#same energy as his smug little smile when he was like 'i guess all that company finally wore you out'

[rachelazegler]

i love casual smug eddie so much like he's really like "you will never know him the way i do so you might as well just stop trying"

[fayerie]

Gojo Satoru’s jealousy exists on a level entirely his own — dramatic, shameless, and spectacularly over the top.

It’s a display of devotion that refuses to be ignored. No matter how outrageous his antics become, you can’t deny how sweet it is — loud proof of how thoroughly, absurdly in love he is with you.

It always starts small. Maybe you laugh just a little too much at someone else’s joke — doesn’t matter if it’s a man or a woman.

The moment your laughter lingers, Gojo’s already pouting like a sulky child. Cue the signature eye roll, razor sharp and immediate, fired off in the direction of the poor comedian who unknowingly triggered his wrath.

But the real giveaway? The jokes. Oh god, the jokesssss.

Gojo suddenly becomes a one-man comedy show — unleashing pun after pun, each one more questionably funny than the last. It’s the kind of humor that makes you second guess your life choices — the sort of "dad joke" energy that physically hurts.

But because the two of you are hopelessly dumb in the same way, it only takes one poorly timed laugh from you — one soft giggle — and his entire face boom, lights up.

Those baby blue eyes shine with unearned triumph, the unmistakable look of a golden retriever who just brought back the ball and got praised for it.

If a guy dares to talk to you longer than a casual passing moment, brace yourself.

Gojo Satoru transforms into your very clingy shadow:

He immediately flanks you, looping his arm around your waist or gripping your hand in a possessive, koala like hold. He’ll start talking loudly about non-existent plans the two of you have together, throwing in plenty of smug smiles and not-so-subtle touches.

If it’s too formal for that — say, a work conversation — he stands directly behind you like an overprotective mother hen. You might not see it, but the poor guy you're talking to definitely notices the warning glares being fired over your shoulder like cursed bullets.

You only catch on when the man stammers through his goodbyes and makes a quick escape, forehead glistening with sweat.

You turn around slowly, already knowing what you’ll find, Gojo blinks at you with exaggerated innocence.

“I didn’t do a thing, babe. He’s just intimidated by how cool I am.”

And then came the compliments.

If someone so much as comments on your outfit, hair, or smile, it’s immediately declared a personal affront.

“She always looks good,” he’ll chime in, voice sweet and syrupy with mock innocence. “Beautiful. Lovely. Stunning. I tell her that every single day, actually.”

He finishes it off with a cartoonishly loud kiss to your cheek — dramatic, dragged out, and unapologetically showy.

“Mmmmmmwah!”

You try to push him away, face burning with secondhand embarrassment — but your laughter betrays you. He wins again. Of course he does.

And that’s when the spoiling begins.

Shoes you only mentioned once appear like magic on your doorstep. New clothes — in all your favorite colors and styles — find their way into your closet.

Your favorite lipstick? Not just one, but two tubes, “just in case,” he says with a wink. It’s never about the money with him.

It’s about the reminder. The persistent, unshakable message that you’re his, that he loves you more than words can ever say.

But when the audience is gone — when you’re home, just the two of you — that’s when he sulks. Hard.

You find him sprawled across the couch like a heartbroken Victorian heroine, half his face buried in a fluffy pillow, YouTube playing slowed + reverb versions of sad songs in the background on the TV for you to see.

The vibe is immaculate, in the most ridiculous way possible. You stare. Then sigh.

“Toru,” you say, arms crossed. “You gonna tell me what’s wrong or keep playing corpse?”

His voice comes muffled through the pillow.

“Mshleepingheyretonayght.”

“…What?”

Slowly, he peels his face from the cushion, lifting his head to glare at you with the most dramatic pout imaginable.

“Since you've made it very clear today that you don’t love me anymore,” he begins, tone grave, “I’ve decided I shall be sleeping here tonight. Alone. Cold. Forsaken. Lonely. Because my girlfriend is cruel. And heartless. And emotionally abusive. And has no regard for the delicate feelings of her incredibly handsome boyfriend. Did I mention I’m sleeping alone?”

It sounded more like he’s punishing himself rather than you — and the realization hits him somewhere mid-monologue.

You’re about to lean toward him, half-smiling, when he suddenly raises his index finger in your direction like a director calling “cut,” phone already in his other hand.

“Ah-ah-ah. Sorry, can’t talk right now. Someone’s calling me, urgent. I don’t have time for this.”

He answers the phone in his loudest, most obnoxiously flirty voice:

“Oh hey, pretty. Yeah, I’m definitely free tonight. Anytime, any day — you call, i answer.”

“Mm? Oh, nothing, just sitting here... lonely, heartbroken. You’ll make me feel better, won’t you?”

“Mhm. Knew i could count on you in times like these to cheer me up. Unlike some people…” he adds, throwing you a pointed side-eye.

From the other end, you can clearly hear a very tired, very unamused voice:

“Satoruu. Stop dragging me into your relationship drama.”

— Suguru Geto, clearly done with his nonsense, sounding more sleep-deprived than ever.

You sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as Gojo throws himself back onto the couch, mourning a breakup that hasn’t happened, wallowing in non-existent heartbreak.

If he doesn’t feel like sulking out loud — which is rare — the silence goes on for days. That’s when the sticky notes make an appearance (obvi), passive aggressive little reminders of his so called suffering, scattered like breadcrumbs around the house.

On the fridge:

“Don’t worry. I left you some of the takeout I got yesterday. Not that you’d ever notice. :)”

On the bathroom mirror, he draws a tiny cartoon version of himself with sparkles and abs (of course with shading), next to a dramatic caption:

“A face this handsome… wasted on someone emotionally unavailable... how unfortunate.”

On his pillow, the note is simple but packed with maximum melodrama:

“This is where I used to sleep. Before betrayal.”

When you finally go over to talk to him after days of silent treatment from him, he’s in full mad-jealous mode.

He’s wearing the biggest, blackest sunglasses he owns — indoors — and refuses to look directly at you. He’s lounging on the couch like a man betrayed by fate itself, sipping something from a wine glass with his pinky raised, even though you both know he doesn’t drink alcohol.

He doesn’t say a word. Just gives you a cold, exaggerated side profile — the picture of someone trying very hard to appear emotionally unavailable, and doing a terrible job of it.

That’s Satoru Gojo for you — infuriating, dramatic, absolutely ridiculous.

And somehow, despite it all — or maybe even because of it, you love him even more for it.

Because underneath the sunglasses, the sulking, and the over-the-top antics, he’s just a man in love. Loudly, shamelessly, completely yours.

mlist. -> here

[nicholasluvbot]

ㅤㅤI'LL LIKE YOU ✶ 보이넥스트도어

𝑓emale 𝑟eaderㅤ۶ৎㅤidol!reader & idol!bndㅤ☘️ㅤONETHOUSAND / fluff ʚɞ non established relationshipㅤ( CLiCK FOR MORE )

alternatively ───── when your fans ship the two of you together.

myung jaehyun.

jaehyun is the epitome of shy but calculating.

in front of you, he can barely string a full sentence together. he isn’t even able to look you in the eyes, his voice shaking as he blurts out, “y-you’re really talented. um—i, uh—really like your new song,” before practically sprinting away, face turning beet red.

fans live for his adorably flustered behavior, constantly making jokes like, “it’s not his fault he went to an all-boys school and has no information about the other chromosome in his database.”

but what they don’t know is how hard jaehyun works behind the scenes to fuel the ship.

he’d scroll through your instagram for hours, obsessively studying your outfit choices, your favorite colors, even the brands you wear. 

then, out of nowhere, he’s spotted wearing suspiciously similar clothes to yours, down to the tiniest details. fans, of course, catch on quickly, posting side-by-side comparisons of your photos, sending the internet into a frenzy.

when asked about it, jaehyun acts surprised, laughing nervously while scratching the back of his neck, “haha, i guess we just have similar tastes?” but inside, he’s thriving. he’s totally smug about it—he knows he’s been caught, but he’s secretly loving the attention.

when the members start teasing him, saying, “didn’t you just buy that bracelet because you saw yn wearing the same one?” jaehyun’s face turns bright red as he stutters, “n-no, i just like the design, that’s all.” sure, jaehyun... we’re all buying it.

park sungho.

sungho is a walking contradiction.

he tries so hard to act cool when the ship is mentioned, brushing it off with a shrug. “ah, fans are just having fun,” he’d say, his tone so nonchalant it almost seems convincing. but his red ears? they give him away every time.

fans live for the moments when he accidentally lets his guard down. like when someone shows him a video of you during a variety show—he’d sit there watching quietly, trying to suppress a smile, his lips twitching ever so slightly. but then jaehyun would chime in loudly, “why are you smiling so much?” causing sungho to immediately snap, “i’m not!” his voice a little too defensive as he avoids all eye contact, fidgeting with the hem of his sleeve.

if you ever approach him at an event, though, his whole “cool guy” act crumbles. he’d stammer out a polite greeting, bowing so low and so awkwardly that his members have to stifle their laughter in the background. his hands fidget nervously, and he can barely meet your eyes.

later, when clips of the interaction inevitably surface online, fans zoom in on the way sungho sneaks lingering glances at you throughout the event. they also catch the soft, almost dreamy smile he wears whenever you’re speaking. within minutes, the clips go viral, with captions like, “bro is down bad.”

when he’s alone, though, he replays the clip of the two of you interacting like he’s preparing for a dissertation, his eyes glued to the screen as he analyzes every detail—how close you were standing, the way your voice sounded, and whether or not you smiled at him. his members tease him relentlessly about it, but sungho just mutters, “it’s not a big deal,” even though he knows he’s so far gone. 

lee riwoo.

he is so obvious it hurts.

fans catch him dancing to your songs a little too much during livestreams, his grin wide and his moves full of energy, as if he’s the biggest fan. “it’s just a catchy song!” he insists, trying to downplay it, but the way he lights up whenever your music starts playing says so much more.

his real feelings become painfully clear when you invite him to do a dance challenge together. on the outside, he’s all smiles, nodding eagerly, but on the inside? he’s screaming. internally losing it.

the moment you step into the same frame, though, his usual confidence evaporates. he stumbles over the choreography, his nerves getting the best of him, laughing awkwardly as he messes up. fans immediately notice how red he goes, and they absolutely eat it up. meanwhile, you just find him adorable, completely unaware of how flustered he is.

he’s a shy babygirl™ through and through, so whenever someone asks about it directly, he stammers, looking to his members for help like they’ll come to his rescue.

fans catch on quickly, noticing how he starts fidgeting, avoiding eye contact, or blushing whenever your name comes up in conversation. he denies being affected, always trying to play it off, but his members totally snitch on him during live streams, exposing how he practices greeting you in front of the mirror, muttering to himself, “hi, yn, i’m jaehyun, nice to meet you…” while his face turns as red as a tomato.

obvious, but too cute for words. 

han taesan.

this man is a pro at subtlety.

he doesn’t outright acknowledge the ship, but fans quickly catch on to how much effort he puts into feeding it.

during music shows and award events, he’s always in the background, staring at you like you hung the stars in the sky, and it's so obvious that fans can't help but point it out. whenever you’re on stage or accepting an award, he’s just there, soft smile plastered on his face, his eyes shining with pride. fans zoom in on clips of him, his gaze lingering on you, and caption them with things like, “taesan’s proud bf energy!” and the ship goes viral.

he’s definitely the type to secretly read fanfiction about the two of you..

when the members tease him about how much he lights up whenever your name comes up, he completely freezes. sungho teasingly asks, “taesan, didn’t you say you wanted to collab with yn?” and taesan, flustered and caught off guard, panic-answers, “n-no... i mean, maybe... let’s move on,” but you can tell he’s dying on the inside, trying to keep his cool. secretly, though, he’s probably rehearsing how he’d casually talk to you during the collab

he’s the type to subtly bring you up in interviews, too—“yn’s songs are great; i’ve been listening to them a lot lately”—just to see if fans catch it. and spoiler alert: they absolutely do.

kim leehan.

the definition of soft.

the first time he sees a ship edit of the two of you, his reaction is straight out of a romcom. it’s almost too cute to handle—he lets out an embarrassed laugh, his hands immediately flying up to hide his smile. “ah, fans are so funny,” he says, but his voice is so much softer than usual, and his blush? it gives him away. his ears turn red, and he’s absolutely melting inside, not knowing how to react to being the subject of such a sweet edit.

whenever he’s around you, he can't even hold a normal conversation without giggling nervously and stumbling over his words, offering compliments in the most awkward yet endearing way. and then there’s that awkward pause where he starts fidgeting, trying to salvage what little dignity he has left. but it's clear to everyone that he’s completely flustered and totally into you.

Still, fans adore how genuine and sweet he is, especially when he unknowingly matches his mood to yours—smiling when you’re happy or looking concerned when you seem tired.   

kim woonhak.

woonhak is so loud in denying the ship that it’s painfully obvious he’s head over heels in love with you.

during live streams, as soon as fans even hint at mentioning you, he immediately shouts, “no way! that’s not true!”—almost too loudly, as if trying to convince both the fans and himself. 

but behind the scenes? he’s absolutely dying. when no one’s looking, he’s re-watching every single interaction the two of you have had, replaying the moments over and over, giggling nervously and trying to convince himself it’s not a big deal, but deep down, he knows it’s everything to him.

his members absolutely love stirring the pot, casually bringing you up just to see woonhak completely flail. “didn’t you say yn’s your ideal type?” taesan asks with a smirk, clearly enjoying the chaos. woonhak's face goes red in an instant, his eyes wide as he shakes his head vigorously. “i NEVER said that!” he insists, but everyone can see the way his lips twitch into a nervous smile, the way his hands fidget. fans eat it up, capturing every moment of him flustered.

he’s definitely the type to act all cool in front of everyone, but when it comes to you? he turns into a nervous, giggly mess. 

once, he accidentally liked one of your posts while scrolling through your feed, and when fans pointed it out, he immediately went into full denial mode, spamming “NO” on weverse and trying to distract everyone by starting a random conversation about something totally unrelated. but in his mind, he's already panicking—did they see that?

even when it’s not about you directly, you can see how his mood changes whenever your name is mentioned, like his face softens a little, or he just gives a tiny smile that he tries to hide. he’s loud, energetic, but soft for you in ways that he’s too embarrassed to admit.

ㅤㅤiRAㅤ:ㅤwe all know what inspired me to write this 🤭

ㅤㅤ•ㅤㅤfeedback 🗯 reblogs ───── highly appreciated ˆᗜˆ

tags @sgz-net @kstrucknet @k-films

[lady-lostmind]

Hellfire Club part two

Read on a03

Rating: E

thank you @oh-stars for betaing!

part one

Eddie is leaning against the bar again. Moth drawn to a flame or some other ridiculous metaphor for coming here two nights in a row, hoping the pretty bartender will take the bait. He’s being patient. Not being loud and obnoxious to get Steve’s attention as he flits around getting people their drinks. He just waits his turn. Waits for Steve to notice him, sitting in the same spot he was last night. 

Steve’s eyes finally roam his way, flicking back and locking on when he spots him. Eddie grins and wiggles his fingers at him in a wave. Steve shakes his head before heading over and leaning in front of him with a heavy sigh. 

“Are you here every night, then?” 

Eddie’s eyes glimmer, already getting addicted to this little game they’re playing. He shrugs, “Most.” 

Steve pours him a jack and coke, setting it nicely on a napkin in front of him, his eyes lingering on Eddie’s vest, his patches. Knows he’s wondering where he lands in all of this. 

Eddie chuckles, “You can ask.” 

Steve’s eyes flick back up to his and he blushes before ducking his head with a little shake. “Ask what?”

Eddie lifts his glass to his lips, taking a sip. “Come on. You can’t tell me you aren’t curious.” He gestures around. “Lots of lore to catch up on, Stevie.” 

Steve scoffs and mumbles ‘Stevie’ under his breath. Eddie files the little grin that follows it away to reference later. Things that make Steve smile. 

Steve glances behind him, checking if anyone needs his attention. Maybe hoping they do, so he has an excuse to leave Eddie by himself again. But he settles in more against the bar when no one snags him back to work, looking at Eddie with curious eyes. He nods at Eddie’s vest. 

“Do the patches all mean something?” 

Eddie hums, a smug grin pulling across his face. “Yeah. They do.” 

Steve’s eyes flick to Eddie’s left shoulder, where his V.President patch sits. 

Steve lets out a low whistle, his eyebrows raising as he reaches out and trails his finger over the patch. “Vice President? That seems like a very important patch,” he says with mock reverence. 

Eddie huffs out a laugh and shrugs. “You could say that.” 

Steve pulls his hand back and crosses his arms. “Guess I better be on my best behavior then. You’re basically my boss.” 

Eddie leans back and hums, letting his eyes slide slowly up and down Steve’s body. “Oh– I like the sound of that, big boy.”

Steve’s mouth pulls into a wide smile and he leans forward like he’s got something very interesting to say about that when someone slams their hand down on the bar, making Steve jump. He gives Eddie one last look before turning to go back to work. 

Eddie shakes his head and mutters ‘Fuck’ under his breath. He’s so screwed. He promised Chrissy he wouldn’t do this anymore. Wouldn’t fuck around with her hires anymore. It always ends badly and then they want out, and Chrissy is left having to vet someone new. But–

Eddie looks over at Steve with his pretty hair and sweet smile. The way his eyes crinkle when he laughs, the easy way he moves around the bar. Moth to a flame. He really can’t help himself. Steve bends down to grab something off a lower shelf and Eddie groans, watching his jeans stretch tightly across his perky ass.

He can make it up to Chrissy. 

–

Eddie rips down the highway feeling the rumble of his bike between his legs, the wind whipping in his face. He takes a deep breath, soaking it in. Most people would tell you they like to ride because of the rush it gives you. Addicted to the adrenaline, the risk, the power you feel with such a heavy piece of machinery under you. But for Eddie it’s when he feels calm. When all the excess energy that’s constantly bouncing around in his body and mind just stops. The world blurs out and he doesn’t have to worry about anything but the curve of the road. Following lines on the ground. Staying upright. It’s simple. Easy. 

Eddie sighs, slowing down to take the turn off that leads to the club’s garage, already mourning this, wishing he could just ride all day. He pulls into the parking lot and cuts the engine, twirling his keys as he heads into the garage, flicking on lights as he goes. When he gets to the back office and light floods the dark room, he jumps, seeing someone sitting at the desk. 

Chrissy turns in the chair, arms crossed and glaring at Eddie. “No, Eddie.” 

Eddie grabs his chest, leaning against the doorframe and trying to catch his breath. “FUCK ME, CHRIS! You scared the shit out of me!” 

She points at him, shaking her head. “No!” 

Eddie rolls his eyes, shrugging out of his leather jacket and hanging it on the hook by the door. “Nothing has even happened.” 

Chrissy gets up, walking around the desk and getting up close to him, looking up at him with daggers in her eyes. Eddie would laugh at the irony of something so small and cute looking so deadly if he wasn’t absolutely terrified of her when she’s like this. 

“You promised me, Edward.”

Eddie winces. “Don’t Edward me.” 

She smacks the side of his arm. “Leave Steve alone. I’m serious.” 

Eddie sighs. “Chris–”

She shakes her head, reaching up and pressing her finger against his lips. “No–no. I don’t even want to hear it. Steve has had a rough time, okay. He doesn’t need you smearing his heart all across the fucking ground, okay? Not to mention I really don’t want to find a replacement for him.” 

Eddie sighs, pulling her hand away from his face. “Then why did you hire him? You know me. You knew what he would do to me. I can’t help it.” 

Chrissy rolls her eyes and goes to lean against the desk. “Listen, Steve is a really good guy. I’m just trying to help him out, okay? Just…don’t hurt him. He deserves better.” 

Eddie’s eyes go wide. “What did you drag him into all this shit for then? You sure he can even deal with–”

Chrissy huffs out a laugh. “Oh, don’t worry about that. Steve can handle himself just fine. Just–” She sighs, running a hand down her face. “Seriously. Don’t fuck around with him if you don’t think it could actually be…something, okay? Don’t make him just one of the many Munson casualties.” 

Eddie’s mouth drops open with a scoff. “How dare you, Christine!” 

Chrissy shrugs. “Don’t even. I know what a slut you are.” 

Eddie’s mouth pulls into a cocky grin and he slides in close to Chrissy, trailing a finger down her arm. “Don’t be jealous, sweetheart. You know you’re the only girl for me.” 

Chrissy swats his hand away and scrunches her face in disgust, a choked laugh escaping her throat. “Ew. Don’t remind me of that. Ever again.” 

Eddie chuckles and leans on the desk next to her. “I’ll be a perfect gentleman, okay? But babe, he’s way too hot. I can’t just– not.” 

Chrissy sighs. “Yeah, I know. I knew it when I offered him the fucking job, honestly.” 

The door opens and Wayne walks in, glancing between them both. “Uh-oh. Whatever you did boy, I’d start apologizin’. I wouldn’t want to be on that girl’s bad side.” 

Eddie holds up his hands. “I haven’t done anything. I’m completely innocent.”

He gets up and heads back into the garage to get started on today’s jobs, ignoring Wayne’s little huff of disbelief and the way he leans in close to Chrissy and mumbles, “You don’t let him get away with shit, you hear me?” under his breath. 

Chrissy’s giggle rings out from the office and Eddie shakes his head as he grabs his tools.

part three

[yukkiji]

betting on you

blue lock masterlist. leave a little stardust on my ko-fi

starring. michael kaiser x fem!reader

genre: fluff, romance, suggestive, enemies to lovers-ish

wc: 5k

author's note: idk why the hell i've been thinking about kaiser lately but ig this a bit self indulgent so i hope you enjoy hehe (i'm also thinking about making a part 2 of this that's a bit hehe)

it all started with a bet.

it wasn't just any bet with someone.

it was with michael kaiser, the notorious golden striker of bastard münchen. the guy whose ego was as massive as his talent, whose smirk could disarm crowds and whose confidence filled every room he walked into. and now, he was looking at you like you were his next challenge.

you were the newest intern on the pr team, fresh into the whirlwind that was managing blue lock’s chaos. they’d warned you, over and over, that this job wasn’t just about one team. no, you were in charge of all five — barcha’s flashy social media blitz, ubers’ tight-lipped press demands, pxg’s controlled chaos, manshine’s risky rebranding campaigns, and of course…

kaiser.

you hadn’t even gotten your desk properly set up when he found you, slipping in with that cocky grin that made your skin prickle.

“let me guess,” you said, already tired of his smug attitude, “you think i’m just another girl who’s going to fall for the star striker?”

he cocked an eyebrow, like you amused him. “no. i know you’re not just another girl. that’s why i made it interesting.”

you crossed your arms, keeping your voice steady despite the way your heart beat faster. “i don’t have time for games.”

his eyes glinted with challenge. “then try to keep up, liebling [darling].”

he leaned in, his voice dropping to that infuriatingly smooth tone that made you want to punch him and laugh at the same time.

“winner gets bragging rights. first to fall in love loses.”

you swallowed the lump forming in your throat, fought the impulse to smile, and looked away. this was going to be a battle — and somehow, you already knew it wouldn’t be so easy to win.

you quickly learned that being the newest intern on the blue lock pr team meant diving headfirst into chaos — and managing more than just one team was a lesson in controlled madness. each squad had its own personality, its own challenges.

barcha, being the loudest with bachira over there has their flashy social media content demanded constant attention. their fans craved excitement, and your phone buzzed non-stop with requests for new posts, player interviews, and viral clips. managing their image was like trying to hold a firework show in a hurricane.

ubers took the opposite approach — stoic and serious, their press demands tight and unforgiving. every word had to be measured, every statement vetted carefully. no room for mistakes. you’d spend hours drafting and redrafting press releases, balancing professionalism with a hint of warmth.

pxg? pure chaos. their locker room was a storm of personalities and egos, and your job was to make sure none of that spilled into the media. sometimes you felt like a juggler with too many balls in the air, praying none of them would drop.

manshine was in the middle of a rebranding campaign, trying to reinvent themselves. the pressure was on to make their image sleek, modern, and appealing — but with a hint of mystery. that meant tight deadlines, surprise meetings, and frantic brainstorming sessions.

and then there was bastard münchen.

the team that was as much a force of nature as they were a soccer club — rough around the edges, fiercely competitive, and infamous for their wild energy both on and off the pitch. the media loved to paint them as rebels, the “bad boys” of blue lock, and you quickly understood why.

and within those bastards was michael kaiser — their golden striker, the guy who refused to play by anyone’s rules but his own. his ego was as massive as his talent, his confidence filling every room he walked into, his smirk disarming crowds and teammates alike. he was the heart of the team’s chaos and charisma all at once.

kaiser was impossible to ignore. the moment he entered a room, his presence took over. and somehow, he always found you. calling you “liebling [darling] ” or “kätzchen [kitten] ” with a wink, like it was a game — and you were the prize.

one afternoon, you were coordinating a complicated press shoot for barcha’s latest campaign. cameras flashed, stylists fussed, and players posed with practiced ease — but you were focused on the schedule, clipboard in hand, barking out orders to keep everything on track.

kaiser appeared at your side, his voice a low murmur meant only for you. “you’re too serious, kätzchen. you need to lighten up.”

you glanced at him, arching an eyebrow but resisting the urge to laugh. “someone has to keep you in line, micha.”

he chuckled, that deep laugh that made your heart skip just a little. “maybe. or maybe i just like the way you challenge me.”

you rolled your eyes but the smile you couldn’t hide betrayed you. it was dangerous, this back-and-forth. the way he could make a simple phrase sound like a promise.

later that week, as you were helping ubers with a press conference, you found yourself surrounded by players from other teams, answering questions, sharing laughs, and juggling requests. it was a lot, but you liked the challenge.

kaiser wasn’t far off, watching from a distance, a flicker in his eyes that you didn’t catch right away. then he came over, sliding in beside you with a grin that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“so, liebling,” he said, voice teasing but edged with something sharper, “you seem very interested in what pxg’s star forward just said.”

you glanced at the player, a tall, charismatic guy who was mid-story, and back to kaiser, who was watching you like a hawk.

“he was just telling me about their new training routine. it’s relevant for the press coverage.”

“hm,” kaiser hummed, “interesting. but not as interesting as me, right?”

you smirked. “don’t flatter yourself.”

kaiser leaned closer, lowering his voice. “i don’t flatter, kätzchen. i know.”

there was a brief silence between you, charged and electric.

“you’re jealous,” you said softly, amused.

his smirk twisted into something almost vulnerable. “maybe. or maybe i just don’t like sharing the spotlight.”

you nudged him playfully. “micha, it’s not a competition. you know that.”

“maybe not,” he said, eyes locking on yours. “but i don’t plan on losing.”

you laughed, but your heart was pounding. beneath the teasing and bravado, something real was brewing, a challenge neither of you expected, and neither were quite ready to admit.

and with kaiser, every moment felt like the start of something that could never be just a game.

there were also some moments when kaiser would suddenly show up in your office unannounced just to tease the hell out of you, like right now.

you were buried in a pile of press releases and social media schedules, fingers flying over your keyboard, when the door creaked open.

there he was—micha, smirking like he owned the place, leaning against the doorframe with all the casual arrogance he could muster.

“working hard, liebling?” he drawled, voice dripping with playful mockery.

you groaned, rubbing your temples. “micha, what are you doing here? i have a million things to do.”

he stepped inside, closing the door behind him like it was a stage curtain dropping. “just thought i’d remind you who’s winning our little bet.”

you didn’t look up. “you’re dreaming.”

he moved closer, too close, until you could feel his warmth right behind you. one hand brushed your shoulder, fingers tracing slow, teasing circles. “maybe, but i like my odds.”

you finally glanced over your shoulder, catching his mischievous grin. “stop it.”

“stop what?” he whispered, leaning in so his breath tickled your ear, “making you fall for me?”

your breath hitched. you twisted in your chair, just enough to meet his eyes. “micha…”

he pressed a light kiss to your cheek, just below your ear, before stepping back with a victorious smirk. “see? easy to fall, liebling.”

you rolled your eyes, but the flush creeping up your neck betrayed you. “you’re impossible.”

“and you love it.” he winked, heading for the door. “don’t work too hard — i might have to come back for another visit.”

there were also times when kaiser would secretly pull you into the locker room after practice, using the excuse of needing a quick word about the upcoming press schedule.

the door clicked softly behind you, shutting out the distant echoes of the players wrapping up. the air inside was cooler, tinged with the faint scent of sweat and leather. the usual bustle of the stadium faded away, replaced by a charged quiet that made your skin tingle.

kiser didn’t say much at first. instead, he stepped close, his presence overwhelming in the tight space. you could feel the heat radiating off him, the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath his shirt.

“liebling,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “how long are you going to keep pretending you don’t feel this?”

before you could answer, his hand found the small of your back, steadying you. his lips followed a slow path down your neck, soft and deliberate, brushing against your skin like a promise. a shiver ran through you, his warm breath fanning over the sensitive spot just below your ear.

your heart hammered in your chest, caught between shock and something deeper — a pull you couldn’t resist. your fingers curled into the back of his shirt, anchoring yourself as he deepened the kiss on your neck, just for a moment, teasing but full of intent.

he pulled back slightly, eyes dark and searching. “i’m winning this, kätzchen.” he whispered, voice thick with something almost tender.

the tension between you wasn’t just a game anymore. it was raw, dangerous, and beautiful—a line you both danced around but neither dared cross completely.

and in that quiet locker room, away from the crowds and cameras, the bet faded into the background, replaced by something real that neither of you could ignore.

kaiser may have the tendency to tease you and make you frustrated most of the time, but there were also moments when he’d tone it all down. moments that caught you off guard, when the sharp edges of his teasing softened into something quietly caring, almost tender.

like that late afternoon when you were buried under a mountain of work, your eyes heavy and barely staying open at your desk. the office was quiet, the hum of the city outside fading into a soft background noise. your head dipped lower, and you fought the pull of exhaustion.

you didn’t notice when the door opened quietly behind you, footsteps soft but deliberate.

then, you felt it, the weight of his jacket slipping gently over your shoulders, the fabric warm and familiar, shielding you from the chill creeping into the room.

you blinked up, surprised to see micha standing there with a small coffee cup in hand, his usual smirk softened into something almost protective.

“for you, liebling,” he murmured, voice low and sincere.

you let out a tired laugh. “what, you worried about me now?”

he shrugged, but the spark in his eyes was different. “someone’s gotta keep you from killing yourself with work.”

you wanted to protest, but before you could, he pulled out the couch nearby and sat down. “come here,” he commanded softly.

you hesitated, but exhaustion won. you eased down beside him, barely able to keep your eyes open.

without missing a beat, he gently pulled you into his lap, careful as if you were fragile. your head found its place against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear.

“you’re not getting enough sleep, meine liebe” he said quietly, fingers threading through your hair, soothing and slow.

“i’m fine,” you murmured, but your voice was thick with tiredness.

he pressed a kiss to your temple. “no, you’re not. and i’m not letting you work yourself into the ground.”

in that moment, the teasing faded away, replaced by a quiet warmth that made your chest ache in the best way.

“micha,” you whispered, voice barely audible, “you’re impossible.”

he chuckled softly, lips brushing against your hairline. “i'm aware”

you closed your eyes, letting yourself sink into the rare peace he offered — a soft, stolen moment away from the noise and the bet, where just being close was enough.

as you rested against him, kaiser’s fingers gently tracing slow patterns in your hair, he muttered something under his breath — almost too soft to hear.

he pulled back just a bit, eyes flicking down to you, voice low and hesitant, “maybe... i’m losing the bet.”

you blinked, but you didn’t catch what he said. maybe it was just your tired mind playing tricks.

“what was that, micha?” you asked, half-smiling, but he just shook his head with that signature smirk, brushing a stray lock of hair from your face.

“nothing, liebling. just thinking out loud.”

kaiser was sure he was losing the bet. how could he not be? every time you showed up at his games, standing just beyond the sidelines or leaning casually against the press area, something inside him shifted. suddenly, he wasn’t just playing for the team or the fans anymore—he was playing to impress you.

he caught himself pushing harder, sprinting faster, weaving through defenders with a flair he usually kept tucked away. his smirk after every goal wasn’t just for the crowd, it was for you.

“why else would i care so much, liebling?” he muttered one evening, half to himself, half to the empty office as he slumped into his chair.

he knew the answer, even if he tried to deny it. this wasn’t just a game anymore. it was something more, something he wasn’t ready to admit, but couldn’t hide. and deep down, that terrified him.

yet, whenever you smiled his way, or called him “micha” with that tired, knowing grin, he felt something fierce and stubborn flare inside him.

he was falling, fast and hard, and damn if he wasn’t going to enjoy every moment, even if it meant losing the bet.

you started noticing it—the little things. kaiser’s teasing never stopped, but there was something different now. beneath the sharp banter and playful jabs, you felt the weight of something real, something genuine.

like the way his smirk lingered a moment longer when you caught his eye. or how, after a joke that usually made you roll your eyes, he’d catch your reaction and soften it with a quick, almost shy glance.

one afternoon, you were wrapping up a press release for manshine when micha popped into your office unannounced, as usual. “schatz,” he drawled, leaning casually against the doorframe, that trademark smirk in place. “working late again?”

“obviously,” you shot back, already expecting the teasing.

he pushed off the wall and stepped closer, voice dropping a notch. “you know, if you keep burning the candle at both ends, i might just have to drag you away from your desk.”

you raised an eyebrow. “oh really? and how would you do that?”

without missing a beat, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you up, pulling you into a mock struggle before settling you down on the couch. “just like this.”

you laughed, trying to squirm away, but there was a softness in his eyes that made you pause. “micha…”

he brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear and his grin softened into something warmer. “i’m serious, liebling. you’re not invincible.”

it struck you then, his teasing was still there, but it was laced with care, with concern.

and as you leaned into him, feeling the easy tension between you, you realized maybe kaiser’s game wasn’t just a bet anymore. maybe, just maybe, it was something more.

it’s a random thursday when it happens.

the media shoot for bastard münchen runs late, and the rest of the team’s already long gone by the time you and kaiser are left in the pr office. the lights are dimmed, just the glow from your laptop and the faint hum of your playlist filling the quiet.

you’re kneeling near the storage shelf, sorting through camera gear and tangled mic wires, too tired to care about how stiff your blazer’s gotten from wearing it all day. behind you, kaiser leans against the doorway, arms crossed, blue eyes sharp and unreadable.

it’s one of those moments, the ones where he shows up unannounced, just to tease the hell out of you. he always has a smug quip, always something to say. but tonight, he’s unusually quiet.

you glance back over your shoulder. “you good?”

his gaze flickers across your face like he’s memorizing every inch. and then, casually, like he’s commenting on the weather —

“i think i’m in love with you.”

you freeze.

your hands go still on the cables, your breath catches just enough to betray you.

there’s a long pause.

too long.

too quiet.

he sees your reaction—the way your spine straightens, the way your fingers tighten slightly around the gear—and immediately, panic flickers in his expression. his smirk reappears, but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“kidding,” he says, tone light. too light. “obviously. still part of the bet. you’re almost there, right?”

you turn back to the equipment, force your voice to stay steady. “right.”

you don’t look at him. don’t let him see the hurt that blooms sharp in your chest like a bruise spreading under your ribs.

because you really thought… maybe it was real.

and maybe, that was your mistake.

you finish organizing the last mic, carefully winding the cord like your hands aren’t trembling slightly. behind you, kaiser shifts, but doesn’t say anything else. the air feels colder now, like whatever fragile warmth had existed between you had slipped out with his words.

what you don’t see—what you don’t know—is that kaiser had meant every damn word.

it wasn’t a line. it wasn’t part of the bet.

he’d said it without thinking, with the kind of quiet honesty that scares even him. and the moment he saw how still you went, how surprised you looked… fear kicked in.

he’s never needed anyone to know him before. never cared if people loved him or hated him, as long as they watched.

but you.

you make him want to be real. and that terrifies him.

so he took it back.

because kaiser didn’t know if you’d ever feel the same… and pride has always been easier than heartbreak.

but now, standing there in the doorway while you refuse to even glance his way, he realizes what he’s done.

he pushed you away the second he was closest to pulling you in.

and for the first time since he made that stupid, arrogant bet…

he’s terrified that he actually lost you.

then the next day came.

and the shift was unmistakable.

kaiser walked into the pr office like he always did, head held high, trademark cocky swagger in full force, expecting the usual. your unimpressed side-eye. the sarcastic “you’re not allowed in here, you know.” maybe, if he was lucky, the quiet smile you didn’t think anyone noticed when he leaned too close or called you liebling under his breath.

but this time?

nothing.

you were already at your desk, posture perfectly straight, headset on, fingers flying across the keyboard like you hadn’t just been the recipient of a half-confession the night before.

no teasing. no sarcastic quip. no glance in his direction.

just silence.

kaiser blinked, momentarily thrown off. okay, he thought. maybe she’s just busy.

he stepped inside anyway—uninvited, as usual—leaned casually against the filing cabinet near your desk.

“morgen, liebling.” he said with practiced ease, the pet name wrapping around the room like it always did.

your response?

a quiet, barely audible “morning.” you didn’t even look up.

his smirk faltered.

not that anyone else would notice, he was too good at keeping up the front. too good at hiding the fact that the cold brush-off felt like a punch to the chest.

he stayed there for a beat longer, waiting for the real reaction. the one where you'd roll your eyes and throw a pen at him. the one where you’d smirk and say, “don’t call me that at work, kaiser.”

but nothing came.

he walked out without another word, unsure if it was better to laugh or scream.

it only got worse from there.

during practice, he caught himself looking through the glass window of the upper level, where your office overlooked the training pitch, and you were there, clipboard in hand, headset still on. but you weren’t watching him. not like you usually did. not like you used to, when he’d send a wink your way after a goal or mouth a smug “for you.”

you didn’t glance at him even once.

and for someone who thrived on attention—who lived off reactions, validation, control—your silence hit like a direct kick to the ribs.

“yo,” ness nudged him mid-warmup. “you and the pr girl good? you’re off today. it’s creepy.”

“she’s busy,” kaiser grunted, brushing it off.

but his tone lacked conviction. even he could hear it.

isagi joined in a few minutes later, towel slung around his neck as he jogged beside him. “dude. did you mess up? she’s been acting different. super professional. formal. like—” he whistled low “—back to intern mode.”

kaiser didn’t respond.

because yeah. he’d noticed too.

the way you didn’t walk beside him down the halls anymore. the way you addressed him like a client in the media meeting, “kaiser, you’re expected at the post-match interview in ten” voice crisp, tone detached, like you weren’t the same person who once called him micha with something close to fondness under your breath.

not once today had you used that name.

and god, he missed it.

he missed you.

the real you, the version who didn’t flinch when he leaned in too close, who rolled her eyes when he flirted, who pretended not to smile when he brought you coffee just to watch your expression shift. he missed the quiet tension that buzzed between your fingertips whenever he reached out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the spark in your eyes when you pretended not to care.

and now?

now, you looked right through him. like last night had never happened. like the words “i think i’m in love with you” had been a figment of his imagination.

but it wasn’t your distance that killed him.

it was the fact that you didn’t confront him. didn’t retaliate. didn’t even acknowledge it.

because if you’d fought him, he could’ve argued back.

if you’d teased him, he could’ve spun it around, turned it into another game.

but this quiet, clinical version of you?

it meant you were hurt.

and worse, that you were hiding it behind professionalism.

that’s when it hit him.

you’d thought he was serious last night.

because he was serious.

what you didn’t know—couldn’t know—was that kaiser had never meant to say it out loud. he hadn’t planned on confessing anything. he was michael kaiser. prideful, untouchable, golden boy. he didn’t fall.

and yet, there he was, leaning in the doorway of your office after hours, watching the way your fingers moved and thinking i’m in love with her.

he’d said it without thinking.

and then panicked. covered it up with a joke because he was terrified of the shift, terrified of losing the upper hand, of admitting that the game had stopped being a game weeks ago.

he saw the way your shoulders stiffened.

he heard the pause.

and still, he laughed.

called it a joke.

just so he didn’t have to deal with the weight of what he’d just said out loud.

now you were slipping away from him, inch by inch, behind a wall of professionalism and distance.

and it was entirely his fault.

for the first time in his life, michael kaiser didn’t feel like a winner.

he felt like someone who was about to lose something real.

and the worst part?

he wasn’t sure how to fix it.

not yet.

it all comes to a head at the gala.

blue lock’s annual fundraising night, suits, champagne, media appearances, and gold-dipped smiles plastered across every player’s face. the pr team is in full force tonight, and as one of the top interns, you’re assigned to coordinate behind the scenes.

you didn’t expect to be seen.

definitely didn’t expect to be noticed.

but you were wrong.

your dress is nothing too extravagant, just a simple off-shoulder satin piece in midnight blue, elegant, understated. but it hugs in all the right places. a little more skin than usual, a little less guarded. your hair’s pinned up, leaving your collarbones exposed, catching the soft golden light of the chandeliers.

kaiser notices the moment you step into the room.

and his entire chest goes tight.

he's halfway through a conversation with a sponsor, flute of champagne untouched in his hand, but his eyes are glued to you, the way your fingers brush a curl behind your ear, the soft laugh you give when someone hands you a glass.

you’re not looking at him.

and yet, every man in the room is looking at you.

and then he walks up, some finance guy, older, tall, too smooth with his words, asking if you’re free for a drink after the event. kaiser’s too far to hear what you’re saying, but he doesn’t need to.

the guy leans in closer. his hand brushes your lower back. you don’t step away.

kaiser’s jaw clenches.

and then another one joins. some smirking ex-pro turned broadcaster who’s all too eager to compliment your smile. and god, you smile back.

that’s it.

he’s had enough.

“excuse me,” kaiser says, voice tight as he hands off his glass to the nearest staff member without a glance. his teammates call after him, confused. someone asks where he’s going.

but he’s already striding across the ballroom.

you don’t even notice him until his hand wraps gently but firmly around your wrist.

your eyes widen. “kaiser?”

“we’re leaving.”

you blink. “what—? i’m working.”

“not anymore.”

his voice is low. controlled. but there’s something wild simmering beneath the surface, jealousy, frustration, something close to desperation.

the two men standing beside you step back, startled.

“hey, man—” one of them starts, defensive.

but kaiser’s not listening.

he’s pulling you away from the crowd, past the confused eyes of sponsors and players, down the hallways of the stadium and back toward the pr wing like a storm on legs.

you protest once, “kaiser, let go—” but it’s weak. your heart is thudding too loudly, your breath catching at the heat in his eyes.

the moment the door to your office slams shut behind you, he turns—fast, sharp, like he’s been waiting for this.

you barely have time to draw a breath before his voice slices through the thick silence.

“do you enjoy it?”

you blink. “what?”

his jaw tightens. there’s heat in his eyes, something stormy and restless. “having them look at you like that. letting them touch you.”

your brows pull together, confusion giving way to disbelief. “it’s part of the job. it was harmless.”

“harmless?” he takes a step closer, the air between you shrinking. “they had no idea who you are to me.”

you flinch at the words—not because of what they mean, but because of what they don’t.

“maybe that’s because you made damn sure i wasn’t anything to you,” you fire back, the words out before you can reel them in.

the sentence lands like a slap. the silence that follows is louder than any scream.

his expression falters—just for a second. a flicker of something wounded passes beneath the cool, practiced arrogance.

“you think i don’t care?” he asks, quieter now, his voice laced with something raw. “you think this doesn’t eat me alive?”

he moves again, slow but deliberate, until your back hits the edge of your desk and you’re caged by his presence. it’s not threatening—but it’s consuming.

“you wear that dress,” he murmurs, eyes dipping to your collarbone, lingering like a touch. “you smile like that. and you expect me to stand there and watch them put their hands on you?”

you meet his gaze, unwavering despite the way your pulse races. your voice comes out steady—cool, despite the fire beneath your skin.

“you don’t get to be jealous,” you say. “not after you said it was all a joke.”

his mouth opens slightly, like the words caught him off guard.

then—barely audible—he says, “it wasn’t.”

you go still.

but now that the dam has cracked, he doesn’t stop.

“you think i didn’t mean it?” his voice is rough, strained. “you think i’d say i think i’m in love with you just to play some twisted game?”

you don’t answer. your silence is louder than words.

he exhales, ragged. “i panicked,” he admits, softer now. “i’ve always been in control. of the game. the spotlight. the way people see me. but you…”

he swallows, and it’s the most human sound you’ve ever heard from him.

“you’re the only thing i can’t manage.”

your gaze drops, but his fingers gently tilt your chin up again, forcing you to face him.

“i meant it, meine liebe,” he says, voice trembling at the edges. “every damn word.”

the room feels still, suspended in that fragile space between what was and what could be.

you hate the way your heart clenches.

hate the part of you that wants to believe him.

hate the way your breath stutters when his thumb brushes your cheek, soft like a secret.

then, in a voice barely more than a whisper—

“tell me it’s too late. and i’ll walk out that door.”

you don’t.

instead, your voice breaks the silence, quiet but sure.

“you really fell first, huh?”

and when he kisses you—desperate, deep, like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight—it’s not about the game, the act, or the mask he wears so well.

it’s real.

and this time, you let yourself kiss him back. completely. unapologetically.

like maybe, just maybe, this was always meant to happen.

[raekensluver]

closing arguments (2)

masterlist | main masterlist - part one, part two, part three

description: in a bar full of shadows and jazz, years of courtroom tension between you and arthur frederick unravel into a slow, intimate night that ends not with a win or loss-but a kiss.

contains: fluff, eventual smut, rivals to lovers trope, lawyer!fem!reader

song rec: never be the same by camilla cabello- "just one hit of you, i knew i'll never, ever, ever be the same."

w.c: 778+

a.n: this chapter is dedicated solely to @livvymd, thank you for your help babes. 💗

the second you stepped into the bar, all glass and shadows and soft jazz, you felt it-his gaze, landing on you like a claim. your black dress clung like it knew the stakes, your heels echoing like a countdown.

from his seat at the bar, arthur turned- slow, delibrate, unstartled. like he’d felt you before he saw you. like some part of him had been waiting. he didn’t move a muscle, didn’t shift in his chair, but his eyes swept over you with a precision that felt almost surgical. clinical, focused, and laced with something darker. hungrier.

his gaze dragged up your legs, paused at your hips, lingered at the neckline of your dress like it was a secret only he had permission to read. and then- he met your eyes.

calm. unreadable. blazing.

like a man who’d spent years pretending you were just another opponent across the aisle… and had finally stopped lying to himself.

you were used to being looked at. stared at. sized up.

this wasn’t that.

arthur frederick looked at you like you were the first case he couldn’t win by keeping his distance.

because this wasn’t about the law anymore.

this was about you.

he wore a black short-sleeve button-up that hugged his frame a little too well, paired with black pants and crisp white sneakers. he stood up as you approached, and that smug little half-smile stretched across his face.

“wow,” he said, voice softer now. “i didn’t think you’d dress to kill…but here i am. officially murdered.”

you laughed, sliding onto the barstool next to him. “you never turn it off, do you?”

“only if you ask real nice,” he murmured, eyes crinkling at the corners. then, after a pause, “you look incredible, by the way.”

you hadn’t expected that- not the softness in his voice, not the sincerity behind the teasing. heat crept up your neck, blooming across your cheeks as you glanced down, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your black dress hugged your frame. with nothing to fidget with, your hands settled uselessly in your lap, fingers twisting together as if they might ground you. you could feel his gaze lingering, warm and steady, and it took everything in you not to look back.

just then, the bartender appeared, saving you from having to say anything at all. “dirty martini, please. extra olives.”

arthur leaned his elbow on the counter, his gaze never leaving you. “of course you drink something with bite. fitting.”

“and let me guess,” you said, eyes narrowing. “old fashioned?”

“whiskey sour, actually.” he raised his glass. “sharp, a little unexpected, but still classic.”

you clinked glasses, and the first sip settled into a comfortable buzz of conversation and glances that lingered a little too long. what had begun as a professional rivalry was unraveling itself under soft jazz and dim lights. you talked about law school, the professors you hated, the cases that still haunted you, and the small rebellions you each allowed yourselves.

and through it all, he kept complimenting you- not in the overbearing, trying-too-hard way- but in a way that made you feel...seen.

the flirtation was steady, comfortable, laced with tension that had been simmering for years. when you moved to a private table by the window, the energy shifted- softer now, slower. he kept stealing glances at you between sips. and you let him.

when the bill came, he didn’t let you reach for your wallet.

“consider it a professional courtesy,” he said.

you rolled your eyes. “you’re still losing next hearing.”

“we’ll see,” he said, smiling.

outside, the air was cool and quiet. the streets were mostly empty, save for the hum of distant traffic. he offered to walk you home, and you didn’t even think twice before saying yes.

the walk was slow, easy. you were just tipsy enough for the world to feel soft around the edges. he kept pace beside you, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed.

“you were different tonight,” you said suddenly.

“different how?”

“less...unbearable.”

he chuckled. “i’ll take that as progress.”

you leaned into him without thinking, your shoulder brushing his. and he didn’t hesitate- his arm slid around your shoulders, warm and steady.

you let out a quiet sigh, the kind that came from feeling safe, not from exhaustion.

“don’t read into this,” you murmured.

“i’m a lawyer,” he said, his voice close to your temple. “i read into everything.”

you smiled, resting your head briefly against his shoulder as the city blurred past.

at your door, you paused. he looked at you with something gentler than you were used to. no arrogance. no teasing. just...arthur.

you leaned in. and he met you halfway.

the kiss was slow, sweet, unhurried. his hand settled lightly at your waist. he tasted like citrus and something deeper- something that made your stomach flip.

when you pulled back, neither of you spoke for a moment.

“i’ll call you,” he said finally, voice low.

you nodded. “you better.”

he waited until you were inside before he turned to leave.

and as you leaned back against the door, your pulse still skimming beneath your skin, your lips tingling from the kiss-

you let yourself smile.

because for once, it hadn’t felt like a power play.

it had just felt good. natural. easy.

like maybe, with him, it didn’t always have to be a war.

[loverangels]

i saw you were asking for requests sooo !band luke castellan? like he’s all shy about it because he’s got a concert or something

could be fluff/smut whatever you want

pairings: band!luke castellan x fem!reader

a/n:made him a bit cocky and smug in the beginning because we all know that's how it is 🤭 hope you enjoy this love!

Backstage was buzzing with energy. Crew members were rushing around, adjusting lights and sound equipment, while the rest of the band were either warming up or pacing nervously. Luke Castellan, however, was doing neither. He was lounging against a wall, guitar in hand, his usual smug smirk plastered across his face.

When he saw you walk backstage, his grin widened, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes—something you’d learned to read as nervousness. You couldn’t help but smile as you approached him, knowing exactly what was going on in that cocky little head of his.

“Can’t believe I’m getting VIP treatment,” you teased, crossing your arms as you leaned in the doorway. “I guess I should be honored.”

He tilted his head, raising an eyebrow as he pushed himself off the wall, all swagger and confidence. “Oh, I know you’re honored. Who wouldn’t be when they get to see me perform live?” His voice was smooth, the usual cocky edge in place.

You crossed your arms and gave him a knowing smile. “Yeah, sure, if you don’t pass out from stage fright first.”

Luke’s smirk faltered, just for a moment, but it was enough for you to catch it. His eyes darted away briefly, and he ran a hand through his hair, suddenly looking uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Please,” he said with a forced chuckle, trying to brush it off. “I’m fine. Just getting in the zone.”

You weren’t fooled. “You’re nervous.”

“I am not nervous,” he snapped a little too quickly, flashing you that same smug grin, though it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’m just... making sure everything’s perfect.”

You stepped closer to him, your eyes softening. “It’s okay to be nervous, you know. You’re about to perform in front of hundreds of people, it’s normal."

Luke shifted his weight from one foot to the other, still trying to act like he had everything under control. “Not a big deal. I’m used to big crowds.”

You raised an eyebrow. “You sure? You’re shaking.”

He sighed dramatically, rubbing the back of his neck. “Okay, fine. Maybe I’m a little...” He shot you a glance, his blue eyes widening just slightly. “Okay, a lot nervous."

You grinned, stepping closer. “You? Nervous?” You laughed softly, “What happened to the cocky, charming Luke I know and love?”

Luke snorted, but his cheeks were turning pink now. He gave you a sheepish look. “Yeah, well, you are here. I want to impress you, alright? I’ve never had someone like you in the crowd before. Makes the stakes a little higher.”

Your heart melted. You couldn’t help but step in, cupping his face gently. “You don’t have to impress me. You already do, every day.”

Luke’s expression softened at that, his usual smirk turning into a more genuine smile, though still a little shy. “You’re too good to me, you know that?”

You leaned in, brushing your lips against his in a quick, tender kiss, before pulling back just enough to smile at him. “Now, go out there and do what you do best. I’ll be right in the front, cheering you on.”

He hesitated for a moment, then cupped the back of your neck and kissed you again—this time slower, like he was trying to anchor himself to you before he stepped out onto that stage. When he pulled back, he ran a hand through his hair again, trying to look like his usual confident self, but you could see the nerves still lingering in his eyes.

“Alright,” he muttered, trying to sound casual. “I guess I’ve got a show to crush.”

You grinned, giving him a playful shove toward the stage. “Go make them all fall in love with you, Luke. You’ve got this.”

When Luke stepped onto the stage, the crowd roared, the noise like a wave crashing against the shore. He froze for half a second, his smirk faltering as he looked out at the sea of faces. Hundreds of people, their eyes all on him.

But then, his gaze swept through the crowd—and locked on you. The nervous energy melted away from his shoulders as he caught sight of you, standing front and center.

A soft, knowing smile spread across his face, the usual cocky edge returning in full force. He tilted his head and winked, his fingers strumming the first chord of the song like nothing had ever phased him.

“Good evening, everyone!” he called into the mic, his voice oozing with confidence once again. “Let’s make tonight unforgettable.”

As the band launched into the first song, Luke found his rhythm, the nervous tension that had held him back backstage gone. But every time he sang a line or played a riff, his eyes flickered back to you—just long enough to reassure himself that you were still there.

It was almost like you were his anchor, the one thing he could count on when everything else felt overwhelming. Each time you locked eyes, his smirk softened into something more tender, and the cocky, rockstar Luke you knew so well became just... Luke, the guy who was crazy about you.

When the concert was finally over, Luke couldn’t get to you fast enough. He was sweaty and exhilarated, but the first thing he did when he saw you was wrap his arms around you, kissing you deeply, his lips warm and urgent as if he hadn’t seen you in years.

“God, you’re perfect,” he muttered against your lips, his hands gripping you tightly. “I did it... I really did it.”

“Of course you did,” you teased, resting your forehead against his. “You’re Luke Castellan. You’re kind of amazing.”

He chuckled, pulling back to look at you. “I was nervous as hell out there, you know.”

“Yeah,” you said with a smirk, “I could tell.”

Luke rolled his eyes, but there was a genuine, goofy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “I’m just glad you’re here. It made it easier.”

You smiled softly, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You didn’t need to impress me, Luke. You’re already perfect to me.”

He leaned down to kiss you again, his lips slow and tender, and for that moment, all his nerves were gone. All that was left was him and you.

[silkscream]

CHAPTER 17: FORCE OF NATURE

ੈ✩ gojo satoru x reader

ੈ✩ chapter cw/tags: angst, vaginal sex, rough sex, prone-bone, dubcon

ੈ✩ wc: 6.9k

ੈ✩ a/n: there's your dinner

playlist ✸ read on ao3 ✸ series masterlist

April, 2010

When Suguru fucks you, lately, he’s gentle.

It’s only slightly unlike him. He’s often pent-up from missions, the same way that Satoru is, but the need instilled in him is different. Quieter. You can’t encapsulate it in words — it’s all feeling.

You think that maybe this is the reason that you sometimes favor him. It makes you feel guilty. Beyond all of Satoru’s faults and flaws, you know that he loves you. It all comes out in jagged, messy ways, but he does.

Being with Suguru alone feels… simpler. There is nothing unkempt about him. Every time he needs you, he never begs. It’s often the other way around.

It’s easy for you to be pliable for him with just a few words. Conversations that make you feel larger than life, faint touches that have your skin shivering. He makes you feel like a girl. Desperate and easily enraptured.

While Satoru is loud and talkative, Suguru is reserved and magnetizing. There are moments in between classes when he takes your hand and lies with you in the grass, sharing soft-spoken jokes and murmurs. There’s always something guarding his mind. You can tell. It only makes you want to pry even more, but Suguru is good at deflecting.

You’d be content to share a bed with him and simply stare at his face for hours. Sometimes, you’re with Satoru and you yearn for that. The things that Satoru babbles on about go through one ear and out the other. His energy is always frenetic whereas yours is starting to feel lethargic.

__

Through early April, cherry blossoms begin to fall, coating the grounds of Jujutsu Tech in a soft pink blanket. You’re surrounded in heaven wherever you are.

Satoru is bombarded with solo missions. Meanwhile, your company is kept with Suguru, who sleeps in your bed with you most nights.

At the moment, you’re tangled with him. The moonlight casts a silvery glow across his features. Sometimes, he doesn’t even look human to you. You could swear that he was sent to Earth as a being born from the stars. You feel pathetic and corny even thinking about it.

Despite being wrapped up in you, his eyes are distant, focused on something beyond the confines of the room. Beyond your reach. Aside from the chorus of cicadas outside, silence stretches between you.

“Suguru,” you whisper, your fingers tracing the line of his jaw. “What are you thinking about?”

He turns to you, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "Nothing important," he murmurs, leaning in to place a soft kiss on your forehead.

You're not satisfied with this answer. It's always like this lately - his thoughts locked away behind an impenetrable wall. You sit up, pulling the sheet around you, frustration bubbling up in your chest. The tenderness of moments before evaporates, replaced by a tension that crackles between you like static electricity.

“You’re clearly thinking about something.”

“I’m not,” he answers softly. “Just you. Just thinking about how pretty you are.”

You sigh. “That’s all?”

He gives you a smug grin. “You don’t like being told you’re pretty?”

“I do. Maybe I just want to pick your brain sometimes. Rummage inside of it like a treasure chest.”

He scoffs. “Just because Satoru says everything that’s on his mind doesn’t mean I have to.”

Your face flickers with disappointment at his tone. He probably didn’t mean to sound bitter, but it came out more curt than you expected.

“Don’t you tell him everything on your mind, though?”

“Sometimes, I guess. He’s my best friend.”

Then what am I?

You almost say it out loud.

“Have you talked to him lately?” you ask. “He hasn’t been answering my texts.”

“Shocker,” Suguru replies, a hint of sarcasm laced on his tongue. You frown slightly.

“He always answers.”

“He’s also the strongest,” he snorts. “Can’t always dote on his little wifey, can he?”

“What?”

His smirk falters slightly. “I’m just kidding, baby,” he says softly, kissing your nose. “He’s probably busy or he doesn’t have service.”

“Are you two fighting again?” you blurt out.

Suguru raises a brow in surprise. “What do you mean?”

“I just know that sometimes the two of you argue. And you know, the bruises—”

“The ones from sparring or the ones from sex?”

You’re quiet. Both, you want to say. But then it occurs to you that none of it is particularly your business.

It was always difficult to tell where you stood between the two of them. It was as if you were on a constant current, buoying towards rough waters where you didn’t belong.

“I— um. I don’t know. I just noticed things have been… tense.”

He stares at you blankly. “Things are fine.”

“Are they?” You have the urge to ask him a million questions. Was everything fine? Between him and Satoru, you felt like a thinning rope in a tug of war, but always unsure of who was pulling harder.

“You just seem, I don’t know… off lately,” you continue, mumbling. “I can’t help but wonder if something’s bothering you.”

He pauses before speaking again. “There’s just a lot on my mind.”

“Like what?”

He rolls his eyes and it guts you more than it should. “Just a lot. There’s more cursed user activity, more grueling missions. I’ll probably get assigned more soon.”

“You’re doing it again. Deflecting.”

“What are you talking about?”

“You’re just—” you sigh, “You're always... guarded. I feel like there's a part of you I can't reach.”

Suguru's expression remains impassive, but you notice the slight tightening of his jaw. He sits up as well, his bare chest gleaming in the dim light. "I've given you all of me that I can."

"Don't do that," you say, your voice sharper than you intend. "Don't brush me off."

"I'm not brushing you off. You’re throwing a tantrum because you’re expecting me to spill all my thoughts like you’re my therapist. Or are you feeling insecure and you want some grand romantic gesture from me? There’s nothing to say either way.”

You blink at him rapidly, hurt by his assumptions.

"I’m not expecting anything," you insist, frustration mounting. "I just… I feel like I barely know you sometimes. I just want to know what’s on your mind.”

“Maybe you won’t understand what’s on my mind,” he mutters. “If I can even put it into words. It’s okay to have different minds, you know. Different world views.”

Your face stings as if he’d just insulted you. You stare at the ceiling. What the hell did that mean? Did he keep things from you because he thought you wouldn’t understand? Did he think you were stupid?

“Okay,” you murmur weakly. “Whatever.”

__

March, 2012

The cherry blossoms are in full bloom again. Their delicate petals drift on the breeze through the window. Whispers of a forgotten spring. The change of the seasons whips you in the face— it had been so cold only a month prior.

You’re glad about it, anyway. February was always brutal. The passing of the 3rd had been awkward— unlike last year, neither you nor Satoru acknowledged the day at all, though you had danced around it as if Suguru’s ghost was following you.

You had flinched all day whenever Satoru spoke to you, as if paranoid he could read your mind.

He’d bombarded your thoughts, reminding you of the last birthday you spent with him. His face when he’d looked through the photo album you’d given him. The way he fucked you like he needed you to breathe.

Selfishly, you hope Suguru still has the photos. An awful part of you even hopes he still looks at them. You wish you’d kept some of them for yourself.

It was a stupid idea not to make copies. At the time, you considered making some to keep for yourself and to give to Satoru, but the keepsake you made for Suguru’s birthday felt like a secret just between them. Satoru hadn’t even thought to inquire about the photos you took anyway.

Often, you imagine them scattered on your walls, the boys teasing you as you decorated. Reminiscing your teenage years together, both of them laughing and joking around at the antics you’d been able to capture.

You make a mental note to purchase another disposable camera again. Satoru’s apartment could use more photographs, and the kids would get a kick out of it. You still haven’t moved in with him, to his chagrin, but you enjoy having your own space despite his qualms about it. It’s the one thing you have to yourself, even if he does pay your rent.

You sit alone on the balcony, a cup of lukewarm tea cradled in your hands, and you think of yourself from one year ago.

There’s a bittersweet ache in your chest. You can’t help but think of a certain dark-haired sorcerer that occupied so much of your time at Jujutsu Tech.

The world changed in his absence— the air heavier, charged with an undercurrent of tension that still hasn’t dissipated. In your head, Suguru Geto is a fleeting memory. A passing dream.

But there are moments when you feel the warmth of his body next to yours. The timbre of his voice. The intensity of his eyes when he looked at you as if he was seeing through you.

You shake the thoughts of him away as you dump your tea and make your way to the school. You have the greenhouse to yourself today.

It feels odd to walk around Jujutsu Tech without the presence of two shadows on either side of you. The slight breeze whips your hair and it makes you think of them — how Suguru would often tuck a flyaway back for you while Satoru would tug at your braid.

Stop thinking about it, you chastise yourself. He’s not dead.

Or maybe he was?

You aren’t sure if a year and a half feels too little or too long. There are dreams you have about crossing paths with Suguru— a raven-haired stranger in the night, a fleeting text message from an unknown number. When you overthink like this, it’s difficult to tell how much you really knew him at all. Were you important enough to even get in contact with again?

Something twists in your stomach when you think about the same hypothetical of Satoru. You think that maybe he would contact Satoru again. Maybe.

You weren’t there for the end. You hadn’t seen them fight, could barely imagine the thought of a tear-stricken, twenty-year-old Satoru begging Suguru for anything. Had they lashed out at each other? Had they said anything about you?

You pause in your work, hands hovering over a delicate orchid. Your insecurities flood back unbidden, vivid, and painful.

The nights you spent alone with Suguru replay in your mind. His guarded expression, the palpable tension between you. If only you'd pushed harder, tried to break through those walls. Maybe things would have been different.

But you didn't. And now he's gone.

A shadow falls across you, and for a moment, you think it's just another cloud passing overhead. But then you feel it - a presence that makes the air around you hum with an electric charge.

A sharp prick of pain jolts you from your reverie. You've pricked your finger on a thorn, a bead of blood welling up. You watch it for a moment, mesmerized by the crimson against your skin.

"Careful there," a familiar voice calls out. "Can't have you bleeding all over the plants."

You turn to see Satoru leaning against the greenhouse door, his presence filling the space as it always does.

"Hey," you say softly. "I thought you had a mission today."

He shrugs, sauntering over to you. "I do, but I wanted to stop by first. Thought I'd surprise you."

There's an awkward beat of silence as he stands beside you, both of you pretending to examine the flowers. You can feel the weight of unspoken words hanging between you.

"You were thinking about him again, weren't you?" Satoru's voice is quiet, lacking its usual bravado.

You don't answer immediately, unsure how to navigate this minefield. "I... it's hard not to sometimes," you admit finally. "Especially here."

Satoru nods, his face inscrutable. "Yeah. I get that."

Another silence stretches between you. You desperately want to ask him about that day, about what really happened. But you're afraid of the answer, afraid of reopening wounds that have barely begun to heal.

"Do you ever wonder..." you begin hesitantly, "if things could have been different? If we'd seen the signs earlier, or—”

“Twigs,” Satoru cuts you off sharply.

You flinch at his tone. “Sorry.”

His expression softens. He reaches out, gently taking your hand in his.

"No, I'm sorry," he murmurs. "I just... I can't think about the what-ifs. It's too much."

You nod slowly. Neither of you really talked about Suguru since he left. It was easier to pretend, to go on as if the gaping hole he left behind didn't exist.

"Do you think he's okay?" you whisper, voicing the fear that's been gnawing at you for months.

Satoru's jaw tightens almost imperceptibly. "He's alive. I'd know if he wasn't."

You nod, not quite sure if you believe him or if he even believes himself.

He sighs, pulling you into a tight embrace. You bury your face in his chest, inhaling the familiar scent of him, and for just a moment, you let yourself be comforted by his presence.

But as you stand there in Satoru's arms, surrounded by the falling cherry blossoms, you can't shake the feeling that something is still missing. That maybe it always will be.

April, 2012

You fumble with your keys, exhaustion weighing heavily on your limbs. The thought of going home to your apartment fills you with dread. You’d gotten into a squabble with Satoru again – asked too many questions about Suguru, your heart flooded with nostalgia.

He wanted to be patient with you, but you were childishly bitter.

As you push open the door, something feels... off. The air inside is charged, making the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. Your heart begins to race as you cautiously step inside, eyes scanning the darkened room.

"Twigs."

The voice, smooth as silk and familiar, cuts through the silence. You gasp as you whirl around, eyes wide with disbelief.

There, leaning against the wall with an air of casual elegance, is Suguru Geto.

He looks different, yet achingly the same. His hair is longer now, cascading over his shoulders in inky waves. His eyes, once warm and inviting, now hold a sharpness that sends a shiver down your spine. But his smile, that infuriatingly beautiful smile, is exactly as you remember it.

"Suguru," you breathe, barely able to form the word. "How... why are you here?"

He pushes off the wall, moving towards you with fluid grace. "I missed you," he purrs.

Your mind reels, a thousand questions fighting to be asked. But as he draws closer, all you can focus on is the familiar scent of him - sandalwood and something uniquely Suguru. It makes your head spin.

"You can't be here," you whisper, even as your traitorous body leans towards him. "If Satoru finds out–"

"Satoru won't find out," Suguru interrupts, his voice low and soothing. He reaches out, fingers ghosting along your cheek. "I've made sure of that."

You should pull away. You should tell him to leave. But instead, you find yourself leaning into his touch, eyes fluttering.

"I've thought about you every day," Suguru murmurs, his breath warm against your ear. "Have you thought about me?"

"Yes," you admit, the word escaping before you can stop it. "God, yes."

His lips curve into a smile against your skin. "Show me," he whispers.

And just like that, the floodgates open. You crash into him, your lips meeting in a desperate, hungry kiss. It's like coming home and setting yourself on fire all at once. His hands are everywhere, relearning the curves of your body as you cling to him.

You stumble backward, not breaking the kiss until your back hits the wall. Suguru presses against you, his body solid and warm. You gasp as he trails kisses down your neck, teeth grazing your sensitive skin.

When he coos into your ear, it is not his voice, but Satoru’s.

“Twigs.”

Your eyes open abruptly. Sweat trickles down the nape of your neck as you stare into the space of your dark bedroom. Despite hearing Satoru’s voice, he’s nowhere to be found.

You exhale shakily in embarrassment, at how easily the guilt knocked you out of your slumber. 

With trembling hands, you swing your legs over the side of the bed and let them dangle for a moment, grounding yourself in reality. The remnants of the dream still swirl around in your mind like fractals. You blink against the dimness, peeling away from the haze left by sleep.

The gentle hum of silence fills your apartment as you push yourself up to stand on slightly unsteady legs. Each step you take feels heavier than the last; gravity pulling differently somehow.

You feel… odd. You decide to blame it on the unwanted arousal.

When you enter the small kitchen, you distract yourself with your kettle and scan your surroundings blankly. Pastel tiles — faded yet inviting. Drawings on the fridge from the Fushiguro children.

As you wait for the water to boil, you feel a sense of unease — the very same you felt when encountering a curse, though the after-effects of arousal in your body have your stomach curling inside out. Everything is too quiet and too dark.

You hadn’t bothered to turn on the lights, relying on a small nightlight plugged in below your cabinets. You turn to peer into your living room but there’s nothing there.

As you slowly turn your head back to the kitchen, your breath catches in your throat at the silhouette in front of you. The shadow, darker than the surrounding night, detaches itself from the wall. Your heart leaps into your throat, cursed energy crackling at your fingertips instinctively.

But then the figure steps into the moonlight, and your breath catches.

Suguru.

He looks different – thinner, harder somehow. His hair is longer, tied back loosely, and there's a weariness in his eyes that wasn't there before. But it's undeniably him.

He wears a large, black gojo-kesa with yellow and green details. He looks like a dream come to life. He's changed, but he's still breathtakingly beautiful, like a fallen angel come to Earth.

"I’m sorry," he says softly, his voice carrying the same gentle cadence you remember, but now tinged with something darker. "I didn’t mean to scare you."

You want to run. You want to scream. You want to throw yourself into his arms and beg him to explain why he left, why he turned his back on everything– on you. Instead, you remain frozen, your mug trembling in your grasp.

Suguru takes a step closer, and you can see the details of his face more clearly now. You instinctively take a step back, and something flickers in his eyes – hurt, perhaps, or amusement. It's hard to tell with Suguru.

"May I sit?" he asks, gesturing to the space in front of you where your small kitchen table stands.

You nod mutely, unable to form words. He settles next to you, close enough that you can feel the warmth radiating from his body. You smell the familiar scent of sandalwood and something metallic. Blood?

For a long moment, neither of you speak. You continue to drink in the sight of him. He looks out of place in your small apartment, too large and too otherworldly for the mundane space.

"Why are you here?" you finally ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

"I wanted to see you," he says simply, as if it explains everything. As if he hadn't abandoned everything– abandoned you and Satoru – over a year ago.

You take an involuntary step back, your mind reeling. "But you left. You've been gone for over a year. We thought... I thought..."

"That I was dead?" He smirks, but there's no humor in it. "Not quite. Though I suppose in some ways, the person you knew did die."

You scoff, clutching the countertop behind you.

"Why now?" you ask, your voice barely above a whisper. "Why come back after all this time?"

“This isn’t the first time, exactly.”

You don’t even want to ask what he means.

You shake your head, trying to clear the fog of confusion and longing that threatens to overwhelm you. "You can't be here. Satoru will come back from his mission—"

Suguru's eyes darken at the mention of Satoru's name. "Ah yes, Satoru," he says, a hint of bitterness in his tone. "Always Satoru."

You feel a pang of guilt but push it aside. "Suguru, I—"

He cuts you off with a gentle shake of his head. "No need to explain.”

A heavy silence falls between you, filled with unspoken words and suppressed emotions. You watch as Suguru's gaze drifts to the falling cherry blossoms against the velvet sky outside the window, his expression unreadable.

You sniff. “I thought you were dead at first,” you whisper. “But you’re stronger than that. Always have been.”

“You were upset.”

“Of course I was! I—” you huff, looking away from him.

He turns to look at you fully now, his gaze intense. “You’re still upset.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

“There was nothing you could do.”

You wince slightly. It was the same thing that Satoru told you during the fight you had. The one that overwhelmed you with anger, made you walk away. Heat curls within the delicate sternum of your chest. You’ve always been so fucking naive, haven’t you?

“I— I thought—” you trail off. You thought you could’ve done more.

“Would you have come with me?” he murmurs.

The question hangs in the air between you, heavy with implications. You open your mouth to respond but find you have no answer. Would you have gone with him? Left everything behind?

Satoru’s face flashes in your mind.

Suguru seems to read the conflict on your face. He reaches out, his fingers ghosting along your cheek. The touch is feather-light, but it sends electricity coursing through your body.

"I'm not here to cause trouble," he says, his voice low and soothing. "I just... needed to see you. To make sure you were alright."

You lean into his touch despite yourself, closing your eyes briefly. When you open them again, Suguru's face is closer, his eyes searching yours.

"Are you?" he asks. "Alright?"

The question catches you off guard. Are you alright? You've been going through the motions for months now, smiling when expected, and fulfilling your duties. But alright? You're not sure you even remember what that feels like anymore.

"I'm... managing," you reply honestly.

“I missed you,” he sighs. “You have to believe that.”

You want to believe him. God, how you want to. But the pain of his absence, the confusion and betrayal, it all comes rushing back.

"Do you remember our last spring together?" he asks suddenly, his voice soft and wistful. "How we'd lie in the grass for hours, talking about everything and nothing?"

The memory washes over you, bittersweet and painful. "Of course I do," you whisper.

Suguru turns to you, his eyes intense. "I've thought about those moments every day since I left. About you. About the choices I've made."

Your heart races, torn between longing and fear. "Why did you leave?" you ask, the question that's haunted you for over a year finally escaping your lips.

He's quiet for a moment, considering his words carefully. "I… realized Jujutsu society was deeply flawed. I had to act, even if it meant leaving everything behind."

There's a gravity to his words that sends a chill down your spine. "What do you mean?" you whisper, almost afraid to hear the answer.

Suguru's eyes darken, and for a moment you see a flicker of something dangerous, something that wasn't there before. 

"Our world is rotting from the inside out," he says, his voice low and intense. "The higher-ups, the clans, even Jujutsu Tech– they're all part of a system that perpetuates suffering. I couldn't stand by and watch anymore."

His intensity startles you. This isn't the gentle, thoughtful Suguru you remember. There's an edge to him now, a darkness that both frightens and intrigues you.

You shake your head, struggling to process his words. "But... but we help people. We protect them from curses."

"Do we?" Suguru asks, his tone sharp. "Or do we simply maintain a status quo that allows curses to flourish in the first place? Think about it. The more negative emotions in the world, the more curses are born. And what creates those negative emotions? Inequality, injustice, pain– all things that the Jujutsu world turns a blind eye to."

His words stir something inside you, a doubt you've tried to ignore. You think of the missions you've been on, the people you've helped, but also the ones you couldn't save. The systemic issues seemed to persist no matter how many curses you exorcised.

“I’m— I’m not going to be one of your followers,” you say, your voice cracking. You feel tears prickling at the corners of your eyes.

“I wasn’t asking you to be,” he replies coolly. His presence makes you heady with the familiarity of his spell.

“Then why are you here?” You try to sound firm but your voice is barely above a whisper. “How did you even know where I lived?”

“You must know me better than that. You think I wouldn’t be able to find you?”

Your heart jumps at the same time your blood runs cold. You’re almost thrilled that he sought you out, but it couldn’t be like this.

He reaches out, his fingers brushing against your cheek, wiping away a tear that you didn’t realize had fallen. The touch is gentle. Familiar. It takes every ounce of willpower not to lean into it and preen into his touch like you always have.

“I did miss you, you know. Don’t think that I didn’t,” he drawls. Suguru’s eyes soften, and for a moment, you see a glimmer of the boy you once knew. “My favorite girl.”

You close your eyes, allowing hot tears to run down your face. The liquid salt cascades in warm streams on your skin.

Suguru's words hang in the air, a mix of bittersweet nostalgia and unspoken longing. You feel the weight of his gaze on you, even with your eyes closed. His thumb brushes another tear from your cheek, the touch achingly tender.

"Twigs," he murmurs, the old nickname rolling off his tongue like honey. "Look at me."

You hesitate, afraid of what you'll see in his eyes, afraid of your own heart's treacherous desires. But you've never been able to resist him, not really. Slowly, you open your eyes, meeting his intense gaze.

He's closer now, close enough that you can see the flecks of gold in his dark irises. His breath ghosts over your skin, sending a shiver down your spine.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he says softly, his voice tinged with regret. "You have to know that."

"But you did," you whisper, your voice cracking. "You left. Without a word, without an explanation. You left me and Satoru and everything we'd built together. I–”

I loved you. We loved you.

Suguru's jaw clenches at the mention of Satoru.

"I couldn't stay. Not after everything I learned, everything I saw. It would have been a lie."

You shake your head, anger and hurt rising in your chest. "And this isn't a lie? Sneaking into my apartment in the middle of the night, touching me like nothing has changed?"

"Everything has changed," Suguru counters, his voice taking on a sharper edge. "The world is not what we thought it was. What I thought it was. I couldn't continue to be a part of a system I no longer believed in."

“You could’ve talked to Satoru and I—”

“If Satoru was in my position, it would be easy for him,” he snaps. “He’d find a way to get you to believe in him. You would probably find a reason anyway.”

“That’s not true!” your voice cracks. “He wouldn’t kill every non-sorcerer—”

“But he could, my sweet girl. You’re blinded by him. You’ve always seen him as a god, haven’t you?”

You shake your head desperately, pathetically. His words make you feel smaller than you’ve ever felt.

You feel the sting of Suguru's words, an accusation wrapped in a painful truth. Your relationship with Satoru has always been complex, the unspoken power dynamic frustrating you throughout the years. But to hear Suguru lay it bare, to twist it into something ugly– it feels like a knife to the heart.

“That’s not fair,” you whisper, your voice trembling. “You know there’s more to him than that.”

Suguru's expression hardens, a flicker of something dark and possessive in his eyes. "Satoru will never understand. He's too blinded by his own power, his own sense of righteousness. He can't see the world as it truly is."

You take a step back, shaking your head. "And you can? Suguru, listen to yourself. You wouldn’t—" You choke on the words, unable to say them out loud. "The Suguru I knew would never pick on the weak. He wouldn’t turn his back on—”

Suguru moves forward, closing the distance between you once again. His hand comes up to cup your face, his touch gentle despite the intensity of his gaze. 

"I haven't turned my back on you," he murmurs, his voice low and intimate. "I could never do that. Don't you see? Everything I'm doing, it's for a better world. A world where we can be together without the chains of the Jujutsu society holding us back."

You stare at him, torn between the pull of his words and the screaming warnings in your head. This is wrong. This isn't the Suguru you knew, the gentle, thoughtful boy who held you under the cherry blossoms. But oh, how you want to believe him. How you want to sink into his touch and let the world fall away.

"Suguru..." you breathe, your resolve crumbling.

He leans in, his lips brushing against your ear. 

"Baby," he whispers, his voice a siren's call. "I know you. You’ve gotten stronger. You’re the strongest girl I’ve ever met. I remember that mission in the forest, how you exhausted yourself. You’re so fucking powerful. Don’t you know you could be more than a pawn for the higher-ups? For Satoru?”

“Don’t,” you retort harshly. “I’m not a fucking pawn for anyone and I won’t be one for you.”

Suguru's eyes flash with a mix of surprise and admiration at your fiery response. He leans back slightly, a small smile playing at the corners of his lips. "There she is," he murmurs, almost to himself. "That fire. That strength. That's the girl I remember."

You blink rapidly, caught off guard by his reaction. You expected anger, frustration, not this strange sense of pride.

He shakes his head, the smile fading. "You're right. I shouldn't have said that about Satoru. Old habits, I suppose." He sighs, running a hand through his dark hair. "I didn't come here to fight with you or to try to sway you to my side. I just wanted to check on you.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter.

Suguru nods, a rueful smile on his lips. "I suppose I should leave before he comes back? He'd probably try to kill me on sight. Not that I'd blame him."

“He wouldn’t. He would never do that,” you say quickly.

The thought sends a chill through you. The idea of Suguru and Satoru, once inseparable, now on opposite sides of a war you don't fully understand.

“I won't ask you to keep this a secret," Suguru says, as if reading your thoughts. "I won't put you in that position. But I needed you to know...no matter what happens, no matter what you might hear about me, my feelings for you have never changed."

Your heart skips a beat. It's the closest he's ever come to a confession, to putting a name to the unspoken thing that's always simmered between you.

"Suguru..." you begin, but he shakes his head, cutting you off.

"Don't," he says softly. "Don't say anything you might regret. I know where your heart lies, even if you don't fully realize it yourself yet."

He takes a step back, and you feel the loss of his proximity like a physical ache. "I should go," he murmurs.

You close your eyes, tears falling down your face. You don’t even sense his departure. He leaves as quietly as he entered.

__

Satoru is often needy when he comes back to you lately. He hopes to see in his bed, anyway, but doubts it considering your most recent argument he had with you.

It wouldn’t be an unusual occurrence if he found you there–  he often returns from his missions and finds you curled up in his bed. Despite your reservations, you’ve been staying in his room more often. After an intense video game session with the kids or a particularly intense night with him, you don’t bother to make the trip to your apartment downstairs.

In Satoru’s apartment, you have extra skincare products (he bought them) and a toothbrush (it had been sitting in the mug on his counter since you came back to Tokyo. Just in case.).

He comes home at an ungodly time. Nothing was open save for the local konbini and twenty-four diner, neither of which he had any options he wanted. There was no onigiri left, so he snacks on matcha pocky, knowing you’d scold him for it if you were awake.

His heart stops when he opens the door to his bedroom and sees you in his bed. But not just because of how beautiful you look in between his sheets, lit by soft hues by the moon.

But because he smells him.

Satoru can sense the cursed energy on your body. It’s like a perfume that doesn’t belong to your skin, yet he can feel it cling to you.

A rabbit hole opens in his brain, splitting into a black hole as he spirals. He’s been here, maybe in this apartment, and he’s touched you.

You twitch, your lips stuck in a cherubic pout. Satoru wants to bite you.

Selfishly, he does. Canine nipping at the junction of your shoulder. You stir and feel his arms tighten around you.

“Satoru?” you mumble, your voice soft and sleep-laced.

“It’s late,” he whispers. “Go back to sleep.”

But you can’t, not with his teeth on your neck. He licks and kisses the back of your neck with an urgent cadence, almost with frustration. He grabs at your covers impatiently. He only rushes like this when something’s bothering him.

He’d woken you from such a heavy sleep that you’re still adjusting to being conscious. He feels as much as a dream as Suguru standing in your kitchen–

You freeze at the memory.

You make a noise of surprise when you feel his hardness prod at you from behind.

"Satoru," you breathe. "What's wrong?"

He doesn't answer, just presses himself closer, his hand sliding beneath your nightshirt. His touch is electric, sending shivers down your spine. But there's an edge to it, a desperation you haven’t felt from him since you were teenagers.

"Nothing," he murmurs against your skin, but his voice is tight. "I just need you."

You turn in his arms, facing him in the moonlight. His blue eyes are dark, stormy with an emotion you can't quite place. Jealousy? Fear?

"Tell me," you insist, cupping his face.

Satoru hesitates, his jaw clenching.

"Shitty mission,” he mutters. You know he’s lying.

“Satoru," you start, but he cuts you off with a bruising kiss. You imagine in combat, fighting curses with the same kind of aggression. The thought sours in your brain but warms the animal of your body. He felt the same as he did when he was nineteen.

His knuckles graze underneath your panties, the silver ring you’d given him cold against the skin of your inner thigh.

I have to get you a matching one now, he’d joked weeks prior. Then we’ll be engaged.

You knew without a doubt he was dead serious.

He bites your shoulder again and pushes you onto your stomach. Reflexively, you push your ass and feel his hard cock between the offending fabric of his boxers. When had he undressed?

“Please,” he breathes into your ear.

You don’t respond. You simply push down your underwear, already drenched from his jagged kisses. 

He grunts as he pushes into you. You wince at the thickness, stinging just barely from the lack of prep. His large hand pushes your shirt up from beneath you to grope at your tits. His other hand snakes in between your legs to rub at your puffy clit.

You gasp at how heavy he feels inside of you. Each snap of his hips feels harsher than the last.

“Couldn’t stop thinking about this,” Satoru mutters, as if to himself. “About fucking you.”

You whimper in response.

“Yeah? You missed my cock inside you?”

“Yes,” you choke out.

“You sure? No one beat me to it, already?” His voice is slightly bitter, so low and buried in your shoulder blade that you almost don’t catch it.

Your eyes widen. You turn slightly to see his blue eyes nearly glowing in the moonlight, brows furrowed as he focuses on his hard thrusts.

“Satoru, I–”

“Wouldn’t blame him. I’d miss this cunt, too, if I was gone for a year and a half.”

“I–I didn’t—”

“Do you think about him when I’m inside you?” 

His face is scarily neutral even though he’s fucking you so rough. Each time he knocks into you, it takes your breath away, your pussy tightening at how impossibly deep he is.

“No,” you whimper.

“It’s okay if you do,” Satoru laughs bitterly. “I think about him too. Both of you.”

You moan softly as he lifts your hips and drives into you deeper.

“You thought I wouldn’t be able to smell him? Feel his residuals all over you?” he grunts. His teeth are bared as he fucks you. Sex-starved. Part animal, part god.

You don’t have it in you to respond. You can’t think of anything when he gets like this, the undulating motion of his cock molding your insides to him and him alone. 

He groans in pleasure, his hand a soft noose around your neck as he lifts you up by the chin. He turns your face over your shoulder so he can kiss you roughly, teeth on your bottom lip hard enough to draw blood. It’s all making you dizzy.

Your pussy constricts around him. You think you hear him laugh breathily. He presses down on your lower back at the same time you close your legs. He drives into you, your cunt tight and snug. 

Satoru coaxes a thumb in your mouth and it makes the thread of desire in your gut fray. It’s so close to snapping. You can feel yourself about to cum.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he rasps. “That’s it. Fuck.”

A whine is pulled from your throat when the pressure inside of you blows over. Your pussy constricts around him and his thrusts get rougher. Meaner. 

Your dry throat feels like it’s on fire, your body wrung out with tiredness and ecstasy all at once. He fills you to the brim, finally, cursing as he buries his face into your hair.

For a moment, the dark room is filled with exhales and nothing else. You wince when he pulls out of you. He sits on his knees and soothes a hand on your back underneath your shirt.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers.

You turn to face him. “I liked it.”

“You know what I mean,” he swallows.

You nod slowly. The two of you stare at each other for what feels like an eternity.

“It wasn’t what you think.” Not a betrayal. Barely a rendezvous.

Satoru exhales, his mouth in a taut line. “Did he hurt you?”

Neither of you could say his name. It had always bothered you that Satoru would never say his name,

“No. You know he wouldn’t.”

“I know.”

You lick your lips nervously. “He said he missed me. And that he came to check on me. I asked him why he left.”

“And?”

“It was probably all the same stuff he told you.”

Satoru’s face stays eerily calm. “Alright.”

“You’re… not upset? Or mad?”

His face softens at how terrified you look. “No, baby. I’m not.”

Without a word, he goes to the bathroom. You lie on your back and stare at the ceiling. You feel sick, suddenly. As if something has shifted the atmosphere entirely.

You’re almost asleep when Satoru returns. He brings a warm towel in between your legs and kisses both of your knees. You keep your eyes closed– you can’t bear to look at his eyes right now.

He’s glad for it. You’re unable to tell that his eyes are a little red, soul-weary.

As he rests beside you, arm draped over your waist, you feel his warm breath on your neck whispering, “I love you.”

[bellybuttonbooks]

I love you, part 1

Part two

Ekko x Fem!OC smut

SPOILERS AHEAD FOR MY EKKO FANFICTION, WHICH CAN BE FOUND HERE.

warnings: overly detailed smut, oral (fem! receiving), idiots in love, scars, loss of virginity

*Six and Momo are the same person*

word count: 6.4k

Six leaned back in her chair watching Ekko rearrange the items on the table. He had taken her to the safehouse after saying it was time for them to continue their inventing lessons.

"What are you planning for today?" she asked, noting his trance-like state as he shoved some gadgets to the back and pulled his aeroglider to the front.

He rummaged through his tool sack for the tools he predicted they'd need for today. "You're gonna help me fix up this glider."

"I am?"

He plopped down into the chair next to her and scooted it closer to the table. "How familiar are you with chem tech?"

"It's a chemical concoction that can produce energy, light, and heat. But it's also unstable due to its toxicity and explosiveness. As for the chemicals... I heard vaporized grey is used."

"Have you worked with it before?"

Six shook her head. "You can't use chem tech in the medical methods I use. I know you can use it to power prosthetics, but that would require knowing about mechanics and technology."

Ekko flipped over the glider to display its underside. He placed his fingers on the clear tubing that was stained internally with neon green, though chem tech wasn't actively running through them anymore. "It's how our gliders are powered. This one is an older version, since mine got lost in the canyon. It doesn't have the extension feature that the newer ones have. So, my plan is to add the extension, and... I also have an idea for an upgrade."

Six looked between the glider and Ekko. "Which is...?"

His face held a dose of smugness as he pulled a rolled piece of paper from one of the inner pockets of his coat.

Something gold and circular fell from the same pocket, colliding with the floorboards with a light thud before rolling.

Six looked down, seeing it roll into her boot and then tumble onto its side, where it wobbled on the floor until it came to a stop. She bent over and picked it up, turning it over too quickly to notice the design on the back, revealing a roman numeral style pocket watch.

She offered it back to him, but instead of taking it, he flipped it over again and held his hand over hers, temporarily hiding it from view. She looked up to discover he'd gone coy.

"I made it for you. I was gonna give it to you after I found a chain or something to attach it to, but I guess now's a good a time as any."

When his hand dropped from hers, she peered down at the watch's back, her breath nipping at what she saw. Carved in the metal was a delicately lined firelight bug and a bumblebee, the stencils filled in with green and yellow paint. She took in every chisel, every effort that he poured into this thoughtful gift. She ran her thumb along the cool metal, feeling the small dips from the carvings.

"Ekko... this is beautiful," she breathed out. She turned the watch over again and noted every detail. The font. The wispy design that framed the glass. The thin hour, minute, and second hands. And the Myosotis flower painted behind the numerals and clock hands, the petals painted in grey, but its centre painted yellow around the dial.

A fever crept its way into her chest, where it pulsated and bloomed, threading its way through every part of her. He made this for her. Spent time putting together the little pieces. Carefully engraved personable details.

All for her.

While thinking of her.

Ekko remained awkwardly quiet and still, examining her face for every minute reaction to the gift. He saw genuine awe, a gentle adoration shining in her eyes as she turned the watch this way and that to make sure she saw it in every angle. A smile played at the corner of his mouth.

I love her, he thought.

"I love it," she said.

He reached for her before he realized what he was doing, his hand curling along her jawline, hugging her face in his palm.

She turned her attention to him, her eyes gleaming.

"Good," he said, his thumb skimming across her lips so faint it left behind a tickle, causing her to part them. He collected some of the moisture between the seams of her lips, using it to wet them.

His face moved towards her so quickly she hardly processed his movements until his lips covered hers.

His eyes closed and his lips moved against hers with a gradualness. Slow and steady until it was red hot and incendiary. His hand dropped to her hip, the pads of his fingers gouging her shirt in attempt to inch her closer to him.

She felt his tongue sweep past her teeth then spiral around hers, slick and gliding. She reached up and gripped his upper sleeve as she drank him in, feeling a sudden thirst that could only be quenched by him.

Heat gathered in her lower abdomen, and he must've sensed it because he leaned closer before gathering her into his arms and standing without moving his lips from hers. Her arms circled around his neck to hold herself steady, the watch still in her hand, encaged under her fingers.

He pulled away and pressed little kisses to her jaw. "How far do you want this to go?" he asked against her skin, his breath turning to vapor on her flesh.

Her eyes opened and caught sight of his dreadlocks, rolling closed again moments later. She wanted him. Needed him. All of him.

"As far as it can."

Ekko's nose flared, his eyes shadowing over with desire. His response was wetter kisses that made their way back to her lips. He licked into her mouth and prod at her tongue.

The kiss was deep and delirious, silky and wet.

She returned his kiss until he pulled away to press his forehead against hers, squishing his dreadlocks between them.

He nuzzled her nose with his, eyes remaining closed as he unknowingly shared his face paint with her. "I'll take care of you."

She believed him.

He carried her up the stairs after manoeuvring her hair so that he didn't accidentally step on it.

She hid her face in his neck, eyelashes fluttering against the underside of his ear while she pressed timid kisses to his pulse point.

His grip on her tightened and he struggled not to stop mid-climb and pin her against the wall.

In the bedroom, he eased her down onto the old, scratchy blankets making the bed.

Her head dipped into the sole pillow, her hair flowing around her like chocolate and plum rivers that waterfalled over the edge.

He stood straight to pull off his coat, leaving it abandoned on the floor.

The mattress sank under his added weight as he joined her. He leaned over, pausing for just a moment when he noticed his white paint smeared across her nose. A slow smile formed on his lips as he leaned in, locking his mouth to hers once more.

Seconds into the kiss, she responded by matching his intensity.

Each smooth glide of his lips on hers fed the growing heat between her legs. It was a type of burn she hadn't felt before. Not even when they made out on his throne before he pleasured her. The scorch of emptiness. The ache to be filled. Filled by him.

His tongue fought its way into her mouth, where it explored like it hadn't ever before. Licking up her taste. Caressing her tongue. Punctuating his claim.

His hands sailed along her sides, fingernails catching in the rumples in her shirt. They trailed their way to the middle of her abdomen, the tips of his fingers teasing the top of her waistband. He kept them there, giving her time to stop him if she happened to have changed her mind.

She only kissed him harder.

He pushed past the waistband on her pants, then her panties, stopping only when he felt the start of her slit.

They groaned into each other's mouth when his middle finger slid between her folds, smearing through her collected wetness.

He ran the finger up and down her slit, rubbing against unparted folds, feeling her soft skin and slick arousal while listening to the pleasing wet sounds that it made.

Momo whined into his mouth, her arms rejoining around his neck to hold him close. She felt his finger press more firmly into her slit and slide upwards to stroke along the side of her clit. It started out slow but progressively grew more deliberate.

He swept measured circles around her clit, increasing the speed of his finger gradually, easing her into it, having learned from last time.

She moaned into his mouth, her sounds growing in urgency the more he touched her. The pad of his finger pressed directly onto her clit, and she cried. Something electric shot down her legs, numbing her feet and sending sparks up her spine.

He pulled his mouth away from hers, his lips wet from their shared moisture. "I've been dying to taste you again," he murmured and then pecked her lips before she could respond. Over and over and over, while his finger moved faster and faster and faster.

He kissed his way down her neck while shifting his finger lower. He teased her opening and toyed with her inner labia, building anticipation before easing into her. Just like before, her insides clenched against his finger. He couldn't wait to feel her around his cock instead. Tight, hot, and wet.

She whimpered, her body trembling while he nudged his finger in and out of her, her thighs trembling and rubbing together.

He pulled his finger from her and freed it from her pants. He leaned back, his lips parting from its unfinished trail down her neck to her shoulders.

Her eyes cracked open, which went wide when she saw him lick away her wetness that had dripped down between his fingers with one long stripe of his tongue. She swallowed, witnessing his eyes roll back and close.

"So fucking good," he said once he dropped his hand from his mouth, his eyes opening to reveal the haze casted across them.

She noticed his pupils had widened, his irises now more black than brown.

"Need you so bad," he ground out, his fingers dipping underneath her shirt just so. His gaze raked up her body, pausing on her breasts, then moving upwards to look into her eyes. "But only if you still want it."

This was beyond want. This was agonizing need.

"Please," she practically cried. "Please please—"

"Shh, I've got you baby."

A silent gasp fled her mouth at the nickname, fresh wetness spewing from her pussy from the word alone.

He lowered himself while his hands worked their way up, pulling her shirt with them. He stared at the bruise on her tummy, which remained painfully dark. "My poor girl..." He pressed feathery kisses around her navel. "So sorry I wasn't there to stop it."

Her breath fluttered and hitched at his tickling kisses and the new way he was talking to her. His words... his voice... she wanted him to talk to her like that forever.

Like she was precious to him.

Like he loved her.

Her body tensed then liquified when he licked a line up her tummy, tugging the rest of her shirt up at the same time until his hands reached the cups of her soft-pink bra. He explored the silky material with his hands, palming her clothed breasts, pulling another whine from her.

"Can I take it off?" he asked, pulling away once his tongue had reached the underside of her bra.

She peered down at him and nodded a yes.

He pulled back. "Sit up for me baby."

That nickname again. It sent simmering desire through her veins, infinitely multiplying her arousal. She wondered if he could tell.

She sat up, and he carefully pulled her shirt off her. Her hairs stood on end, the air cool against her newly naked arms.

Ekko dropped her shirt over the edge of the bed then took a moment to just look at her. He had seen the raised markings lining her arms before, but it was still painful to see again. His eyes fell closed for a moment and he exhaled slowly through his nose. She had gone through so much pain and was forced to carry the physical reminders of it everywhere she went. He would take care of her, this time promising it to himself. They would learn pleasure together. He would master her body, memorize her reactions and sounds.

When he opened his eyes again, he realized his quiet stillness must've caused her to feel insecure. She was hugging herself and looking away from him, unfallen tears pearling in her eyes.

"Mo... look at me."

Her eyes made their way to his and she looked at him through the blur of her tears.

"Please don't hide yourself. I want to see all of you. Every freckle... every scar... everything that you are... deserves to be loved."

Her bottom lip wobbled and she blinked, the tears finally breaching her waterline and rolling down her cheeks. His hands reached for hers, and with a gentle tug he pulled her arms from her torso. To her surprise, he didn't let go of her hands, instead bringing both of them up to his lips.

He pressed soft kisses along each of her finger joints, then her knuckles, the back of her hands. The further he kissed, the more he opened his mouth. His lips traveled up her arms, taking turns kissing each and every scar on both of them, determined to replace the pain they represented with love.

Each kiss caused her chest to stutter and her body forget the feel of the bed underneath her, instead lost in the sensation of his wet lips.

Once his mouth reached her biceps, he pulled his face away and laced her arms around him.

She tangled her fingers into his shirt, bunching the fabric into her hands. She wanted to feel his skin on hers.

He moved closer to her so he could rest his chin on her shoulder, then his arms snaked around her in search of the clasp on her bra, where he struggled for a bit until finally it gave way, the straps going loose on her shoulders.

Ekko's chin lifted from her shoulder to lean back. He held her gaze while he pulled the garment down her arms. He dropped it onto the floor, paying no mind to where it landed.

He looked her chest all over, etching the sight of her breasts into his mind. They appeared to be a little less than a handful, round and perky, her areolas and nipples a few tones darker than the rest of her skin.

"Fuck..." His fingers twitched, his palms starting to sweat in anticipation.

She felt her nipples harden from the new exposure, sending goosebumps across the swells of her breasts that prickled their way across her torso and bled over her shoulders then down her back.

"So fucking beautiful," he said, practically a moan. His hands moved upwards to scoop the soft lumps into his palms. His teeth grazed his tongue when he felt her erect nipples poke his skin.

She released the quietest of moans when he squeezed them, her eyes falling closed, but would soon snap open again when he dragged his thumbs over her sensitive nipples. Her whole body shuddered, a deep-rooted groan forming in her throat.

"Lay back for me," he said, whispering the instruction and dropping his hands from her chest.

She nearly whined at the loss of contact. She laid back down, her ferocious hair already messy and getting everywhere, bunching behind her neck.

He leaned over her and kissed her desperately. Hungrily. He was starved for her. His cock had grown so rigid he thought it might've been the hardest he's ever been. His blood pumped with potent arousal, his heart racing. He needed her more than he ever needed anything before in his life. It was agonizing.

But he forced himself to hold back. Momo was fragile, both body and mind. He would rive himself apart before he allowed himself to be rough with her.

His hands were everywhere. Her sides. Her hair. Her arms.

He parted from her lips with a wet pull and sat back. He pulled the strap of his coveralls over his head and dropped it, a square metal chest plate unveiling underneath the front when it flopped and folded. He shed the metal sheet and then his shirt, dropping them over over the edge of the bed.

Her eyes drifted towards his newly exposed torso. She'd seen him like this before back when she treated him after he was poisoned, but never this close. His muscles were thoroughly hardened and defined, a ladder of abs climbing his abdomen up to his pecs. Her gaze drifted lower to the deep groove that curved over past hips and led down between his legs.

He worked hard for that body, years of training to build muscle and vigilante activity moulding it into what it was today. But that wasn't the only evidence of his work. His dark skin was carved with various scars, each of them different sizes and shapes, coloured different shades depending on the severity of the injury. She recognized some of them. The bullet wounds she had treated all those years ago.

He was gorgeous.

She felt bewitched.

He grabbed her ankle gently and raised it. He ducked underneath it so that he could settle between her legs, then released it down onto the bed next to him. He bent over her, his chiseled torso brushing against hers as his head traveled upwards. His chest pressed flush against hers, flattening her breasts against his hardened muscles. His forearms rested on either side of her to hold his weight up.

She placed her hands on his shoulders as soon as he was close enough to do so, the hand holding the pocket watch he had given her pressing the warmed metal against his skin.

He dropped his head and captured her lips once more. He kissed her thoroughly, his tongue delving into her mouth.

The tips of her fingers pressed into his shoulders as he ravaged her mouth, losing herself in the sensation. Her breaths were forced through her nose, every inhale bringing with it his musky, woodish scent.

Abruptly, the kiss slowed, his tongue retreating from her mouth. They kissed with just their lips.

Slow. Gentle. Soft.

A sensation caught in both of their chests, a blossoming, unravelling warmth that opened like the petals of a flower in the sun.

This wasn't just sexual attraction.

It was pure adoration.

Years in the making.

Each individual experience leading them to each other, their fates winding and braiding together.

This was right. This was good. And it was theirs.

Irrevocable love.

There but confessed by only one.

Could he tell how she felt by the way she kissed him back? Or when she gazed into his eyes? Could he feel it in her fingers on his skin?

His lips slid from hers, but wouldn't give her time to miss them before they pressed to her chin. He descended down her body, his mouth leaving behind kisses as he moved.

She jerked when she felt the hot wetness from his tongue dragging a slow trail from her chest and down her sternum, drawing a damp line between her breasts.

He paused there, and she felt his nuzzle his face between them.

Her chest rattled with a soft laugh.

He could feel it, and it prompted him to peek up at her, the sloppy remains of his face paint dragging a white trail between her breasts.

She ducked her head and met his gaze, his innocent eyes causing her to laugh again. "What are you doing?"

"You're so soft," he murmured, his words muffled by her skin.

She could feel his lips move as he spoke, and she bit the tip of her tongue.

He kissed the insides of both breasts. "...and warm." He repeated the action. "...and perfect."

Her face softened. Her free hand moved away from his shoulder and felt its way upwards. It paused at his right ear, her thumb tracing the side of it, then the cartilage down and to the pierced lobe. She lightly grasped the silver loop earing, the metal cool between her fingers.

"You keep saying I'm perfect... but I think that... you're the one that's... perfect."

His eyes widened, irises flickering.

She smiled down at him while her hand slid to the back of his neck, then up the faint fuzz of hair shaved close to his scalp. Her fingers explored the dreadlocks in his bun, careful not to get her nails caught in any loose, curly strands.

He didn't respond, instead pressing another kiss between her breasts. This time he ventured down, kissing his way down her tummy until her reached the waistband of her pants. He peeked up at her, keeping his lips on her skin.

Was he asking for permission? Again? She smiled once more and nodded.

He sat up and started removing the remainder of her clothes, starting with her boots. They landed on the floor with a thud. He pulled her pants and panties down at the same time then dropped them on top of her boots. He even took off her mismatched socks, pausing to stare at her toenails that adorned sparkly, apple green nail polish.

She wiggled her toes, and he smirked.

"Cute.”

He sat back on his heels and grasped her ankles.

She flinched when he kissed the soles of her feet, the sensation tickling.

He kissed his way up her legs, her legs sliding up his shoulders the further he went. He positioned himself so that his weight was being held up by his elbows, his hands running up and down the outside of her thighs. He nuzzled his face against her left thigh then pressed his mouth against the soft skin. He looked up, catching her gaze and holding it.

Her breathing quickened then stalled when his mouth finally met her folds, forcing a whimper from her throat.

He flattened out his tongue and licked a firm strip up her slit, starting at the very bottom and stopping at the top. He did this repeatedly while groaning out his pleasure at the taste, sending vibrations through her pussy and up her lower abdomen.

"E—Ekko—please—"

He groaned again, slightly louder this time. He caved his tongue and swirled the tip around her clit.

She twitched and trembled, his tongue sending electric currents shooting to her toes. She moaned out, her fingers curling in his dreads, creating a slight pull that made him groan once again.

His tongue slowly sped up, accustoming the sensitive nerves to the pleasure he was about to pull from it.

When his lips wrapped around her clit and he started to suck, her hips tensed and canted, trying to run away from the pleasure.

He grasped her hips and pressed them down, holding her still while he continued to work her with his tongue. The thought that he was doing this to her, bringing her this pleasure, causing her to writhe, felt rapturous. Euphoric. A type of high that could never be replicated by a drug.

Her grip on the watch tightened, fingers twitching. She cried and moaned, unable to stay still.

He let go of her hip on the left side to position his forefinger at her entrance. He pushed it inside then dragged it in and out of her.

"E—Ekko—I—I—" Her eyes rolled back, her jaw clenching and her eyebrows slanting.

Encouraged, he pulled his finger out then added his middle. He crept both fingers inside, feeling each internal ridge and crevice.

Her heels dug into his back, her throat straining with continuous moans and the roof of her mouth tingling.

"I—I can't—"

You can, and you will, he thought, not letting up. He curled his fingers, prodding at the soft, upper muscles.

She gasped raggedly then went abruptly quiet, her eyes slamming shut and her brow pinching. The warm and fluttery pleasure in her lower abdomen was almost done being wound up. She held her breath.

She came with a cry, her back curling away from the mattress and her thighs clamping the sides of his head.

He kept the same pace, riding it with her. Slickness flooded out of her, drenching his fingers and knuckles. He slurped and sucked.

Her orgasm faded, the pleasure on her clit replaced with rawness. Her body twitched as Ekko continued pleasuring her with his mouth and fingers. She whined in protest.

It was too much.

"E—Ekko I can't—"

Until it wasn't enough.

She moaned unexpectedly, a second orgasm approaching, much faster than the first.

"Fuck fuck fuck—"

Everything dulled, the only thing left being the sharp pleasure between her legs. She moaned and moaned, awash in sensation.

His name repeatedly fell from her mouth as she broke apart, but she couldn't hear herself.

Ekko pulled away only when he was sure she was done, sucking her clit into his mouth once last time, tugging on it as he withdrew to clean her up with his tongue.

Momo panted, her eyes rolling behind her eyelids. Her brain had gone numb, her body tingling.

His kissed each of her thighs then finally parted from her. He shuffled off the bed, standing next to it.

Her eyes opened, blinking slowly to clear her vision. She turned her head, finding Ekko standing instead of on the bed. Their eyes met and locked.

He held her gaze while unbuckling his toolbelt, letting it drop to the floor, the metallic bits and trinkets in the various pockets jostling and clinking at the collision. He kicked off his boots clumsily, one of them getting thrown underneath the bed accidentally, but he didn't acknowledge it. His thumbs hooked into the rim of his pants and stared into her eyes for several moments before pulling them down his hips with his underwear.

She looked away only when his cock was freed from the barrier of his pants, springing free and bobbing. It was slightly slanted, pointing upwards. His skin was darker around the base, growing lighter towards the tip. She thought he might've been above average in length and girth, if she recalled what she read in one of her biology books correctly. A band of skin connected his foreskin to the head, which was slightly rouge and peeking out of the dark sheath, a tiny slit at the very tip. Between his legs dangled his heavy balls.

She visibly swallowed and slowly looked up at the ceiling.

He stepped forward and picked up her hand, giving it a gentle squeeze. "You okay...?"

She closed her eyes, giving herself a moment before nodding and reopening them.

"It isn't too late to stop if you want—"

"No—No I don't want to stop. I need you, Ekko," she assured firmly.

He searched her face for any signs of hesitation but found only absoluteness.

She sat up slowly without pulling her hand free from his. She ogled his cock then blinked, averting her gaze to peer up at him. "Can I... touch it...?"

"It's yours to do whatever you want," he said softly.

Her heart glittered at his words, then burst when he slowly lowered her hand he was holding, guiding her until the tips of her fingers met the top of his cock.

She remained still at first, even after Ekko had released her hand. It was hotter than she expected, burning like a fever. Slowly, she ran her fingers along the length of the top. His skin here was velvety soft and raised with trails of veins, a sleave of flesh covering his rigid shaft.

Ekko's jaw stiffened at her fluttery touches. They were so light, he thought he might lose his mind if she kept it up.

Tentatively, she wrapped her fingers around it then stilled, peeking up at him to make sure what she was doing was okay.

His eyes were half lidded, his jaw set.

She moved, sliding her hand upwards then back down again, gaze dropping to watch her movements. She noticed the muscles in his thighs tense, becoming more defined.

"Does it feel good...?" she asked him.

His mouth opened and the breath he'd been holding rushed out. "It does." He reached up and thread his fingers through her hair, combing through the strands.

Encouraged by his words, she quickened her movements, pumping him up and down, watching his foreskin stretch back with each push then slackening at every pull.

His legs trembled where he stood, and he let out a long groan.

"Fuck—Momo—"

Her hand spasmed around his cock at his pinched tone, his arousal audible in his voice. She was doing this to him. She was making him feel good. The realization caused her pussy to ache with renewed yearning.

Her strokes were clumsy, and yet still felt so good. It was the first time he'd been touched like this by a hand that wasn't his own, and it brought a type of bliss that he wasn't able to feel on his own. He moved his hand from her hair then slid it across her cheek, caressing the side of her face and stroking her freckles with his thumb.

Her hand slowed to a stop at his touch and she looked up at him.

He gave her a small smile, his eyes soft with adoration. "Lay down for me." He felt her fingers twitch around his dick at his words. He reached down and grasped her hand, unraveling her fingers and dropping his own between them, pressing their palms together. He leaned down and snagged her lips with his, kissing her delicately.

She fell back until she felt the rough blankets against her shoulder blades and elbows, taking him with her. Her arm whose hand wasn't holding his folded around him, her closed fingers pressing into the center of his back as she continued to fist the watch.

They maneuvered until her head was resting against the pillow again, and he encouraged her knees to fall open with soft touches with his free hand, their joined hands resting beside her head, surrounded by wisps of her hair.

He crawled between her parted legs while their lips remained pressed together, his tongue licking at the seams of her lips once they were both comfortably settled.

She parted them for him and felt as he started to lick into her mouth. She felt a sudden heat poke her thigh, causing her to jerk.

He kissed her harder, hungrily eating at her mouth.

She whined into the kiss, and he wasn't sure if it was from impatience or something else.

She felt his lips curl into a smirk on hers before he finally pulled away.

"So needy..." he teased. But then his expression straightened out, growing more serious. "I don't want to hurt you Mo, so you need to tell me if something hurts, okay? I'll stop."

She viewed up at him silently. She remembered Belladonna mentioning it could hurt for girls the first time they had sex.

"But I don't want you to stop."

He stared down into her eyes, then exhaled an extended breath through his nose. "Just—promise you'll let me know if I'm hurting you."

"Okay..."

He leaned back and grabbed his cock, shuffling closer to her and looking down to watch it nudge her unparted folds. His teeth bit into the insides of his bottom lip as her slickness smeared onto his cockhead. He opened her slit with the tip and slid it up and down, collecting more of her arousal, the friction creating lewd wet sounds.

She tensed and whimpered at each glide through her folds, her pelvis quivering with anticipation. She wanted him to fill up her emptiness and stay there for the rest of time.

He pushed his cock down, notching it at her entrance, but when he tried to push forward, the head of his cock slipped on her wetness, missing her opening and instead gliding through the part of her folds and nudging her clit.

She twitched and let out a surprised moan.

"Sorry—" He tried again, his tip butting between her inner lips at her tight opening. He pressed forward slowly, breaching her entrance.

Every muscle in her body went tight at his intrusion, the girth of him putting demands on the work he'd done earlier with his fingers to open her up.

He kept a hold of his cock as if it might do whatever it wanted and ram into her if he didn't. He grunted through clenched teeth, her wet warmth a tight hug around the top of his cock as it tried to force him out. "So tight—" He fell forward, finally releasing his dick. He needed to be closer to her for this, feel her skin pressed against him. He dropped his forehead against hers and pressed soft, fleeting kisses to her lips.

Her thighs locked when she felt a resistance inside of her break way, her hand clamping down on his. Her lower abdomen burned with an internal fire and the air rushed out of her throat in the form of a whimper.

He came to a sudden stop at the pained sound and lifted his head to look at her. "Momo? Are you okay?"

"Hurts—"

His eyes widened and he started to withdraw in a panic.

"No—" She locked her legs around him, her heels digging into his ass. "Please—I want this. I just need a minute..."

His eyes fluttered closed, her movements causing her to impale herself further onto his dick. He released a tense breath, his eyes opening once more. "Are you sure?"

"Yes."

He leaned forward at her confirmation, kissing her. His freehand found its way to her cheek, his thumb tracing constellations on her freckles.

She kissed him right back, lips gliding against his, matching his gentleness.

After several moments, he pulled away and pressed his forehead against hers again.

"I love you, Momo..."

Her breath caught in her chest. Before she could properly process his confession or respond, his lips were on hers again.

He kissed her and kissed her.

And she kissed him.

He slowly moved again, tentative and leisure. He pulled his lips from hers. "Is this okay?"

She swallowed hard and nodded.

"You're so perfect..." Little thrusts at a time, he tunneled himself deeper, feeding her pussy with his cock, her muscles keening at the stiff intrusion, until finally, he met the end of her, their pelvises meeting.

Ekko stills, his whole body gone rigid from the consuming tightness clamped around his dick. He lifted his head just enough for their eyes to lock, where they both become transfixed by the absolute feeling of completeness.

Her insides twitched around him, his cock making her entrance feel like a burning ring.

Unbeknownst to them, all three clock hands of the watch secured in her hand came to an abrupt stop.

4:44.

He kissed her again, ravaging her mouth to distract her from the long drawl of his cock withdrawing as he pulled back.

She whimpered against his lips, then again when he shifted, rolling his hips and working his cock deeper as he thrust back into her. Then again, each gliding withdraw arriving slicker than the last.

"Fuck fuck—" he groaned out, lips ghosting over hers as he pulled away just so. "You feel so fucking good—"

She moaned and panted, their breaths swirling together as they both exhaled through their mouths.

The world outside of the safehouse stopped moving, gone still with the time. A phenomenon unnoticed by them.

"I—I don't know how long I can last—" he warned shakily, his hips already starting to tremble.

She squeezed his hand in response, and he squeezed hers in return.

His mouth strayed from hers to press kisses to her neck, which soon lowered to her chest. He pulled back slowly, his hand dropping from her cheek. He grasped her breast and gave it a light squeeze, his mouth closing in on her nipple. His tongue swirled around the hardened bud, wetting her areola.

She moaned, her pussy clenching around his cock.

He moaned on her nipple at the sensation, then switched breasts, sucking her other nipple into his mouth.

His thrusts remained maddeningly slow, each push and pull handled with considerable restraint.

Her moans died into a whimper when he pulled away from her chest.

He licked a pathway up to her neck, where he kissed and sucked, leaving behind little, darkened patches that brought back her moans.

He started to move just a little faster, tension building in the base of his cock. He raised his head to peer down at her with half-closed eyes, his mouth parted.

"You pussy—" His eyes rolled back and momentarily shut. "So good—" His nose bunched, his teeth grinding together, eyes snapping open again. "Shit—fuck—where—where do I—"

"Inside," she said, her one arm hugging him closer while her hand tensed within his.

He released an extended groan, his hips stuttering as he forced them to continue thrusting forward. His balls churned and drew tight, his cock twitching and convulsing inside of her.

She looked up at him in awe, witnessing the muscles in his neck visibly strain as he continued to plunder into her. His jaw fell open, a look of utter ecstasy consuming his face as he stared down at her. It was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen.

"Fu—Fuck!"

His thrusts started to jerk as he felt his climax rush up from the base of his cock to the tip and spurt outwards. He pushed out his release, spewing onslaughts of his cum inside of her. He groaned louder than before, his ears ringing and blood burning under his skin.

She moaned quietly, faintly aware of the new fullness he had pumped deep inside of her.

He fell forward, trying his best not to put too much weight on her. His chest heaved, his body slick with sweat.

The watch finally ticked.

4:45.

Rest of the fanfic can be found here.

Fanfic summary:

Shimmer is back.

Two years after the war with Noxus ended, a new gangster emerges within the undercity.

Daunter is a ruthless chem-baron who has reformed the city's drug empire. He refloods the streets with shimmer and gains the title 'Silco's Heir.

The Firelights are back in commission after two years of lax, taking down exports just like the days when Silco was still alive.

When the group arrives at an export and finds it already taken down with the barrels drained of shimmer, it becomes apparent that Daunter and his gang aren't the only ones they need to look out for. They had competition. Or... did they?

Ekko finds himself involved in a seemingly endless cat-and-mouse chase with another gang leader, a woman who moves like the wind. He wants to know what her motives are, but he has to catch her first.

-

Ekko x OC | Slowburn Romance | Enemies to Lovers

[fanfics4all]

Devil's Blood: Part 5

Request: Yes / No  Can I ask please for a continuation of Devil's Blood? The series is so well written!!!!! @jamiedc-they-them

Don’t be shy, request things! <3 Have a nice day/night

Spellman Family x Male!Spellman!Reader 

Word count: 1258

Warnings: Going slightly crazy I guess?

Y/N: Your Name 

PLEASE DO NOT STEAL MY WORK, I WORK HARD ON MY FICS AND IT’S NOT COOL TO STEAL SOMEONE ELSE’S WORK! 

If you want to be on the tag list for anything (My series fics, specific character fics, or just all of them) All you have to do is send me an ask and I will add you! 

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(Not my photo, credit to whoever made it!)

The following days blurred together in a haze of unease and silence. I stopped using my magic, cold turkey. No spells, no chants, not even a flicker of energy. The moment I felt that familiar hum under my skin, I shut it down. Hard. If Lucifer wanted me for my power, then maybe I didn’t need it at all. But the silence didn’t last… 

It started with whispers. Faint and curling like smoke in the corners of my mind. A soft velvet voice threading its way through my thoughts when I was alone. 

“Why do you deny what you are?”

I whirled around, fists clenched, but no one would be there. I told myself it was stress. A trick of the mind… But the whispers grew louder… more insistent. They didn’t just haunt me in the quiet moments. They followed me into my sleep. The dreams were worse… 

In them, I stood on a throne of black stone, surrounded by fire and shadows. Creatures knelt at my feet, their eyes glowing like embers. Chains clanked in the distance, screams echoed far below. Lucifer stood beside me, looking smug as ever. 

“You see?” He whispered, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

“You were born for this. The next ruler of Hell.” 

I woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat. My sheets soaked, hands trembling. And always, always, the same feeling pulsed deep inside me. Like a dormant volcano rumbling in my chest, desperate to erupt. I didn’t tell my family. How could I? They already looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb. If they knew the dreams and the whispers… would they still trust me? 

So, I isolated myself more. I trained less. I avoided the books. My magic still lingered under the surface, a caged beast, restless and angry. But I kept it locked up. I had to. 

One night, after another dream where I sat on a throne built from bones and flames, I found myself standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom. My reflection looked tired. Pale. Like I hadn’t slept in days, and maybe I hadn’t. 

“You can’t run from destiny, my son. It’s in your blood. In your soul.” 

I slammed my hand against the sink, breathing hard. 

“Shut up!” I hissed under my breath. 

“I’m not yours!” 

No response. 

Just heavy silence, and the way light above the mirror flickered like it was mocking me. I turned the faucet on, splashing water on my face, trying to cool the panic crawling up my throat. But when I looked up again, for just a moment, I didn’t see my reflection. I saw his. 

Lucifer. Smiling. 

And behind him… that throne again. 

I stumbled back, nearly slipping, and when I looked again… it was just me. But that was the moment I knew… I couldn’t outrun this. My Father had plans for me, and they were getting harder to ignore. The line I’d been trying so hard not to cross? I wasn’t just close to it anymore. I was already standing on the edge… And if I wasn’t careful… I’d fall… 

The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the kitchen, casting kaleidoscopic colors across the worn wooden table. The smell of fresh tea, toast, and Hilda’s rosemary potatoes filled the room, but it did little to cut through the storm brewing in my chest. 

I sat in silence, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea between my hands, my gaze fixed on a crack in the table. Sabrina, across from me, was watching. I could feel it… the way her eyes narrowed slightly, studying me like a puzzle missing half its pieces. Aunt Zelda sat at the head of the table, reading the morning paper but glancing up more than usual. Aunt Hilda, sweet as ever, gave me a soft smile as she set down another plate of food. Ambrose was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, chewing the end of a piece of toast with the same intensity he reserved for questionable alchemical ingredients. No one had said anything yet. Not until Sabrina set her fork down and cleared her throat. 

“You look like hell.” She said bluntly. 

“Have you slept at all?” 

I blinked. “I’m fine.” 

“Love…” Aunt Hilda said gently, taking a seat beside me. 

“You’re pale as a ghost, and you haven’t gone on a hunt in two weeks. That’s not like you.” 

“Indeed.” Aunt Zelda added, setting her paper aside. 

“You’ve been avoiding your magic like the plague, and quite frankly, I’m concerned. We all are.” 

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “You’ve gone from conjuring hellfire without blinking to barely lighting a candle. That kind of suppression had consequences.” 

“I said I’m fine.” I muttered, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. 

Sabrina reached across the table, resting a hand over mine. 

“Y/N… talk to us.” 

Before I could answer, I felt it again. The chill… The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My chest tightened. And then… he was there. Standing in the corner of the kitchen, calm as ever. Lucifer Morningstar. My Father. Dressed in black, looking untouched by time, a cruel smirk curled across his lips. No one else reacted. Only me… He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his boots echoing in my ears though they made no sound against the floor. 

“You think you can hide from me?” He murmured, only loud enough for me to hear. 

“From what you are?” 

I shot to my feet so fast y chair fell back onto the tile. 

“Get out!” I barked. 

Everyone froze. 

Sabrina stood up slowly. “Y/N…?” 

I backed away from the spot Lucifer stood, my eyes wide. 

“You’re not real… You’re not real. I’m not listening to you!” 

Lucifer tilted his head with a mock pout. 

“Now, now, is that any way to speak to dear old Dad?” 

“Stop it!” I yelled, my voice cracking. 

“I’m not yours! I’m not-” My knees buckled. 

Sabrina caught me before I hit the ground. I collapsed into her arms, shaking, the adrenaline crashing like a wave. The tears came fast, unrelenting, like floodgates thrown open. My breath hitched, and I clung to her like I was drowning. 

“He won’t leave me alone…” I gasped. 

“I see him. In my dreams… When I’m awake… He talks to me, whispers… he wants me to take over Hell. To rule. He shows me thrones, fire, blood… I try to shut him out, but he keeps coming back!” 

The room was silent but heavy. A thick tension settled into the air like smoke. 

“He says it’s in my blood. That I can’t escape it…” I choked out. 

“And I thought if I stopped using magic, I could stop him, but he’s still there. Every time I close my eyes, he’s waiting.” 

Aunt Hilda kneeled beside me, her eyes glistening as she gently rubbed my back. Aunt Zelda knelt too. Aunt Zelda, always composed, now looked shaken as I felt. Ambrose’s expression had gone dark, a storm brewing behind his eyes as he crouched down beside us. Sabrina held my face, thumbs brushing tears from my cheeks. 

“You should’ve told us.” 

“I was scared…” I admitted, voice barely a whisper. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” 

“Well, tough luck, brother.” she said gently, pulling me into a hug. 

“We see you, and we’re not going anywhere.” 

Lucifer was gone. Just like that. No whisper. No flicker. Just silence. But this time, I wasn’t alone in it… 

The following days blurred together in a haze of unease and silence. I stopped using my magic, cold turkey. No spells, no chants, not even a flicker of energy. The moment I felt that familiar hum under my skin, I shut it down. Hard. If Lucifer wanted me for my power, then maybe I didn’t need it at all. But the silence didn’t last… 

It started with whispers. Faint and curling like smoke in the corners of my mind. A soft velvet voice threading its way through my thoughts when I was alone. 

“Why do you deny what you are?”

I whirled around, fists clenched, but no one would be there. I told myself it was stress. A trick of the mind… But the whispers grew louder… more insistent. They didn’t just haunt me in the quiet moments. They followed me into my sleep. The dreams were worse… 

In them, I stood on a throne of black stone, surrounded by fire and shadows. Creatures knelt at my feet, their eyes glowing like embers. Chains clanked in the distance, screams echoed far below. Lucifer stood beside me, looking smug as ever. 

“You see?” He whispered, placing a hand on my shoulder. 

“You were born for this. The next ruler of Hell.” 

I woke up in a cold sweat, heart pounding, breath caught in my throat. My sheets soaked, hands trembling. And always, always, the same feeling pulsed deep inside me. Like a dormant volcano rumbling in my chest, desperate to erupt. I didn’t tell my family. How could I? They already looked at me like I was a ticking time bomb. If they knew the dreams and the whispers… would they still trust me? 

So, I isolated myself more. I trained less. I avoided the books. My magic still lingered under the surface, a caged beast, restless and angry. But I kept it locked up. I had to. 

One night, after another dream where I sat on a throne built from bones and flames, I found myself standing in front of the mirror in the bathroom. My reflection looked tired. Pale. Like I hadn’t slept in days, and maybe I hadn’t. 

“You can’t run from destiny, my son. It’s in your blood. In your soul.” 

I slammed my hand against the sink, breathing hard. 

“Shut up!” I hissed under my breath. 

“I’m not yours!” 

No response. 

Just heavy silence, and the way light above the mirror flickered like it was mocking me. I turned the faucet on, splashing water on my face, trying to cool the panic crawling up my throat. But when I looked up again, for just a moment, I didn’t see my reflection. I saw his. 

Lucifer. Smiling. 

And behind him… that throne again. 

I stumbled back, nearly slipping, and when I looked again… it was just me. But that was the moment I knew… I couldn’t outrun this. My Father had plans for me, and they were getting harder to ignore. The line I’d been trying so hard not to cross? I wasn’t just close to it anymore. I was already standing on the edge… And if I wasn’t careful… I’d fall… 

The morning sun filtered through the stained-glass windows of the kitchen, casting kaleidoscopic colors across the worn wooden table. The smell of fresh tea, toast, and Hilda’s rosemary potatoes filled the room, but it did little to cut through the storm brewing in my chest. 

I sat in silence, nursing a lukewarm cup of tea between my hands, my gaze fixed on a crack in the table. Sabrina, across from me, was watching. I could feel it… the way her eyes narrowed slightly, studying me like a puzzle missing half its pieces. Aunt Zelda sat at the head of the table, reading the morning paper but glancing up more than usual. Aunt Hilda, sweet as ever, gave me a soft smile as she set down another plate of food. Ambrose was leaning against the counter, arms crossed, chewing the end of a piece of toast with the same intensity he reserved for questionable alchemical ingredients. No one had said anything yet. Not until Sabrina set her fork down and cleared her throat. 

“You look like hell.” She said bluntly. 

“Have you slept at all?” 

I blinked. “I’m fine.” 

“Love…” Aunt Hilda said gently, taking a seat beside me. 

“You’re pale as a ghost, and you haven’t gone on a hunt in two weeks. That’s not like you.” 

“Indeed.” Aunt Zelda added, setting her paper aside. 

“You’ve been avoiding your magic like the plague, and quite frankly, I’m concerned. We all are.” 

Ambrose raised an eyebrow. “You’ve gone from conjuring hellfire without blinking to barely lighting a candle. That kind of suppression had consequences.” 

“I said I’m fine.” I muttered, forcing a smile I didn’t feel. 

Sabrina reached across the table, resting a hand over mine. 

“Y/N… talk to us.” 

Before I could answer, I felt it again. The chill… The hairs on the back of my neck stood up. My chest tightened. And then… he was there. Standing in the corner of the kitchen, calm as ever. Lucifer Morningstar. My Father. Dressed in black, looking untouched by time, a cruel smirk curled across his lips. No one else reacted. Only me… He stepped closer, slow and deliberate, his boots echoing in my ears though they made no sound against the floor. 

“You think you can hide from me?” He murmured, only loud enough for me to hear. 

“From what you are?” 

I shot to my feet so fast y chair fell back onto the tile. 

“Get out!” I barked. 

Everyone froze. 

Sabrina stood up slowly. “Y/N…?” 

I backed away from the spot Lucifer stood, my eyes wide. 

“You’re not real… You’re not real. I’m not listening to you!” 

Lucifer tilted his head with a mock pout. 

“Now, now, is that any way to speak to dear old Dad?” 

“Stop it!” I yelled, my voice cracking. 

“I’m not yours! I’m not-” My knees buckled. 

Sabrina caught me before I hit the ground. I collapsed into her arms, shaking, the adrenaline crashing like a wave. The tears came fast, unrelenting, like floodgates thrown open. My breath hitched, and I clung to her like I was drowning. 

“He won’t leave me alone…” I gasped. 

“I see him. In my dreams… When I’m awake… He talks to me, whispers… he wants me to take over Hell. To rule. He shows me thrones, fire, blood… I try to shut him out, but he keeps coming back!” 

The room was silent but heavy. A thick tension settled into the air like smoke. 

“He says it’s in my blood. That I can’t escape it…” I choked out. 

“And I thought if I stopped using magic, I could stop him, but he’s still there. Every time I close my eyes, he’s waiting.” 

Aunt Hilda kneeled beside me, her eyes glistening as she gently rubbed my back. Aunt Zelda knelt too. Aunt Zelda, always composed, now looked shaken as I felt. Ambrose’s expression had gone dark, a storm brewing behind his eyes as he crouched down beside us. Sabrina held my face, thumbs brushing tears from my cheeks. 

“You should’ve told us.” 

“I was scared…” I admitted, voice barely a whisper. 

“I didn’t want you to see me like this.” 

“Well, tough luck, brother.” she said gently, pulling me into a hug. 

“We see you, and we’re not going anywhere.” 

Lucifer was gone. Just like that. No whisper. No flicker. Just silence. But this time, I wasn’t alone in it… 

Tag list: @les-bio-lie @tashy-bear @ashwarren32 @hollie-blogs-blog1 @lover-of-books-and-tea @nerdygaloresposts @teenwolfbitches28 @kmc1989 @drw0301bieber @lady-of-lies @ravenmoore14 @ravenempress101 @cillianchamp @rowanthomasknapp @rachelxwayne @ready-4-fanfiction @madammarvellous-blog1 @lover2448 @therealchoni 

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“Roads That Cross… with the Day of the Dead (Part 2)"

You can read the previous chapters here: (1),(2), (3), (4), (5), (6), (7), (8), (9), (10), (11), (12), (13), (14), (15), (16), (17), (18), (19), (20), (21), (22), (23), (24), (25), (26), (27), (28), (29), (30), (31), (32), (33), (34)

After her announcement, almost all the girls from the Roller Team approached Ámbar to ask her who the secret performer was, with Delfi and Jazmín especially pointing their tablets at her, but Ámbar refused to ruin the surprise.

The girls complained but in a playful manner, and honestly? Just the fact that they talked to her so easily and enthusiastically was a huge improvement from how things were a month ago. Even Yam was in a good mood around her. It seemed like working together to bring this event to life had really solidified the truce between them all. Well, that and her apology, of course, which no one had mentioned ever since it happened, but their energy around her had changed. That was enough answer.

Ámbar skated away to escape from their requests for hints and found Ramiro, wearing a bright yellow suit jacket with flower designs and black pants. Another person who had apologized and sought to make amends.

They started dancing, and Ámbar felt once again that mixture of happiness and relief that she had a friend to dance with now. 

Someone grabbed her hand from behind and pulled her away from Ramiro after just one song. Ámbar barely had time to recognize Simón’s skull mask and Catrín costume before he was making her spin as he’d done earlier, except this time he did it over, and over, and over again at breakneck speed, until it became quite risky to do on wheels really, even for someone with her experience. She let out a little squeal and then a laugh as she lost her balance and Simón pulled her to his chest to stabilize her. Her heart was pounding as they came together, and then he was kissing her.

Ámbar was so happy and so dizzy that, for a moment, she didn’t notice anything out of place. Simón’s lips were moving against her own and she kissed him back, wrapping her arms around his neck. That was when things started feeling odd. Simón’s lips didn’t move like she was used to. Didn’t feel like she was used to. His hands around her didn’t hold her like they usually did. This felt more like—

Ámbar jerked back, frowning, and the sight that greeted her eyes was not Simón’s eyes. Even in the dark and with the mask on, it immediately struck her that this was not Simón’s face— the visible features were all wrong, and the smug smirk that curled those lips made her skin crawl.

She recognized him just as he took off his mask.

No.

A sharp wave of horror left her paralyzed. No, no, no, it can’t be.  

“What are you doing with my girlfriend?!”

Suddenly, Simón materialized in front of her, and yes, this was Simón— His voice, his shape, his body language. The one she had just kissed was—

“Oh, sorry, she’s still your girlfriend?” Benicio mocked. “I thought you two were done since she threw herself at me, but I guess she just likes to cheat.”   

The shock and the disgust were so potent that it took Ámbar a second to gather her anger, but when she heard that, it came. And it rose fast.

“That’s not true!” The words ripped out of her with such strong offense it almost hurt her throat. “You fucking liar. My love—” She turned to Simón desperately. “Don’t hear a word he says, he’s lying. I would never kiss him. I thought he was you!” She glanced back at Benicio and pointed at his clothes. “He’s wearing the same costume— You have to believe me.”

Benicio snorted. “You used to tell me nothing would ever happen with Simón either, and look how that ended.”

Ámbar whirled around. “Can you shut up?!” She barked. Her body was shaking from the fury. “You son of a bitch— What is your problem, Benicio?! I broke up with you. I never liked you. Get over it!”  

“Once you get over me and stop seeking me out, I gladly will,” he said with the same cocky smile, reaching up to brush a strand of her hair behind her ear.

Ámbar had just flinched away with repulsion when Simón stepped forcefully between them, keeping her behind him as he glared at Benicio. “Stay away from her, you hear me?” He warned, dark and dangerous. “And thank every God that I don’t want to ruin the party for everyone or I’d break your jaw.”

Benicio put his hands up in mock surrender, his expression showing more amusement than any fear at all. Before Ámbar could get another word in— Benicio had to know she was going to destroy him for this, he was dead meat— Simón grabbed her hand and started pulling her away.

Benicio yelled behind them.

“Happy Karma!”  

Simón’s grip on her hand tightened, but he kept pulling her to the other side of the rink without looking back. The instrumental for Matteo’s song started playing as they snaked through the crowd. Right when they stopped in a corner, he started singing.

No lo puedo evitar, yo no te dejo de pensar

Y las noches son frías, si tú no estás…

Simón dropped her hand. Ámbar looked up and found him staring straight ahead with a clenched jaw, his eyes on Matteo but wearing an expression that indicated the performance was the last thing on his mind. Tension radiated off of him so clearly she didn’t need to touch him to feel it.

Her chest sank.

He was angry.

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

Emilia watched everything unfold from a distance. First with curiosity. Then with shock, a state of being in which she stayed until Simón took Ámbar with him and Benicio was alone again. He skated over to a corner of the rink and she followed him, finding him standing in front of a little table laid with skull-shaped cookies— a gift from Luna’s mom, or so she had overheard Jim and Yam talking about.

Benicio grabbed one of those cookies and started eating it without a care in the world.

Emilia approached him with fury.  

“Are you serious, Benicio?” Her snarl was loud and sharp enough to be heard over Matteo’s voice, who had just started singing. Trust him to have the worst timing imaginable. “That was the big culmination of your plan? Kissing Ámbar?!”

Benicio turned to face her and shrugged. “Knowing those two, it’s pretty unlikely they won’t break up after this,” he replied with ease, leaning one hand on the table. “I think it was a very effective plan.”

“You didn’t need to kiss her,” she seethed between gritted teeth.

Benicio kept eating his cookie, his gaze focused on some other part of the rink.

A sudden thought appeared before Emilia and turned her insides cold. She felt wobbly, as if she’d taken a step forward only for the ground to disappear beneath her foot.

“Unless you did.”

Benicio looked back at her, but his expression didn’t change in the slightest, still showing the same calm indifference. The only thing she could distinguish was the familiar calculating glint in his eyes.

“That was what you wanted, wasn’t it?” She said, feeling her chest getting tighter and a surge of nausea in her stomach. “You didn’t want to get revenge on Ámbar for leaving the team. You want them to break up because you want her back.”

She kept watching Benicio’s face, waiting for him to deny it, to give some explanation, shed light on some angle she wasn’t seeing.

Benicio swallowed the last piece of the cookie and brushed the crumbs off his gloves. “So what if I do?”

His flippant tone left Emilia speechless.

“Does it make you jealous, Emilia? Don’t worry,” he continued. “Whatever I do or don’t do with Ámbar doesn’t need to change what I do with you.”

Emilia stood staring at him with her mouth open. She was shaking. Heartache, indignation, and disbelief battled inside of her, and with no winner, they rendered her immobile. “Are you serious right now?”

Benicio’s expression turned dark. He straightened and took a step toward her. “Ámbar belongs with me,” he asserted. “That’s how it always should’ve been. If our team doesn’t exist anymore, it is only because that hypocritical asshole stole Ámbar away from me!” His voice burst with anger. “If that hadn’t happened, everything would’ve been fine!”

He actually believed it, Emilia realized. He didn’t feel the slightest guilt saying this to her face. It didn’t even occur to him that he should— He was completely wrapped up in his own reality.  

“No one stole Ámbar away from you,” she said pointedly. “Ámbar left you because you’re a selfish jerk!”

All at once, her emotions started coming out of her, making the lump in her throat become increasingly bigger. “All this time, you were just thinking about yourself! You never cared about the team! You never cared about me! You used me to get what you wanted!”

“Don’t act like you’re the embodiment of virtue, Emilia,” Benicio shot down her accusations, getting his face menacingly closer to hers, and she had to fight through the moisture in her vision to meet his eye. “You were quite on board with messing with the Roller guys and with taking revenge on Ámbar. You’re just mad I like her better than you.”

A lightning of hurt struck Emilia, followed by one of white-hot rage.

She shoved him hard. “Fuck you! Get over yourself!” Benicio stumbled backwards, almost losing his balance due to her strength, and it brought her immense satisfaction. “You know what? Yes, I did like doing those things, and I did like you, past tense. Now I see both were a mistake.”

Ámbar was right. Goddamn it, Ámbar was right,and it had taken her all this time to see it. Things didn’t fall apart because of anyone else— She did things wrong. She wasted all that time and energy on the Roller guys when she should’ve been focused on practicing and getting better. She wasted it all on Benicio, and what he wanted.

That wasn’t who she was. It wasn’t what she needed to be in order to be successful. More importantly, it wasn’t who she wanted to be.

Regaining his composure, Benicio scoffed out a laugh and leaned back against the table. “So, what are you gonna do then?” He asked mockingly. “Hold hands with all of those losers and sing Kumbaya?”

Emilia gave him a hard stare and squared her shoulders, balling her hands into fists. “No.”

It wasn’t about sides or about other people— It was about her.

“I’m going to find another team, and a good trainer,” she declared. “I’ll go solo if I have to, I’ll do anything I need to to be the best, and I no longer give a fuck what you do with your miserable life.”

She reached behind him and grabbed a cookie of her own. Benicio’s face was tense with contained anger now, and she relished the view— basked in the knowledge that she would never hand over whatever this self-important man-child wanted ever again.

“Have fun being by yourself, Benicio,” she told him. “You’re the only thing you care about anyway.”

Emilia spun around and skated to the opposite end of the party, intending to enjoy it to the absolute fullest possible. She bit into her cookie, getting a satisfying crunch. Fuck Benicio and the damn day she’d decided to care about him. Fuck Gary and his promises that wound up in nothing— Who needed them? She was going to make her own path now. No matter what it took.  

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

There seemed to be a collective cheer, wild and deafening, as Matteo’s song ended and he and Luna pressed their lips together in front of the whole crowd.

‘Lutteo is back!’ Ámbar heard someone scream, either Jazmín or Delfi, or maybe both. They were standing close together, probably competing over who could get a better angle of the scoop.  

The public display was surely what everyone would be talking about in the days to come. It’d been a long time coming. A long time yearned for, if Luna’s and Matteo’s smiles full of love and happiness were anything to go by. All their friends immediately skated their way, eager to congratulate them on the restart of their relationship.

But all of that barely existed in Ámbar’s eyes. The only thing she could focus on was that Simón left her side the instant it all ended, skating away from the rink, from everyone, without so much as a glance or a word behind him.

Ámbar did glance. At the joyfully reunited couple. At Luna’s blushed cheeks and bright smile as she locked fingers with Matteo and they looked at each other as if nothing else existed.

A sour feeling, close to déjà vu, rose inside of her. Once again, Luna got everything she wanted, while Ámbar watched her own happiness slip from her grasp.

But while she would’ve dwelled on that envy once and let it consume her, this time she didn’t concede it more than the quality of a fleeting thought. An intrusive one born out of habit before she remembered how unproductive it was.

She had no time to care about what Luna did, or anyone else for that matter. She had someone to chase after. Someone far more important than anything else.

She skated away without much struggle since everyone’s attention was elsewhere. She entered the lockers, not seeing anyone at first, but she could hear noises which led her to the deep corner of the room.

There he was, on the bench, undoing the laces of his rollerskates.

Her heart fell and raced at the same time. “What are you doing?” She asked, even though the answer was right in front of her.

“Changing back into my shoes.” Simón took one skate off and started unlacing the other. “I’m going to head back to the mansion, this party is over for me.”

Ámbar fidgeted with her hands for a moment. She tried to swallow to lubricate her throat, which felt awfully dry all of a sudden. “Okay.” She nodded to herself. “Alright, then I’ll go with you.”

She went to sit down next to him to take off her own skates. Simón spoke instantly, his eyes focused on his task.

“No, you should stay, this is your event.”

Ámbar turned her head toward him, her brows slightly furrowed with incredulity. “I can’t stay here without you.”

Simón scoffed mirthlessly. “Yes, you can.”

He grabbed his rollerskates and stood to go to his locker. Ámbar hurried to unlace her skates. If he ran out, she wouldn’t be able to follow him through the streets without them hampering her at some point.  

Simón pulled out his sneakers and walked away from her vision instead of returning to the bench with her. Her heart squeezed painfully with panic, and she stood quickly in her socks, turning the corner of lockers, half-expecting to find him walking toward the exit, but he just sat on the other bench, the one in front of the counter, and started putting on his shoes.

She felt some relief that he wasn’t leaving, but the fact that he was pointedly putting distance between them wasn’t a good sign.  

“My love, I told you, he kissed me, I thought he was you.”  

Simón kept tying his shoelaces without looking at her. The muscles of his face were rigid, along with his neck and the line of his shoulders, rendering the neutral expression he was trying to maintain ineffective.

Reining in her growing anxiety, Ámbar opened her locker, which was thankfully right next to the bench, so she could still keep the corner of her eye on him, on any change there might be. She pulled out her ankle boots and went to sit down next to him again, carefully, as if she could convince him to want her near him if she behaved subdued enough.

“Simón, come on, talk to me,” she pleaded.

She tried to catch his eyes, but Simón just took off his gloves and his mask, which had been hanging from his neck, and stood again, walking back to his locker. Not one glance, no nothing. He acted like he didn’t hear her. As if she weren’t even there.

Ámbar’s patience snapped. She zipped up her boots with a jerk and got to her feet.

“Can we just talk about this like grown-up people instead of giving the silent treatment like a five-year-old?” She barked.  

A bang resonated across the room as Simón shoved his locker closed with more force than necessary.

He turned to look at her.

“Fine, you want to talk? Let’s talk.” He crossed his arms. “Are you sure it was an accident?”

“I—” Ámbar did a double-take. “Are you kidding me?”

“That’s not an answer.”

“Of course, it was an accident, Simón, that’s what I’ve been telling you this whole time.”

He pursed his lips. “It just seems weird since,” he shrugged, “you know, we look nothing alike.”

Ámbar scrunched up her brows. “What are you implying? That I wanted to kiss him? Simón, for god’s sake, I broke up with Benicio ages ago— You were there!”  

“Yeah, I was there— Because you were cheating on him with me!” He accused, dropping his faked composure.  

Ámbar’s jaw dropped. “You can’t seriously be holding that against me right now!”

“Why not? It’s the truth!” He argued. “Our relationship started on you cheating— What am I supposed to believe?”

“That I love you!” She exclaimed. “I did that because I love you. It was always you for me.”

Simón clenched his jaw and looked away. He ran a hand through his hair, disheveling it in his visible distress. Ámbar was glad that at least he didn’t immediately refute or deny her feelings. She didn’t know what she would do with a repeat of that ‘you’re full of hate’ moment. It haunted her more than she wanted to admit, and if after all this time, he still didn’t believe that she loved him, then… Well, she didn’t know what she would do.

Simón dropped his hand after a moment and broke the silence.

“But you don’t trust me.”

Ámbar blinked, wrinkling her brows a little at what she’d heard. “What?”

Simón turned his head back to her. The anger and suspicion were still in his eyes, but she found something much worse in them now— Hurt.

“You’re hiding things from me. All the time. You get defensive over the smallest things. And whenever I ask you what’s going on, you either dodge the topic or ask me to wait or just straight up lie to me.”

Her heart started beating so hard that Ámbar could feel it in her ears. This wasn’t the conversation she was expecting to have. She didn’t think he’d mention it. She thought all of that was something that existed but that neither of them wanted to discuss.

No, not neither, you. Did you seriously think he would put up with it forever?  

“I…” She curled her fingers around the fabric of her dress just to have something to hold. What could she say in her defense when he was completely right? What could she say? “I told you, I can’t, Simón. It’s not that I don’t want to tell you these things, I can’t. You said you understood that.”

“But why can’t you?” He pressed, bringing his hands to his hips. “Huh? And why lie about the call and say it was Emilia? Please explain it to me because I don’t understand. I tell my friends everything. I don’t keep secrets from any of them, or you.” 

Ámbar was getting close to hyperventilate. God, not now, not like this. They couldn’t talk about it in these conditions. She’d barely managed to convince herself to tell him when things were alright between them— She couldn’t tell him when they were decidedly not. She couldn’t imagine a worse scenario for it.

She avoided his eyes. “I can’t just tell you if it involves another person,” she tried to appeal, and god, just saying that felt like too much. It was too risky to admit there was someone else involved. The options weren’t many. What if he—?

“Another person like Benicio?”

The utter nonsense of the assumption snapped her out of her panic and made her jerk her head back to him. Her whole face scrunched up. “No.”

Was he serious? It was as if he hadn’t listened to a single word she’d said in the last five minutes. How could he ask her that?

“You know what? You’re the one who doesn’t trust me,” she fumed. Her worries receded to the far back of her mind, pushed there by the outrage burning through her veins. “Here I am, trying to explain how things were to you, and you don’t believe me. Benicio says one thing and you buy it— What the hell, Simón? Do you trust him more than me?”

“Of course not,” he spat with disgust.

“Well, it looks like it!” She couldn’t even tell if her disbelief or her offense was greater. “I mean, look at how you’re acting, look at what you’re saying to me,” she pointed out. “I understand that you’re angry, but you shouldn’t be taking it out on me when I didn’t do anything!”

A poisonous huff of laughter came out of Simón’s chest. “Right. You never do anything, do you?”

Ámbar was struck silent.

She reared back slowly, staring at the accusation in his eyes, the utter bitterness in them, like she was the vilest person he’d ever met.

She’d seen this judgment from him before, back when she deserved it.

But this time, she didn’t.

A bleak huff of laughter came out of her lips and Ámbar moved, going back to where she’d left her rollerskates next to the other bench. She picked them up and brought them over to her locker, putting them inside and locking the lock on the door with a quick movement of her hands. She walked to the exit, but before she left, she turned toward Simón one last time. He was still standing right on the same spot, his face undecipherable.  

“You know— I know I’m not a saint by a long shot. But tonight, a sick bastard obsessed with me tricked me into kissing him,” tears burned behind her eyes, “and I really would have loved for my boyfriend to console me, but go ahead and think whatever you want. I’m out of here.”

She walked away with her face tightened up, physically keeping herself from crying, hearing the sounds of the party growing fainter as she did. She went into the dressing room to grab the bag with her stuff and exited the Roller just like that, not stopping to change her clothes. She didn’t give two shits about people seeing her in costume. She didn’t much care about much anything right now other than her need to get away from there as fast as possible.

It was a short walk to the mansion, even more so at the speed she moved in and with the way her brain kept spinning with so many things she was barely aware of her surroundings. When she entered her house, limbs stiff from the cold but a fire still raging inside her, her grandpa was drinking tea at the coffee table in the living room. He raised his head upon her arrival and greeted her with a smile, surprised to see her back so early, and asked how everything had gone.

Ámbar felt a sting in her chest, and her throat tightened all at once, so she didn’t reply— just spun toward the stairs and climbed up to her room. Alfredo called after her, but she didn’t turn back. She couldn’t. She’d rather have him angry than deal with his questions. It wasn’t like he wasn’t used to her ignoring him anyway.

Once inside her room, she locked the door and sat in front of her dressing table to take off her makeup. Even if Simón came to her room tonight, she had no intention of letting him in.

When she looked at herself in the mirror, she noted that Jazmín’s trick really had worked. Her makeup was intact. Unlike the rest of her.

She pulled out her makeup remover wipes from the center drawer and started cleaning up her face. The makeup she’d been so proud of a mere hour ago now made her feel like a clown—Laughable. Ridiculous. She removed the paint with more strength than she’d usually treat her skin with, and as she did so, her eyes caught on a movement against her wrist.

The bracelet.

The bracelet. For their monthaversary.

He thought she would cheat on him on their monthaversary.

A flare of anger ran through her body, making her want to tear the damn jewelry off her wrist and toss it across the room. So much for his love. So much for his trust in her. How could he? How could he?

She was running her fingertips over the stones of her namesake, and only when a drop fell on the back of her hand, she realized she was crying.

A shuddering breath made her body tremble as she looked down at the little stars.

She’d been so happy.

‘I’ll never take it off.’

Finally, her sorrow started falling freely from her eyes. Ámbar didn’t try to contain it anymore. She carried on taking off her makeup between the tracks of water on her face. Once that was done, she stood to take her dress off, shedding the layers with much less care than she had put them on. She had half a mind to burn it. She had already discarded the red flower piece on her head, throwing it at some random trash bin on the way to the mansion.

The moment the black garment dropped to the floor, a new wave of sadness hit her, squeezing her chest so tightly she choked on a sob. She had worn special underwear today. It was a blue set, one she had ordered custom-made just for Simón, with little lightning bolts in golden embroidery, just like his guitar. She thought he’d like it, or at least find it funny, and they’d both laugh as they kissed and held each other close.

She’d had such expectations for this night. Expectations that now lay in ruin, crumpled like the black dress at her feet, and her underwear was like a spit on her face, making her feel so unbelievably stupid.

Ámbar took both garments off and kicked them under her bed so she wouldn’t have to see them. She grabbed other panties from her drawer, put them on with her pajamas, and buried herself under the covers of her bed.

She couldn’t stop crying. Each memory that flashed through her mind brought with it a new sob, and she couldn’t quiet the voice inside her head, telling her she was at fault for all of it— For being so stupid and falling for Benicio’s trick. For not banning him from the Roller when she should have. For lying to Simón so much that he now thought she was a cheater.

Everything. Everything was her fault.

All her hard work and all her efforts went down the drain. It was supposed to be a happy day. She’d been so happy for a moment, and now—

Warm tears kept falling on her pillow, with only her quiet sobs as company. It took long minutes for it all to slow down, for the exhaustion to settle in, drowning her torturing thoughts. Her eyes grew heavy from all the crying and her breathing evened out. At last, she fell asleep, comforted by the glorious nothing of unconsciousness.

She didn’t dream of anything that night.

Her body must have figured reality was enough of a nightmare.

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

Simón didn’t want to fight. He really, really, didn’t want to fight. He was holding onto his very last shred of control just to keep all his emotions in check until he could process them, until he could put his thoughts in order. But no, of course Ámbar couldn’t give him even fucking that.

And now she was gone, probably crying by herself somewhere, and Simón wanted to tearhis own heart out so he would stop feeling so many conflicting emotions at the same time.

How dare she? How dare she act so offended and leave like that? He was the one who should’ve stormed off. He had a thousand reasons to be angry!

She kissed another guy! She was the one who kept lying! Why should he be in a position where he wanted to apologize?

But he wanted to. God, a part of him wanted to since the moment he heard Ámbar’s voice break before she left. Just remembering the look in her face, the unshed tears in her eyes, hit him with such a strong pang of regret he almost doubled over.

But he was so infuriated. Even the fact that he felt bad about Ámbar made him seethe because, lately, it felt like any offense she made somehow always ended up being his fault. He wanted to punch something. Preferably, Benicio’s stupid face.

That guy had better not show up in front of him right now because Simón would seriously not hold himself responsible for his actions. If Benicio knew what was best for him, he would have left long before Matteo’s song ended.

What happened after Matteo’s song ended flashed through his mind and brought him another surge of bitterness. He’d been waiting for Luna and Matteo to find their way back to each other for months now— He should’ve been out there celebrating with Luna, sharing his best friend’s happiness, and yet, he was here. It was just one more thing that he should’ve been enjoying but couldn’t, because of all the shit going on.

Simón sat on the bench again and grasped his hair firmly in his fingers. To think that just a few hours ago he’d been telling Luna things were fine between him and Ámbar. How laughable. Things were not fine. Ámbar couldn’t even last a month without lying to him again, and he was so sick and tired of playing dumb whenever something happened.

‘I really would have loved for my boyfriend to console me’

His eyes closed with a grimace and his leg started bouncing rapidly against the floor.

All he wanted was for her to be honest with him— Was that too much to ask? He didn’t feel like it was. And okay, maybe she wasn’t with Benicio, maybe he didn’t have anything to do with it at all, but something was going on, she even admitted to it, and he was going to be patient, he really wanted to be, but he couldn’t. He couldn’t do this anymore. He—  

He was so scared he could cry.

Something deep inside him did.

I don’t want to be scared anymore.

Simón sank his head in his hands and stayed there for a long time, breathing, trying to push down the storm of emotions. The sounds of the party seemed to mock him, but he was grateful for them all the same, because they kept everyone busy and away from his misery.

Once he felt calmer, he stood from the bench and went to the dressing room to change his clothes. Going back to the party wasn’t an option. Even if he felt it was a waste to let this night slip him by, he could never manage to pretend he was alright out there, and then there would be questions, and he didn’t want to dampen anyone’s mood.  

He tried not to look at any of the mirrors as he put on his street clothes again. It reminded him of how, just minutes ago, he’d been so excited looking at his reflection.

The cold night air hit him as he exited the Roller, and he thought of Ámbar. Had she changed clothes before leaving or had she just walked out like that? Had she put on a jacket at least? It was so cold…

‘I really would’ve loved for my boyfriend to console me’  

By the time he reached the mansion, the mix of feelings was still there, but he mostly just felt depleted. He climbed up the stairs, and almost took a right in the hallway out of habit before he realized he couldn’t go there tonight.

Should I knock on her door? Should we try to talk about it?

No, they’d probably just fight again if they talked about it tonight.

Simón walked to his guest room on the opposite wing of the mansion and didn’t bother turning on the light. He also didn’t bother searching for something to sleep in— Most of his stuff was in Ámbar’s room. He just stripped down to his t-shirt and his underwear and got under the covers.

The bed felt enormous by himself.

Simón kept turning around on the pillow, unable to sleep. He kept replaying the confrontation. He was tormented by the look in Ámbar’s face, by memories of when he found that handkerchief, by every time he’d sensed something was up, and the one time Ámbar agreed but said she couldn’t tell him. He couldn’t stop thinking about that stupid phone call that had shaken everything he believed in, and her suspicious actions just the night before.

The truth was, he had run out of hope that whatever was coming wasn’t something bad, and waiting for the other shoe to drop was frying his nerves raw. A part of him wanted all the information now— to rip it off like a band-aid so he could deal with it once and for all. But the other part was too scared of what Ámbar might say. 

That’s why you didn’t go to the kitchen, his brain whispered to him. It wasn’t because you believed in her— It was because you were too scared of what you might find out.

Simón screwed his eyes shut, but it didn’t stop the voices. It didn’t stop the image of Ámbar kissing Benicio, repeating over and over in his head.

He couldn’t sleep.

He was cold.

The bed was too big.

The silence was loud.

…

..

.

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

I am sorry for everyone who didn’t want this to happen in this story, but you must know, it was always going to lead to this. Back when this fic was only going to be about 7 chapters long, there were two reasons why I decided it needed to be longer: 1- I wanted them to have cute moments before it all went to shit, and it wasn’t enough to just do a time-skip and mention them— I wanted you all to see them. And 2- I wanted there to be actual, very valid reasons why Simón would freak out and accuse Ámbar as he did in the show. Don’t take me wrong, he had reasons in the show; perhaps not enough, but there was something. But that wasn’t going to be enough in this AU when they’re already dating and Simón trusts her, so, I had to corrode that trust. And, honestly? Ámbar did it for me. I didn’t have to force anything. I hate to quote Benicio but— She did it all by herself.

Also, I hate to say Disney was right, but they were right in only putting Simbar together after the whole Sharon thing was out in the open, because, as I discovered writing this fic, it would’ve been an utter disaster if they got together earlier. The more I wrote, the more I realized they were fucking right, and I hated it skjfnds. I mean, I’m sure they delayed the endgame just for drama and not because they were actually thinking about all the intricacies putting them together would entail— But still.  Damn them for having a good reason to make us wait. I would’ve been happier hating them for a little longer.

Anyway. Don’t expect the next chapter any time soon; it’s kind of a tough one. Sorry. I’ll post some oneshots the next few months to make up for it.

See ya.

P.S.: I know all of you are going to be hurting for Ámbar, but in my head, I’m imagining Simón singing the bridge of ‘You’re Losing Me’. 

[rosethevideomancer]

Let's Fix Ruby's Mom Reveal

Certainly! Here's the revised version and sorry imma read more this one.

UNIT finishes the scan and finds it empty. There is still no match in the database for the mother. Then the TARDIS emits a shuddering noise and all the screens flicker. Multiple screens pop up, searching through every time and place they've visited, scanning planets and realities they've traversed. The Doctor gasps, Ruby starts tearing up, Kate considers deadlocking her access points, and finally, the screen displays "MATCH FOUND." We see Ruby's face and then cut abruptly to the Cafe.

A blonde woman enters and stands in line, chatting on her phone with a friend about her life improving now compared to years ago with her abusive father. She vaguely details his actions and stops when she hints at giving up Ruby Sunday.

We watch her convey the pain with her expressions as she remembers. She reaches the counter after a young girl, whose face remains unseen—Almost insignificant. She orders her coffee, sits down at a table, and continues discussing an upcoming trip, mentioning someone like Rani or Sally Sparrow for a potential future coincidence.

As she taps on her phone, checking her text messages to pass the time (describe her briefly, mention social help lines), Ruby remains out of focus in the background. Finally, she looks up and sees Ruby staring at her. Confused, she asks, "Can I help you?"

Ruby replies, "Oh, sorry. I just… thought you looked like someone I once knew," then hesitates and starts to leave. The woman stops her, saying, "I don't know, but I get whatcha mean. You… come here often?"

"Oh yeah, used to pop round here every day!" Ruby answers. The woman replies, "Oh, yeah? Well same! Maybe that's how we know each other—from seeing each other here!" Ruby knows this isn't true but agrees verbally, "I guess so. Well, sorry to bother you," and tries to leave. As she turns, the barista calls out, "Ruby!" The woman freezes, and Ruby cringes as she grabs her coffee. Starting to leave, the woman softly says, "Ruby's such a pretty name," to which Ruby, as always, replies instantly, "Thanks, it's the road I was found on," the ladys eyes go wide and realizing she said too much. Ruby hurries away.

She runs to the Doctor, leaning on his TARDIS outside. She hugs him and cries; he returns the hug as he understands. He also had the opportunity for answers in FLUX but didn't follow through. It's hard to accept answers when questions have been your constant companions throughout life.

After this sad moment, a voice interrupts, "Excuse me." Ruby turns and sees the woman, nervous and fidgety, looking almost like an older Ruby Sunday. "That road you were left on… It wouldn't happen to have been… Ruby Road… would it?" Ruby hesitates but reluctantly nods, and they share an awkward moment, both tearing up. The Doctor beams his smug grin before leaning in and and saying, "This is the part where you two hug," pushing Ruby gently. The music swells as they embrace. We see him lean back happy as he adds in a whisper, "The foundling finally found. Coincidence, coincidence, coincidence," glancing briefly up at the sky with concern before smiling.

Fade to a later scene with the Doctor, the Sunday family, and Ruby's bio-mom. Carla asks, "So you're not a god or something?" The Doctor interjects, "Yeah, no, turns out… My old girl the looovely TARDIS eventually figured out about our little death doggo stowaway when I crashed near the edge of the universe. Turns out he was using all the noise and energy of the cosmos to cloak himself, but when you're at the edge of space, well... it's hard to hide in an empty room. Once she found that out, she kept trying to think of ways to warn us—groaning, planting a song in Ruby's core and using the excess energy from coffee and a lil' mavity mix up to try and burn him off her. When that didn't work she figured the only way she could help is by making a mystery the death god couldn't resist, extending her perception filter to Ruby's birth Mother on Christmas Night 2005. Which you should feel honored about, thousands of years and she's rarely ever done that."

Ruby nods but adds "But what about the pointing?" Her biological mother chuckles and nods "Oh I remember now. Yes.. Christmas night, I was giving away my baby and the faint song from the church had me questioning myself. But the strangest thing happened.. I heard this noise and a big box that wasn't there moments ago was suddenly fading into reality only a few meters away from me. I thought I was going mad! My tongue was tied and voice gone! All I could do was point. Put yourself in my shoes, I thought god himself had come to punish me for my actions... But he just stared me down crying.. I wondered why god would cry... How did my choice make him that sad?" The Doctor looks at her reflecting on the Sutekh conversation about being made the god of life. Her Mom continues "I think it's what pushed me. I had a life so sad that even god cried for me. I made a promise in that moment to leave and get out and maybe one day if my life ever got better... I'd find you again. So I turned and I walked away I made that decision to live the life I wanted you to have, Ruby, and I knew I made the right choice because when I turned back... That man and his box were gone."

"And here now here we are and for the record I'm really very glad that for once, just this one beautiful time… " the Doctor sits between Ruby and her bio-mom and hugs them both beaming "It was just a human." The episode continues from there as usual.

[leejenowrld]

Hello Queen! If Nabi and Jeno, and Mark and Areum woke up in each other's bodies for a day, what would be something about each other's routines, they would complain about the most, and what would be something that would cause them to refuse to switch back to their original bodies??

oh god. chaos. absolute fucking chaos. also you didn’t specify who would wake up in who’s bodies so i chose it, if you want me to answer other variations (like mark in jeno’s body) then lmk and send me another ask

jeno in nabi’s body – first of all, he’d hate how early she wakes up. no sleeping in? no hitting snooze five times? just straight to work like some kind of machine? he’d be so pissed. and the planning—he’d open her notes app and see a perfectly structured to-do list, color-coded schedules, deadlines mapped out months in advance, and it would physically pain him. and don’t even get him started on how much she reads. like, he gets that she’s smart, but why the fuck does she have academic papers open on her laptop for fun? he’d be exhausted by noon.

but what would make him stay? two words: her power. he’d love the way people respect her, the way professors and peers actually listen when she speaks, the control she has in academic settings. he’d thrive off the fact that she can walk into a room and command attention with nothing but her intelligence. and, okay, maybe he’d also be a little too into seeing himself through her eyes. purely for research purposes, obviously.

nabi in jeno’s body – her biggest complaint? the constant movement. why does he never sit still? why does his entire schedule revolve around being drenched in sweat and pushing his body to its limits? she’d hate how much energy he has to burn off—waking up sore, having to run drills, lifting weights like it’s a religion. she’d be so annoyed by the sheer physicality of his life. and the lack of structure? infuriating. his phone would have, like, three unopened emails from coach suh, an ignored calendar reminder, and zero notes for anything important. she’d be itching to fix his whole life.

but would she wanna stay? absolutely. jeno’s body is a weapon. the sheer strength—she’d be so fucking smug about it. she’d dunk a basketball just for fun. she’d revel in the way people move out of her way when she walks. and oh god, the stamina. the things she could do with that stamina.

mark in areum’s body – he’d be completely thrown off. everything about areum’s life feels foreign to him—not just her routines, but the way people treat her. she moves through the world with a kind of effortless grace, an openness that people naturally gravitate toward. where mark is used to second-guessing, overthinking, strategizing every move, areum just is. people listen to her, not because she demands it, not because she fights for it, but because they want to.

at first, he’d hate it. the attention, the expectations, the weight of being someone who others actually care about. but then he’d notice something else—something beneath the soft smiles and gentle words. areum’s kindness isn’t effortless. it’s intentional. she carries herself the way she does because she has to, because she knows people are always watching, always expecting her to be a certain way. and suddenly, it wouldn’t seem so easy anymore. suddenly, he’d realize that being adored isn’t the same as being understood. and that? that would sit in his chest like a stone.

areum in mark’s body – first of all, she’d be so fucking annoyed at how oblivious he is. why does he not realize when someone is flirting with him? why does he never clock the subtext in conversations? it’d drive her insane. and his fashion sense? she’d take one look in the mirror and immediately start changing everything about his outfit. she’d also hate how much pressure he puts on himself. she’d feel exhausted by how much responsibility he shoulders, how he never lets himself just breathe without worrying about everyone else first.

but refusing to switch back? oh, she’d consider it. mark’s got freedom. no one’s expecting him to be perfect all the time, no one’s scrutinizing his every move, no one’s waiting for him to slip up just to tear him down. she’d love the lack of pressure, the ability to just be chill and not have to constantly maintain an image.

conclusion: none of them should ever be allowed to swap bodies. the damage would be irreversible.

[charliedawn]

The Squib Witch:

A Surprising Conversation ! (Shorter episode)

Severus stood before the ghost of Dumbledore and hesitated. He wasn’t sure how to address the situation without showing his growing concern for the young Miss Pacino.

But, he had no choice.

"Headmaster Dumbledore. I would like to talk to you about one of our students. Miss Alethea Pacino."

Dumbledore closed his book and set it aside, his full attention now wholly focused on Severus. He leaned back in his chair, his expression one of interest as he wondered why Professor Snape wanted to talk about her. "Yes. What about Miss Pacino, Severus ?"

Severus’ jaw twitched in annoyance at that familiar innocent and clueless act of Dumbledore. Even after death, the old wizard kept playing the old same tune…

"I just spoke with her in the courtyard," Severus began, his voice stoic but betraying a hint of unease. "She was attempting to fly on a broom."

Dumbledore raised an eyebrow, his expression turning slightly amused. "Was she now ? And was she successful ?"

Severus' lip curled slightly downward.

That smug old bastard.

"No, she was not. But I guess you were already expecting it. She has not yet succeeded in any of her attempts to fly, nor has she been able to show any magical abilities thus far."

Dumbledore nodded, his expression becoming solemn as he thought back to the little girl who he had decided to take a chance on by allowing her to attend Hogwarts.

"I was and am aware of her...predicament," he confessed after a while—choosing his words carefully. "I've tried to help her access her magical abilities numerous times, unfortunately with no success."

Severus' brow furrowed as he listened to Dumbledore. He had expected as much, but hearing it confirmed only heightened his curiosity.

"What do you make of her situation then, Headmaster Dumbledore ?"

Dumbledore sighed, a thoughtful look on his face. "Miss Pacino's condition is quite perplexing. Her magical energy is there, lurking beneath the surface, but it remains out of her reach. It's as if something is obstructing it, preventing her from fully wielding her powers."

Severus frowned, his mind going through different possibilities. "Have you been able to determine what is blocking her magic ?"

Dumbledore shook his head, his expression turning somber and concerned. "Unfortunately, I have not. I have looked through many ancient tomes and even consulted with other magical experts, but the source of her predicament remains a mystery."

Severus clenched his jaw, his irritation growing at the lack of understanding. The fact that Dumbledore—the most knowledgeable wizard he knew—could not explain Al’s predicament only added to his frustration.

He let out a quiet sigh and spoke again. "And what do you suggest the next steps are, Headmaster ?"

Dumbledore considered the question for a moment before responding with a slight shrug. "I am dead, Severus. Her case is no longer of my responsibility. But, I believe the best course of action would be to continue observing and trying to help Miss Pacino. Though her condition is perplexing, I am confident that she will find a way to unlock her magic—sooner or later."

Severus frowned. That old man seemed almost happy to have death as an excuse for his incompetence…But, Severus only nodded, though he couldn't help but feel an underlying doubt in Dumbledore's words.

"I have promised her," he said, his voice a quiet whisper. "That I would help her."

Dumbledore looked up at Severus once more, a small knowing smile on his face. "I have a feeling you will be a great help to Miss Pacino, Severus," he said—his tone cryptic.

Severus huffed in response, his expression slightly annoyed. He hated when Dumbledore spoke in riddles like this. As if he always knew more than anyone else, when he could be the biggest ignorant of them all.

"What do I do then, Albus ?" he asked, his voice a mix of annoyance and resignation. "How am I supposed to help her when even you did not succeed in finding out what is wrong with her ?"

Dumbledore chuckled softly at Severus' impatient tone, but then his expression became serious. "You know, Severus," he said, his voice quiet yet firm. "Sometimes the greatest help we can offer is simply being there for someone, listening to them, and believing in them. Even in the face of uncertainty."

Severus felt a pang of frustration at Dumbledore's ambiguous words, but a part of him knew that the old Headmaster had a point. He let out a quiet sigh. He had never been one to offer any kind of support, but he had made a promise to help her and he would see it through.

He nodded reluctantly. "Very well," he said, his voice now resigned. "I will keep an eye on Miss Pacino and do what I can to assist her."

Dumbledore smiled softly, satisfied that Severus had agreed to help her. "I trust you will do a fine job, Severus," he said, his voice filled with confidence. "Miss Pacino is in good hands, indeed."

Severus tried to ignore the slight pang of worry in his stomach at Dumbledore’s words, and he simply nodded in response. Even though he knew that the Headmaster had yet again managed to somehow manipulate him. He glanced back at the fireplace—ready to leave—when Dumbledore spoke again.

"One more thing, Severus."

Severus looked back at Dumbledore.

"Yes ?" he asked shortly.

Dumbledore looked at him with a knowing expression and spoke quietly. "Must I remind you to be as patient and sensitive as possible with Miss Pacino ? She is already struggling enough with her situation, and I would not like for her to have further emotional strain."

Severus raised an eyebrow, his irritation giving way to surprise. Was Dumbledore really cautioning him about being patient and sensitive when he knew who he was ? What he had done ? How could that old fool ever ask something so foolish of him ?

But, he schooled his features into his usual expressionless mask and spoke shortly. "I'll keep that in mind," he finally said.

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "I am sure you will," he said, his tone now light again. "Good night, Severus. And good luck."

Severus could have sworn he saw a slight twinkle of mischief in Dumbledore's eye at his response but chose to ignore it. Severus' gaze lingered on Dumbledore for a moment before he nodded curtly. "Good night, Headmaster," he replied before turning around and walking towards the fireplace. He grabbed a handful of Floo powder and threw it in the hearth before stepping inside.

The green flames blazed up, and he felt the familiar feeling of being squeezed through a tight passageway until he found himself back in his own office. He stepped out of the fireplace and dusted some of the ash off his robes, his mind still swirling with thoughts about Dumbledore's words.

He walked back to his desk and sat down, his eyes staring blankly at the wall in front of him.

He had never been one to worry about students' lives or emotional well-being. But there was something about Miss Pacino that stirred his interest. He couldn't figure out what it was. He leant back in his chair and closed his eyes, thinking about the stupid promise he had made her. He had promised to help her—whatever that may entail. He had also promised Dumbledore to be sensitive.

Bloody hell, he thought to himself. How on earth was he supposed to do that ?

Severus Snape was not known for his understanding or compassion. He rarely offered comfort, let alone emotional support. He let out a frustrated sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He was in uncharted waters here, and he had no idea what to expect.

But despite his usual indifference, he felt a strange sense of responsibility towards Miss Pacino. Perhaps it was because he had promised Dumbledore, or perhaps it was because her situation intrigued him.

Either way, he knew that he couldn’t ignore her any longer.

He clenched his jaw, his mind still racing with thoughts. He was not used to dealing with students on a personal level. He was a teacher—not a bloody therapist. His role was to impart knowledge and maintain discipline, not to offer emotional guidance. But here he was, tasked with assisting and helping her.

He scowled at the thought. It was all Dumbledore’s fault for putting him in this predicament to begin with. And then to ask him to be sensitive—as if he knew what that even meant.

He sighed and shook his head.

But it was no use dwelling on that now…He stood up, extinguishing the candles on his desk with a flick of his wand.

[shadyruinskryptonite]

Titan Bending Chapter 22

Warning: Violence consistent with cannon, NSFW so MDNI, language, major character death (both consistent with canon of both AOT and ATLA as well as diverging from canon), so much trauma literally everyone is so traumatized, very much slow burn, a little enemies to lovers, SO MUCH ANGST, hurt/comfort, hurt and delayed comfort, AFAB reader

Anything in bold is considered to be a different language and the context will specify what that language may be.

Chapter Warnings: None for this chapter

WC: 2591

Previous Chapter, Next Chapter

Masterlist

Tags: @mochminnie @sseleniaa @naruwitch

AN: I am once again coming to you to apologize for how long it took me to get this out. We're getting into the point that I've been most excited to write so I guess I'm anxious about not doing it justice? My anxiety response is to avoid like the plague. Life has also been lifing me pretty hard, so again I apologize. I'm going to try to be better!

Walking with everyone, I feel like I’m about to jump out of my skin I’m so excited. Upon landing, we had dinner with the King which was good but, ultimately, uneventful. Just like Sokka had predicted, the palace was either unable or unwilling to put us up for the few nights, so we’re currently walking to Iroh’s teashop. 

Zuko walks in first, alone, and I can distantly hear him call, “Uncle! I have a surprise for you!” I can almost hear the smile in his voice.

I’m shuffled to the front of the group, and when Zuko returns Iroh is at his side. He’s clearly a bit confused, but his entire expression lights up when he sees me. He automatically opens his arms and I run to him, engulfing him in a huge hug. 

“Oh how I missed you, my little fire lily,” He whispers into the hug.

“I missed you too, Uncle,” I respond blissfully.

As we break the hug, he holds my shoulders and really examines me. I giggle a little bit under his gaze, not really sure what he might be noticing.

“You grew up even more beautiful than you were,” he says.

I blush, but ultimately continue to giggle as I respond, “Uncle, I haven’t changed at all. I look exactly the same as I did the last time you saw me!”

“No,” he corrects. “You’re more mature and content. Happiness looks good on you.”

I pull him back into another hug, much more brief than the first. I break it quickly as I remember that he doesn’t know the new cast of characters behind me.

“Oh! Uncle, I have some people that I’d like for you to meet.” I introduce him to everyone just as I had introduced them to the Gaang just days before.

“Why don’t we head inside, I have a lot to tell you about.”

He greets everyone with a smile and says, “I’ll make us some tea then.”

As we file inside, I excitedly grab Levi and say, “Iroh is who I learned to make tea from! He’s who I’ve told you about!”

Much to my surprise, Levi smiles slightly. As fast as it appeared it was gone again, but with a slight smirk he says, “Let’s hope his is better than yours then.”

I roll my eyes and quickly help Iroh hand out the tea that he had made to everyone. Watching Levi intently as he takes a sip, I can’t help but feel smug as I see his eyes widden a bit. He doesn’t outwardly smile again, but when he looks up from his cup and his eyes fall on me, I can see them crinkle a bit which makes me feel nearly as warm and fuzzy as his smile did.

Once everyone is settled in with their tea, I launch into the story about where I actually was and what’s been happening there. 

There’s an incredulousness about Iroh’s expression and when I’m done talking, he says under his breath, “I thought it was a myth.”

This automatically shifts the entire energy of the room. Suddenly everyone is at the proverbial edge of their seats.

“You know about our part of the world?! What do you know about us?” Of course it was Hange that couldn’t contain herself.

“Not much,” Iroh shakes his head a bit out of disbelief. “In my own travels, I saw a single line about some people back in the time of the first Avatar that were opposed to bending in the real world so they forged their own way. I don’t know anything about who they were, and when I tried to ask any sages and scholars about it they all said different things; some said it wasn’t true, some said their descendents became the swamp benders, others said they became the sand benders, others still said that they integrated into what would be the fifth nation, and some believed that they made their own non-bending colonies. I even spoke with some people that believed they still lived on a lion turtle. But, truthfully, most people that I discussed this with didn’t know anything about it.”

Looking at me now, Hange exclaims, “Y/n, maybe you were onto something when you said that Aang’s past lives might be able to give us some insight.”

Everyone shifts to look at Aang. He shrugs. “I can give it a try. Y/n, can’t you also go into the spirit world?”

I shake my head a bit. “Not at will. I only can during a full moon.”

This doesn’t seem to deter him though. “Tomorrow is a full moon! I think we should try going together so you can explain the situation.”

Hesitantly, I agree and as I do, Hange almost squeals. I smile at her again, but I explain, “You’re welcome to observe Hang, but you won’t get much from it. When someone is in the Spirit World their bodies are completely still for the most part. There’s not much to see.”

“Don’t care, still wanna see it!” She says almost triumphantly, making just about everyone laugh a little.

For the rest of the evening, we all sit around sharing stories and laughing. As the night wears to a close, I finally ask, “So, tomorrow is the big dinner, right? What’s the plan for the day?”

It’s Sokka that answers. “Well, Aang, Zuko, Suki, and I will have meetings with King Kuei throughout the day but you all should go into the markets and get some appropriate clothes for the dinner. At the dinner, King Kuei is going to announce all of our names and say what we did to help end the war, so it will help recognize that you’re out in public again, Y/n. Zuko is also planning on saying a few words about the upcoming celebration that he’s hosting too and will mention that you’ll be there.”

The mood is automatically a bit more somber as we’re reminded of the real reason for this little trip; it’s not a vacation, after all. 

Trying to lighten the mood again, I interject, “Well, we’ll have fun in the markets. I’m sure they’re even better than I remember now that the war is over. Maybe y’all can even get some little trinkets to take back with us.”

For the time being, this seems to do the trick and the kids at least are uplifted again. 

“Toph and I can join you guys too since we won’t be in the meetings,” Katara adds. “We can go grab breakfast somewhere before we head to the markets, so we’ll come meet you around, say, 8?”

I smile at her and the kids seem to be pleased with this as well. We agree to the time and with that, we bid the Gaang a good night as they head back to the palace. 

As everyone settles in for the night, I notice Levi slip out to the patio attached to the tea shop. It has a beautiful view of all of Ba Sing Se. Even with all of the city lights, you can still see a few faint starts in the sky.

As I walk up beside him, I joke, “We don’t have to have someone keep watch, ya know.”

All he manages to dignify me with is a quick grunt. After standing there for a few moments in silence, he suddenly and unexpectedly asks, “Are you sure you don’t want to come back here?”

I snap to look at him. “What?” is all I can manage to ask.

“You seem to really like it here. Your friends want you back. Are you sure you don’t want to move back here?” he reiterates.

“Yeah, I do like it here,” I say very matter-of-factly. “But I like it back home too. There’s work to be done back home.”

I pause, and I can see him mulling over what I had said. Before he’s able to respond, I add, “I’m not going to change my mind about staying with you all, ya know. Being back here is nice, but getting to experience this again isn’t going to make me go back on my promise to help y’all.”

Gazing off into the distance, all Levi says is, “It should.”

All I can do is stare at him. I don’t know how to respond to that.

Luckily, sensing that I don’t know what to say, Levi continues, “Look at this place. It’s peaceful. Any normal person would choose this over our world without question.”

I can tell he glances at me out of the corner of his eye after he finishes saying this, but I merely shrug. “Well, we already knew that I’m not a normal person now, didn’t we?”

He snorts a little at this before saying, “You could say that again.”

I almost make a witty retort, but something about his tone of voice stops me. I opt to not say anything because I’m afraid that I’m no longer viewing this conversation objectively. Still ignoring his comment, I pat his shoulder and say, “It’s safe here, you should try to get some sleep.”

I head in myself and try to do just that, but inevitably after only a couple of hours I’m jolted awake. Sighing, I head back out to the patio, this time content with the solitude. After about 15 minutes out there, I hear the door open and shut behind me.

“Still a night owl wolf I see,” a gentle voice says behind me.

I turn around, surprised that the voice was not Levi’s. I can’t help but smile at the sight of Uncle Iroh, though.

“Old habits die hard,” I joke.

He comes and takes a seat next to me, pouring a cup of tea that I happily indulge in. Settling into my seat, I let out a blissful sigh.

“We’ve shared many a late night over a cup of tea like this, haven’t we?” Iroh posits.

I let out a little sharp laugh, “More than many,” I say almost whistfully.

Putting his hand protectively on my arm, Iroh asks, “So how have you been, Fire Lily? You seem happy, but tell me how you’ve really been.”

I smile, placing my hand on top of his. “It might seem strange to say, but I think I’m the happiest I’ve ever been.”

“Why would that be strange?”

“Because on paper I shouldn’t be happy. For all intents and purposes, I ran away from my life in favor of peace and quiet and instead found myself in the midst of a conflict with monsters that we couldn’t even dream up. I’m separated from all of my loved ones here and, with the exception of this trip, I don’t know when or if I’ll see them again. But…” I cut myself off, not sure of what else to say.

Interjecting, Iroh says, “I once said to Zuko that ‘destiny is a funny thing. You never know how things are going to work out.’ Even if it may not make sense to you, you will always be happiest when you are on the right path.”

“The Gaang all want me to come back and the kids don’t understand why or how I could leave the life I had behind. I don’t know, I guess everyone has just made me second guess my own choices.”

“When they asked you to come back, what did your gut tell you?”

“That I needed to stay. I made a promise to help them.”

With a half-smile, Iroh nods a little. “Then there you go. It doesn’t matter what anyone else says, because your mind, heart, and gut are all in agreement that you are where you need to be.”

Looking down at my tea cup, I swirl the liquid around a little. Avoiding eye contact, I ask, “You don’t think this is just me running from my problems?”

Without missing a beat, he replies, “Sometimes, the best way to solve your own problems is to help others. If I know you at all, part of the happiness you’re feeling comes from the fact that you’re helping these people. It’s not running, it’s fulfilling the purpose you were put on this earth for.”

Still trying to make myself believe him, I nod a little. As always, I do feel better after talking to Uncle Iroh. “Thank you, Uncle. I needed to hear that.”

Sitting back in his seat a bit, Iroh changes his tone a bit. “So, why don’t you tell me a bit more about these new friends of yours.”

I smile, excited to talk about them. “Well, I’ve sort of taken on a mother-type role with all of the kids. Most of them are missing one or both of their parents, so I think it helps how I look after them. When I first came across everyone, I didn’t agree with how young most of this military force is. But don’t get me wrong, they’re all extremely fierce fighters. Mikasa in particular is something to behold. She and the short one, Levi, are both from the Ackerman clan which is essentially a family that was trained and experimented on centuries ago to make them all the ideal fighters. I feel like it’s rather unexpected how talented she is though because she’s usually pretty soft spoken and gentle. She’s got a big crush on Eren and protects him beyond all rational thought. They’ve been friends, along with Armin, since they were little kids. While she and Eren have their little thing, my favorite thing is to watch her interact with Armin. They’re so close that they often communicate almost telepathically. Armin kind of reminds me of Aang, in some ways. Jean actually also has a crush on Mikasa, but because of the whole situation she has going with Eren he mostly keeps his distance. Instead, he’s very close with Sasha and Connie. They’re kind of the three musketeers. Connie is a big jokester and I think I get along with him so well because he deals with everything through jokes just like I do. Jean tries to be funny like Connie, but his comedy often ends up just being more awkward which inadvertently makes him the butt of the joke. And then Sasha is just unintentionally funny. She’s often very sincere in what she’s trying to say but the way she says things is just so funny. Then there’s Hange and Levi. They’re probably my closest friends. Hange has a lot of the same zest for life that Sokka has. She is so passionate about learning and growing, it makes me excited to help her. And her happiness is just infectious. And Levi…he’s harder to describe. At first I honestly couldn’t stand him. People call him ‘Humanity’s Strongest Soldier’ because of his Ackerman strength and at first I thought it gave him a god complex but he’s actually very down to earth. He’s very quiet, as I’m sure you noticed. This makes him seem stand-offish, but from what I can tell he’s just taking everything in and observing really intently. I’ve learned that he really cares about everyone he works with. He would do absolutely anything for the people he cares about.”

When I finally finish, I look at Iroh who’s just smiling at me. “They sound lovely, Y/n.”

As our conversation naturally concludes, the sun breaks over the horizon and the sky is turned an array of rich amber, gold, and pink. Looking towards the sky, I mumble mostly to myself, “They are lovely.”

[crmsnmth]

September Sky Chapter One, Part 4

"Want to just meet here then?" I asked.

"Yeah. Sure. I get down with my last class around four, so quarter after?" She replied with that same perfect smile.

"Sounds great. I'll see you later then," I said. She gave me a small wave and headed back into the writhing mass of the crowd. I lost her almost instantly. As she walked away, she did turn back and look at me, so I think that's a good thing? I don't know. I was way out practice.

I had enough time to walk to my place in Riverwest, shower, and change clothes quick. Yeah, I did miss the bus, and at this point it would be faster for me to walk than wait for the next bus. I just didn't enjoy the walk without my headphones, which I had forgotten when I left the apartment earlier that morning.

I headed out of the cafeteria as fast as I could go. With the adrenaline from asking someone out for the first time in years, I could move pretty fast. I made it out the door, and out into the late spring air.

I practically ran and crossed the bridge over the Milwaukee River. I had to stop for a few moments to catch my breath, and to cease the stabbing pain in my side. I was really out of shape, and the smoking probably didn't really help. I checked my phone for the time and found there was enough that I could maybe just walk like a normal person.

The bridge is basically what separates the East Side and Riverwest. It was strange, but for some reason, you could actually feel the change. In the air and in the noise. As the hippies that roamed the streets of Riverwest would sat, "it's in the energy, man."

Riverwest was basically a safe haven for misfits and outcasts. A neighborhood for artists and their muses. Everybody here is an outcast, and this tiny little splat in Milwaukee was the holy ground we prayed at. Everybody (who was a decent person) was welcome. No matter if you're a hardcore punk, or a knitted hat wearing hipster, or maybe even a witch who cares more about the style than the substance. They were all accepted with open arms.

I lived over on Booth street, with two room mates. One of them, Tom. had put an ad on Craigslist and I got lucky. I had the first months rent, and I'd be taking over someone's lease. I had no problem with that, and a week later I was moved in, trying again to start my life over.

Tom was an alright. He at least acknowledged my existence. We had even had a few conversations. I guess the best description of him that i can think of would be a jock hipster. Technically, he should be kicking his own ass. Somehow, though, he made it seem natural.

Dennis, on the hand, did not like me. Not one bit. This didn't bother me. I'm no hypocrite. I wasn't his biggest fan. He was a deep-seated conservative. Maybe even more than that even. I know he was deep into ROTC stuff. And he definitely looked the part, with the crew cut and the ever present smug of a soon to be military person. When he was at the apartment, his room was constant virtual gunfire war video games. And hey, I like to game just as much as anyone else, but I'd much rather be doing something.

The house was empty when I got there. I'm assuming they both had class or were to whatever it was that they did for jobs. For being room mates, it's kind of strange of just how little I knew of them. And they knew barely anything about me, other than what they saw at our place. And that wasn't much at all, considering most of my time home was spent locked away in my tiny room.

It looked smaller than it was, mainly because my walls were covered in posters for horror movies and punk bands. I had a small closet in one corner of the room that held most of my t-shirts. And I had a lot of them. Of course, they were all black, and usually with a horror movie's poster on them, or a punk bands logo. A TV stood on a stand with an Xbox that I used mainly has a DVD player. Across the room was my mattress, just a twin that sat on the floor. I tried keeping a sheet on it, but with the amount of movement I have in my sleep from nightmares, I ripped it up every night. So I stopped trying. Who did I have to show anyway? A small dresser sat against one wall, with a turntable and my stack of vinyl on top of it. Right next to it was a bookshelf filled with horror DVDs and a few books based on some form of anarchist ideology. I wasn't all that political, but I classified myself as an anarchist. It just kind of suited me, with the punk thing I had going on since I turned 13 and found a Descendents album at a Goodwill. My laptop lay on my mattress, plugged in to the wall behind the dresser. The wall above my bed was covered in red Christmas lights.