, yet she was somehow used to the insults and willing to let it go. But you aren’t that open minded.

“Hey! I heard that,” you huff out for the sake of your friend and Arabella grabs your hand in the process and steps in front of you to prevent you from doing anything stupid. Your eyes fall onto the grip she has on your wrist . Then they bore into her orbs, which are filled up with pleading.

“I told you to behave, Robin,” another boy from the Slytherin house slides into the conversation and from his words you could already depict it was he, who was the older brother of your best friend’s girlfriend.

“Yeah, your dumb sister,” the initial guy whispers as he turns around to face the other way, utterly ignoring you and your attempt at putting him into his place. The blue eyed wizard next to him chuckles and without any further due begins to stroll towards you, the sight of you almost lyrical.

“Woah, couldn’t have been better,” you utter under your own breath with an eye-roll. Arabella squeezes your wrist before she lets it go, signalling and begging one more to remain calm. And when she steps out of your way, you’re once again facing the one and only, Gojo Satoru.

“Fuming, already?” he piques with his brows arching in playful curiosity, his other two friends closing up the distance as well. The burning sun, humid air and now this, was a dangerous combination for the sake of holding your temper back.

Yes, you were already fuming.

“You better keep your pretentious friends in check, Gojo,” your voice drops a tone so the words wouldn’t reach the said friends while burning a hole through the white haired prodigy with your sharp gaze. Unlike them, you are cautious about your intentions.

“Ah, you wound me,” he places his palm over his chest, long fingers sprawling across it as he pouts his lips in addition. To get even bigger rise out of you. Which he succeeds in, but you wouldn’t give him the pleasure of voicing it out loud.

“I mean it,” you said, firm and steady. No extra edge in the sound of your tone.

“Let’s gather into a circle and get this over with,” Satoru’s voice calls out a moment later, ending the conversation laced with your snarky banter. His two friends perk up at his words, finally closing up the distance fully.

Satoru pulls out the port-key, instructing you and Arabella on what to do. Or rather what to not do. You both silently listen. He then carefully places the port-key into the grass, crouching down to place a hand over it. His friends crouch down as well, gripping each other’s hands and reaching for their white haired friend. Arabella and Margaret falter down too, hands already intertwined and Margaret grabs her older brother. After that, it only comes down to you.

“You need to hold my hand for it work,” he holds out his hand to you from where he’s crouching and you hesitate. He waits for you to take it. They all wait for you to take it. All five pairs of eyes, however, only one boring into your soul with its depth.

“I don’t bite, come on,” you open your mouth to protest, but decide to close it. You huff out a low sound before you grab Arabella’s hand, squatting down in between her and the Slytherin’s menace. Then you finally take his hand in yours. The contact simple, yet soft. His skin smooth and untainted, a true hand of someone of his rank. He grips your smaller hand loosely, ensuring the teleportation goes without a hitch. The brush of his fingers leaves its mark.

In a blink of a crinkling eye you’re pulled into the port-key, the sensation of being teleported leaving your stomach in knots. The next moment you open your eyes you’re met with a vast quidditch field towering in the distance, busy chatter enveloping you. You watch in awe as other wizards brush past you, the atmosphere of the tournament fulfilling each fantasy you ever had about the World Cup and it hasn’t even started properly. As you scan your surrounding, you realise one small detail. Your hand is still lazily coaxed in his, which makes you instantly retrieve it to your side without sparing the boy any glance.

“Margaret, find some place near us, mkay’? Mom would kill me if anything were to happen to you,” the older brother of Arabella’s girlfriend says as we pick yourselves up from the ground, soothing out dust from your clothes.

“Yeah, I’ll stop by, don’t worry,” she answers with a simple nod of her head, urging her brother to finally take his leave. It was clear to you she couldn’t wait to be alone with her girlfriend. Her brother scanned all three of you without a word, turning on his heel and walking to the opposite direction. Robin, the guy who badmouthed Arabella, and Satoru following his lead.

You haven’t bothered to fetch a place for the tent. No, the three of you figured exploring the area and mostly the food stands would benefit you more. You checked out the menus of the street food businesses and the girls shyly admitted to not knowing the history of the tournament. So you started on with your rambling, explaining the truth behind the scenes as best as you could.

