#staff is at the wrong angle

[booksandfairytales]

Trying to get better at drawing by starting with redrawing screen caps

Definitely needs work, but getting there

[deus-ex-mona]

✨noping out✨ of an awkward situation li k e

[rmorde]

What's happening with MAPPA ?

Their scheduling is simply terrible and its killing animators on the inside. Many big name animators are posting online how little of a time they are being given to work on the episode. I have seen one artist post how they only have 5 days (!) to draw a sequence. The Choso vs Yuji episode only finished post-production BARELY A DAY before it aired. It's insane.

Shibuya Arc is action-heavy and the expectations for the animation is high. Artists HAVE to deliver high quality work on the project because their reputation is on the line.

Some of the artists have been posting how hellish it is to work on MAPPA. The director of the last episode felt so bad about how "terrible" it is and apologized. Some have barely enough time to submit their sketches, in-between art, key frames, corrections, etc.

Now, for us, the episode is great. However, "sakuga" fans are more discerning and would see how its faltering in some parts. They can tell how the staff is struggling and are being forced to produce "subpar" results because of the 7 day production schedule.

*Sakuga = High quality Animation = 24 frames (drawings) per second

The staff takes great pride in their work. So, having to deliver subpar "sakuga" to audiences is horrible for their mentality and confidence. They do not want that to be their legacy - which is a big deal for them.

Think these episodes look great already? Had the animators have more time, they would have looked even better!

The fact that the staff can still make episodes look so good by sheer will and god-like drawing skills despite their schedule should be given a lot of respect and admiration.

Now, why haven't the staff been given more time?

It's because MAPPA is greedy. Not only is the studio producing JJK. They have other big projects going on alongside it: AOT, Vinland Saga, CSM. All of them had to look good. The staff have barely any time to breathe as they are treated like machines to deliver high quality animation season after season.

While CSM is being produced, the staff are already working on JJK 0 and then JJK S2 Hidden Inventory. It resulted with CSM's last few episodes being janky. JJK 0 was great and Hidden Inventory, obviously, was really polished (at the cost of Hell's Paradise being average imo tho).

Then we have Shibuya Arc. In all honesty, I wished they have delayed this a bit later. Maybe turned it into a winter season anime because again Shibuya Arc is:

Very very hyped. It HAS to look good and polished.

Lots of Action. Action is like the crowning jewel of any shonen anime and JJK has the reputation of being the best at delivering it. They CANNOT mess this up. *Cue PTSD to the insane complaints of the Toji vs Gojo Round 2 + Yuji vs Locust Curse episodes*

The solution should have been: Delay the anime so the animators can breathe and deliver their best which would make Shibuya Arc as polished, if not better, than Hidden Inventory.

Sadly, with MAPPA's insanity, it is impossible:

The staff are juggling so many high-tier projects. They have no room to "take their time" so to speak. They have to "GO! GO! GO!"

The "airtime" has already been reserved. Any delays would cost them losing a slot of airtime which meant the series MAY NOT completely be televised (which I think was the fate of ZOM100). Lost airtime means lost profit and MAPPA can't have that.

Fan anticipation. I wish I could lie about it but I just know some entitled assholes would harass the studio and the staff about animating Shibuya Arc ASAP. Fans can really put a lot of hype and pressure for JJK at the same time.

Now here are just my own opinion. But other factors may be:

4. MAPPA wants to capitalize Halloween. Just look at all the merch and collab events! All profits from those would go to the studio and not Gege. Gege's profit are JUST from the manga. Anime-related merch/products would be for the benefit of its manufacturers, studio, and shops only.

5. Timing things with the manga. Prime example: Gojo. (I am not too sure about this tho).

One reason I am excluding is the staff not working on the project because they may be busy with something else. JJK is a huge! New animators would love to have that as part of their portfolio. Big names in the industry would have wanted to work on it too because of the challenge it poses and their love for the manga series or animation in general as well.

TL;DR: It's all MAPPA's fault and not the staff. The studio wanted everything out of greediness while the animators just want to bring out their very best at their own pace.

[oceantornadoo]

ch2 something borrowed something blue (mafia!price x simon's sister!reader)

masterlist | next

You hate John Price because he ruined your childhood. Or at least, his father did.

Growing up as a bastard was hard. You do thank your lucky stars that you were a bastard in modern-day society, and not during some time when your mother could have had her head chopped off. It’s the small things.

Your mother was Mr. Riley’s nanny. How original. 

Mrs. Riley, Simon and Tommy’s mother, did not like her husband. Smart woman. He was cruel, knew how to poke at scars until they opened and bled down bruised skin. They had an heir and a spare, neither of which she was particularly attached to. It was enough to fulfill their marriage contract, so she got to live out the rest of her days in a beachside condo in Cornwall. Simon and Tommy were raised properly, the Riley way, in Greater Manchester. In a mansion bought by blood and exploitation, guns and gold. 

With the wife out of the way and two boys under five, Mr. Riley hired a nanny. The way your mother tells it, only after three glasses of wine before the sun sets, she was low on cash and desperate for a place to stay. The whispers about the Riley family were loud, but the grumbling of her stomach was louder. It’s a phrase she repeated over and over during your childhood, as you hopped from international school in Paris to private school in New York City, wherever your father decreed was safer. You tell her she doesn’t need to justify it, even now as you live with your brother and she stays countries away, but she’ll just give you that same tightlipped smile. She still doesn’t forgive herself for who your father was, so you have to forgive her for the both of you.

She couldn’t say no to Mr. Riley. Maybe it was the sight of her with his kids or her constant proximity, but he claimed he was in love. You can’t say no to the head of a gang, especially if you’re an employee. And once she became pregnant, he tightened the reins. Pulled strings to become your legal primary caregiver so she couldn’t leave the country. It was only after a robbery went wrong, where Mr. Riley lost almost a quarter of his wealth, he invited others to weigh in on the situation. Or at least, Mr. Price.

You were seven, Tommy was ten, and Simon was fourteen. Simon said he was too grown up to play with a baby like you, but Tommy always stuck around. Tommy just beat you in hide and seek, again, and frustration seeped out of your skin. He always caught you, no matter where you hid. He was counting down to another round and you were determined to win this time. There was one place he wouldn’t think of - your father’s office.

There have been a lot more men around lately. Mama had told you to keep upstairs, out of eyesight, but you wanted to win this time. Tommy was counting from sixty, too fast in your opinion, so you creeped down the stairs at warp speed. There was a secret door to Father’s office, mainly for the maids, and it had a door for your dog. Riley was huge, so the flap took up a third of the door. You were still small enough to scurry through, though it was becoming a tighter fit lately. Determined, you popped through the flap, being sure not to disturb Father. There was a chair for you to hide behind, a perfect angle to hide from the man on the other side of Father’s desk while still keeping an eye out for Tommy’s feet.

“They hit you because you’re weak.” The man’s voice was familiar. Mr. Price. He was around more and more, always bringing his annoying son John. He was sixteen and thought he was so cool, bossing around the staff like he was, well, the boss. And he never wanted to play. 

“They hit us because my idiot men weren’t watchin’ the cameras.” Father replied. He sounded angry. He always snorted like a bull before he started yelling, and you could hear him huffing. “Y’ve got a bastard an’ ‘er mother yankin’ ya by the balls. She’s the help, for god sake. The scousers see an opportunity.” You knew that word. Bastard. Simon had called you bastard once, a year ago when you took his stuffed animal that he hid from Father. Mama told you it was a mean word, only said by people with too-small hearts. When Simon said it, you cried for an hour. He apologized, hugging you like a baby until the tears receded. Then, he promised to hurt anyone who said that word to you. 

“What do you suggest?” Father didn’t say anything about the mean word. He was like that, he didn’t protect you like Tommy or Simon. “Send them away. Make your enemies forget about your weakness. Bring Simon into the fold.” That wasn’t Mr. Price speaking, it was John. He wanted to send you away? You prayed not to Cornwall, where Simon’s mom lived. She was scary.

“I second John. You need strength, not complication. Focusin’ on Simon learnin’ the ropes will emphasize your heir, not the help y’ forgot to wear a rubber with. ‘Least til she’s eighteen an’ can be married.” Mama wasn’t married, so you didn’t want to be either. “Appreciate the help, gentlemen. Now about the Chester deal…” You tuned them out. Sent away? You had to tell Mama. Slipping away like a cat, you ran to find Mama, not stopping even when Tommy found you. He’d won, again.

Without John’s suggestion, you might have stayed. You might have gotten a real relationship with your brothers. You might have prevented Tommy from walking into that gunfight and- that’s where the hypotheticals stopped. Who knows what would have happened? What you know is that, despite being provided for and with your mom, there was always that what if? clinging to the back of your brain.

Your father died when you were twenty-two. Months after he’d paid your last college bill, thankfully. Simon called you during your summer of freedom, a twenty-nine-year-old man with no clue how to run an empire. A lost younger brother between you. He’d promised to protect you, and that was your chance to return the favor. Family first, the Riley way.

-

Now, years later, the hate for John Price has turned from a boil to a simmer. Something you don’t think about constantly until he’s right in front of you. It’s hard to blame a man for a teenage hypothetical, but that doesn’t mean you couldn’t insult him for being a pompous git. A mafia brat. Decades of being shitty to each other have turned the cord of your relationship rotted black, a frayed string connected by the fact you can’t physically hurt the other. You’ve got no clue why he wants to marry you of all people, so you’re determined to scare him off. This should be fun.

-

“Quaint,” John mutters to Gaz, who scoffs. They took the jet, a quick hour trip, and brought Laswell, his trusted lawyer. The bookstore is off a side street in Greater Manchester, next to a cafe and a flower shop for god sake. He has to give it to Ghost; it’s a good place to clean cash or lay low. Discreet. No clue why the spitfire’s running it, though. He’s surprised it’s not gone to ruin.

The bell over the door makes a faint tinkling sound as they enter. Gaz goes first, ready for an ambush like the control freak he is, and John can see you smiling at him. It’s a smile he’s never seen, unbidden and shy. It immediately sours once John emerges, turning into a faint frown. “You actually came.” You say it like you aren’t discussing a marriage contract to tie you together for eternity. It’s been a year since John last saw you. Your meetings are infrequent, mainly in passing during weddings and funerals. He knows it’s been years since you came back to Manchester, but you finally seem to have…matured. More confident with your movements, at ease behind the counter of your bookstore. If he were a different man, your confidence would be attractive, but in this world, something about it irritates him.

He sees you pick up your phone, a battered thing, and fire off a short text. Not five seconds later, Soap and Ghost emerge from the shadows of the backroom, men in suits at their shoulders. The shop is immediately crowded, and you cringe at the change in atmosphere. “You’re lucky I closed the store today. Your vibe would freak out the customers. Come on.” John is already practicing restraint, biting his tongue so he doesn’t reply like a scorned teenager. He’s too grown for this. 

Soap leads the way, opening a hidden door to the basement by tugging at a dusty bookshelf in the back. He holds the door open for everyone, trading looks with Ghost before nodding to the Price group. “What do ya do if a customer pulls that book by accident?” Gaz wonders out loud, snorting to himself as he approaches the door. “Dosnae happen, Garrick.” Gaz grins and John sighs inwardly. “Usin’ last names now, MacTavish? I can play that game too.” Gaz dips down the staircase before Soap can answer, presumably needing to have the last word. Between you and Soap, this is going to be a long meeting.

The bookstore might be old and dusty, but the basement is sleek and modern. John passes a small med bay, fully stocked, before they reach a large conference room, equipped with TVs and enough office chairs for a small army. Even Gaz lets out a low whistle, while Laswell hums thoughtfully. Kate’s probably memorizing the layout for another upgrade to her office.

As everyone sits, two waiters make their rounds, taking drink orders. He gets a tea and thanks the waiter, catching your brows furrowing after he murmurs his gratitude. Odd.

“Right so-” Soap starts, but Gaz cuts him off. “You’re a bloody barrister?” Soap practically growls at his tone. “Solicitor. Not jus’ a pretty face, Garrick.” It’s silent as the two stare, a contest only broken when Simon clears his throat. “Get on with it, haven’t got all day.” Soap starts again, mainly talking with Kate as they go through the contract. John has it practically memorized. 25% of his businesses, mainly the ones not in London, in exchange for their weight in Ghost’s gold, something he desperately needs. Relinquishing his claims to border territory between Manchester and Liverpool, something that would make his father turn in his grave, for thousands of weapons. Guns, bullets, tracking equipment - anything he can use that has removable identity numbers. It’s a deal that’ll help him win against Shepherd’s men. All for the small price of being married to you, of course.

“Ms. Riley will marry Mr. Price and produce a minimum of two children within ten years. In case of fertility struggles, one child will suffice, only with a board of doctors agreement. If infertility persists and no children are produced, we have clauses for that.” The statement rolls off Laswell’s tongue easily, but John can tell the moment it reaches your brain. Your eyebrows go sky high, and you almost stand until Simon puts a firm hand on your shoulder, keeping you in place. “Board of doctors? What, so if I can’t get pregnant, I have to inform an entire hospital just so I don’t get shot? That’s barbaric.” You spit out, and John can’t help but agree. If the situation comes to it, he wouldn’t want the future mother of his child having to humiliate herself like that. Thoughts of you being a mother are turned away, a dreary thought for another day.

John murmurs instructions to Laswell, who notes them down with ease. He can tell she approves as her shoulders relax slightly. “We can amend this line. It’ll only require one doctor, not a board, and it can be your current gyno or someone else. The matter will stay between Ms. Riley, Mr. Price, and Mr. Riley if it comes to be.” Laswell replies. You huff, irritated that John agreed, and he smirks at you from across the table. You’re so easy to tease, probably because you’re snooty and spoiled.

