#i thought about this during training by the way | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

nakylvr · 3 days ago

Note

Hello, could you do a one shot of Sophia from Katseye with a female reader? They are in the same group and like each other, but they never admit it, until one day when something happens in which Sophia gets jealous of the reader with some boy, and then declares herself afraid of losing her.

this was so fun to write, thank you so much for requesting! 🫶

— I LIKE YOU (I DO)

sophia laforteza (katseye) x fem!reader

summary: dealing with a crush in the same group is hard. dealing with the jealousy that comes with it is also hard. which is why sophia confesses out of fear.

warnings/tags: language, fluff, jealous!sophia, mutual pining, 7th member!reader, confessions

wc: 3,0k

main masterlist | katseye masterlist

Debuting was a dream come true. After dealing with two years of training and a survival show, you felt as if everything had worked out just the way it was intended to. You were close with all the girls that had debuted with you into the group and believed there was nothing that could go wrong from there. That was, except for the crush you had.

You thought it was silly in the beginning, that it wouldn’t become anything too serious. You were with the other trainees since the beginning of the program, and grew extremely close to all of them. However, you realized within a few months that your “silly crush” was no longer silly anymore. It’s not like it was your fault! How could anyone not develop a crush on Sophia Laforteza? Still, you thought you were partially insane for it.

The only thing you didn’t notice was Sophia’s feelings towards you were the same.

Sophia felt like she had been shot in the chest when she was bluntly told by Daniela that it was obvious she had feelings for you. The “duh, it’s obvious” made her start panicking at the thought of being obvious about liking someone while being oblivious about it herself. There was no way, in her mind at least. But, when she was told it she did realize it made sense, even if she didn’t notice the things she did herself.

While Sophia was one of the older sister-like figure for most of the girls, it was noticeable that she would spend more of her time with you. If you were having a rough time during practice she would be there reassuring you and helping you with each step, when you weren’t practicing she was essentially always by your side, even if it was just sitting on the couch, Sophia made sure every time that she was the one sitting next to you, and if any of the other girls did she would throw a fit until one of them moved. She cooked for all the girls, but if you two were up in the middle of the night in the dorm she would make you food that was from your culture depending on what was in the dorm at the time. You two weren’t roommates, but the girls have multiple pictures of her making her way into your room to lay down with you and fall asleep that neither of you know about nor have seen.

And yet, neither of you said anything. Both of you were too scared to do anything. It made sense. There was the initial fear of liking another person, then the fear of dealing with being in the same group as said person, and the many different outcomes that could come from it. Additionally, neither of you would ever believe the other reciprocated those feelings.

You learned fairly quickly after debuting that Sophia could become jealous of when others would be around you, but you thought it was merely platonic and the sisterly love she had for all the girls in the group. You wouldn’t call yourself oblivious, but apparently, you were if you couldn’t figure this out. But, then again. There were a few times that made you start wondering about certain things.

The first instance was when you were in Korea for the survival show, and she wakes you up in the middle of the night to go to a convenience store.

“Psst, Yn, are you awake?”

The answer was yes. You had been awake for the past two hours trying to get to sleep, so when you heard Sophia’s hushed voice ask you that question in the dark, you immediately responded. “Yeah.” You open your eyes to see Sophia crouching in front of your bed, the hood of her hoodie over her head and a small smile on her face as she hears you reply.

“Do you want to go to a convenience store with me?” Sophia asks you.

You can tell by the look on her face that she wants you to say yes, her eyes wide and filled with anticipation of your answer, the small smile on her face, and it’s what wins you over in the end despite your tiredness and dreading schedules for the next few days. “Yeah, sure,” You answer with a nod. “What time is it?” You ask, sitting up and rubbing your eyes with your hands.

“It is…” Sophia’s voice trails off as she pulls her phone out of her pocket and looks at the time. “1:42!” She answers, showing you the phone.

“Why are you even awake at this hour?” You ask her while yawning, grabbing your phone off the charger and swinging your legs over the bed, scooting yourself closer to the edge.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Sophia shrugs, standing up. “Plus, I’m really hungry and want ramen.” She finishes with a smile.

You let out a quiet chuckle and nod your head. “Yeah, that makes sense,” You say, getting up off your bed. “Give me a minute to get ready, I look like a mess right now,” You add, running a hand through your hair to try and fix what you know is a mess.

“You look perfect,” Sophia responds the second after you speak without a hint of hesitation. It's too dark for you to see the blush make its way onto her face when she realizes those words actually came out instead of just staying in her head, but you're also grateful for the darkness as it hid your own flushed face. “I-I’ll be in the living room. Just come out when you're ready,” She says after a moment of silence, trying not to sound panicked but her stammering is noticeable. Within another second, Sophia hurries out of the room quietly, shutting the door behind her and going to sit down on the couch.

You have no time to respond before Sophia is out of the room leaving you back in the darkness. You can’t lie to yourself and say that hearing those words from her made you feel warm inside because it did. Even if it wasn’t meant to be taken that way, it was still nice to have it be said while looking like a zombie half-awake at one in the morning. All you do to get changed is fix your hair, put a beanie on to cover the top, and put on a pair of slip-on shoes before leaving the room quietly. When you enter the living room, Sophia is sitting on the couch with her phone in her hands, looking at it so intently that she doesn’t even notice you walking up to her until you are standing right in front of her and speaking.

“Wow, for someone who woke me up at one in the morning, you sure aren’t paying attention to me, huh?”

Sophia’s head shoots up from her phone and a smile immediately makes its way onto her face. “Sorry, I was looking at something,” She replies.

“Something important enough for me to go back to sleep?” You say with a short chuckle.

“Nope!” Sophia shakes her head and quickly stands up. “Come on, let’s go!” She grabs your hand and starts walking to the front door.

You let her drag your tired body to the front door and leave the house. You had your hood over your head like Sophia as you two started walking down the streets of Seoul to find a convenience store. You don’t even realize her hand is still holding onto yours until you glance down to look at the time on your watch, and a blush forms on your face, but you don’t do anything as you let your other hand fall back down to your side.

After around ten minutes of talking whilst walking the streets, Sophia eventually spotted a convenience store and dragged you inside along with her. You felt an odd sense of relief when she let go of your hand finally, but you also wished she held onto it longer. But, again, you didn’t say anything as you two walked inside the small store.

You absentmindedly follow Sophia as she roams the store looking through each of the small aisles of snacks. You stop in a random aisle and let Sophia walk off in another direction, grabbing a chocolate bar before continuing on your way to where Sophia was. You turn the corner to see her ripping open a package of ramen and you silently walk up behind her, peering over her shoulder.

“Which one did you choose?”

“Jesus Christ!” Sophia jumps, turning to look at you. “You scared the shit out of me!”

“Sorry,” You smile innocently at her.

Seeing your smile has all the (petty) anger fading from Sophia’s body the second she sees it. She couldn’t lie, she did love your smile. It’s just she wished they were directed towards her more, even if there was already more to her than the other girls. She doesn’t even notice she’s staring until you point at the package in her hands.

“You know that’s like, super spicy, right?” You ask her.

“Huh?” She lets out, not hearing what you said due to being stuck in her thoughts and staring. “Oh! I think I’ll be fine,” She shakes her head, turning back to the machine that dispensed the hot water.

“That’s what you say now,” You say, grabbing a package of ramen and one of the plastic bowls. You rip open the package with your teeth and pour the contents into the bowl, not noticing Sophia’s gaze on you out of the corner of her eye while you move.

The two of you watch the water pour into both of the bowls and you yawn, covering your mouth with your hand and rubbing your eyes with your other hand.

“You should get an energy drink,” Sophia says.

“I’ll be alright,” You reply. “Plus, I’m used to Redbulls.”

“Redbulls,” Sophia shakes her head mumbling to herself. “Those things are so bad.”

“I just like the strawberry apricot flavor,” You shrug your shoulders, grabbing the bowl from the dispenser and covering it with its top. “All the other flavors are shitty.”

“They’re all shitty, Yn,” Sophia retorts, grabbing her bowl and sitting down at the little 2-person table.

“Not the strawberry apricot,” You respond, sitting down in front of her.

“Sure, sure,” She replies sarcastically while nodding her head.

There’s a moment of silence that fills the space between you two and the small table, and you’re not sure what to say. You’re so awkward with Sophia outside of practice and the dorms that going out in the middle of the night with her feels weird now that it’s just the two of you alone. It’s not an awkward silence, it’s calming given the chaos you were thrown into daily with the program. But, you don’t know what to say. Maybe there isn’t anything to be said in the first place, you’re not completely sure. All you know is that this isn’t so bad, spending time alone with her without the other girls nearby. Looking at it now, you two look like a couple going to a place this late into the night just for some ramen. The thought made your face flush, and you look down at the table trying to not show it.

“Are you okay?” Sophia questions once you randomly look down.

“Yeah,” You nod your head, looking back up and at her. “I was just thinking,” You reply.

Your words have Sophia raising one of her eyebrows, looking at you with an expression you hadn’t seen on her before. “About what?” She asks another question.

The new look she’s giving you has you not knowing what to say. You could lie and say you were thinking about something totally different or, you could tell the truth and lowkey admit your crush on her. You can tell she’s anticipating your answer, and you stumble out words before you can even think over them and determine if you should say them. “I was just thinking about how we kinda look like a couple going out alone like this.”

Sophia’s eyes widen for a split second before they return to normal, which you fail to notice, and she isn’t sure how to respond. She’s always known what to say and how to respond to things, but for some reason, she’s struggling right now. But, she tries her best to not show it. “Yeah, we kinda do, don’t we?” She replies, tilting her head slightly and smiling. “You don’t feel weird about that?”

Her response along with her smile has the prominent blush on your face growing bigger, and you shake your head at her question. “No,” You answer. “Do-” You clear your throat out of nervousness. “Do you?”

“No,” Sophia immediately answers, shaking her head with the smile not leaving her face.

You weren't really sure what that meant in the moment, but when you two returned to the house you found yourself unable to sleep due to the thoughts running through your mind of what it could possibly mean. But, you didn't voice these thoughts out loud ever. Except to Megan, who insisted that it was obvious, Sophia liked you as well.

Once the realization dawned on you that surely, Sophia liked you back, you felt a whole assortment of feelings that you didn't know what to do about. You didn't want to confess, because of the possibility that you were wrong, accidentally mistaking the kindness for liking you. But, you were having a hard time keeping it inside at the same time.

You ended up keeping it inside the whole time. Throughout the program, throughout debuting, you didn't say a word. You couldn't. You didn't want to ruin everything that was built just because you ended up developing a silly crush on her. You weren't stupid enough to do that.

In the end, it was Sophia who confessed first.

It was an off day after months of schedules after officially debuting, and you and Sophia were doing a Target run to get groceries for the dorm. She had left you with the cart while she went further down the aisle to get something, leaving you standing there tapping your hand on the cart to a random song.

You heard your name from behind you, and you turned your head to see one of your old friends walking up to you. A smile instantly grows on your face seeing him walk up to you.

“Jax! I haven't seen you in forever!” You say smiling, hugging him as he walks up to you.

“How are you doing?” He asks you once he pulls out of the hug. “You’re like, famous now,” He laughs lightly.

“I’m good!” You answer, giggling softly at his second sentence. “I’m not famous yet, Jax. I just debuted.” You shake your head. “But uh, it's something.”

“Mm?” He hums, tilting his head to the side. “What do you mean?” He questions.

“Nothing,” You shake your head again. “Don't worry about-” You stop your words when you hear footsteps approaching from behind and stopping next to you.

“Sorry, no pictures,” Sophia says while putting the items in the cart, putting her hand up.

“Oh, I’m not a-”

“Sorry, we have to get going now,” She cuts him off before he can finish. “Come on,” She grabs your hand and starts walking away.

“Sophia, what the hell?” You instantly say when she stops halfway across the store. “He was my friend.” You pry your hand out of her grip.

“I don't like him,” She responds, shaking her head.

“What?” You question. “Okay, so? I haven't seen him for months! And you just dragged me off! You can't just do that!”

Sophia shakes her head again, not knowing what to do. She acted without thinking, she rarely does that. Now she got herself stuck in a situation not knowing how to handle it. You're clearly irritated judging by the look on your face, and she's contemplating just outright saying the reason she did it, the reason she did everything when it came to you. “I-” She starts, but you're quick to cut her off.

“You're what?” You cross your arms over your chest. “You’ve been acting weird ever since the debut, hell, since the lineup was announced! Part of me is starting to think you secretly hate me or something!”

“What?” Sophia lets out, looking at you like you just said something insane. “No, no, no, no, I don't hate you!” She says quickly, panicking truly for once in her life. “Yn, you have to understand I can't-”

“Understand what, Sophia? That-”

“I have feelings for you!” Sophia raises her voice to speak over you, her face immediately turning red when she realizes what she said. “I mean, I, uhm,” She stammers out as the look on your face changes and you take a step towards her.

“Are you serious?” You question seriously. “Please don't be lying to me right now.”

“I’m serious,” She answers quietly. “I know it's not-” She stops abruptly when you cup her face in your hands, staring at you with wide eyes.

There's a moment of silence that lingers in the air as you two stare at each other, before you hesitantly start leaning closer to her. You stop, hesitating again with your lips merely inches away from hers, trying to see in her eyes if she really wanted this. Before you can do anything else, Sophia closes the gap and kisses you. It's quick as she pulls away, smiling at you with you smiling back.

“You don't have a clue how much I’ve wanted that to happen,” You admit shamelessly.

“Mm, I had a feeling,” She says jokingly.

“Oh really?” You reply in the same tone, tilting your head to the side.

“Yeah, Dani claimed it was ‘obvious’ to everyone else,” She nods.

“I’m so going to kill her when we get back,” You grumble out.

“Oh be quiet, it's cause of her this happened anyways,” Sophia pats your head gently. “You can kill her later.”

“Fine.”

#kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop scenarios #kpop gg x reader #gg x reader #katseye x reader #katseye imagines #katseye scenarios #sophia laforteza x reader #sophia x reader #sophia imagine #sophia scenarios #request

139 notes · View notes

trippinsorrows · 6 hours ago

Text

looking through your eyes + twenty five

authors note: this chapter is emotionally heavy and taxing. please be mindful of your mental ability to handle heavy content.

cw/tw: angst, discussion of child abuse, and direct accounts of child abuse from said child.

song inspo: ‘looking through your eyes’ by leann rimes

masterlist +story playlist + taglist request form

words: 10k

Giving Roman his space while also being worried sick about him is the last thing Solana was expecting to experience this week, but it’s exactly where she’s got.

They didn’t leave on the best of terms. It wasn’t hostile, not nasty, and no one was angry. There was just this lingering tension. Some level of animosity and frustration on her part, because he refused to listen to her.

Because he refused to stay.

And that irksome guilt on his part. Solana could see it smoldering every time he looked at her, looked at her face, at the bruise. So much so that Solana went and put makeup on in the hopes that camouflaging it could ebb away some of the undeserved guilt. A fruitless effort because he still packed his bag, still gave her that almost reluctant kiss, still murmured an almost sad ‘I love you’ (that she did not reciprocate), and walked out the door.

He still left her.

It’s childish to a certain extent. Her behavior during his departure. Solana knows and recognizes this. But, it stems deep down from a deep place of concern. She’s worried sick about him, hates that he hates himself for an accident.

There’s not a single part of her that believes that man would ever lift his hand to her. That’s not her Roman.

What happened truly was an accident. She just wishes she could get him to see that.

She’s hopeful the item she snuck in his bag will help.

Even if just a little.

The communication between them in the time since he’s been gone is almost non-existent. He texted her when he arrived in Italy and when he made it to the hotel. For that, she was grateful, but she just couldn’t find it in her to offer a written response, settling for hearting his messages. Again, childish. And Solana can recognize that her behavior also stems from just being frustrated with him, angry with him for not staying and going with her plan.

For going so far away to the point that she can’t help him. She just wants to be there for and support him, and all he can seem to do is….is push her away.

And that hurts.

Deeply.

Especially when he’s been so good in trying and succeeding in supporting her in all of her mess. All she wants to do is return the favor, but he won’t let her.

And that’s when the anger sets in. Such an unfamiliar experience.

She’s not an angry person. But, she certainly feels like one.

It’s why she has the thought—or maybe hope—that training will be a good outlet for her to let off some of this uncharacteristic anger.

If only it happened that way.

Or maybe Solana was too naive. Stupid, possibly, to think she could just walk into training like nothing happened, like the proof of something happening isn’t literally written all over her face in black and blue.

Solana has barely stepped into the training space when the smiles on both Bayley and Naomi’s faces collapse the minute they lay eyes on her.

“Oh my god, Solana!” They rush over, Solana starting to wish she’d taken the time out to use makeup to conceal the bruise. As much as she could. The pigmentation is deep, and even with the heavy application, it was still visible when she tried to hide it for Roman’s sake. “What the hell happened to your face?”

Solana looks away, already regretting her decision to come here in the first place. “I’m fine.”

“What the hell do you mean you’re fine?” Bayley’s eyes are wide, her face painted in disbelief. “Solana, your face is all bruised up.”

An exaggeration. It’s focused on one side of her face, but given the nastiness of its appearance, Solana can slightly understand the description.

“Solana, what the hell happened?” Naomi repeats her question, this time her lips formed into a line before she asks, “who hit you?” Solana closes her eyes and shakes her head. This is the last thing she needs to be dealing with right now, especially with the nausea that’s starting to build.

This morning sickness is clearly about to kick her ass with this pregnancy.

“Solana….” Bayley cuts in, and almost instantly, Solana knows she’s not about to like whatever is said. “Did Roman hit you?”

At that, Solana’s attention is immediately focused back on Bayley. She was absolutely correct in that she doesn’t like the question. At all.

She can barely find the words to respond to such a thing. “What?”

Naomi looks past her, motioning someone over by them. “Jimmy! Come here.”

Shit.

And just like that, the situation is progressing from bad to worse. Yeah….she definitely wishes she’d just stayed home.

“Whassup?” Jimmy’s jovial voice sounds from behind her, Solana barely able to match his smile before, just like Bayley and Naomi, it’s dropped the second he lays eyes on her. On the bruise. “What the hell?”

“Jimmy, pl—”

“Solana….” Another indication more anger is about to be stirred up on her part. An accurate expectation given the next question to leave his mouth. “Did Roman hit you?” The second it leaves his mouth, she’s filled with anger, but there’s a matching level of that emotion on his end as well. He shakes his head, voice dead serious, more than she’s ever heard from him since their initial meeting months prior. “The truth, Solana. If that son of a bitch, hit you, I wanna know. I’ll handle it.”

They mean well. She knows they mean well, but it’s a combination of all the things. Of what happened with Roman. Roman leaving. A possible pregnancy. A pregnancy she’s hiding because she can’t tell her husband just yet.

It’s just too much.

“Would you all just shut up?” She snaps, voice raised, several sets of eyes on her with varying levels of bewilderment. “I said he didn’t do it, and the fact that you all even think he could ever be capable of that is disgusting.”

Because it is. Because they should know him better than that. He’s a lot of things, but that has never been one of them.

And the fact that they’re accusing him of such is infuriating to her.

Shaking her head, she turns on her heel to leave. “I’m out of here.”

“Solana, wait—”

But, she does nothing of the sort, just keeps walking away, never once looking back.

————

Regrets are a tricky thing. Varying in size and impact. Never a major issue for Roman.

Not until two days prior.

Two days prior where demons from his past submerged, resulting and causing him to do the unthinkable.

On a basic level, he knows it was an accident. Knows that he would never intentionally do anything to ever hurt his wife. Especially in that way. But, the key word is intentionally, because regardless of what he intended, she was hurt.

She was hurt because of him. By his hands. And, that’s something Roman can’t seem to make peace with. Every time he thinks of texting her, of even trying to call her, he’s hit with a flash of her pretty, innocent face marred with that hideous bruise.

A bruise he caused her to have.

And he just as quickly puts his phone away.

He instead opts for something different, something he hasn’t dared to touch since spotting it when emptying his luggage and hanging up some clothes.

Roman walks over to the nightstand where the purple journal with tattered edges and random stickers plastered has sat untouched. Until now.

Solana’s journal.

It’s aged, most likely one from when she was still a child, and he hasn’t the slightest clue when she placed it in his bag, but the minute he opens it and sees a pink post it with her handwriting on it, his stomach twists in a way it’s only done in the past few months after years of dormancy.

It’s a simple, short but powerful message.

You could never be them.

-Solana

Roman closes his eyes. Right away, he knows he’s in for a heavy, brutal insight into the hell she experienced for so many years. A part of him doesn’t want to. Doesn’t feel fully capable or even worthy of reading her vulnerable words. Her journals are a private thing he would never want to invade. However, she placed it in his bag for a reason. She wants him to read it, some of it, at least.

The least he can give her……is that.

Bracing himself as best he can for what he’s about to read, Roman turns to the first entry.

Dear Mami,

I try really hard not to make dad upset, but it’s hard. He’s always angry and yelling at me.

I know you always told me to stay out of his way, but it’s hard, mama. He makes me do all the cleaning and cooking like he made you. Sometimes, he doesn’t let me eat.

I wish you were here.

Love,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

Yesterday was really scary. Dad yelled at me for almost an hour and was throwing things. He hit me, too. I tried not to cry.

I’m trying to be strong like you, but it’s hard.

I’m not like you, mami. I’m not strong, and I don’t know how to be.

I miss you,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

I keep looking for Hummingbirds. I know you said they don’t fly here, but I keep hoping I’ll see just one. I just want to see you again, mama. I miss you so much.

I wish they never took you from me.

I don’t have anybody anymore.

I’m all alone.

Love,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

I don’t know what I did, but I made dad really mad. He just kept hitting me and hitting me. Then Wes started hitting me too. It was hard for me to get the blood to stop, but I did exactly what you taught me, and it worked.

My body hurts really bad, but I’m scared to leave my room cause I might see dad.

I think I’m gonna sleep in the closet tonight.

Love,

Sol

————

Mami,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you.

Something….something really bad happened to me, mama.

The detective lady said it wasn’t my fault, but it was. I was too weak. I’m not strong like you.

I’m sorry I let you down.

I hope you still love me.

Solana

————

It’s that last entry that Roman has to stop at. He can handle a lot. Has handled a lot, but this…..this he can’t.

He always knew Solana went through hell in that house, both from speculation as well as confirmation from her. But, to read her words in real time, to see with his own eyes the extent of that hell.

A child. She was a fucking child.

No one deserves what she went through.

No one.

And while he understands her intentions, maybe hope, she had with him reading her entries being enough to trigger more self-forgiveness. Thought that him gaining better insight into her abuse would lessen his feelings of guilt towards his actions…..that’s not entirely the outcome.

Maybe to some extent.

But, it’s hard to feel any bit better knowing he’s unintentionally contributed to her massive pile of traumatic experiences.

Ashamed. Roman feels ashamed. A new, heavy ass experience that has him partially weighed down, even more so now knowing exactly some of the thoughts and sentiments Solana experienced while enduring years worth of torture.

Eyes shut, he’s tempted to grab his phone and just text her, check in on her. Because while he hates what he did, he also hates how they left off.

How he left her.

Because she didn’t want him to leave. Because she practically begged him to stay, but he left regardless, because he didn’t feel right being and staying around her after what happened.

Didn’t feel like she was safe around him.

The way he still feels now.

Redirecting himself, Roman instead swaps the journal for his phone, choosing to respond to messages from Dwayne and Matteo. Focusing on the business purpose of his trip. He can at least acknowledge that he’s done a decent job completely immersing himself in the role of Capo. A necessity given the purpose of this whole trip.

Well, the original purpose.

Interactions with members of the Administration thus far have irked him almost as much as interactions with the Elders. Their judgmental expressions of his long hair—that he absolutely wears down just to piss them off—and tattoos—also hidden—do nothing to hide the racist reasons they truly despise him.

It’s a nice distraction, knowing how much he gets under their skin, knowing that it kills them that he’s as intelligent and successful and fucking good as he is, hence why they can’t find a legitimate way to dethrone him.

The memory of him putting a babbo down brings a small smirk to his face. A small slice of amusement tucked in between everything else heavy and egregious. It’s short lived, however. Because it’s not pertinent right now.

No, Roman has other matters to tend to, much more important ones that he’s gone back and forth with himself on for days, ultimately deciding to bite the bullet.

Even with having this newfound piece of information via Solana’s journals.

Roman moves over to the table and opens up his laptop, a quick glance at the clock on the wall alerting him that it’s time.

Logging in and getting set up take less than a minute, only for her to not be on, that annoying ass “Your clinician will start the appointment shortly” welcome message taunting him.

And just like that, Roman is instantly annoyed.

Does punctuality mean fucking nothing?

He’s even more irritated when the screen lights up a couple minutes later revealing his wife’s therapist. “You’re late.”

Gail looks like she wants to roll her eyes but ultimately decides not to. A wise decision. “I usually don’t get into the office until—”

“I don’t care.” He honestly, truly doesn’t. There’s a bit of hesitation as he asks, “how is she doing?”

Roman watches her shift in her seat, followed by movement that indicates she’s moving around some items on her desk. “Good. I’m pleased with her progress and dedication to continuing treatment.”