To be qualified for the world cup meant a lot of work. Each team played all of the other teams in their group over a two year period. During the group phase, there was always a timer of four hours on every game to avoid exhaustion of the players. On the occasion that the game ended after four hours of play and the Golden Snitch wasn't caught, the result was decided by the amount of goals scored. A win earned two points. In addition to these two points, a win by 150 points earned five points, by 100 points an extra three points and by 50 points an extra one point. If two teams were level on points, they were separated by whichever team captured the Snitch most often, or most quickly during their matches. The sixteen teams who finished top of the sixteen groups qualified for the World Cup. Throughout the tournament a team who won the most points played the team who earned the least, the team who earned the second most played the team who earned the second least, and so on. This theoretically allowed the two best teams from the qualifying phase to meet in the final. Making it all more exciting to watch. And you were clever enough to wait and pick tickets for the later games, tonight’s being the semifinal. Truthfully, Arabella and Margaret got lost somewhere in the bylines of your explaining, however, they remained focused.

You munched on chips dipped in ketchup while passing all sorts of shops, the backpacks heaving down onto your shoulders. You had to put your hair up by a clip, the heat stronger as it already hit past noon, which meant the sun was at its highest point. Due to that you all agreed finding a place to put up the tent and resting for a bit would be a wiser decision than to wander around.

The tent was easy to put together, one simple verbal spell and the job was done in a flash. You placed it few rows away from the Slytherins. Close enough for Margaret to be near her brother, far enough to ensure you a peace of mind. The tent looked tiny, but as you brushed past the flaps of entrance a humongous room spilled in front of you. Arabella voiced out her excitement through a little giggle, she then proceeded to share the fact she never even knew such tents existed. Clearly glad they did. Margaret was smiling from ear to ear as her girlfriend went on explaining how she missed out on so many things and how she can’t believe she lived without them. You both find it incredibly cute.

Originally, you were supposed to be seated at the highest lane in the very back in the stadium. However, your company ensured you better views and brought you to the VIP section. Mostly due to the charms of Margaret, who was quick to convince her brother to take both Arabella and you along, regardless of protests. From both you and the other Slytherin boys.

It was already past midnight when the mach ended and each step towards the tent felt like a knife to your worn out body.

“I feel bad for even asking, but could you maybe, go out for a bit? Margaret and I need to have a little chat. About us and well, to see if she’s embarrassed of being seen with me,” Arabella rubs the back of her neck nervously as she speaks, shy to maintain eye contact as you both stand in front of the entrance to the tent.

It was true Margaret acted a tad weirder than usual during the match.

“I was planning on taking a stroll around anyway,” you decide to ease her down with a small innocent lie. You are actually mad exhausted from the sprinkling heat and walking all day, nonetheless, you remain understanding of the situation and want to grant your friend a sense of privacy. She repeats the words “thank you” tons of times like a holy prayer, caressing your shoulder to show her gratitude.

“Arabella?” the sound of her name makes her head turn and stop her mid entering the tent.

“Yeah?” she whispers faintly as she looks over her shoulder.

“She would be a fool to be embarrassed by having someone like you,” the silky sound of your voice urges a twinkle of smile to form against her lips. She mouths one last “thank you” before she disappears into the tent. The sudden absence of her presence leaving you in the haze of a warm July night. Crickets crinkle in the background and you let out a heavy breath, wondering whatever to do.

After a small pause, your steps head somewhere in between the rows which separate the tents. You drag the walk out, slowly pacing back and forth through the made up streets of tents. The world is curled up in a blanket of stillness, the air still heavy and thick from the sunny day. You have no clue of what time it was, the passage unclear so you aren’t sure when to return. So you continue to wander, feet aching even in your most comfortable pair of shoes. Most of the stands around the place closed up already, some of them having yet to do so as the owners pack their stuff for the night.

You take one more lap around the area and then head back, unsure whenever they have finished talking, yet too tired to keep strolling around. When you reach your tent you place an ear against the fabric. Muffled voices of the two girls could be still heard as you stood at the entrance again. You don’t want to interrupt them so you sit down onto the damp grass. The stables tickle your legs as you hunch down your back out of soreness, head thrown back to look over the night sky. Leaving you to wonder if the stars look back down on you.

A sound of footsteps pulls you out of your trance, head twitching to the left. A figure walks down your way. A familiar one.

“Got kicked out?” he says when he approaches, you don’t bother to avert your gaze as you had already seen him coming from the corner of your eye. Even when he was meters away. You ponder whenever to answer. More like what to answer, your short-circulated brain unable to make up an act, which wouldn’t blow their cover.

