#opposite of slow burn

[cinnikiroll]

saved by the bartender (Dwayne Pride x Female Reader)

Summary: You thought you were just going to have a pleasant afternoon at the Trutone, drinking away your sorrow. But evidently, life had other plans. (Based off of Season 4, Episode 20)

I hope you like this fic (which is freakishly long sorry about that)! If you do, please feel free to follow me on my AO3 account for more. Below is a link to my account.

The Trutone's atmosphere was particularly calm today, Dwayne thought as he wiped down the bar, waiting for a customer to call him over for something.

Typically, on a warm summer afternoon like this, the bar would be packed with people- tourists and native Louisianans alike- trying to escape the oppressive heat and humidity that plagued New Orleans at the peak of the season.

But that seemed not to be the case today, as there were many empty tables, and the people that did come in only came for a drink or two before tipping Dwayne rather generously and going back out into the streets that smelled distinctly like melting asphalt.

The exception to this rule, he noticed, was a woman who was seated in a booth by the window. She occasionally ordered a shot of bourbon, but most of the time she'd just sit and stare out of the window. Evidently she was deep in thought, and judging by how much alcohol she'd ordered, the thoughts were not pleasant.

As Dwayne watched, the woman looked away from the window and made eye contact with him, tilting her head in a curious expression. She didn't seem to understand why she was being spied on by the bartender, but she didn't seem upset about it. In fact, it didn't seem as if she felt any emotions at all...

"Excuse me, miss."

Dwayne said politely, bowing his head to her before looking away.

He didn't want to make a fool of himself in front of his patrons, nor did he want them to think he was a creep who stared at women drinking alone. But damn, was that lady beautiful!

After a few moments, the woman got up and headed over to the bar, leaning against it with a smile. It was clear to Dwayne, being a skilled NCIS agent, that the woman's smile was more for his benefit than hers. There was no genuine joy behind it, just a simple extension of perhaps feigned politeness.

"You must be Dwayne Pride," she said in a tone that made it clear she already knew the answer to that statement.

"Pleased to meet you, darlin'!"

Dwayne tried to inject a great deal of joy into his voice, hoping that it would somehow make the woman smile. Judging by the way she narrowed her eyes, it did not have the desired effect in the slightest.

"Is there a reason why you can't seem to get your eyes off of me?"

Her tone was aggressive, but he could tell that she was pretending to be tough to hide a great deal of pain. That assumption was corroborated by the copious amount of liquor she'd consumed and the fact that she was wearing long sleeves and pants even in the summer heat.

As she leaned closer to him, the screen of her phone lit up with the movement, revealing her lockscreen photo of her and a rather angry looking man. The man had his arms around her, and his fingers were digging into the skin of her upper arms, doubtlessly leaving bruises. They were both smiling in the photo, but it was clear that she was terrified.

Seeing that image and then looking back at the outfit she was wearing, Dwayne put two and two together. The long sleeves and pants were to cover any injuries her boyfriend had given her, and the alcohol was to numb the pain of what was most likely an excruciating breakup.

Reaching out to take her hand in his and comfort her, he didn't notice the loud police sirens ringing out outside until it was too late.

"Everyone, put your hands up! Wallets and cellphones on the bar, now!"

The terror in the woman's eyes was almost palpable as she quickly dropped her phone and wallet on the bar along with everyone else. The men- a tall skinny man with dirty blond hair, a muscular bald man, and a rather worried African-American man- herded the bar patrons up against the windows, and Dwayne walked out from behind the bar to negotiate with them.

This is not how I assumed this day would go, he thought with a deep sigh.

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

Your heart was beating a million miles a minute as the extremely contentious bald man shoved you against a window. Despite being drunk, you could clearly tell that you were in great danger, and it made you feel ill.

The bartender, a handsome man who appeared to be in his 50s, calmly walked out from behind the bar, his hands raised in a placating gesture. His eyes flitted over to you once again, and you couldn't help but curl your lips into a small smile at the care he clearly had for you.

"Let's negotiate calmly," the bartender, Dwayne Pride, said as he approached the bald man, who appeared to be the leader of the trio.

You're going to get killed, idiot!

You wanted to scream, but your words were trapped in your throat by fear. So you just fell down to a seated position by the window and shut your eyes, praying silently that Dwayne knew what he was doing.

After a great deal of arguing and many lies being exchanged- there was no way in fresh hell that anyone called Dwayne Pride 'D-Man'- it appeared that the angered leader of the group, a man named Boomer, was somewhat placated, which calmed down all of the patrons at least a bit.

When Dwayne walked to the back of the bar with the African-American member of the trio, who seemed very hesitant to even be in this situation, the slender blond man approached you, the way he walked with a sway in his step saying a lot about his intentions with you.

"You know, I know your ex boyfriend, girlie."

He said in a low, vitriolic voice that made chills go down your spine.

Not knowing whether to respond or stay silent, your eyes kept on flickering towards the entrance to the bar's kitchen, hoping you would see Dwayne returning soon.

"That bartender isn't going to save a little bitch like you," the blond man said, angling his arm that held the gun as if he was planning to hit you with it.

"W-Who even are you?!"

You managed to say, attempting to sound upset but just sounding like a scared little girl.

"Red Jacobs, asshole!"

The man exclaimed, bringing his gun down to your forehead with a sickening thump!

Pain flashed in your right temple, and you were blinded with tears. Trying to brush them away, you saw Red readying himself for another strike, his eyes full of hatred and callousness.

"Dwayne!"

You wailed, knowing your cry would most likely be useless. Even if he heard, why would a random bartender you'd just met defend you, of all people? You were just a pathetic woman who couldn't even defend herself against her own boyfriend. Honestly, you probably deserved this treatment.

Closing your tear-filled eyes, you waited for the next blow, memories of your boyfriend's frequent strikes through the many years you were with him flashing through your head.

But the next blow never came.

Opening your eyes, you saw that Dwayne had indeed heeded your call and returned, and was standing above Red, who he'd overcome and flung to the ground. A bloody wound on his temple similar to the one you had proved to you that getting the man away from you was hard, but he'd prevailed in the end.