“What about my bookstore?” The question escapes you after another ten minutes of Laswell droning on about childcare protocol. How if there’s no child in ten years, and all avenues have been explored, the marriage will be dissolved. “What about it?” Laswell asks smoothly. Your eyes dart between her’s and John’s. “Well, I’ll hire a manager for the Riley store, but what about in London?” John considers it, running a hand through his beard. It’s a safety risk, but who knows what havoc you’ll wreak on his home if you’re bored 24/7. Something to do would be nice.

“‘Ve got a few closed storefronts I own. You could take one.” Your mouth drops. You didn’t expect him to agree, to be honest. Imagined yourself chained to his property, playing housewife night and day. “I want to own it. Buy it from you so the deed is in my name.” You cross your arms on your chest, quirking an eyebrow like it’s a challenge.

“Fine. But you’ll let it up once there’s kids.”

“Not happening.”

“First few years, at least.”

“And are you taking a few years off for paternity leave?” Well, no. But he’s running an organized crime unit of over 5,000 members and you’re running a bookstore. John can’t have other families seeing his wife working when she’s supposed to be resting or raising his heir.

“First year after every new kid. That’s what I’ll agree to.” Soap murmurs something in your ear and you sigh with defeat. “Fine. But you have to sell me the property at fair market value and you can’t use it for any business. And I get to pick any property not in use.” This seems to be the hill you’re dying on. If you were a Made Man, he’d add in flowery language, guaranteeing you the cheapest property. But he’s already taking your home and your business from you, not to mention your womb and ten years of your life. He can spare a building.

“Agreed. Next.”

Soap continues on, his leg bouncing under the table with so much force that it’s shaking. He’s eager to get out, that’s for sure, and John can’t help but wonder why. “Ms. Riley will reside with Mr. Price at his permanent London residence. If she wishes t’ leave city limits, she must request written permission.” John quirks an eyebrow. Surely you’ll bite at this one.

“I’m not even dignifying that with a response.” Is what eventually comes out of your mouth. Took you almost thirty seconds to say it. He could see you weighing your options in your mind, the price of too many amendments versus your freedom. He almost respects the move, until he remembers this is the Riley brat. Not someone to be respected.

“‘S for your safety.” He croaks out, throat dry from lack of use. Speaking to you is like breaking the fourth wall, an unsettling feeling. The full force of your glare is blazing hot, the pits of Hell contained in two eyes. “I can take care of myself. I’ve always got a gun and a man on me.” You challenge him.

“Guns run out of bullets. Men die.” He replies, smug with the fact you can’t particularly deny what he’s saying. You turn to Soap, muttering your dissent. He shakes his head, then looks over at Ghost. The bastard has his mask on, but even a blind man could see he agrees with the statement. He wants to protect his sister, a trait John knew he could rely on.

“Fine. Oral works.” You say the words like they’re bitter on your tongue, something you want to spit out. “Does it, sweetheart? Good t’ know.” You roll your eyes, then shove Soap’s shoulder for him to continue. “Can’t believe I’m marrying a manchild.” If you’d said it in front of his men, he’d have to reprimand you, but he can drop the mask in this room. He’s not going to punish his future wife this early. It would throw off the wedding atmosphere.

Laswell marks the change from written to oral permission then continues. She’s at the last few lines, thankfully. “The marriage cannot be dissolved unless in the case of maltreatment or abuse. If there is evidence of Ms. Riley cheating, 50% of the Riley Family assets will be transferred to the Price Family and the marriage will be dissolved. Any bastards will not be recognized and will be given no child support.” The word bastard echoes around the room. Laswell could say she didn’t realize the context of the word but, knowing her, it was probably used on purpose. A test.

You roll your shoulders back. Ghost’s eyes narrow into black pits. Soap’s hands clench and unclench on the table. Despite the obvious tension, there’s no immediate reaction. You don’t jump on the table and curse his ancestors or pull out a gun and start shooting. Both he expected more than the actual outcome, which is…nothing. You nod at Soap and Ghost, gesturing at them to continue. 

It should be a victory. Gaz is nudging him under the table, his right-hand man all too proud that he riled up the Rileys. The feeling of success is hollow as John tracks your tense muscles, the way you turn your gaze to the contract in front of you and don’t move, even when Laswell finishes reading it. You’re just…frozen. It’s too human of a look on you, and John wonders if this is what your marriage will be like. Cold. Distant. Robotic fucking, just enough to make heirs. A fidelity clause only for you, while John can do whatever he wants as long as there aren’t any kids made. It’s a point he would have let you argue, let you add a fidelity clause for him too, but you take it on the chin. Is it punishment for the family sin you didn’t commit? The mantle of knowledge is heavy on his shoulders.

John signs. You sign. Ghost signs then hands it to the lawyers. Gaz is the witness. In five minutes, John has turned his mafia into a militarized mob and gained a wife who hates him. Every man’s dream.

Papers are gathered as the waiters clear glasses from the table. He stands only after you do, observing how Ghost has to touch your shoulder to get you to pay attention. Soap leads the way again, but John hangs back until he’s shoulder to shoulder with you. The dislike is still there, a plant that sprouted roots eons ago, but the urge to be a good husband is there as well. He was raised with the standards of chivalry, to be the picture of a gentleman. He will not treat the mother of his children like how his father treated his mother. He will be better.

“Alrigh’?” He nudges your shoulder. It snaps you out of your daydream, glassy eyes meeting his own as you take stock of the situation. “Fuckin’ mint, thanks.” It’s the most Manc thing he’s ever heard you say. “Remember bein’ promised tea, but not a biscuit t’ be found.” You snort and he’s glad for it. You seem to finally be out of whatever funk came over you. He lets you go in front of him on the staircase, keeping his eyes firmly on the sliver of skin that shows as you move and the outline of a gun tucked in your waistband. John Price does not stare at his fiancee’s arse at all. Mostly.

“Guess I’m not wife material, Price. Looks like you’re getting the shitty end of this deal.” You shoot him a cheeky grin once you’re on the main floor, and he’s glad it looks mostly genuine. You’re easier to deal with when you’re bantering, not whatever that was back there. “Jus’ bought ya for some guns, sweetheart. Not lookin’ good on the husband front, either.” You roll your eyes, biting your cheek so he doesn’t sense a laugh. The whole group is at the door now, awkwardly standing on opposite sides of the room as the two of you talk. Is this what your wedding will be like?

“I’ll, uh, see you Saturday.” At our wedding. To each other. Jesus, this is a bleak future he’s thinking of.

“See you Saturday, John.” You stand in the center of your store. Sunlight is streaming through the windows as the sun goes down, and if John were a different man, he’d tell you you look beautiful. He’d kiss your cheek, then your forehead, assuring you that your years of spats were just a form of foreplay. He’d squeeze your shoulder in reassurance, murmur a sweet nothing in your ear. Fortunately, or unfortunately, John is not that man.

“Remember, somethin’ borrowed, somethin’ blue.” He winks but there’s no charm behind it. He thinks.

“Something old, something new. A sixpence in your shoe.” You whisper it just to him, like a secret, and then turn away. Like he was never there.

John turns away, feeling oddly flustered, and doesn’t catch Gaz’s eye as they leave. He avoids Gaz’s gaze as he shakes Ghost’s and Soap’s hands. He’s still avoiding it when they get into the car, Laswell splitting off to her own chartered vehicle. It’s only when the doors close his right-hand man decides to speak.

“You’re fucked.” He says it sternly, like a teacher scolding his student. The kid’s a decade younger than John but acts like he’s his father.

“Piss off.” He’s got no idea what he’s talking about. There’s nothing between you and John. That bridge has been burned, ashes turning to dust in the wind.

Of that, he’s almost sure.

-

I hope the background wasn’t too boring! Stay tuned for a chaotic wedding week 😁lmk if you want to be tagged (please remember this is 18+)

-

@heretoreadanddrinktea

@peachyxrosie

@joufrance

@galactict3a

@exactlyyoungchaos

@trulovekay

@alleycc

@abox-of-rocks

@orangehibiscus

[necromancelena]

That staff message really is just Tumblr taking the whole "lots of people are criticising the ceo but doing it from a 'haha that matt guy is a clown' angle while completely ignoring transmisogyny as an issue so things can go back to a shitty status quo" thing and turning it into their official strategy moving forward.

Like "yeah sorry looks like Matt fucked up a bit oops. We're gonna be so good from now on though! Don't mind that any time we accept that something is wrong we say 'this hurt the LGBT community' and then the one time the word 'trans feminine' was used it's to categorically deny that trans women have ever been targeted. Don't think about it too hard! 😊"

[skyrigel]

Simon who's known for his dry sarcasm and bland remarks, it doesn't matter what one says to him. It's his natural instinct at this point — to jab back or give a solid burn.

So it happened like this, he was injured after one of the mission, minor wounds, one misplaced bone from wrong landing, but it was the hollow eyed look, the roughed up and neglected state that made you double take over the lieutenant.

“Oh god,” you muttered under your breath, pressing the syringe up in air to check its ejection, “You look terrible !”

The last part was directed on him. Simon whose eyes were pinned on your back moved ever so slightly when you turned around.

“So do you.” He said like the words were placed on his mouth tip and were uttered as soon as his lips parted.

The statement wasn't wrong entirely, there has been shortage on staff and so it's only you and a handful of other nurses over the double hour shifts.

You glanced back at him, regarding, and assessed the minor wounds and some of which were not at all minor whatever the Lieutenant Riley had insisted on to the poor Doctor who was very happy leave him at that and assign the rest to you, a count of stiches and tablets and x-ray sheet rolled through your mind, unaware of the way Simon was biting his lips and looking very alerted. Like he was practicing something in his head.

“I didn't mean it.” He said quietly.

“mmm” You sat beside him, looking for the certain nerve and angling the syringe carefully over the pale wrist.

“I didn't mean it,” Simon said again, all hesitancy gone now replaced with a blazing edge, dragging his gaze along with you.

You could've laughed upon the urgency he said it with, the desperation came off in supersonic waves.

“I know, Simon.” You smiled kindly to his sincerest eyes. The sharp tip penetrating under his skin and emptying transparent vitals into his body.

“I think yer very gorgeous.” He blurted out and was torn between looking away or never letting go, at last he lowered his eyes where you applied little pressure oved his hand to redirect the circulation.

You pressed the gauze with eyes only on him, a sweet shy smile blooming across your exhausted face. “alright, rest now.”

And he did just as he was told. Probably the first time ever.

The last time he'd said, “I would rather rest in peace, than here.” And the doctor who had just dropped the bullet back on grey tray was horrified enough to ask whereabouts of the anthesia guy ASAP.

So if a certain nurse happened to smile throughout the thirteen hour shift, and if a certain soldier was thinking of ways he could end up in medical infirmary again. Then it was purely coincidence.

Masterlist

[bluerasbunny]

My go to request: Unhinged Sun

Lol. Or unhinged anyone really. Just make 'em fucked up.

OH BOY TIME TO SHARE MY ROLESWAP AU

the ultimate sunhinged!! infodump on AU below the cut;

sun isnt obsessed with playing or games- he's obsessed with perfection. everyone in the daycare must be doing exactly what sun says, and they must be doing it PERFECTLY or it'll drive him up the wall with frustration and rage, because how are you messing up such a simple task? it only has 5 extremely complex steps you have to do exactly as he shew you, it's not rocket science! as an example; the in game mechanic would be something like the player having to do arts and crafts with sun, but you have to do it EXACTLY correct in a short time frame or else sun's patience will run out and he'll attack!! sun gets increasingly more aggressive the longer you take, and immediately attacks if you get something wrong!! things like that!! the Entire daycare zone has been closed off ever since the incident. sun's never been known to be so aggressive, especially not with something as trivial as coloring barely an inch outside of the lines or cutting paper just one degree off of his demanded angle. pizzaplex staff have no clue what's wrong with him and they can't get close enough to see if anythings wrong without sun yanking them into an activity that Definitely ends in someone getting hurt!! so. the best thing to do is close it down.

moon is acting perfectly as intended, though! a soft-spoken, gentle animatronic with an edge of sillyness that just wants the best for the children under his care. he has NO idea what's wrong with sun either, and the employees that have managed to get a discussion with moon have learned as much from moon himself (they've also learned that moon can no longer communicate with sun. there's nothing but static). moon also has his own problems to be completely fair- just as in your personal space as sun, though in a more overbearing parent type of way!! he cares in a way that he's constantly fretting over people to the point that it's Too Much (humans are so fragile. he's seen it with his own eyes, from sun's aggression. he Has to make sure the fragile ones are okay and safe).

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,” almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[apricitae-world]

EXCLUSIVE TREATMENT

M!Sylus and F!Reader. "Goodcat Code" inspired;

GENRE: smut, a little bit of plot;

WARNINGS: SEXUAL CONTENT, kissing, teasing (Sylus has a sensible body), boob and nipple sucking, oral (M!receiving), unprotected sex, creampie.

ALL CHARACTERS IN THIS FANFIC ARE CONSENTING ADULTS. PROCEED CAREFULLY AND DO NOT ATTEMPT TO RECREATE THESE SITUATIONS IN REAL LIFE.

You were greeted with the eternal night of the N109 Zone. The plane had just landed and you were now in the airport waiting to be picked up. A new Protocore auction was about to happen, and Jenna was confident in your skills to navigate the area.

Luke and Kieran were meant to pick you up at the south entrance and take you to Onychinus' base. When you leave the big glass doors there is no soul or vehicle around. You double check the messages. Nothing.

Your cellphone rings. "Hey, hold on tight!" The voice of the twins echoed through the dark. "There has been a... problem but we are on our way." Just as the audio ends, a fancy black car shows up in your field of vision.

"What happened? Is it related to Sylus?" You ask as they help you put your luggage in the trunk. "Ah, good night." You quickly add. They look at each other, a very noticeable nervousness in the air. "Of course not, he's fine."