“Look, I am not blind. I noticed,” it made you stop dead in any movement as he plainly hinted at the ongoing relationship between Arabella and the younger sister of his companion. Fear swallowed you.

You don’t answer.

“Can I sit?” the white haired wizard breathes out at last, close to being frustrated at your lack of responsiveness.

“Don’t have a choice, do I?” a snicker escapes your mouth, not attacking nor inviting him.

“Nope,” the p rolls on his tongue before he chuckles and takes a seat next to you on the ground, leaving fair amount of space between you.

“I won’t tell anyone,” he once more hints at their relationship and you don’t answer this time either.

“A constellation. Which one is that, do you know? I don’t think I’ve seen it before,” he asks as he points his finger towards the night sky, eager to make you speak. Your eyes travel in the direction of his fingers, meanwhile curiosity overflows his senses and you easily pick up on the untainted emotion. He’s different to what he normally sounds like.

“It’s called Lyra, and it can only be seen now, around midnight at the start of summer,” you share the information on the collection of stars. The one you are the most fond of ever since the professor introduced it in the advanced lessons of astronomy. Beatrice and you were thriving off the story the moment you came to acknowledge it.

To be fair, you don’t know why you are sharing it.

Out of feeling bad, you guess.

“Lyra? It sounds vaguely familiar,” the young man replies with fascination. His eyes edge the sky, not looking away still as if utterly mesmerised by the sight. Your gaze lingers too, though not on the stars. The side of his face shines, his porcelain skin reflecting the moonlight.

“It’s connected to the greek legend of Orpheus and Eurydice,” the sound of your voice brings his gaze back down to you and you manage to avert yours just in time for him to miss it. And if he didn’t miss it, he decided to go on without giving you a hard time about it. His eyes swirling with intrigue.

“Do tell,” two simple yet powerful words.

“Apollo, the greek God of sun, granted Orpheus a lyre which tunes were so beautiful no enemies nor beasts could resist, and taught him how to play. Later on, he fell in love with a woman named Eurydice and married her. She was a woman of grace and beauty. However, their marriage was prophesied to not last by the Gods. Soon after the prophecy was spoken, Eurydice died. Some stories tell she was bitten by a snake, some that she drowned. It’s unclear,” you flickered your eyes away from him before your lips opened to spill the words pinching your tongue. You chose to stay focused on the story rather than on the warmth building within your body as the white haired wizard truly seemed to be paying attention.

“I’m listening,” his voice is low, head nodding as he wishes for you to continue. This was also most possibly the longest time you two spoke without being at each other’s throats and he wonders what else lies in that thick skull of yours. What else he has no idea of.

“Orpheus portrayed his grief with the tunes of his lyre. The strength of it so strong it moved things in the world. Both humans and Gods learnt about his sorrows. At some point, Orpheus descended towards Hades — the God of the underworld. The God was moved to compassion by the lyre and told the musician he could return to the living world with his wife, under one condition: she would have to follow behind him while walking out from the caves of the underworld, and he could not turn to look at her as they walked. He thought it to be an easy task since he was a man of patience. He thanked Hades with delight and left to ascend back into the living world. Unable to hear Eurydice's footsteps, however, he began to fear the Gods had fooled him. Only a few feet away from the exit, Orpheus couldn’t resist and turned to see his beloved Eurydice behind him. The act immediately sending her back to be trapped in Hades's reign forever,” the sound of your voice dies down, the story picking up its end.

“So he turned around because he had loved her so much he couldn’t resist?” Satoru declares unsurely while you almost cannot hide your shock at how easily he assumes the reason behind the act, most would remain unaware or uninterested.

“Yes. They are star crossed lovers, doomed from the start. Hades himself would have failed the test, you simply cannot cheat death,” the edge of your tone gathers passion as you speak about what ignites a spark within you.

“He killed himself to be reunited with her in the underworld after. The constellation formed, because a God casted his lyre into the sky,” you go on, telling him how the heroic musician’s fate faded into a sloppy calamity at last.

“How tragic,” the dazzling boy mumbles underneath his nose and he smiles a little then at the thought of the story, a smile unlike any other he had given you. Disposed of any irony. The sight nearly illicit to drink in. It made you rethink everything, perhaps he wasn’t as bad as he painted himself to be. Just maybe. And you were willing to let the small acknowledged slip if it contained the small meaningless word maybe.