"Dwayne?!"

You gasped in shock, gently pressing your fingers to the wound he'd sustained for you.

Silently, the bartender shifted closer to you and began to gently clean your bloody head wound with a rag covered in warm water and soap. In his pocket, you could see another rag that held a phone.

Following your gaze, Dwayne urgently whispered an order not to say anything about the phone. Clearly, it was a contraband item, and he would be injured and possibly killed if Boomer, the aggressive leader of the trio, learned of it.

"Thank you," you whispered in a voice choked by emotion.

Nobody had ever stopped men from hurting you. When you were with your ex and begged for help, everyone would just avoid you like you were carrying the plague or some other horrible sickness that'd kill them if they even got near you.

Being ignored in such a dangerous situation made you feel worthless, like you didn't even deserve to survive. But the tenderness with which Dwayne cleaned your injury and the injury he'd sustained himself trying to help you proved otherwise, that you were worthy of love, even if you didn't often receive it.

"Will we ever get out of here?"

You whimpered, feeling fear coursing through your veins once again.

The phone in Dwayne's pocket buzzed, and he rapidly switched rags, dabbing your wound with the phone rag and not the wet rag. He quickly typed out a response to whoever texted him and nodded to you.

"Yes, darlin'. We'll be out soon, I promise."

The way he spoke to you was gentle, loving. The look in his eyes mirrored his tone of voice perfectly. He truly did seem to love you.

"Why... why did you get hurt for me?"

After a sharp intake of breath, he responded in a low voice full of conviction.

"I'm a federal agent, I work for NCIS. It's my job to put my life on the line to save others."

Then, in a more hesitant, almost shy tone, he spoke again.

"Not to mention you're a gorgeous lady."

His compliment made you blush and your heart flutter, momentarily banishing all worry.

The sound of a large vehicle pulling up to the bar and Boomer's order for the hostages to all leave the bar now, however, brought all the worries back to the forefront of your mind.

You rushed outside, terror filling you at the horde of people that had gathered outside the bar. Hostage situations were evidently not common, especially one involving such a beloved man as Dwayne Pride. The people crowding you made you even more anxious, and you found yourself leaning against Dwayne's broad shoulders as he led you to the bus that had arrived to take you away to what was hopefully not going to be your deaths.

The bus ride was as uneventful as a bus ride full of hostages at gunpoint could be... until the police officer driving the bus suddenly began to beg not to have guns pointed at him.

Your brow furrowed in confusion at that. Why was the police officer lying? Boomer and Red had their guns pointed at the hostages, and Curtis Isaacs, the other man who had been a part of the trio, had been disarmed and was now included with the hostages after his previous stunt as a cop's CI had been revealed.

Nobody was threatening the driver, knowing that he was their only way to get to wherever they wanted to be. So why was he suddenly lying and pretending he was under threat of being injured?

After the driver repeated the same plea twice, Dwayne's eyes widened in shock, and he grabbed your body, throwing himself and you to the ground while ordering all the other hostages to do the same.

Confused, you opened your mouth to ask him why he had reacted the way he did, but the hail of bullets and rain of glass shards from the bus' breaking windows answered your question more effectively than any words could.

Blood sprayed through the air, dyeing your light colored clothes a sickening crimson red, and you found your chest tightening with anxiety, feeling a panic attack coming on.

Dwayne's tight grip on you never faltered once, and he constantly whispered soothing words to you as the glass rained down and groans of pain were heard all around you. His gentle, slow, deep baritone voice soothed your anxiety a great deal, but your heart was still chugging along at an obnoxiously rapid pace.

Please, God... help this end soon!

You begged, not knowing how much more you could take.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the attackers stopped firing, and Dwayne escorted- well, basically carried- your shaking self out of the bus.

As you were being treated by the EMTs for your head injury and several little cuts caused by the flying glass, Dwayne sat next to you and silently took your hand in his. It seemed as if he wanted to say something, but was afraid to or didn't know how to express it.

"You saved my life," you murmured gently, trying to encourage him to be open with you.

"You can tell me anything."

With a firm squeeze of your hand, he began to speak, pouring his emotions out in a torrent similar to the rain of bullets you two had just weathered.

"I didn't think I'd be saying this, but... I think I'm in love with you, darlin'. Now I know I just met you, so you must be thinking, This old man is crazy! And maybe I am, but..."

Dwayne hesitated, and you took a risk, leaning your head on his shoulder and putting your arm around him to try and make him feel more comfortable. It was clear that he rarely opened up about his emotions, so doing so was hard, but you wanted- no, you needed- to know why he loved you, what made him feel the way he did.

Feeling your gentle, loving touch brought Dwayne confidence, and he took a deep breath before continuing to speak in a shaky voice.

"Seeing your strength, knowing what you've been through... it makes me want to protect you. I want to find that ex boyfriend of yours and give him a beating for all he's done to you."

You gasped in shock at that, not wanting Dwayne to get hurt and also amazed by the degree of love he had for you. He'd hurt your ex boyfriend, the man who had caused you so much pain and trauma, just because he loved you? How could you deserve a relationship like this?

"I know I must sound crazy, but-"

Overcome with your emotions, you pressed your lips to Dwayne's, not knowing what else to do. His sentence was cut off, and his eyes widened in shock at your sudden display of affection.

"D-Darlin'?!"

He gasped when you pulled away from him.

"I don't deserve this... but I love you."

You said, feeling your heart beating rapidly again, but this time with love and not with fear.

Dwayne's eyes became teary as he smiled a trembling smile, pushing a flyaway strand of hair away from your face.

"You deserve the world. And I love you too."

The two of you kissed passionately again, forgetting the wounds you had received as you melted in each other's embrace.

[hepbaestus]

What is the official name for something that is the opposite of slow burn?

Cause I've seen 'fast quench ' being used and I fucking love it.

[blairxbear]

Do you think you could write an Aizawa x fem reader who is a new teacher and her quirk is having cat like qualities like night vision, sharper nails, quiet walking, excellent balance etc. and she also has cat ears and a tail?