That’s relieving to hear. Much more than he’s willing to let on. Especially after what he just finished reading. “Did she attend yesterday?” He already knows the answer, having stayed on top of Nia via probably annoying, frequent texts reminding her of all the important things. Times of Solana’s appointments. Location of said appointments. Importance of making sure Nia puts Solana’s medication back exactly where he keeps it.

All of the things.

“She did.” He sees it, the unspoken question in her voice. And, he’s prepared to tell her to just ask the shit, letting him decide if he wants to answer it or not. But, she’s two steps ahead of him. “Mr. Reigns, this call wouldn’t happen to have anything to do with the bruise she tried to hide with makeup, now would it?”

Fuck.

Roman doesn’t care about her question or the almost implication in said question. What he cares about is the fact that his wife is having to cake her face in makeup to hide the result of his lack of self0control. Is having to lie about how she acquired said bruise.

It’s……crushing. Truly.

Reminds him of her haunting words written as a child.

Similar words probably being penned in her most recent journal as a result of his actions.

His arrogance is definitely knocked down a peg, as he asks in a low voice, “what did she tell you?”

Gail sits back in her chair, answering evenly. “Accident while training.”

It’s believable. Roman will give Solana that, but he’s not surprised. She probably spent years having to explain away bruises as a result of her despicable family.

It’s difficult to not group himself in that same category, however.

No matter what Solana says.

“You said…..you said she’s codependent on me.” Roman’s gaze is focused on the cherry wood table in his hotel room and not on the woman watching him through the screen. It’s…..it’s easier that way. “How attached is she to me?”

Gail’s eyes narrow as she jumps straight to the point. “Roman, what exactly are you asking me?”

Nothing he ever anticipated having to ask.

Or even consider.

It’s difficult for him to hide the heaviness in said answer. “What do you think it would do to her mentally if we weren’t together anymore?”

————

Here in the night

I see the sun

Here in the dark

Our two hearts are one

Solana grabs her phone and pauses the music, realizing it’s been a while since she took a break.

Sitting in her home library, surrounded by boxes, boxes filled with her books and journals finally transported from her work library has been the activity to occupy her racing mind for the past two hours.

It’s been a nice distraction. That and work itself the past few days. Getting back into her usual routine has been helpful, and coming back to a barrage of letters, cards, drawings, and other heartwarming gifts from the kids really was the highlight of her return.

She’s never felt so loved than in the moment where they practically bum rushed her with hugs or when Mrs. Jensen handed over all of their “get well soon” gifts they’d brought in while she was away. It was enough to bring tears to her eyes, a welcomed change given those tears came from pleasant emotions.

Not like the ones she’s been crying ever since Roman left a couple days ago. She still hasn’t spoken to him. Not really. Not outside of occasional almost awkward check-in texts that she replies to with just as much awkwardness, if not just an emoji reaction.

It’s miserable and stupid. She wants to talk to him. Wants to hear his voice, but she’s also trying to be respectful. Then there’s the lingering anger and frustration toward him for leaving, even if it’s subsided mostly into just sadness.

And loneliness.

She misses him.

Misses falling asleep next to and waking up to him, something she was deprived of when she was away at treatment. But now, she’s right back in the same space.

And even this, finally being able to start setting up her library/art room he thoughtfully created for her, is a bittersweet thing. She always imagined this being something they would do. Her handing journals and books to Roman for him to place up on the shelves that she cannot reach. His arms around her, frequently distracting her with dirty whispers of promised pleasure later that evening. Her sitting on his lap as she feeds him whatever she decided to make for lunch as they took a break.

It was just supposed to be different from this.

Solana’s hand falls to her stomach.

It was all supposed to be different from this.

Tears pooling once again, she shakes her head, refusing to spiral yet again. She instead grabs her phone and once again ignores the unread texts from a variety of people. Naomi. Bayley. Even Melina and them.

Their messages are warranted given the abrupt almost cold text she sent to their group telling them the girls trip was off and to be postponed for a later date and time.

A part of her feels bad, but she’s mostly relieved.

She just….she just needs space.

Doesn’t feel like talking.

If it’s not Roman, she’s not interested.

Her husband is the only person she wants to interact with, but she can't. Thus, her self-imposed isolation.

He’s not an option currently, so until then, she just wants to be alone.

Solana is interrupted by her phone dinging, and the way she jumps with the hope that it’s maybe Roman is squashed the minute she realizes it’s not his notification sound and simply a calendar reminder.

Appt w/ Dr. Michaels @ 2pm

Solana gasps and curses to herself.

She’d completely forgotten about scheduling that, most likely because she hates the fact that she’s even doing it.

She quickly hits dismiss on the alarm and stands up, sliding the phone in the back pocket of her jean shorts. The space around her is still a mess, some boxes partially open, others still taped shut. This is a project that’s clearly going to need to be completed in phases.

Thus, she grabs a couple of unorganized journals scattered on the floor and drops them into a box, just to get them out the way, missing how a faded letter with her name written across in neat handwriting slips out one of the books and lays untouched and unseen on the floor.

Out of the library and into the rest of the house, Solana has little difficulty finding Nia. Her husband's cousin who he somehow talked into, most likely forced, to stay with her has spent most of her time in her room, the gym, or the living room.

And the latter of which is where Solana finds her, but not only her. Bautista is present, standing near the opposite end of the sofa where Nia sits.

It’s not surprising, however, given his almost “promotion” to guarding her at home, alternating with Solo for some outside outings as well. His service while she was away as well as his friendly disposition and Solana being comfortable with him securing this new arrangement.

Solana nervously clears her throat. “Nia?”

The other woman sighs. Loudly. “What?”

And just like that, the nerves are starting to set in. Nia isn’t going to like this. “I forgot I scheduled a doctor’s appointment today.”

Nia’s groan is also loud as she pauses the show and turns to Solana with a scowl. “Seriously? Can’t you like reschedule it or something?”

Not really. “No. I—I need to go.”

“Are you dying?”

Solana hesitates for a second. “Umm, no, but—”

“Then you don’t need to go,” she says it in the cheeriest voice, grabbing the remote to turn off the TV. Standing up, Nia briefly looks over at a quiet Bautista then back at Solana. “I’m going to take a nap.”

Solana frowns. Does Nia not have other plans then? Because, Solana could understand if her appointment interfered with pre-existing obligations, but if there are none….what’s the issue?

Once it’s just the two of them, Bautista clears his throat. “If…..if I may?”

Solana looks over at him, managing a small smile. “Of course.” It doesn’t matter how many times she tells this man he doesn’t have to behave so reserved around her, he remains firm with his professionalism and manners.

Regardless, the respect is deeply appreciated.

He walks over to her, keeping a respectful distance but still close enough for her to hear his calm, leveled voice. “Roman Reigns is our Tribal Chief. He sits at the Head of the Table. We all acknowledge him just like we all answer to him.” His tone takes a firmer, almost convictive nature. “You are Solana Reigns. The wife of the Tribal Chief, meaning you sit directly next to him at that table. You only answer to him. No one else.”

Silence.

There’s a heavy but powerful silence that follows his words. A silence that’s filled with thinking and recognition. Solana has always known, never been ignorant to the power her husband holds. All that comes with his status and position. But, it’s not until this moment, not until Bautista frames it that way, that she fully recognizes just how much of that, if not all of it, carries over to his wife.

She is the wife of the Tribal Chief.

And that means something.

Nodding from a newfound sense of confidence and credence, Solana offers a heartfelt, “thank you, Bautista.” Lifting her chin, she informs, “we’ll be leaving shortly.”

There’s a small smile playing on his lips. “Yes ma’am.”

Pleased and determined, Solana turns on her heel and doesn’t waver as she makes her way up the stairs and down the hall until she’s standing before Nia’s door.

She doesn’t even bother with knocking.

Opening the door, Solana finds Nia laying in bed. She jumps up and removes her sleep mask, irritation all over her face. “What the he—”

“I said I have an appointment.” Solana has never felt more assured than she does at this moment, not a bit of her reluctant as she orders, “be ready in half an hour.”

And with that, she turns on her heel and walks out without another word.

It’s not needed.

She said what she said.

————

Despite an excellent, earlier display of assertiveness, to say Solana feels good about her decision, as a whole, would be a lie, because she doesn’t. Going behind Roman’s back is what she feels like she’s doing, and that is an awful feeling. But, she’s in this tricky situation where she doesn’t want to tell him about the pregnancy if there is in fact no pregnancy. And if she is pregnant, she doesn’t want to tell him via a text or phone call because that feels too impersonal. And, she also just doesn’t want to tell him, period, because he’s already beating himself up over what happened and him knowing that she is pregnant could only make it worse.

And yes, she could just take a home test, but at this point, she needs to know with absolute certainty. A home test can’t do that for her.

But, a blood test can.

Thus, where she currently sits: in the lobby of the private clinic where her husband’s doctor operates out of. Because she needs a medical professional, but she doesn’t know who to go to. Doesn’t know how this is supposed to work. She just knows that if she is pregnant, it’s important that it doesn’t get out for a lot of reasons.

Especially since she has to be the one to tell her husband.

Just when the time is right.

“Why exactly are we here again?” Nia’s bored voice cuts her from her thoughts, Solana looking up from the thread she has opened. The one between her and Roman. “It’s probably just allergies.”

As part of doing her best to hide her pregnancy, Solana wisely made up an excuse of her throat feeling weird and a headache to explain to Nia and Bautista this otherwise random appointment. So far, it seems to be working. “Maybe, but I just want to make sure. You know Roman had the flu not too long ago.”

Nia rolls her eyes and wisely says nothing else, focusing back on the book in her hand. It’s not missed upon Solana how her gaze briefly darts to Bautista.

She’s not sure what exactly is going on there, but Solana could get behind it. In a strange sort of way, they just make sense to her.

He could maybe help Nia level out the way Solana tends to help Roman with his temper.

“Mrs. Reigns?”

Solana looks up to see the nurse standing by the door. She turns to Nia and Bautista. “I’ll be back.”

“You sure you don’t need us to wait in the hall or something?” His question is valid as is the concern on his handsome face, but Solana can’t risk them somehow overhearing the truth behind this appointment.

“No, I’ll be fine.” She manages a small smile that probably doesn’t reach her eyes, turning on her heel to follow the nurse to the back.

Solana is most definitely experiencing heightened anxiety that only intensifies when she spots Dr. Michaels coming from the other end of the hall.

He’s not alone, however. A tall man, about the same height as the doctor. Smooth chocolate skin with a decent build for a man who looks to be in his fifties is beside him, focused on whatever Dr. Michaels is saying to him.

“......firefighter, doctor, what’s next? Police officer.” She overhears her husband’s doctor who wears a teasing smile. “You’re just crossing them all off the list, ain’t you?” A friendly set of blue eyes settle on her when the gap between both is closed. “Well, what a sur—”

“Solana……”

Solana finds herself frowning, her attention directed to the man who she’s never seen before this very moment but who somehow knows her name and is staring directly at her. It’s not a predatory stare or even something inappropriate. It’s almost…..sad.

He’s looking at her like he’s just seen a ghost.

Dr. Michaels is also looking at the man next to him but with a different kind of expression. One that screams, you can’t just address the Tribal Chief’s wife so informally like that. “Mrs. Reigns, I apologize for the wait.”

Solana shakes her head, still unsure why this stranger keeps staring at her. “It’s okay.” She hugs herself, looking past him to see if she can spot whatever door is open that could be the room they’ll be in. “Are you ready or…..”

“Of course.” He turns to the man beside him, offering a handshake. “Good to have you on the team, Dr. Adams.”

Dr. Adams.

Yeah, not familiar at all.

This Dr. Adams finally removes his gaze from her to accept Dr. Michaels handshake, only nodding as he gives her one last, almost regretful look and carefully moves past her.

Solana frowns in the wake of his absence. What was that?

Dr. Michaels apologizes again. “Sorry about that. Come with me.” Wordlessly, she follows him, moving to sit on the patient bed, anxiety growing once again as he closes the door. “Now, I hear you’re having some—”

“You can’t tell Roman I was here.”

It’s certainly not what she planned to say. Not yet, anyway. But, it’s exactly what comes out, Solana closing her eyes and going to correct herself. “I mean…..I’m gonna tell him myself. I just….I just need time.”

Time and a plan. Along with many other things she doesn’t need to tell the man before her.

His jovial disposition has shifted into something almost nervous and uncomfortable. “Solana, what’s going on here?”

She takes a breath, head tilted back, giving herself one final boost of encouragement before answering. “I need…..I need a pregnancy test.”

The release of what she’s been holding in for the past couple weeks is both terrifying and relieving. She hates that the first person she’s uttering the words to, even if just a thought of pregnancy, isn’t her husband. But, she also knows that she’s stuck between a rock and a hard place. Even more, she needs to know for certain, and Dr. Michaels is the only one who can provide her with that answer.

He looks only slightly less confused. “I see…..” Shifting the tablet under his arm to in front of him, he speculates, “and Roman doesn’t know that you might be…..”

“No,” she answers, voice small. “I’m—I’m going to tell him, but I want to know for sure first.” Again, only a part of a much bigger, complicated story.

“Well, I can absolutely do a blood test, but I’m general medicine, Solana. I’m not an—”

“OB-GYN. I know. I just…..I didn’t know who else to go to. You’re Roman’s doctor, so he obviously trusts you.” Enough to manage his health, at least. “And I don’t know if there’s a specific doctor the Bloodline uses—”

“There is,” he supplies with a small smile. “I’ll make sure to give you her info before you leave. Even if….” He trails off, clearly not wanting to state what Solana would be shocked to find out is a false alarm.

She feels pregnant.

He clears his throat. “I don’t mean to pry, but have you told anyone e—”

“No.” It’s an easy, truthful answer. “I haven’t said a word to anyone, and I won’t. Not until I find out if I am and definitely not until I tell Roman.”

He nods, clearly agreeing with this plan. “I will say, the big guy might order that this pregnancy stays just between you and your care team. And I guess me now,” he ends with a chuckle. “You’re the Tribal Chief’s wife who might be carrying his first official heir. That target over your head just got a hell of a lot bigger.” It’s weird, but his words don’t come across as fearmongering or even a scare tactic. Just a genuine warning of what’s to come. “But, that’ll be discussed between—”

“How is he?” It’s a breathless almost thing that falls out of her mouth. An unintended question but one she finds herself asking, nonetheless. “Roman, I mean, like….his health.”

Because on top of worrying about his mental state, being in front of his doctor has her curious about the physical side of things.

“You’re a smart young lady, Solana.” Dr. Michaels starts, voice tentative almost. “You know how HIPAA works…..”

She closes her eyes. “I’m not asking you as a patient’s wife. I’m–” She takes a deep breath, voice firm and solid. “I’m asking you as the Tribal Chief’s wife.”

Bautista’s words still playing in the back of her head, Solana has never really considered what role she plays as Roman’s wife. Never thought to pull that card, because it’s almost out of character. She’s always been more inclined to shy away from status than to use it to her benefit. But, this is different. This is about Roman, and there isn’t much she wouldn't do to help him or even to know if and what he needs help with.

And he’s been mum regarding his blood pressure as of late, so her curiosity is only naturally piqued.

There’s obvious hesitation, but he relents, partially to her surprise. “He’s doing alright. Numbers look decent. Seems that he’s finally recognizing how serious this could be if he doesn’t do what he needs to do to keep from progressing to another stage again.”

“Wait. What?” Solana frowns. “Stage? What….what are you talking about?” A brief look of panic flashes in his blue eyes, alerting Solana that something is very much not right. “What stage?”

“Fuck…..” He closes his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “He didn’t tell you….”

“Tell me what?” Solana presses, her anxiety almost through the roof “I’m not—I’m not gonna ask again.”

Dr. Michaels sighs with defeat. “Look, the last time Roman was here, his numbers were bad. Like, he jumped from prehypertension to stage one actual hypertension bad. I had to up his dosage and increase his follow up appointments as well as bloodwork check-ins.” Solana’s heart swells and her stomach jumps, and Dr. Michaels clearly sees how devastated this news has her, thus him adding, “but, like I said, he’s been on top of it and is looking good…..”

It’s hard for her to focus on that ending bit when all she can think about is one thing.

Lie.

Roman lied to her.

She asked him. She fucking asked him how his appointment went, how his blood pressure was doing, if he was okay. And, he lied. He lied to her face. He told her he was fine, and he wasn’t.

He still isn’t.

And this time, instead of lying, he’s just left.

Ran away.

Like he always does.

“Solana…..”

It’s the almost gentle way her name is said that alerts her to the fact that she’s crying, tears spilling down her face as she clutches her stomach.

“Can I just have the test, please?” Because that’s all she wants and needs at this point. She just needs to know for certain, and she needs to get the hell out of here.

She just needs to get away from it all.

————

Solana has never considered herself an irrational person. Most definitely not impulsive. Even with both of her suicide attempts, they may have been impulsive in the moment, but they didn’t indicate a truly impulsive personality or even disposition.

But, that hasn’t been the case for the past three days.

No, it hasn’t been the case, because Solana’s current situation is the direct result of impulsivity.

She sits in her bedroom, Dulce sleeping peacefully in her bed on the floor beside her. Bautista and Nia are somewhere in the house that is not her main home, but the house purchased by her husband for her.

She’s in Isla Mujeres.

And has been for three days now.

Coming home from the shocking appointment, Solana found herself packing a small bag for herself, one for Dulce, and telling both Nia and Bautista to get ready because they were flying out that night.

Her command left no room for argument, and that’s exactly what occurred, hence how Solana ended up where she is.

It’s been a true form of escape.

Feeling overwhelmed with all of it, Solana knew she needed to just not be around any of it.

And this place has served as a site of refuge, providing her with some level of tranquility that’s been escaping her back home.

Again, her random text to the group chat regarding her “going away” for a couple of days was met with another round of bombarding messages and calls. And Solana isn’t stupid, she knows and can understand her friends being concerned about her.

But, it’s not like she’s entirely alone. She has two people who are making sure she’s safe despite her perhaps strange behavior, and that’s all that matters.

Because she just needs space.

And in an unexpected turn of events, Roman has been added to that list.

He lied. He lied to her. Lied to her about something so important, something regarding his health, of all things. Was dishonest with her.

Again.

It’s becoming a bit of a theme, and she’s not naive. She can somewhat understand why he didn’t tell her. At first. Because she was in the midst of treatment.

But, she’s home now. She’s been home. Why would he not come clean?

Tears burn her eyes. It’s hard to balance understanding with feeling betrayed, because this isn’t the first time her husband hasn’t been honest with her.

And if she’s being honest with herself, this “reason” for the dishonesty being because he’s trying to protect her is…..it’s getting old.

She’s just so frustrated with him.

So much of this could be avoided if he would just talk to her, and she’s running out of different ways to help him understand as such.

Wiping at her eyes, Solana grabs a journal off the nightstand. Something she’s discussed with Gail in therapy as of late is the importance of never forgetting where she came from, how far she’s come. Remembering that she’s moving in the right direction.

It’s a strange thing, too.

On one hand, reading journals from when she was a child and teenager could and maybe should be triggering. And it is. To a certain extent.

But, Solana is proud to say that she can revisit these painful memories and not be drawn back into those dark emotions but rather recognize that was how she used to feel. Where she used to be.

Who she used to be.

But, not anymore.

Never again.

Solana leans back against the headboard and opens the journal, unsure what she’s about to read but ready regardless.

Dear Mami,

I miss you so much. I’m so so sorry for everything. I’m so sad now that you’re gone. I wish you were here. Daddy is so mean to me. Wes now too. He hates me because it’s my fault you’re dead.

I’m so sorry.

Love,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

Everything is so much badder now. Daddy is angry at me all the time. Wes too. They call me names. They hurt me, mommy.

I wish I could be with you.

Yours,

Sol

————

Dear Mami,

I’m sorry I haven’t written you lately. Daddy got mad at me for spilling some juice, and he broke my arm, so I couldn’t write.

I just got the cast off this morning.

It still hurts a lot, but at least I can write you.

I got all A’s this quarter, mami! I’m trying to make you proud.

Hope you’ve forgiven me.

Solana

————

Dear Mami,

I feel so sad. Nothing makes me happy anymore. I try to think of you. Remember the times we would draw and sing and cook together. But, it’s not working anymore.

Mommy, I have times where I feel like I can’t breathe cause I feel so sad.

And sometimes when I just don’t want to breathe anymore at all.

Solana

————

Dear Mami,

I don’t want to do this anymore.

Solana

————

Mom,

It was a rough day. I had those thoughts again. I was able to fight them, but it’s so hard.

I try to think about how you always told me to never stop dreaming. Never stop believing that life is a gift. I try, but it’s hard.

I try to dream that not all men are like dad and Wes. That not every man in my life will hurt me. That maybe……just maybe I can fall in love someday. Find and marry someone who’s actually nice to me, who treats me with kindness, who loves me.

Kind of like my prince charming.

Do you think I could ever have a happily ever after?

Love,

Sol

Reading the entries definitely stirs up emotions, but it’s the last letter, however, that has her tears subsiding and the weight on her chest decreasing. A complete shift away from the heavy, depressing entries from such dark times in her life.

A man unlike her dad and brother.

Roman.

A man who would never hurt her like her dad and brother.

Roman

A man she could love and marry. Someone who treats her with kindness and loves her.

Roman

Solana snaps the journal shut and cries a little harder, feels a little deeper, the realization hitting her like a stack of bricks over the head.

Roman isn’t perfect. He may seem like it sometimes, but he isn’t. He’s just a man. A human being like any other human being. He has his faults, the same way she has hers. He has his demons, just like she has hers.

But one thing that’s always remained consistent is him. He’s been her pillar since the beginning of their marriage, even when things were rocky and they were trying to learn each other. He’s been there for her.

More than any other man in her life, and this rough patch for him, for them, should not be anything that has her questioning him or their relationship.

Roman loves her. Plain and simple.

The same way she loves him.

And it’s that love that’s going to get them through this.

Wiping at her eyes, nodding to herself, Solana takes a deep breath. Swapping the notebook in her lap for the phone on the nightstand, she navigates to the unheard voicemail from Dr. Michaels.

The one that’s sat there for three days now, Solana not feeling well enough to receive that answer.

But, not anymore.

It’s time.

Eyes closing for a second, her hand drops to her stomach as she finally hits the play button.

Almost instantly, a new, male voice fills the room.

“Hey Solana, it’s Dr. Michaels.” Her heartbeat is a mile a fucking minute, Solana having to take a deep breath to help herself calm down. “Got your test results back and looks like you and the Big Guy better start babyproofing that big ole’ house of yours.” And just like that, Solana smacks the pause button on the voicemail before doubling over, a sob leaving her mouth.

She knew it. Felt it. But, there’s something about hearing the confirmation. Knowing without a doubt that she’s pregnant that’s almost overwhelming.

In the best possible way.

Sniffling, she smiles down and rubs her hand across her stomach.

She’s pregnant.

“Now, I don’t want to freak you out, but your hCG levels came back pretty high, which isn’t anything bad. At all. But, it can indicate a multiples pregnancy. Meaning you could be carrying twins, and if that’s the case……”

It’s difficult for Solana to continue to focus on the rest of his message, something about him reminding her that Dr. Sharmell is the go-to OB-GYN for Bloodline pregnancies, as well as a phone number she’d guess for this doctor. However, as appreciated as that is, it’s mostly in one ear and out the other, because all she can hone in on is one word.

Twins

Twins like the ones she’s had several, frequent, recurring dreams about over the past few months. Dropping her phone altogether, Solana places both hands on her stomach, somehow, someway already knowing that he’s right.

She is carrying twins.

Smiling, laughing faces that are the perfect combination of herself and Roman rushing to the front of her mind, deepening her smile, increasing her joy.

Her babies.

Overcome with happiness, Solana finds herself grabbing her current journal that was also sitting on the nightstand, trembling hands skipping to the end of the book that she’s damn near completed. Using the pen in the middle, Solana shares the news, officially, with the only person other than her husband who she would give anything to have to celebrate with right now.

Dear Mami,

I’m pregnant.

With twins.

I’m getting my happily ever after, after all.

Love,

Sol

She must reread it almost a dozen times, each reading widening her smile. It’s such a strange thing, how quickly emotions can oscillate. She’d traveled the feelings spectrum from one end to the other over the past week, but this stop…..this stop is one she’d be okay with staying at for a while.

Solana grabs her phone again, fingers navigating to Roman’s contact. She’s not going to tell him. Not like this, but this avoidance game they’ve been playing needs to stop. A glance at the time as well as her pulling up the world clock reveals it’s almost midnight in Italy, but that doesn’t stop her from dialing the number regardless.

It’s time to talk to her husband.

Except, it’s not.

Because the phone goes straight to voicemail.

Solana frowns. She can’t recall a time where Roman’s phone has ever been off. On Do Not Disturb, sure, but off?

Never.

Not since she’s been with him, at least.

The beeping on the other end alerts her to the fact that she can either leave a message or hang up.

She decides on the former of the two options.

“Hey….” Clearing her throat, she does her best to keep her voice steady, a tricky task considering the life-changing news she’s sitting on. “I—I wanted to talk to you. I—I miss your voice. I miss you.” Swallowing, she smiles, wishing she could bask in this moment with him. “Call me back when you get a chance….I love you.”