“I must say I wasn’t a fan of summer till recently, but the story is nice,” he announces as he leans his hand into his palm, elbow resting against his thighs. The sound of his delicate breathing hear-able in the dead of the night.

“What made you change your mind?” the question slips into the space out of politeness.

“Nothing in particular,” you look at him, only to find him already looking at you. A memory of seeing you last summer springs his mind. This moment serving as a mirror to it. Panic sweeps over you, making your gaze flicker away.

“Do you?” he questions in addition to your small talk.

“Yeah, of course. Not my favourite, but sure,” you answer nonchalantly while a wave of something unknown washes over you and then you bring your knees to your chest. Hugging them with your arms. Head falling down onto them.

“I heard your father has gotten seriously ill, by the way. I am sorry about that,” his words make you irk. It’s as if the sentence buries the unusual emotions you had just caught a glimpse of back beneath the surface. Into the unexplored depths.

Your parents returned from overseas in January, spending something over a month there. The treatment they used worked like a miracle, feeding your father with doses of life and you were over the moon to find out the life threatening sickness was retrieving. Only for it fall like a house of cards. It started out with symptoms showing up again, the same ones he firstly proceeded to ignore before he was diagnosed. It’s getting bad and they’re already scheduling another process of treatment. And most people knew. Of corse they did. Your mother had to make it public in order for her to keep her job, without it she wouldn’t be able to fly over to another continent. Without reasonable camouflage she would lose her spot at the ministry.

“Are you truly?” you scoff in disbelief, shaking your head lightly as you look down on the ground. Bitterness spikes your system, you bite down the urge to burst into your tent. To hide from him and the world.

“Yes, I am not a monster,” his voice declares, layered with customary coldness.

“But you do agree with your family’s views, don’t you?” you laugh out quietly and sarcastically, gathering yourself to stand up from where you’ve been sitting till now.

He quiets down, piercing eyes looking up at you from the low angle. And for a split moment it seems he is hesitant about his answer, eyes flashing with a flee of — and it’s gone. Like he flipped a switch.

It amuses you in all the wrong ways.

“I do,” he states sharply and gets up on his feet as well, towering above you with face set neutrally as if to corner you. You wouldn’t let him. What were you thinking he might be different? He is the pretentious douchebag you had him for. The one who’s been fed nonsense before he could even walk. It was certain, he would surely take after his parents, there was no need to question him. Yet that flicker of something in his-

No.

No.

“Then don’t pity me,” you empathise the word pity as you bravely stare back at him, the peaceful fondness of the conversation forgotten and left in past of the moment.

“I wasn’t. Isn’t it polite to give condolences?” you can’t stand how clever he makes himself sound, rubbing it smugly in your face like salt into a wound. He cunningly ticks his head. Witty charm reappearing.

“Not when you don’t mean them,” you mumble with a shaken voice, the crack in your words would be evident to anyone. He opens his mouth to respond, his shallow ego faltering, but he is not given the chance to speak back.

“Goodnight,”

And with that you brush past him to enter your tent, zipping it up. Thankfully, by the time you do enter, Arabella has finished talking with her secret lover. Margaret had actually fell asleep in her lap during the time spent sitting outside. Her head is cradled into Arabella’s lap, which causes you to grow cautious with your steps, tiptoeing quietly towards your bed after changing into a comfortable set of pyjamas. Your friend who is on the verge of falling asleep herself asks you what went on outside. She heard the conversation between you and the Slytherin distinctively. But you truly don’t feel like talking. So instead of that you wish her a good night of sleep as well, promising to share what’s happened tomorrow morning.

Despite your past exhaustion, falling asleep takes time as your thoughts spiral somewhere you would prefer to avoid.

✼ •• ┈┈┈┈┈┈๑⋅⋯ ୨˚୧ ⋯⋅๑┈┈┈┈┈┈•• ✼

The sun lowered itself down past the horizon, soft pastel spurts of orange, yellow and pink enchanting the sky. Sky clear of clouds, casting a ray of last bits of sunshine before the star would bid its goodbyes. Leaving for the night to take over. The match of the day was already over, not lasting the same amount of time as the night before since one of teams caught a Snitch. You’re leaving tomorrow morning, but it didn’t bother you, the time was well spent anyway.