(If she can have an “orange cat” personality as well that would be wonderful. If not I understand and I’m sorry,I’m not sure if I did this correctly I’m still trying to figure out how to word things correctly)

A/N: Hi Lovely! No problem at all, I hope you like it!! I wasn't sure if you wanted it in a romantic context or not but it did end up going that way, if you don't like that though let me know and I can make changes :)

The Stray That Stole His Heart

Shota Aizawa had always been a man of patience.

A man of routine, discipline, and quiet solitude.

So naturally, when Nezu had announced a new hire at U.A., he had assumed nothing would change.

But then you arrived.

And Aizawa quickly realized that nothing would ever be the same again.

The first time Aizawa met you, it was during the faculty meeting, and he immediately knew two things:

You had cat ears and a tail, which made an impression on everyone in the room.

You were completely unpredictable.

It wasn’t just your quirk—which, admittedly, was impressive. Enhanced agility, night vision, sharp reflexes, and an uncanny ability to move so quietly that even he—someone who had trained himself to be hyper-aware—could barely hear you coming.

No, it was your personality that truly caught him off guard.

You were chaotic, to say the least.

Unfiltered, playful, mischievous—with a penchant for getting into trouble just for the fun of it.

An orange cat in human form.

And it drove him insane.

But what was worse?

It also fascinated him.

From the very first week, you had made it your personal mission to test his limits.

You frequently showed up late to meetings, claiming you got “distracted by something shiny.”

You napped in the most inconvenient places—on top of file cabinets, across the teachers’ lounge couch, even once on top of Aizawa’s desk (which had earned you the deadliest glare of his life).

You stole his coffee. Regularly.

You pounced onto his shoulders from above, just to “see if his reaction time was as fast as everyone said.”

(It was. But he still nearly had a heart attack that day.)

And yet—

Despite your absolute disregard for personal space and normal social conventions, you were a damn good teacher.

Your students adored you, your battle tactics were sharp and effective, and you had a natural talent for handling even the most rowdy kids (cough Bakugo cough).

And somehow—despite all your antics—Aizawa found himself growing used to your presence.

To the way your ears twitched when you were listening intently. To the way your tail flicked when you were irritated. To the way you always tried to get a reaction out of him, even when he refused to give you the satisfaction.

And then, one day—

He realized he had a problem.

Because he liked it.

It was late one evening, long after most of the staff had gone home.

Aizawa had been grading papers, exhaustion creeping into his bones, when he heard the softest footfalls outside his office.

No one else would have noticed them.

But Aizawa knew exactly who it was before you even poked your head inside.

“Still working?” you mused, stepping in without an invitation, tail swaying lazily behind you.

Aizawa sighed. “Obviously.”

You hummed, moving closer, perching yourself on the edge of his desk—a habit he had long given up trying to correct.

“You know,” you mused, eyes glinting in the dim light, “you’re always telling me I should take my job more seriously. But when was the last time you actually took a break?”

Aizawa didn’t respond.

Because the answer was too damn long ago.

Your lips curled slightly, as if you could read his thoughts.

Then—before he could react—you reached out, plucked his red pen from his hand, and tossed it across the room.

Aizawa stared at you.

“…Did you just—”

“Yep.”

“…Why?”

“Because you’re done for the night.”

His eye twitched. “I still have work to do.”

“Nope.” You grinned, tail flicking playfully. “Work is done. I have officially declared it.”

Aizawa exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I don’t have time for your games, Y/N.”

But you weren’t backing down.

Instead, you tilted your head, ears twitching slightly, and for the first time since you had met, your voice was softer.

“I mean it, Shota,” you murmured. “You do too much. Just… take a break. Just this once.”

Something in his chest tightened.

Because no one ever told him to slow down.

No one ever took the time to worry about him.

But you?

You had been paying attention this whole time.

And that was the moment he knew.

That he was completely and utterly doomed.

Ko-fi / Masterlist

blairxbear © 2024. do not copy, modify, or translate my work. you do not have permission to share my work outside of tumblr!

[samosadude]

junk food show to me

[aventurineswife]

Hii can i request kafka with a funny and comedic reader? like jessica and roger rabbit type of dynamic, kafka swooning after reader because they makes her laugh... no pressure tho, thank you!

“They make me laugh”

Summary: Kafka finds herself inexplicably drawn to you—a comedic, chaotic whirlwind of absurdity. Despite her usual composed demeanor, your relentless antics and quick wit break through her cool exterior, leaving her laughing and swooning in equal measure.

Tags: Kafka x Reader, Humor/Comedy, Fluff, Light Romance, Opposites Attract, Femme Fatale x Chaotic Fool, Slow Burn(?).

Kafka sat in the dimly lit corner of the Stellaron Hunters' hideout, one hand swirling the crimson liquid in her glass, the other flipping through Elio's latest vision notes. A quiet, calculated serenity surrounded her—until you waltzed in.

“Kafkaaaa!” you hollered, your voice ringing off the walls like a loose bell. “You gotta see this! I invented the world’s first sentient whoopee cushion! It talks back! Look, look!”

Before she could respond, you plopped the deflated contraption onto a nearby chair. The device let out a dignified harrumph before stating, in a monotone, “You’ve made poor choices, sitting here.”

A snort escaped Kafka’s lips. The wine glass paused mid-air, a hint of mirth breaking her perpetually composed demeanor. She eyed you with that dangerously alluring gaze of hers, one brow slightly raised.

“Let me guess,” she said, voice dripping with silky amusement, “you’ve already tested it on Bladie?”

“Oh, absolutely,” you said proudly. “It told him, ‘For someone so sharp, you’re a little flat.’ He chased me for three corridors, Kafka. Three. Worth it.”

Her laugh was soft but genuine, and the corner of her lips quirked up into a smirk. Most people feared Kafka for her cool, calculating nature. But you? You seemed entirely immune to her enigmatic aura, wielding absurdity like a weapon. She found it... fascinating.