Hanging up the phone, Solana scoffs, still slightly in a state of disbelief. Looking down at a still sleeping Dulce, a soft giggle leaves her mouth at thinking about how her fur baby is going to react to there being a real baby in the house.

Two.

Climbing off the bed, phone in one hand, Solana moves over to the dresser and grabs a change of clothes before heading to the attached master bathroom.

She’s done a lot of sulking while in her supposed happy place, engaged in a lot of avoidance behavior.

No more.

She has a reason to smile, to be happy, to be excited. And she wants to lean into that.

Solana starts to make a mental list of things she wants to do before leaving in a couple days. The item at the top is to go see Paloma. She’s barely spoken to the older woman with kind eyes and a warm personality since first meeting her months prior.

It’s time to see her again.

But, as much as she would like to focus on an agenda for the remainder of her trip, it’s difficult for her mind to not keep gravitating back toward the news.

To the thought of life growing inside her.

Two lives formed from a beautiful though flawed love. Two individuals who have lost so much yet stand to gain so much more through the lives they’ve created together.

Solana knows Roman will be an amazing father. He’s been so good to her, so patient, so loving. Seeing that extended to their children just fills her with all of the butterflies.

They’ll definitely have to make some changes. She might have to cut back work hours. He could maybe work from home more, if that’s even a thing. No nanny. Roman probably wouldn’t trust anyone anyway.

And the guest room closest to them could easily be the shared nursery for both children. It only makes sense for the babies to be close to them, getting different, separate rooms as they get older.

Standing in the shower, continuing to go over any and all the details, there’s a small bit of sadness at not being able to share the news with her friends. She knows they’re all going to be so happy for her, and Solana knows they’ll plan the biggest, most elaborate baby shower that she’ll probably have to bribe Roman into attending.

All of it, even the maybe stressful things, keeps her smile on her face.

It’s just been some time since she’s felt so happy. A well deserved thing following an almost week of anything but.

But, it’s as Solana steps out the shower, wraps the towel around her and checks her phone, her smile dims at her lock screen being littered with notifications.

1 missed call from Jey

3 missed calls from Jimmy

4 unread texts from Jimmy

2 unread texts from Jey

And just like that, her stomach drops.

Something is wrong.

Given Jimmy is the one with the most outreach attempts, she bypasses reading any messages and just skips right to calling him.

Pacing across the bathroom, each ring on the other end feels like an eternity. Finally, he picks up. “Solana.”

“What’s wrong?” It’s blurted out, her desperation and fear loud and present. “What happened?”

A heavy sigh on the other end of the phone. “Solana…..”

“What happened, Jimmy!” She doesn’t mean to yell, but she does mean to stress that she needs this man to tell her just what the hell is going on.

Another pause. “Fetu took a turn for the worse.” Her heart stops. “She’s…..she’s probably not going to make it through the night.”

Of all the things to come out his mouth, Solana could have never guessed that would be it. She’s instantly in a brief state of shock. This can’t be……no, it can’t.

“What?” Is all she’s able to muster, leaning back against the counter, heart rate a mile a minute.

“I don’t….I don’t know all the details. Ava was too upset to talk, but—”

“Roman….”

Jimmy blows out a deep breath. “He’s already on a plane here. He…..he was actually already on his way.” Solana’s frown deepens. “He wanted to surprise you.” And the knife just keeps twisting. “He knows and should land in a couple hours, but I don’t know if—”

“Don’t,” she cuts him off. Solana can’t even fathom the notion of what he’s about to say. It can’t…..no. “Don’t say it.”

“Solana….” She’s never heard Jimmy sound so despondent. “From the way Ava was talking, she doesn’t have a lot of t—”

“He’s gonna make it.” There is no other alternative. None that Solana can consider. At least, not in this state. Because she’s still trying to sit on the fact that Roman’s laughing, smiling, hoot of an aunt is now suddenly at death’s door. It doesn’t make any sense. They were supposed to go see her. Solana had already texted and talked with Ava about surprising Fetu with a visit when Roman returned.

And now…..

“I’m on my way.”

She can practically picture Jimmy’s surprise. “Solana, I don’t—”

“I need you to meet me at the airport and take me there,” she continues. Because Solana has only been there once, she doesn’t know how to get to Fetu’s place. But, Jimmy does, and something tells her Roman will land back home before she does, and she doesn’t want him wasting a second waiting around for her so they can go together.

“Solana, you’ve never…..you’ve never been around Roman when he’s lost someone. I don’t—I don’t know if it’s a good idea for you—”

“I am not letting him deal with this alone,” she vows, anger replacing the fear. “Prepare the jet for me.”

“Solana—”

“I said I’m going!” She snaps. Solana is certain her shout bypasses the perimeter of the closed bathroom door, travels into her bedroom and permeates throughout the house. “If you don’t want to help me, that’s fine. I’ll find a way. I will fucking swim back home and walk my way there if that’s what it takes, because I am not letting him deal with this alone.” There’s absolute silence on the other end. “Now are you going to help me or not?”

Jimmy is quiet for a good minute before answering. “I’ll be there when you touch down.”

There’s a small slice of relief that fills her at his agreement, but it’s nothing to sit in given the weight of the situation. “I’ll see you then.”

Hanging up the phone, Solana hurriedly applies her deodorant and slips on her bra and panties. Walking out the bathroom, she moves over to the dresser, pulling out some sweats and a shirt. Once her sneakers are on, she’s grabbing Dulce, apologizing for waking her up as she moves out the room and down the stairs.

She finds Bautista and Nia in the kitchen, not hesitating as she informs, “pack your stuff. We’re leaving.”

Their surprised, borderline confused expressions make all the sense, but it’s Nia who speaks up. “What do you mean we’re leaving?”

Solana ignores her, carrying Dulce to the backdoor and letting her out, keeping her eyes on her puppy as she finds the patch of grass to relieve herself.

Nia, of course, refuses to let it go, pushing her at a time where Solana is already trying not to sink into panic. “Look, you have been an impulsive mess all week. Randomly making us fly out here and now you’re making us randomly fly back. What the he—”

“Would you shut up!” It’s similar to the way she snapped at Jimmy, but angrier. More personal. “I don’t answer to you, Nia. I said we’re leaving, so we’re fucking leaving!”

And at that moment, Dulce hurries herself back inside, Solana slamming and shutting the door as she storms past a bewildered Nia to go back upstairs and finish packing.

Shaking hands, quiet sniffles, and silent tears accompany her preparation. She tried to call Roman again, only for the phone to once again go to voicemail, further worrying her.

He’s been pushing her away all week, but this…..this feels different.

He’s icing her out, and it hurts, but not for her. She hurts for him, because he was already in a not good place before leaving. And now this?

“Please don’t take her from him…..” Solana finds herself pleading, praying for the first time in a long time. “He can’t…..he can’t lose her.”

Because he can’t.

Because Solana can’t even imagine what losing Fetu would do to Roman. She isn’t sure how he’d handle it.

If he could handle it.

Less than twenty minutes later, Solana and Co. are out of the house and on their way to the airport. Dulce, forever perceptive, remains in her lap, every so often licking her arm and whining, cuddling close to Solana.

To her stomach.

It’s appreciated.

Necessary.

Because Solana is a nervous, emotional wreck sitting on the jet, Bautista and Nia wisely keeping their distance, leaving her alone in the bedroom with Dulce close by her side.

Solana tries to call both Roman and Ava one last time before takeoff. Neither answers.

It’s not unexpected, but it does make that despair lingering in the pit of her stomach grow.

Makes Solana think back on the letter she has tucked and hidden away at home. Makes her reflect on that almost ominous interaction with his aunt.

Fetu shakes her head, Solana looking down when she places a white, sealed envelope in her hand. “I need you to give this to him when the time is right.”

Those words now haunt her, cause her to wonder just what is contained within that letter. If….if it was intended for a time like this.

A time where she’s no longer around.

Solana shakes her head, a sob breaking through as she tries to gather herself. She’s an emotional mess, yes, pregnancy hormones probably not helping, but regardless, she can’t be.

She needs to be strong.

For Roman.

It’s what she keeps telling herself, reminding herself of as she’s forced to utilize some of her coping skills to settle her anxiety. Because it’s not just her she has to think about anymore.

It’s her babies, too.

Solana is nearly running out the jet the minute it lands and they’re clear to exit. She leaves Dulce with Nia, instructing her to take her back home.

Nia doesn’t argue with this.

But, the minute she steps foot out of the jet, her feet on ground, her eyes locked with Jimmy who waits near a black SUV…..she knows.

She just knows.

Solana’s hand goes to her stomach. “No……” Jimmy’s eyes shut as he runs his hand over his face, unshed tears glistening once he reopens his eyes and looks over at her. “Please, no…..”

“Solana….”

Her voice breaks. “Don’t say it.”

But, he does. He absolutely says it. “She’s gone, Solana.”

She knew it. Knew it the moment her eyes locked with his that are filled with such tremendous grief, holding a truth she’d give anything to be anything but. But, on top of the grief that now fills her body the same way it fills Jimmy, there’s an entirely different layer that nearly grounds her when that realization settles.

“Roman.” She’s almost scared to ask, but she has to. She just has to. “Did he….”

And it’s the way Jimmy’s sadness deepens as he shakes his head no that Solana’s already wavering resolve crumbles, that she breaks down in front of her husband’s cousin. Jimmy moves over to her, letting her cry into him at the second horrifying realization bulldozes into her with the weight of solid concrete.

Roman didn’t make it in time.

He didn’t get to see Fetu before she passed.

He didn’t get to say goodbye.

#roman reigns x black!oc #roman reigns fanfiction #roman reigns fanfic #roman reigns #arisnotebook

74 notes · View notes

olderthannetfic · 2 days ago

Note

Ok, LONG story and a rant. ESL

I have a "friend" who recently got on the topic of disabled children, including severely disabled, mentally and physically children, and how people having an abortion just because of it are bad people. She's not pro-life, but her opinion is if you want a child you need to "accept what you get." She has even spoken about how she'd never even consider an abortion if she had a disabled child, and that she'd be a great mom. Blah blah blah.

Starting off, we went to school in the same class until high school. Her entire life she was terrified of people with disabilities, especially developmental. One time in 8-9th grade she started scream crying because our teacher's son with down syndrome had to join class for 2 hours because of the teacher's schedule. In 3rd grade she thought needing glasses was infectious and always ran away from the two kids in class with glasses.She's had some of the weirdest reactions to people with autism, ADHD, and similar diagnosis.

Yet she's here proclaiming how good of a mother she'd be to a disabled child, as a key argument why people screening for disabilities are bad.

Here's my position, as someone who started studying in a field focusing on working with disabled people in all stages of ability and disability, her sentiment is incredibly stupid to me. If you know the fetus will become an incredibly disabled child, it's not a kindness to have it, you're not mother Mary for giving birth to a child that'll never be able to live independently in this world. I've experienced some of the most unpleasant sides of this, and I don't mean helping clean people after the toilet, or showering. I've been inappropriately groped, touched, and kissed by more people than I can count. Some of them understand it's wrong when I tell them a firm no, some get huffy and angry, some get violent. That's just the surface problems I've dealth with. It's difficult, and painful, and to me it's just a job I can step away from at the end of the day, especially since I'll be able to find work in other medical fields when I've completed my studies.

Yes these are people who deserve all the kindness in the world. But I won't lie, the quality of life for someone who's only way of communicating is crying and hitting people is not a kind life. They don't get to live lives where they can just go on vacation, and see new places on their own. They can't start a normal job. They can't start a family. Half the people I work with haven't seen their relatives in years, or are only visited for an hour or two every week. They see people having relationships and having relations in movies, and with their caretakers of family, but they can never have that. Most of the ones who've tried to touch me, or claimed I'm their wife, or girlfriend did it because that's what they see but don't understand what it actually means. I've dealt with disabled people who were victims of extreme abuse not just from family and strangers, but also people in my work field, who're traumatized but don't have the ability to work through properly because it's already difficult for them to just getting through their days. They have their happy moments, but most of all of this happens in an incredibly small social circle, with strict routines, where only other disabled people exist, and they don't even get the chance to be part of "normal" society. We workers are literally trained to "deal" with these people, sure we're also there for socializing, but most of us are also literally just a resource, we're not a friend, or a family member, we're workers.

Some of the places I've been at are more like a 24/7 kindergarten, with a huge lack of funding and manpower. You won't believe how many times we've struggles trying to help people during extreme and violent meltdowns, all because we're understaffed. The job also lacks male workers, which means it's harder to help with any male patients who voice feeling uncomfortable being helped by women. Do you know how incredibly painful it is to see the shame on someone's face who's more abled to voice this discomfort, but still not able to care for himself and needs help with, to us, basic things such as putting on clothes, or taking showers?

People like this "friend" annoy me, because they idealize the idea of having a heavily developmentally disabled child. They see people with more "mild" cases, or self-sufficient disabled people, but ignore everyone living in cramped disabled "communes" or under poverty and high levels of abuse.

Children, animals, causes: a lot of people romanticize the idea of taking on more than you can handle. It's not romantic. It's just irresponsible.

54 notes · View notes

italianpersonwithashippersheart · 3 days ago

Note

Hey bestie, dropping by with a mea culpa. When Peaceful Property started, you expressed concern that GMMTV was inching toward a model of using bl pairs in shows that would avoid being explicitly gay but still draw on shipping fandom to be successful. Coming off The Trainee, which was not a bl but did have expIicitly queer characters and romance subplots, I wasn't sure the intentions were quite that dark for PP, but having now finished it and seen the way some in the production have interacted with shipper fans, I have to call it: you were right to be concerned. At no point was this show ever a bl and none of its principal characters are canonically queer, but they successfully leveraged the TayNew ship to have fans interacting with it as if it was in fact a gay love story, that idea and fan commentary was explicitly encouraged by the creators, and the show has been quite successful despite never actually delivering on all the TayNew bait. I'm definitely concerned that we might have somehow swung back around to queerbaiting being seen as acceptable and good, as long as it features popular branded pairs. I don't have any bigger thoughts to offer about how this should be addressed, but just wanted to come back and say you were valid for naming that!

Thank you. I didn't want to be correct. And I am still hoping to wrong about what this says about where GMMTV is going.

But I am not gonna lie, seeing the posts about the finale did regnite the massive fury I had at this project when it was first called a bromance. So I am going to use your ask as an opportunity to vent.

FOR THE RECORD: I am not mad at you, or at the people and mutual on my dash that have enjoyed the show and are claiming as gay out of spite. My anger is at GMMTV and at GMMTV alone.

THEY DID THIS SHIT TWICE ALREADY!!! Back to fucking back.

I know High Schoool Frenemy is being watched by like 5 people on tumblr. But it's doing well outside of tumblr. They are using bl style fanservice with the 2 main boys of that show. I have seen the shippy content and compilations along with the other bl couples. Not to mention people like Jojo saying those characters are the his new favorite ship on twitter.

AND I AM SO PISSED!!!!

I am glad you brought up TayNew because there is no doubt in my mind that they used TayNew for Peaceful Property as a test. They knew there could be backlash. They knew the bl fandom could have rioted. But they also knew that if it that rage would have been directed at TayNew not at the director, not the company but TAYNEW.

And I think TayNew knew this. Because they spend weeks on social media doing preintive damage control, I have seen the posts of them (or at least New) saying it wasn't going to be romantic. I don't think the two of them forgot how they were left to eat the shit alone over the bullshit backlash during the TayGun kiss situation with GMMTV doing fuck all for them.

And what pisses me off is that BL audience didn't even give a backlash. They eat that shit up like it was fucking icecream.

The BL audience is literally doing their job for them. They are taking a show with some gay subtext and running with it.

They are showing up for the fanservice (again broder audience outside of tumblr), and gleefully closing their eyes and ears and saying well I Think It's Gay.

What do you think Mega Corporation GMMTV is going to take from the success and no backlash? If the answear is anything but: We can produce half of the BLs as usual and make the rest Bromances, you have more faith in corporations then I do.

Because Bromances can be watched by non BL audiences as well. The BL niche is a big one, but it is still a niche.

And now they won't even have to bother inserting arguable quality gay commentary or struggles or homophobia. Or any gay kissing, no more workshops. No more worries about how effective these potential straight boys are going to be at playing gay. All they have to do is making them do fanservice, and they are great at training people for that. Or better yet, actually use one or two ships that have kissed before and done actual BLs.

Will they stop doing BL at all, obviously not, you gotta give the BL audience something to remind them they can still show boys kissing, and we have the Ex Morning and Jojo that will never actually stop making BLs and some gay shit. But if in the next line up we will more bromances, and eventually we get half BL and half bromances I wouldn't be surprised.

Of course maybe I am just pessimistic and cynical. Maybe the proto bdsm in the heart killers is enough to persuade people that I am totally wrong. I guess we will see about that.

Thanks again for the ask and the oppurtunity to vent a little. Again I don't fault anyone for enjoying this, it was design to get the BL audience watching.

I will personally be keeping with my own resolution and never watch another gmmtv show live ever again, maybe binge the few that sound interesting and that's it.

At least I can find comfort in the idea that that other companies do not have the same level of BIG cast of boys and big budget to do the same thing and follow in the bromance trend.

#ask #lurkingshan #gmmtv #peaceful property #tagging this because the show is over #and i waited the all the damn way to vent about my issue with this fucking thing #and i want people in the tags to see it #so they can have it in the back of their mind #and i won't have to see too many posts #acting surprised when there are going to be more bromances announces at gmmtv next line up

57 notes · View notes

celestailio · 5 hours ago

Text

wanna be yours ( gojo x fem!reader )

outline: gojo satoru was one of the strongest sorcerers in jujutsu high. he could have anything and anyone except you. his best friend's girlfriend, whom he was hopelessly in love with. anyone but not you.

contains: gojo x fem!reader, lots of warnings, major deaths, angst, angst, angst, no comfort, a lot of angst, satoru is very much in love with reader, and is going through a lot, slight suggestive and very heavy themes, have i mentioned it's full of angst (￣з￣) please read at your own risk ( i am sorry )

wc: 5.9k

a/n: i am sorry in advance for this ＼(_ _) massive thankuuss to my baby bestieee who helped me with the editing. i feel like my english is improving a lot. i am very proud of this! i practised tons of literary devices to spice it up here and there. and i also registered for a writing course for my next semester! i hope it helps me! anyway as always feedback is appreciated and enjoy! <33

satoru first met you when you were both sixteen. at first, you were just another classmate — a name to remember, a warm presence. someone he respected and trusted, much like shoko and suguru.

the four of you were a constellation in the vast, perilous universe of jujutsu, each star shining the brightest when together. but somewhere along the way, satoru found himself drawn to you in a way that was beyond friendship.

he began seeking you out after lectures, his feet moving before his mind could catch up, his gaze lingering on you during sparring sessions at the bustling training grounds. he couldn’t pinpoint the moment it happened, but his eyes started finding you of their own accord, as though the universe itself was aligning for him to notice you.

one december afternoon, the classroom was bathed in a honeyed glow, the winter sun filtering through the windows like liquid gold.

the pungent smell of cleaning detergent hung heavily in the air, making satoru cough whenever he inhaled too deeply. the whir of vacuums and the rhythmic swish of mops grated against his ears, but none of it mattered.

not now.

satoru wasn’t religious, but the sight before him made him feel like he’d stumbled upon divinity. his breath hitched, cerulean eyes widening behind the black frames of his glasses.

you stood beside shoko, sunlight weaving through your hair like threads of spun silk. every movement you made seemed effortless, ethereal. in the warm light, you looked like a being from another realm, like you might sprout wings and ascend at any moment.

“you look like an angel,” he thought but didn’t dare say aloud.

you laughed as you struggled to erase the remnants of chalk from the board, your giggles light and musical, reverberating through the empty room. shoko chuckled beside you, teasing you about your height, and your shared laughter filled the space with warmth.

the sound lodged itself in satoru’s chest, tightening around his heart like a fist.

what started as a flicker of attraction grew into something deeper, something that felt like love. he didn’t know when or how, but the feeling had sunk its teeth into him, leaving a mark he couldn’t ignore.

and yet, for all his charm and bravado, he couldn’t bring himself to say a word.

satoru prided himself on his confidence and allure —his snow-white hair perfectly styled, his cerulean eyes drawing people in like moths to a flame.

he knew the effect he had on others, the way girls would giggle behind their hands whenever he flashed one of his charming smiles. his voice was a melody, his words honeyed melting everyone's heart.

so why did his confidence falter every time you were near?

“what is it, ��toru?”

your voice broke his spiral, your gaze locking onto his. you rocked back and forth on your heels, a teasing smile dancing on your lips.

he froze.

“uh, nothing,” he stammered, his usual swagger evaporating under your gaze.

you tilted your head, concern flashing across your features as you placed a gentle hand on his shoulder. the contact sent a jolt through him, his brain short-circuiting.

“you okay, 'toru?”

he wasn’t. not even a little.

without a word, satoru bolted out of the classroom, his long legs carrying him down the hallway as if fleeing a curse. his heart pounded against his rib cage, each beat a painful reminder of the burning sensation in his chest.

as winter melted into spring, the world around jujutsu high began to shift. barren trees sprouted delicate buds, the air grew warmer, and the days stretched longer.

satoru sat at his desk, chin propped on his palm, watching the sky outside. the horizon was painted with streaks of oranges and reds, the fading light blending like a watercolour masterpiece. he licked the lingering sweetness of cotton candy from his lips, savouring the last vestiges of his afternoon snack.

then, another kind of sweetness called out to him.

you stood in front of his desk, painted nails nervously scratching the wood. your cheeks were tinged with a soft pink, your smile shy yet inviting.

“do you know what kind of tea suguru likes? i wanted to surprise him.”

your words took a moment to register. tea? suguru? his stomach twisted. before he could respond, shoko’s voice broke the tension.

“oh, look at you!” she teased from her desk, grinning like a cat. “so thoughtful. geto’s a lucky guy.”

her words ignited a storm inside satoru. his chest tightened, anger bubbling like lava in his gut. he wanted to snap back, but his jaw clenched shut.

“he’s been enjoying assam and pu’erh black tea,” he managed to say, his voice tight but steady.

you beamed at him, completely unaware of the turmoil roiling beneath his calm exterior. “thanks, ’toru!”

“blossoming love, huh?” shoko teased, poking your side.

your response was a soft laugh, followed by a flustered, “something like that.”

the words echoed in satoru’s mind like a curse. his leg bounced restlessly under the desk as he watched you leave, the sound of your voice lingering in the classroom.

once you were out of sight, his smile faded.

he stared blankly at the empty doorway, his mind a hurricane of questions. what did suguru have that he didn’t? was it his calm demeanour? his quiet strength? or was satoru simply too much — too loud, too brash, too… himself?

your words played over and over in his mind, each repetition sinking deeper into his skin.

something like that.

and satoru sat there, drowning in the weight of unspoken words, unexpressed feelings, and the crushing reality of unrequited love.

the flowers begin to bloom, and so did your relationship with suguru. satoru tried to maintain his usual facade around him, but it was becoming increasingly difficult. every time suguru mentioned your name or shared a story about the two of you, satoru felt like he was being torn apart.

his smiles were forced, his nods mechanical. deep inside, an ache hollowed him out, carving a void in his chest — a void that only you could fill.

he noticed how suguru's eyes lit up when he spoke about you, a spark that hadn’t been there before. jealousy simmered in satoru’s chest, sharp and bitter. he hated the thought that he could never make you smile the way suguru did.

but he stayed silent, swallowing his feelings. risking what little he had with you and with suguru, was unthinkable.

he thought that this was fine, as long as you and suguru were near him. even if he couldn’t have you in a way he wanted. it was fine.

the star plasma vessel happened, and then it wasn't.

the incident with zen’in toji shattered the fragile peace you all had. riko and kuroi’s deaths left a scar too deep to heal. satoru awakened as the strongest, embracing the blinding light of his limitless power. but suguru — he retreated into the shadows, finding solace in the darkness that consumed him.

it wasn’t like satoru hadn’t noticed the change in suguru. his best friend was a ghost of his former self, his cheeks hollow, his skin pale. his movements were sluggish, his smiles faint and fleeting. but when satoru asked, suguru brushed it off. “i’m fine,” he’d say, and satoru believed him.

he’s fine, satoru thought. he has to be.

it was the first warning he ignored.

what satoru didn’t know was that your relationship with suguru had changed too. he overheard you crying to shoko about the massive fight you and suguru had behind closed doors.

fighting? since when? confusion clouded his mind. he wanted to ask you to ask suguru, but he held back, too afraid of the answers. then, one day, you vanished from his life, retreating into solitude.

and then the unthinkable happened.

suguru massacred an entire village.

when satoru first heard the news, his first thoughts were of you. were you okay? did he convince you to join him too?

no, you couldn’t have.

before he could dwell further, a call from shoko blew away his spiralling thoughts.