And now you are lined up in a queue for pretzels, taking one for the team and ordering for everyone. Including the Slytherin boys. Your way of saying thank you for bringing you along with them to the VIP section.

You locate the larger ground chatting in front of the boys tent an eternity later (or at least if felt like an eternity standing in the queue) and give each one of them their pretzel, praying you mesmerised their orders right. They handed you money in return for the food and thanked you.

“Try mine!” you squal out laughing and hand Arabella your pretzel dipped in cheddar cheese. She takes it to take a bite and right away groans in pleasure at the taste. Approving your choice.

“Your sister sure knows how to pick friends,” Robin mumbles to his peers bitterly, the sight of you three happily together not resonating right with him. He hated seeing his friend’s sister tagging along with a muggle and a half blood who is so open.

Though he isn’t met with a reply, because Satoru is busy recalling the events of last night where he unsurprisingly once again caused harm with his actions. He meant to give you his sympathies, show empathy, however it came out wrong. His sights are resting on you and the way your head throws back in laughter. The sunrise throws a hue of colours against your cheeks. Making you glow.

And Margaret’s brother is too focused on enjoying his pretzel.

“I’ll be right back,” Satoru announces to his two friends whose sights are sewn into you three.

They hum. He’s gone. Lost in the crowd.

You finish your pretzels and throw the remains into the bin. All three of you then decide to take a walk through the stands once more time, just like yesterday. To look at trinkets and gifts you could bring home. Jackets of the teams, pins, broaches, hats, photographs. It’s all there. You purchase pins of your father’s and yours favourite team.

The world somewhere in between night and day.

And as you pay, the clouds start to form on the ivory sky. One moment it was clear and another it began to darken. You furrow your brows as the situation only escalates. The stratosphere dipping into darkness, when it was still alluring seconds ago.

The constellation of Lyra peaking from above one last time before it’s consumed by the hurling clouds.

“Margaret, go pick your things up. You two as well. We’re leaving,” Margaret’s brother orders you around and neither of you dares to have any objections. Well, there’s no time really as Margaret is already dragging you away.

Millions of questions pop in your head.

The three of you walk up to your tent, steps hurried and impatient and suddenly — a scream pierces through the air and the world goes temporarily quiet.

The silence bursts into pure horror and hysteria. People begin to yell over one another. Push past each other to get to safety and you wonder why, why, why. Why is this happening?

Do the Slytherins know?

Did they know it was gonna happen?

Another scream cracks into the open and you take notice of remains of a spell flying around in the distance.

“Do you need help?” Arabella panics as her and Margaret secure their backpacks onto their bags, bringing yours out of the tent as well.

“No, let’s go,” you urge them before you speak the bounded spell, the tent slouching down into a squared shape. You pick it into your arms, pressing it against your chest, and throw your bag over your shoulder. The intensity of terror around you spikes.

The three of you run. As fast as the crowd of bodies pushing against one another allows you to. Even though you don’t know what you’re running from. Another tormented screams pierces through the air and it makes you freeze in the spot. Wizards around you are nudging your shoulders, throwing you around while they bolt. You prop your head back and your watery eyes glimpse at the sky in the middle of dawn. The sight of smoke taking the shape of evil on it as if it were a canvas dethrones you utterly.

Incandescent green glow aligns the symbol of the wicked.

Death Eaters.

It hits you, this is truly happening and you’re in the eye of the storm. And another wave crashes over you through the passing moment, you had lost your friends in the crowd. You press the tent formed into a shape tighter against your chest, heart thundering in your body as ringing roars in your earbuds. You slump together a ball of courage to shove away others, slipping into an alley of tents out of the main route, where not as many people are rushing. You do your best and try to ease down the nauseous pit in your stomach. And your legs burn agonisingly, however, you’re not willing to give up.

Orientation in such a panicked state is hard thing to do, but you are successful of mapping the place after few turns and spins. One second you’re back on track running and another you’re shoved to the ground. You hiss in pain and get up anyway. Your knees and palms are muddy, a slight cut is painted over your palms. You mould it into a fist, which causes blood to spill.

You arrive back to where the boy’s tent should’ve been, instead there’s an empty space now. You look around in panic, trying to see anyone you would recognise. But it’s in vain.

They left.

They left

They left.