“Do you ever take a break from being ridiculous?” she teased, leaning forward, chin resting delicately on her hand.

“Do you ever take a break from looking so good in spider patterns?” you shot back without missing a beat.

That caught her off guard. Her laugh came unbidden this time, smooth and melodic, a sound so rare you couldn’t help but grin wider. “You’re impossible,” she murmured, shaking her head.

“Impossibly funny, impossibly charming,” you listed with mock seriousness, counting on your fingers. “And impossibly good at finding all your weak spots.”

Kafka raised a perfectly shaped brow. “My weak spots? Careful, dear. I don’t take kindly to threats.”

“Not a threat!” you said, holding your hands up in mock surrender. “I just happen to know you melt like a popsicle in a furnace every time I say something stupid. Admit it. You’re smitten.”

She leaned back in her seat, fingers steepled. Her smirk grew more dangerous, yet her gaze softened in a way that only you seemed to elicit. “And if I am?” she asked, voice velvet-smooth.

You blinked, taken aback. Then, with a dramatic swoon that could’ve put any opera diva to shame, you staggered. “She admits it! Oh, woe is me, the dazzling lady with the wine hair is utterly captivated! Someone fetch me a fainting couch!”

Kafka rolled her eyes, though her laughter rang out once more, unrestrained and genuinely amused. You had the uncanny ability to crack through her carefully constructed façade, and she found herself enjoying it far more than she should.

“Come here, you absolute fool,” she said, tugging on your arm until you stumbled closer. She pressed a quick, teasing kiss to your cheek, leaving you momentarily stunned.

“See?” she murmured, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face. “I do like my comedy sharp.”

You grinned like a Cheshire cat. “And I like my mysterious femme fatales giggling at my antics. Guess we’re a perfect match, huh?”

Kafka only hummed, that dangerous smirk never leaving her face. “Oh, you have no idea.”

[ponderingmoonlight]

Chapter 1 : Forbidden Bond

Pairing: Gojo x fem!reader

Warnings: Language, violence, physical abuse, traumatic childhood, Gojo being a jerk

Next Chapter ->

His usual so unbothered eyes grow wider and wider with each passing second, watch in slow motion how this tiny human being he’s never seen before draws closer to him. Step by step, not paying attention to the stinging fact that she’ll run straight into him. He couldn’t care less, though.

That smile.

Has he seen you before? No, he would have remembered for sure. There wasn’t a single moment in his still young life that made Gojo Satoru gaze at a smile twice, that made him wonder about the name and voice behind it. But seeing you like this, laughing to yourself so unmoved by your surroundings leaves him pondering.

Who is this girl?

He doesn’t get the chance to think about it any further. Like in slow motion, you trip over his feet first before dragging him along with you onto the hot tarmac, tiny stones digging themselves into the palms of his hands.

“Oh my, I’m so sorry! I didn’t even look out, I…I’m so clumsy!”

“It’s okay...”

No, it’s not. Why weren’t you paying attention to where you’re walking, how dare you to run him over – him, the pride of the Gojo clan? Now he’s all dirty, his pants probably sliced open.

But instead of complaining, he simply watches how you lift yourself off the ground so awkward that you almost trip right back on top of him, brushing the dirt off the dark blue kimono you’re wearing.

“Now you’re all dirty because of me”, you sigh with a pout.

Your voice. It matches your appearance perfectly, the innocent gleam in your eyes, the way your laughter sounded earlier. Angelic, hypnotizing, so melodious that he urges to hear you talk again.

“Let me help you back up!”

You stretch out your tiny hand in front of his and out of instinct, he grabs it. How is it possible that his palm seems to swallow yours whole? You have to be around his age, an inch or two smaller. But his hands…

Your hands…

You let go way too early.

“I was actually on my way home and got distracted by that dog over there. It got so happy when I laughed so I couldn’t stop and then you came and-“

“Do you ever stop talking?”

His cold interruption catches you off guard while he shoves both hands in the pocket of his hoodie. That boy…You’ve never seen him before around here. Sure, you would have remembered those bright blue eyes and white hair. Where does he come from? Why does he look so different? All those questions piling up inside your head.

Where were you even going?

“(y/n)?”

Her cold voice makes your blood freeze in an instant, widened eyes not daring to look behind you. Why is she here? You aren’t late, did nothing wrong…did you?

“Who’s that?”, the boy in front of you questions.

“(Y/N) ZENIN!”

You swallow hard, the tone in your nanny’s voice making you realize what will happen next. Suddenly you don’t care about the boy with the bright blue eyes or the happy dog anymore.

“You…You’re a Zenin?”

He can’t believe his ears, orbs studying you up and down. Of course, he heard about your family, about the stinging fact that he should keep a safe distance from you. Out of all big jujutsu families, the Zenin clan is the worst with its members being as cold as ice. His teachers warned him, parents literally begged him to keep himself away from anything that comes from this family. And that includes you as well, apparently.

“A Zenin…”, he mumbles under his breath.

You look nothing like their description, though.

His voice fades into the back of your mind. All you feel is thick fear crawling up your veins, the dark foreshadowing making your limbs ache already.

“What on earth do you think you’re doing here with this brat!?”

Her cold hand grabs your tiny arm roughly and forces you backwards so harsh that you almost fall over again.

“I ran into him-”, you desperately try to explain yourself.

“You…You are that Gojo kid, aren’t you? The honoured one…”

“And you’re a nobody.”

Gojo.

Your eyes widen in sheer horror. If there’s one thing your father told you over and over, it was staying away from members of the Gojo clan.

“Especially Gojo Satoru. Don’t you dare to even talk to him or you’ll feel my anger.”

“I didn’t know it was him, I was on my way home when I-“

“Quiet.”

A ruthless slap right in your face sends you onto the ground all over again, blood squinting out your tiny nose immediately. You…You did something unforgivable, something your father will punish you for. Shivers haunt your whole body, thick fear almost taking your sight. One last time your glossy eyes dart towards the boy with the unbothered blue orbs that now show a hint of disturbance.