“suguru’s here, near shinjuku.”

the confrontation was inevitable, a tragic crescendo in a symphony of heartbreak.

satoru let go suguru's hand that day, watching his best friend disappear into the crowd, and he felt like he was drowning in the sea of faceless strangers.

he hated himself for it.

he should’ve gone after him, should’ve fired that purple, should’ve done something. but he didn’t. he couldn’t.

how could he destroy the man who had been his best friend, his very own kin?

and yet, wasn’t that what suguru had already done to him?

what was he supposed to do now?

a week later, satoru found himself standing outside your door. he didn’t know why he was there and what he hoped to find. but his feet had carried him to you, as though drawn by an invisible thread.

he knocked, the sound echoing in the stillness. when no one answered, he hesitated before stepping inside.

the air was thick, oppressive. untouched objects sat in quiet disarray, and the dim light seeping through the windows gave everything an eerie glow.

your curse energy flickered weakly from behind the closed door of your bedroom.

“…are you there?” his voice was a soft plea, breaking the silence.

finally, the door creaked open.

you looked like a shadow of yourself. red-rimmed eyes darting around the room, hair dishevelled and spilling over your shoulders. you didn’t say anything as you retreated to your bed, and satoru followed, the weight of your sorrow pressing down on him.

he sat beside you, his presence hesitant. he didn’t know if he should speak, if his words could offer you any comfort.

finally, you broke the silence.

“it’s my fault,” you whispered, your voice trembling. “i did this. i destroyed us.”

tears slipped down your cheeks, glistening like fragile crystals as you buried your face in your hands.

“it’s not your fault,” satoru murmured, his voice gentle but firm. he reached out to hold you, but you flinched away.

“he doesn’t love me anymore,” you sobbed, your voice cracking. “he left me, satoru. he left me all alone.”

each word was a dagger, slicing through him. he wanted to tell you that it wasn’t true, that you were worth so much more than the pain suguru had caused. but the words wouldn’t come.

instead, he held you. even as you thrashed in his arms, he held you, murmuring reassurances you couldn’t hear.

then, through your sobs, came the quietest plea,

“be my boyfriend.”

the words hung in the air, fragile and uncertain. satoru froze, his heart pounding as he searched your face. was this what you wanted? or was it just a desperate attempt to fill the void suguru had left behind?

he wanted to say no. his mind screamed at him to refuse. but his heart, a traitorous thing, betrayed him.

“okay,” he whispered.

you collapsed into his arms once more, your sobs subsiding into quiet hiccups. satoru held you tightly, threading his fingers through your hair in a soothing motion.

but as he glanced at the shattered frame on your nightstand, a photo of you and suguru beneath the sakura trees, smiling amidst the falling petals, he felt the sharp sting of regret.

even as you clung to him, seeking solace, satoru knew he was only a stand-in for the love you’d lost.

and yet, he stayed.

because for now, being near you, even like this, was better than being without you at all.

graduation felt surreal — a moment meant to be celebrated, yet devoid of joy. the echoes of laughter that should have filled the halls were replaced by a haunting silence.

what should have been the culmination of years of struggle and growth was overshadowed by the absence of suguru, a vacancy that no amount of nostalgia could fill.

satoru walked beside you on the school grounds one last time, his hands buried deep in his pockets, the cool breeze ruffling his silver hair. nostalgia clung to his bones like a second skin, suffocating yet impossible to shed.

the sakura trees stood as silent witnesses, their petals cascading like soft, weeping tears. each delicate bloom was a reminder of what had once been—a time when the four of you were whole, invincible, bound by companionship and dreams. now, the petals fell with a kind of mournful grace, marking the end of an era.

the sun dipped low, casting a warm, golden glow over the scene, as if attempting to gild the bittersweet moment with a sense of peace neither of you could fully grasp.

satoru’s thoughts churned like turbulent waves, crashing against the jagged cliffs of uncertainty and loss. the future stretched out before him, vast and unknowable. but one thing was clear: he wasn’t going to leave you alone in your sorrow.

he stopped walking, turning to you with a soft yet firm resolve in his gaze. "come live with me," he said, his voice a lifeline amidst the chaos.

you hesitated for only a moment before nodding.

"okay."

living together was anything but simple.

your relationship with satoru was defined by boundaries — walls you’d built around yourself, a fortress guarding your heart from him. he respected those boundaries, though they left him feeling like an outsider in his own home.

you avoided his touch, your conversations were clipped, and the space between you stretched into a chasm he couldn’t cross. he tried — initiating small talks, filling silences with humour — but your responses were often distant, a word or two before you retreated into yourself.

even though you were now his partner in name, satoru didn’t feel like one. you didn’t talked to him, kiss him, or indulged in him. you barely acknowledged him when he came home from his duties at jujutsu high, offering only a fleeting glance before disappearing into your room.

but what hurt the most wasn’t your indifference — it was the secrets you kept.

satoru knew about the late-night meetings with suguru, thinly veiled as last minute missions. he didn’t ask where you went when you returned the next day, dishevelled and silent. he didn’t question the dark mark on your neck, peeking out like a cruel reminder of a love he couldn’t compete with.

and yet, despite it all, you came to him every night.

knocking softly on his bedroom door, you would slip under his sheets, seeking his warmth in the dead of night. he let you in, time and time again, unable to refuse the fleeting closeness.

as you snuggled against him, your soft breaths brushing against his neck, he let himself dream. maybe, just maybe, there was hope. maybe you could love him as much as he loved you.

but hope was fragile, and dreams were fleeting.

in the quiet hours before dawn, as he stirred to begin his day, he tried to pry himself away. but you clung to him, your grip tightening even in sleep. and then, like a knife to his heart, you murmured suguru’s name.

someday.

december 23rd, 2018

satoru couldn't believe his eyes. he thought that at least one of them was lying, but all six of them pointed towards him. his familiar remains of cursed energy dominating the air.

suguru stood in the courtyard, his presence commanding and his aura suffocating. his long black hair framed his sharp features, cascading down his back like a waterfall. his dark eyes scanned the crowd, lingering on you with a silent invitation.

satoru’s heart roared, a storm of emotions threatening to spill over.

suguru’s voice was calm, chilling in its confidence as he declared war against the jujutsu society — a promise of chaos and destruction that sent ripples of fear through the gathered sorcerers.

you flinched at the sight of him, and when you slipped away into the shadows, satoru’s eyes followed you.

he wanted to stop you, to demand explanations, to beg you to stay. but the words stuck in his throat, trapped by the weight of everything left unsaid.

suguru mounted his cursed spirit, ascending into the sky. his figure grew smaller and smaller until he was nothing but a speck of ink against the blue expanse.

satoru turned back to the students, his responsibilities tugging at him. his jaw clenched as he ushered the frightened youngsters back into the building, suppressing the ache in his chest.

meetings consumed the rest of his day. faces blurred, voices droned on, and his mind drifted. he thought of suguru’s eyes, of the way they found you in the crowd. he thought of your quiet departure, your figure vanishing like a spirit into the shadows.

satoru returned to your shared apartment later that night, barely able to keep his eyes open. the meetings had dragged on, and before he knew it, night had settled in.

exhausted, he fumbled with the key, unlocking the door and stepping into the quiet living room. the kitchen lights were off. you didn’t eat today?

"where are you?" he called, but the only response was silence.

confusion clouded his thoughts as he slipped off his shoes and placed them neatly by the door. had you not come home?

he crossed into the hallway, hearing the faint sound of running water from the bathroom. he knocked softly on the washroom door, but there was no reply. a knot of dread began to twist in his stomach. something wasn’t right.

“are you okay?” he called, his voice edged with concern.

silence answered.

he knocked again, louder this time. a stern call of your name, his voice rising with a note of urgency.

still, nothing.

the silence pressed in on him like a physical weight, the dread in his chest intensifying. with a frustrated sigh, he knocked once more, his voice trembling now.

“please. let me in.”

the only sound that followed was the rush of water.

his heart raced, panic gripping him as he turned the handle and kicked the door open with a force that sent the wood splintering.

inside, you stood in the shower, the water streaming down over your naked form, your body rigid and unmoving. you stared blankly at the marble tiles, like a statue, waiting for something. for the water to wash away the stains of your sins.

satoru’s breath caught in his throat as his eyes took in the sight. bruises, faint yellow hickeys marking your skin. it all told a story he didn’t want to hear, one that shattered him piece by piece.

he sank to his knees on the cold tiles, his hands trembling as he reached for you. his touch was tentative, but it was all he had left to offer.

“what’s wrong?” he whispered, his voice breaking as he pulled you close, his arms wrapping around you gently. blue eyes wide with worry, heart aching with the rawness of the moment.

your breath hitched, and finally, you spoke. your voice fragile, barely above a whisper. “i have to see him again.”

the words hit satoru like a physical blow, the blood draining from his face. his body tensed, frozen in place as the enormity of what you said settled over him, heavy and suffocating.

he couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe. his hands stayed frozen on your body as the world around him seemed to collapse.

“i’m so sorry, satoru,” you whispered, your voice barely audible above the sound of the water.

you dropped to your knees before him, your eyes averted, filled with sorrow. the weight of guilt seemed to crush you, and satoru felt the air leave his lungs.

he reached out for you, his hands trembling as he cupped your face, his forehead pressing gently against yours.

his cerulean eyes searched yours, desperate to find the person he once knew, the bond you’d shared before everything changed.

“have i ever stopped you?” his voice was soft, but the tremor in his words told the story of a heartbreaking in real-time.

you didn’t answer, only stared at him. your wide eyes full of uncertainty as he turned off the shower, wrapping a towel around your body.

he guided you to the bedroom, his arm around your shoulders, offering silent support.

once you were seated on a chair, he reached for the blow-dryer, the hum of the machine filling the room as he carefully dried your hair.

the silence between you was thick, almost suffocating.

“i can’t go out like this. i can’t lie to you anymore,” you said, your voice cracking with the weight of the confession.

satoru’s hands stilled at the sound of your words, the blow-dryer humming in the background as he paused, unsure of how to process the storm brewing inside him.

after all this time, why now? does it matter anymore?

“i am so sorry, satoru.” you choked on the words, your hand pressed to your mouth as you tried to stifle the sobs threatening to break free.

he turned off the dryer, setting it aside as he leaned in to kiss your forehead, pressing his lips gently to your skin.

“it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice soft, but the pain behind the words was undeniable.

he held you close, his arms enveloping you in a protective embrace. but beneath the warmth of his touch, there was something that had changed. the usual light in his eyes had dimmed, and his voice trembled ever so slightly.

the faintest trace of moisture gathered in his eyes, the tears threatening to spill as the weight of your confession hung between you both.

he hoped you wouldn’t notice the way his heart was racing a million miles or the quiver in his voice.

he hoped you wouldn’t see the way the light in his eyes had faded. devoid of anything.

it was beginning to get late — just a few hours before midnight. the apartment was shrouded in silence, save for the faint sound of satoru’s steady breathing as he lay sprawled on the couch.

he had tried to stay awake, but the weight of fatigue had dragged him under. still, some part of him stirred when he heard the faint rustle of fabric and the soft creak of the door.

he cracked one eye open, his cerulean gaze catching your silhouette by the door.

you were wrapped tightly in your coat, your form illuminated by the dim light of the floor lamp near the entrance.

he noticed the way your hand hesitated over the doorknob, a flicker of indecision that made his chest tighten.

don’t go. please.

the thought screamed in his mind, but he couldn’t bring himself to move. his body felt like lead, weighed down by a thousand unspoken fears.

his fingers twitched against the fabric of the couch as he fought the urge to call out, to stop you, to do anything other than lie there, paralyzed by the inevitability of your actions.

when the door clicked softly shut, the silence that followed felt deafening.

satoru sat up slowly, the ghost of your departure still hanging in the air.

his head dropped into his hands, fingers threading through his silver hair as a quiet sigh escaped his lips.

“why do you keep doing this to yourself?”

he muttered to himself, the question falling into the empty room. his voice sounded foreign, tinged with something raw and aching.

his hands fell to his lap as he leaned back against the couch, eyes fixed on the ceiling. the cracks in the plaster seemed more noticeable tonight, jagged lines stretching outward like the fractures in his heart.

was it always going to be him?

he shook his head, frustration bubbling to the surface. his chest felt tight, the kind of suffocating pressure that made it hard to think straight.

time dragged on, but sleep wouldn’t come. satoru found himself pacing the living room, the soft thud of his bare feet against the wooden floor, the only sound breaking the quiet.

he kept glancing at the door, half-hoping it would swing open, that you’d walk back in and tell him it was all a mistake.

he stopped in front of the window, the cold glass fogging slightly as he leaned against it.

outside, the world was blanketed in frost, the streetlights casting halos of pale yellow light on the snow-covered pavement.

you’re with him right now . . .

the thought was like a knife digging in his gut. he clenched his fists, the cerulean glow of his eyes dimming as he stared into the distance.

a part of him wanted to storm out, to find you, to bring you back home, with him. but he respected and trusted you.

you’ll come back, he told himself. you always do.

but the thought offered no solace. because every time you left, a piece of you stayed behind — just out of reach and beyond his grasp.

hours passed. the first light of dawn began to creep over the horizon, washing the room in a pale, grey hue.

satoru sat slumped against the couch, his head tilted back, eyes bloodshot and unfocused.

he hadn’t moved from his spot. his phone sat on the coffee table, untouched, the screen dark and silent. no calls. no messages.

his chest rose and fell with shallow breaths as he closed his eyes, trying to summon the strength to face the day.

the clock on the wall ticked steadily, a cruel reminder of the passing time. his gaze shifted to it, and his stomach churned at the sight of the date,

december 24th.

today wasn’t just a date. it was a storm waiting to break, and he had no choice but to weather it.

the night parade of a thousand demons was set to unfold tonight, and all of it would start with the chaos suguru had set in motion.

satoru had known this day would come, but it didn’t make the reality of it any easier. the rebellion, the betrayal had been building for decades, and now it was too late to stop.

but for now, all he could do was wait. wait for you to return, and wait for the pieces of his heart to shatter just a little more.

the day had just begun, but the air felt thick with anticipation, the weight of what was to come pressing heavily on his chest.

his gaze wandered to the window again, his mind racing through a hundred different scenarios.

tonight was going to change everything.

he couldn’t deny it anymore. the jujutsu world would burn, and it would be because of suguru’s betrayal. and you were wrapped up in it all.

you had told him that you needed to see suguru one last time before everything fell apart.

and you had made your choice, hadn’t you?

but you were so close to him, and yet so far away from him, a distance between you two that no words could bridge.

satoru didn’t want to think about anything at this point.

suddenly, the door clicked open then, and he jolted on the couch. the faint sound of your footsteps echoing in the hallway and his pulse quickened.

you were here now, but he didn’t know for how long.

satoru didn’t look up as you entered. he didn’t need to. he could hear your soft breaths, the way you moved through the apartment like a ghost.

you hadn’t slept, had you?

the faint scent of you, of your perfume and something else, something darker, filled the air between you.

you paused, not looking at him, and his heart squeezed in his chest.

"you’re back," satoru said, his voice low, the words like stones falling into still water.

they seemed insignificant in the face of everything coming. but they were all he had, a small thread holding him together in the midst of this unravelling world.

you didn’t answer right away.

his gaze flickered over you quickly, noting the way you avoided looking at him. he didn’t need to ask, but his eyes couldn’t help but drift to the marks on your neck.

those faint bruises, a reminder of the part of you he couldn’t touch. right now, all he wanted was to pull you into his arms and run away along with you to a far away island from all this mess, but he knew better.

"you know it’s happening tonight," satoru continued, his voice thick with tension, eyes never leaving you.

he wasn’t asking for confirmation — he already knew, as did you.

“i don’t understand you,” he whispered, more to himself than to you. he felt the frustration growing, simmering under the surface.

“why are you still holding on to him? even when you know what he’s about to do.”

the words were harsh, but they needed to be said. he needed you to understand that suguru was no longer the person he had once been.

he was no longer the suguru you had known, the suguru who had once been by your side, standing shoulder to shoulder with satoru and the suguru you had fallen in love with.

the silence in the room deepened, thickening until it felt impossible to breathe. and then, just like that, you spoke.

"i have no choice," you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

“i thought i could let go. but he’s a part of me, satoru. i can’t change that.”

his chest tightened as the weight of your words settled on him. he closed his eyes for a moment, trying to steady himself.

“not anymore,” satoru’s voice cracked as he stepped forward, his hand reaching out, though he didn’t touch you. not yet.

“you don’t have to go back to him. you’re still here. you still have a choice.”

he didn’t know if those words were meant to comfort you or himself. the fear gnawing at his insides was relentless now, the certainty that suguru would stop at nothing.

the war was no longer just about a fight for the future. satoru felt like it was about you, everything you had once shared, everything he was still trying to protect.

but you didn’t say anything. you didn’t turn to face him and vanished behind closed doors.

the only thing that remained was the sound of his erratic breathing and the slow, rhythmic ticking of the clock.

the parade was coming, and there was nothing he could do to stop it.

satoru stepped into the apartment, the door whispering shut behind him with a hollow click that echoed like a funeral bell.

the silence inside was a living thing — thick, suffocating, curling around him like smoke. the faint scent of pine from the air freshener lingered in the stillness, but it couldn’t erase the metallic tang of blood that clung to his senses, that enveloped every part of his soul.

his hands trembled at his sides, pale and empty, yet they felt stained — stained with suguru’s memory, with the weight of a life he’d taken.

his brother, his best friend. gone, with no one left to blame but himself.

he had thought he’d been prepared. he’d convinced himself that there would be a reason for it, that killing suguru, the one person he had once called family, would somehow make sense. that there would be a point to all of this.

but now, standing here in the silence of your apartment nothing made sense.

satoru’s heart pounded, the remnants of the battle still echoing in his ears. the cold sweat on his brow wasn’t just from the violence.

it was from the gnawing emptiness left in the wake of what he had done.

was he really a hero for ending it? or was he simply a man who had destroyed the last vestige of humanity within himself?

the hallway stretched out before him like a tunnel, shadows yawning wide and deep. as he passed the kitchen, a cruel sense of déjà vu clawed at him.

satoru called out your name.

he glanced toward the dim corner in the dining hall where he had so often found you, your presence a balm against the chaos of the world. but tonight, the kitchen was lifeless.

“where are you?” his voice was soft, a fragile thread of sound that barely wove itself into the silence.

the walls seemed to close in, their stillness pressing against his chest. his heartbeat quickened, each thud a hammer against his ribs.

you wouldn’t leave me too, would you?

he moved faster now, his footsteps faltering as he neared the bedroom door. his fingers brushed the wood as if afraid to push it open, afraid of what he might find on the other side.

“please…”

the word slipped out, a desperate prayer to no one.

the door creaked as it swung open, the darkness inside swallowing him whole. his hand fumbled for the switch, flicking it upward with a trembling urgency.

and then the light came.

a harsh, glowy yellow illuminated the room, chasing the shadows into the corners. but the sight before him was worse than any darkness.

your body hung suspended in the air, feet swaying ever so faintly, as if caught in a slow, inhumane dance.

for a moment, the world stopped.

satoru couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, his cerulean eyes fixed on the unbearable truth before him.

no.

the word echoed in his mind, a drumbeat of denial that clanged against his skull.

his knees buckled, and he collapsed to the floor, the wood biting into his skin as he fell.

stomach twisting violently, as bile raised in his throat. his hand flew to his mouth, muffling the broken sound that escaped him.

a scream tore through the silence, ripping out of him with the force of a dam breaking.

raw and primal, full of agony, the sound of a man who last lost everything.

his forehead hit the floor with a hollow thud as he writhed against the cold, unyielding wood.

the sobs came next, wracking his body like aftershocks, each one threatening to split him apart.

“no,” he whispered, his voice a shattered echo. “no, no, no…”

the heater hummed softly in the background, its indifferent warmth mocking the icy despair that consumed him.

his trembling fingers clawed at the floor, reaching out toward your lifeless form as if he could pull you back, as if touch alone could rewrite reality.

but you were beyond his reach, suspended in a silence that answered none of his desperate pleas.

“i killed him,” he choked out, his voice barely distinguishable from the sound of his own suffering. “i killed suguru… for you. for us.”

his tears fell freely, carving hot trails down his face, blue eyes falling shut and a blurry afternoon conjures up in his mind and an angelic smile flashed in his mind — soft, bittersweet, and hauntingly knowing.

was it all for nothing?

satoru let out another scream of your name, his voice cracking as it reverberated off the walls. the light above cast long, flickering shadows across the room, each one twisting like a spectre of what he had lost.

he slumped forward, his forehead pressed to the floor, his body folding in on itself as if trying to escape the unbearable weight of this moment.

and still, the silence answered him. you were not here anymore. neither you nor him.

53 notes · View notes

vladdyissues · 7 hours ago

Note

i was so sleep deprived when i sent that previous ask, thought that now i got some sleep i'd add to the badger cereal content you've been reblogging because omg

comfort idea: pre-series, Vlad is well-known as Plasmius in the Ghost Zone, and a halfa. he is still a completely audacious bastard to everyone he runs across, but there's some respect for the tech and resources he can bring to a deal and how much he enjoys fucking with people

-thing is, he's the only halfa. up until Danny. and the 'Ghost Kid' is instantly assumed to be Plasmius' kid

-Vlad looks into the ghost kid and that is Jack and Maddie's kid, holy shit

-well! in THAT case! he'll happily take responsibility. actually offers to train the kid up, though there are definitely some training from hell moments that piss Danny off (but do actually help, which pisses him off more)

-by the point of Bitter Reunions, Vlad has changed his plans. he has no need to actively target and kill Jack, he just has to let him make a fool of himself again and again and again and, naturally, Vlad will look better by comparison

-he never lies once to Danny. he's a snarky jackass about the truth, but hey, so's Danny. he does not blink at ANY question he's asked, and Danny can sometimes get some fun out of calling him with a weird or even borderline illegal question, put him on speakerphone, and watch Sam and Tucker's faces as he answers (ex. "Hey what actually counts as murdering a ghost, and does [effect of fentonworks weapon] count." or "Any chance I can spin looking like i tried to kill the mayor?")

-increasingly enjoys fucking with both Jack and Maddie by hinting the Ghost Boy/Phantom is his and Jack's kid, even reveals he was ecto-irradiated to the point of developing ghostly abilities during AU!Bitter Reunions just to lay the foundation for it. Danny isn't let in on it until he's been on the end of enough of his parents' inventions to find it just as funny

-general relationship: snarky and full of terrible lessons, but completely honest and trusting.

The thing I love most about this is how much sense it makes. Though that seems to be the case with just about every headcanon you send me 😂

Of course everyone in the Ghost Zone is going to think that the First Halfa is somehow related to this New Halfa that just showed up. The ghosts in the Zone may be dead, but they're not [all] dumb.

I especially love Vlad adopting a Policy of Truth when it comes to Danny. No patronizing, no bullshit; just cold hard facts and you'd better be able to handle them, Daniel, because it's the only way you're going to survive (well, perhaps it's a little too late for that) your parents' hare-brained shenanigans.

Like, just imagine the banter and pithy, sarcastic sniping between these two. The adventures, the mishaps. Then toss in the occasional heartfelt moment of real, genuine danger where they both exercise and strengthen their trust in one another through conquering of fear and foe ahhhsljkdhfksjdhf

#asks #danny phantom #badger cereal #lin headcanons #comfort ideas #vlad masters #danny fenton #hjbendergifs

31 notes · View notes

wisecura · 2 days ago

Text

desperation

You’ve always thought Yuta was the cutest thing on earth.

His shy and timid nature, his ability to brighten the room with his smile, just his overall vibe. All you saw was a big teddy bear. Or maybe a small squirrel. He'd always been so skittish! He'd fluster easily, and was often pretty quiet. You wouldn't have noticed him if you weren't looking for him.

Not to mention how handsome he'd gotten since his training in Africa. He definitely obtained some tonnage, which you thankfully got to see during your training sessions. And you never shied on the compliments. Seeing his reactions easily became a source of entertainment for your days. Yuta was really just so so adorable in your eyes.

Though anyone else who faced Yuta Okkotsu had something else to say.

There wasn't a single person around you that would describe the man as anything short of off-putting. His brooding eyes and overwhelming cursed energy. Not to mention his unbelievable speed and strength. It was obvious he had the blood of countless curses-countless cursed users on his hands. And he hadn't even fully settled into his roll as a special grade yet.

You'd never understand it when Maki told you how creepy Yuta seemed. The uncomfortable energy she felt radiating off him, and the degenerate look in his eyes that he got sometimes. You didn't think it was very nice how she described him. I meeeaannnn-Of course you trusted your best friend, but you were never one to judge based off other’s impressions. That’s what lead to misunderstandings. And you were a kind and diligent person with a bleeding heart. At least that’s what Yuta said anyways.

Yuta tailed you regularly, always making sure you were never alone.

He was always so thoughtful! Always your little protector! You'd remember when you first called him out on his tailing-ooooh~ he'd gotten so red! His stammering and the way he shuffled his feet while looking down-you just couldn't stand it! He'd said it was "For your protection of course." You were sure he was the one with the bleeding heart.

He’d regularly bring you food when you finished training, and always your favorites. He was sure to give you compliments on your training-much to your squealing. It was obvious to anyone looking in from the outside that you two would end up together. And soon enough he found the courage to ask you out. In the cutest way possible. He brought you flowers, a souvenir from his most recent mission, and your favorite noodles from a shop out of town. He'd told you exactly what he thought of you. All with a cute little blush to pair it off! You don't think you could express just how adorable his proposal was!