Fright seizes you, makes you utterly motionless as your gaze flickers between the rushing people. Your heart pounds against your ribs like a caged animal, every beat rattling through your chest. A cold sweat slicks your palms, making them clammy, useless. Your breathing is shallow. Too fast. Too uneven. Your stomach clenches and nausea creeps up the walls of your throat. You try to steady your hands, to make a valiant effort to think of a way to get out, but you’re met with betrayal of your body. And even though nobody can hear the deafening roar of panic flooding your head, drowning out all logic, all reason: it’s all reflected in your expression — body screaming for you to run, to escape, but there is nowhere to go.

Until one face turns into your direction. Your eyes widen in disbelief and this one look skyrockets your adrenaline, causing you to flee. To your dismay, the figure follows. A figure wearing a black hood and a mask with snake-like eye slits, covering the person’s identity. You race through the lanes, heart thumping so loud you can barely hear anything besides it. You don’t have the courage to look behind you, however, the sounds of footsteps closing in on you are unmistakable. You reach for your wand tugged away in the waist line of your shorts. You shouldn’t. You’re not allowed. Nevertheless, your safety is currently of importance. You’ll deal with the Ministry later.

“Protego,” you whisper out of breath and the wand in your grip fizzles out sparks of magic, casting a spell to protect you from any incoming attacks. And it seems it was right on time as the shield bounces off a curse thrown your way. It wouldn’t grant death, nonetheless, it would’ve been very painful.

You take turns in between the alleys, letting yourself fade into the crowd to shake off the masked evil tracing you. Roaring screams echoes again and overwhelming guilt suffocates you. You were the one to lead the evil into the sum of bodies.

“Fuck, L/N, here!” Margaret’s older brother calls out and immense gratitude washes over you. They’re still here. As soon as your eyes register where it came from, you feel like crying in bliss.

You’re too stunned as you reach them and before you can say or do anything, Margaret pulls you by your wrist into the port-key. The teleportation sets at the touch and sends you instantly to the hill where it all started. To safety.

“Merlin’s beard!”

“Are you okay?”

“Yes,”

“I’m okay,”

Rushed whispers of reassurance pass between all of you. A brief worry for each other is spread through all of you, regardless of your unfriendly past.

“We gotta head back for Satoru,” Robin wheezes out and the sudden calmness of your surroundings startles you. Only then, when he speaks the words out loud and clear, you notice you’re indeed missing one member.

Right, you saw him leave earlier and head for the food stands.

“Don’t be crazy. We’re not going back there,” Margaret’s older brother declares and grabs his sister’s shoulder to shove her behind me in protectiveness.

“Knowing him, he’s already somewhere safe,” he adds and his eyes beam with something simple, only what they can decipher. A moment of understanding passes between. Robin nods and lets the whole situation go.

“Why didn’t you find him?” you make a lazy effort to understand what went on while you were separated.

“You think we didn’t look everywhere?” he spits fiercely. So much that it urges you to take a step back.

You have so many things you want to ask, but so little energy.

“Enough,” Margaret’s brother hisses “we’re going to check his family mansion,” he then places a hand over Robin’s chest to push him away from you and Arabella.

“Okay, be careful,” Arabella manages to mumble out in spite of the panic and rush, the meaning behind mostly served for Margaret.

You don’t say anything. And with that, they’re gone and you finally feel like breathing again. Your head spins and you truly feel like throwing up. You collide with the ground, knees hurting from the impact. Mild breeze caresses your side and you lie down into the grass to catch your breath. Arabella doesn’t interrupt the silence and lies down beside you, dropping her backpack first.

The cool grass cradles your body as it sinks into the earth, limbs heavy with exhaustion. The scent of summer—warm soil, dried greenery, the lingering trace of something sweet in the air fills your lungs. It does little to steady your racing heart. The echoes of what just happened still grip your mind, flashing behind your closed eyes like a movie you’ve just seen. Your fingers curl into the grass, grasping at something real, something solid, as if the earth itself might anchor you. The warm night air hums with the sound of distant cicadas, the world continues as if nothing has changed — though for the two of you, everything has.

Your breathings slow down. Not because the pain has lessened, but because there is nothing left to do but exist beneath the vastness of the sky, small and fragile and utterly human.

The sound of ruffling leaves and bending of grass crunches in the distance. Your friend sits up instantly out of fear. While you can’t be bothered as you’re somehow still processing the events.