-8 years later-  

“Look what we have here, Suguru! There’s that dirty brat from the Zenin clan!”

“I don’t think you should call her like that…”

“I smelled your arrogance miles away, douchebag”, you mutter under your breath.

There he stands. Probably a few inches taller than the last time you saw him but still with the same dumb smirk plastered on his dirty face. He looks horribly good, arrogance dripping from every pore of his body. Oh, words can’t describe how much hatred you hold for that boy, how much willpower it costs you to not wipe him from the surface of this earth in an instant.

“Be nice to me, (y/n). After all I’m a special grade while you’re a lousy grade 1”, he bites back at you.

“Don’t make me launch another bit of Phobia Projection your way. I’ll never forget the way you cried like a baby.”

A cursed technique rooted in the dark arts of Jujutsu, a technique you learned by your grandfather by the age of 12. Those who wield this technique have the ability to delve into the depths of their target's psyche, extracting and manifesting their worst fears into reality. Through manipulation of spectral energy, the user projects vivid illusions that evoke intense sensations of terror and anxiety, effectively trapping their victim in a nightmarish realm tailored to their deepest fears. This technique not only inflicts psychological torment but can also paralyze the victim with fear, rendering them vulnerable to further attacks. It is a formidable and sinister ability that exploits the vulnerabilities of the human mind, leaving a lasting impression of dread long after the encounter has ended.

And made none other than Gojo Satoru break down in front of your feet.

“You’ll cry as well when I’m done with you, little bitch.”

Gojo builds himself up in front of you before Geto is able to stop him, glimmering eyes staring at you filled with nothing but hatred.

“Want applause for using a dark art on me? You’re nothing but a pathetic little girl that got slapped by her parents a little too often. And even though they trained you like there’s no tomorrow, your still not good enough to face me.”

His words hit you with full force, flood your mind with memories you tried to avoid so desperately. Out of instinct, you grab him by his throat and thrust him into the grass underneath, dig his flawless white hair into the dirt. If there’s one thing your family was right about, it was Gojo Satoru.

“I fucking hate you, Gojo. You’re nothing but a waste of space, just like your whole pathetic clan”, you hiss through gritted teeth, voice dripping in venom.

“My pathetic clan? Your family roams around and kills innocent people, (y/n). Who the hell are you to judge, huh? You’re not even strong enough to even talk to me”, he barks in reverse.

“Why does it always have to end like this between you two? Get off him, (y/n).”

Geto’s firm hands grab your shoulders and yank you backwards in order to create distance between Gojo and yourself while you can’t catch your breath.

Your deadly orbs still glare at him, blood pulsates through your veins so rapidly that you feel like exploding any given minute. He has some fucking nerve, talking about your past like that. Him, who’s nothing but a spoiled brat. Him, who’s gifting just by being born. Him, with nothing but immense powers and a pretty face.

“Next time you’re getting so close to me, I’ll kill your ass without thinking twice”, you spit at him from afar, Geto holding you back with all his strength.

“I love to see ya try little girl!”

“Come on, (y/n). Just turn around and leave, this is senseless. You’re just hurting each other.”

Suguru’s calm voice has always been the only thing that kept you from scratching those bright blue orbs out of his eyeballs. You allow your eyes to rest for a brief second, your heartbeat to calm down. Your family told you to stay away from him, to be better than him and forced you to attend Jujutsu High. Why does it have so damn hard to make them happy, to show your father that you’re worthy? How are you supposed to stay away from him when he’s around you all the time?

Without gifting him a single look, you turn on your heel and simply walk away.

Training. A training session is exactly what you need right now.

“Don’t you dare to shout after her, Satoru”, Geto warns his best friend right when he takes a deep breath in.

“I really don’t get it. All that hate just because your families don’t get along?”

“You don’t get it, Suguru.”

“What makes you hate (y/n) so much?”

Satoru can’t believe his ears, the sheer question of his best friend seeming like an insult. Why would he even like you? You with your stupid pretty face, you with those remarkable eyes that shook him to his core when he first saw you, you with that laugh…When was the last time he heard you laugh?

He shakes his head violently. Why would he even care about something so stupid?

“Cause she’s a Zenin brat”, Satoru replies monotone.

You are his enemy, the biggest threat of his family, hunting after his future. You deserve nothing but his hatred, nothing but disinterest. You are the devil himself. Yes, your sheer presence on this earth is enough reason to hate you.

“Didn’t you tell me she was quite nice when you met her as a child?”

“I never said that”, Satoru mumbles under his breath immediately.

Enough of all that bullshit, all that talking about your dumbass. It’s not like you deserve his attention anyway.

“C’mon, let’s grab something to eat.”

That was the first chapter babes, hope you enjoyed! It would mean the world if you take your time to tell me what you think and how you liked it so far! 🤍

Tags: @whereismysane @risuola @colouringfrogssittinginleaves @livmarauder @sapphireandange @madaqueue

[thefemmefatalexo]

Gojo SMAU - The Art of Falling Fake

Introduction

Summary: The campus buzzes with life, but you feel like a shadow slipping through the cracks—unnoticed, unimportant. At home, it’s no better. Your parents dote on your step-sister, the star tennis player, while you’re the afterthought they barely acknowledge. She’s here too, her perfect reputation casting an even bigger shadow over your existence. College was supposed to be your escape, but living at home and walking the same halls as her makes it impossible. Then he shows up—Satoru Gojo, the rich, arrogant engineering major everyone seems to worship. His smug grin and effortless charm are the kind of things you can’t stand, but when a ridiculous twist of fate forces your lives together, you find yourself fake dating the most insufferable man you’ve ever met. It’s just a deal, temporary and harmless—or so you try to convince yourself.

tropes: Fake Dating, Opposites Attract, Hurt Comfort, Reluctant Allies, Found Family, Slow Burn Romance

an: I hereby welcome you to my third SMAU in this Universe! (Yay?). I hinted at this one in Chapter 14 of Toji’s SMAU if any of you noticed hehe. I really hope you enjoy this story because I’ve had so much fun writing it so far LMAOOOO. Let me know what you think! SMOOCHES 💋💋💋

{next}

taglist: OPEN!