Sylus was not, in fact, fine. He had woken up this morning (night) feeling dizzy, even though he never got sick. There were important preparations to be made in regards to the Protocore auction, so he just send Luke and Kieran take care of them so he woudn't have to expose himself so much. And the worst part of it is that you would be arriving in a few hours.

He locked himself in his study and told the staff to not be bothered. The cook and cleaning were dispensed for the day. The only way he would even interact with the world outside is through the twins, and they were running left and right to make everything perfect.

"He's fine." Kieran confirmed.

The house was bathed in shadows and eerily silent when the three of you arrived. No one commented on it, nor the absence of the host. Your luggage was delivered to the guest room (the one closest to Sylus' own bedroom was always used by you when you visited. Some of your plushies from Linkon decorated the walls) and then you were alone.

"Hi, Sylus. Are you home?" You try to call him. No one picks up, so you leave a voicemail. "I arrived safely, and so did the twins. Thank you for picking me up." A few minutes go by until a hoarse voice reaches your ears. "I'm glad you're here."

What was that? He never used words like that, and there was something wrong with his voice. You begin to search around the house on your own, since Luke would always give avoidant answers and his twin was out for the preparations. There were no lights under the door to his bedroom.

The door opens silently and you come in. You think about turning on the lights, but that would reveal your position to the one downstairs. The search was going smoothly, even in darkness, until you see two glowing red dots at the top of his bed.

"Got lost, sweetie?" The tall figure got up and began approaching you. "Why are you in the dark, you crazy? It's bad for your eyes." He lets out an amused chuckle. "I couldn't find you anywhere so I began searching."

"Worried about me?" He whispers. Even then, you can still hear a different timbre to his voice. You paw at the walls, trying to find the light switch. A strong white light fills the room, and both of you groan at the sudden luminosity.

You let out an "ouch" when you open your eyes for the first time. The sight before you is surely a trick of the light. When you look at this angle, it almost looks like Sylus is sporting cat ears and a tail. His eyes are still closed and he is standing completely still, wich gives you enough time to absorb his features.

The (very real) ears twitch, and the tail moves languidly behind. There are slight eyebags under his eyes and his posture is a little... sad? "What the hell happened to you?" He winces. "Remember our little Kitty Cards game last night, kitten? There is a strange Evol affecting me and I think they are related."

"I guess you are the kitten now, Sylus." You spat back at him. "Is it temporary?" He nods and moves to turn of the light switch. You stand in front of it, stopping him in his tracks.

One look at his face is all it takes to see he is not happy. In fact, tired is the word that explains it better. "If you want to stay, stay. I'm going to bed." He unceremoniously turns around and plops onto the mattress, face down.

"Are you going to stay here all day?" "I can't exactly leave until I get back to normal. Feel free to do whatever you want in the meantime." You're pretty sure he was talking about the black credit card, or exploring the base, but you immediately lay down on the bed beside him. His ears twitch in interest and he puts his tail on top of you.

"Whatever I want?" He shifts on the bed to look at you. "Does my kitten have something in mind?" You giggle and reach for his white fur, meeting no resistance. He grumbles when you run your fingertips across his hair and then his ears.

You start going lower, cradling his face in both of your hands. He is sitting up now, also wrapping his arms around you to secure your body in place. He nibbles every patch of skin he can reach as you continue your journey, caressing his neck and then finding purchase on his shoulders. You bite him a little more strongly and he moans.

"If you're touching me like this, does this means I can touch you too?" You nod and your mouths meet halfway. Both of you alternate between kisses to squeezing and groping. There is a blush on his face as you feel run your hands through his pecks and stomach. His hand moves to your breasts and begins teasing your hard peaks.

"I tought you said you were going to bed?" You tease. He turns your body around quickly, standing up as you are pushed down to the matress. You are now under Sylus as he kisses you fervently and purrs against your skin. "My kitten is very bold today. I am going to bed, just not alone."

Sylus makes a show of taking of his thin shirt, the upper part of his body leaving nothing to imagination. You can see his bulge protruding from his pants and your stomach pools with desire. He guides your hand to his ears and tail again, and whimpers when you give the sensitive skin a soft pinch.

"Take them off." You begin undressing your many layers, still in your travel outfit. Sylus hums in satisfaction and begins licking your tits as soon as they are in view. You forget completely of your pants while he makes you shiver in his grasp, sucking the nubs until they are swollen.

"I-I want -" He begins, but stops midway. His feline ears droop down. "Tell me what you want." You reply, remembering all the times he said the same thing to you, in this same bedroom. Sylus guides your head to his strained pants, and you understand.

His tip is angry red when you pull his waistbands off. Precum is already gathering at the tip, and you prepare your mouth for what's to come. Sylus seems to be more desperate today, since he is moaning and telling you to hurry up. "Want to be inside your pretty mouth."

You begin sucking and playing with the tip. That is already enough to have his hips bucking into the air as you continue your descend. "Calm down love, I'll get there." During all of your relationship, you had never seen Sylus like this. Was the cat Evol affecting him so badly?

"Please let me come inside your mouth. Let me -" He stops again, clearly embarassed. His flush now spread to his shoulders and his chest. "Let me what, darling?" The pet name, along with you sucking his shame out through his dick makes him a little less bashfull.

"Want to breed." He declares like it's his most precious secret. "Want to make you full of my litter." During these times, you were sure Sylus had a breeding kink, even if he refused to talk about it if not in moments like this.

Even then, he continues guiding your head to deepthroat his dick, gasping loudly when you suck. "I won't last long, kitten I -" You produce a loud slurping sound and run your tongue all across his lenght.

He explodes in your mouth with a loud groan.

You wait a few seconds for him to open his eyes, his release still in your mouth. You swallow and see something flash behind his eyes. Just like earlier, you are wrestled to be under him, cock still hard and teasing your folds.

"Do you have any idea of what you do to me?" Sylus teases your entrance while playing with your clit. "How hard it was not to pounce on you the moment you came through that door? I tought about you all day." He mumbles, more to himself than to anyone else, and continues his job to make his cock fit inside.

You feel the telltale strech as he makes his way through your walls. Both your and Sylus' moans fill the room, eyes shut to absorb the pleasure. "Look at me. Want to see you." He demands. After a few more tries, he finally bottoms out.

"Why didn't you respond to my texts? My calls?" His ears droop, but his tail wraps as strongly as possible onto your leg while he nuzzles your chest. "I tought being away from you would be easier. It wasn't."

He begins to move and all your anger dissipates.

Sylus' slender fingers resume his ministrations to your bundle of nerves while his shaft touches all your sensitive spots inside. "So good don't stop!" You scream against his mouth before he kisses you urgently. The bed is shaking with the impact of your bodies. "Ne-next time something like this happens, call me earlier."

He laughs. "My kitten is enjoying the treatment, huh?" There are no toughts in your head while Sylus slams into you. You grind against him, meeting his cock halfway. He whimpers, stopping abruptly to stave off his orgasm. Your release is also approaching quicker than expected.

"If you keep doind this, I won't last long." There is sweat on his forehead and a few wild strands of hair fall atop his eyes. You gently brush them back with your fingers. "I tought you said you wanted to fill me with your litter? Is the fearsome Onychinus leader going back on his word?"

Big mistake.

The rhytm he sets after that is punishing, both to your pussy and your clit. You scream at the sudden pace. Sylus' face is scrunched as he mutters "fuck, fuck, fuck" under his breath. He won't last long indeed. There is one last thing you need to do, tough.

"Sy-Sylus?" You ask. He quirks his eyebrows as if they said "yes?" and you approach his human ear. "I love you."

The reaction is instantaneous. You feel his release fill up your insides, and the last movements Sylus did on your clit were enough to send you over the edge. There was so much of it... cum was starting to run down your tighs as he hugged you flush against his body.

"Are you okay?" Even after your breathing went back to normal, Sylus still looked somewhat feverish. He pushed you down on the now stained covers. "Stay with me."

"Of course. I won't leave until you get better." Sylus did not seem satisfied, based on the flicker of his tail. "I want you to stay forever, even after I go back to normal." It was not the first time he made that request, but it never had such raw vulnerability before.

You would never abandon your life in Linkon. Both you and Sylus knew that. Even so, at that moment, the rest of the world seemed so far away. It woudn't hurt to stay for a while, would it?

"I am never going to be able to look at boss again." Kieran had come back from his chores a few minutes ago, and the sounds coming from the master bedroom were unmistakeable. Luke, already knowing of the activities, was blasting loud music through his headphones.

"At least you won't have to run around doing things anymore." The twin responded. "Until he goes back to normal, anyway."

Looking through the multiple drawers, Kieran grabs another set of headphones. He finds a very long trash metal playlist. Good enough. "I won a break at work, but will surely need a terapy session after this."

Would you like to support my work? Or request a prompt? Try tipping me on Ko-Fi:

[fluffylino]

annoyed!hyunjin

you decide to say sorry in your own way~

-contains suggestive themes

"pay attention to me?" hyunjin asked for the 4th time. you hummed, disagreeing. you could feel his eyes on you. they were still at mcountdown. he had about an hour until the actual recording.

the others had gone to get something to eat while felix and han were rolling around on the floor. jisung had fallen asleep right next to your leg. you stared at the words in your textbook, or tried to. hyunjin was stuffing cereal into his mouth, his eyes following whatever you were reading.

"look at me" he pleaded but you spared him no glance. you hadn't even realised he was sulking. the door shut and you looked up after what seemed like hours.

hyunjin had walked out. you didn't think much of it. that was until he refused to talk to you for the rest of the day. you also had pride so you weren't one to beg for his attention.

"hyunjinnn" you called out, a big smile on your face. your heart dropping when he locked eyes with you for less that a second. going back to his conversation with a staff member. time had past you sat on the couch, watching them practice.

you slowly began to get sleepy even though the music was loud enough to keep you awake. you laid down, curling into a ball. drifting into dreamland.

when you woke up next, you shuffled around. something was different. what you were laying on was softer yet firmer. it all made sense when you heard hyunjin's voice above you. no, he wasn't talking to you. he was discussing something- their positions or where they were to walk around on stage to changbin. a few minutes passed and you heard the door close. was practice done?! no unfortunately.

you squinted, lights very bright for your comfort, admiring his face. how could he look this good for an angle made to look people bad?

you could feel his fingers very subtly running through your hair. and his other hand outstretched to pat your thigh. the moment he looked down at you, you shut your eyes, moving closer to him. your face against his stomach. trying your best to not make it look like you were actually awake, you slid your arm behind him, holding on to this lower waist.

all you could smell was him. heat radiated off of him and he smelt....musky. like he had just danced his butt off.

finally you opened your eyes. he took notice of it. his hands moving away to rest against the backrest of the black couch.

oh...so he was still mad at you. at this point, you couldn't help but feel guilty. you didn't mean to do that.

"baby...im sorry" you mumbled, looking up at him. he avoided your gaze. pretending? to look around the room.

"hyunnie sorry please.." you tugged his shirt a bit, holding his waist more firmly. yet he didn't respond. but hyunnie was his favourite nickname.

"you can slap me, i was stupid" you whined, pushing your face against his stomach with force. he jerked forward. you nipped at him. making no attempt to stop. his hands frantically held you back. or atleast he tried to. you wriggled around, throwing a playful tantrum. until you accidently touched the wrong place.

he shot you a glare.

"behave yourself"

of course you were going to apologize since everyone was still there but you wanted to do more. just to piss him off. if he was annoyed at you earlier, you wanted to tick him off even more in a much different way.

no one would even see what you were doing. unless they actually *looked*.

you bit the string of his sweatpants, pulling on it lightly. he shot you another look.

this time keeping his eyes on you. you mouthed at his covered crotch, poking your tongue out on where you knew his tip would be. he scoffed. an open mouth smile on his face.

"jinnie" you mumbled, hyunjin raised an eyebrow.

"not now. not...here"

"please?" how could he deny you when you asked so nicely.

"is this how you plan on apologizing?" he whispered, just for you to hear.

"I didn't mean to do that..im sorry" you apologized, tugging his pants down just enough to reveal his waistband.

hyunjin coughed.

he pulled his camera out, snapping a somewhat blurry picture.

"you're just too drunk on my dick" he commented in a hushed voice. you blushed.

what could you do? he had a good cock...an amazing one and he knew how to use it. you nuzzled against him.

"its like your asking me to take more pics of you" he laughed quietly.

you remembered the last time.

.

.

"look at the camera" hyunjin said, holding the polaroid camera up in a way he could capture everything. his words never reached you.

how did he expect you to hear him? when you were stuffed full of his cock. he pushed your hands away from your face, choosing to pry your mouth open. shoving two fingers so far back, you gagged silently. tears slipping out.

he pressed himself deeper, snapping a pic. you closed your eyes as it flashed.

"good girl" he praised you, placing the camera down on the bed.

"so so so good for me" your heart swelled at how much he complimented you. everything about you.

[imissnanami]

Perfect Aim w/ Nanami K.

KINK!tober w/ Nana Oct. 2 m.list

MDNI | nsfw use of ct, creampie, p in v, mating press a/n: for that other anon (UwU)

Four members of Jujitsu Kaisen’s staff sat in a meeting room. While waiting for Yaga, the conversation turned raunchier. The topic at hand? Whether or not Gojo’s cursed technique would be useful in the bedroom. Gojo obviously argued yes while Geto said that it would definitely not. Shoko thought it was stupid and typed away on her phone, idly listening. 

Up ‘till this point, Nanami had managed to remain neutral, or rather out of the conversation entirely by staying quiet. And hiding behind his newspaper. Well, until the strongest wasn’t satisfied with a tie. Gojo whined for Nanami to help him.

“Nanamiii~, you agree, right? Tell Suguru that he’s wrong, ok?” Gojo looked expectantly at the blond man. Geto also stared at him, not as invested but curious to see what Nanami would say.

Letting out a sigh, Nanami realized he wouldn’t be able to stay out of it any longer. Unfortunately. Folding his newspaper and turning to Gojo, he said,

“I think it’s stupid. If your only valid point is that your infinity is possibly equal to a 50 yen condom, then I’d die on another hill.” 

Gojo let out a dramatically loud gasp while Geto laughed at him. Shoko, who had stopped typing to listen, chuckled too. Geto spoke,

“Well Satoru, our precious kohai has spoken.”

Gojo scrambled for words, looking between the two. Yelling at Geto first,

“He didn’t mean it!” And then to Nanami,

“How could you betray me like that, I thought we had something special,” while wiping away a non-existent tear. 

Once they had settled down again, Shoko asked,

“Could you eve use a cursed technique for sex? Yanno cause they’re meant to be used on curses and all.”

The two strongest looked at one another, seeming not have considered that aspect of the conversation. Gojo simply shrugged, now bored with the conversation cause he lost. Geto stroked his chin, before humming. 

“I don’t really know. I mean mine isn’t really suited to it either way.”

Turning to Nanami once again, he asked,

“Nanami, What do you think?”

Nanami pursed his lips, thinking.

He thought back to last night. Specifically the memory of you laying on your back as he held you in a mean mating press. You were pressed up against the headboard. As the two of you fucked, you had migrated higher and higher on the bed. Each of his deep and strong thrusts inched you up. Your head, cushioned by a pillow, pushed forward as you stared up at Kento. His strong arms caged you in and supported his weight. You were bent in half, your thighs pinned to your chest and your knees by his ears. Sweat dripped down his body and as you looked up into his face, his eyebrows were drawn together in pleasure. Hot puffs of air passed through his open lips as he stared back at you. His golden hair fell into his line of vision but neither of you cared. 

Leaning forwards and angling your bodies closer together, he looked down. What he saw nearly made him cum on the spot. Your lower stomach was shiny with your cum. Your fat pussy lips bulged around his thick shaft, stretching to accommodate his length. With each thrust he saw the way your clitoral hood pulled back to reveal your swollen and glossy bud. A creamy ring of white decorated his base and matted the dark blond hair above. Feeling his mouth water he focuses on your steady stream of moans. He needed to change that. You should be absolutely wrecked and falling apart on his cum covered cock. 

Closing his eyes and concentrates on how your body reacts to each of his thrusts. Pulling out, how the vacuum of your pussy is desperately trying to stop him from leaving. How your muscles grip his length, milking it, begging for velvety ropes of cum. Pushing in, how there is resistance as his thick mushroom head pushes past the tight ring of muscles. How your gummy texture massages each vein on his length. How his slit drags against your walls, and kisses your cervix with each thrust. Suddenly, as if it were instinct, he knew exactly how to angle his hips, the exact depth of thrust, and the perfect pace. A feeling paralleling the one he gets when he uses his ct makes its way down his spine. 

The first thrust pulls a loud yell from your throat. The second has your hands scrambling for purchase, drawing red lines along his arms and chest. The third has tears welling in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks as you sob in pleasure. Feeling your walls clench down on his length has him biting his lip till he tastes blood. Each thrust hurtled the both of you closer and closer to your orgasm. As if that weren’t enough, Nanami brought his hand down to where you were connected. Pushing down he adds to the pressure, feeling himself moving inside of you. He moans so sweetly as he fucks your brains out. The ball of his palm grinds on your clit, you legs seize as you feel white hot pleasure race up your spine. 

“Hah, hah,hah, Ken-Kentoooooo” You moan.

“Look at me” his husky voice commands. You force your eyes open. Your breaths come faster and faster , your voice pitches higher and higher as you struggle to get out;

“Gonna...gonna, I’m- I’m cuming, I’m hahhhh” you whine as your body struggles in his grip. Feeling the way your cunt greedily milks his cock has Nanami teetering on the edge. A grunted 

“Fuck-” is all you get before he too is cumming hard. His full, heavy balls pull tight and thick ropes of cum shoot into your womb. His weight comes crashing down as he moans brokenly, hips still hitting that perfect spot before he thrusts in as far as he could go, plugging you up. You’re crying from the overstimulation as he finally settles. Nanami kisses your hair, whispering praise,

“...good girl...that’s my love...you did so well...” Kissing all over your face he pulls his weight off of you and maneuvers the two of you on your sides, still tucked inside. Petting back your hair and then stroking your side he makes sure you’re content. Smiling up and him you giggle. 

His chest rumbles as he chuckles too. Having calmed down, you’re able to say,

“I’m so glad we discovered your technique can be used for this too.” 

Nanami rolls his eyes good naturally and pulls you closer, tucking your head into his chest. He kisses your head again. 

Pulling himself back from his memories, now with an uncomfortably tight pants, Nanami ponders aloud,

“Could you use a ct in the bedroom?” Before looking at Geto and Gojo.

“Who knows.”

>:)

tags | @plushygrrrl @alpha-mommy69 @roygbivvie @flooftoof

[dandylovesturtles]

I'm trying to get myself back into writing by doing some little things here and there. This is the first one that is actually worth it to post here lol

Awhile back I asked on discord for suggestions of things I could write and then for a long time I didn't actually do anything lol BUT I finally did something. This ficlet is based on a suggestion @abbeyofcyn gave me about Donnie feeling anxiety over a having a new home post S2 (at least I remember it being Cyn but the message is so old now I can't find it orz I'm sorry if it was someone else)

I hope you enjoy it!

---

The subway station has been closed to the public since the nineties. Most of the ways in are already blocked off, and it will be trivial to finish that work to keep out any intruders. The tracks and maintenance station make an ideal garage and workspace for the tank. The old electrical wiring and water pipes are easily accessible. There’s still functioning toilets in the old bathrooms, and ventilated spaces ideal for cooking. There’s easy access to the street, the rest of the subway system, and the sewers. Splinter hums approvingly as he circles an old staff area with a tape measure. His brothers shout as they call dibs on rusted out train cars. April enthusiastically notes that the station is close to her new campus.

It checks all the boxes on their list, and then some.

So why has the sick feeling in the pit of Donnie’s stomach gotten worse instead of better?

There must be something wrong with it. Some flaw they aren’t seeing, some con they haven’t considered. He needs to go over his lists again; double check and triple check from every angle. They’ve only been here an hour - it would just be irresponsible to make a decision so quickly!

He desperately fires up his tablet again and pulls up his list, scrolling with hard taps as his eyes fly over the compiled criteria. There must be something… Something!

It’s structurally sound. There’s ample space for skateboard ramps and arcade machines. There’s plenty of lighting that will only need simple maintenance to be functional. There’s a big space that can be used for a new lab. It checks all the boxes, but there must be at least one it’s not checking, or why would Donnie’s blood curdle at the thought of actually living here?

The way the air moves through the space is wrong. The way the sounds echo off the walls and floors is unfamiliar. The smell is not the one he spent his whole life inhaling. It’s all wrong in a way that embeds itself in Donnie’s very skin, leaves him feeling slimy and nauseous and off kilter, like everything was just tilted at a dutch angle.

He scrolls to the bottom of the list and taps a few more times to be sure. “Air feels right” and “Echoes are normal” and “Smell is bad” are not boxes to be checked, so it can’t be any of those things. It has to be something else… It has to be something!

He scrolls back to the top of his list. Then he scrolls back to the bottom. He can’t find it. But it has to be there.

“Whoa,” says Leo, and Donnie jolts, his head snapping up. “I’ve never seen Donnie look like he wants to murder a computer before.”

“Please don’t tell Raph that something’s wrong with the structural checks or whatever,” says Raph, just behind Leo. They’re all coming up to him, probably wondering why he’s been standing in the same spot for… 

Donnie glances at his screen and jolts again. Twenty four minutes and thirty seven second!?

“Come on, Dee, this place has got to be perfect,” says Leo. “I already know exactly where I’m putting my action figures in my new digs!”

“And I’m already getting sooo many ideas for graffiti!” says Mikey excitedly, bouncing in place where he stands next to April. “And I can’t wait to design the kitchen layout! I can’t believe I get to start from scratch and do it just how I want!”

“Raph already knows exactly where the dojo is goin’,” Raph joins in. When Leo blows a raspberry, Raph pushes him forward and smirks when he has to catch himself.

“I think this is the best you guys are gonna get,” says April. “Unless you wanna move to the Hidden City.”

“We can’t, Raph still has a warrant for his arrest.”

“I keep tellin’ you guys, that ain’t Raph!”

“I only wish I had known about this place earlier,” comes Splinter’s voice as he joins them. “So much square footage!”

They all start talking excitedly, so fast it blends into a whir in Donnie’s ears. They’ve all already decided, but don’t they see? They can’t live here, because it’s wrong!

“No.”

Donnie’s declaration kills the conversation in its tracks. Everyone stops to look at him, and the sudden attention doesn’t feel as good as it might otherwise.

“No,” he repeats, shaking his head and looking back at his list. “This won’t work.”

A chorus of “What!?” comes from everyone else. Donnie keeps his eyes on his list, scrolling frantically, looking for the problem that he knows is there.

“Is there something wrong with it?” asks April, tone measured.

“Yes,” he says, but doesn’t elaborate, because he doesn’t know what it is yet and how can he answer if he doesn’t have any data?

It’s clear they aren’t going to wait for him to come up with the answer.

“Well what is it? Ventilation? Structural integrity? The wiring? Come on, Dee, give us somethin’.”

“It’s… it’s just wrong. I know it is.” Donnie looks up from his list then, and their skeptical expressions make him coil around his tablet in defense. “We’ve barely seen all of it! How can we know for certain that it will really suit our needs?”

He’s protesting too much, and it’s no surprise when Leo catches on, immediately narrowing his eyes as he hones in on Donnie’s uncertainty. 

“You’ve said no to every place we’ve looked at, dude! Are your standards that high, or do you just like living in Barry’s crappy apartment that much?”

“I obviously do not,” Donnie snaps, because he has made no secret of the fact that he hates it there. Sure, it was nice of Draxum to take them in now that they’re homeless and all that, but the apartment is too small, and the sheets are too scratchy, and the way the air conditioner sounds is all wrong, and the street noises bother Donnie at night…

Of course he doesn’t want to keep living there! He never wanted to live there in the first place!

“Then what’s the problem?” Leo asks, folding his arms, and Donnie scowls back.

“I just think we shouldn’t rush into such a big decision just because it sucks to live in Draxum’s apartment,” he reasons, reasonably because he’s being very reasonable!

“And what, wait for our realtor to find us a few more listings?” Leo says with heavy snark. 

“Leo,” says Raph with a warning tone, before looking back at Donnie. “Look, we can take tonight to think about it,” he suggests. “But if there’s nothing really wrong with it, I think this is gonna be the best we can do.”

Donnie shrinks back. “You say we’ll take tonight to think about it, but you’ve all already decided.” He shakes his head. “But I’m telling you, we can’t live here. It’s wrong.”

“Donnie…” Mikey’s hand touches Donnie’s elbow, and it takes everything in him not to jerk it away. “Is there an actual problem with the place, or is this a feelings problem?”

Donnie jerks away.

Then he turns and sprints away down the nearest subway tunnel.

…

He only makes it to the next condemned platform before he collapses against the wall, panting. Maybe he really should take up Raph’s advice to do more cardio… If he can ever face any of them again, that is.

He sinks to the ground and rests his chin on his knees, looking around at the unfamiliar scenery. He knew the old tunnels of his home like he knew the curves and grooves in his favorite wrench. But his favorite wrench is lost forever under an insurmountable amount of rubble, and the tunnels around him are foreign and imposing.

He doesn’t want to live in Draxum’s apartment anymore.

But he doesn’t want to live here.

He wants to go home.

The ugly, bitter feeling in his stomach twists again, and he groans and presses his face into his knees, covering his head with his arms. He knows exactly what would fix this, and it’s something he can’t have.

He did the tests himself, over and over again. He knows that their old home would take years, decades to make livable again. They simply can’t fix it. It’s too big to be fixed.

Which means he cannot be fixed.

The understanding that he’ll feel this way forever washes over Donnie, leaving him desolated. How is he ever supposed to function again?

How can the rest of his family move on so easily when he’s still like this?

Footsteps echo off the walls, and he tenses up, curling tighter into himself. It’s no surprise that one of them came after him. He’s just glad it’s only one set of footsteps, and not five.

He doesn’t look up as they draw close. He doesn’t have to. A barefooted tread, light and airy with a bit of a hop to it even when the mood is somber. He’d know it anywhere.

Mikey plops down next to him and says, “Ready to talk to Doctor Feelings?”

Donnie shakes his head without looking up.

Mikey hums. “Wanna talk to Doctor Delicate Touch?”

Donnie shakes his head harder.

There’s a shuffle, and then warmth against Donnie’s side. “Wanna talk to your favorite little brother in the whole wide world?”

Donnie finally lifts his head enough to look at Mikey with one eye. “Winning by default isn’t something to brag about,” he notes.

A huge grin crosses Mikey’s face. “Hey, there you are!”

“Here I am,” Donnie notes dryly, and it sounds miserable even to his own ears.

Mikey’s expression falls into something more soft. He scoots around to Donnie’s front, then says, “You’re homesick.”

Homesick feels too small for the dark feelings that are swallowing Donnie whole. It’s just not enough.

“...I don’t want to live somewhere new,” he says, and it sounds like, I don’t want everything to be different.

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” says Mikey, even though Donnie knows he can’t be feeling it like this, or at least hopes his little brother isn’t. “You’ll get used to it, though!”

It almost makes Donnie laugh. He can’t begin to imagine it ever feeling anything but terrible. “How do you know?”

“Because I have experience,” says Mikey breezily, like it’s obvious. 

Donnie hopes the skepticism shows on his face. “Really? Micheal, we were both too young when Papa moved us to the lair.”

“Yeah, I don’t remember that. But I do remember when we all got our own rooms!”

Donnie considers that with some surprise. He vaguely remembers that… mostly because he was happy that Raph and Leo couldn’t put their stuff on his side anymore. “Ah yes. A joyous day for all of us.”

“Well it wasn’t too happy for me!” Mikey retorts, folding his arms. “I didn’t want any of us to get our own rooms. I… wasn’t ready to be without you guys.”

Actually, now that Mikey says that, Donnie does remember that part of it. “I also remember that you weren’t without us, because you slept in one of our rooms every night for two months.”

Mikey nods seriously. “Yeah! Because I wasn’t ready for change!”

“And we had to make a rotating chart so that each of us could get a full night of sleep once in a while.”

“Huh?” Mikey pouts. “What do you mean? I sleep like an angel!”

“Kicking and chewing on anything in grabbing distance seems more like demon behavior,” Donnie notes, and Mikey huffs and makes a big show of being offended. 

“The point, Donald,” he stresses, “is that it was a big change! And I wasn’t happy about it for a loooong time.” He leans back. “I didn’t get why you guys were so happy about moving out when I wasn’t. It felt like you were all leaving me behind.”

Donnie frowns. “But we were literally a few feet away,” he notes. “As you proved nightly.”

Mikey points at him excitedly. “Exactly! It was a big change, but I still had you guys. And eventually, you guys helped me get excited about it, too.”

Donnie tries to remember what exactly they did to accomplish that, but… “All I remember is that we helped you hang up your finger paintings and put glow in the dark stickers on the ceiling.”

“Yep!” Mikey nods sagely. “You helped make it my own. I got where I was excited to be in my room, because it was how I wanted it to be!” He falters, tapping his chin. “And also I remember Leo said something about all my toys being sad if they were alone in my room at night…”

“Ah. Manipulative tactics,” Donnie observes.

“But that’s not the point! The point is that when I made it my own, change wasn’t so scary anymore.” He waves back down the tunnel. “And that’s what’s going to work for you, too! Because you’re going to build yourself a big new lab and decorate your room just how you want it, and you’re going to love it!”

Donnie feels absolutely no confidence in that. The idea of building a new lab, of decorating his room, of getting used to the new space, doesn’t fill him with excitement. There is only dread there, and exhaustion, and an insurmountable realization that nothing is ever going to be the same as it was before.

“That might work for you,” he says softly, tiredly. “But I don’t think it will for me. I don’t think I will ever stop feeling…” 

He still doesn’t know what to call this. 

“...Homesick.”

“But you will,” says Mikey, putting a hand on his arm. This time, Donnie doesn’t jerk away. “You know how I know?”

“How?”

“Because you went through it with the rooms too, Dee.”

Donnie scoffs, shaking his head. “I was glad to have my own room,” he asserts. “The rest of you kept getting your things into my space. It was annoying.”

“Sure, maybe you were happy about that part,” says Mikey simply, “but do you remember the big storm? The first one after we moved into our rooms, that was sooo loud we could hear it?”

Again, Donnie thinks he vaguely recalls something like that. It clearly didn’t leave as large an impression on him as it did on Mikey, though.

“I… might,” he says.

“I remember,” says Mikey, “that I was so scared, I ran straight to Raph’s room! And he was already awake, and he was under the covers, and we made a tent together.” He giggles. “And then you came in, and then Leo! And I realized then, maybe you guys weren’t really as happy about sleeping in separate rooms as I thought.”

He shifts around again, pressing himself into Donnie’s side.

“We went through that all together. And we’re gonna go through this together, too. And that’s how I know it’ll be okay!”

Donnie can’t help but make a skeptical noise. He’s not sure it will be. It just feels like too much.

“We’re all homesick, too,” Mikey confides. “We show it different than you… But we are. We’re going through it with you.”

Donnie knows they miss home, too. He knows that. But still…

“What if you’re wrong,” he says, “and it’s not okay?”

“Then…” Mikey trails off, thinking. “Then I’ll use the money I saved up to buy you that limited edition Atomic Lass figure you wanted!”

Donnie twists his head to stare at him. “That figure currently values at eight hundred and fifty dollars,” he says.

Mikey grimaces. “I will give you all the money I have saved up to help you buy it!” he amends.

Donnie snorts. Then he laughs. Then he leans into the warmth of his little brother.

He doesn’t want to live somewhere new… but it won’t be entirely new. His family will still be there. Just a few steps away.

“Does the laughing mean you’ll come back with me?” asks Mikey. “Because this tunnel is cold.”

Donnie snorts again. “I will go back with you,” he agrees, “because I actually don’t have a choice in the matter.”

“Yes! I did it!” Mikey hops to his feet, extending a hand. “Another W for Doctor Feelings!”

“Winning by default is nothing to brag about,” says Donnie again. But he takes Mikey’s hand, and they go back to the station together.

[lilbabypanda-blog2]

Phainon x (fem) reader

Part1 part2 PART3

The group packed up quickly, with Tribbie cheerfully skipping ahead, Trailblazer casually snacking as always, and Dan Heng trailing behind with his usual quiet presence. Phainon lingered just slightly, trying to collect himself as his heart continued to race from Y/N’s earlier compliment.

He caught up as they began walking along a narrow path, the ancient stones of the city outskirts giving way to rough terrain. The air smelled faintly of moss and something metallic, and the ground was uneven beneath their feet.

Y/N walked ahead, her sword strapped securely to her back, her expression calm but focused. Phainon tried to focus on anything but how cool she looked.

“So, uh, Y/N,” he said, sidling up to her with a casual grin. “You were really amazing back there too, you know. The way you took down that big guy? Legendary.”

Y/N glanced at him, her face lighting up with a smile. “Thanks, Phainon. But it’s not really that impressive when you’ve had as much practice as I have.”

“Not impressive? Are you kidding?” Phainon said, his voice rising slightly. “You climbed a living boulder like it was a staircase! That’s… that’s beyond impressive! That’s—”

“Admirable?” Tribbie chimed in from ahead, turning to walk backward so she could grin at them. “Heroic? The stuff of legends? Keep going, Phainon, I’m enjoying this.”

Phainon stumbled over his words, shooting her a helpless look. “I mean, yeah, all of that! But I wasn’t—I wasn’t trying to—”

Trailblazer snickered, patting Tribbie on the shoulder as they both turned back to the path. Dan Heng, walking quietly a few paces behind, sighed audibly but said nothing.

Y/N just laughed. “You’re sweet, Phainon. But I couldn’t have done it without you all holding the others off. Teamwork makes the dream work, right?”

Phainon flushed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Y-yeah, totally. Teamwork.”

They walked in companionable silence for a while, the crunch of their footsteps on gravel the only sound. The scenery began to shift, with jagged cliffs rising on either side and strange, glowing carvings etched into the stone walls.

Dan Heng finally broke the silence. “The traces we’re following—there’s a higher concentration up ahead.” He gestured toward a fork in the path, one side leading to a darker, more enclosed area while the other veered toward an open, rocky clearing.

“Splitting up might save us time,” Y/N suggested, already assessing the terrain. “Dan Heng, you and Trailblazer could take the path on the left, and the rest of us can check out the clearing.”

Dan Heng nodded in agreement. “It’s logical. But if either group encounters trouble, don’t engage until we regroup.”

Trailblazer gave a thumbs-up. “Got it. No heroics… unless they look really cool.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly. “Sure, just don’t die trying to show off.”

As Dan Heng and Trailblazer disappeared down the left path, the remaining trio headed toward the clearing. The rocky terrain was uneven, with glowing crystals jutting out at odd angles.

“Alright,” Y/N said, scanning the area. “Let’s see if we can pick up any more traces.”

Tribbie wandered a little ahead, poking at the glowing crystals with her staff. “These things are so weird. I feel like if I touch the wrong one, the whole place might explode.”

“Maybe don’t touch them, then,” Y/N suggested, raising an eyebrow.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Tribbie grinned, but she stepped back cautiously anyway.

Phainon, meanwhile, was sticking close to Y/N, his usual energy tempered slightly by the eerie atmosphere. He couldn’t help but glance at her every so often, marveling at how calm and composed she seemed.

“Hey, Y/N?” he said suddenly.

She turned to him, her expression curious. “What’s up?”

“Do you ever, uh, get nervous? You know, before a fight or something?”

Y/N tilted her head, considering the question. “Sometimes,” she admitted. “But I’ve learned to channel it. Nervous energy can be useful if you use it right.”

“Huh,” Phainon said, looking thoughtful. “That’s… really smart. Makes sense, coming from you.”

Y/N smiled. “What about you? Do you ever get nervous?”

“Oh, me? Nah,” Phainon said quickly, puffing out his chest. “I’m as cool as they come.”

Tribbie snorted loudly from a few feet away. “Sure, Phainon. That’s why you nearly tripped over a rock trying to dodge one of those stone monsters earlier.”

“I was strategizing!” he said, his voice rising an octave.

Y/N laughed, and Phainon couldn’t even be mad about being called out because the sound of her laughter was worth it.

Before he could say anything else, Y/N crouched down, her sharp eyes catching something on the ground. She reached out and brushed away a layer of dust, revealing faint scorch marks and a few shards of glowing crystal.

“Looks like we’re on the right track,” she said, holding up one of the shards for Phainon and Tribbie to see.

“Good find,” Phainon said, leaning closer to examine it. “You’ve got an eye for this stuff, huh?”

“Comes with the territory,” she said with a shrug, slipping the shard into her bag. “Let’s keep moving. Whatever left these marks can’t be too far ahead.”

As they continued onward, Phainon couldn’t help but glance at Y/N every now and then, his golden-retriever smile never far from his face. Even in the middle of potentially dangerous territory, she had a way of making everything feel… lighter.

And if he tripped over a rock once or twice while sneaking glances at her, well, Tribbie was kind enough not to comment.

For now.

The group tread cautiously through the glowing clearing, the jagged terrain surrounding them like a maze of natural traps. The scorch marks and glowing shards scattered across the ground were undeniable signs that something was lurking nearby.

Y/N raised her sword slightly, the sharp metallic sound cutting through the tense silence. “Stay alert. We’re close.”

Phainon stepped closer to her, his signature golden-retriever grin still present, though his eyes were sharp with focus. “Don’t worry. If anything jumps out, I’ll handle it.”

“You’ll handle it?” Mydei snorted from behind, his rough voice carrying just enough mockery to make Phainon glance over his shoulder. “Didn’t you almost trip over your own sword five minutes ago?”

“Strategic repositioning,” Phainon shot back, puffing his chest out. “You wouldn’t understand, Mydei. It’s a finesse thing.”

“Right,” Mydei drawled, his blonde-red hair catching the glow of the crystals as he cracked his knuckles. “I’ll keep that in mind while I’m taking down twice as many as you.”

Tribbie, skipping a few paces ahead, waved her staff around like it was a baton. “Oh, boy. Here we go again. The Phainon versus Mydei Show, round 57.” She paused, smirking over her shoulder. “You know, if you two spent half as much time fighting monsters as you do fighting each other, we’d have wiped this place clean by now.”

Before anyone could respond, a deep, grinding sound echoed through the clearing. The ground seemed to vibrate beneath their feet, and from the shadows emerged hulking figures of stone and crystal.

The Titankin stood tall and menacing, their faceless, humanoid forms glowing faintly with runes etched into their surfaces. Some carried swords as broad as tree trunks, while others held bows strung with crystalline energy.

“Alright, guys,” Y/N said, her voice calm and commanding as she gripped her sword. “We’ve got company. Let’s not make this harder than it has to be.”

“Hard? Please,” Phainon said, flipping his blade with a flourish. “This’ll be easy.”

“Bet I take down more than you,” Mydei challenged, his fists glowing faintly as he prepared for battle.

Phainon rolled his eyes but grinned. “Oh, it’s on.”

Y/N sighed. “Can you two not—”

“Ready? GO!” Phainon yelled, charging toward the nearest Titankin with Mydei hot on his heels.

Y/N groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Of course.”

Tribbie giggled, hopping to the side as one of the archer-type Titankin fired a glowing arrow her way. “You gotta admit, it’s kind of fun watching them trip over themselves trying to one-up each other.”

“Fun isn’t the word I’d use,” Y/N muttered, dashing forward to engage one of the sword-wielding Titankin.

The battlefield erupted into chaos.

Phainon darted around the heavy strikes of a massive Titankin, his movements quick and graceful as he delivered a series of precise slashes to its legs. “That’s one down!” he called triumphantly as the creature crumbled into rubble.

“One?” Mydei scoffed, delivering a powerful uppercut to another Titankin, causing cracks to spiderweb across its torso. He followed up with a crushing blow that sent it collapsing in a heap of stone. “Two for me!”

“Oh, come on!” Phainon shouted, narrowly dodging a glowing arrow. “That one didn’t even put up a fight!”

“Don’t be mad just because I’m better,” Mydei retorted, smirking as he squared off against another enemy.

“Better at being annoying, maybe!”

Y/N, meanwhile, was weaving through the battlefield like a dancer, her sword flashing as she expertly dismantled the Titankin one by one. She didn’t have time to indulge in the boys’ antics, but she couldn’t help but smirk as she caught snippets of their bickering.

“Focus!” she called out, parrying a massive swing from one of the larger Titankin.

“I am focusing!” Phainon shouted back, leaping onto a boulder to get a better angle. He launched himself off it and delivered a devastating blow to one of the archers, splitting its crystalline bow in half. He turned to Mydei, grinning.