“Gojo? Gojo!” Arabella huffs in disbelief and then squawks out as she realises it is truly him. She’s back on her feet, running towards the trees where he is. You tear your gaze away from the sky. His hand is cupping his shoulder. He’s hurt. You too sit up, but your reflexes aren’t as sharp as your friend’s after what you’ve been through so you remain in place.

“I panicked and this was the first place I thought of,” you hear his voice, the rest of their conversation unregistered. You curse under your breath, fingers gripping the stables of the grass and ripping them out before you do the same as Arabella.

“Where the hell were you?” your voice interrupts their conversation sharply and Arabella doesn’t protest, only watches. His head cocks towards you and your eyes slide down to his shoulder where the fabric of his shirt is slightly torn.

“Scared ya?” even at this moment he finds the strength to sound as cocky as ever.

You weren’t worried, although maybe a little, but you thought his actions to be misleading.

Strange.

“No, idiot, it’s suspicious,”

“And how did you manage to get splinched anyway, mister good at everything?” you ask instead of pressing further for answers.

“Wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind as they chased me,” this time his voice sounds more sincere and it’s clear he’s in pain, trying to mask it by his cockiness.

“I have herbs at home. I will bring them, hold on,” Arabella suddenly beams, shooting you both a worried look. Moment later she’s running down the hill through the meadows of tall grass and flowers.

“Herbs?” he echoes.

“She’s the best in herbology, you got nothing to worry about,” you say, not to reassure him down but to remind him.

“I know. She lives around here?” he huffs out, his breathing a little rough.

“Down the hill, behind the trees, yeah,” you look over your shoulder and point to where her house should be.

“Lucky me,” Satoru breathes out in relief and leans against one of the trees for support, his back sliding down.

Silence then hangs in the air as the two of you are alone in the dead of night, both still bewildered from the ruined tournament.

“Seriously, where were you?” you press again, voice smoother and less attacking. Still demanding.

“Picking up drinks,” he shrugs with ease and you can tell he’s not telling you the entire truth.

All sorts of scenarios bubble up.

You don’t pressure him, assuming he wouldn’t tell you anything anyway. You’re not friends after all. And he’s not your responsibility. However, the gnawing distress eats at you from the inside.

“Let me have a look at the splinch,” your body squats down next to him, eyeing his bloody shirt.

“Tenting to my wounds? How heroic of you,” he chuckles smugly with eyes baffled.

“Stop playing,” you flicker his shoulder and he winces in pain as a response.

“Ah, okay, okay. No need to get so aggressive,” voice filled with mockery and fake defensiveness. A pout decorates his lips, nonetheless, you can tell it’s all a facade right now.

Your fingers roll the fabric of his sleeve and he sucks in his breath, keeping quiet. The degree of the splinch didn’t seem to be a life threatening injury. His skin was torn open — no flesh nor muscles missing. Your eyes look up from his shoulders to see his expression, but to your dismay his eyes were fluttered shut so you couldn’t read it.

The wound was unusual. It was no splinching incident. Something else must have happened.

“You’ll live,” you tell him the outcome you’ve come to, pushing away the need for answers.

This isn’t yours to solve, you repeat to yourself.

You’re saved from the uncomfortable silence fizzling in the atmosphere by the return of Arabella who managed to seize the herbs from her room. You leave the job to her since she knows what’s she’s doing the best.

Essence of Dittany. The magical solution to his wound made from dried and crushed dittany leaves and salt water, which posses powerful properties that can be used on open shallow wounds for immediate healing and skin regeneration. You patiently watch your friend work her magic as his porcelain skin begins to bound together, leaving the spot flawless. Looking fresher than before.

From the look on her face you knew that she noticed it was no splinch wound either.

“Y/N,” the sound of your name jolts you back to reality.

You turn your head to the directions from where it came from.

“Mom, how did you-“ you fly to your feet, straightening yourself in an instant. You freeze as her hand lifts, gesturing for you to stop.

Silently telling you to leave it for later.

“You casted a spell, remember? You’re incredibly lucky I came across it before anyone else did,” she speaks slowly and gently, though her behaviour indicating that she is displeased with this whole situation. You open your mouth to defend yourself, but it’s no use, so you close it. You grip the denim fabric of your shorts, telling yourself to keep quiet. You know how vast the punishments for underage wizards were, sometimes so cruel as to expel you from Hogwarts if the circumstances were serious. Which a mere spell of deference such as the one you used wasn’t. Anyway, it could still land you trouble.

And the fact Satoru Gojo, out of all people heard — made you want to vanish from the surface.

He is already eighteen, free to cast spells.

While you aren’t.

And he’s free to report you.

“Get up, boy. I will get you home. Your mother must be worried sick,” her motions are robot like, cold yet polite as she makes the offer. Her gaze fleets towards the only son of the Gojo family. And for the first time you see your mother acting like the true Head Auror of The Department of Magical Law Enforcement she is and not like a parental figure. You saw her at work thousands of times, yet never before like this.

“Thank you, Ma’m,” the young white haired wizard blinks at her before managing an answer. He clumsily collects himself, his arm healed yet still lacking its usual flexibility.

“You two go back to Arabella’s place. Be ready in fifteen minutes,” your mother calls out to you and Arabella as she turns around to face you, wand in her hand. She reaches for Satoru.

“Please, let me explain,” you plea

You’re met with a firm answer: “In fifteen minutes. Go. Now,”

“Bye,” Satoru mumbles awkwardly. His eyes flying over to your friend and then to you, lingering unnecessarily a moment longer before he disappears with your mother. Out of your sights.

Dehumanising sense washes over you. This isn’t how your summer was supposed to start off. It was meant to be sweet.

You turn to look at Arabella who’s staring out into the open, plains of fields which are barely visible as they are tucked away beneath the darkness of the night sprawled ahead. Your voice breaks into the open to encourage her to move, to leave the terror’s of the night behind.

The walk to her house is alien like.

“The spell was a self defence, your mom will surely understand,” she speaks as you head down the hill, muscles of your legs burning from all the sprinting earlier.

“I am not worried about that,” you beam, heading down.

“What do you mean?”

“You saw the wound,”

Arabella hitched lightly at your words.

“I did,” she agrees “you don’t think he-?”

“I’m not sure about anything anymore,” you confess in defeat.

A vivid memory of your conversation with him in front of the tent replays and it bugs you.

I do.

He does.

He does share their views, but surely, he wouldn’t do anything stupid.

Right?

“It’s not any good. They are pressing down onto mom and if anyone finds out what she did for me then- then-“ you break out, however, tears don’t come. Perhaps you’re utterly spent, who knows, but nothing comes out.

“We didn’t do anything wrong,” a hand lands on your lower back in a gentle manner, seeking to soothe down your nerves.

“It’s gonna be okay, you’ll see,”

But you’re not so sure about it. Couple of hours maybe, not now.

You stop in front of Arabella’s house and it bittersweetly makes you recall all those times you spent at her house. Endless summer days filled with youth and deprived of any worries. The silly routine you two had leaves a sense of longing in your chest.

“Please. Don’t mention anything to my parents. They were already anxious enough to even let me go and if they figured what happened, it would only worry them,” her voice is low, the lights in her parent’s house out. They must be sleeping.

“Write me, will you?” you pull her into your arms and whisper small promises into her ear. Both about keeping quiet and reaching out. You held her for a moment longer, unsure of everything.

“Take care, Ara,” you rub her shoulder and bid your goodbyes.

And it isn’t long till your mother arrives, empty handed now.

“What were you thinking, trusting that boy?” she starts the second she appears and the words. They sting. You can’t comprehend how she’s able to ask such a thing when the history between you and the pure-blood of the Gojo family is known. And not for its fondness.

“He had a registered port-key and we needed to get to the tournament. That’s all. I never trusted him and I won’t. We were separated and kept to ourselves. When the attack happened, Gojo was missing and he stumbled here,” you explain.

“What if he had been there? Do you think they would have waited for you?”

“Mom, we’re not on good terms, but I am sure they-“

“You shall not be close to that boy again. I do not wish it,” her tone is light as she can’t bear to stay mad at you. Not now, at least. She had been worried sick the second the news of the attack reached her and when she saw your name in the register of the casted spell, she thought of the worst possibilities.

“You don’t need to say that twice,” you slum your shoulders. Your mother drops the act, steps closer to wrap you into her arms and whispers how glad she is you’re okay. Her familiar scent reaches your senses and then you’re hugging her back.

“Let’s go home. Your father is probably going crazy,” she mumbles into the shell of your ear before pulling away.

credits for dividers: [@enchanthings-a @cafekitsune]