Main Cast:

[hayleblackburn]

see I like the IDEA of a “what if Kaider didn’t go canon at the end of Cress/Winter” AU but I simply cannot suspend my disbelief enough to read one in its entirety. they were simply too obsessed with each other!! Kai was imagining cute scenarios with Cinder to fall asleep to at 2:30 and saying on live television that he wanted to see her in prison at 14:30. Cinder was on a spaceship trying to plan a coupe/convincing herself she’s glamouring the rampion to be invisible and realistically should have no time to think about a cute boy she met, but she simply cannot help herself!! It took Kai all of 10 MINUTES to process the fact that he’d been kidnapped on his wedding day by the lost princess of Luna before he was making out with her. How am I supposed to pretend that meant nothing. Come on now.

[hyakunana]

Encounter V — Reverse Boost

+

[jessread-s]

✩🦄❤️Review:

These books have quickly become comfort reads of mine!

“Apprentice to the Villain” follows Evie Sage as she becomes her outrageously handsome evil overlord’s apprentice to save both him and the Kingdom of Rennedawn’s magic.

Evie and Trystan made me giddy with joy! Their romantic tension heightens as the two are put in situations they would only fantasize about. I was left feeling satisfied and not (in a good way because I don’t want this series to end!) as they inched closer towards coupledom. While the slow burn is truly infuriating, there is nothing I would not endure for them.

I really appreciate how Maehrer leans into the found family element with this book. The added points-of-view shed light on the backstories of characters new and old. Learning more about what Evie went through as a child and the sacrifices she had to make informed my understanding of her character and the growth she underwent in this story. She steps out of her comfort zone and learns new skills to embrace her new role as Trystan’s apprentice while holding on to her kind, gentle, and optimistic personality. I think that is what I love most about Evie—she never loses sight of what is important to her, her softness included!

This series is so ridiculously fun and I cannot wait to get my hands on book 3!

Cross-posted to: Instagram | Amazon | Goodreads | StoryGraph

[maruren]

Inukai should check collar chains, because two of his dogs run off somewhere at night.

[itsalliny0urhead]

Divided (peter parker x reader)

She was his best friend. They built circuits together. Shared notes. Shared silence. He always knew she had powers—he just never asked how deep they ran. Now they’re on opposite sides of a war neither of them wanted, and for the first time, Peter sees what she really is.

peter parker x reader

He doesn’t realize it’s her until the air changes.

The fight rages around him—shouts, crashes, metal groaning under superhuman weight—but suddenly everything fades. The air goes heavier. Thicker. Warm. Static crawls across the back of Peter’s neck, and his hand falters mid-swing.

It hits him in the chest—not a blast, not a blow—just a feeling.

Something familiar.

Something known.

Something wrong.

Then the smoke thins. The dust clears.

And there she is.

It’s like being punched in the gut without ever being touched.

She steps forward out of the haze like a ghost. Or a god.

Combat boots. Fingerless gloves. Field jacket cinched tight around her ribs like armor. Her hair’s pulled back, but wild around the edges. Her jaw’s clenched. Her hands glow.

And Peter? Peter can’t breathe.

Because her face— Her face is exactly the same.

But her eyes aren’t.

“Y/N?”

His voice cracks like it forgot how to say her name.

She stops walking.

And the world stops with her.

He’s never seen her like this.

Not in the crowded hallways between third and fourth period. Not tucked beside him on the roof of the compound, passing cold fries between bites of half-baked theories. Not when she stole his notes and doodled little spiders in the margins. Not when they snuck out of training together just to lie on the grass and breathe.

And never—never—with glowing veins of gold-red light pulsing under her skin like molten energy caged in something fragile.

The hum of her power hits him like a wave.

It’s beautiful.

And terrifying.

“You shouldn’t be here,” she says.

Her voice is steady.

But her hands are shaking.

Peter stumbles forward a step. His chest is too tight. His suit is too hot.

“What are you— You can’t be—this isn’t—”

“You don’t belong on this side,” she says.

Her hands flare brighter. The light spills down her arms in angry flickers. Heat bleeds off her in waves.

Neither of them moves.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he asks.

“Tell you what?”

“That you—” He gestures helplessly, voice splintering. “This. Your powers.”

She flinches. It’s quick. Barely there.

But he sees it.

“You think I wanted you to look at me like that?” she says.

“Like what?”

“Like you’re scared of me.”

Peter’s throat closes. “I’m not— I just— You’re—”

He can’t finish.

Because he is scared.

Not of her power.

Of what it means.

Of how long she’s kept this locked away. Of how far apart they suddenly feel. Of the fact that he’s seeing her fully for the first time—and it’s here, now, on opposite sides of a war neither of them started.

And she sees all of it.

She lifts a hand. Light pools in her palm.

“Move, Peter.”

“Don’t do this.”

“Move.”

“Y/N, please—”

“Move.”

She fires.

It doesn’t hit him—not quite—but it hits the tarmac just three feet from where he stands. The blast sends him flying backwards, ears ringing, world spinning. He flips, webbing a container midair, landing hard on one knee and gasping.

His hands tremble.

He’s never seen her like this.

And it terrifies him.

Because he knows her.

God, he knows her.

She’s the girl who stayed on the phone with him all night after Uncle Ben died. The one who stitched his suit the first time he came back bloody and shaking. The one who sat beside him in AP Bio and whispered “You’re doing great” during the pop quiz they both bombed. The one who used to say, softly, when the power flickered beneath her skin: “I’m not dangerous, Pete. I just feel too much.”

But now?

Now she’s glowing.

And she’s aiming at him.

“I never wanted to fight you,” Peter says, breathless, watching her approach.

Her boots crunch over broken pavement. Her face is calm. Her eyes are wreckage.

“We’re on the same side,” he says.

She stops walking.

“No,” she says quietly. “We never were.”

Peter shakes his head. “That’s not true.”

“I just pretended for longer.”