“Three down!” Phainon called out, his blade flashing as he leapt backward, dodging the heavy swing of a stone sword. He twisted midair, landed smoothly, and sliced through the Titankin’s glowing core. “Make that four!”

“Four?” Mydei snorted, dodging an arrow that narrowly grazed his shoulder. “I’m already at six. You better pick up the pace, golden boy.” He delivered a brutal punch to the chest of another Titankin, cracks spreading through its torso before it crumbled to the ground.

“You’re counting that one?” Phainon yelled, pointing accusingly at the pile of rubble. “It fell over because it tripped! You didn’t even hit it that hard!”

“Still counts,” Mydei said smugly, flexing his fists.

Tribbie laughed as she hopped onto a rock for a better view, her blue eyes gleaming with amusement. “I’m just gonna say it—you two are hilarious. You’re like those birds that fight over shiny things for no reason.” She waved her staff, blasting back a Titankin archer. “Meanwhile, Y/N’s probably lapping you both.”

“I heard that,” Y/N called out, her voice steady as she parried the massive blade of a Titankin. She stepped inside its guard, her sword flashing as she delivered a precise strike to its glowing core. The creature froze for a second before shattering into a heap of glowing rubble. “And Tribbie’s not wrong.”

Phainon’s head whipped around, distracted for a split second, which earned him a close call with a stone sword slicing through the air by his shoulder. He yelped and ducked, countering with a well-placed slash to the monster’s legs. “You’re saying you’re ahead of me?” he asked incredulously, finishing the Titankin off with a dramatic spin.

Y/N didn’t respond immediately, instead focusing on taking down another Titankin with a smooth series of strikes. Her movements were quick and calculated, every step and swing perfectly timed.

Mydei, mid-punch, glanced over at her with a frown. “She’s bluffing. There’s no way she’s ahead of me.” He delivered a devastating uppercut to a Titankin, sending its head flying clean off its shoulders.

Y/N only smiled, which, of course, made both men more suspicious.

“Seven!” Phainon yelled triumphantly, dodging and weaving through another attack. “Seven, Mydei! You better start worrying.”

“Eight,” Mydei shot back, slamming his fist into the chest of another Titankin. He glanced at Phainon with a smirk. “You’re gonna owe me dinner at this rate.”

Tribbie rolled her eyes, blasting another archer from a distance. “Wow, the male ego is really something, huh?”

Finally, the last Titankin fell, its glowing shards scattering across the rocky ground. The battlefield fell silent except for the sound of the group catching their breath.

Phainon wiped sweat from his brow, turning to Mydei with a triumphant grin. “Alright, what’s the tally?”

“Nine,” Mydei said confidently, crossing his arms and looking far too pleased with himself.

“Ha! Ten!” Phainon declared, pointing his sword at Mydei like he’d just won a duel. “Looks like dinner’s on you, my friend!”

Tribbie chuckled, hopping down from her perch. “I wouldn’t get too excited, golden boy.”

“What? Why?” Phainon blinked, confused.

Y/N sheathed her sword, her grin easy and casual as she stretched her arms. “Because I got 20.”

The silence that followed was deafening.

“...What?” Phainon said, his voice cracking slightly.

“Twenty?” Mydei stared at her like she’d just sprouted a second head.

Y/N shrugged, brushing some dirt off her sleeve. “Yeah. You know, while you two were busy arguing and trying to impress each other, someone had to actually take care of the problem.”

Tribbie burst out laughing, nearly doubling over. “She got more than both of you combined! Oh, this is gold.”

Phainon’s jaw dropped, his face turning red—not from embarrassment, but from sheer disbelief. “You—you were counting?”

“Of course I was counting,” Y/N said with a sly grin, crossing her arms. “It’s not my fault I’m better at multitasking than you two.”

Mydei groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?”

“Nope,” Y/N replied cheerfully.

Phainon blinked, then rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Well… uh… you were incredible out there, Y/N. Seriously. I mean, you always are, but today especially.” His usual golden-retriever energy returned in full force, though his cheeks were still faintly pink.

Tribbie nudged Mydei with a smirk. “Look at him, blushing like she just crowned him king of the world.”

Mydei rolled his eyes. “Pathetic.”

Phainon ignored them, flashing Y/N a grin that was only a little bit nervous. “Next time, I’ll catch up. Promise.”

Y/N chuckled, patting him on the shoulder as she walked past. “Good luck with that.”

Phainon just stood there, staring after her, the goofy grin on his face refusing to fade.

The group made their way deeper into the rocky terrain, the eerie glow of shattered crystal fragments lighting their path. The air was cooler here, heavy with an unnatural stillness that made Tribbie glance nervously over her shoulder every few minutes.

“So… does it feel like the ground’s gonna swallow us whole, or is that just me?” Tribbie muttered, clutching her staff a little tighter.

“Just your imagination,” Y/N replied casually, stepping over a fallen rock. “Probably.”

Tribbie squinted at her. “Probably? That’s not comforting.”

“Relax,” Phainon said brightly, his usual grin plastered across his face. He gestured to the rocky surroundings. “If anything weird happens, I’ll protect you!”

“Wow, I feel so safe,” Tribbie deadpanned, rolling her eyes.

As they moved forward, Mydei, who had been walking ahead of the group, suddenly stopped. “Hold up,” he said, holding out a hand. His sharp eyes scanned the ground.

“What is it?” Y/N asked, stepping closer to him.

“Something’s off,” Mydei replied, pointing to a patch of the rocky ground that looked slightly… different. The texture was smoother, the color faintly darker, almost like it had been worn down by something—or someone.

Y/N crouched down to examine it. She brushed her fingers over the stone and noticed faint grooves carved into it, leading in a jagged line toward a nearby outcrop. “These look like tracks,” she murmured.

“Tracks?” Phainon asked, leaning over her shoulder with barely contained excitement. “Like… a secret path?”

“Possibly,” Y/N said, rising to her feet. She followed the grooves with her eyes, her brow furrowing. “Whatever made them was big.”

“That’s encouraging,” Tribbie muttered, though she followed behind eagerly as Y/N began tracing the path.

The group walked in silence for a few moments, the faint glow of the crystals growing dimmer as they approached a cluster of large boulders piled haphazardly against the side of a cliff.

“Dead end,” Mydei said, crossing his arms.

“Maybe not,” Y/N countered, stepping closer to the boulders. She placed a hand on the surface of one, her gaze narrowing. “There’s something behind these.”

Phainon immediately perked up, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet. “You mean like hidden treasure? Or ancient ruins? Or a monster nest?”

“Could be all three,” Y/N replied dryly.

“Fantastic!” Phainon said, clearly missing her sarcasm.

Tribbie poked one of the boulders with her staff. “Alright, so how do we move these without getting crushed?”

“Allow me,” Mydei said, cracking his knuckles. Without waiting for a response, he stepped forward, placed his hands on the nearest boulder, and shoved. The rock groaned in protest before slowly rolling away, revealing a narrow passage that sloped downward into the darkness.

“Show-off,” Phainon muttered under his breath.

“You’re welcome,” Mydei replied smugly, gesturing to the newly revealed path.

The passage was just wide enough for one person to walk through at a time, its walls smooth and slightly damp. Faint symbols were etched into the stone, glowing softly as the group descended.

“This is definitely leading somewhere,” Y/N said, her voice echoing slightly.

“I vote we turn back before we stumble into something we can’t handle,” Tribbie whispered, though she didn’t stop walking.

“Where’s the fun in that?” Phainon asked, his excitement palpable. “This is an adventure!”

“An adventure that could kill us,” Mydei muttered, though he followed without hesitation.

As they reached the bottom of the slope, the passage opened into a vast underground chamber. The ceiling was high and arched, supported by towering pillars carved with intricate patterns. In the center of the room stood what looked like an altar, surrounded by more of the strange, glowing symbols.

“Whoa,” Tribbie breathed, her voice filled with awe.

Y/N approached the altar cautiously, her sword at the ready. The air felt heavier here, charged with some kind of ancient energy. “This place is incredible,” she said, running her fingers over one of the carvings.

Phainon walked up beside her, his grin softer now as he took in the room. “You’re right. It’s beautiful.”

“It’s also probably dangerous,” Mydei pointed out, eyeing the shadows warily.

“Dangerous and beautiful,” Phainon said cheerfully. “Like Y/N.”

Y/N turned to look at him, raising an eyebrow. “What was that?”

“Uh, nothing!” Phainon said quickly, his face turning pink.

Tribbie snorted. “Smooth.”

Before anyone could comment further, a low rumble echoed through the chamber, and the glowing symbols on the altar began to pulse.

____

The chamber was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of energy resonating from the glowing symbols on the altar. The group moved cautiously, their footsteps echoing softly off the smooth stone floor.

Y/N stood at the center of the room, studying the carvings etched into the towering pillars. Her fingers traced the lines of the ancient symbols, their glow pulsing faintly under her touch. “These are definitely not from the same era as the city above,” she muttered, more to herself than anyone else. “This is... older. Much older.”

Tribbie wandered toward the walls, tapping her staff lightly against the stone. “Well, it looks cool. Creepy, but cool.”

“Cool and creepy are rarely good combinations,” Mydei said, standing by the entrance with his arms crossed. He scanned the room with his usual skeptical frown, his gaze lingering on the darker corners.

Phainon, meanwhile, hovered near Y/N, watching her examine the carvings with a curious tilt of his head. “Do you think it’s some kind of warning?” he asked, pointing to a set of jagged symbols that spiraled outward from the altar.

“Could be,” Y/N replied, her brow furrowing as she knelt to inspect the markings on the floor. “Or it might be a map... or instructions.”

“You’re saying you don’t know?” Mydei asked, smirking faintly.

“I’m saying I need more time to figure it out,” Y/N shot back, though her tone was more amused than annoyed.

Phainon crouched beside her, peering at the symbols with a thoughtful expression. “You’re really good at this, Y/N. Like, way smarter than I’ll ever be. It’s kind of amazing.”

Y/N glanced at him, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Thanks, Phainon.”

Tribbie snickered from across the room. “He’s doing that thing again.”

“What thing?” Phainon asked, his grin faltering slightly.

“The thing where you turn into a lovesick puppy,” Tribbie teased, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Am not!” Phainon protested, his cheeks flushing a light pink. He quickly stood, clearing his throat.

Y/N, oblivious as ever, was already back to examining the symbols. She stepped closer to the altar, her focus narrowing on a particularly intricate carving. “There’s something strange about this part,” she murmured, leaning in for a closer look.

Phainon stepped forward instinctively, his hand hovering near her arm. “Uh, careful—”

Before he could finish, the ground beneath Y/N’s feet gave a sudden, ominous crack.

“Y/N!” Phainon shouted, lunging forward, but it was too late.

The floor crumbled away in an instant, and Y/N disappeared into the darkness below.

Tribbie screamed, dropping her staff as she ran toward the edge of the newly formed pit. Mydei was already there, his sharp reflexes keeping him from tumbling in himself. He grabbed Tribbie by the shoulder to keep her from getting too close.

“Y/N!” Phainon called, his voice echoing down the dark abyss. He dropped to his knees, peering into the void with wide, panicked eyes.

There was no sound except for the faint crumble of debris.

“Is she—” Tribbie started, her voice trembling.

“She’s alive,” Mydei interrupted, his tone firm as he scanned the edge of the pit. “There’s no way she’d go down that easily.”

Phainon clenched his fists, his usual smile completely gone. “We have to get to her. Now.”

[good-chimes]

Based on @tibbycaps’s very funny convexian hitman au, where vexes Cub and Scar have been ‘voluntarily’ employed as hitmen by the governing NHO.

YR 1, DAY 1 OF CONTRACT

Receptionist: Hello and welcome to the NHO! We are proud to protect the citizens of Hermit City. How can I help you?

Cub: We want to get past those security barriers.

Receptionist: Uh…so you’re…visitors?

Scar: We’re employees!

Cub: Since this morning.

Scar: We have a contract and everything. We’re totally official and definitely allowed in the building.

Receptionist: Um. Do you have your passes?

Cub: Oh, yeah, yeah, of course. Just a moment.

Scar: Do we have passes! Of course we have passes. Cub, give her the passes.

Receptionist: Sir, that’s an aluminum bottle cap.

[The visitors examine the item.]

Scar: Looks like an employee pass to me.

Cub: My bad. What about this?

Receptionist: That’s a penknife. That’s a sandwich wrapper—that’s a library card—I mean, it’s the right shape, but—that’s a driver’s license which is obviously not yours—that’s a fifty-dollar bill—that’s a second driver’s license for a completely different person. Sir, literally none of these things are employee passes.

Cub: Yeahhhhh, but do you get paid enough to notice?

Receptionist: Do you have a line manager? Or, um, a hiring manager? Who’s in charge of you?

[The visitors consult.]

Scar: Someone is, probably.

Cub: Might be Beef.

Receptionist: Uh, Director Beef is, uh, one of the heads of the whole organization. Are you sure?

Cub: Eh.

Scar: He did have a nice suit. Good shoes, too! Shame about the soot stains afterwards.

Receptionist: Okay, I’ll…just ping my boss… and I guess we’ll just start the process to get you passes. Let me take your first and last names, please?

Scar: Mister Scar GoodTimes, and this is Cub.

Receptionist: Cub?

Cub: Yup.

Receptionist: That’s a nickname…?

Cub: No, it’s a full name. Cub. Uhhhhh. Fan.

Receptionist: Sir, did you just look at that baseball pennant?

Cub: Yeah. Huge coincidence.

Receptionist: Okay, I’ll send them to print…orientation booklet…fire exits…do you need any accommodations for your, er, your wings?

Cub: Naw, they’re not real in this dimension. Go straight through physical matter. Walls, people—

Scar: —bars, safe doors—

Receptionist: Um.

Cub: Vex joke. Cultural.

Receptionist: Oh, right, you’re Vex! Like—what were those guys called who ate that policeman on the news…? ConVex!

Cub: Noooooo, no, no, we’re nothing like them. We’re real upstanding citizens.

Scar: I heard those two went to prison.

Cub: To super jail.

Scar: For a thousand years!

Manager: Excuse me, I’m the head of front desk and security, what’s going on here?

Receptionist: Oh, hi, boss, these gentlemen were just—

Manager: I can see what they are! This should have been escalated as soon as they turned up. You should have known to call me the minute you saw a Vex!

Receptionist: They haven’t done anything wrong.

Manager: Not done anything wrong—you mean they haven’t eaten anyone yet.

Cub: I haven’t had my coffee.

Scar: I have! Who do you want us to start with?

Manager: Come with me, please. The Directors want to see you.

Scar: [voice retreating as the visitors are escorted away] This is a fancy office. I like the art.

Cub: Did you know you can turn that photocopier into a laser canon?

Manager: This is why they put you in prison! Stick close to me! Please stop touching things!

NOTICE TO FRONT DESK STAFF

The copier tray is to be loaded from the correct angle only. It is not a ‘useless piece of shit’, you are handling it incompetently.

HR will not be dealing with complaints of ‘substandard management’. HR are here to deal with your pay slips. Complaints of substandard management should be addressed to your manager, who will take appropriate action.

Colleagues are to act with caution around new NHO agents ‘Cub’ and ‘Scar’. Minimal contact is advised. Security can be contacted via the panic buttons.

YR 1, DAY 36 OF CONTRACT

Cub: Hey. Picking up a delivery.

Receptionist: Of course, sir. Have you got a parcel ticket?

Cub: Sure, give me an example and I’ll forge you one right now.

Receptionist: I just needed the number—never mind. Let me take a wild guess based on your deliveries so far: is it the crate that’s green and glowing?

Cub: Huh, thought it would be blue. Maybe a kind of teal.

Receptionist: Well, we only have one that glows. It makes a buzzing sound when you get near it.

Cub: Ohh yeah, that’s the one.

Receptionist: Last time you got a delivery it was snakes.

Cub: Important experimental material.

Receptionist: Can you let us know if it’s snakes again? Only I need to find a heat lamp if you’re out on a mission.

Cub: Oh, yeah, right. I can build a heat lamp for you to keep here. You want something for it?

Receptionist: Okay, sir, for the last time, I don’t know where all your unmarked fifty-dollar bills come from, but it’s not normal to bribe building staff to do our jobs. 

Cub: Yeah? No deal, huh?

Receptionist: …Can you really turn the photocopier into a laser?

NOTICE TO FRONT DESK STAFF

URGENT: ALL STAFF MUST STAY AWAY FROM THE PHOTOCOPIER UNTIL FURTHER NOTICE

YR 1, DAY 82 OF CONTRACT

Receptionist: Good afternoon, welcome to the headquarters of NH—Scar?

Scar: Hello there! How’s it going?

Receptionist: Hey, Scar?

Scar: Uh-huh?

Receptionist: Your whole arm is covered in blood.

Scar: Blood? Oh, this blood? Don’t worry, don’t worry, everything’s fine. It’s not my blood. How was your weekend?

Receptionist: Are you sure it’s not your blood? That looks like someone sliced through your whole sleeve!

Scar: [tastes his own arm gingerly] Wait, yeah, some of it is mine. Just this bit, though.

Receptionist: Don’t eat it, oh my God.

Scar: It’s fine, Cub says we’re immune to all pathogens.

Receptionist: Seriously?

Scar: Nah, I think he just said that because I took his research away from him when he had the flu.

Receptionist: You should go wash that wound. That can’t be healthy. What have they got you doing out there?

Scar: Oh, y’know, this and that, we solve problems. We’re problem solvers. In fact we signed a contract to do that, so I guess we keep solving problems forever. Can I have one of these mints?

YR 1, DAY 145 OF CONTRACT

Cub: Gooood afternoon. What a beautiful day. Y’know, this kind of day makes me think, the thing about human perception—

Receptionist: The what.

Cub: The thing about human perception is it’s subjective. I did a PhD on this. So sometimes you could think you saw someone bring something into the office that you need to write down in the biohazards register, but actually, you could report to your boss there wasn’t anything there.

Receptionist: Sir, you are trying to hide an eight-foot-tall Venus fly trap behind your back. It’s taller than you are.

Cub: Seven foot at most.

Receptionist: [sighs] I guess I didn’t see anything. You want a mint?

NOTICE TO FRONT DESK STAFF

Cascaded from Legal: Employees are required to familiarize themselves with the new and expanded Dispute Resolution Policy.

Pursuant to this, threatening to eat your senior manager is NOT an approved method of settling conflicts and WILL result in disciplinary action.

Lava traps are ALSO EXPLICITLY DISALLOWED.

YR 2, DAY 407 OF CONTRACT

Receptionist: Cub, you don’t have to bribe me to get into the building after hours. You literally work here. I know you have a 24-hour pass. Just use it on the main door.

Cub: Yeah, but where’s the fun in that?

Receptionist: Try bribing an IT tech for codes to the secure areas instead.

Cub: Got those already. Phishing email. But y’know, all the techs make triple what they pay you.

Scar: And! I wanted a mint.

Receptionist: The mints are FREE.

Scar: It tastes better if it’s not!

Receptionist: That doesn’t make ANY sense! You two get back here and explain!

NOTICE TO FRONT DESK STAFF

Please find attached the Employee Satisfaction Survey. As always, we look forward to listening to your views to make NHO a Great Place To Work. Participation is mandatory.

Our recent payment settlement unfortunately means no raises this financial year.

Operational note: does any Front Desk team member know how to disconnect the ex-photocopier from the power supply without it immediately blowing up? You are all being very unhelpful about it???

YR 3, DAY 763 OF CONTRACT

Receptionist: Oh, hey, Scar.

Scar: …

Receptionist: Wait—Scar? Buddy? Are you okay?

Scar: Have you seen Cub?

Receptionist: Not since last week, I think.

Scar: Oh.

Receptionist: It’s the night shift. Was he supposed to meet you?

Scar: Yeah. They gave him a solo mission, and I dunno what time he was supposed to get back, either, but it wasn’t two o’clock in the morning. I’m just gonna…hey, can I wait down here? Until he gets in?

Receptionist: Sure. If you pull the chairs together, I guess you could make a kind of bed. I’ll keep an eye on the cameras.

-

Scar: I mean, nothing can take down Cub, right? That man’s a tank, I tell you. A genuine tank.

Receptionist: Yeah. Definitely.

Scar: He would have called me if something went wrong.

Receptionist: He would’ve.

Scar: What time is it?

Receptionist: Just gone 3am.

-

Receptionist: Look, if you’re not going to sleep, I’m ordering you pizza.

Scar: Ooooh. Let’s get wings and make a night of it while we wait. Catch!

Receptionist: This is two hundred dollars.

Scar: Yeah, can we get sides?

-

Receptionist: Just gone 4am, before you ask.

Scar: I didn’t ask!

Receptionist: I saw you open your mouth. You’re really worried, aren’t you.

Scar: Noooo, I’m not worried. I never worry about Cub.

Receptionist: Cub’s always seemed way too capable to have a problem with a mission.

Scar: Yeah.

Receptionist: You two go back a long way, huh?

Scar: There’s just the two of us. It’s always been just the two of us. And, I’ll be honest, I like this work, we have fun doing it, but why’d they send him out solo? And you know what’s worse, I can’t even ask! If we put a foot out of line, we— [breaks off into a coughing fit]

Receptionist: Are you okay?

Scar: I’m fine, I’m fine! I’m fresh as a daisy.

Receptionist: It sure sounded like your own throat just tried to cut you off.

Scar: Well, maybe I just care a lot about the office Data Combustion Policy.

Receptionist: I think you mean the Data Protection Policy? On second thoughts, I remember last year’s Christmas party, so maybe not—oh, hey.

Scar: What?

Receptionist: I saw something on the cameras, is that—

Cub: Yo.

Scar: Oh my God Cub I was so worried.

Cub: ‘m fine. [blurrily] Are those buffalo wings?

Scar: You are so not fine. You can have wings when you’re lying down!

Cub: ‘m taking these wings.

Receptionist: Here’s the first aid kit. You need to close the bag or the rest of the wings will fall out, guys. Guys. Look where you’re going. You have to open the doors before you go through them. Take the first aid kit with you!

YR 5, DAY 1561 OF CONTRACT

Receptionist: Good morning, and welcome to—oh, it’s you two. You brought a guest?

Cub: Howdy. This is Grian.

Grian: Apparently I work here now. Apparently I have “limited employment options”. Someone told me I’m lucky I’m not dead.

Scar: Haha, Mondays, am I right! So he’ll need a pass, and maybe a helping hand if she spaces out in the atrium.

Receptionist: Sure…oh, Grian, you’re on the system already. Here, take a temporary pass, and we’ll have your real one ready by lunchtime. Uh, if you need any help—

Grian: Wait, my date of birth is wrong on your screen. It’s the year before.

Receptionist: Did you just…read that backwards from the others side of my computer?

Scar: Wow, Grian, another nosebleed?

Grian: Shut up.

Cub: Your brain must be shrivelled up like a raisin by now.

Grian: Still works better than Scar’s!

Scar: [leans on the reception desk as the other two leave, bickering] Sooo…Grian’s not allowed outside without a Director’s approval.

Receptionist: Is that right?

Scar: Scary stuff, huh? If you happened to see him leave with us, and we just forgot to show you a permit…can I convince you into some sort of deal? As a friend?

Receptionist: You know, you can just ask a friend to do you a favor, you don’t have to pay me. I’ve known you for five years. I’m not gonna turn you in.

Cub: [calls] You coming, Scar?

Scar: I gotta go! Grian’s just a Watcher, she’s not dangerous. Grab some cash from Cub’s bottom desk drawer. They don’t even search our office anymore, so it’s just labelled ‘proceeds of crime (not)’. Cub’s traps will let you past.

Receptionist: Wait, are you—was that person—a Watcher—holy shit—

Scar: See ya later! Get the money!

Receptionist: [rolls eyes] Of course, sir. Have a nice day.

*chau Grian uses he/she pronouns

*Check out tibby’s chau tag!

[sukunas-wife]

Chapter 7

Ch.1 - Ch.6

“Yuji..” I smiled softly, seeing him there before I cringed, pulling my outer robe off and throwing it over his lap as I hugged him. “What happened? Are you okay?” I sniffled wondering what exactly had happened, I pulled back, holding Yuji by the shoulders, “I thought…” he only smiled, closing his eyes as he tilted his head.

”I’m okay! Nothings wrong.” I nodded, stepping back, curious how Yuji could recover so quickly. “Alright then.” I turned to Gojo as he started to talk to Yuji. Explaining how the odds were it was a plan to have him killed, and that it would be for the best to keep Yuji hidden away practising controlling his energy output for now. I was iffy about the situation, even more when he said no one could know his location, but it also meant I wouldn’t be able to stay on the campus now that Yuji was supposedly dead, the higher ups wouldn’t be obligated to house me.

“That’s no problem, but my concern is where are you going to keep Yuji…” I watched as Gojo seemed to think about it, the mortuary being on the first basement floor gave way to privacy as he explained about private rooms that no one used because they were long forgotten after remodelling and the fact students and staff were sparse there was never need to use them. I nodded along as the other man who was panicking earlier came back with a set of clothes. “Thank you Ijichi” I did my best to remember his name after hearing Gojo say it. Yuji started to get dressed as the rest of us were turned away listening to Gojo elaborate more on his plan.

It wasn’t long before Morí and I were in the room setting things up for Yuji. It was a melancholic feeling asI swept up dirt and dust setting up a bed and making sure everything was clean before I would have to leave for who knows how long. I hummed clasping my hands in front of my chest, fidgeting slightly as I looked around one last time with a nod. “We’re done, I should tell him bye before we leave…” Morí from beside me gave a solemn nod in agreement. “I’ll be by your side every step of the way Lady Y/N.” I nodded, swallowing as we took the stairs to leave the room, ending up on the basement floor hallways, making our way to the room where we left Yuji with the others. I opened the door, he was there smiling and nodding along with Gojo, he turned to me with a bright smile and I couldn’t help but smile back. “Everything’s ready.”

The short walk back to the room felt strange, Gojo was leading the way, Yuji was beside me bent in a weird angle to rest his head on my shoulder as we walked. I smiled, shaking my head as we got to the room, I let him go in after Gojo before I followed. I listened as Gojo explained everything to Yuji now that he was able to pay attention. At the end of the conversation I managed to zone back in, turning to Yuji who was sitting on the sofa holding a weird green plushie. “Yuji.” I called his name looking at him with a soft smile, he turned to me and smiled back, “I’ll be leaving soon, so I suppose this means I wont see you for a while.” I moved closer, running a hand through his hair and pushing it back with a soft smile, “Be good, and don’t be too reckless alright?” I saw how he looked confused before he looked up at me. I saw for a second that same child I dropped off in kindergarten, big innocent brown eyes as he asked, “What do you mean you won't see me for a while…?” I ran my hand through his hair again with a hum, “to keep you hidden away, people are going to think you’re dead, so I wont be here anymore, if you were dead that means I don’t have a place here anymore. So I'll be leaving until Gojo decides when’s a good time for you to come out of hiding.” I watched his downcast eyes, the slight pout on his face as he looked down in thought, “You won't forget me?” I smiled, shaking lightly as I laughed, “You said that same thing when I first left you in kindergarten, you know.” He smiled as I hugged him by my side, “Call me if you need anything alright?” He nodded leaning into my side, “I love you.” I rubbed his arm and shoulder offering comfort, he nodded along, mumbling back, “I love you too.” I smiled as I pulled away, “Be good then.” He smiled nodding as I turned to Gojo, “Take care of my Yuji.” Gojo just smiled holding up a hand the other tucked behind his back. “Of course Miss.L/N, I'll make sure he’s better than you left him.” I nodded turning to Morí, he closed his eyes nodding, “Lead the way Lady Y/n” I started to walk out ready to pack up and leave, but a part of me wanted to stay, leaving now would mean, leaving my son and my husband. I swallowed, feeling the weight on my chest, ignoring it as I pushed myself to go. I pulled my Kimono tighter as we walked to the small house where we had been staying. I passed the two kids, Megumi Fushiguro and Nobara Kugisaki, who were sitting on the steps of the building. I turned to Morí who looked at them also, he turned his face away knowing it wasn’t our place to say anything. We took the further steps, passing them to not interrupt whatever conversation they could be having.

We made it to the house, packing what few things we had brought. Time passed slowly as we made progress until there was a knock at the door. I looked at the door not sensing anything unfamiliar as I slid it open. There was Fushiguro Megumi. I was concerned to see him staring straight down at the floor with a dead expression, before I spoke up. “Fushiguro Megumi.” He looked up, almost sympathetic, it was then I understood what it was about. I nodded along to the silence. “There was nothing you could have done, there are times where fate cant be altered, you shouldn’t hold yourself to fault, I hold no anger against you Fushiguro Megumi, nor against Satoru Gojo.” The silence hung heavy as I watched him clench his jaw and fists. The distress was clear over his face as I took a breath, to think of what I should do or say, I settled for the only way I knew how, I pulled him into a hug, using hand to guide his head to rest against my shoulder and chest holding him there, my other hand on his back as I whispered, “Forgive me Fushiguro Megumi, I can heal the body, but I can't repair a broken heart.”

I felt how he held onto my Kimono. I stood there. I had learned long ago with Yuji when he was a child, when someone desperately needs to be held, especially children, you should never pull away until they let go when they feel more stable. I patted and rubbed his back in circles, consoling him as he held on in silence. Time passed and I watched the sky slowly fade to orange, when he pulled away, I put my hands on his shoulders as he avoided looking at my face. I brought one hand to his chin, lifting his face, holding his cheek in one hand. I looked at him with a soft smile running my thumb over his cheek. “You will be alright in time.”

—- —- —- —- —-

The days were long and quiet as I spent the days in the temple working miracles and healing people. Donations flooding in by gratitude by those who’ve been suffering and finally found healing. I hummed, running my hands over a pregnant woman’s stomach, “Ah your sons so lively, I can feel him kicking.” She smiled “this is the first time in a while he’s been really moving.” I hummed with a soft smile, using my reverse cursed technique, I could sense where the muscles around her womb were tearing, carefully mending the muscles back together I hummed content hearing her sigh in relief. “It really feels like the stress and burning in my stomach has calmed down, do you know what it was?” I nodded slowly moving my hands off her stomach, ‘I’m not sure how your doctor didn’t catch it, but I’m assuming you’ve had a surgery where they needed to cut through muscle, where they mended the muscled was tearing open, its what was causing so much pain, the burning sensation was where the muscle was pulling and tearing bit by bit.” I watched her eyes widen, I smiled sympathetically nodding, “It’s all better now, you’ll be fine, even with time it shouldn’t raise up any problem”

I left the room after she thanked me, I walked around the back halls, lost in thought, not to be caught up in the day, I passed it healing people, until a certain man walked right into the private chambers.

I turned, it was obvious alone by his cursed energy, I watched him as he smiled, eyes closed and hands tucked into his sleeves. He pulled a hand out waving, I watched him, not too interested, but more concerned how he made it in without being stopped.

”Y/n.” His voice was smooth and unsettling just as any other life, “Kenjaku” we stared at one another, his head tilted down, he looked at me with lidded eyes, I could feel the heat of my emotion rising. “What are you doing here?”

”Well, I’m pretty sure it's obvious, it wouldn’t be the first time we cross paths now would it? Now, if I'm not wrong I'm pretty sure somewhere along the line we had a conversation similar to this, are you still so set on doing things your way?”

I watched how you stood there, thinking of what to say, “I’m not siding with your ideals, I could never support someone who could do things as vile as you did when you were experimenting with humans. We stand on uneven ground, there will never be a day we see eye to eye, there will never be a day where I would even think of standing on your level”

The room wasn’t tense, we both knew where we stood, we both knew the other couldn’t be swayed, there was no reason to argue or get hostile.

”hmm” I listened intently, not willing to let anything slip by, “Well, if you're so set in your decision I suppose I'll only be generous to make my offer once everything moves closer to the end line.”

I swallowed, nodding, “I doubt I’ll take your offer even then, we'll just have to see who stands where.”

The silence in the room remained the same, we stood there staring at the other, a silent conversation, where everything that needed to be said was said, I watched a wicked grin move over his lips head tilting forward slightly, “Well then, we will just have to stand back and see how everything plays out then.”

—- —- —- —- —-

Once again the days passed slowly, I knelt at the shrine in my room at the temple, lighting incense as I mumbled in vain, Sukuna would never be able to hear me this way, but it brought a sense of comfort as I bowed my head to an old painting i had set on the shrine table. “Ryomen…, please, please, if at any point in time, you hear these words please, I beg whatever plans you have with Kenjaku, don’t see them through.”

I begged internally, feeling my heart shaking in my chest, “Please.”

I stood up, turning to go on with the day, the day was just as slow as any other, until I felt a stab in my ribs, I tensed up, Morí who was with me didn’t let it go by unmentioned as he was quick to drop everything. “LADY Y/N! Are you alright?!” I leaned onto him feeling the stinging pain subside before it came back again. “We need to go, I need to see Itadori”

Mori looked up at me confused as he supported my side, “Lady Y/n Satoru Gojo said we shou-MORI,” I looked at him in desperation, “Please, I know something is wrong, this is just like last time, Please.”

The silence that settled between us wasn’t tense, but we knew the decision was made. It was quick work of Mori grasping his hands together and giving me a weary look before he spoke a small chant activating his technique.

It was an instant of standing behind the school, there was Satoru gojo and others looking at a veil, I didn’t bother to stay around immediately setting off to find Yuji, this isn’t about anyone else if not my son. Mori was right behind me as we made haste tracking Sukuna’s faint cursed energy in Yuji.

We made it to the dead forest, a tall grey curse with a bloom on its shoulder, I didn’t see Yuji, I held up a hand ready to unleash an attack until something came crashing down knocking it out the way.

“Yuji!” There was a moment of silence, that’s when everything came into place, the special grade curse, Yuji standing to side, a more built man beside him, the veil darkened sky starting to drop when I felt the attack coming, I rushed over to Yuji shielding him as a purple wave rammed through everything clearing a path.

I held on tight to Yuji, keeping him close to my chest until it completely passed. I let him go, stepping back to look at him as I held him by his shoulders at arms length. “Yuji! Are you okay?” I felt my heart still racing as I looked over at him, he smiled rubbing the back of his head. “Yeah! I’m fine mom!” I sighed relieved, “Yuji, thank goodness you're okay, I was SO SCARED, I turned to look at the other guy who was standing not to far off, he seemed proud as he stood by watching, before he squinted at me looking uneasy as he asked, “Who are you?”

I felt my brows drop slightly as I let go of Yuji turning to the boy, “I should be asking who you are.” He seemed amused as he laughed, closing his eyes as he brought a hand to his chin as if he were thinking. “What an excitable woman.” I made a face shaking my head no as I turned to Yuji, he smiled. “This is Toudo.” I nodded along, “I see.”

I nodded along, turning back to Toudo, “well, it's nice to meet you Toudo, but don’t call me an excitable woman, I'm not too sure my husband would appreciate that. But, my name is L/n F/n, I’m Yuji’s mother.”

I watched as Toudo opened his eyes, a smile on his face, “My brothers, mother.” I nodded slowly thinking over what he had said. “Brothers….mother.. brother?” I turned to Yuji curious, “What’s this about?”

Yuji perked up, “Oh, it's kinda confusing, Toudo actually helped me understand a few things I’ve been struggling with, he says we’re brothers…”

I nodded along, “I see…”

—- —- —- —- —-

Authors Note

I really wanted to go with the Canon time line, but the more I type the more I realize it would be ridiculously long. So- time to create alternate time line so everyone can be happy 🥹

also Sukuna is very much Husband material after I read the last chapter

—- —- —- —- —-

@needsleep3000 @lunafrisk303999 @ang3lz-lov3 @dl-yum @yumieis @bellinghambby22 @amitiel-truth @kundere20000000 @r0ckst4rjk @maybe-a-bi-witch @kouyoumarryme @wannabewolf @futureittomainn @raiiny-night @t4naiis @blkmystery @the2ndl @too-pretty-to-live @v-sh @officialjellydoughnut @f1uveryysblog @wsp1st @ivysenpai3 @babyqueen17 @lupita97lm @oh-gods-its-a-dragon @avyannasstuff @nameless-mushroom-warrior r @fullwriterpoem @nanamisbigassschlong @queen-luna-007 @pupbistro @clxvrs @dangerous-girls-world @saiyara05 @honeybachira @sizzlingsongblaze-blog @theirbitxch @bluusugar @itszzmoon @venus-seeks @abdce12345

[woso-dreamzzz]

Tattoos

Mapi Leon x Ingrid Engen x Child!Reader

Summary: You have pens

"Sorry," Mumma says as she bounces you on her hip," She's in a grumpy mood today."

You grunt, angling your head away as Tia Patri tries to rub at your cheek.

"Very grumpy," Tia Patri notes before smiling at you anyway and waving you goodbye.

"Okay," Mumma says, readjusting her grip on you so you can tuck your head into the crook of her neck," There we go. I think someone needs a little nap."

"No," You whine," No nap...jus'...jus' you. Jus' Mumma."

"Okay," Mumma agrees," Just Mumma."

You've been out of whack ever since the flight over for the semifinal Champion's League match. Mapi's still returning from her knee injury so she's been dropped to the bench and continues her rehab even though she's on the squad list so Ingrid's kind of been solo parenting for a bit.

It's not that Mapi won't help but she very much can't do things like play rough with you like you enjoy or bounce you on her knee to calm you down.

Ingrid hasn't done that a lot since she started dating Mapi, who dived head-first into things like that in an attempt to win you over.

"Mamí too," You insist as you whine out a low note.

"Are you having big feelings?" Ingrid asks as she fishes out her phone to ask where Mapi is.

You nod tiredly against her, practically limp but still with enough energy to kick and snap your displeasure.

Ingrid wonders if it's a lack of stimulation. The plane ride had been long and you didn't have any of your usual things to keep you occupied.

Your story books had all been packed in the big suitcase (the last time Ingrid will ever trust Mapi to pack your bags) and your colouring book and felt tip pens had been deemed too messy for you to use on the flight. That coupled with your inability to stay asleep for more than twenty minutes, means that you're exhausted and bored.

It's a dangerous combination.

Ingrid shoots off a text to Mapi about the situation and walks the length of the hallway, quietly hushing you and allowing you to suck at her collar even though she knows that it's going to feel bad against her skin later on.

Mapi replies quickly, saying that she's in the canteen with Alexia.

"Mumma," You whine as Ingrid makes for the elevator," No go out! No want!"

"We're not going out," Ingrid assures you but the damage is already done because the exhaustion and the boredom finally catch up with you and you burst into a round of frustrated tears.

Ingrid bounces you more firmly as you babble and sob and whine all the way down. The staff sends her sympathetic looks, some of them having children themselves, and the rest of the team look equally distraught as you clearly feel when Ingrid (frazzled and stressed) bursts into the canteen.

Mapi's at the table in the corner, a packet of temporary tattoo pens by her side as she transfers a sketch from her book onto Alexia's arms.

Alexia's been talking about getting another tattoo and Mapi had drawn up designs easily.

She's animatedly talking about the one she's transferring to Alexia's arms interspersed with flicking through the book to show alternative ideas.

She stops immediately though as your cries echo through the room and Ingrid approaches.

"What happened?" She asks," What's wrong? Is she hurt? Sick? She had that tummy bug a few weeks ago. Is it back?"

"She's having some big feelings," Ingrid replies, sitting down next to Mapi," I think she just wants some company while working through them. Look, she's already calming down."

She's right.

Your gasping breaths are evening out again and the tears roll down your face mostly silently. With your Mumma and Mamí now together, you're happy to just sag against Mumma and allow Mamí's conversation with Tia Ale to wash over you.

You slowly reach out for the pink pen that's resting on the table. You pick it up. Mamí doesn't use the pink a lot, especially when she's drawing ideas on people like she's doing with your Tia.

Mumma leans with you as you angle yourself towards Mamí's arms where some of her tattoos are on show.

"Open," You tell Mumma, your voice a little scratchy from all your crying and general unease. Mumma takes the lid off for you.

You press the tip against Mamí's arm, taking a lot of care to colour in the lines of the pictures she's got there.

She stops drawing on your Tia when she first feels the press of the nib against her skin.

You give her a little teary eyed smile when she catches your eye.

"Following in your footsteps," Mumma says fondly, finally able to plait your hair into a neat braid," Little tattoo artist."

"Yeah," Mamí agrees, moving to uncap all the pens on the table," Make sure to get in as many colours as possible, alright?"

You nod.

Mamí continues to draw on Tia Ale as you continue to colour in her tattoos.

The repetitive action soothes you and you make pretty swirls in her arm pictures even after she's finished showing Tia Ale her designs.

"Finished?" She asks.

You nod. "Finished."

"Ingrid," Mamí says," Take a picture of this." She flexes her arm. "I want to brag to everyone about how much more exciting she's made my arm."