Yuta was always a little standoffish. Always a little shy.

Which is why you were so surprised when he worked up the courage to ask you out. You always thought that shy side of him was adorable, but why was he so standoffish even after you'd said yes?

He would continue bringing you food and continue his friendly compliments, but where was the romance? The passion? You'd thought by now you'd bust down some of those barriers he'd built up. You held out for two months. Two months. And he still avoided you like the plague. Even more-so than before you'd started dating. You'd cry often about this to Maki, earning yourself frequent head slaps. You were sure everyone was annoyed with your whining. Your sweet little Yuta just didn't seem to want to touch you as much as you wanted to touch him.

You made an attempt to hold hands? He’d shyly move his hand away, either waving to catch up with someone else, or placing his hands atop his head. So slyly evading you. You attempted to give him a hug? It was like chills went down his back as he immediately locked up, hands flinching by his sides. You wanted to kiss his cheek? Hah, you really thought he’d stay close enough long enough for you to try?

You couldn’t stand his distance. Not to mention when you brought it up, he’d shyly brush you off saying you “made him so flustered”, and he didn’t want you to be “scared” by his clinginess. Clinginess? clinginess? But WHERE? WHERE YUTA???

No clinginess to be found. Even if you hadn't been the definition of clinginess, his lack of affection was still odd in any normal relationship.

This lead to you breaking up with him. I know, i know, I KNOW. It was PAINFUL. But in all honesty, it left you feeling so heartbroken in the end. And it was shameful to say you were still incredibly hung up on him. You just hadn't liked the changes he made after the formality of labels.

He seemed downtrodden. Unable to lift his head when you told him “I’m sorry, Yuta. It just doesn’t feel like the right time for us,”

He heart the hesitation in your tone. He hadn’t completely lost you yet.

That was until the exchange event. That brought on all of the Kyoto students coming to the school. Which ultimately left you talking with a stupid nameless boy from the rival school. Laughing at his stupid jokes. Complimenting his stupid technique. And talking to his stupid fuckin' friends.

It’d only been one week since you’d broken things off with him. And honestly, he did wanna be forward with you. But when he tried, he’d get into his own thoughts again. They were vastly different from his normal day to day thoughts, taking on a much more...sadistic turn when it came to you. He'd often take things you left behind, storing his own little collection of you. He had multiple photo albums in his phone dedicated to the different positions and expressions he managed to catch without you noticing.

You'd caught him on multiple occasions following you-a few paces behind or just-watching you. He'd been caught on a few occasions by others, earning him a pretty sour reputation. But it wasn't like his reputation had been good to start with. He was always somewhat overwhelming to those who were weaker than him. It was honestly a miracle in his opinion that he'd attracted someone like you in the first place.

He'd often find himself sneaking into your dorm room-sometimes you weren't there and other times you were. He’d made a routine of stealing your dirty clothes, always swapping them out when they stopped smelling like you. But it was mostly just to watch you sleep. He’d look down at your sleeping, uncovered form-it was always a little hot in the school. And he'd never been more thankful for the lack of air conditioning. He’d sit next to you, stroke your hair, whispering your praises on how you’re so sweet. On how much he loves you .

It was only once in a blue moon that you actually woke up during these times, shocked to find your precious, lovely boyfriend sitting next to you on your bed. Touching you in a way he’d never do with you watching him.

He’d immediately freak out, summoning the skill he copied from Inumaki, commanding you to “forget and sleep”. He would never-never let you figure out just how much he craves you. He’d much rather allow you to think he was a sweet and innocent guy. He wanted to live up to those loving compliments you dropped him so easily. He didn't want to scare you off. He knew what he was doing wasn't right. But he couldn't bring himself to care-only feigning ignorance and innocence in front of you. Yet when you weren't looking, he was sure to fulfil all those depraved thoughts clawing in the back of his mind.

He’d never touch you during these times. As tempting as it was. Ok-well-maybe he did grope your thighs a little while you were under his sleeping curse. But all of the...big stuff could come later. When he built up the courage to face your touch and not immediately try and fuck you senseless.

You were just too innocent for that

But why was his innocent girl flirting with some fuck-face only a few feet away from him. She must think they’re over. He was willing to allow your your space, at least the little he allowed. He was still your 'friend' after all. But this was too much. He didn’t even want to begin to imagine what that kid was thinking when his eyes traced over your curves.

Which is how he ended up here. Standing over said kid on the event grounds, while everyone else was busy attacking the released curses. No one around to see him at his worst. His eyes were murderous as he peered down at your new boy toy's ugly bruised up face. Yuta really did a number on him. Of course, he didn’t unleash Rika, he wanted the satisfaction of punishing him himself. He let go of him the second he lost consciousness, unceremoniously falling to the ground. The blood covering the kids shirt and the grass below his head looked ghastly. Yuta's knuckles were bruised, having used a little too much force than he'd intended. He'd wanted to kill him, but decided it'd be a good lesson to the others. He made his way back on course, obliterating any curses in his path, easily.

You were back in your dorm rooms. You’d heard of how they found that cute boy you were talking with from the Kyoto team, beaten bloody. You’d been surprised, finding some sympathy in his defeat, but couldn't find it in yourself to really care. You’d lay in bed for a while, thinking about these last few weeks. Unable to find sleep. When you heard your door opening, quite softly might you add. You quickly close your eyes, feigning sleep. Silence etched on for a few minutes until you felt your bed dip to your side. You felt the ghosting of fingers over your forehead and a soft sigh. You’re eyes shot open and in lightning speed you pulled the intruder onto the bed, straddling them. Straddling him. You pinned his hands above his head. Lo and behold, Yuta was staring wide eyed and gaping up at you.

“Gotcha,” His breathing matched yours, erratic, and he looked as flushed as he was surprised. Your eyes were boarding on insane as he looked up at you, terrified. He called out your name a few times, “You’re awake,” “Been doin’ this a while now, huh?”

You caught him off guard with your brazen accusation. Maybe this would be alright, he thought. “Y-yes, Ok-ok, I’m sor-“ “You kept knocking me out, didn’t you? So easy to do with that stupid technique.”

He lost his voice quickly. Despite this position he couldn't help but admire how pretty you looked gazing at him. The wild look on your face, shamelessly stirring his dick to life. Even if he’d wanted to command you asleep, it seemed you were better at fighting off the most important command that spewed from his lips. Forget. You looked like you remembered everything. And he couldn't help the vulnerability clawing his chest. Why hadnt you said anything before?-

He realized the position he was in. You were straddling him, thighs pressed flush against his sides, you clothed heat hovering his growing erection. Your delicate fingers grasping his much larger wrists. If he wanted to, he could get out of this position. But he refused.

“And that boy? Was that you?” Your tone accusatory, He nodded, confirming your speculations.

“Use your words, Yuta. I’m done playing these games.” Dropping his innocent act, he gave you exactly what you wanted.

“I would've done more if you'd gotten any closer to him,” He rutted his hips up into you, pressing on, “You should really stop talking to other guys when you have me.” You tsked at him, unfazed, “Yuta, we’ve already broken up.”

His face formed a frown, a line etched between his eyebrows. You had to remind yourself not to rub the line away. Not to touch that cute face of his. God damn! He still made your heart flutter. He's just so so so so cute-“You said it wasn’t the right time. That doesn’t mean it’s over.” His face was hard, colder than you'd ever seen. His eyes defiant and challenging. A part he'd always tried to hide from you. You wanted to tease him so badly!

This being the most you’ve gotten out of Yuta since dating him. “You never seemed all that invested in the relationship. You never even let me touch you, hold you, and you never made much of a move on me.” When I’m awake at least, we’re the words left unspoken, hanging in the air. Your stomach twisting, heart thrumming wildly. You could feel his erection growing under you and you found yourself wanting to punish him a little more. You so desperately wanted him inside you. Feeling him everywhere. You moved your hips to grind against him, feeling the way his dick seemed to swell from the attention. He looked down at the actions, groaning out, blush still present on his cute face. You grind against him again setting a small rhythm. His head dropping back at the sensation of your clothed warm pussy against his shorts. So so so so so so goooood. He's so perfect! And to think he was watching you sleep at night just cuz he was too embarrassed!

“Awww~, Yuta,” you cooed at him “I’ve never seen you make this expression before~” His eyes seemed mesmerized in your form, and he wished for nothing more than to touch you all over. He wanted your first night to be special. Flowers, wine and diner, and even romantic music playing in the distance. He was idealistic at times, but he didn’t know if it got sweeter than this. You were so pretty when you looked down at him. Your adoration, evident. He thought you were the most precious thing in his life at this moment.

As much as he never wanted this to end, he needed more. And it seemed you did too. Leaving his arms at the top of the bed your hands made their way down his chest. Deciding he needed less on, you ripped away his shirt-sheer strength, yeah? No- you'd moved to grab a knife from your bedside table, cutting the fabric smoothly (recently sharpened too)- what? it's a dangerous world out there- Before bringing it to his neck.

You looked him dead in the eye, any playful tease gone from your tone, “You move, and I slit your neck.” He visibly gulped, and nodded quickly. He was seeing a new side to you too-and he fucking loved it. He wanted to please you so badly, acknowledging your little threats seemed to make you happy. He sure as hell wouldn't stop whatever was about to happen. He wouldn’t even try stopping you if you had wanted to slit his neck. With the way you moved on top of him, he was sure he’d die a happy man. So he left his arms put. Following your every command.

You pulled his shorts down, leaving him in only his boxers. The bulge, larger than you'd expected. Your mouth already watering at the thought of taking him, you couldn't tear your eyes off of it. Your mind racing with how girthy his cock would be in your hand-in your mouth-in your cunt. Would he be veiny? What color would it be? How would it curve? How would he sound? Would he whine at you? Beg you to take him? Would his face flush up all red? The desperate look in his eyes had your pussy drenched, slick pulling in your panties, enough to leak through and coat your thighs. He watched you through half lidded eyes, hazy and needy. You so badly wanted to tease him. So badly wanted to hear his groans, his whines, his whimpers, his begging. You'd been patient- what was a few more minutes. You continued your assault of dry humping through his boxers, at a punishing pace. Your slick now coating through his boxers, lubricating his dick. His groans and whimpers music to your ears, spurring you on. The friction was fucking phenomenal. His punishment was set. He wasn’t going to touch you now. He’d already rejected you enough. He was gonna pay even if he was the cutest human alive-

“Y’know, it’s real fuckin gross, sneaking into the girls dorms like this.” Your voice nasty and demeaning. He whimpered, straining against his position, trying to be good for you. Trying not to move. “Watching me like that. I bet you're the type of perverted fuck that'd steal my shit while you were here too.” You continued your tirade of insults, Yuta red face only darkening in humiliation. He didn't know how much you actually knew. He'd never felt so ashamed, yet so fuckin turned on.

“Huh?~” you teased, “What's this? Did you really?" Your voice coming down to a mean whisper, he wasn't able to stop the small whimpers and groans as you continue dry humping him, straining to keep his hand out of the way. That little knife still close to his neck. "I bet you're also the type of sicko to jack off to me while I'm sleeping? I've noticed some of my panties missing, Yuta~" You couldn't stop the accusations, turning yourself on the more you put out there. "Was that you too? Did you imagine what I'd taste like with those used panties in your mouth? How often did you get off to the thought of me?” Your voice demanding, your gyrations- demanding, he looked up at you feeling the words come out in moans. He knew he needed to respond to this one. "All the time," and you praised him with your own little moan. he was sure he was close to cumming. "So fucking disgusting."

You really were mean, he thought. His sweet girl saying such mean things because he didn’t know how to behave. He really was a terrible boyfriend. And here he thought he was doing the best and the most for you. But he couldn't deny how hard he was, nor how hot it was for him to be hearing this. To be seeing this. He wanted to tell you he was close-he needed you to stop. This wasn't about him. This was his punishment. And he desperately wanted you to use him.

You moved his boxers lower as his cock finally sprung free. You looked at it in awe, as he flushed red, looking to the side. If he met your gaze now, he was sure he'd come on the spot. Your hands finally wrapped around the tip of his cock as you slowly stroked down his length. What a blessing you were giving him. You were so sweet to him. So good to him. A loud moan escaped his lips as he begged. He had a feeling you'd like that.

“Pl-please, don't stop, please, please, please,” It was like a chant at this point. You could see the way his eyes welled up. "Feels so good, please. You feel so-" You watched him closely, loving every word that escaped those cute lips of his. His eyes so needy and desperate. "Such a greedy thing," He moaned at this, nodding his head "yes, yes, please, I'll do anything, anything,-"

“You wanna fuck me?” His breathing to hitch and a low whine came from his pretty lips. “please” how did he get so lucky. You lined him up to your dripping entrance, sinking down his cock. A full body shudder went through Yuta as he let out the loudest moan you’ve heard from him. His toes curling, as he strained not to thrust up into you. He was so desperate to move. But this is his punishment. His punishment. He'd been bad. He deserved this.

You’ve never felt so full in your life. He fit you like a puzzle piece and you were sure he’d do whatever you said here and now. You eyes didn't know whether to look at that straining face of his, or his thick cock finally penetrating your pussy. You'll admit it. You'd wanted this for a while.

You moved your hips slowly at first, keeping up a agonizingly slow pace. Each time your hips sunk down and took him fully, he’d let out these cute little moans, seeming to come to the terms of his limitations at every bounce. He was struggling.

“Want more?” you couldn't help but fucking tease him. You'd give in. Hi response was immediate voice thick and raspy, “ yes, yes, please, yes," His eyes, still fixed on you. Unable to look anywhere else.

You picked up the pace, thankful for your hours of training. Your stamina was fantastic as you worked his cock. The loud squelched only fulling your demise. He was gonna be the death of you. You wanted him forever. Needed him. Every part of him, “Want me to milk you dry?” He repeated his desperate pleas, saying yes over and over and over again, begging to let him fill you with his seed. He begged you to let him cum. “You gonna cum in me? Breed this pussy? Fuck me full of your seed?” His hips stuttered at this one. “Yes please, I'll do anything.”

You toyed with your clit, feeling close to your own high. “I-I’m gonna cum, please, please let me cum for you.” He’s lucky he's so cute. “Cum for me then,” Just as you said that you felt your own orgasm crashing down, in the same breath you felt his hot cum seeping deep inside you. You didn’t make a move to get off him, dropping down to lay on his chest. You hummed against him.

“Yuta, if you avoid me again, I'll end you.”

masterlist

#obsessive yandere #yandere #male yandere #yandere smut #yuta okkotsu #dead dove do not eat #yuta x reader #tw stalking #dubcon #pregnancy #somno k!nk #somno fantasy #stalker kink #stalker yandere #youre both fucking crazy #crazy #im going insane #unhinged #dumbification

26 notes · View notes

gothamite-rambler · 2 days ago

Text

Spoiler (Stephanie Brown) getting her first rogues gallery member... and it's flipping Kite-Man

Context: Stephanie Brown, known as Spoiler, has navigated the challenges of being a Gotham hero and a member of the Batfamily, facing death, heartbreak, and personal struggles that have defined her journey. Now, Kite Man wants to be her nemesis, dubbing it a rivalry. As she juggles her responsibilities, the last thing she needs is a villain in a kite suit. This series will be ongoing, though updates will be irregular. Notes at the bottom for anyone curious why I'm making this a series :)

Spoiler Meets Kite-Man:

As Spoiler sang "Plastic Love," she takes on two thieves attempting to rob a teenage boy.

Spoiler: I'm just playing games, I know that's plastic love. Dance to the plastic beat. Another morning comes, I'm just playing games.

With a swift kick, Spoiler sent the last goon sprawling to the ground. She reached out to help the teenager who had fallen during the botched robbery, grateful to have witnessed the villains being taken down. He smiled in relief, but then noticed an irritating figure before Spoiler did. Kite-Man, on his way to commit a petty crime, abruptly stopped, impressed by the hero's singing.

Kite-Man: Dang, you sing really well!

Spoiler spotted him and grinned beneath her mask. As she flipped her hair back, her long blonde locks brushed against the teen's face, causing him to rub his eye in irritation.

Spoiler (with pride): Well, you see, I’m classically trained.

Kite-Man: In choir?

Spoiler (beaming): No, karaoke!

Kite-Man (sincerely): That’s awesome, it really shows!

Spoiler: Aw, thanks! By the way, aren’t you the kite guy?

Kite-Man (laughing): That’s right! Kite-Man’s the name, and I’m quite popular in Gotham.

The teenage boy standing next to Spoiler shook his head in disbelief at Kite-Man's ostentatious claims.

Spoiler: Okay, okay, you're not about to break the law tonight are you?

Kite-Man (lying): Just on a nightly stroll, not committing any crimes.

Spoiler: Huh, um, well you complimented my masterful singing skills... you can't be that bad. I’ll let you go this time. Consider yourself pardoned.

Kite-Man (smiling): Thanks! What’s your hero name?

Spoiler: Spoiler. Former Robin. Current girl boss.

The boy beside her rolled his eyes, genuinely perplexed that this was happening right in front of him.

Kite-Man: I like it! Thanks, Spoiler. See ya!

Spoiler waved as Kite-Man pressed a button his suit and flew away.

Spoiler (shaking her head with a chuckle): What a goofy guy.

Teen: He’s pretty dumb too, but aren’t you supposed to arrest him? He breaks the law all the time.

Spoiler (shrugging): Eh, he’s mostly harmless. I doubt I’ll be seeing him again.

Kite-Man’s Antics Continue

She was not correct about the not seeing him again. Over the next few weeks, Chuck—aka Kite-Man—continued his sporadic crime spree around Gotham.

Purse snatching

Stealing from stores and gas stations

Robbing the same three banks

Swiping prizes from an arcade because the ticket prices were “totally criminal.”

And while she agreed with that last part, Spoiler just couldn’t catch a break; she always ended up confronting him, no matter the time or the weather. It wasn’t just that she was encountering him; she was the only one actually arresting him. Here she was once more, stepping in during an active robbery at Bill’s Gold and Pawn, a place Stephanie thought of as a hub for taking advantage of others.

Spoiler: Don’t be him, don’t be him, don’t be him! Don’t be robbing this pawn shop—

Spoiler kicked the door to the shop open and rushed inside, spotting Kite-Man holding a sack for cash and aiming what was unmistakably a prop gun at the frustrated worker.

Spoiler (exhausted): God damn it- Oop!

She swiftly covered her mouth, mortified at her mistake.

Spoiler (frustrated): You just made me swear! Thanks a lot!

Kite-Man: Oh… sorry! How you been, Spoiler?

Spoiler: Not great; my ex-boyfriend stole my car and crashed it—why are you robbing a pawn shop?!

Kite-Man: These people rob customers! They’re selling an iPad for $250, which I bet someone traded for cash and only got half that back.

Worker (sheepishly): She… got a hundred dollars back.

Kite-Man shot a glance at Spoiler, as if he believed she completely grasped his reasoning. She somewhat did, but she wasn’t about to let him off the hook, especially since Batman had been suspicious of her for a while, given how consistently he managed to evade her.

Spoiler (annoyed): Kite-Man!

Kite-Man: Come on, I need the money!

Worker: You’re stealing Pokémon cards and cash, dude.

Kite-Man: Can’t a guy have hobbies?

Spoiler covered her eyes with a hand, perplexed by how she had ended up with this relentless crook on her hands. He wasn't a cool villain or even insane enough to fear for her. At this point, he was just an annoyance.

Spoiler: Why is this my life?

Oracle (over comms): Spoiler, don’t waste time; you need to arrest Kite-Man.

Spoiler (into her comm): Oracle, butt out of this!

Oracle (annoyed): Oh, well ex-freaking-scuse me. I’ll just stay quiet while you deal with your “friend.”

Spoiler: He’s not my friend! Oracle, focus on someone else!

Kite-Man (confused): Oracle?

Spoiler: Um, it’s Bluetooth with my… mom, who also happens to be psychic.

Regret washed over her as she realized her mistake in labeling her highly catholic mother as a psychic. At least she was there to hear it, but Kite-Man nodded understanding.

Kite-Man: My aunt was a psychic. She predicted her husband would die… she left out the part about her stabbing him to death. You know, Spoiler… we’re kind of in sync today.

Spoiler (stunned, whimpering): What?

Kite-Man turned his attention back to Spoiler with a grin.

Kite-Man: You’ve stopped my crimes more than any other hero in Gotham! You don’t mop the floor with me like Batman, Nightwing, or Red Hood. You even let me escape a few times!

Spoiler (frantically pressing her comm): That happened one time!

Oracle (scolding tone): Spoiler, be honest.

Spoiler: Okay, rule of threes! Three times, and I have reasons for all of them!

Oracle (with a mocking tone): I'll make sure Batman gets those reasons. I'm texting him as we speak. You can continue bantering with your friend.

Spoiler heard Oracle chuckling with amusement causing the hero to clench her fist in anger.

Spoiler (replacing all curse words): Son of—glip glop meep top slot pot! Dang it! Batman is going to chew me out!

Kite-Man: Oh my God, same dude! Hell yeah, we’re still in sync! This has got to mean something.

Spoiler's eyes widened as she processed where this conversation was heading.

Worker (joining in with a smile): Dude, she’s like your… rival. The one you battle with the most. Like if you're committing crimes, she shows up!

Kite-Man (excited): Yes! Joker and Batman, me and her, him or them- no judgment, I respect the pronouns you go by.

Spoiler (squeaky voice): Why are you respecting my possible pronouns? This is not happening!

Kite-Man (snapping his fingers and lowering his prop gun): I know this is crazy right, but that means I have my first rival who isn’t a six-foot-tall man in a bat costume! We’re rivals! And look at you—you’re young too, so thank you for making me your first rival. Hell yeah, high five!

Kite-Man held up a hand, waiting for a high five. The disinterested worker shrugged and slapped Kite-Man's hand as Spoiler seethed, her left eye twitching.

Spoiler: Okay, hold up—I’ll take the young compliment, thanks, but that’s not—this is not—

Spoiler's rant is interrupted by a cackle from Oracle, which quickly escalated into a laugh that seems to last forever. Spoiler groaned in frustration. She had to squash this before it became permanent then she would arrest Kite-Man and go about her day.

Spoiler (waving her hands to end the conversation): No, no, no! That’s not even the right word. You’d be my nemesis.

Oracle (between laughs): Oh yeah, give it a different word. That’ll fix it! I told you just to arrest him—nope, you just kept it going! Karma!

Spoiler (ignoring Oracle): “Nemesis” is the word if we were that, but we’re not!

Kite-Man (missing the point): Nah “rivals” sounds better and it works for us. We have good banter and you let me go that first time we met—

Spoiler (irate whispering): Would you stop saying that out loud?! Oracle, you did NOT hear that!

Oracle (gleefully): I already sent the text, girlfriend. You two continue your chat. I’m just enjoying my water.

Growing furious, Spoiler stormed over to Kite-Man and snatched the prop gun from him. She started punching him in the nose until he collapsed on the floor, groaning in pain.

Spoiler (to the worker): We’re not rivals—I mean, nemeses!

Worker: Kind of seems like you are.

Spoiler: Whatever! Your opinion means nothing, because you resell people’s valuables for outrageous prices after giving them a quarter of the value!

Kite-Man (weakly lifting a finger): That's what I’m saying! They’re the true villains!

Spoiler (dropping the fake gun onto Kite-Man's head): Shut the frack up!

After the chaos, she escorted Kite-Man out of the pawn shop and toward the Gotham police station. Just before the cops took him away, he cheerfully addressed one of the officers with some great news.

Kite-Man: Just keep an eye on her—she's my rival, and I'll see her again.

Spoiler: Stop manifesting this it's not happening! I'm not your rival or nemesis! I'm just the one who saves your sorry self more than any of the other fifty heroes in Gotham!

A drug dealer sitting in a nearby cell clutched the bars and chimed in, echoing the disbelief of everyone nearby.

Dealer: You just confirmed what he said, but you twisted the definition.

Jim Gordon (sitting at the front desk): Pretty much. He’s an idiot, but he’s not wrong—you're rivals.

Spoiler (yelling): We are not!

Oracle (laughing): Would you just leave? I'm about to pee myself, this is hilarious.

Spoiler pivoted on her heel and marched toward the door, but Kite-Man's next words stopped her in her tracks.

Kite-Man: Sorry about your crappy boyfriend stealing your car, Spoiler. Crazy exes are the worst; I totally get it.

Dealer: Oh yeah, he’s definitely your rival.

Spoiler refused to continue the conversation and walked out of the precinct grumbling under her breath.

Int. Stephanie Brown's apartment - Midafternoon

In her apartment, Stephanie sat across from her mother, Crystal Brown, as they talked about Kite-Man. Crystal, an Irish immigrant who moved to America in her twenties, had been married to Clue Master for a time before thankfully leaving him.

She struggled with a prescription pill addiction for a while, which strained her relationship with Stephanie, but she'd since recovered and found faith. A small silver cross necklace hung around her neck at all times. Today, even though, Stephanie wasn't in the mood for her mother’s often annoying religious musings, she needed to vent to someone free for the day after Bruce had scolded her for letting Kite-Man escape three times and throwing a fit at the police station.

Stephanie: I can’t stand him! He'll be there with a goofy weapon or bungling and just when I think I can handle it, he starts talking. He sounds like a total douche from California!

Crystal: Sort of like that one man ya dated in college?

Stephanie nodded, burying her head in her hands.

Stephanie: He is so annoying! His whole schtick is wearing a kite suit! Not flying a kite, which would actually be cool—his suit is the kite, and somehow he knows how to fly it!

Crystal (placing a hand on her chest): My word, I thought your father had a stupid schtick.

Stephanie: Right?! I was so frazzled during that pawn shop robbery that I lied and said Oracle was you, and that you were a psychic! I even cursed!

Crystal (bothered by one detail): All right, I can understand the cursin' with a man like that—I was married to Clue Master after all—but don’t drag me into ya lil charade as a charlatan. I’m many things, but I’m not into mysticism. God knows all, not me—

Stephanie groaned, having expected her mother missing the point.

Stephanie: Ma, focus! He keeps saying I’m his rival, which is totally not the right term, but at the same time, he’s not wrong. He’s messing with me, and I can’t shake him off! Bruce is already mad that I let him get away! How was I supposed to know he’d rob all those places right after?

Crystal: Aye, well, first off, Arthur has met this Kite-Man and said he was a goofy nuisance in prison but considers himself the best bad guy in Gotham… so there’s that. And as much as it pains me to say it, Bruce was right it wasn’t smart to let him go.

Stephanie (monotone): I don’t know what scares me more: that you’re agreeing with Bruce or that now I find myself agreeing with Arthur. Oh God, he’s making me see eye to eye with my father!

Crystal: You won’t like this next part then… from the way you’ve been describing him, I hate to say it, sweetie, but he’s—

Stephanie (covering her eyes): Don't say it.

Crystal placed a supportive hand over her daughter’s.

Crystal: I'm sorry, love, but he's your nemesis - or the rival thing.

Stephanie whimpered, lowering her head in shame. Her mother patted her hand with a plaintive smile. She just wanted this day to end, but with Kite-Man potentially joining her rogue gallery, it seemed this wouldn’t be the last time they crossed paths, nor would it be the last time she’d have to arrest him or let him go.

A/N: I chose to write this because I love the trope of bumbling villains who mistakenly thinks they’re a hero’s main adversary. Kite Man believes he’s Spoiler’s (Stephanie) ‘rival’—a word I used when I forgot the word 'nemesis.' Although Spoiler doesn’t like him, he sees her as a cool hero who doesn't beat him up as badly as Batman has. This dynamic is reminiscent of the Flash’s interactions with his villains. It's inspired by jokes from Kite Man, Hell Yeah!

24 notes · View notes

cailinsblog · 14 hours ago

Note

hi!! can we please get something with quinn based off the song “WAIT!” by kelsea ballerini?? thank you so much! <3

Hiii thank you for the request💕💕 I have never heard this song so I’m sorry if it didn’t come out as planned I did listen to it before writing this so.

Wait!-quinn hughes

Quinn hughes x reader

Masterlist

Quinn Hughes had always been the kind of guy who lived for the game. Hockey wasn’t just a sport to him—it was his purpose, his escape, his everything. But one night, during a rare off-day, his world tilted in a way he hadn’t expected. It all started with an invitation to a party thrown by a few of his teammates.

Quinn had never been much of a partier, preferring to rest up and focus on training. But something about the event called to him, and maybe it was the feeling of being a little lost in the routine, or maybe it was just the pull of something different. Regardless, he found himself there, walking into the buzzing apartment in downtown Vancouver, feeling the familiar mix of excitement and nerves.

The music was loud, voices were blending together, and yet, when his eyes found her, everything seemed to stop.

Y/N was standing by the window, a drink in hand, her laughter bright enough to cut through the chaos of the room. She wasn’t trying to be the center of attention, but there was something magnetic about the way she carried herself. Not loud or brash, just... real. Like she didn’t need anyone’s approval, and that kind of confidence was intoxicating. Quinn found himself gravitating toward her, almost unconsciously.

"Hey," he said, his voice a little unsure despite the fact that he was used to commanding attention on the ice. "I’m Quinn."

She turned, and their eyes met, something electric in the space between them. "Y/N," she replied, her smile warm and unbothered. "Nice to meet you."

The conversation started casually, about the weather, the city, the usual party small talk. But soon enough, it felt like they were talking about everything—life, dreams, frustrations, and what they wanted out of it all. It felt easy with her, like there was no rush, no pressure.

But just as Quinn started to feel like he could be himself around her, the familiar weight of his reality returned.

"I should probably get back to my teammates," he said reluctantly. "But I’ll catch up with you later?"

She nodded, her gaze soft but thoughtful. "Yeah, sure."

But as Quinn made his way back into the crowd, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d just stumbled upon something that might change everything. His heart was pulling him back toward her, but his mind reminded him of the game, of his responsibilities, of the long road ahead. He had to stay focused—no distractions.

But the next few days were a blur. Quinn tried to push the thought of Y/N out of his mind, but she lingered there, woven into his thoughts. The late-night practices, the adrenaline of games, the post-game interviews—they all felt like noise compared to the quiet conversations they'd shared that night.

And then, she texted him.

“Hey, hope your game went well tonight. Just wanted to say it was nice talking to you.”

He stared at her message for a moment, then quickly typed back, his fingers almost moving on their own.

*“It was great meeting you too.

#hockey #nhl #nhl x reader #fanfic #quinn hughes x oc #quinn hughes x you #quinn hughes imagine #quinn hughes x y/n #quinn hughes fluff #qh43 #quinn hughes x reader #quinn hughes smut #quinn hughes #vancouver canada #vancouver canucks #nhl fanfiction

34 notes · View notes

vmpssd · 2 days ago

Text

character : ivan

contains : fluff, teasing, waist-grabbing, nwlnw, not for fem-aligned public, suggestive, interrupting ivan's training.

deliberately, you would tip-toe to the white room, minimalist drawings and patterns on the walls when you breathed, exhaled and started to hold it in, certain that nothing would distract ivan from his daily training sessions

wood-made, the floor beneath the quiet of your steps would be on your side today, not even a single crack being heard when you got to stand behind the owner of the hypnotizing,

yet, deep voice that almost distracted you from the whole focus of why you came to his room during busy hours,

ivan was wearing something specifically intriguing today.

normally, you wouldn't mind, his physique would make all clothing he ever put on look gorgeous and ivan was used to the staring,

of course, the only eyes he would get flustered to were yours, which seemed to accentuate his every curve and today was no different

with your tongue hanging next to your lips with a smile resting there, the tip of your fingers tingling with excitement for the forbidden, you reached out below the man's torso slowly,

a silent ‘gotcha’ surging with the soft hum of the air conditioner on the room, fingers gently taking the shape of ivan’s waist in, now, your palms

your back straightened when your gaze moved, watching how ivan relaxed under the touch of your fingers and the small, almost imperceptible spasms of slight shock when you tightened your grip on both sides of his waist

smooth, even his outfit couldn't hide how perfect he was to grab, your fingers dancing on the edges as your chest was pressed against his back

chuckling, ivan would breath out to the caress going down to his hips now, pretending that he would let it go unnoticed when everything you wanted was a reaction from him

not turning to face your amused smirk at his features softening to the feeling of your gaze watching him, ivan’s voice would find its way to him, ‘hello there,’ leaving his lips, mostly staring at the wall, having a break from his training, ‘thought’ you were busy?’

‘mh, wanted to see you,’ is what you replied, fingertips pressing down on the fabric as you inhaled ivan’s fragrance without leaning forward, ‘you should wear those more.’

upon your words, ivan’s smile turned to a smirk, tilting his head back, ‘oh,’ the realization of it getting to him, his tone with a harmless teasing, ‘why that?’

for once, you would bite down on your lip, asking yourself about what you would say and how ivan would see it as. after much of internal dialogue, you mumbled out, ‘showin’ your curves more,’ silence, before you let it all out, ‘i like your waist.’

ivan’s body reacted to the possessive grip on him, his gaze going to places known to both, smiling down to where you had further touched him countless nights before.

your nails brushing against ivan’s pants, playing with the small belt holding them when ivan gently pushed his devices away from him, his earphones off and placed on the table to his right side,

warm, strong hands involving yours when ivan encouraged you to not keep your desires at bay, the soft fabric of his clothes under your palms.

whispering, ivan had no tiredness in his voice to come to a sudden conclusion of resting with you, looking at you over his shoulder, ‘i should take a break.’

‘you should,’ you whispered back, a warmness spreading on your chest before a hint of something more intimate flashed in your eyes, ‘sorry for disturbing today. i’ll make it up for you.’

ivan’s voice reached your ears, low but slight mocking when not losing its caring, ‘aw, don't worry,’ hands making you take yours off him before turning to you, his thumb on your lower lip, ‘you will.’

latest work.

masterlist in progress.

#. ◟⠀ 𖩨 c. writing ㅤ #ivan alien stage #ivan x reader #ivan alien stage x reader #alien stage x reader #gender neutral reader #not fem aligned #not proofread

52 notes · View notes

starsfic · 2 days ago

Text

The Week After, Chapter 5: Day 5

Summary: Things snap. Notes: There is smut on the AO3 version of this. There are warnings for the smut.

The show was going to be rigged.

Now that Morgan knew more about it and had sat in the office, listening to Frankie and the board rambling about the next season plans as they thought they were tuned out, it was absolutely fucking rigged. Now that they were here, they would be involved in it, making sure either them or that monster version of Frankie won for however many seasons. Until the show shut down or the audience got bored of one of them.

Morgan didn't need to train. But they wanted to, otherwise they would doom themself without the aid of anyone.

No, scratch that.

There was an itch deep in Morgan's systems. They couldn't get the proper hit without Monster Frankie, but apparently, the backup body wouldn't be turned on until a week before the show. It was fine. There were other ways to make the adrenaline rush through their systems, even if the parkour palace's systems weren't running.

They stepped inside Frankie's Crash Course from the hidden elevator, pressing the big red button next to it. As the elevator doors slid close and the saw blades began to dull whir, they headed to the STAND HERE mark. The long-sleeved leotard they had dug out in replacement of a shirt felt a touch too revealing, but it was the best parkour clothes they had. They needed to stock up. At least they had good sneakers.

The timer began to count down, unlike during the show, as the blades grew louder. The minute it hit zero, the two minutes began.

It started slow at first. Morgan side-stepped and jumped easily without a real sweat. They fought back a snicker as cardboard cutouts of Frankie joined. As one with his hand up zipped past, they high-fived it. The ground was soft but solid underneath their feet, kinda like the material the daycare at that one pizza place was made of, so there was no fear of injury, except from the stronger and stronger saw blades and the faster and faster stuff trying to push them into the saw blades. Still, they continued on, gritting their teeth and forcing their body to move faster and faster, even as an ache began to thrum through their body.

I should have stretched before . That was a note.

Five…four…three…two…one-

The timer stopped, leaving things half frozen. Morgan came to a stop, breathing and out, their throat dry and aching. They needed to bring a water bottle next time. During the show, they had nearly died from the amount of coughing from lack of water.

They headed to the elevator.

They first headed to their apartment to get the waterbottle they got from a college tour, back when they were still with their family. Next, they headed to the trampoline park.

They worked their way through the parkour palace. They had to head back again when they remembered Deputy Duck’s section and grab him. He had kinda been dropped with the rest of the show outfit and ended up propped on a counter, where he had sat silent. But after some poking around in his jail cell, they found a charging port and resisted a smile at the broken quack. Morgan didn’t know if Depity Duck was sentient, like the others, but that quack had sounded like a thanks.

Frankie spoke up when they entered Henry Hotline’s section.

“What are you doing?”

Morgan nearly walked into a wall from their jump. They couldn’t find the light switches for this section. When they had been cleaning up the bodies, they had relied on the flashlight on their phone. At least this gave them practice. “Practicing.”

“You’re going to break something,” Frankie said. They couldn’t tell, but he either sounded concerned or mocking. “Did you even wrap up your chest after that fall at the frosted peak?”

The fall in question had been high. Really high. Morgan’s chest did ache, but it wasn’t anything to worry about. The ache in their ribs from their first fall, back during the show, didn’t even bother them anymore! At least, not until they started training.

“I’m fine, Frankie.” Morgan reached out and allowed their right hand to press against the wall and started to walk. They needed to run this, but that would come second. “I want to give the viewers a show. I want to earn the victory.”

“Well, you can’t do that if you break an arm or something.” Frankie said, and he did sound annoyed. “Come back and let me look at it.”

“No, I’m fine.” Morgan’s pace began to speed up.

There was an annoyed groan. “You’re being stubborn for no reason. Let me help you keep us both active and alive here.”

“No.” For some reason, probably the tone he took- like he was babysitting a kindergartener, they refused. “I don’t need your help.”

He groaned again, this one longer and more annoyed. “Come. Here.”

“No!”

The wall suddenly yanked out in front of them. Several questions joined the pile, including the fact that the walls could move. Their plan to map out the maze was suddenly unavailable. The intercom crackled. “Come. Here. You’re putting both of us at risk.”

Well, now, they had to. “Fuck you too,” they called, still turning and heading back where they came, eventually seeing the phone that started the game. “I can get hurt if I want to!”

The intercom was silent now.

Morgan grumbled as they headed to the elevator, slamming the button for the utilidors. As the elevator headed down, they found their foot tapping against the floor. The repeated gesture didn’t help the anger boiling in their gut. They had just been preparing. They had been working on it all day, why was he suddenly pitching a fit?

A strange smell hit their nose as they drew closer to the office. Bafflement washed over them as they turned the corner and saw that the smell came from the cigar that Frankie was smoking as he glared at the cameras.

“You can smoke?”

“It’s new. It’s a better method of hurting myself than whatever you were doing.” he snarked back, pulling the cigar out and stamping it out in the ashtray that had popped up. He turned and, yep, that was a glare, even if his face couldn’t make a glare. “If you get hurt, there’s no guarantee you’ll be fine before the show, which hurts your chances and mine.”

“So?” Morgan said with a huff, crossing their arms and ignoring the spike of pain. He had made them angry, there was no way they were admitting weakness. “I need to practice. You can’t stop me.” On a dare that popped up, they leaned forward and grinned. “I’m not yours.”

#my writing #Finding Frankie #FF #RabbitRoyale #Bunnybank #LuckyRabbit #The Contestant #Frankie #Real Frankie #Other Frankie

24 notes · View notes

x-press-it · 2 days ago

Text

Devilish Desires - 4/9?

Dangerous Temptations, Irresistible Touch 🎞️❤️‍🔥🌹⚔️🖤💻🖱️

Sub!Logan Howlett x Dom!OC (They/Them)

Summary: Logan, typically guarded and dominant, finds himself captivated by E, a mysterious being with a devilish allure and ancient presence that challenges his control.

Context: This story unfolds 'within' the "Days of Future Past" new timeline, during Logan's early years as a history teacher at Xavier’s School. It’s set well before his consciousness from the original timeline reconnects with him in 2023, as seen at the film’s end.

Content Warnings (for the whole story): Smut 18+ (Dry humping, Edging, Unprotected p in v.) - Dom!Logan into Sub!Logan - Pet Names (Good boy, pretty boy, pet, pup, amongst others...) reversed age gap (Logan is younger) - OC Notes: Established name, backstory, powers, fighting style, female body but gender fluid character (Logan misgender them at first because he doesn't know, even in the descriptions) - Mention of other character from the MCU and subtle references to the comics for flavor (not mandatory to understand what is happening) - Flash back and mention of past trauma - Fluff with Dark Undertones: Emotional tension and possessive affection - Worship Themes: Religious imagery, reverent language and awe - Ancient Mysticism: References to otherworldly or demonic presence - Mental Health: Power dynamics, personal vulnerabilities - Trope: Rivals to lovers. I'm back after 10 years of iatus and fairly new to how things are done on tumblr now, so sorry if I missed any warnings. Also english isn't my first language so there might be typos/weird sentences...

Notes: Got very inspired by sub!Logan and repeated listening of "Between wind and water" by Hael. Cover made with canva from an idea I got from this post. If you know who made the picture, tell me so I can credit them - Click on the divider to find the creator. Also this was meant to be an imagine turned into a full story. Just so you know, some chapters are very short, other are long. I'm in the process of editing/writing/rewriting parts so I'll post a chapter everytime I have one fully edited. This was another hard chapter to edit/rewrite, but I did it ^^ I hope you guys like fighting/sparring scenes ^^" Ok, let's feed that hunger, shall we? ;)

Need some music? I've got you

Previously: in Devilish Desires

Chapters: 4/9?

Word Count: 9.9K / 50K+ for now

In the days that followed their meeting in the library, E kept their distance from Logan. They must have been tangled up with all the contract adjustments and whatever else came with their mysterious agenda, or at least that’s what he assumed. Logan couldn’t say he minded their absence; if anything, the tension between his shoulders had finally started to ease, and his routine felt a little less invaded.

He hardly saw them around the mansion. E would appear in passing, usually on their way to Charles’s office or briefly dipping into the library, but they seemed to vanish as quickly as they appeared. They never crossed paths otherwise. Not in the gym, where he’d half-expected to catch them training, nor in the kitchen, where they always managed to get there before him and leave behind only faint traces—a mug in the sink, an empty coffee pot. Even Ororo, who spent most of her time outside tending to the gardens, mentioned she hadn’t seen them lingering around the grounds. And as the days dragged on, Logan felt the empty space they’d left lingering.

A part of him was curious now, his wariness easing as he'd learned more about them. He’d gotten a glimpse of them beneath that composed exterior, enough to see that they weren’t the threat he’d originally thought, maybe even enough to say they weren't so different from each other—if he squinted. Their goals didn’t seem so far from his, and neither did their need for freedom. He found himself wondering, almost against his will, what they were doing when they weren’t working. It didn’t sit right, not knowing.

And soon enough, he realized he’d started keeping an eye out for them. Them, the person who’d been in his face day in and day out for weeks, was now barely a shadow in the mansion’s daily rhythm. It was… odd, and the feeling only grew with each day they didn’t cross paths.

But then, on the fifth day after their meeting, Logan’s curiosity finally got a break when Charles called the team to his office. He could sense something was coming—the air in the room was thick with it. The team gathered, shifting uneasily, the only absentees being the three younger members. Logan leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his gaze as sharp as ever as he watched each person in the room. His eyes kept circling back to E, who stood slightly off to the side, their expression a wall of carefully constructed calm. They didn’t look at him or anyone else, a clear signal they weren’t here to play nice.

Charles cleared his throat, drawing their attention as he settled behind his desk. “I’ve called you all here to discuss an important matter regarding the security of the school.”

Logan’s gaze narrowed, his instincts already piecing together that this had to do with E. Sure enough, Charles’ steady look swept across the team, his voice carrying a calm authority. “It has been decided that E will be training with you all from now on. They won’t be part of the team, but as they work here at the school and have the right to defend it, it’s important for everyone to understand their abilities. In case of an attack, we all need to be on the same page.”

The discomfort in the room was tangible. Everyone shifted, casting skeptical glances at E, who remained silent, almost impassive. Their appearance looked more severe today—dull skin and eyes, their horns lacking their usual shine, and their hair pulled back in a tight bun. They wore mostly black, save for a few touches of dark red, with no jewelry and only the barest hint of makeup. Jean watched them closely, brows furrowing as she tried to read their thoughts, but E’s sharp glare in her direction made it clear that wall wasn’t coming down.

Scott was the first to voice his hesitation, clearing his throat as he looked between Charles and E. “Is that really necessary? We’ve never had any outsiders train with us before.”

Logan couldn’t help the low chuckle that slipped out. “Forgot about me, Summers? I was an outsider once, too.” The words hung in the air for a heartbeat before he cast a quick glance at E. Just as he expected, their attention—once fixed on their perfectly manicured red nails—flickered to his, briefly meeting his gaze before quickly looking away, the moment slipping by as quickly as it had come.

If they weren’t friends, Scott would’ve probably fried him with his visor for that comment, but Charles remained patient as he waited for the room to settle. “E works alongside us here,” he said, voice steady but unyielding. “They have every right to protect the students, just as we do.” His gaze swept over each person, settling on them a moment longer than necessary. “It’s important we trust one another in times of crisis.”

Logan’s gaze drifted back to E. They stood rigid, a subtle tension in their posture that hadn’t been there before. If he was reading them right, they didn’t want to be here any more than the team wanted them here. It wasn’t just distance, it was a quiet wariness, like they were on guard against everyone, Charles being the only exception. Even Jean’s curiosity only earned another glare from E, a silent warning to stay out of their head.

As the murmurs of agreement wrapped up the meeting, Logan lingered, eyes settling on E. He wasn’t wary of them anymore, not exactly, but something about them made him curious. He’d seen a glimpse of who they were under that mask. He wasn’t sure he trusted them yet, but he respected them—at least enough to want to see more of what they were capable of. And there was that other thing, too; he’d noticed it in the faint shadows under their eyes and the worn edges of their aura. Whatever was keeping them going seemed to be running thin.

“Hey,” he called out before they could leave. They turned slowly, an eyebrow raised, the only indication they’d heard him.

“When d’you have time to spar?” he asked, trying to read their reaction.

Their face barely shifted, but he could see a glint of amusement behind their guarded look. “Right now, actually,” they replied, their voice steady and even. “Unless you’re busy.”

Logan pushed off the wall, straightening his posture. “I’ve got time.”

They nodded, excusing themselves to change and, twenty minutes later, they met him at the bottom of the staircase. They were both now dressed in gear more suitable for what lay ahead, and Logan couldn’t help but notice the way their presence had shifted from the last time they spoke—the carefully polished exterior was there, but the energy behind it was dimmed, like they were holding something back. As they stepped outside, Logan led them to a secluded corner of the grounds, far from prying eyes. The shaded glade lay far from the main paths, ensuring no students or teachers would wander by, a quiet space with plenty of room to move freely.

As they reached the clearing, he rolled his shoulders, flexing his arms and testing his range of motion with a low, almost eager hum in his throat. “Alright,” he said, a smirk tugging at his lips. “Let’s see what you’ve got.”

E’s lips curved into a faint smile, tight at the edges, as they removed their shoes, grounding themselves in the cool grass. Logan studied them, and it seemed like even the glint in their eyes was dimmer than he remembered; they looked tired, worn.

“You sure you’re feelin’ up for this?” he taunted. “Look a little beat.”

At those words, a faint smirk tugged at their lips, a dangerous spark lighting in their eyes—not quite playful, but charged with a hint of anticipation as they settled a few feet from him, their toes curling slightly in the green blades. “Looks can be deceiving,” they stated, their eyes narrowing with a brief, steely flash. “So don’t hold back.”

Logan chuckled, a low growl under his breath . “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

They shifted into their stances, circling each other slowly, and Logan took a moment to assess them, noting their balance and posture, looking for signs of fatigue or hesitation. E looked drained, their skin and eyes lacking the usual intensity, their expression guarded but when they lunged forward, it was with a speed and grace that took him off guard. They were light on their feet, with an economy of motion that spoke of years of training. Even so, they lacked their usual edge. He’d felt their agility before—those brief, charged touches when they went after him over the past couple of weeks. But now, with their first steps, he saw a whole new side to them.

As Logan moved in, he blocked their strike, and the force behind it surprised him. They were damn quick, and strong enough to make him realize he couldn’t take this lightly. He dodged a swift kick, aiming a punch in return, but they twisted smoothly out of his reach, moving with a precision that was… stunning.

A flicker of respect—maybe even awe—stirred in him, and he noticed the shift almost immediately. E’s movements, initially strong, suddenly sharpened, a faint glow sparking in their eyes as they draw strength from his reaction. Each impressed thought, every ounce of admiration, pulse under their skin like fuel, strengthening them further.

Their smile widened, feeling the strength coursing through them now, a flash of teeth as they spun around him, arms a flurry of open-palmed strikes and swift fists. Logan blocked most of them, dodging the rest. They weren’t just good—they were damn good. And as his recognition grew, he felt an odd, almost tangible energy radiating off them, a surge that seemed to seep from the esteem they stirred in him.

“Not bad,” he grunted, his breath steady despite the exertion. The thrill of a real challenge was humming through his veins, the kind that made his blood come alive. But he couldn’t ignore that other feeling creeping in, like something slipping just beyond his control, something wild and powerful in E that his respect seemed to unlock.

They closed in again, and as their bodies met, Logan realized just how agile they were. It wasn’t only that they were fast; it was the precision of each movement, the way they slipped around his strikes like water weaving through rock. He found himself pushed harder, each dodge and block requiring his full attention.

Their style was unlike anything he’d seen before: smooth, swift, each movement flowing into the next like a performer weaving between shadows. There was a seamlessness to their steps, an exotic grace laced with foreign influences he couldn’t quite place—Arabic, maybe, or something even older. As they exchanged blow after blow, it felt like choreography, mesmerizing—E’s motions were fluid and graceful, carrying a rhythm and elegance that Logan could respect, even as he fought to keep up. This wasn’t just skill; it was... Art. And the more he admired it, the stronger they became, each spark of his interest feeding into their movements like an unseen force binding them.

Realization struck him like a blow—yes, they were good, but their power was intensifying, fueled by him.

He’d heard of mutants who could channel the emotions of others, drawing strength from positive thoughts like attention and interest. But feeling it now—feeling their strength mirror his thoughts… it was unlike anything he’d experienced.

They were more than a match for him, and his respect for their skill, their grit, surged. The moment that thought crossed his mind, E’s strikes grew even faster, their focus intensifying, and he was almost sure of it now. His every impressed reaction were seeping into them, fueling their intensity.

Their strikes picked up speed, and Logan found himself on the defensive more than he’d anticipated. They were fucking sharp. For every hit he blocked, two more came at him from new angles, as if they were testing him, pushing him to see just how far they could go. And with each strike, with every dodge, their energy grew, their fatigue seemed to melt away. The fire in their eyes reignited, and their form tightened, honed into something intense and unyielding.

He went in close, using his instincts to counter their movements, but with each passing moment, he witnessed how his respect only made them stronger. It was mesmerizing—and unsettling. The bond felt tangible, like an invisible current between them, and it was taking on a life of its own.

Logan ducked under a high kick, his instincts leading the way, and countered with a low sweep that nearly knocked them off-balance. E rolled out of reach, landing on their feet with a fluid twist that made Logan pause, even for just a fraction of a second. The way they moved was intoxicating—a mix of elegance and deadly purpose that sparked something inside him. He couldn’t help it; for a split moment, he was simply watching them, almost spellbound.

But there was no time to linger. E closed the distance with a burst of energy, a flurry of controlled, powerful strikes, fists and open palms, that had Logan moving on impulse alone. Each hit was controlled, precise, but damn, the force behind them kept him on his toes, like they were trying to push him to his limits. And maybe, deep down, he wanted them to. He blocked, deflected, and when he caught their wrist mid-swing, he allowed a small, knowing smirk to flicker across his face. That’s when he saw it—the glint of mischief in their eyes, quick and bold. E twisted out of his grasp with a move so smooth it felt like he’d tried to catch water.

Logan tightened his grip as they shifted, pulling them back to him, but the moment their faces were mere inches apart, time seemed to pause. Their eyes were locked onto his, unflinching and intense. There was something fierce there, a silent challenge that pulled at something deeper inside him, stoking the embers in his guts. It was like they were daring him, testing him not just as an opponent but as someone who understood the fire behind their eyes.

E must have seen the battle between reason and desire flicker in his gaze because they seized the moment, breaking free in a swift motion. Logan let them go, both impressed and curious, wanting to see what they’d do next. They didn’t waste a second, attacking with renewed vigor, moving like a force of nature, their body a seamless weapon of precision and raw determination. Logan could feel the shift—a resolve in them, the power that had been lying dormant now fully awakened. They weren’t holding back anymore, weren’t playing it safe. The series of blows they threw with rapid precision drew him into that primal place where his instincts ruled, and he was forced to meet them there, letting the feral part in him slip closer to the surface. The thrill of it sparked through his veins like wildfire.

“Alright,” he growled under his breath, almost laughing as he absorbed another blow and stepped back, chest heaving. “So you’re not playin’ around.”

Their eyes glimmered, never breaking eye contact, that confident grin tugging at their lips. They let out a breathy laugh, low and challenging. “You finally noticed?” they teased, their voice smooth with the thrill of the fight. There was something almost predatory in the way they held his gaze, the way they readied themselves for the next round. The air between them was tight, charged, every breath a shared battle. They circled each other once more, both panting heavily now, both intent, and Logan shifted his stance, ready for whatever came next.

He braced himself as they lunged, and this time, he met them head-on, gripping their fist mid-swing. The impact sent a shock through them both, a raw electricity that stilled the moment. E didn’t pull back, and neither did he. The space between them buzzed with an unspoken understanding—a recognition of equals, of opponents who respected each other enough to give everything.

Logan’s gaze drifted over their features, taking in the fierce focus, the glint in their eyes that had come alive in the heat of combat. He could feel his own pulse thundering in his chest, the thrill of the challenge, the sheer admiration for their skill. Whoever they were, whatever their story, they were damn impressive.

Their faces stayed close, eyes locked in a dance of silent words and wild, racing thoughts. He realized then, amidst the push and pull, that they weren’t just sparring. They were testing each other, challenging what they thought they knew.

When they finally broke apart, their breath heavy, Logan took in the slight rise and fall of their chest, the gleam of sweat on their neck. He let out a slow, impressed hum. “You weren’t holdin’ back, were ya?” His voice was low, rough with something more than exertion.

“Not my style.” E’s sly smile was full of restrained satisfaction. “But I thought you’d be a little faster, Wolverine,” they taunted, breathing hard, a mischievous edge to their tone.

Logan chuckled, the sound more rumble than laugh. He rolled his shoulders, a smirk playing on his lips as he nodded. “And you’re better than I thought. Maybe I misjudged ya.” The admission came with its own weight, but it felt right. “Wasn’t expectin’ you to get that fired up.”

And there it was again, that pull in the air between them, a flash of mutual acknowledgment that only seemed to heighten E’s energy. It hung in the air like an invisible thread, binding them to something that was no longer just a sparring match.

“Guess you bring out the best in me,” E added, their voice softer now but no less charged as they straightened, wiping a sheen of sweat from their brow.

This fight, this moment, was more than just a test of strength; it felt like a line had been crossed, an unspoken understanding forged in the heat of battle. Logan’s heart skipped a beat in his chest, and for once, he didn’t bother suppressing the feeling. He’d had his fair share of fights, of sparring matches, but this had felt different—charged, almost like a trial, a test that had changed something between them.

He let a smirk tug at the corner of his lips. “Seems like we both do, huh?”

Their gaze glinted, a hint of mischief mixed with something he couldn’t quite place. “Careful,” they said, voice low, “You might actually start liking me.”

He shook his head, though a glint of something warmer shone in his eyes. “Don’t go gettin’ ideas. I still don’t trust ya,” he said, though there was a reluctant admiration in his tone. “But I can’t deny you’ve got skills.”

They both stood there in the quiet clearing, the tension between them heavy and electric. It wasn’t just the fight that left him on edge—it was that undeniable force that surged through them, the energy that seemed to bloom under his attention, his respect.

They held his gaze a moment longer, something unspoken passing between them. And finally, E’s expression softened, the intensity in their eyes dimming as they nodded slightly. “You ever want another round, you know where to find me,” they said before turning on their heels, the tension between them lingering like the echo of a battle not quite over.

As they walked away, carrying their shoes in one hand, Logan felt a strange pull, something magnetic urging him forward, a reflexive need to know more. Before he could think better of it, he called out after them, half-jogging to close the distance. E paused, glancing back with a raised eyebrow and a hint of amusement in their eyes.

They were checking their phone, frowning at a few missed calls, their thumb hovering over the screen to call back. But before they could hit the button, Logan spoke up, his voice steady despite the racing of his heart. “When d’you reckon we could do this again?”

They looked up, and for a second, there was a gleam of something mischievous in their eyes, a playful spark that was hard to miss. Their lips curved, and that teasing smile tugged at him in a way that caught him off guard. “Oh, can’t get enough of me now, huh, pretty boy?”

Logan felt a tingle in his gut, the playful edge in their voice threw him for a second, that casual nickname landing unexpectedly. They made him feel like he was fifteen again, trying to play it cool in front of someone who seemed way out of his league—a completely new feeling for him. A part of him wanted to fire something back, maybe a quip about how he wasn’t in it for them, but for their skills. But he deflected instead, maintaining his composure. “I want to know more about your style. It’d be good for the team. Could give us an edge, y’know?”

“Good for the team,” E echoed, amusement flashing in their gaze as they cocked their head, weighing him. “If you say so.”

They turned their phone over in their hand, clearly tempted to tease him further, but before they could say anything, he cut them off, “Remember the training sessions Charles mentioned in the meeting? Did he told you about the Danger Room?”

E raised an eyebrow, a smirk playing at their lips. “I might have heard of it… but maybe you could tell me a little more?”

Logan nodded, sensing an opportunity. “Well, it’s…let’s just say it’s our own personal, high-stakes training ground. If you want, I can walk you through it sometime.”

E considered him for a moment, their posture straightening as they regained their composure. “Alright. How about we meet back here tonight, after dinner, for some sparring again, and then you can tell me more about this danger room you’re talking about.”

“Tonight, huh?” he said, a hint of a smirk returning. “Yeah, I can make that work.”

“Good,” they murmured, their hand brushing his arm as they stepped past him, a fleeting, electrifying touch that sent a shiver through his skin. It was nothing—a casual touch—but it was enough to spark that strange charge between them again, something he could feel deep in his gut.

“See you tonight, then,” E said with a half-smile, their voice low, almost intimate. They turned, heading back toward the mansion with that damn sway in their step, every move as deliberate as their fighting style, leaving him there, watching and feeling just a bit off-balance. He couldn’t shake the feeling that, tonight, he was in for more than just another spar.

Logan was no stranger to being haunted by his thoughts, and most of the time, it was his past. But this was different—it wasn’t memories lingering in his head, it was someone alive and present, shifting through his thoughts like they had every right to be there. He’d spent the better part of the day moving from task to task, hoping that the routine would get his head on straight. He’d given three history lectures to classes who looked mostly bored out of their minds, walked the mansion perimeter twice, and even joined Hank in the lab for a solid hour before irritation got the best of him.

And still, every damn time he tried to clear his head, they were there. E. A quiet thrill snuck through him at the memory of their last spar, at the way they’d moved with that sharpened focus, picking up on his admiration like they could feel it.

Which they probably could. If his suspicions were right, E could sense admiration the way he could sense a lie—and that alone was a reason to keep his distance. But he hadn’t, not really. He’d leaned into it, watching the way they seemed to glow under his attention. That look in their eyes when they caught his gaze? Couldn’t shake it.

Damn it, it was making him question everything.

You’re not some lovesick puppy, bub, he thought, dragging his hand through his hair, frustrated. Get your head on straight.

E wasn’t his responsibility, not in the usual sense. He wasn’t there to watch over them or protect them. That wasn’t his job. Not that they needed him to, anyway. But the pull they had on him—some strange mix of curiosity and something else—wasn’t something he could easily shake off. He wasn’t sure if it was admiration, attraction, or something more dangerous, but it gnawed at him all the same.

Things never ended well when he got close, especially with someone like them. It was better, safer, to keep his instincts in check.

But still, when he thought about seeing them again, it felt like a twist in his gut, like he was waiting for something he couldn’t name, something primal. It was maddening, intoxicating—a feeling he hated as much as he longed for. And he couldn’t help himself.

His thoughts braught him back to them again, as he remembered the way E’s strikes had picked up speed, their movements sharpening with every surge of his admiration. The memory sent a chill down his spine. His jaw clenched as his mind raced. The urge to spar again—to see how far he could push them, what more they could become—tugged at him. But damn it, he had to remind himself to focus. He was here, not in the damn glade.

“Get ahold of yourself, damn it,” he muttered, hoping the sound of his voice might help break the spell. “You’ve got enough ghosts followin’ you around, don’t go invitin’ another.”

But E wasn’t a ghost. They were sharp, present, and so fucking alive. He didn’t want to admit it, but that made all the difference. This wasn’t some lingering regret or phantom from his past. It was real. And that made everything harder.

It wasn’t just his admiration—it was the way they challenged him, the way they made him feel. That pull, that instinctive response—it was there, simmering under the surface. And maybe that was what scared him the most.

Because even now, he couldn’t decide if it was them or their powers making him feel this way. The pull was real, but was it them? Or just some side effect of them feeding off his admiration?

Damn it. Logan clenched his fists, trying to shake it off. But no matter how much he fought it, E’s presence lingered, just out of reach, but never really gone. They weren’t his responsibility, not really—but hell if his instincts weren’t practically begging to make them his.

Hours dragged on, the sun dipping lower in the sky, but Logan found himself waiting for night to come. Waiting for the next sparring session. His body was wound tight, focus frayed, and he knew damn well it was because of them. No matter how hard he tried to pull himself back, some part of him was already leaning forward, eager to step into that clearing again, to see how much further they could go, how much more they could push each other.

His reason fought to resist, but he honestly wasn’t sure how much longer he could keep fighting it.

Logan settled into his seat in the dining room, but he wasn’t really there. He’d forced himself to join the others for dinner, hoping that the casual chatter would ground him, help shake E from his mind. But as plates clattered and conversations flowed, he found his thoughts still circling back to them—and to the way their strength had fed off his admiration. It gnawed at him, that feeling he’d fueled them somehow, that his respect had made them stronger, sharper. A part of him didn’t want to go down that road, but damn if he wasn’t already obsessing about the next sparring session, counting down the minutes.

He tried to focus on the idle talk around the table, but most of it only seemed to make his hackles rise. People were talking about E—debating whether they’d be joining the team in the future or if this was just a one-off thing. To them, it felt like E was edging their way in, and they didn’t like it. He could see the unease in Bobby’s frown, the way Marie’s gaze flitted to him, clearly feeling out where he stood on all this.

Eventually, the young woman turned to him, her brow raised in question. “So, Logan… what d’you make of her?” she asked, misgendering E without a second thought. “You’ve spent more time with her than the rest of us. ”

His reaction was swift and sharp, his tone a bit harsher than intended. “Them,” he corrected, voice edged. He took a steadying breath, reigning himself back. “They prefer ‘them.’”

Marie and Kitty exchanged a glance at that, a silent conversation that didn’t escape his notice. He forced himself to ignore it, though the sting of irritation remained, mingling with a faint, unexpected defensiveness. He wasn’t the type to stand on ceremony or correct people just to be polite. Still, he wasn’t going to stand by and let them talk about E without a damn bit of respect. But again, why the hell did he feel like he needed to stick up for them?

He tried to keep his tone casual as he shrugged, downplaying it like he didn’t care one way or another. “They’re alright. They’ve helped me out with some legal work, actually. Seems like they know what they’re doing. We sparred too… they’ve got a style that’s different. Pretty sharp. Could be good for you all to pick up some of that.”

The more he spoke, the harder it became to keep the admiration out of his voice. It wasn’t just that they were capable—there was something in the way they moved, the way they fought. Respect had never come easily to him, but with E, it was there, raw and undeniable.

Kitty raised an eyebrow, intrigued, and Logan felt a small spark of irritation as she leaned in. “What’s so special about it?”

He tried to keep it casual but the words flew out of him before he could stop them. “It’s… fast, strong, fluid… almost like watching something crafted. Like art.” Damn it. He hadn’t meant to let so much appreciation slip through, but it was hard to ignore how their moves had lingered in his mind all day.

His comment hung in the air, and he could see the others’ gazes shift toward him, noting how his tone had softened. He resisted the urge to roll his eyes, feeling a bit exposed under their scrutiny.

“What’s their power, though?” Bobby asked, curiosity written across his face.

Before Logan could even think of a response, a smooth voice coming from the doorway cut him off. “Don’t you know it’s rude to ask a lady about their powers?”

Logan turned, catching sight of E leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over their chest, a teasing smirk on their lips. They looked different than they had after sparring earlier—not as radiant, but still damn good, with that casual confidence that could set anyone on edge. They had changed again, now in some kind of foreign traditional outfit, somehow looking both beautiful and dangerous as their gaze shifted over each face at the table.

Bobby’s cheeks flushed pink at E’s words, and he fumbled for a response, while Marie shot them a half-hearted glare. Logan didn’t miss the slight flicker in E’s expression—a hint of something softer, like a crack in their armor, but it was gone in an instant, too quick for anyone else to catch.

Ororo was the first to break the silence. “What brings you here, E?”

E straightened, sauntering into the room with an air of nonchalance, though their smirk said otherwise, metal chiming on their ankles and wrists. “Sorry to interrupt,” they said, though the smirk made it clear they weren’t sorry at all. “I’m just here for Logan,” they added when reaching him, their hand finding his shoulder and resting there, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

Logan’s frown deepened at their words and actions—like they owned him, like he’d just been summoned. Something primal flared within him at the look in their eyes, and he fought to keep his own expression in check, unwilling to let that part of himself show.

“We had another sparring session planned,” he explained quickly, shrugging off their hand, his tone a bit too abrupt. He didn’t want them getting any strange ideas about what this was.

E gave a small nod, a glint of mischief in their eyes. “Yes, a sparring session,” they repeated, voice low and almost playful. Their gaze lingered on him for just a beat too long, that glint sending his instincts flaring.

They turned with a casual wave of their hand, bracelets chiming with the motion, before glancing back at him over their shoulder as they sauntered back toward the hallway. “I’ll be outside. Don’t take too long,” they tossed back with a wink, disappearing around the corner.

The room went quiet as E left, the tension hanging thick in the air. Logan forced himself to finish his meal, trying to ignore the eyes on him. He could practically feel the questions lingering unsaid, the looks exchanged behind his back. But he kept his focus on his plate, forcing himself to eat slowly even as impatience thrummed beneath his skin. Finally, he excused himself, heading into the kitchen to put his dishes in the dishwasher before slipping out the back.

When Logan reached the clearing, he found E sitting cross-legged in the grass, the deep black of their tunic blending with the shadows, disturbed only by the dark red sash at their waist. When they shifted, the golden and crimson bracelets at their wrists and ankles chimed softly, each note cutting through the quiet night. Even their hair and makeup, immaculately done, added an edge to their poised, lethal beauty—a sharp contrast to the rawness of their last sparring session.

They looked like they were dressed to perform and, for a few heartbeats, he was mesmerized. They were utterly still, chest rising and falling so slowly that they could almost pass for a statue, something sculpted by a master, with an eye for each curve and line. The moonlight washed over them, casting an ethereal glow that only added to the aura around them, one part mystery, one part raw strength.

They had felt him, of course. He didn’t have to make a sound; the energy rolling off him was enough. A faint, knowing smile blossomed on their red-painted lips, soft at first, then sharper as it settled. Eyes still closed, they spoke, their voice smooth as silk in the quiet night. “I’m glad we’re doing this again, Logan.” They paused, savoring the weight of his gaze. “I couldn’t focus all day. You… lingered.”

Logan felt his pulse kick up a notch, his mind flicking back to his own restless day—the way he’d had to force himself to push through the usual motions, when all he really wanted was to get back here, back to them. He tried to keep his expression steady, giving a small shrug as he stepped closer. “Your style’s… intriguing,” he said, hoping it sounded casual, unaffected. But he knew better, and they did too; the spark of warmth they felt from him seemed to seep into their own energy, feeding them.

They savored it, and now he could tell. He watched as something in them shifted, as if they were becoming more than they had been a moment earlier, like his presence and attention added a new depth to their form. Finally, they opened their golden-hooded eyes, meeting his gaze head-on. The shimmer of the powder accentuated the sharpness of their stare, turning it into something almost regal.

Rising to their feet with the delicate chime of metal, they moved with an effortless grace, stretching in a way that was deliberate, flexing their muscles as though reminding him of what he was about to face. “It’s called kalaripayattu,” E said, their voice steady. “It was my foundation. But… it changed, especially in Turkey.” Their gaze darkened momentarily, a flicker of something painful passing through their expression before it settled into a smirk, masking the past. “Not all evolutions come from the best places.”

Logan's jaw tightened at the admission, a familiar pang settling low in his chest. He’d seen that look before—the one that spoke of scars hidden under skin, memories too heavy to carry yet impossible to drop. The urge to say something, to tell them he understood that kind of burden, nearly surfaced, but he bit it back. This wasn’t the moment for words; they both knew that. Instead, he nodded, letting the unspoken understanding hang between them as he rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck as he watched them, that low hum of anticipation lighting up in him again.

E grounded themselves, digging their toes into the grass like they did before their last fight, finding their balance in a way that was both practiced and primal. Their stance shifted, flowing into something new—a crouched position, one leg stretched back and the other supporting them low to the ground, arms raised toward the sky, palms pressed together, like a warrior in prayer. The pose was unexpected, striking, and undeniably dangerous.

“You ready for round two, pretty boy?” They smirked, mischief dancing across their face, challenging him in a way that was hard to ignore.

Logan felt his pulse spike at the nickname, an involuntary reaction he stubbornly refused to acknowledge. It got under his skin in a way that was both infuriating and exhilarating, making his chest tighten with something unspoken. He cracked his knuckles, returning their smirk with one of his own. “You think you got it in you to keep up?” His tone was thick with confidence, with that hint of wild pride that only emerged when he faced someone capable of pushing him to his limits.

“Oh, I know I do, sugar.” They let the word roll off their tongue with a teasing lilt, eyes gleaming with challenge.

They shared a look, two rivals who’d found a rare equal, sizing each other up, caught between the thrill of the fight and the satisfaction of knowing that tonight, there was no one else who could possibly match them.

And then, as the tension reached its peak, both held taut in that breathless moment, they launched at each other. Their bodies collided, a clash of motion and control, every inch a dance of precision—not with brute force, but with a dynamic grace, a synergy that felt almost primal. E moved first, sliding low to the ground, almost flowing, their actions fluid and deliberate, bracelets and anklets chiming with every shift. Each touch, each brush of their hand along his arm, shoulder, and side was deceptively soft, like a caress meant to lure rather than harm. But Logan wasn’t fooled. He felt the energy coiled in every motion, understood just how deadly each one could be if they chose it to be. He knew the strength they were capable of. Those strikes—gentle as they were—carried a restrained power, and he sensed it, a whisper of the damage they could inflict if they changed their mind and decided to hurt him.

They circled each other in a rhythm that came as naturally as breathing, bodies weaving in and out, almost as if bound by a magnetic pull. E struck out with an open palm, a grazing motion that skimmed across his ribs, a warning rather than a blow. Logan responded, ducking low and twisting around, countering with a restrained swing that they sidestepped with ease, pivoting on one leg, the other extended gracefully behind them. Their fighting style was a thing of beauty—each move sharp, controlled, yet inherently lethal. It was all in the restraint, the elegance in the way they flowed around him, closing the distance only to slip away, like waves ebbing back from the shore.

The touches, brief as they were, left lingering warmth against his skin, almost delicate in contrast to the fierce intent that lay beneath them. Logan could sense it with every shift in their stance, every breath they took—if E wanted to, they could bring him to his knees. It was a tantalizing threat, one that made his blood sing with the thrill of the fight.

In return, he matched their intensity with his own. He countered with his own practiced moves, his ferocity meeting their grace—rougher, rawer, like fire pushing against wind. He didn’t back down, wasn’t about to let them get too close without a response. He dodged, weaved, barely avoiding some of their strikes, slipping by with mere inches to spare. When they made contact—a calculated strike to his shoulder—he could feel the charged intent behind it, even as they held back, making him stagger back just enough to shake it off, smirking, before charging in again. They danced around him, a perfect, untamed rhythm building between them, and he found himself moving faster, sharper, like every step forward fueled the energy between them, both testing the other without any intent to truly harm. He could feel it in the air between them—something feral, almost like a mating ritual, the way their movements mirrored, challenged, and matched.

They struck again, this time low, forcing him to leap back and adjust, his grin widening with every movement. It was as if they were bound not by competition but by an unspoken connection—a bond that thrived on the intensity, the way they pushed each other without ever holding back. They were not opponents, nor allies in the typical sense. There was no give, no yield. Neither wanted to win or lose. They just wanted to keep moving, to stay in that almost sacred moment, as if time could stretch itself around them, infinite, like two forces swirling endlessly into one another, an ouroboros that neither began nor ended.

E’s presence seemed to shift, to pulse with each strike and dodge, a captivating intensity building under the lights as if drawing energy from the exhilaration in Logan’s gaze. The more he felt—admiration, awe, the raw thrill of the dance—the more vivid they seemed, their form almost transcending reality in the moonlight. Their eyes gleamed with pure, unfiltered joy, and he saw it, saw the way they thrived under his gaze, every ounce of respect and challenge he sent their way amplifying their allure, making them seem more vivid with each passing second. They absorbed his fire, his strength, and reflected it back, their entire being moving with an entrancing grace that felt more alive than the world around them, their movements turning quicker, sharper, a need to show him more, to perform for him, to be seen. It was like they wanted him to witness the full extent of who they were, to understand how much he fueled them, empowered them.

And still, they did not relent. They wove through their attacks with such artful grace, arms sweeping in wide, lethal arcs that never quite struck him, but came close enough to make his heart race. Logan could feel the tension build in every swipe and brush of their hands, a coil wound tight within him, a primal urge to keep going, to fight like this until the stars themselves faded from the sky.

In a final sweep, they pivoted and leapt into the air, their body twisting mid-flight as they spun over his head, landing with barely a sound, crouched low, their gaze burning as they looked up at him, alive with energy, skin aglow. They seemed transformed, radiating something almost otherworldly, as if their exchange had unlocked something deep within them.

They rose slowly, never breaking eye contact, a faint smirk tugging at the edges of their lips, and Logan felt a surge of awe and something deeper, something inexplicable. This hadn’t just been a fight—it was communion, the give-and-take of two forces that could spend eternity bound in this endless, exhilarating cycle. In that timeless, breathless exchange, Logan felt the truth of it. He’d found someone who matched him, who fed off the same fire, who thrived under the heat of his gaze just as he could under theirs. And as he steadied himself, breath ragged, he knew one thing for certain—he didn’t want this moment to end.

But then, unexpectedly, E burst out laughing—an honest, unrestrained, melodic laugh that broke free as if from a place long hidden. They threw their head back toward the sky, eyes closed, arms open, an untamed joy that caught Logan completely off-guard. That sound—it wasn’t mocking, nor was it triumphant. It was raw, genuine happiness and it sent a ripple through him, something deep and visceral. His chest tightened at the sight, at the way E’s expression softened for just a breath, letting the mask slip enough to reveal the humanity underneath all that skill and bravado.

It lasted only a few heartbeats, but in that space, Logan felt a shift. The air between them crackled differently, heavier, as if the laughter had broken down an invisible barrier neither had admitted was there. E’s eyes met his, searching, almost daring him to react, to see beyond the sparring and the guarded quips. For once, there was no battle in their gaze, only an invitation.

Logan’s eyes lingered on them as he tried to steady his breathing. A slow grin creeped across his lips, a rare thing that made the edges of his face soften, the soft, unguarded joy in E’s laugh still echoing in his mind. “Enjoying yourself, huh?” he said, voice rougher than he intended, a mix of exertion and something deeper. He’d seen them as fierce, elusive, hidden behind layers that only cracked in quick, playful smirks. But tonight, they’d shown him something true, almost sacred, and he couldn’t look away .

E’s smile didn’t fade as they stepped closer, their chest rising and falling in time with their breaths. “More than you know,” they replied, voice low and charged, carrying a promise unspoken yet understood. They stood close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from their skin, the space between them almost humming with potential.

Logan’s gaze couldn't leave them, their bare sincerity, their easy grace, the way they stood under the stars as though they belonged there more than any place he’d ever seen. For once, he was stripped of any clever response, any guard. He didn’t look away, either, though something in him warned he probably should. He could feel it—how much more they seemed to want to show him. How much closer he wanted to be.

They could feel the fire burning in his gut, feeding their hunger in a way that made the ache to stoke it grow stronger. Under his curious eyes, they began moving in slow, hypnotic turns, delicate and precise, metallic chimes echoing from their wrists and ankles. They were dancing—an ancient and untamed choreography, meant only for the night air, the moon, the stars, and him. Logan could almost feel the pulse of their energy in his bones, awakening that place deep inside him that almost never stirred, except in moments like this—moments fleeting and rare. His reason urged him to keep his guard up, but his defenses were slipping, worn down by the rhythm of their dance and the raw humanity of their movements. He found himself stilling, breathing slow, caught in the silent music only they could hear.

Then, they stopped, releasing a deep, contented sigh, like someone freed after being bound for far too long. They looked at him, an unfiltered calm in their gaze, and the sight of it drew something close to an ache in him.

“Thank you, Logan,” they said, their voice holding a warmth he rarely heard from anyone.

He gave a short nod, gruff as always, but inside, her words struck him with a strange weight. “Didn’t do much,” he muttered quietly, shrugging it off.

“Oh, but you did.” E’s lips curved up, but there was no teasing, no facade, only quiet gratitude. They extended their hands, twisting their fingers and wrists slowly in delicate, almost playful movements, while their bracelets chimed softly against their skin, as though savoring the freedom, the lightness they’d reclaimed. “Since you gifted me peace, tonight, I’m gonna give you a gift of my own,” they whispered, stepping forward. They reached out, their fingers brushing his forearm, a casual touch that set his nerves on fire. "You’re leaving yourself open here," they murmured, their skin grazing his, their voice close enough to send a shiver down his spine.

A current shot through him, sharp and electric, but he rolled his shoulders, masking his reaction behind a rough mutter. “Ain’t used to sparrin’ against dancers.”

“You’ll learn,” they replied, their smirk tugging back into place, the hint of that earlier mischief glinting in their gaze again.

For a moment, they both fell silent, the night air cooling around them. E’s eyes shifted upward, to the expanse of stars overhead, and Logan felt the pull too. The sky was scattered with pinpricks of light, stretching endlessly into the dark. It reminded him of how vast everything was, how small he was within it, how his years—his long, battle-hardened years—were just a blink in the vastness above. And yet here, with them, under this open sky, he felt strangely anchored.

Beside him, E’s voice softened, thoughtful. “You ever feel like you don’t belong anywhere?”

Their words hit him, catching him off guard, reaching into places he usually kept sealed. It gnawed at him, the way they stood there looking like a piece of the sky had touched down, that soft glow in their eyes, one of peace, of gratitude, maybe even of kinship. There were few people who’d ever asked him something like that, fewer still who might actually understand the answer.

“More often than you’d think,” he muttered, the words escaping before he could second-guess them. He kept his eyes trained on the stars, the expansive sky above, as if it could ease the ache that always lingered somewhere in his chest. “Don’t matter where I go, or who I’m with—there’s always this… hole. Even when I’ve got a good thing goin’ on.”

They stayed quiet, listening, and somehow that silence gave him the space to keep talking.

“I got a family here, I know that. Hell, got more people than I ever thought I’d get who actually care if I stick around or not,” he said, his voice gruff, but his words open. “But sometimes… feels like I’m just borrowin’ time. Waitin’ till somethin’ pulls me back out there.” He motioned vaguely to the woods, to the wild that always seemed to call his name when he lingered too long within four walls.

E shifted, their eyes softening, and that glow in them brightened almost imperceptibly, as if his words, raw as they were, had stirred something in them. They looked at him in a way that felt like understanding, a wordless acceptance of the parts he rarely let anyone see. He felt his pulse stir again, just under his skin, something vulnerable and hungry for connection clawing its way out.

“Maybe you’re meant to belong somewhere that’s not on a map, you know?” They tilted their head thoughtfully, a gentle shrug in their shoulders. “I know that sounds… vague, but some of us are a little too wild, even for this world. Doesn’t mean you’re without a place, Logan. Maybe it’s just somewhere different.”

Logan let the words sink in, feeling the honesty in them settle like warmth into his chest. He wasn’t used to anyone framing it like that. Usually, the mansion’s residents treated his absences like quirks, a fact of his nature, but it was different with E. They seemed to see through his wanderlust, to recognize something in it that went deeper than just the need to roam.

“Hell, maybe,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair as he tried to shrug off the sudden vulnerability that gripped him. “Dunno if anyone ever told me it was all right to be that way.”

“Guess I just did,” they said, that teasing gleam returning, but softer this time. “Wherever you belong, Logan… you’re welcome in my orbit.”

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What happened to ‘I don’t need anyone, especially not you’?” His voice was rough, but there was an unmistakable spark of curiosity in his eyes.

E’s expression faltered for a moment, a flicker of defensiveness tightening their features before they smoothed it out. “I don’t need anyone,” they repeated, but the words held a different tone now—less sharp, more open. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t offer a place to someone who needs it… if they want it.”

The words hung between them, suspended in the night air. Logan felt himself drawn to them again, a subtle battle between reason and instinct churning inside him once more. The reasonable part of him couldn’t fathom giving in to that unspoken need, but another part of him, primal, wanted to reach out, to take up their offer without a second thought. So against his better judgment, he let himself step closer, studying the way they seemed to radiate with a quiet strength, a calm that fed into his own unrest in a way he couldn’t quite grasp.

E met his gaze, eyes steady and searching. “Who knows, maybe it could calm the need to wander for a time.”

A flicker of something softened Logan’s expression as he watched them, the words settling deep. “Not a lotta people see me,” he admitted, his voice gruff but his gaze locked onto theirs. “Not like this.”

E smiled, soft but sure. “Maybe because most people aren’t looking in the right places.”

They reached out, their hand brushing his forearm lightly once again, this time lingering—grounding him as much as it startled him. The tension between them was palpable, gnawing at his insides, at that hollow void that filled him. It felt like their connection was solidifying, and it was dangerous. It made his pulse race, his mind screaming at him to pull back, even as every fiber of him longed to stay close. He felt the warmth of their fingers as they pulled away, leaving a faint tingle in their wake. And suddenly, he wanted to know more about them—where they came from, what scars they hid beneath their words and allure, where they honed their fighting skills, what their true power was. So many questions burned on his lips, but he settled for something less intrusive instead.

“What about you… you ever stick around long enough to feel like you could belong somewhere?” he asked, voice low. He didn’t know where the question came from, only that it was out there now, drawn out by a need to connect, another piece of himself he rarely showed.

E paused, searching his eyes. “Once, maybe,” they murmured, and for a moment, a flicker of something deeply personal passed over their face. “But not for a long time.”

The weight of their words hung between them. They shifted again, the lingering sorrow barely visible before it was replaced by their usual confidence. But Logan caught it, the faint sadness, the echo of a familiar ache that mirrored his own. For just a heartbeat, they weren’t his rival, his partner in combat—they were something else, something fragile and human, someone who understood, and it awakened his protective instincts, making his claws itch under his skin.

“Guess we both got a little lost along the way,” he said softly.

They nodded, still holding his gaze, that warm glow growing just a touch brighter. “Then maybe we don’t need a map tonight. Just… a moment to be here.” Their eyes softened, catching his, and the way they looked at him, as if he was the only other soul in the universe, chipped away at some wall he hadn’t even known was still there.

Logan managed a rough smile, a smirk that barely covered the pull he felt toward them. “Guess I could live with that.”

E’s smile spread, almost in relief, as the two of them stood there—not fighters, not strangers, but two people sharing the same quiet space under the stars, filling the empty places between them, if only for a little while. Before he could stop himself, his thumb found its way to their cheek. The pull between them felt almost tangible, a lifeline connecting two drifting souls lost in the unending current of life.

Their face relaxed instantly under his touch, their eyes closing as a deep sigh escaped their lungs. They sensed his desire before he even realized what he was about to do. The world around them seemed to fade, the rustle of leaves and distant hum of crickets dissolving into the quiet thrum of their hearts. He leaned in, his lips so close they could feel the warmth of his breath, the space between them charged with anticipation.

And then they felt it—a subtle, almost magnetic pull as the energy began to flow, unbidden, from him to them. It was faint, like the first tremor of a storm. Panic flickered behind their eyes as they opened, the realization sharp and immediate. With a graceful tilt of their head, E shifted just enough for his lips to brush their cheek instead, the warmth there a bittersweet reminder of what could have been.

Logan froze for a moment, surprise flickering across his expression before he blinked, as if shaking off a spell broken by the soft press of his lips against their cheek. He pulled back, eyes searching theirs for answers, confusion and something deeper swirling in their depths. The space between them thickened, heavy with the unspoken.

“I—” E’s voice wavered, a soft, apologetic smile tugging at their lips as their fingers drifted to the necklace at their throat, the cool pearl grounding them. “It’s late,” they said, each word layered with unexpressed longing.

Logan’s brows knit together, confusion still etched across his face as he took in their expression, the unguarded look that spoke of things they couldn’t voice. E took a long, steady look at him, memorizing the rough kindness in his eyes and the silent question he wouldn’t push. The pull between them ached with what they had to refuse.

With a deep breath, E took a step back. “Goodnight, Logan.”

The silence lingered as he watched them walk away, their silhouette fading into the night. Logan couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted—something deeper than he’d anticipated. And for the first time since they’d met, he wondered just how much control he truly had over the pull that tethered him to them, an unknown force that defied the walls he’d spent a lifetime building.

To be continued…

Notes: If you enjoyed it, don't forget to comment and spread the love 😊 More on the way!

✨ Masterlist ✨

Don't forget to follow the tags "Devilish Desires" and "xpressit writings" to stay tuned for the next chapters 😁

🔖 @quillycrow

18 notes · View notes

cyb-by-lang · 5 hours ago

Text

Cascade (part 4)

And here we have the internship beginning.

(Kei notes some divergences from what happened in Shell Game in her narration as we go. For the most part, these can be attributed to having way less time to meet up with her teammates and get them acclimated to Japan.)

Sorry, Ingenium.

After saying goodbye to the other students at the Musutafu train station, neither Kei or Iida talked during the trip to Hosu City.

While it wasn’t that uncommon for Kei to zone out completely on public transit, Iida would’ve said something out of politeness at the very least. There wasn’t that much of a crowd on the late morning train compared to either rush hour. They’d even both managed to find seats rather than clutching the overhead handles or the various vertical handholds.

Instead, Kei dug a book out of her non-regulation backpack and read with her forearms leaning on her costume’s carry case. Every once in a while, she’d either shoot a deadly glare at someone trying to approach the more-recognizable Iida or look at her classmate in concern. The former scared off interlopers, while the latter had no apparent effect.

Iida just sat there, like a super-tense robot.

Kei wasn’t even as close to him as Midoriya and Uraraka were, so directly asking how Iida felt…didn’t quite work, in her head. She didn’t have the kind of rapport where she could just say what was on her mind. Or punch it out of him and remain friends after. That was a Gai thing.

And we would not want that.

Though guess being genuinely me could still go worse. With a sigh, Kei turned her attention back to her light novel. Hopefully, some fictional violence would take her mind off some of the impending actual violence for a while.

Before she knew it, they were walking out into bright sunshine in a city Kei had patrolled once. Just not as herself.

Manual, the Normal Hero, turned out to be a plain-faced man with a generic ocean theme to his costume. His visored helmet even had a fin top, though nothing functional. Practical white boots, yellow gloves, and a skintight shirt divided evenly between blue and white rounded out the look. He greeted his case-toting interns with a smile and a wave and didn’t seem at all awkward about it. Manual didn’t seem to mind that Iida’s behavior and countenance was a little terse or that Kei tried to stay in Iida’s shadow all the way from the train station to his pro agency.

While Kei’s counterfeit Quirk was stronger than his by orders of magnitude, Manual was really no weaker than the average Kiri-nin. Like most shinobi, he relied on water already present in his environment to do his work, but in a city, he was never that far from a fire hydrant. More importantly, operating in an urban environment usually gave him a lot of pro hero allies within shouting distance.

For all intents and purposes, he was an ordinary pro hero with ordinary responsibilities in a city with a serious serial killer infestation.

Kei felt kind of bad for him, because both of his interns brought ulterior motives along with their literal baggage. Not bad enough to confess to anything, of course, but the thought lingered.

“Well, now that you’ve both arrived safely, let’s get you situated.” Manual didn’t have the same kind of winning smile as, say, All Might, but he didn’t really need it. He beckoned them to follow him into the building. “To cut down on the commute somewhat, my agency will provide room and board for the week. We also have locker rooms so you can get changed quickly for our first patrol. Meal breaks may vary a little depending on what’s happening in the field, but we’ll take good care of you.”

“Thank you, Manual-sensei,” Iida managed with a third of his usual bombast. Still, he bowed.

Kei clasped both hands over her costume case and mirrored him. “We’ll be sure to learn a lot from you this week, Manual-sensei.”

“I have no doubt!”

Kei’s borrowed room was smaller than her apartment’s bedroom, but it didn’t need to really be more than a cot and bathroom access to make her happy. Manual’s agency even had on-site laundry service, so the backpack she’d brought along would suffice for the entire week. Locking the door behind her, she quickly stripped out of her UA uniform and made the change to her “hero” costume.

Unlike some hero students who a) thought out their requests and b) chose a company that could take criticism, Kei dreaded looking at what she’d be wearing for most of this week. Even now, the design was a short, sleeveless kimono in dark blue wave patterns, long (unarmored) gloves that reached her biceps and only covered one finger apiece. It’d taken a round of angry revision notes to even get ultra-lightweight armor incorporated into the torso keep her vital organs covered.

Maybe they’d only given ground because Kei destroyed the first iteration “by accident” during the USJ incident. She’d probably never know. It fell on the cot with a faint rattle, though, so at least the nano-whatever weave chainmail component was still there.

Might as well get it over with. Kei took a deep breath and checked on the rest of the costume.

While the boots included shinguards, the designers went with a tabi look for the actual shoe component. The pants appeared to be basically skintight swimming trunks, probably because her listed Quirk incorporated so much water manipulation. And for some fucking reason, there was an obi with a massive bow on the back, trailing behind her as she walked. Kei was going to trip and eat pavement because of that thing someday.

Overall, what Kei pulled out of the case had barely been changed. She just got an extra belt with some pockets for stowing things like utility knives and little adhesive bandages for civilian boo-boos.

When Kei inevitably did an about-face and started her career of villainy as Cascade, the City Drowner, she’d start with the support company and knock their building down brick by brick. Yes, a safer bet would be to go to UA’s Support Department and demand revisions from people who weren’t so obstinate, but it would be so satisfying. Vindictively.

Still, she put it on. Including the hitai-ate that wasn’t Konoha’s. And the makeup to downplay her scar. The goal here was to appear as normal as possible—as a hero hopeful—to anyone observing her and not rock any boats. Certainly not literal ones, either. No matter how much looking at her reflection in the provided mirror felt wrong.

“All right.” Kei clapped her hands together to shock herself awake. She closed her costume case and took a deep breath. “I can do this.”

Kei emerged from her temporary quarters feeling as awkward as she had during the Sports Festival, but no longer concealed by her official gym uniform and a whole crowd of similarly-dressed kids. There was no more camouflage to be had.

“Ah, Gekkō-san, right on time.” Manual got up from his desk and waved. “Once Iida-kun is ready to go, we can take on your first patrol as young hero-hopefuls.”

“Thanks, Manual-sensei.” Kei crossed her arms as they settled in to wait for Iida in the agency’s lobby. It didn’t really help cover her discomfort, but it did make her feel slightly better.

“Hm, that reminds me—what’s your hero name? I don’t remember seeing it on your paperwork.”

“Oh. It’s, um, Cascade. The Mist Hero.” Ugh, I sound like such a fake. Kei managed to mutter a rather lackluster explanation involving deadlines, not really enunciating any of it.

Manual gave her a thumbs-up likely meant to inspire confidence in the downtrodden. “That’s all right, Gekkō-san. I’ll just be sure to use it so you can get used to how it feels. I’m sure you’ll live up to the aspirations embodied by that name!”

More like live down to them. Heroes like Manual were so painfully earnest it made Kei’s hair want to stand on end. What did she do with that? “That’s…nice of you to say…”

“Well, here’s one more nice thing then: I think your hero costume looks good.”

Kei winced. She felt her whole body lean into that scrap of honesty and hated it just a little.

“I take it you don’t?”

“…No, Manual-sensei. It doesn’t feel like me.” Because it wasn’t. Not really.

“Maybe one of the goals you can work on for this internship can involve that, then.” Manual suggested it like it wasn’t a big deal. “Feeling comfortable with yourself.”

To be fair, it probably wouldn’t be an important issue once Kei got into an actual fight. Most of the distractions faded away once her blood was up and there was someone who needed a beatdown.

But in the meantime? Uuuuuugh.

Thankfully, there was a shiny and chrome option right there. Manual also noticed, then waved, “Oh, Iida-kun! Over here.”

Iida’s full-on Ingenium look was so much more complicated—visually and emotionally—and storied than Kei’s ongoing fight with support companies. He got to look like either a sentai villain or a turbo mecha, and his armor theoretically deflected attacks before he had to see if they’d bounce of his bones. It was one of the reasons that Iida was completely jacked, apparently. Besides, well, the whole running lifestyle. His hero outfit also came with a helmet that almost entirely concealed his face—except for his eyes—and made his voice echo in a simultaneously cool and kinda creepy way.

Iida really should’ve taken a better internship somewhere else. Anywhere else.

“Manual-sensei, I’m ready for duty,” Iida said firmly, despite Kei’s doubts. He was so serious about this that he didn’t even swing his arms for emphasis. “Please lead the way.”

“Of course. Come along, you two.”

Patrol as a concept was…fine.

Mostly boring.

Kei didn’t exactly mind walking all over cities. A lot of what Hosu citizens wanted out of their local heroes was a token showing. If that meant they also got help taking in their laundry or rescuing cats from trees, so much the better. She did a lot of the same things in Konoha when just starting out as an adorable little genin. There was little expectation of violence in broad daylight. Even petty criminals—those stubborn or uncreative enough to strike without any stealth consideration—were lying low for the moment.

Basically, the point was deterrence. Though the Hero Killer had earned that title, he didn’t attack groups of heroes. No, he hunted solo operators. Or maybe just whoever separated from the pack, regardless of specifics. Now the city was crawling with potential fights and potential victims.

Kei mostly hoped Iida didn’t plan to shove his way into the ring. When Ingenium was attacked, he’d been running ahead of his sidekicks and fought a guy specialized in close combat in a blind alleyway. Obito barely managed to get him to the hospital afterward, and if not for Kakashi’s tracking abilities, they might never have found him at all. From what Kei’s teammates said about it, there was a real chance Iida Senior would never get the full use of his left arm back. And the engine in it was probably beyond repair.

“We’ll mostly be patrolling the local area so you can get a feel for how this works,” Manual said, living up to his name. “Later, we’ll branch out.”

“Yes, Manual-sensei!”

Still, Kei did miss running across rooftops with her friends. Her job today, though, was to stay firmly bound by gravity and societal expectations. And not hunt down Stain like the slippery bastard he was.

So, Kei patrolled. Mostly, this entailed following Manual like a duckling while making sure Iida didn’t stray. Though that last part wasn’t said aloud.

Broken up by meals, breaks, and gentle encouragement from their pro mentor, the first day passed peacefully. Almost too peacefully for Kei to sleep soundly that night.

But the next day was similar, despite her worries. The absolute highlight of the entire eight-hour stretch was when Manual asked her to create water for him to manipulate and put out a car that had hit a light pole and caught fire. Iida managed to keep the victims calm while alerting emergency services, who then had to cut the driver out of the vehicle. Overall, it was a good deed and only ruined progress during rush hour for twenty minutes more than usual.

And then, the third day. Honestly, Kei would’ve called it superstition if trouble had waited one more day into their internship, but it wasn’t to be.

On the third day, the patrol shift split between a morning and afternoon set. While Manual did lead Kei and Iida around until lunch, the next few hours after that involved a little bit of training and a lot of paperwork. According to Manual, almost everything pro heroes were responsible for involved forms in triplicate, and they’d be lucky if computers got involved at all. A lot of the smaller agencies loved their carbon paper. Even snagging the time for a nap amid the flurry of bureaucracy didn’t really improve Kei’s opinion of the whole thing.

Suffice to say that when it was time to head out just before sunset, Kei was happy to see the sky again.

“We’ll be patrolling Kyoto a little later tonight,” Manual explained as they went. “Sorry this is so monotonous.”

“No, it’s better this way,” Iida replied.

Kei nodded along, taking a moment to yawn and stretch before a potential third night of nothing much.

Instead of just continuing to walk until their feet all fell off, Manual drew up short and turned toward Iida. An unusually serious look was on his face. “Hey, Iida-kun. This is kind of hard to ask, but you’re after the Hero Killer, aren’t you?”

Iida startled. “How did you…?”

Manual’s expression went sheepish and self-deprecating laugh popped out of him. “I couldn’t think of any other reason you’d come to my agency.” Then his brain seemed to catch up with his mouth. “I mean, don’t get me wrong. I’m glad you did, but…you shouldn’t be pursuing personal grudges.”

Good thing someone wants to talk about that.

“We heroes don’t have the authority to arrest people or punish them. The only reason we’re allowed to use our Quirks is because of the regulations put on them,” Manual pointed out.

…Though that part’s still bullshit.

“That’s why, no matter what their reason might be, a hero must not use their Quirk for themselves.” Manual actually glared at Iida. “If a pro hero used their powers solely for their own ends, it would be a very serious crime.”

Iida lowered his head just the slightest bit, as though shamed. Just a bit.

Conscious of the awkward atmosphere, Kei coughed to remind them both that she was still present.

With that tiny reminder, Manual’s seriousness cracked. Using the kind of choppy hand gestures that Iida normally did, he stumbled his way through his attempt to downplay how serious he’d been. “I’m not saying the Hero Killer isn’t incredibly guilty! You just seem like the really earnest type, you know? I’d hate for you to focus on one goal and ignore everything else.”

Like Iida doesn’t have tunnel vision fit for a train.

“Thank you,” Iida said, giving nothing away. “I appreciate your concern.”

Yeah, that wasn’t an actual concession. That was a very careful sidestep.

“Oh, it’s fine as long as you get what I’m saying.” Manual turned to lead them onward. “So, we good?”

He totally missed the way Iida’s fists clenched at his sides, the tension in his shoulders, or the weight still dragging him down. Or, if he did notice, Manual didn’t have the tools necessary to deal with Iida’s bellyful of vengeance before the Hero Killer finally put in an appearance.

Kei tapped Iida’s armor with her knuckles as she passed, since he was falling a little bit behind.

“Gekkō-san, what is it?”

“Let me know before you do something reckless,” Kei told him, pitching her voice carefully enough that Manual’s helmet wouldn’t let him catch it. “Don’t just run off.”

Iida didn’t say anything in reply. It was like he couldn’t acknowledge her concern without exploding, and thus needed to keep his focus entirely on putting one foot in front of the other. If it made him rude, maybe he’d be able to apologize for it later. When he felt better.

But Iida also didn’t notice the tracking seal she'd just pasted to his black bodysuit, which Kei figured made up for that.

#cascade #keisuke gekko #iida tenya #crossover #shell game #my hero academia #catch your breath fanfic

15 notes · View notes