The words hit harder than the blast.

Peter’s chest hollows out.

“You left.”

“I had to.”

“You could’ve told me—”

“You would’ve tried to stop me.”

“I would’ve followed you.”

She stares at him.

“You didn’t.”

The silence is deafening.

She steps closer. Every movement is sharp, deliberate, controlled—but there’s emotion under the surface, like her power isn’t the only thing threatening to spill over.

“You don’t know what it’s like,” she whispers. “To be monitored. Restricted. Treated like you’re one breath away from turning into a weapon.”

“I never thought that about you,” Peter says. “Not once.”

“But you never said that.”

He flinches.

She keeps going.

“You stayed quiet. When my father locked me in a room. When they started calling me unstable. You didn’t ask questions. You didn’t ask me anything.”

He tries to speak.

Fails.

Her eyes flick down to his lips.

And her voice breaks.

“You should’ve kissed me when you had the chance.”

The light pulses brighter than ever.

And then— She fires.

Point blank.

White light swallows everything.

The air howls.

Peter hits the ground hard, skidding across fractured pavement.

When he blinks through the static, the smoke—

She’s gone.

The silence afterward is sharp.

Like glass in his lungs.

Peter lies still on the cracked concrete, breath stuttering. His suit's scorched. His ears are ringing. The glow of her power still burns behind his eyelids, imprinting itself on him like a scar he’ll never shake.

His fingers twitch.

She’s gone.

Not just out of sight. Out of reach.

Out of them.

[lexxwithbooks]

📖: 𝑭𝒍𝒂𝒘𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 (𝐶ℎ𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑛𝑢𝑡 𝑆𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 #1) 🐂🫀

✍🏽: 𝐄𝐥𝐬𝐢𝐞 𝐒𝐢𝐥𝐯𝐞𝐫

[battyaboutbooksreviews]

🦇 A Gentleman's Gentleman Book Review 🦇

❓ What's the last book that took you by surprise? 🦇 Lord Christopher Eden is a “man of unusual make” and even more unusual habits. Christopher’s pleasant, if occasionally lonely life is upended when he receives word that, according to his late father’s will, he must find a wife by the end of the season to keep his family’s fortune and the estate. Enter James Harding, Christopher’s new, distractingly handsome valet. The two strike up a fragile friendship that threatens to shatter under the looming shadow of Christopher’s impending nuptials—and the secrets both men are keeping. With its heady combination of dry wit, slow-burn romance, and a nuanced portrait of trans identity, A Gentleman’s Gentleman stands to transform the historical romance genre as we know it. 💜 If you read Triple Sec last year, you know that TJ Alexander has a way with words. A Gentleman's Gentleman is no exception. Let's break it down:

✨ Characters (4/5): The cast is rich and well-developed, each with unique voices that lift the characters off the page. I do wish we saw more bonding between Christopher and James, but the story relies on James' secretism until the end. Christoper's secret is revealed a little TOO early, but I'm glad the explanation isn't revealed until much later. We don't often enough consider the challenges the trans community of different eras must have faced, in everything from clothes to relationships (especially in such a judgemental, 'appearances are everything' focused society), so seeing Christopher's exploration of identity was absolutely stunning; a breathtaking execution by Alexander.

✨ Plot and Pacing (4/5): Once we arrive in London, the pacing falters a little for me. The story's secondary marriage plot causes a lag, but it has a purpose for the overall story arch, so its excusable.

✨ World-Building (3/5): The story could benefit from stronger descriptions. It's easy to fall for the vivid beauty and charm of Regency Era balls and London as a whole, but the majority of descriptions focused on James' handsome face (I don't entirely blame Christopher for it, either).

✨ Romance (3/5): This slow burn romance builds but doesn't clutch at the reader's throat; it's lacking tension. I adored the story's found family aspect but needed more from the interactions with those side characters to really feel invested. The primary romance doesn't pick up until the very, very end, so I wish we had the chance to linger there a little longer. However, it never feels forced, instead growing organically alongside Christopher's character development.

✨ Mystery/Suspense (4/5): The mystery is perhaps the story's biggest advantage. The big reveal provides such a relief to both characters; it's a beautiful moment. Ideal if you're looking for a low-stakes romance. ✨ Tone/Prose (4/5): Christopher's tone is consistent throughout the entire story. Adored the dry wit between Christopher and James. I do wish it was dual POV, but again, shrouding James in mystery helps push the story (and Christopher's anxiety) forward.

🦇 Recommended to fans of a Lady for a Duke, Red, White, and Royal Blue, and Bridgerton.

✨ The Vibes ✨ 🎩 Regency Era / Historical Romance 🎩 Secrets, Mystery, and Action 🎩 Trans MC 🎩 Slow Burn 🎩 Found Family 🎩 Opposites Attract 🎩 Smut 🎩 First of a Series

🦇 Major thanks to the author and publisher for providing an ARC of this book via Netgalley. 🥰 This does not affect my opinion regarding the book. #AGentlemansGentleman

💬 Quotes "I appreciate creatures who are wholly themselves."

There are no real men, I think. There are only the men who pursue their desires and those who ignore them.

"Why would you marry me if not for that?” “For the simple pleasure of waking up beside you in the morning, if you would allow it."

“Given up on poetry, have we?” “There are other arts.”

[aventurineswife]

👀 Sunday with Kiana-like!Reader, tackling the roots of various problems instead of building of walls and cages and sweet dreams coughslikeSundaycoughs and doing everything they can to help and protect people from memetic monsters and other otherworldly threats while also running themselves so far into the ground they occasionally get sick or injured or both.

Think of the angst potential.

Between Waking and Dreaming

Summary: As the Charmony Festival unfolds, Sunday confronts you after yet another exhausting battle against otherworldly threats. Despite your relentless drive to help and protect others, often at the cost of your own health, Sunday encourages you to prioritize your well-being. Through his support and understanding, the two of you begin to bridge the gap between his vision of a painless dream and your determination to tackle problems head-on.

Tags: Sunday x Reader, Kiana Kaslana based Reader, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional Support, Opposites Attract, Self-Sacrifice, Angst with a Happy Ending, Tender Moments, Mutual Growth, Slow-Burn Potential.

Warnings: Mentions of self-sacrificial behavior and overexertion, Mild descriptions of physical and emotional exhaustion.

A/N: I like your thinking, anon🫣👀 (this may be ooc since idk much about HI3)

The sky was darkening as the city of Oak's heart, bustling with the Charmony Festival's lively spirit, began to quiet. The sounds of laughter and music still filled the air, but something in the breeze felt different, a hint of tension lingering between the edges of the revelry.

Sunday stood in the grand hall of the Oak Family estate, surveying the aftermath of a particularly taxing day. The festival was only a glimpse of what he strived for—the Sweetdream Paradise—a realm where everyone could escape pain, a dream of peace that seemed so far from reach.

But then there was you.

You, a beacon of light amid all the shadows.

You were his opposite in so many ways. While Sunday envisioned a painless world, an eternal dream that might shield people from their suffering, you rejected that ideal. You weren’t about building walls, much less cages, around people’s hearts. Instead, you believed in confronting problems, tackling the very roots of what ailed the world, no matter how impossible it seemed. You fought the memetic monsters and the otherworldly threats head-on, with all your heart and spirit.

And, much to Sunday’s dismay, you pushed yourself to the brink every single time. You didn’t stop, didn’t take a break, and refused to let anyone shoulder the burden of protecting the world alone, even if it meant running yourself into the ground.

But Sunday saw the toll it took. He always did. The days when your energy was completely drained, when your eyes were clouded by exhaustion or worse, illness. The way you fought through your own pain, convinced that you could bear it all if it meant no one else had to.

“[Name],” Sunday said, voice gentle but firm as he stepped closer to where you were sitting, wiping away the sweat from your brow. Your hand was still clutching your side, your breath shallow from the battle you’d just fought.

“You shouldn’t be pushing yourself like this.” His eyes softened as he crouched beside you, his angelic halo shimmering above his head. The wings at his ears glinted in the dim light, but they seemed almost dull compared to the brightness of his concern for you.

“I’m fine,” you lied, your voice barely above a whisper. Your head rested against the wall, a deep, lingering weariness overtaking you. “We still have to take care of the memetic distortion. I’m... I'm okay.”

Sunday’s fingers brushed your hair back, a quiet act of tenderness. He knew you were anything but okay. The way you’d been pushing yourself had drained you, and it was starting to show in every sharp breath you took, in the way your body trembled slightly. The only thing that seemed to give you comfort was the thought of protecting others, yet you were blind to how much you were hurting yourself in the process.

“You’re not okay, [Name],” he murmured, his voice dipping into something softer, something that betrayed the stern leader he often portrayed. His eyes flickered with a hint of frustration, but it was frustration aimed not at you, but at the world that had shaped you into someone who believed sacrificing your well-being was the only way to protect those around you. “Why can’t you just rest? You’re no good to anyone like this.”

You tried to smile, but it was a weak thing, slipping away just as quickly as it had come. “Because if I don’t, who will protect them?”

Sunday sighed, kneeling down until his face was level with yours. His wavy(?) hair framed his face, the piercing angel wings catching the light. His gaze softened, but there was something in it—something resolute, yet filled with concern. “You’re so much like me. Always thinking of others before yourself. But you’re wrong. You’re burning yourself out, and you won’t be able to protect anyone if you’re broken.”

“You don’t understand,” you muttered, shaking your head, the weight of your thoughts pressing down. “This world isn’t a sweet dream. There’s so much pain. If I don’t keep fighting, I don’t know what will happen. I can’t let people suffer.”

Sunday looked at you for a long moment, studying your expression as you battled your inner turmoil. There was something in his eyes—a reflection of his own personal struggle. The very thing that haunted him: the idea that people couldn’t escape their suffering, not by his design, not by anyone’s.

“You’re right,” he admitted, his voice lower, softer than you’d heard it before. “This world isn’t a sweet dream. It’s a waking nightmare for many. And maybe it always will be.”

You looked up at him, surprised by the rare admission. Sunday, the stoic leader, the one who wished for an escape from all the pain, was agreeing with you?

“But,” he continued, “I’m starting to realize something. I’ve spent so much time building a paradise for people to escape pain. But you—you don’t run away from it. You face it head-on. You try to help, even when it feels impossible. And that… that is what makes you stronger.”

You blinked, feeling a strange warmth spread through your chest. For all the times Sunday had pushed his ideals on you, for all the times he’d insisted on the Sweetdream Paradise, here he was, acknowledging your own way of doing things. He was seeing you—not as someone who needed to fit into his dream, but as someone with a purpose of their own.

“I can’t fix the world alone,” you said, your voice quiet but filled with resolve. “I just… I can’t let people suffer. Not while I’m here. Not while there’s something I can do about it.”

Sunday reached out, his gloved hand gently cupping your cheek. His eyes held a quiet intensity, but now there was something softer—something that had always been there beneath the surface. “I understand. But you have to learn to take care of yourself too. You can’t save everyone if you’re the one who’s broken.”

You hesitated, then nodded, finally allowing yourself to lean into his touch, the exhaustion and pain too much to hold back any longer. “I’ll try,” you whispered, though doubt lingered in your voice.

Sunday smiled, the soft, warm smile that you hadn’t seen much of lately. The one that said, “I’m here with you.”

“I’ll help you. We’ll figure it out together.���

For the first time in what felt like ages, you allowed yourself to breathe. The weight of the world hadn’t lifted, but Sunday’s presence beside you, his quiet promise to help carry the burden, made it feel like maybe, just maybe, there was a chance for a different way.

And in that moment, you felt a spark of hope—a hope that, even in a world full of pain, you didn’t have to carry the weight alone.

[ficscribbles]

I couldn’t let the resident necromancer miss out on the chaos romance Rook brings, right? So he gets his own path on the choose-your-own-adventure that is Reset!

A snippet with absolutely no context: