#the plot drop happened <3 we pretend <3

[surejess]

@animusvenenatus ( aiyana )

" ya know... the crows and pigeons would have a way better solution. i mean, ya don't see them down here, but they're still kickin' ! they're doin' something right without having to go all mole-person... "

[vaaaaaiolet]

When you run out of his work summit on the brink of tears, you can't believe that Leon hasn't picked up on how he hurt you. His only option is to apologize, but you're not listening to a word he says. So he'll just have to make you watch.

mdni i'm so serious. married f / m smut where porn is the plot THERE'S LORE I SWEAR, sour then sweet dom leon, mirror sex, EMOTIONS, aftercare :3 + 1 bad pun

a/n: anon req'd reader w/ praise kink. i really thought i did something and then i read it and i wanted to die. it isn't my writing if i don't try turning smut into shitty poetry.

word count: 2.9k // read on ao3

“I’m apologizing now, aren’t I?”

“A little late for that, Agent Kennedy,” you seethe. 

Your metronome heels keep time with the irate pounding of your heartbeat. This California Ritz-Carlton hallway stretches like the goddamn Shining and you can’t seem to get away fast enough from your husband. He’s too damn good at his job, and you’re too smart to pretend that this dance the two of you are playing at is anything but a distraction, an impediment.

You are a distraction. You’ve been an unwelcome one all night.

So you’d cut it short yourself.

One keycard slice through the sensor and the sanctuary of your hotel room opens up to you, messy with the aftermath of black-tie preparation. You step up to the vanity; plant your palms on its wooden surface and stare straight ahead as if to admire your ruined mascara. It’s a formality, really. It’s not as if you need the mirror to remind you what happened in this room. Tonight began with indulgent kisses afraid to smudge dress shirt collars, hands squeezed for courage, Leon in perpetual pursuit of the train of your gown. Big dreams.

“You wanna talk? We can talk.” Leon shuts the door with an exasperated sigh. “Don’t make this difficult, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t do a damn thing,” you hiss. You stare daggers at his reflection.

“Really?” His shoulders drop. “Then what was all that with the storming off, the- oh baby, don’t look at me like that.” 

Leon’s arms wrap around your middle while his nose buries itself in your diamond-laced neck. He’s good at that, that sneaking thing without leaving so much as a whisper to signal where he’s going. The higher-ups at the DSO call it stealth. You just want the man you married to tell you what the hell he’s doing before he makes a fool out of you. 

“I didn’t mean to upset you. I swear,” he whispers, kissing softly down your neck. “Didn’t mean it at all, I’m sorry. What’d I do?”

You scoff. 

He’s testing the waters. A rough thumb finds and starts running down the divot of your spine, thank you backless Mirror Palais ballgown. Pass the smoking gun back and forth, pretend not to see the shrapnel from the bullet holes. You don’t pay Leon any heed as you stoically unhook diamond pendants from your ears, and he frowns.

“I said I was sorry.” 

“I shouldn’t need to tell you what you did, Leon.” 

Shame simmers sickly and strong in the pit of your stomach. You teeter on the edge of snapping altogether and consider throwing his blankets on the floor for the night – you will, actually, as soon you take off all your evening regalia. In your haste, your nails end up nicking Leon’s nose when he tries to murmur another weightless apology.

The kisses stop leaching onto your collarbone. “Don’t play this game with me, sweetheart.” 

“So now you’re calling me immature?”   

“Isn’t that what you call running out of my work summit? Making me chase you down?” Leon counters, running his hands down your sides in a last-ditch effort to diffuse the situation. Thinly-veiled irritation finally seeps into his tone. “What exactly did I do?”

And gosh, does that get the tears going. He’s so blind it hurts.

You tug pins furiously out of your hair in an effort to keep an impending outburst at bay. “You practically had me on a leash!”

Not once had he let you out of his sight in that dreadful ballroom. In front of all those international representatives and agents, people whose reputations preceded them, Leon had kept you attached to him with a heavy hand on your waist, glued to his hip like an untrustworthy child he’d lose track of at a supermarket. Coughs had quickly turned to snickers behind your back. You’re no agent, sure, but you could expect to have some kind of autonomy, right? 

The guest badge you’d flung over the hotel room bed glints tauntingly now, respected by every security detail except the one whose chest your back is currently pressed against. It’s humiliating how untrustworthy, how incapable he made you look tonight.

Leon blinks. “You’re saying I think you can’t handle yourself?”

“You don’t have to. You showed me all night.” 

Tears drip down your cheeks when he relents, his arms lifting like fog over the Golden Gate, and if you’re finally free from his clutches, you might as well take off this suffocating dress. It’s gauzy and gorgeous and completely worthless despite the stack of bills Leon paid for it, however giddy you’d been when he’d brought it home. 

If only you could reach the tiny zipper perched on your tailbone. 

Leon, ever the perceptive one, however, never passes up an opening whether it be zipped or not. He’s got a handy index and thumb; he puts them to use. He’s your husband after all. 

“Right, okay,” he exhales sharply, tugging the chain as your back bows forward, “I did this all wrong. I thought you’d catch on when I should’ve just shown you instead.”

“Show me what?”

A hand inside your newly agape gown. A palm pivoting south to the curve of your hip, pressing, searching. Leon presses his lips to your neck in answer, but this time, it’s urgent in a way that doesn’t quite feel like remorse. He hisses.

“Tell me to stop and I fucking will, but this is my last resort considering how bad I seem to be with my words, sweetheart. How many times have I told you I’m sorry?”

“You-”

A squeeze on your hip. A direction. 

“I need a number.”

The door, your neck, seconds ago.

“...three.”

“And not one of them made it inside that pretty head of yours,” Leon scowls. “Doesn’t look like words are either of our strong suits. Chin up for me, doll, and pay attention ‘cause I’m only asking this once.”

So you do, you lift your face to meet mascara-rimmed eyes in the mirror along with Leon’s sapphire-blue ones that glint right behind, and his palm drifts up to cup your jaw from underneath. He tilts it back and forth. Kisses his teeth. 

“Tell me. How am I supposed to let my wife loose in a room full of criminals just like that?”

What?

Leon circles your cheekbone with the pad of his thumb, pulling away quickly. Too early to indulge in this kind of affection. “Thought I asked you something, doll.”

But you hesitate, and so Leon must disappear. His final instructions are to face forward.

He dives to the floor, locking rough fingers around your ankles only to slide them up to the backs of your shins. He goes under so quick that there’s a breeze; you’re granted mere seconds to watch Leon’s blond head duck underneath the floor-length train of your dress and by then, it’s far too late to notice the fire. 

Leon loves starting those.

He also doesn’t wait. Invisible flames lick up your bare legs from Leon’s dragon mouth. Red hot kisses trail up your thighs – he drops a sweet one on the inside of your right knee, makes you buckle momentarily – and these stubbled kisses of his have a tendency to sear any skin on their skyward path. You can’t remember when your elbows propped themselves on the vanity, out of instinct, maybe, to keep the floor of your stomach from falling out at the very first sneak of Leon’s tongue inside the drenched lace gusset of your panties. 

But you can’t afford to be surprised, can you? Not with the line of destruction he’s left behind on his way to his destination. They say it takes one to know one. 

You clutch the edge of the vanity’s shelf, suck down sobs in your throat fluttering into something indecent.

“I need you to talk to me,” he whispers with his lips pressed to your pussy. The vibration echoes up your spine, jerks your head back. “You’re all clammed up. Keeping secrets.”

Air gushes down your throat. “And you’re not?” 

“Of course I am, baby, but I’m explaining, aren’t I?” 

Kiss. Kiss. Suck. 

You keen with your mouth shut.

He noses at your clit, prompting you. “So, where’s your explanation?”

Another quality the DSO prides itself on is your husband’s ability to sweet-talk himself out of a tight spot. That seems to includes in between your legs. Your thighs clench together in a final attempt of defiance when his mouth makes contact with your cunt. Your reflection in the mirror starts to swim at the first swirl of Leon’s tongue, and he makes quick work of you with his goal being none other than to dangle the promise of more to come, literally. 

Thumbs tuck into sensitive folds, and you’re gone. Shaking at the first breach of Leon’s fingers inside you. You spread apart at his will. He dips into arousal now impossible to ignore, and when sparks finally light at the hot air Leon blows over your spasming pussy, he commits his second unforgivable sin of the night: ducking right back out at the crest of your orgasm.

You have principles. The mirror reflects Leon’s swollen lips, tousled hair damp with you when he rises from his knees, and above all this, you clench your teeth. Face forward. 

He wipes his mouth.

“That’s one.” 

The other two remain rhetorical.

You’re being lifted bridal-style when the seal on your mouth finally breaks. “Leon,” you tremble in his arms, “where are we?” The summit, the people; you chase his mouth for any explanation. “You’re working with criminals now?” 

“Yes and no. Arms up,” Leon rasps, and tugs down what remains of your gown, crashes his mouth onto yours. 

You taste yourself in his kiss. Surely that’s not an answer, is it?

“Tonight was a mission,” he continues in his feverish haste, quickly laying your naked body onto the bed before kissing down your breasts.

Pride gets tossed on the floor next to your undergarments, his crumpled dress shirt. 

“The DSO couldn’t guarantee you wouldn’t become collateral for this assignment if things went south and I didn’t want to risk it. So I took you with me.” 

“You brought me to a- oh! ” 

Two thick fingers push into your sopping cunt. You squeal, clutch the sheets. Leon presses the ribbed flesh nestled deep inside you, carving out room for himself from his kneel at the foot of the bed. He gouges deep and you writhe. Your arousal shimmers on his fingers when he finally pulls them out and you find that have nothing to say about that.

“Go on,” he coos lowly. “Don’t get quiet now.” 

Your head whirls. “You sh-should’ve told me they were dangerous.”  

“And where do you think that would’ve gotten us, sweetheart? I didn’t want you panicking. Blowing cover. I had you to take care of and intel to gather, I couldn’t think straight myself. Letting you out of my sight could’ve meant losing you.”

Fuck. You don’t need a mirror to remember how antsy Leon had been before going down to the ballroom. 

Hands squeezed for courage. Hand on your waist. 

The vanilla and leather on his skin had reeked of nerves, and you? You’d written it off.

“I wanted to keep you safe.” Leon looks up at you now, eyes glinting in the dim light. There’s a new softness in their blue depths, a sincere apology. “I just wish you'd believe me.” 

By all intents and purposes, Leon Scott Kennedy is sorry.

There’s been a lapse in judgment. Your elbows sit you up from the bed to fix it. Cupping his cheek, you lean forward to meet Leon’s waiting mouth in a long overdue embrace, one he can melt into with relief. There’s no bitterness on your tongue now. Just sweetness in the seconds you take to breathe your forgiveness into him. The clink of his falling belt promises no punishment.

“But you can’t let me off the hook just yet,” Leon murmurs when he tugs free from your latch on his bottom lip, “I hurt you, angel, and I never wanted to. Tell me I can fix it.”

He can. Your husband can fix everything, the world included. You sigh your approval, yes, yes, more, because forgiveness feels incredible as he lays your shoulders down, sets your hips straight when you twist them the first time he teases his cock’s weeping head over the soaked seam of your pussy. 

“Don’t take your eyes off the mirror for a second,” Leon instructs.

He plants his palms on the sides of your head. You whimper; swear you won’t.

“I mean it. Watch yourself, and maybe then you’ll understand how crazy you drive me.”

So begins your descent. 

You’re drowning, crying for air when Leon sinks into the liquid warmth you’ve saved for him. There’s so much of him to take, tight, tight, tight – your mind is a melting record. You’re breaking. Can’t disappoint him again. When your overwhelmed cunt nearly pushes him out, Leon just chuckles. He cants his hips to compensate, goes at it again. That should be enough to tell you how the DSO’s finest agent never lets a detail go amiss. 

“The Belgium ambassador started tailing you by the fountain." 

And to your astonishment, he starts rattling off half the world map. 

“Got rid of him quick. Then there was a – oh, sweetheart, you’re gonna kill me – Swedish agent, don’t remember what I did to him.” 

A roll of his hips. Your nails down his back. 

“Someone from Germany tried to dose your champagne. Another from Argentina, shit,” his thrusts grow erratic the longer the list grows, “two from Russia, a Japanese spy – perfect fucking pussy, oh my God…”

Your husband takes you on a trip around the globe. He’d traveled to the ends of the earth in that ballroom, kept your back bulletproof with just his hand, the one that was once a collar to you. Turns out being a Kennedy puts you on a hitlist; makes your blood run blue. 

“Too much!” you sob.

You can’t take the responsibility. 

But here in the dark, here with Leon, there’s just pleasure. Opulence. The back of his head is a blond crown in the vanity mirror, the diamonds on your breasts sparkle with each bounce from Leon’s cock slamming home. Even the gooey mess you’re leaving on the chiseled marble of his lower stomach shimmers. War paint from a battle won for you.

Your head falls away from the mirror and Leon guides it back without losing his rhythm. “Mm-mm. You need to see your face when you break.” 

Never has a threat sounded so loving on anyone’s lips, you imagine. 

Your hands tangle into his hair, you grow quiet, you clench. You’re close. This, he can feel.

His lips curve into a weary grin. “Wanted you to see why I had eyes on my baby all night. My pretty girl, all mine.”

Lucky you. 

That somehow does you in. Every word of praise Leon utters makes it clear that no, he did trust you, does trust you. He trusted you enough to know you could hold your own in that lion’s den downstairs, trusts now that you’ll forgive him for a misstep born of love. And with that realization, your pleasure rides helium high. 

“Shit, Leon!” you cry.

Electric pressure builds in your sensitive bud, the one Leon rubs frantically now. Gasps from your wide open mouth sweeten the air like perfume and Leon wishes he could breathe it all in, you’re beautiful when he turns you into a wailing mess. All for him.  

“This one’s two, angel,” he groans when you flutter around him. No way. 

His cock had put you in a trance, so warm and filling is it inside you. You’d forgotten about the deal entirely. 

Your cries increase precariously in pitch. “Oh, please, please, you can’t, Leon, I have to-” 

“Hold on!” 

Leon presses you into the sheets one last time to free the pretty songbird singing his name. You sprout wings in the looking glass.

The afterglow is golden. The sunset is long gone but it glows in your hotel room all the same, wrapped in silk sheets and Leon’s arms.

“You’re beautiful like this, you know?” he hums, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear. 

“What, all sweaty and gross?” You wouldn’t expect him to know. He’s gorgeous. Leon is gorgeous when he makes love to you.

He nods, laughing when you roll your eyes. “Really, you do. Enough that I had to spend half my mission clawing bad guys off you. But I got it finished, and so did you in the process, huh?” 

Leon drops a kiss to your forehead, murmuring one last I’m sorry, his fourth one.

Shit. 

You scramble to hide under the sheets, leaving him cocking his head after you in utter confusion. “Wait, wait, what’s the matter?”

“I can’t do any more, Leon, I’m gonna pass out.” 

“Do any…?”

“You only left off on two!” 

Leon snorts. You soon feel a warm press on the top of your head: a sugary, schoolboy-sweet kiss.

“There you go, baby. That’s three. Apology accepted?”

And when you poke your head out of the covers to give Leon a kiss of your own, you make sure he knows it’s for apology number four.

He shouldn’t be so surprised you noticed. It’s not like you can take your eyes off him either.

psst, find more of my work here!

comments and reblogs are very much appreciated <3 take care and i love you!

[cheshiresense]

Hi Cross! I'm so happy you're writing for ShunStarrk, it's one of my favrite ships and Starrk is one of favorite characters and I love how you write them. I also couldn't help thinking about wat would happen if you sent Starrk bac with Ichigo in Swinging Pendulum (or just TBTP). You've done Kisuke and Aizen so I was curious how it would go with Starrk. I'd love to see any ideas you might have for it!

lol my first thought when I saw this was a mental image of Ichigo throwing Starrk at Shunsui and being like “go seduce us an ally!” 😂😂😂

But okay, more seriously, I have a few thoughts on it so I guess I'll just ramble a bit? Well first of all, in an AU like SP/TBTP, I would employ one of my handy dandy Bleach headcanons where the next step up from Arrancar is a fully restored soul, so to speak. We know Hollows are generally souls that Shinigami failed to purify and save in time, but I like to think that as Hollows, after hitting rock bottom, if they have the power and the strength of will and the ability to survive long enough to work all the way back up on their own, they can actually fix themselves.

(I actually also headcanon that becoming “perfect artificial Arrancar” via Aizen and his Hougyoku actually stagnates them, so they’re given a power boost and Shinigami-like powers, but they’ve basically peaked and will never again be able to grow much because there is no growth from perfection, which also explains why the Visored’s power levels have always felt a cut below the other captains and lieutenants’ and even after a hundred years they could never manage much with their Hollow abilities, nor did they make any significant improvements or contributions between WW and TYBW, because the Hougyoku pushes you to the pinnacle of your potential at that point in your life, but by doing so, it also cuts off any possibility of further growth, and so over time you might even deteriorate. And all of that ties neatly back into one of Bleach’s major themes of perfection/stagnancy vs. growth/development. But I digress, that isn’t overly important here.)

My point is, the fuckery in the bad end future where Ichigo and Starrk are from lasted long enough and resulted in a terrible enough war that Starrk finally allowed himself that last step of growth and became a whole - if scarred - soul again, so he no longer has a Hollow hole or that collar of teeth, and he has a proper Zanpakutou merged with his Hollow abilities. So like he’s the first and only Hollow ever who managed to rebuild his own soul and is super OP as a result. Like if Aizen’s the upper limit of a Shinigami, and Yhwach is the upper limit of a Quincy, then Starrk would be the upper limit of a Hollow, which the Soul King took into account and was like yay finally the best of a species that isn’t out to ball the universe for once, he’s hella depressed and lonely and grieving but he’s just gonna have to deal cuz the world isn’t going to save itself and my god-slaying mad-scientist-experiment-child of a descendant needs all the help he can get to pull his saviour schtick off again.

All of which is just to say Starrk can blend in much better in Soul Society and yes I took the long-ass way around just to establish this single plot point lmao.

Secondly, as implied above, I’d prob change the final big bad to the Quincy because 1) it’s fresher in my mind and also 2) it gives me more established material to work with. Also 3) we’ll pretend Yhwach wasn’t senile and so didn’t kill off half his own army, because lbr his Auswahlen won half the war for the Shinigami in canon. And this way we get the tragic bad end we need to kick off an SP AU.

And thirdly, just to tie up that loose end, you can’t have two of the same souls in one timeline, so past!Starrk&Lilynette wink out of existence the moment the Soul King drops future!Starrk in TBTP because I’m heartless like that and the more angst the merrier.

Also fourthly, the thing about sending Starrk back with Ichigo is that the dynamic is just so completely different than if it were Kisuke or Aizen or Shinji or any of Ichigo's friends. Like I guess in other fics you usually see Starrk as one of Ichigo's ppl, lured over to the good side because of Ichigo's whole power of friendship, friends and family must be protected thing, and I enjoy reading those of course, but writing-wise, I can't really get behind it because for me, their relationship would come out sth like part-comrade, part-mentor/student because someone's gotta teach Ichigo how to Hollow and I honestly don't rly count the Visored training as such because what they did was basically the equivalent of a temporary patchjob/lesson on how to unhealthily repress a part of yourself instead of actually dealing with it, all so it won't get in the way of fighting Aizen, so Ichigo never actually gets around to harnessing that side of him as opposed to everything he does with his Shinigami and Quincy sides, and lastly part-wow-this-kid-is-a-hundred-years-away-from-becoming-another-Aizen-if-the-Shinigami-keep-fucking-up-with-him whenever Starrk looks at Ichigo, because if anyone aside from Ichigo understood what made Aizen into the would-be-god he became, it would be Starrk, and there's no way he wouldn't be able to see the exact same potential in Ichigo.

And yeah, technically Kisuke was a mentor too, same with Shinji and a few others, but with their history, it's hard to really see that role as one of their main ones, esp since all of them end up following Ichigo's lead. If you want to get poetic about it, he's the sun they're drawn to and revolve around and devote themselves to. That's completely not the case with Starrk. If anyone is Starrk's sun, it's Shunsui. Plus Starrk's just a lot older than most of them so he can't just be crammed into the peer/partner/friend willing to burn SS down for Ichigo and follow him to the ends of the world box. It would be the same if it was Shunsui or Ukitake sent back. But that's fun to play with too, something new, and I imagine Starrk's got a soft spot for kids, and this one was also taught by Shunsui (a la SP canon), and Starrk taught Ichigo as well, so it's not like they don't get along or that Starrk wouldn't absolutely throw down with someone trying to take another chunk out of Ichigo. It's just that this is a dynamic where for once, Ichigo isn't the absolute top priority and object of fascination/love/devotion for the one sent back in time with him. For Starrk, that position's already taken by a certain Shinigami captain.

And wow okay we're not even into the actual AU and I already rambled too much, I guess I'll end this with the two of them entering the Academy after wandering in from the wilds of Rukongai? In SP, I had Ichigo being found by the Shibas and sort of faking amnesia, but I feel like it's simpler here to go with the two of them finding their way to the Seireitei on their own, and then the Shibas hear of someone with a face that could pass for Kaien's twin, so ofc Kaien's immediately like HELLO LONG-LOST FAM and rolling out the welcome mat.

Obviously Ichigo's like fuck that this is way too soon after losing all my actual friends and family, but Shibas don't know how to take no for an answer (honestly you're like that too Ichigo), so there's a good few weeks where Kaien haunts the Academy like an enthusiastic ghost two steps left of empty nest syndrome or something, and Ichigo spends an equal amount of time ignoring him in favour of tearing through the Academy curriculum like a man on a mission, which he technically is. He doesn't like the attention, but he's also never had much patience for subtlety, and he's used to ignoring other ppl's opinions of him anyway, so by the end of the month, everybody knows him as the newest Shiba prodigy slated to graduate in a year, and Ichigo doesn't care so long as he gets what he wants.

Meanwhile, not many people notice the man who'd come to the city with Ichigo and applied to the Academy at the same time. Unlike Ichigo, Starrk is very good at fading into the background, and it's doubly easy when you put him next to someone whose very existence is as bright and loud as Ichigo's, with the kind of charisma that attracts ppl to him even when he doesn't do anything.

That suits Starrk just fine. He's exhausted and heartsore and still not entirely sure why he'd said yes when Mimihagi had waylaid him when he'd been on the brink of death and asked him to accompany Ichigo back in time to save the world. He's not a hero, not anyone important or special, and also not particularly interested in living in a world without Kyouraku Shunsui - his Shunsui - in it. But Shunsui had also died for the world, for the Soul Society he'd devoted his life to protecting, died to buy time for others to live just a little bit longer, and it had seemed a mockery of one of the things Shunsui had held so dear if Starrk didn't even try to protect it too when the option was laid out in front of him. Besides, it had also seemed unfair to leave it all to Ichigo, to dump the literal weight of the universe on the kid's shoulders once again, and this time he wouldn't even have any help if Starrk didn't go because everyone else was dead or - Starrk assumes - not as strong as him. Once again, his strength is more a curse than anything else. So he supposes he does know why he'd agreed - a moment of insanity, a moment of weakness - and now here he is stuck in an era he'd certainly lived through before but in a location he'd only ever seen in the midst of war.

Peacetime at least affords him time to rest, although he's not sure how he likes that either. Fighting and killing at least means he has little time for anything else, like sleep plagued with nightmares, but it's that or staring into empty space and being plagued with memories instead, and that's not really any better. Still, he deals and doesn't let Ichigo catch on to the fact that his head's not in a great place because the kid doesn't need anymore on his plate. It's not like Ichigo's getting much sleep either anyway if the bags under his eyes are anything to go by. Besides, Starrk's used to nightmares and bad memories. He has a thousand years' worth under his belt, so it's nothing new, even if the content is.

The Academy is something of a novelty, if only because he's never gone to school before. So unlike Ichigo, he doesn't mind going to lectures instead of immediately testing out of most classes and jumping straight to the sixth-year curriculum and whatever extra credit work that Zanjutsu department head who likes stalking Ichigo gives him. Starrk had checked and discovered that so long as he applies for it before the deadline, he can take the graduation exams at the end of the year, and so long as he passes, the school doesn't much care what classes make it onto his academic transcript. There's even been clan kids who just stay at home with an army of private tutors before directly taking the exams and entering the Gotei that way.

But like Ichigo, there's also not much the Academy teaches that he doesn't excel at. Combat-wise, there are already very few people in all the known worlds who can best him, let alone anyone in this school. His worst subject is history, because he knows almost nothing of Soul Society aside from major events he'd heard of in passing and anything related to Quincy, but when everything else is easy, that just means he can spend all his time memorizing the readings he's assigned.

Aside from that, he goes to class and sleeps in class, he skips class and sleeps then too, he spars whoever the teacher wants him to but never volunteers otherwise, and he's very careful to keep his reiatsu levels under wraps. He looks at his classmates in each class and picks out the middling to above average students and copies their progress, and he doesn't bother doing more.

"Isn't it boring?" Ichigo asks him once when he's once again hiding from his cousin in Starrk's room. Starrk shrugs from his bed and doesn't tell him that one doesn't know boredom until they've spent a thousand years alone in a barren desert. Anything else is a step up. Even if all the theory in his lectures are things he's already read about because Shunsui had let him have free reign in the private library back home, hearing it again never hurts. "It's a pretty good sleep aid," Starrk says instead, just to hear the amused snort it coaxes from Ichigo.

It is of course impossible to fool everyone, and Starrk hadn't been aiming for that anyway. Ichigo also doesn't spend time with anybody else, so inevitably, two months into their Academy life, one Koyonagi Senzou turns his attention on the man who probably spends more time sleeping than anyone else in the Seireitei.

"All your assignments fulfill the minimum requirements," Koyonagi says, smiling from behind his desk after summoning Starrk to his office. "Never more, never less, perfect across the board even if they all come back with a note suggesting you could try earning some bonus points. All your tests are returned with a score of 75-80%. Never more, never less, but the points that get docked off are always for questions you've left blank. And every single week, you win exactly half your total spars. Never more, never less. Tell me, Coyote-san, do you think yourself more or less subtle than Ichi-chan?" Starrk blinks once, slowly, and stares back without the energy to muster much more than a noncommittal grunt. Koyonagi reminds him a little of Aizen and a lot of Ichimaru, and this kind of person, Starrk knows, wants for nothing so much as they do a reaction. "Wasn't trying to be subtle," Starrk eventually says when it becomes clear that Koyonagi is perfectly willing to wait him out for as long as it takes, and Starrk doesn't care enough about power plays to try and win this one, not when he hasn't even been offered a chair to sit in. "I've been passing everything, so it's fine, right?" Koyonagi doesn't stop smiling, but it becomes just the slightest bit fixed the way Ichimaru's had when he'd not been entirely pleased with his prey's response. Even Starrk probably would've missed it if Ichimaru hadn't often looked like that around Starrk. As expected, the teacher prods a few more times, a little more cutting each round, and Starrk in turn replies with the same dull apathy that comes so very easily to him. "Well-played," Koyonagi finally says, and he just looks bored now. "Although I honestly can't fathom what Ichigo sees in someone so lacking in... ambition." He pauses like he wants Starrk to hear the insult underneath, like he wants Starrk to take offense, but Starrk's barely paying attention as it is, and there was no question anyway, which means Starrk isn't expected to answer, so he doesn't. Koyonagi sighs like he's never met a bigger disappointment. "Never mind, you're dismissed." His eyes glitter with something like mockery. "Your new schedule will be sent to you by tonight. You'll be moved up to the sixth year classes. Do keep up the good work, won't you?" Starrk raises an eyebrow, then sighs right back. Well, whether it's first year or sixth year, it's all the same to him. He's not the one who took the initiative to present himself as a genius, and students are moved in and out of classes for more reasons than just skipping grades. And with Ichigo around, no one will look twice at him. He dips his head in acknowledgement and wonders why people like this can't just say what they want to begin with. This had clearly been the point from the very beginning and could've been over and done with in two minutes, but this meeting's dragged on for half an hour. What a troublesome guy. He heads for the door. The weather is nice today. Maybe he'll even be able to take an uninterrupted nap for once.

On the Shiba front, something's got to give, and unfortunately for Ichigo, he doesn't have experience warding off family unwilling to leave him alone.

"I came here with a friend!" Ichigo snaps, his last-ditch attempt to chase Kaien away. "He's practically family! I'm not leaving him behind!" He'd heard all about the bullshit that was Rukia's adoption into the Kuchiki Clan, thank you. Kaien blinks at him, mystified. "What are you talking about? We just want to add you to the family registry and probably throw you a party while we're at it. You don't have to leave your friend anywhere. Hell, bring him back with you. If he's your family, he's our family, and we have plenty of space!" At this point, Kaien looks like he's warming up to the idea. "That's right, you mentioned you've known him for a while, right? Uh, what's his name again, Coyote Starrk? If he's been watching your back out in Rukongai, I should thank him properly. Is that why you've been resisting all this time? Did you think we'd make you cut ties with him or something? We're not like the other stuffy clans, Ichigo! Any friend of yours is welcome! We'd love to meet him! Hey, how's he doing in his classes? Does he need a sponsor? It doesn't matter, a clan sponsor can only be a good thing. Don't worry, Ichigo, we'll take good care of him!" Ichigo has a moment to picture the sheer amount of chaotic energy that even he can already tell is a common factor amongst the Shiba Clan, meeting Starrk, whose favourite hobbies include napping, creating new Kidou seals, and listening to Kyouraku read to him when they can scrounge up some time for themselves, and the only conclusion he can come to is a horrified, holy shit, Starrk-san's going to kill me.

[solxamber]

If you haven’t gotten this already, maybe a part 2 to Idia x sentient npc reader?

Maybe they somehow find themselves in twst? Maybe isekai style (I’m stuck on you villainess fics lol)? Or if you had other ideas that’s totally fine too. (I’m not used to requesting 😭)

I really like your stuff so honestly I wanna give you as much creative freedom. Or if you feel like that fic is over/you don’t have inspo for it anymore that’s understandable too 😊

Keep up the amazing work!! 💖💖

Idia Shroud x Sentient NPC Part 2

Part 1 : here

Thank you for the request, and I'm glad you like my isekai fics <3

The moment you blink into existence in Twisted Wonderland, you’re not sure if this is real life or another game glitch. One minute you were comfortably breaking the fourth wall and wooing a gamer, and the next? You’re standing in front of an overgrown haunted house with a big “Night Raven College” sign. And a certain blue-haired, fire-topped guy is gaping at you like you’ve just sprouted another head.

“W-WAIT,” Idia stammers, eyes wide behind his tablet as he stares at you. “This—This isn’t happening. There’s no way. Did I… did I actually summon an NPC?!”

You take one look at him—tousled hair, dark circles under his eyes, and the way his fingers hover over his tablet like it’s some sort of lifeline—and a grin tugs at your lips. Oh, this is gonna be good.

“Well, well, well,” you say, casually strolling over to him. “If it isn’t my favorite player. Miss me?”

Idia makes a noise somewhere between a squeak and a strangled gasp, his whole body freezing up. “Y-You—! You’re here! How are you here?! Did I—is this some cursed DLC? Am I in a nightmare? Oh my god, is this another event?!”

You lean in, narrowing your eyes playfully. “Nightmare? Babe, I thought you were happy to see me.”

Idia’s face flushes a deep red, and he yanks his hoodie up over his head, mumbling something incoherent into the fabric. “H-Happy? Who said anything about happy?! I didn’t sign up for a ‘real-life NPC invading my world’ edition!”

You raise an eyebrow. “Oh? You weren’t just thinking about how much you’d like me if I were in the real world?”

He stiffens so hard it’s like his entire spine turned into a steel rod. “HOW DID YOU—NO. I didn’t—this isn’t—this is a glitch, it has to be! Or a fever dream. Or maybe I finally lost it after all those sleepless nights grinding for rare drops—"

"You're cute when you ramble," you interrupt with a smirk, enjoying watching him implode. "So, are you going to show me around this place, or should I just assume you’re too flustered to handle me?"

Idia stares at you like you’ve grown two extra heads. “Y-You’re just… okay with this? You’re literally… in a different dimension, and you’re fine?!”

You shrug. “Eh, it’s a step up from my last gig. Besides,” you add, leaning in closer, “I kinda like having you as my guide.”

His brain short-circuits for a full ten seconds. “G-GUIDE?! L-Like an actual dating sim?! Do you think this is a game?!”

You pause dramatically. “Isn’t everything a game?”

There’s an audible groan from behind you, and you turn to find Grim, your new furry audience member, smacking his face with his paw. “Great, just what we needed—another weirdo.”

Idia, still staring at you like you’re some kind of unholy glitch in his life’s code, manages to stammer out, “I—I can’t believe this is real. There’s no way this is real.”

You smirk. “It’s real, all right. And don’t pretend you’re not thrilled. I can practically hear your heart racing.”

His face flushes even deeper, and he clutches his tablet like it’s his last connection to sanity. “Okay, okay. You’re in Twisted Wonderland, fine. But this doesn’t mean you get to start… start messing with the plot!”

You grin. “Who says I’m here to follow the plot?”

Idia lets out a strangled noise, burying his face deeper in his hoodie. “This… this is too much. I’m not ready for this level of immersion. This is like, hardcore VR, but real! And with you here, it’s… it’s… OH MY GOD, WHAT DO I DO?!”

You put a hand on his shoulder, forcing him to look at you. “Easy. You play the game, Idia. And let me show you how fun it can get when I’m the one writing the script.”

The look of sheer panic—and excitement—on his face is priceless. "Y-You're serious?!" he squeaks, not sure whether to pass out or burst into flames from sheer embarrassment. "But, like—what if this is a permanent event?! What if I never—"

"Oh, relax," you say, poking his chest lightly. "I'll make sure we both enjoy this little 'quest.'"

There’s another groan from Grim, but you ignore him, keeping your eyes locked on the flustered mess in front of you. Idia’s practically a puddle at this point, cheeks redder than Riddle’s roses, but you know he’s loving every second of it.

“Okay,” he mutters, glancing between you and his tablet. “Okay, I can work with this. Maybe it’s not a total catastrophe. I mean, you’re here, so—wait, does that mean you’re, like… my NPC now?”

You flash him a rogue grin. “If that’s what you want, I’m all yours.”

Idia blinks. Then, with the kind of realization that only a true gamer would have, he straightens up slightly. “I-Is this… the ultimate secret route?!”

"Could be," you say, leaning in closer. "You think you can handle it?"

He stares at you, wide-eyed and flustered beyond belief, but finally, he nods—though it's more of a nervous twitch than anything. "Y-Yeah. Yeah, I-I can handle it. This is fine. Totally fine. Just… don’t, uh, don’t go rogue too much? I-I don’t think I can survive if you start rewriting my entire life!”

You laugh. “No promises, player.”

The panic in his eyes is real, but so is the smile slowly creeping onto his face. And as you stand there, facing him in this strange new world, you realize you’re both about to have a lot of fun.

"Welcome to the real game," you whisper, before pulling him into a kiss.

Idia promptly drops his tablet.

Masterlist

[pixiesfz]

Leah Williamson x reader

plot: y/n y/l/n is Chelsea royalty, a royal that is holding one big secret. (lets also pretend Leah never got injured)

warning: suggestion of smut, lust, angst, kinda long

It's derby day and you were lined up in the tunnels you were behind Sam who held a straight face, but you were secretly searching for a certain blonde, and when you did she sent a silent smirk which you rolled your eyes at. 'Good luck' you mouthed and she sent a wink back 'You too' she mouthed and you both smiled, thankfully not getting noticed by anyone (or so you thought) Sam slightly nudged you gaining your attention.

"What?" you asked and she looked at you "you good?" she asked and you nodded "always" and the Australian smiled slightly "good then".

You furrowed your brows at your teammate who was silently laughing to herself "I see your shoulders shaking Sam what is it?" you asked and she turned around to you and nudged her head towards Arsenal vice-captain "I just wanna see what type of scrimmage you and Williamson come up with today" she shrugged and you laughed "last time was hilarious, then at the club later when she went up to you- hilarious, you left after though before we could rip into you" Sam laughed a bit more "yeah I just got really tired" you told her.

You did not go home that night.

"This is so wrong" you breathed out as the blonde kissed down your neck, her hands roaming around your hips "Oh yeah?" Leah rebutted as she lifted her head up, she didn't lean back as your lips were practically connected.

"Then stop me."

You wanted to stop her, your clubs were rivals and you were both never going to leave said clubs. But with the way her breath was fanning over your neck you lost all control.

"Don't stop"

A confident smile spread over the blonde as she brought her lips to yours again, it was passionate like she thought it was never going to happen again.

But unfortunately, it did, again, again and again.

That's when you two decided to go on secret dates, movies with hoodies on that were immediately taken off when you got home to her apartment.

Then you two had almost gotten caught.

It was at training, you had dropped your house keys that now had an added key for Leah's apartment and Jessie Fleming picked them up for you, noticing that there were more keys than usual.

"1, 2 and 3 oh my goodness y/n/n who's house does this key belong to!" she half shouted which gained some of the team's attention as you blushed "my parents moved" you quickly came up with an excuse as you grabbed the keys from Jessie's hands "and I'm going to see them tonight" you pointed her brows at her which made her drop the situation.

"you never have anything fun happening in your life" she pouted before turning away, earning a laugh from the team.

oh only if she knew.

You weren't the only one in the relationship that had almost gotten caught, Leah had once too.

"Leah that girl has been checking you out for twenty minutes now, go talk to her" Katie told the blonde who chuckled, not even looking at the 'admirer' before answering "not my type" she shrugged and Katie gasped.

"You're seeing someone!" she accused, her Irish accent shining through.

"No, I am not" Leah scoffed "Then go talk to the girl" Caitlin piped up as she leaned into Katie, the Irish girl wrapping her free arm around the Australian's waist.

That's what Leah wanted, she knew you yearned for it too.

"And lead her on, no thank you" Leah laughed before walking past the couple. "I'm going home" she announced with a smile before walking out to get into a cab to yours.

Months of secrecy and now your clubs were to vs again. A rough tackle by Leah last time and your 'valid' reaction were what got you two red-carded at your last game and what now led you both to a secret relationship...weird now that you think about it.

When the game started Leah was on the other side as Jonas put her in an attacking position for the first half.

Arsenal was winning and you cursed to yourself, you were a competitive person and obviously wanted to win but it didn't look to good for the blues.

You had chances to score but their goalkeeper was good today which even made you angrier "fuck" you whispered as Manu saved another one of your shots "she's never this good" you whispered to Sam who nodded "someone must've lit a fire under her ass"

Your head immediately whipped to Leah who had a great big smile on her face, you knew if anyone could whip anyone into shape it was her.

The first half ended and you were stuck in the changing room with a yelling Emma, usually her speeches were helpful but today you just wanted to exit the building.

"y/l/n!" Emma called out and you brought your head from your hands "top right corner" she said "never seen her jump higher than there" she pointed out and you nodded.

When you went out you noticed that Leah had been put as a defender, your defender.

You didn't know whether to say hi, ignore her or to switch with Sam secretly but your legs weren't working with your brain as you now stood next to her.

"You good?" she asked as she stared at the Stadium around her "not now" you muttered and she nodded "valid".

Leah wasn't stupid, she had versed you before you had become an item, she knew you were competitive and she was too which is why you had both been avoiding the game.

The siren rang and you were both running Leah wanted a clean sheet and you wanted to get your name on the board.

It wasn't long till Lauren passed the ball to you and your dribbled down the right side, getting ready to attempt the ball top corner before a foot came under you, pushing you to the floor.

Usually in other games, Leah would leave you to the floor but this time she held out her hand "c'mon baby" she whispered as you grabbed her hand and winced once you put your body weight on your ankle.

"Off her Williamson" Lauren ran over and pushed her but you stepped in front of Leah protectively "she helped me up, we're good" you said as Lauren lifted her brows at you.

Something had changed, every player on the ground could see it, usually you and Leah were at each others throats on the ground and now you were helping each other up and protecting each other.

The game ended and you both went off to your own teams, you stayed to yourself, not in the mood to talk to anyone but you did notice the lingering stares of your team mates.

You were angry, you lost and all your team could think about was your act of kindness.

"Can I not be nice?" you asked loudly "Not to Arsenal" someone piped up and you rolled your eyes "fucking christ" you muttered and Sam stood up "It was just different, you weren't helping up your defenders at Spurs what's different about Leah?" she asked and you turned to your locker.

This didn't go un noticed by your team mates as Millie Bright stepped closer "What's different about Leah?" she asked again with genuine concern "y/n?"

"Because I liker her and we're dating" You shut her off and turned back to your locker, folding your clothes with more forced as the whole team looked at you.

When you drove home after the game you were surprised to see Leah sitting at the couch with a wine in hand and another glass for you on the table.

"I did something stupid" she told you and you nodded "me too" you sighed and plumped down onto the couch "who wants to share first?" Leah joked and you looked down at your thumbs "I told the team" you admitted and slowly looked at Leah, scared of her reaction.

You were very surprised to see a smiling Leah.

"Why are you smiling?" you asked and she laughed "I told my team too!" she revealed as she laughed "god we're both stupid"

"How'd the team react?" you ask and she took a sip of wine "gave me shit but then told me they already knew, apparently I left my snap maps on and Jen found me being here a few many times"

"How'd Chelsea react?"

"Told me it was about time I had something interesting in my life" you laughed before you turned to Leah.

"at least we don't have to be so secret anymore"

"next the media?" she guessed

"oh tik toks already blown up" you laughed.

That's how you both spent your night, cuddling on the couch and laughing at tik toks that were made of the game and your interactions.

"they're good" Leah realized

"they don't miss a thing"

[halucynator]

False Fronts II

part 2 of 4

pairing: Theodore Nott x fem!reader

warnings: kissing, pda, swearing, fake dating, not proof read (as usual) and my writing

there will probably be a part 3 (if im feeling nice).

summary: Being asked to fake date someone to get a petty ex off their back is the worst possible way of being friend-zoned. You, however, were willing to take any chances to get as close as you could to Theodore Nott.

the lovely lovely dividers have been created by @cafekitsune. here is the post with these exact dividers!

Part 1 Part 3 Part 4: fluff angst

Theodore's departing silhouette dissolved into the Hogwarts corridor, leaving you with conflicting emotions. A grin tugged at your lips—Theo had asked you to team up in this wild charade! But there was also this weird flutter in your stomach. Fake dating Theo? This was something straight out of a fanfic plot. (i wonder why?)

The agreed time rolled around, and you headed to the spot Theodore suggested—a tucked-away alcove away from the Hogwarts chaos. Your heart raced a little faster as you spotted him already waiting, a mix of uncertainty and determination in his expression.

"Hey," you said, aiming for a casual tone despite the bundle of nerves inside.

Theodore turned, a faint smile on his lips as he nodded. "Hey, thanks for showing up."

There was this strange tension between you, the weight of the plan hanging in the air. It was like the beginning of an unknown adventure, the kind that either makes you or breaks you.

Sitting down, you both seemed at a loss for where to start.

"So," you ventured, breaking the silence, "how are we playing this out?"

Theodore leaned in, lowering his voice. "Let's keep it simple. Act like we're together, maybe hold hands when people are around. Just enough to sell it to Jess."

A jolt of nerves mixed with a weird kind of excitement surged within you. Pretending to be Theo's other half felt like stepping into a storybook—exciting but also a tad scary.

"Sure," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "We'll make it work."

Theodore nodded a grateful glint in his eyes. "Thanks, Y/N. I owe you for this."

And so it began. There were these subtle gestures—his hand grazing yours, the occasional kiss on your cheek—but it never ventured beyond that. Just enough to plant a seed of jealousy in Jess.

Yet, it ignited a storm of butterflies within you. You knew it was all a mistake, falling for him in this make-believe charade. You knew it was a terrible idea. You knew it. Yet, each touch, each gentle kiss left you breathless, wanting more.

You reminded yourself it was all a facade, a performance meant to fool others. But for some reason, it felt real. You wished it were genuine. The line between what was fake and what you craved to be real blurred with every tender moment, making you yearn for something that was never meant to be. It all felt real. You wanted it to be real.

The question was, did he?

You knew diving into a conversation about his actual feelings wasn't on the table. He'd made it pretty clear: this was all part of the fake dating deal. Plus, the last thing you wanted was to weird him out by dropping the "Do you like me for real?" bomb.

If he caught wind of you wanting something more than acting, he might bail and rope someone else into this mess, leaving all the effort you'd poured into getting close to Theo in the dust. And you weren't about to let that happen.

Not now. Not ever.

Days turned into weeks, and the fake dating charade continued. You and Theodore fell into a rhythm, a seamless blend of staged affection and genuine camaraderie. It was a delicate dance, playing the part of an infatuated couple while maintaining the facade for Jess's benefit.

But amidst the pretense, something unexpected happened—the lines between what was feigned and what felt real started to blur. The stolen glances, the shared laughs, the moments when the act seemed to dissolve into something unscripted—all of it stirred a confusing mix of emotions within you.

Theodore's touches became less rehearsed, more natural, and each time he'd take your hand or wrap his arm around you, it felt oddly comforting. There was a warmth in his gestures that made them seem genuine.

Thing is, as much as you reminded yourself it was all a big show, there were moments when it felt too genuine, too sincere to be just an act. Those brief touches and the laughter that felt more genuine than staged—it all made you wonder if maybe, just maybe, there was something brewing beyond the act you'd both signed up for.

Theodore escorted you towards your dorm, the air heavy with an unspoken tension that lingered between you two. The quiet stroll through the Hogwarts corridors felt different tonight—moments of comfortable silence interjected by furtive glances and lingering touches.

As the entrance to your dorm loomed closer, you felt the weight of an impending confession pressing against your chest. This might be the moment—the perfect opportunity to spill everything you'd been holding back.

"Theo, I have to tell you something" You blurted out.

"Hm?" He questioned.

"I- I lik-" You began.

"Stop right there bitch. Get the fuck away from MY boyfriend." a voice shouted.

It was Jess.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡*:☆

hello! finished reading this? read part 3 next!

[blessedbucky]

we tried the world, good god, it wasn't for us! (part 3)

pairing: autistic!satoru x suguru x autistic!reader

word count: ........14k? oops?

summary: a glimpse at your first year in tokyo jujutsu high

tags: autistic!reader, autistic!satoru, bisexual!reader, bisexual!suguru, ableism, internalized ableism, mentioned child abuse, light bullying, satoru has some identity issues, actually EVERYONE has identity issues here, jealous and protective boys, JJK typical violence

beautiful people who asked to be tagged 💕: @ichikanu, @iceheartsice, @anders-is-being-a-simp-again

author note: um.....so....this was meant to be all three of the high school years in one chapter........but i lost control of the plot. and here we are...FOURTEEN THOUSAND WORDS LATER...and THIS WAS ONLY THE FIRST YEAR of them in high school? help me.

translation note: jiheishō is the japanese term for autism

chapter links: ONE, TWO, AO3

[YEAR ONE.]

Graduation comes.

Finally.

In the months since you and Suguru were offered scholarships with Jujutsu High, word slowly spread around the school. Suguru and you have to sit on the roof for lunches to escape your growing popularity. You have no idea why these people have started to crawl out of the woodworks, but Suguru said he kind of expected it. It’s not only you two that want out of the village and you two are going to live the life that everyone else dreams of. They think they can worm their way into your lives now and leech off any future success or have an in inside Tokyo.

Still, you can’t believe how many addresses and phone numbers you’re given. There are a few that you keep, people from the art club that you joined who have always been cordial enough to you. You felt a little obligated because they pitched in to buy you a relatively nice art supply kit to continue your craft in Tokyo. The rest of the contact information is tossed in the trash, some right in front of their faces out of spite.

Meanwhile, Suguru is almost suspended.

No one can prove that Nakayama Izuru was attacked by Suguru, though. It’s not possible for a human to leave the claw marks on Nakayama’s arms. You can only imagine that saccharine smile that Suguru was wearing when he told the school staff that he saw a tanuki attack Nakayama. The only crime he committed was not getting help sooner and, for that, he apologized. Nakayama himself even admitted that he didn’t see anything or that Suguru didn’t put hands on him, but he knows Suguru was responsible somehow.

You, obviously, know better.

“Idiot,” you hiss when you and Suguru are at your usual afterschool hangout spot by the river. “That wasn’t very heroic of you. It could’ve costed you your scholarship if word got back to Tokyo.”

Suguru rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t even that bad. A cat could’ve done more damage than I did.”

You sigh. “I know we’ve always teased people with your collection, but we’ve never drawn blood. You don’t like him, never have, but I didn’t think it was that bad.” You throw a rock, trying to get it to skip across the water, but it just gives a sad plop and sinks. “What happened?”

“Remember when you and Endo got in that fight a few months ago?” You nod slowly. “It was something like that.” He’s not looking at you, but his rage still lingers. He’s usually good at skipping rocks, but not today. “Which means you can’t judge me because if you knew how to fight, you definitely would’ve. Don’t even try to pretend you wouldn’t.”

“Yeah, but I suck at keeping my mouth shut and can’t control my emotions for shit. I know I’m gonna struggle when we start high school because of that.” This isn’t a scolding. You’re just really worried because, “You’re good at letting that stuff roll off you.”

Suguru’s frown deepens. “Not about you.” If it wasn’t so quiet here, you’d have missed him whisper, “Never about you.”

“People have made fun of me before.”

“It’s different.” He presses a thumb against his forehead. “Can we drop this?”

“Well, I kinda want to know what he said. I told you what Endo said, didn’t I?”

“I’d rather not.”

“Suguru,” you sing. “I’ll keep asking. Don’t I have a right to know?”

“I was trying to be polite.” His eye is twitching irritably. “He said that he never noticed until now how nice your tits are. The nicest in our class.” You burst out in a fit of laughter. A vein throbs at his temple. Maybe this is why he didn’t want to say anything. “It’s not funny, Squid. It was disgusting. He tried to act buddy-buddy with me while I was waiting for you to get done with art club. He wanted to know if you were still a virgin or not.”

You shake your head, wiping a stray tear from your eye. “Nakayama thinks because his father owns the biggest farm that he’s worth something. Not even Endo would date him and she’s the most popular girl in school.” You crouch down to rummage for some skipping stones. “Hey, if we’re still virgins by the end of high school, want to take each other’s virginities?”

It’s like all the fight rushes out of him, the way Suguru sighs and how his shoulders slump in defeat. “You shouldn’t say things like that.” His neck, the tips of his ears, his entire face…it’s all so red. It’s rare to find, but there are some things that go too far. You open your mouth to apologize, but he interrupts. “You promise?”

“I promise.” You give one of the stones you find a few tosses, making sure it’s light enough. “I kind of always thought it would be you, anyway. Now that we’re leaving the village, you’ll get super popular at this new school, so I doubt you’ll be single by the time we graduate, but this is on the off chance that you are.” He tilts his head back, staring up at the skies. That’s his existential crisis face. “I’m sorry. Was that too far?”

“I always thought it would be you, too,” he admits quietly. “I guess…you’re making it sound so transactional.”

Right. Girls say that the first time is supposed to be special. “I can try to make it special for you, if it happens. I don’t really understand what special means, but I’ll try.”

Suguru shakes himself out of his thoughts. “I’ll make it special, don’t worry.”

“Don’t think about it too much. You’ll definitely get a boyfriend or girlfriend.”

“It could be the other way around, y’know.”

You scoff. “Where we’re going…seeing the spirits is normal. So, everyone there will be normal. That’s when my weirdness is really going to shine. You’re used to it. Do you think someone is willingly going to deal with my stupid habits and quirks? How do I even explain to another person that even seeing cotton balls makes my teeth hurt?” You shake your head. “I’m already high enough maintenance for you and you’re my best friend. It’d be worse for a boyfriend or girlfriend, wouldn’t it?”

Suguru says your name. You look over at him and he’s sad. “You’re not high maintenance.”

“You’re my best friend. You’re obligated to say that.”

“No, I’m not. You know I’m honest with you. Would you like an example of my honesty? Here’s one—you’re so blind that, sometimes, it amazes me.”

You throw a rock at the vicinity of his feet. He moves to dodge it. “Rude.”

***

Non-sorcerer students are required to move on campus two weeks before school starts. There will be some informal classes on the most basic of jujutsu basics to give you somewhat a foundation. In yours and Suguru’s cases, Yaga lies to both your parents and has someone come pick you and your things up three weeks before school starts.

At the nearest relatively big city, Yaga makes the driver stop. He practically shoves food down your throats, lecturing the entire time about the importance of eating to make up for the massive amounts of energy that you’ll be burning by using cursed energy and fighting spirits.

Then, he forces you both to choose cell phones.

You and Suguru, obviously from very humble means, protest. None of them are cheap. Yaga shuts you down and declares this as yet another requirement. Essentially, you’ll always be on-call, especially as you become a more seasoned sorcerer. You need a way to communicate with others and be communicated with in return. Yaga mutters something under his breath before he heads outside to take a smoke break with the driver.

“He’ll probably yell at us if we go for the cheapest thing,” Suguru mutters as he looks around the store.

“Something in the middle, then,” you agree.

In your defense, you do get something that’s not the most expensive. There wasn’t any mention about the design or color. It called to you, okay? You could take or leave the color, but the almost metallic shine of it. It’s so sleek and smooth. The number keys are nearly flat and it’s satisfying to run your fingers over the slight bump of them.

Yaga doesn’t even bat an eye when you hand over the hot pink flip phone. He simply takes what you’ve chosen, takes Suguru’s chunky option, and goes to the counter to pay for them and set up your new numbers. You and Suguru stand there, almost with bated breath.

It’s hard to believe that the school is investing so much money into you both already. Yaga didn’t even mention this coming out of your monthly stipend. A stipend, by the way, that you and Suguru weren’t aware of until you were on the road. You’d asked if you needed to tell your parents because that seemed like a pretty important thing for Yaga to forget. Yaga had shrugged and, casual as anything, said, “it’s your money now. Tell whoever you want about it.”

And, as easy as it was then for him, it is now because Yaga hands you your phones back, numbers on some paperwork, and that’s it. He walks out of the store and gets in the car. You and Suguru share a look of disbelief before you scramble to follow after him and climb in the back of the car.

It’s still a drive to a train station that will take you the rest of the way to Tokyo. The driver turns the music up. You and Suguru immediately duck your heads down, heads knocking together, voices hushed as you marvel over your new phones. You can’t stop rubbing your thumb over the smooth surface. Suguru isn’t the type to get distracted by something like texture, so he’s already clicking through it to add your phone number.

“Add me,” he demands. “What? Were you blinded by that gaudy color?”

“Like you have room to talk,” you shoot right back at him. “That’s got a MP3 built into it.”

“Are you the only one here that can be an enjoyer of the arts?”

“You could’ve kept using the radio.” You’re already a little sad. It’s a favorite pastime—you and Suguru, sprawled out on the floor, listening to the radio. Maybe you can save up for one. “Whatever. You better share the headphones whenever you figure out how to put music on that thing.”

“You better use your phone as a SOS if we’re ever lost.”

The only response to that is your harrumph and grabbing your backpack off the floor. Suguru goes back to his phone as you pull out your pencil and sketchbook. It’s a bumpy road. You already have a sketch of Hong, but maybe you’ll just do another rough one to fill the time. You flip through the pages upon pages of new and old cursed spirits that Suguru now holds, trying to find an open spot. There’s not much room left. Mother hates to buy you sketchbooks, seeing it as indulging your abnormality.

“You’re a talented artist,” Yaga commends. You pull the sketchbook against your chest instinctively. Yaga doesn’t acknowledge the action. Just asks, “Are those the cursed spirits that you’ve seen?” You lower the sketchbook back down in your lap, nodding shyly. “May I?”

You usually hide your sketchbook away from the eyes of others because classmates and adults were easily disturbed by what they thought were figments of your imagination. It’s going to take time to get over this surrealism that comes from everyone seeing the things you can and treating it as if it’s normal. So, you hesitantly hold out your sketchbook for him to take. You’re nervous as you watch him flip through the pages.

“These notes…you study them?” Yaga correctly assumes.

“Yes.”

“How?”

“Um…they can’t see me unless I want them to,” you explain slowly. “I can make them calm, too.”

“How have you been destroying them?”

“We don’t,” Suguru answers on your behalf. “I eat them.”

Yaga’s eyes widen. “You…eat them?”

“Maybe a better way to say it is that I absorb them,” Suguru corrects. “After that, I can summon them whenever I want.”

Yaga tries to hide it, but he seems…shaken. He glances back down at your sketchbook, quickly thumbing through the pages. “Is this all that you’ve taken down together? Is this how many you’ve swallowed, Geto?”

Suguru takes the sketchbook back from Yaga. Suguru is a lot more familiar with your sketches, but he skims through the pages once again. “I think this is about right,” he finally answers Yaga. “There might be more in my arsenal. Sometimes, we find spirits on our own or she doesn’t want to sketch whatever we find.”

“Right.” Yaga is nodding to himself. “We’ll explore your individual techniques more when the term starts.”

***

You’re allowed a few days to unpack and acquaint yourselves with campus before you’re taken to be fitted for your new school uniforms.

“Whatever I want?”

The tailor nods. “It’s important that you be comfortable and be in clothes that are easy for you to move in. It goes without saying that you’re a representation of the school, so you can’t be indecent, but that is your only condition,” she explains. “I’ll check-in with you after your first assignment to make sure your uniform doesn’t need any further adjustments. Also, the uniform expenses aren’t deducted from your stipend. This is on the school’s budget.”

The second that the tailor shows you the standard uniform, you turn your nose up at it. You rub the fabric between your fingers, examining it critically. The fabric, you think you could deal with, but if you can throw out the blazer then you’ll immediately jump on that chance. You’ve always preferred baggy clothes, so you shop a size or two too large. Your mother never complained because that meant your clothes lasted longer. So, you think about your wardrobe. Think about what your go-to clothes are when you’re not in a stiff school uniform.

After giving it some thought while your measurements are taken, you decide on a skirt, thin tights, and a hooded sweatshirt.

It’s an outfit that you can justify. The skirt will allow for freer movement. Tights, if they’re thin enough fabric, don’t really bother you because they’re like a second skin. The sweatshirt won’t have the same restrictive sleeves that the blazer does. Lastly, if you’re overwhelmed after assignments then you can hide under your hood.

The tailor accepts the design and tells you that she’ll call when the uniform is ready.

You’re thankful that Suguru is so tall because you’d have panicked otherwise if you stepped outside the tailor shop and couldn’t see him in front of a shop across the street. Your brows raise when you see that it’s a small tattoo shop. Outside the door, there’s a binder on a stand that must have their services and examples from their portfolio. Suguru isn’t looking at the tattoos. No, he seems to be carefully considering the section with ear piercings.

And, honestly, you’re not surprised.

“That school trip to Osorezan really left an impression on you, huh?”

It’d been the first year of middle school that your class went on a trip to Osorezan, believed to be the entrance to the afterlife. It was a religious, historical, and scientific field trip all wrapped into one since the Bodaiji temple is inside the caldera of an active volcano. The high amounts of sulfur gave the waters varying shades of blue. The land was gray and barren. But there was also a hot spring. Statues were littered around the area to represent the souls of the dead.

Just going off the limited knowledge that Yaga gave you, it makes sense that there were so many cursed spirits there. It’s a place of reverence, sure, but people probably go there out of desperation, too. On some level, it might be feared—whether because of the lore or the volcano near it.

It was an overnight trip. You and Suguru hadn’t slept a fucking wink. It was amazing. You’d adored it because of the nature and science. Suguru fell in love with the history and spirituality.

“Shut up.” The tips of his ears are red. “The tailor said there’s no dress code. Yaga said the only rule is to not bring too much attention to the school.” He rubs at his ear lobe. “It looks really cool, doesn’t it?”

“I think you’re being a stereotypical smalltown kid that’s going wild in the big city,” you deadpan.

“Well, I’m doing it. If it bothers you so much then stay out here,” he says primly.

You’ve started to flip through the pages of piercings. “No, no.” There’s one thing that caught your eye. You touch the picture of a tongue piercing. “Just think it’s a little funny that as soon as your feet stepped down in Tokyo, you went running.” Do your eyes glaze over when you think about running the little metal ball of a piercing across your teeth? Maybe. “I want this one.”

“Eh? I’m just getting gauges. You’re getting way wilder than me. You understand that, right?” Suguru is grinning as he grabs your wrist. “Let’s go.”

***

A week later, your tongue has healed enough that you finally learn to talk around it. Just as you suspected, the urge to roll it between your teeth is hard to pin down while you let it fully heal. It’ll be another three to five weeks. Yaga never said a word about it when you both showed up to a classroom the next day. All he did was throw some textbooks at you both and got to lecturing.

You guess you need to start thinking of him as sensei.

Suguru talks about you being a huge nerd, but he’s the one that’s in the school library, trying to dive deeper into…everything that you’ve learned, basically. Despite the fact that you’ll be spending the next three years gaining more knowledge about the jujutsu world. He’s always been like that—impatient when he’s eager. Well…maybe he picked that up from you.

Anyway, you left him behind to enjoy the weather and view. If you’re not with Suguru, you’re enjoying the view. The campus is nestled on a mountain outside Tokyo. It’s got the kind of scenery that inspires a person. This is the first time, probably ever, that you draw things that are not cursed spirits. That’s what you’re doing now. You have an urge to draw the contrast of the bright red torii gate against the lush, green foliage.

You almost lose your art supplies to gravity when someone rushes in front of you. Not that you’d say anything, but you can send them a shitty look. You’re a little more forgiving when you see their vision is blocked by a big box. Another person follows with another equally big box follows after that person. You blink and look in the direction of where they’re coming from.

A group has made their way to the top of the staircase that leads up to the school.

They are…very bright.

Almost everyone in the small group has blinding white hair and blue eyes. Not only that, but they are also dressed in traditional clothes that you know are expensive. The colors are vibrant. Just from here, you can tell just one of those kimonos probably costs more than your childhood house. Every woman in the group has a gold kanzashi in their hair with a dangling charm in the form of a…is that a dragonfly?

Off to the side of this group, though, is a boy your age. Same white hair and blue eyes, yes, but he’s dressed so casually that it’s almost obscene next to the rest of his people. Just a white shirt, pair of basketball shorts, and some sneakers. Thismust be one of your two classmates. Yaga said there would be another boy and girl enrolling. And…he must be moving on campus early. You wonder why. Clearly, those people are his family and they’re loaded. Why on earth would he want to leave home early?

The classmate stops and turns to stare at you dead-on. Don’t come over here, don’t come over here, don’t come over here, you silently plead. You weren’t prepared to deal with other people yet. It’s still a new place and new information is constantly getting thrown at you and you just don’t have the mental energy to deal with strangers.

Fate is not on your side, though, and your classmate closes the distance between you and him.

You’re wary when he’s right in front of you. If you weren’t desensitized by Suguru, this guy’s height would definitely intimidate you a lot more. You’re still nervous which could be because he’s really close to you physically. Your body tenses, instinctively preparing for unwanted touch.

“Show me around.”

“Huh?”

“Show me around,” he repeats.

Okay. You’re not sure what you expected. Normally, people give a little context when you question what they say. “I’m new, too. Our sensei is here, though. His name is Yaga.” You tilt your head slightly. “I can go grab him instead.”

“I asked you. You’re one of those shy types, right? Probably not good with talking to hot guys? I figure you won’t talk while we walk around the place.” He says all that…so casually. “I’ve had that hag back there in my ear all day. I got a headache. If you wanna keep talking, though, I’ll just go find someone else.”

“The only other person here will tell you to fuck off if you go around making demands like this,” you state bluntly. Actually, you wouldn’t be surprised if he ended up punching this guy in the nose. “Look, I come off as rude, too, but you should maybe think a little longer before you speak.” Oh, no. You sounded like Suguru just now.

The guy squints at you. “Who the hell are you? Where you from? Do you not know who I am?”

Oh. Yaga warned you and Suguru about this in a roundabout way. The jujutsu world is super traditional. There are these three clans that have been around for hundreds and hundreds of years, so they’re really respected. They’re competitive with each other and try to pump out more talented sorcerers. They tend to turn their nose up at people like you and Suguru who have no hint of sorcery in your family or ancestry.

You give him your name, the prefecture you came from, and then answer with a curt, “No, I don’t know who you are. Should I?”

He clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “So…you’re a hick. That’s what your deal is?” Hmm, well, he’s technically not wrong about that. “Whatever. I’m Gojo Satoru. You can ask the Yaga guy about how important I am later. Can we go now?”

You could not follow Gojo when he walks past you, but his…family or whatever is taking up the space that you were going to use for your art. Also, you can sympathize with needing an excuse to get away from a large group of people, especially when you’re overwhelmed. Not saying that Gojo is, but he did mention a headache.

So, you and Gojo take a stroll.

It’s quiet, aside from the sounds of nature and your footfalls. Out of the corner of your eye, you can see his head turn in your direction. What? Is he shocked that you respected his wish to be quiet? You don’t want to force a conversation.

After maybe half an hour of walking, you declare, “I think we’re far away enough that you don’t need me anymore.” You point at the bench in front of a pond that you purposely led yourselves to. “So, I’m going to do what I was going to do.” You give a polite half-hearted bow. “It was nice to meet you. I look forward to working with you in the future.”

Suguru texts as soon as you sit down, asking where you went off to. You’re terrible with directions, so you send him a shot of the pond and the building closest to it. You don’t mention Gojo. You’ll tell him about it later. Your fingers glide over the hard cover of the new sketchbook and the fresh, crisp, blank page that you turn to. You treat this sketchbook carefully because it’s the nicest you’ve ever seen.

Yaga said that it was very important to nurture your curiosity in understanding cursed spirits, so it was a more than worthy investment to get you sketchbooks. The more knowledge that you gain about the jujutsu world, the deeper your understanding of them goes, and that can be helpful to the jujutsu world. No one has ever had an ability like yours that he knows of, Yaga had told you privately. Knowledge of cursed spirits is only gained in the heat of battle or the aftermath of death. Your pacification abilities allow the study of cursed spirits without the bloodshed.

In that meeting, you’d tried to make Yaga see some sense. You’re some nobody from nowhere with a weird fixation on drawing the cursed spirits. He has all these big aspirations for you, but you highly doubt that you can live up to them. It wasn’t even about the sketchbook at that point. Suguru’s technique is the one that will change the world.

With you and Suguru, I think your techniques have skewed your worldviews. Suguru has shown me some of his higher-grade spirits. Exorcising those would be bloody work for anyone else. Your technique is more suited for a supportive role, yes, but don’t dismiss your power. It’s a trickle-down effect—you’ll save the lives of fellow sorcerers who will go on to exorcise spirits that saves the lives of current and future non-sorcerers.

You’d definitely cried after that conversation with Yaga. No one has ever wanted to…foster your interest like this. Setting aside how disturbed they were by the content that you drew, they saw no use in it. It was fine as a child, but in the past year or so, they had outright started to scold you for not putting the pencil down. You were the daughter of farmers and would never be famous for your art, so you needed to invest in better skills. Even your art teacher wanted to censor you and told you that any drawings needed to be school-appropriate.

More dedicated than ever, you’ve been almost obsessive with drawing.

“Oi.”

You’ve literally only drawn the rough shape of the pond. You try not to sigh or let your irritation at being interrupted show on your face when you tilt your head up. “Yes?”

“What if I did want a tour?”

It was obvious from the get-go that Gojo is a blunt person, so you don’t lie out of politeness. “I still get lost, so I’m the wrong person to ask. Like I said before, go ask Sensei.” You drop your attention to your lap and start sketching again. “Besides, I’m not good at talking to people.”

“It’s not like we have to chat. Just tell me the buildings.”

“Didn’t you say you have a headache?”

“Yeah, but I always have a headache.” That’s…alarming. You look back up at him, concerned. He shrugs and says, “Six Eyes,” as if you have any idea what that is supposed to mean. “Ugh. Right. Small town girl or whatever.” Then, he tries to dismiss it all with, “It’s a Gojo clan thing. I have special eyes that make my technique better, but the cost is migraines.”

Oh. It’s like Suguru’s technique, then. In the sense that there’s a massive blowback. Suguru has told you about the taste of curses and how disgusting doesn’t even come close to describing how awful it is. He tries to pretend that the taste is the only bad thing about it, but there’s a reason why he would wait until night to eat them where he could lay down immediately after. He’s even admitted that he would eat them to make his body forget about its hunger.

You’re sympathetic to the sensitivity. There are days when an overcast is still too bright. You bought a pair of sunglasses while you were out with Suguru, but…you can always get more. You have a whole monthly stipend now. Also, you got your uniform and you’re wearing it, so you can use the hood if the light is too much.

“Here.” You pull the sunglasses from where they’re perched on the top of your head. They’re a simple pair with thin silver frame and blue, circular lenses. Gojo looks between you and the sunglasses that you have held out. You hesitate. “What? Are they too girly or something?”

“Uh…no. I…” He looks genuinely perplexed. “You don’t know who I am. Why are you giving me these?”

“My senses are stupidly delicate, too. I know what having a bad day feels like. I don’t need these today, so you can have them. I can go buy new ones if I need them.” Oh! You remember something important and inform him, “I’ve worn them inside and Yaga doesn’t care, so you’re good on that front.”

Gojo takes the sunglasses from you but doesn’t put them on yet. “Inside?”

Oops. “Sorry. I forgot that people are weird about sunglasses inside.” You tap your pencil against the sketchbook, trying to figure out how to say what you want to. “I don’t really understand what the issue there is. Sunglasses are designed to help when it’s too bright. Inside can be as bright as outside, so I’m just using them for their intended purpose. That’s how I see it.” Oops again. You started rambling. “I’ll take them back if you don’t want them. You didn’t seem like the type to care about the opinions of others, is all.”

“No, I want them.” He yanks them away when you try to take them back. “I—”

“Hey!”

Suguru’s normally soft voice raising like that makes you yelp and jump in your seat. You whip your head around to see him storming toward you, fists and jaw clenched. You’re alarmed to see him so visibly angry. You scramble to stand up and meet him in the middle. “Suguru?”

“Aren’t you too old to be picking on people?” Suguru asks with narrowed eyes. He’s looking over your head, at Gojo. “Give those back to her.”

Oh! Now, you understand. To someone else, it would look like Gojo stole your sunglasses and is trying to keep them away to be a bully.

“Suguru, no. It’s okay—”

“Heh!” Gojo’s cocky laugh makes you angle your body so you can look between them both. He smirks smugly and makes a show of putting on your sunglasses. “Who are you? Mommy?” Gojo shoves his hands in his pockets, feigning nonchalance. “I didn’t steal them, so calm down, mama bear.” Gojo points at Suguru while asking you, “This the guy that’s gonna tell me to fuck off if I don’t find some manners?”

“I’m certainty thinking about it right now,” Suguru sneers. His anger simmers back down and he goes back to his polite yet cool indifference. He ignores Gojo’s obvious baiting and moves his attention to you. “Is that true? Did you give those to him?” You nod. Suguru frowns. “You just bought those.”

“I was trying to be nice to our new classmate.” Suguru’s brow twitches in irritation—probably over the knowledge that this is one of your two classmates. Gojo has not made a good first impression, to say the least. “It’s no big deal. I can buy some new ones when we go to the konbini.”

“Eh? I want to go!” Gojo whines.

Suguru forces a polite smile. “You should stay here. I’m sure that Sensei will have some things to go over with you.”

“I don’t know how to get back. Sketch here was showing me around.”

“Sketch?” Suguru and you repeat, in unison.

“Yeah! Sketch!” Gojo motions towards your sketchbook that you left on the bench. “Because you’re an artsy girl.”

“You should know someone longer than an hour before you go giving them nicknames,” Suguru lectures.

Gojo cocks his head to the side, genuinely confused. “Should you?”

“Yes. Otherwise, it’s just being presumptuous.”

“Ask the lady, then.” Gojo hunches over, prowling toward you with a mischievous grin, getting very close to your face with his. “You don’t mind it, do you…” He lifts his head, purposely baiting Suguru when he adds, “…Sketch?”

Now, you may not be the best at social cues or reading the room, but even you know that whatever you say is going to be the wrong thing. Do you actually care about the nickname thing? No. Also, is Suguru forgetting that he literally gave you the Squid nickname only after a week? Sure, you were both six and he forgot your name, but the point stands.

“I think I’m in the middle of a dick measuring contest,” you muse aloud. Suguru sighs in exasperation while Gojo gives a delighted laugh. “I’m going to walk away now.”

“Yes. We should go,” Suguru agrees through gritted teeth.

As you and Suguru are walking away, after you’ve gathered all your things up, Gojo loudly asks, “Aren’t you gonna introduce yourself?”

Suguru understands, on some level, that it would be beneficial to get along with your peers since there’s only going to be four of you in the whole class. That’s why you’ve indulged Gojo’s…neediness? Entitlement? Whatever it is. And Suguru won’t be as nice as you—which is ironic because he’s usually the polite one—but he does turn around and introduce himself with a curt, “I’m Geto Suguru.”

“Gojo Satoru,” Gojo shoots back cockily. “Aren’t you going to tell me how much you look forward to working with me?”

“No.” Ah. Suguru’s patience has reached its end. “We’re leaving now.”

***

It’s not until about a week later, one week before the term starts, that you actually see Gojo on campus. This isn’t to say that you’re not painfully aware of what Gojo has been up to. Because what his purpose in life seems to be right now is to dig his way under Suguru’s skin. While in separate rooms, they still share communal spaces—kitchen, showers, laundry. Suguru tries to stay in his room, but they’re bound to run into each other, and when they do…

Well, you learn that there are alarms imbued in the protective barrier around campus that blare when a cursed spirit is detected within. Spirits from Suguru’s collection are no exception. That unexpected noise had you in a panic. Suguru and Gojo had an extremely long lecture and were forced to clean the already pristine classrooms as punishment.

You’re making your rounds on the track. Sensei recommended it since you’re not nearly as in shape as Suguru. He was trusted to work in the fields back home way more than you were. The most that you were trusted to do was wash picked crops. You weren’t even allowed to pick out the bad crops because you took too long. You’re a perfectionist and kept questioning if you should let a crop slip through or not.

Gojo plops down on the stone staircase that leads down to the track and field. You feel like you should ignore him out of loyalty to Suguru, but you can’t do that here. You have to try and get along with your classmates. You leave the lectures to Sensei and hope that Suguru’s temper will cool down with time. Also…Gojo is waving a second popsicle in the air to get your attention and it’s really tempting. Too tempting.

You wordlessly take the popsicle and examine the flavor. It’s red bean. You’re instantly wary. “Did you get the same?” Gojo flashes the reddish tinted popsicle in answer. He shoves it back in his mouth before you can get a good look. Fine. You’ll just ask outright. “Does it have pieces of red beans in it?”

Gojo scowls. You think you’ve offended him for asking too many questions about his gift, but it turns out that he’s actually upset about something else entirely. “No! Ew! What am I? A heathen?” His nose scrunches up in disgust. “Dude, that’s so gross. Who like chunks in their ice cream? The whole point is for it to be creamy and smooth!”

You almost sigh in relief. “I think sprinkles are okay, but…yeah. Everything else is too much.”

“Ugh, no. Sprinkles are too chalky. They leave this…eh…it’s like a film kind of feeling on my teeth. I hate it. I have to scoop it off any desserts which pisses me off more because I love whipped cream and I’m losing it to fucking sprinkles.”

You nod sagely. “A waste of good food.”

“Thank you! You get it!” Gojo sighs dramatically. “You’re so much cooler than your boyfriend, Sketch!”

“Because I agreed with you about dessert preferences? Also, Suguru isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my best friend. We’ve lived in the same village all our lives. There was no one else like us. People that could see cursed spirits, I mean.”

Gojo is still wearing the sunglasses that you gave him. You can’t tell that he’s looking you over until he allows them to slip down the bridge of his nose. “Really? He acts like a possessive boyfriend, though.”

You rub the back of your neck. “We’re protective of each other because of…other private stuff.” You know not to put Suguru’s relationship with his parents on blast. “Oh, and he says he’s not, but I think he’s protective because of my diagnosis.”

“Diagnosis?”

“Jiheishō,” you answer casually between licks of your popsicle. “I was always weird as a baby and a toddler. Then, I talked about seeing things, and that pushed my parents over the edge. They took me to a doctor, and I got diagnosed.”

“Huh. What’s that like?”

“I don’t know. It’s who I am. How do you explain being?” You pause. “I would say that you could ask Suguru since he’s on the outside looking in, but…you’re being an annoying dick to him.”

Gojo cackles. “But he makes it so easy!”

“I’m not one to assume because it’s hard to know what people think or I don’t understand them the right way, but…have you ever tried to make friends before? If I didn’t already know that you have to go to a school, I’d ask if you’ve even been around other people your age. This isn’t how you get along with your peers.”

He scoffs. “Why do I need to get along with my peers? Why do I need friends?”

“Because it’s lonely and miserable without them?”

“Ha! You ever stop to think that it’s lonely and miserable with them?” There’s a bitter twist to his mouth. He nudges the sunglasses back up the bridge of his nose, hiding his eyes away. “I mean, you said it, didn’t you? It’s such a chore to figure out how other people work and what they’re thinking. Normies are too…normal. Clan kids are only sucking up because my clan is the most powerful. It’s stupid and complicated. Why bother?”

Oh. That’s…sad…and also way too relatable. Your expression softens. “Those aren’t friends, though. You know that, right? I guess my opinion might not count because I only have one friend, but…he’s made my life better. I like to think that I’ve made his better, too.” He sticks his tongue out in disgust. You shrug. “It’s true. He’s been the only person that listens to me when I can’t shut up about art styles or cursed spirits because I’m really interested in those. I can be me around him.”

“You’re probably not as annoying as you think you are,” he dismisses. “Now, I’m annoying. I can’t shut up about Digimon.”

“You’re probably not as annoying as you think you are,” you repeat mockingly. He flips you off and you smirk in response. “Do you want to talk about it with me? I’ll listen. It sounds like you’ve been around shitty people that don’t want to hear about things that make you happy.”

Gojo is actually…hesitant. That makes you even sadder. You know this all too well. “I yap a lot. Seriously.”

You make yourself laugh past the hurt you feel out of sympathy for him. “I’ve got my sketchbook with me. I’ll show you what real yapping is.”

It’s the right thing for you to say. Putting a competitive spin on it makes it easier for Gojo to be open, it seems. “Oh, you are so on, Sketch.” He rises to his feet with a renewed excitement. “You should come help me finish unpacking! I have a lot of Digimon stuff, so it’ll be easier to explain everyone with that!”

“Eh? Are girls allowed—”

Gojo doesn’t hear you. He snatches you by the wrist and you stumble to keep up with him. You’re halfway to the boys’ dorm before he finally listens when you tell him that he left your sketchbook behind. You watch him sprint back toward the track, still trying to figure out how the hell you ended up here.

Suguru loves to read, but not manga. There was only one television in your house that your parents always had control of, so they never let you watch anime. Obviously, you know that Digimon is a manga and anime. It’s big like Pokémon. You know there are little creatures, but that’s about the extent of it.

Gojo changes that.

It’s a little confusing, sure, but you like hearing people talk about the things they like. Maybe it’s because you’re so used yourself to the rejection of being shut down because you’re boring people by talking about the same thing or overwhelming them with talking too much or liking weird things. You don’t want other people to feel like that. It was obvious from Gojo’s demeanor that it’s something he’s experienced, too.

As you look at all the figurines and manga and plushies, you wonder if his family threw money at this thing he likes and left him alone with it all. You don’t think he would be so cynical about other people if he had support from his family. Would you be okay if you parents paid for the most expensive art supplies in the world and left you to it? You prefer to be alone, but…isn’t this special interest more special when you can share it with someone?

“Squid?”

You and Gojo are both in the middle of his room, on the floor, and currently have your faces shoved against his little plushies that are shaped like the first evolution of the original Digimon set. It’s so soft and squishy. Gojo is really proud of finding them and you can’t blame him. It’s cool that he’s not afraid to have cute things like this like a lot of guys are.

“Oh. Hey, Suguru.” You look over your shoulder at him, a little nervous. Before he can grill you about being alone with his unofficial rival, you quickly explain, “I’m getting informed about Digimon.” You spin around on your ass, shoving the plushy out. “Come feel this. It’s so soft.”

Suguru scowls. “No.”

“No is right!” Gojo loudly agrees. “He’s not allowed to the nice stuff!”

“Girls aren’t allowed in our dorm,” Suguru says more to Gojo than you.

“It’s fine until dark. I already asked Yaga.”

Suddenly, there’s a tension in Suguru’s shoulders. His jaw clenches and his eyes narrow at Gojo. “Why do you know that?”

“Shouldn’t you be happy about this news?” Gojo shoots back, a clear deflection. “You can hang out with her now.”

Suguru presses a thumb to the center of his forehead. He holds that position, trying to calm himself down. When he does, he moves his attention back to you. “He didn’t pressure you to come in here, did he?”

Before Gojo can open his mouth, you swing the plushy back to hit him. The way he sputters and Suguru’s proud smirk is a sign that you hit him right in the face. “I can make decisions on my own,” you tell Suguru which wipes that little smirk right off his face. “We’re doing a show and tell…kind of. You should bring your headphones and let us listen to your music!”

“I didn’t consent to this!” Gojo complains.

This going back and forth is a little annoying, so you angle your body to face them both. To Gojo, you say, “Okay, that’s your call. This is your stuff, after all.” To Suguru, you ask, “Um…I’ll meet you in an hour? We can listen to your music then. Does that sound good?”

Gojo groans. The excitement to share outweighs his need to annoy Suguru because he concedes with an exasperated, “Fine! He can come hang out!”

“Fine,” Suguru agrees with the same amount of annoyance.

But, hey, a win is a win.

***

The last of your class moves in a few days before the semester starts. It’s early in the morning when she does, so the noise in the hallway startles you awake, and you go stumbling out of your room without a second thought to how you’re dressed. Your door opening catches your roommate’s attention and she’s looking in your direction when you walk in her line of sight.

Both of you stare wordlessly at one another. There’s a beauty mark under the corner of her eye that catches your attention before anything else. Her brunette hair is cut short, barely past her chin, and her bangs are swept to the side. You’re watched by curious, brown eyes. At first glance, you think she’s got a cigarette in her mouth, but it doesn’t have the filter on the end. It might be one of those chalky candy sticks.

“Oh! You’re so pretty!” You blurt the words out before your sleep-addled brain can catch them. Heat crawls up the back of your neck and the tips of your ears. “Sorry!”

She laughs good-naturedly. “What? Should I be offended by a pretty girl giving me compliments?” And how…do you react to that? No one has ever called you pretty before. She unintentionally throws you a bone by moving the conversation somewhere else with her name. “I’m Ieiri Shoko. Nice to meet you.”

You give her your name, bow, and the same polite, “Nice to meet you, too. I look forward to working with you.”

“We’re living together now. You don’t need to be all formal.” It’s a force of habit. You learned quickly as a child that the world revolves around politeness and manners. “Sorry for waking you.”

“That’s okay.” You hesitate. “Do you need help?”

“Please. My parents bailed. I’m lucky they even had the time to drop me off. Not sure how they even had the time to pop me out with how busy they are at the hospital.”

You’re rolling up your sleeves as you walk over to her door. “They’re…doctors?”

“Surgeons, yeah,” she answers casually. “Makes sense that I ended up with the technique that I did, even if no sorcerer in our family has ever had it. We’ve always been big on healing, or so my parents have told me.”

“What’s your technique?”

“Reverse Cursed Technique, but I can use it on myself and others. It’s rare to extend it to other people.” Your blank expression has her chuckling. “You’re from a non-sorcerer family, huh?”

Your face is back to being hot again. “Sorry. Sensei…um…I don’t think he went over that yet.”

“I’m not sure that he will. It’s advanced. Even among the best, strongest sorcerers, it’s a rare skill. Baby sorcerers only know about it because it’s a thing to aspire to, y’know?”

Whoa. “What is it? You must be really powerful, right?”

Ieiri laughs. “No way. Reverse Cursed Technique alone is healing yourself. Like I said, I can take it further and heal others. Oh, and I have this…ability to find disturbances in the mind and body.” Then, she puts her ability in practice. “I know you got your tongue pierced.”

Your fingers fly up to touch your lips. “And you think that’s not powerful?”

“Flatterer.” Between all your back and forth with her, you’ve both gotten all the boxes inside her room. She flops down on the bare mattress. “What’s your technique?”

“Nothing as cool or useful as yours, I think.” You rock back and forth on your feet nervously. “They don’t see me unless I want them to. Also, I can pacify them. Nothing more than that. I only make them calm.”

“Guess we’ll both be saving lives.” There it is again. Someone can see more purpose in your technique than you can. Your brain just can’t compute with that. You’ll just…stand there and pacify spirits. It seems like so little to save actual lives. “Are our other classmates here yet? Have you met them?”

“Yes. One of them is my best friend, actually. His name is Geto Suguru. We came from the same village and he’s from a non-sorcerer family, too. Please be patient with both of us. And our other classmate is Gojo Satoru—” Ieiri groans loudly. You smile meekly. “I guess you know that his family is important?”

“If you have even a hint of sorcery in your family, you know about the big three clans, so, yeah, I know. My parents have never been active sorcerers, but they’re in the know of the community. No one has been able to shut up about the Gojo heir since he was born. I think my parents said it’s been…hundreds of years since someone was born with the Six Eyes?”

You nod. “Right. He said something about that. They’re special.”

“That’s an understatement.” There’s a lull in the conversation and, in the silence, you hear a familiar noise. It didn’t come from you. Ieiri laughs, no hint of shame at her stomach outing her. “I guess since I woke you up that you haven’t had breakfast. Want to grab something to eat? My parents didn’t give me time to eat.”

Your brows furrow. “They’re doctors. Shouldn’t they be more worried about your nutrition?”

Ieiri just starts laughing.

***

The school term starts.

Suguru and Gojo still aren’t getting along well. It almost seems worse because when actual schoolwork starts, they’re essentially tied on their marks. In regard to their techniques, while Gojo has more cursed energy, Suguru has more refined control. Suguru also takes to martial arts extremely well and Gojo, who you’re sure has been touched even less than you have, is almost always overcome when they spar. Gojo is faster than Suguru and is learning to use that to an advantage.

As for you and Ieiri, you hope that she likes her as much as you like her. It’s…easy to be around her. You admit that you had a lot of issues with her deadpan sense of humor, but she seemed to catch on quickly and now will usually tell you if she’s joking or being sarcastic. There are also some hiccups with food because you two share cooking duty, but she starts learning what textures you hate and which you love.

In your studies, you do okay, but you’re last in the class. If Ieiri wasn’t so lazy, she’d give the guys a run for their money. You are a lot more in shape than her despite your larger size and you lay her out flat in sparring. Yaga declared that you and she would be mostly non-combatant sorcerers due to the nature of your techniques, but he insisted that you and she learn martial arts for self-defense. Actually, you’re more in shape than Gojo even. Suguru is leagues ahead of you, obviously, because he’s so much more coordinated and stronger.

About a month in, you’re given your first assignment.

And by you what you actually mean is yourself and Gojo.

In the last few years, the number of cursed spirits has been steadily increasing. There are two separate incidents with relatively low-level curses and all the higher-grade sorcerers are occupied with higher-level curses, so you and your classmates are split up in teams of two.

Suguru was not happy about the pairings, but Yaga said that you and Suguru know how to work well together already. Then, kind of bitchily, Yaga explained that if Suguru and Gojo got along better then Yaga would’ve simply had them handle both batches themselves. Later, you try to reassure Suguru by reminding him that there’s going to be a more seasoned sorcerer with you—the newly graduated Kusakabe Atsuya. You don’t think it made him feel better.

Kusakabe will meet you there. On the way to meet him, you ask Gojo, “Should we…come up with a plan?”

“Why?”

You fiddle with the metal aglet on the ends of your hooded sweatshirt’s drawstrings. “I would feel better if we did.”

“We don’t even know the layout of this place,” he points out.

“Right,” you mumble. You’d forgotten about that, honestly. “You’re right.” You slip the aglet in your mouth and chew on it nervously.

Gojo huffs. “You stop it. I blow it up. Simple as that.”

“Can I draw it first?”

“Hah?”

You squirm uncomfortably. Hesitantly, you show him your old sketchbook. You kept it in case you come across a similar cursed spirit and need to compare notes. You’ve also got your new, blank sketchbook to start a new, more official record. “I like to study them,” you explain timidly. “It’s…kinda like my Digimon…I guess…”

Gojo takes the sketchbook from you, casually flipping through the pages. “Why cursed spirits, though?”

“Why’d you pick Digimon instead of some other anime?” You shrug nervously. “It’s hard to explain. At first, I thought some of them looked really cool. I made myself get better at art so that I could draw them, in case they were exorcised somehow. Then, I wanted to know how they got those shapes. It became about their behavior next. I’ve always loved mythology and animals, too, so maybe that influenced the interest a little.”

“Hmph. Alright. I’ll try to hold off on blowing it up.” Before he turns his head away, you notice a pinkness on his cheeks. “You can talk about them with me, if you want. Like…how I talk about Digimon and stuff.”

You duck your head, face hot. “Thank you.”

The assignment doesn’t take long at all. It may take more time for you to sketch the spirits than it does for Gojo to blow them away. There were a lot of them. They all took the same form which was vaguely pufferfish shaped. You know that the weaker, tinier spirits tend to group up, and these were no different.

Their behavior around Gojo was the odd thing, though. Unless the spirit is a higher grade, spirits never reacted to Suguru when you were around. It’s not like that with Gojo. He’d held back to let you sketch, but when he stepped toward you, the group started to shift restlessly in their places. Then, when he got too close, they shot their spines out. If Gojo hadn’t dashed forward and tackled you to the ground, covering you with his Infinity-lined body, you would be a porcupine.

“It was fascinating!”

Suguru looks faint as you recount your assignment to him over dinner. You made sure to pick up something light for him since eating curses fucks with his stomach. You got him some onigiri for the morning when he’ll be ravenous, making sure to mark them as yours before you tuck them in the communal fridge. Hopefully, it’ll succeed in tricking Gojo because you have no doubt that he’d eat them to antagonize Suguru.

“I wonder what it is about Gojo that freaked them out like that,” you mutter to yourself. “You’re as strong as him. Do you think you have some sort of calming effect on them because of your technique? Or what if they can sense the spirits inside you and it confuses them?”

“No more thinking tonight, Squid,” Suguru declares and closes your sketchbook. “We have three years to figure out both our techniques.”

“Fine.”

“Well, now you just sound like Gojo with that bratty attitude.”

“It’s not bratty! It’s called being a nerd.”

Suguru gives a shake of the head as he laughs. “You can be a nerd and a brat at the same time.” You watch him start to clean up the empty food containers. His face is doing something…weird. You can’t pinpoint this particular emotion. “Squid…are you up for touch today?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“Can I hold you?” Suguru, uncharacteristically vulnerable, goes on to admit, “I was worried about you today.”

“If anyone was worried, it was me. You didn’t have me there to calm the spirits down.” You two ate while sitting in the floor, so you hold your arms out to him like the brat that he accused you of being. “C’mon. I never get Suguru hugs anymore. I really miss them.”

He smiles, a little shy. “Brat.”

“No. I’m Squid, remember? You never let me forget.”

For some reason, your brain replaced hold with hug. You’re fully expecting him to help you up and give you something quick, but he doesn’t do that. He drops in behind you, wrapping an arm around your waist to pull you back between his open legs. You squeak at the manhandling and your heart starts to beat faster. When your back is against his broad chest, he slips both his arms around your middle, and leans his chin on the top of your head with a happy sigh.

“Oh,” you whisper unthinkingly.

Suguru mistakes your tension with overstimulation. “Is this okay still?”

“Yes.”

Why are you so nervous? You’re not being bombarded by stimuli, so it can’t be because of that. Actually…it feels really good to be in his arms. He’s always so warm. You feel as if his arms are all-encompassing. It makes you feel safe. It makes you feel loved. And Suguru should be feeling that way, too, so you need to push away this weirdness inside you. You twist around in his arms, putting yours around his waist, shoving your face against his hard chest.

“Squid hugs are the best hugs,” Suguru whispers.

***

“Do you know how to help with a broken nose?”

You’re in the library when Sensei appears in the doorway and asks that almost ominous question. Slowly, you put the book back on the shelf, eyeing Sensei warily. He simply looks back at you, exhaustion seeping from every pore. The resignation you see in him is familiar, too. The pieces quickly add up. The air around Sensei paired with the cryptic text that came from Suguru with only a simple apology…

Oh, no.

“I can plug up the nosebleed and make an ice pack,” you answer with an equally tired sigh.

Sensei nods and gives a curt thanks. Before you and he go your separate ways, you sheepishly ask if you can talk to Suguru before he does, but Sensei shuts that idea down immediately. You’re then held up by being given a quick yet scathing lecture about needing to let Suguru face the consequences of his own actions and to stop coddling him. You bow profusely in apology as he’s leaving the room.

Ieiri is away on a research trip of sorts. Being taught the human body and putting her technique into use. Thankfully, she said she’ll be back today, but not until later tonight. Gojo is stuck with your shabby patchwork until then. So, you grab a first-aid kit, fill up an ice pack, and meet him in the classroom that Sensei told you he’d be waiting in.

Gojo has an arm against his face, likely trying to stop the bleeding since it’s stained. You wordlessly get to work. Unfortunately, you have experience with nosebleeds and broken nose. Noses? Can a nose be broken twice? Suguru’s nose still sits crooked from his father’s rage.

“Pinch,” you order softly after you take Gojo’s hand and move his fingers to the bridge of his nose. You reach for his face, pausing as he flinches when you get close. You give him a moment to prepare before you guide him to tilt his head back with gentle hands along his jawline. Blood is smeared all across his lower face and still dripping down from his nostrils. You cringe at the sight. Suguru got him good. “This might hurt,” you warn before you pack his nose with gauze.

“No lecture?” Gojo’s voice is high and nasally.

“You don’t think you’ll be getting one from Sensei?” You grab a damp, warm cloth and start wiping away the blood. “Besides, whatever you did, you got a broken nose for it. What else do I need to say?”

“Might prefer the broken nose over your disappointment,” he says with a pout.

“I’m not disappointed.” You pause. “I don’t think I am, anyway.”

Gojo leans his head back even further, sighing dramatically. “Your BFF is scary when he’s angry.”

“Suguru does this thing where he’ll hold all his emotions close. They sit there, building up pressure, and then one day, he’ll just explode. So, yeah, that’s a little scary. Not so much for me, though. I only worry.” He pouts more. “What’s that face for?”

“No worry for me?”

Your hands hesitate. “Maybe kind of?” Should you say what you want to? Eh. Gojo rarely cares. Why should you? “I’d love it if you two could get along, so I worry that this might keep that from happening forever, but…you probably pushed him. I could be wrong, but you probably deserved this.”

Gojo throws his clean arm over his eyes. “Yeah…I did…” Oh? That’s certainly a change of heart. “No one has ever touched me like that before…” There’s a redness on his cheeks now that doesn’t come from the blood stains. Is he embarrassed that he lost or something? “Why aren’t you and Suguru scared of me?” He tries to lean his head back down, but you keep him in place with a hand gripping his chin. “See? See! Not even my family touches me so casually!”

“What? Is your family actually scared of you?”

“Yeah. Always have been, even if they pretend not to be. They treat me like a god to hide it, but I learned. Everyone is scared of me. Maids apologized for touching me by accident when I was a kid and needed help getting dressed.” Your incredulousness must make him self-conscious because he shrugs. “C’mon, you’ve been around long enough now to pick up on this, Sketch. I’m the jujutsu world’s weapon.”

Normally, you’re immune to being shocked by Gojo’s directness. Not this time. “It’s stupid if you believe that.” Ugh. You’re so pissed off right now. You want to punch someone. That was his mother on the first day that he came to campus, right? Can she come back? Does she have Infinity? “You’re bleeding and breathing right now, aren’t you? Weapons don’t do that. Gods don’t get migraines because of their special eyes. You’re a human. You’re Gojo Satoru.”

“But who is Gojo Satoru if he’s not those things?”

“A sugar-addicted brat who pushes when he shouldn’t,” you intone. He giggles, taking it as the joke it’s supposed to be. “Aren’t you too young to be having an identity crisis? I can’t tell you who you are. I’m not even sure I know who I am. Don’t they say you’re supposed to figure that out in high school or something?”

“Dunno,” he mumbles.

The blood is cleaned from his face. You reach for the icepack but falter. You don’t feel like you’ve said anything helpful. If anything, you feel like you’ve put him in a bad spot. So, you try to reassure him. “It’s okay to take time to figure out who you are, Gojo—”

“Satoru.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Satoru…please…”

“Ah.” You can understand why he wants to be so informal. If he wants to distance himself from his stupid family, you’re more than happy to oblige. “Okay.” He yelps when you press the icepack against his nose. “Let’s all try to get along from now on, okay…Satoru.”

Later, you have Suguru’s big hand in yours while you carefully dab antiseptic on the cuts all over them. You know that this isn’t solely from punching Satoru in the nose, but you don’t press Suguru about it. He hasn’t spoken since you knocked on the door to his dorm room and you’re okay with that. You’ve been through this routine before. It’s what you two do. You patch each other up, being a silent and steady presence until whoever is upset wants to talk.

When you’ve cleaned all his cuts, you try to clean up all the pieces of paper from the band-aids, but Suguru stops you. He slips his fingers through yours and your entwined hands hover in the air between you two. You watch as he intensely studies your hands, so you do the same. When did his hands get so much bigger than yours? How do your hands feel to him, you wonder, because his are so rough. You like the difference, though.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru finally apologizes. “I broke the sunglasses you gave him.”

You huff in amusement. That’s what he’s worried about? “It’s okay.”

“They were your first purchase in Tokyo.”

Ah, you sometimes kind of hate how well he knows you. You do tend to assign some importance to seemingly unimportant trinkets. “I think I’m more attached to the piercings that we got together. I’ll probably keep this somewhere when I finally have to get a new barbell.” You stick out your tongue, as if he’s forgotten the piercing.

“I would’ve given you that first set of earrings if that was the case,” Suguru grumbles. Shoko had used you and Suguru as guinea pigs for her technique and healed your piercings, so Suguru quickly started the process of stretching his ears. As he said, he’d thrown away that first set of earrings.

“I know it’s weird to ask that sort of thing.”

“It’s you, Squid. Nothing is weird anymore.”

“Hmm, sounds like a challenge. I need to find something to disturb you.”

“Please don’t.”

“I’ll be nice for now because you had a bad day.”

“Bad day doesn’t even begin to cover it.” There’s a tired slump in his shoulders now. “He was playing around too much. Instead of exorcising the curse or letting me absorb it, he kept taunting it. The spirit threw me out a window trying to get to him, so I got pissed. I absorbed it and punched him in the face.” He pauses before lowly confessing, “I punched him a second time when I saw the sunglasses broke because I thought they were special to you. I was upset at myself for losing my temper and mad at him for not being careful with them even though it was my fault.”

You hum. “Is that guilt, Suguru?”

“Guilt for the sunglasses.”

“Right.” Again, you’re not pushing, but you doubt he doesn’t feel bad in some way. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be as melancholic as he is right now. “I’m going to let you sit on this, but…I think Satoru actually feels bad, so he might apologize. I didn’t tell him to, by the way. Just like I’m not telling you to forgive him. But I thought you should know.”

Suguru’s brow twitches. “You’re on first name basis with him now?”

“Yeah.”

“Ugh. He’s just doing it to piss me off.”

You’re the one to feel a flash of irritation now. “Doing what exactly? Being my friend? Are you saying that he can’t actually want to be my friend without some ulterior motive?”

Then, he rolls his eyes. Rolls his eyes! “Squid, you’re just reaching now. You know that’s not what I’m saying—”

“What are you saying, then? Has he said something bad that I don’t know about?”

The corners of his eyes are tight. Through gritted teeth, he answers, “No.”

“Okay. So, what’s the problem?”

“I just don’t trust him around you, okay?”

“You just said that he hasn’t done anything shady other than wanting to be my friend.” You yank your hands away from his, baring your teeth. “Am I not allowed to have those? Are you going to say that you don’t trust Shoko around me either?”

Then, he has the audacity to look hurt. “No! That’s not what I’m saying at all! You’re allowed to have friends!”

“Okay! Satoru and Shoko are my friends, too!” Are you overreacting? Tears prick at the corners of your eyes which makes you feel even more stupid. Why are you about to cry? Stupid, stupid, stupid brain. “I’m going back to my room. I’ve got blood under my nails and I fucking hate it.”

“Squid, I’m sorry—”

“Save it, Suguru.”

When you’re woken up by tapping against your window at one in the morning, you seriously debate shoving a pillow over your head and ignoring him. There’s a part of you that wants to let him stew in his guilt. You can’t keep forgiving him as soon as he comes running.

This seems like an insignificant thing to stay mad over, though…

After you take a deep breath, you roll out of bed, walk over to your window, and open it up for him to climb through.

Suguru genuinely does look miserable. More than punching Satoru or breaking your sunglasses made him. When he apologizes, you accept it. And when he shyly asks if he can sleepover, you let him. It’s been years since you guys have shared a bed, but your parents aren’t around to send him home.

Suguru said your hugs are the best hugs, but you have to disagree. You know you’ll wake up in the morning, skin slick with sweat, because he’s a furnace, but you’ve missed this. It’s always been so easy to let Suguru touch you. It got to the point where even the touch of your parents would make you wince, but not his. He asks, but you always say yes. You’re never overwhelmed by the way his big body curls around yours.

“I’m sorry,” Suguru apologizes one last time before you both fall asleep. “I’m scared to lose you,” he slurs sleepily.

“Never,” you mumble right back. “You’ll never lose me.”

***

Five months into the term, it’s time for the annual Goodwill Event.

This year wasn’t the best for Tokyo recruitment, so it’s only your class in the entire school. It’s not the same for Kyoto. They only have one person in their third year, Iori Utahime, but the rest of the years have more students. Normally, first years aren’t allowed to compete, and Tokyo would simply forfeit this year, but because of Suguru and Satoru’s strength, an exception is made.

Kyoto brings a total of eight students—three girls, five boys. Two judges come with them, too—their principal, Gakuganji, and a Grade 1 sorcerer, Mei-Mei.

It’s been about two months after the big Suguru-Satoru Blowout. As you predicted, they apologized to each other not long after the incident. Dare you say, they might be more than simple acquaintances now. Dare you say, they might actually be sort of friends. They’ve really bonded over being assholes, actually. They’re still stupidly competitive and bicker, but it’s no longer malicious. They can exist in the same space as you and there’s no more awkwardness. You spend time with them together and it’s so much fun.

The Goodwill Event reminds you of that deep-rooted fear of Suguru’s, though. A fear that you had before you left the village, you remember suddenly. It finally happens. Suguru is adored. Fawned over. Truly seen for the first time in your lives. The same is done to Satoru, too, but you banked on that happening. And, technically, it makes sense. Guys want their power and girls just want them period.

It was stupid to pretend that your school exists in a bubble. In the back of your mind, you’ve known that you’d eventually have to meet other sorcerers and that not everyone will like you. You’ve prepared yourself for that, haven’t you? It shouldn’t bother you that the Kyoto students barely even acknowledge your existence when you’re in the same space as Suguru and Satoru. You get it, right? They’re admirable. Shoko is awed at for her technique, too, and that’s great! It’s wonderful!

Just four days, you remind yourself as you’re sitting under a tree by yourself and shoving food in your mouth. Four days, and then the Kyoto students will be gone. It’s okay, you chant to yourself. No one noticed you leave, but you wanted some air, anyway. And, hey, you even made a friend! Sure, Shoko had to introduce you to her and break the ice between you two, but Iori has a sharp tongue and awesome sense of humor. A senpai to truly look up to. If you can get along with one new person then you can get along with the rest.

“Yo! Sketch!”

You pause right before you take a bite of your tamagoyaki. “Satoru?” Fruit sando and melon soda in hand, he easily flops down next to you at the base of the tree. “What are you doing here?”

“It’s exhausting dealing with all those brown nosers.” He takes an aggressive chunk out of his sandwich. “Ugh. I can’t believe we’re gonna have to share a dorm with these assholes for four days. I don’t need a bunch of strangers in my business.” His lip curls in disgust. “Suguru lecture you about playing nice?”

“Yes.” You take a grumpy bite out of your tamagoyaki. “I’m trying not to stress about it, but they were already talking about breakfast, and I can’t imagine the mess they’ll make.” It’s a struggle not to snap your chopsticks from the death grip that you’ve got on them. “Suguru says that I need to learn how to handle my routine being interrupted better.”

Satoru huffs. “Easy for him to say.”

Well, it makes you feel a lot better to know that someone else understands your pain. “All we can do is our best.”

“Or we can make their lives hell.”

You duck your head, trying to hide your smile. “It wouldn’t kill you to play nice with others, Satoru.”

“Naw, I think it actually would.”

“You’re nice to me.”

“Sketch is different.” Heat explodes in your cheeks. You outright turn your head away, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing how much he flustered you with that. Since he doesn’t tease you, he didn’t see. “We should stay in a hotel. We could do one of those capsule hotels, y’know?”

“And have my knees and elbows bumping against the sides? No way.” You stick your tongue out in disgust. After the third bump of a limb, you know it would drive you insane. Besides, “Would you even fit in one of those?” Ah. Wait. Were you supposed to take that seriously? “Were you joking?”

You look back over at him and he’s scratching the bridge of his nose. “Not really.”

“Ha. Okay, so, a couple of things—I think we’re too young to book a room, and a girl and boy in the same room? Scandalous.”

He gives an exaggerated sigh. “Fine.”

Sympathetic to his plight, you reach over to pat his knee. “Hang in there.”

These days, it’s a little easier for you to pick up on the kind of mood Satoru is in. It’s the second day now, early in the morning, and you’re dragged by Shoko to the designated gathering spot of Tokyo and Kyoto students. Just by the way that Satoru lashes out at people, purposely baiting them with taunts and cruel bluntness, you can tell that he’s in as bad a mood as you are. And you can’t blame him.

The other two girls on the Kyoto side are Ota Juri and Takata Tenka. They cleaned up after themselves, but they moved everything around in the kitchen and didn’t put it back in the original spot, so you got pissed off trying to find where something went. You could live with that, but they’re also…invasive. After they went looking for Suguru and Satoru yesterday and found the boys with you, their attitude toward you quickly changed. They think they’re slick, subtly probing about your friendship with Suguru and Satoru. They try to act familiar now, getting touchy, thinking that’ll warm you up to them faster.

To say that you’re on a wire’s edge today would be an understatement. You don’t know which one suggested it, but you want to deck whichever one of these girls suggested shopping as a way to build comradery between the sister schools and the people you may be working with in the future. They just want to experience the Tokyo scene like they probably couldn’t get permission to ride a train here on any other day.

At the mall, Ota and Takata take the lead. They have very domineering personalities, so their classmates allow the girls to drag them along. You try to sneak away, sometimes with Shoko and Iori behind you, but Ota and Takata hunt you down—probably trying to show off how caring they are to Suguru and Satoru or something. Eventually, you stop trying. You shut up and linger at the back of the group.

You try to do that, anyway.

Shoko, as equally over this trip, drags you into the beauty store because if she’s going down, you’re going with her.

“Aren’t you going to get anything?” Ota questions as you’re just passively glancing over products. You almost miss the question because you’re teetering on the edge of overstimulation. Why do beauty stores have to use so much fluorescent lighting? You forgot your fucking sunglasses.

“I’m not big into makeup. I don’t like how it feels on my face.”

Ota laughs obnoxiously. “You’re just using the wrong product, silly.”

You force a smile. “My mom already tested a bunch out with me. I just really don’t like any of it.”

Takata has been eavesdropping. She takes up Ota’s side, smiling as predatory as Ota is now. “Was it the foundation? I know the liquid can be heavy. Have you tried powder?” You lose control of your temper a little and roll your eyes. Don’t these girls know how to take no for an answer? “Don’t be like that,” Takata scolds. “Look, you could stand to use some makeup. We’re trying to help you.”

“Help how?”

If Satoru hadn’t spoken up ahead of time, you’d probably tip over when he practically drapes himself on your shoulder.

Ota and Takata perk up at his presence. You can almost see the hearts in their eyes. “Satoru!” Takata chirps.

“Oi, oi, oi, you’re getting awfully familiar there. Who gave you first name privilege, huh?”

Her syrupy sweet smiles falter. “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought—”

“Don’t hurt yourself. Steam might start spewing from your ears. It’s obvious you don’t have a lot going on up there.”

Takata deflates at the insult. “Sa—Gojo—” her gaze flickers to you. Pleading for you to intervene. When she gets nothing from you, she scrambles. “I’m sorry if we offended you somehow—”

“Not me you should be apologizing to.” Your eyes widen. Is he doing this for you? “Y’know, Sketch, it’s good that someone has some sense around here. Make sure you don’t get attached to these idiots, okay? They’ll be so busy thinking about makeup that they’ll up as bloody smears on the wall pretty soon.”

You frown as you look up at him. “What if I do want makeup?”

He brightens. “Can I buy you something?”

Try to make the favoritism less obvious, you think with a twitch of the brow. “Find an art store and we’ll talk.”

“Eh? I already did,” he says as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world that he would go scouting for art supply stores. “Can we leave now? I’m bored,” he whines. You hope you’re not gawking when you nod. “Awesome! Let’s go! I found a shop that sells sweets, too!”

Suguru is hovering at the entrance of the store, brows furrowed in concern, but he steps out of the way for you and Satoru, who is practically dragging you out with a grip on your wrist. Suguru isn’t allowed confusion or shock because Satoru is snatching his hand on the way out.

“Satoru, you’re going to rip my arm off,” Suguru complains when the other students are out of sight.

Satoru stops dead in his tracks, so sudden that you and Suguru almost crash into him. He looks over his shoulder at you both. The angle you’re in allows you to see the wideness of his eyes. He still hasn’t let go of your wrist. Actually, his grip tightens, which makes Suguru get huffier.  

“Satoru,” he calls out exasperatedly.

Oh.

You’re not sure if Suguru has realized it himself, but he’s using Satoru’s given name now. No wonder Satoru is stunned. It’s so odd. What changed between this morning and now? Because Suguru was definitely referring to him as his surname earlier. You won’t ask because Suguru might clam up and this peace may shatter.

“Oh. Uh. Sorry,” Satoru mutters as he finally releases his hold on you and Suguru.

On the fourth and final day of the Goodwill Event, something…weird happens during your individual match.

Tokyo easily won the team battle. The individual battles are where Kyoto can even the odds. The thing is that Satoru and Suguru are going to win their individual match. As much as you adore her, you expected that Shoko would lose hers, and she did. You couldn’t hear what was happening, but you think that she flirted with Iori more than fight, but Iori didn’t allow herself to get too flustered, and took the win.

You think that Kyoto expects you to lose your match because plans were already made about the tiebreaker. There would be a random draw for one last individual match to decide which school wins the day. There was no word on what would be done to break the tie if each school has their own point.

So, your win is an upset.

If you’re honest with yourself, you didn’t think that you’d win, either. It didn’t look good. It was your luck that you were pitted against the biggest guy on Kyoto’s side. Not as tall as Suguru and Satoru, sure, but the guy is built like a literal tank. During the team battle, if Suguru hadn’t summoned a cursed spirit in time to cushion the blow, this guy would’ve knocked him out with a single punch.

You didn’t stand a chance at winning, you’d told yourself as you were running through the forest, but after the whole mall fiasco, you wanted to try to last long enough to not be the laughingstock of this year.

As soon as the siren sounded, you went running. Your opponent supplemented his lack of technique with shikigami use, so you had time while he channeled energy into an intermediary to summon his shikigami. You’re trying to think of a plan on the fly, not sure what to do since your technique is useless against people.

This would be easier if there weren’t still so many fucking cursed spirits left in the forest. You’re pacifying them, obviously, but you still have to duck around them. Ugh, why can’t you control them like Suguru can? No, at this point…

I wish you would just die, please. Bloody and painfully would be preferred.

And, as soon as you have that thought, the big curse that you were dashing past moves. Your body freezes on instinct. The spirit shouldn’t be moving around you. Your technique is still active. At the most, this curse is Grade 3. It raises a clawed hand, and you throw your arms up, ready to protect yourself from a whole new problem.

There’s a sickening crunch and the curse screeches in pain. Purple blood splatters across the front of you. When you drop your arms, confused as to what attacked the spirit and saved you, you watch the gruesome scene of the curse slowly ripping limbs away from its body. It still has that dead-eyed look that spirits get when you’ve pacified them, but it moves with an urgency to tear itself apart.

Once the curse has only one arm left, it proceeds to push its arm through its own chest, grabbing its heart. That heart is thrown at your feet. Then, as its final act, it slowly twists its head around until it’s the opposite way, pulls its head off, and the curse finally crumbles to pieces.

What the fuck happened?

From your left, there’s more of those crunches and high-pitched screeching. A curse in the shape of a centipede is trying to crawl toward you between picking legs off with its pincers. At your feet, the curse keeps gnawing at itself, screeching in pain every now and then, until it, too, finally dies and crumbles.

If you didn’t hear the loud roar of your opponent’s shikigami, you’d still be standing there in shock. Your mind runs faster than your legs. That’s not normal behavior. Self-preservation is ingrained into a curse…unless it’s forced like with Suguru. You asked them to die. Moreso, you wanted it to be bloody and painful. The curses listened.

You purposely seek out another spirit now. Die, you mentally scream at the first spirit you see. Unlike with the others, this one doesn’t take time to mutilate itself. It tears its head clean off and that’s it. Blood splatters across your shoes briefly before it fades away with the cursed spirit.

A plan slowly takes shape.

Didn’t you and Shoko stumble across a pack of fly heads yesterday? You’d split up because you knew Kyoto would try to follow Satoru’s presence and get to the winning Grade 2 before you. The fly heads weren’t a bother and the bell had rung sounding your win, anyway.

Where were those? By the river, right? Yes!

You’re getting tired from running and burning cursed energy. You’re pretty sure that you only have one shot at this because you’ll either pass out from exhaustion or get your ass beat by a shikigami. So, yeah, you need to make this count.

The fly heads haven’t moved far.

Kyoto Guy and his shikigami aren’t far behind you.

Just as they’re running out of the tree line, you look at the pacified fly heads. Protect me, you plead them, but that’s too much to ask. It was a test. The fly heads don’t move, but you’re forced to when the shikigami lunges. That thing is sporting some nasty fangs that catch on your arm as you narrowly dodge it.

You play this game of cat and mouse, luring the shikigami away from the sorcerer. All you need is for Kyoto Guy to get close enough to the fly heads. He’s an asshole, laughing cruelly as he watches you scramble away from his shikigami, getting bloodier as you get sloppier from fatigue. Iori was gossiping with you and Shoko, and this guy has a crush on Takata. You figure he’s not happy about Satoru’s cruelty which was a result of him defending you.

Explode! You plead the fly heads when Kyoto Guy steps in their range. Explode, explode, explode!

They do.

The shikigami immediately drops the fight with you, thinking the fly heads are the more immediate threat. Like little paint bombs, the fly heads splatter their blood across Kyoto Guy when they force themselves to combust. There are so many of them that he’s continually being splattered.

While he’s blinded by the blood of cursed spirits, you pour cursed energy into your fist. Sprinting past the shikigami that’s snapping at fly heads, you give this asshole a ferocious kick to the balls to get him to hunch over.

You slam your fist square in the center of his face. There’s so much force in the punch that he goes flying back, landing in the shallow river with such a painful sounding thud, and he doesn’t get up. You’d think you killed him if it wasn’t for the subtle rise and fall of his chest.

The alarm sounds.

Tokyo wins.

Later, you’re walking out of the infirmary behind Shoko who proudly announces, “She gave him a concussion!”

Sensei gives you all a lecture on good sportsmanship after Satoru, Suguru, and Shoko break out into applause and cheers.

[mysterialistic]

Over-analyzing the Yingdu Chapter [PART 3]

They've already told us the synopsis of the Yingdu Chapter, but this is just scratching the surface. This is how I think the plot will go down:

The chapter will start with the flashback of Cheng Xiaoshi's death and how Lu Guang went back to the past. At the same time, we'll probably see the scene of Liu Xiao pointing his gun at the grown man and asking about Cheng Weimin.

Now, this is where things get confusing cause... what's the deal with Cheng Weimin? It's not confirmed, yet very evident that this man is Cheng Xiaoshi's father, but why would Liu Xiao be looking for him?

Well, I have three guesses:

1. Cheng Weimin has powers like his son.

2. Cheng Weimin had powers but gave them to his son before dissappearing/dying.

3. Cheng Weimin pretended to have powers but in reality it always was Cheng Xiaoshi so, to protect him, Cheng Weimin and his wife disappeared.

The third option is my favorite because there's a text in the teaser that says this:

It seems like a message directed to Lu Guang and it's either from himself from the future or it's from someone else who cares a lot for Cheng Xiaoshi, for example, his parents.

Going back to the plot...

Lu Guang has the nightmare, sees Vein and the messages for him to go to Bridon. There'll probably be a lot of reluctance regarding if they should go or not, ultimately taking the journey because... Well, because we need the story to move forward lol.

When they arrive to Yingdu something tells me that initially Cheng Xiaoshi won't find anything about his parents, which leads to this scene of him looking sadly at a picture (of his parents?) I would like to make a small parenthesis to point out that we DON'T know if in this part of the story CXS already has knowledge about his powers or not.

This part were he's looking sadly at the picture could mean one out of two things:

1. He has his powers and dived into the photo but found nothing.

2. He doesn't have powers and he simply didn't find any useful clues outside of the photo.

I honestly think that they will have their powers already cause it's a plot device, it helps advancing the story and solving mysteries/conflicts. Unless they decide to make CXS awaken his powers in here, which could be really cool too.

Getting back on track...

Cheng Xiaoshi doesn't find anything useful and Lu Guang is probably relieved because that means that they can go back home, but then the antagonists appear. I don't know how or why because, well, we haven't seen anything about it and I would just be making completely blind suppositions lol.

Tho, something worth noting on this scene is that, by the way the camera moves when focusing on CXS, it seems like if someone was... Watching him? Probably one of the trio. I could be totally wrong.

So yeah, long story short, they have to stay in Yingdu for some reason involving the antagonists and they get entangled in dangerous situations such as the previous seasons. One of the texts mentions: "The two had a quarrel that shouldn't have happened". I honestly don't know what this could mean. Is it referring to Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang as a pair or is it a one vs one? Let's wait and see.

So... This is where it gets tragic. Brace yourselves!

At the very end of this video that Bilibili and the Link Click official Twitter account uploaded two months ago, we get a small preview of the Yingdu Chapter.

And what's so relevant about this? Well, at the very end we can hear a gunshot and Cheng Xiaoshi groaning in pain before dropping to the ground, then we hear Lu Guang calling his name and another gunshot.

I'm sadly sure that CXS is going to die again. Why? Because it just doesn't make sense that they went through something so important and dramatic during Yingdu for them to never talking about it beyond mentioning a trip abroad. This is gonna sound bad, but it's the easiest solution the writers have to prevent plot holes.

Cheng Xiaoshi dies; maybe even Vein and Xia Fei die too? I kinda have the feeling that something big is gonna happen because of this text in the teaser:

The letters are yellow, a color that represents Cheng Xiaoshi. It could be him asking Lu Guang to go back in time to fix things, to which Lu Guang answers:

Lu Guang gets CXS's powers, goes back in time again and we'll arrive to the present time line... Maybe)? This I don't know because there's symbolisms of multiple attempts. A good example is this scene in the VORTEX/Overthink music video:

But yeah, who knows, this is all very speculative cause they haven't shown us a lot.

Probably the "trip abroad" that they mention on season one is not Yingdu? Maybe they do go on a journey, but something more happy like those images they've shown us of CXS and LG riding a car, with beach wear. Idk guys, I'm just trying to find a bit of happiness in here lol.

Anyway, the only thing I have for certain is that the Yingdu Chapter is going to HURT, just like the rest of the donghua.

So... Thanks for reading! Leave me your theories, I love hearing other's speculations!

[quetzalpapalotl]

For my like 10 followers that aren't into Transformers, here is a list of things that are totally canon for the IDW Transformers comics (2005-2018):

Two guys had a meetcute in the morgue of an euthanasia clinic because one guy wanted to kill himself and the other was looking for his dissappeared husband among the corpses. They get married. They seemingly don't talk about what they're going to do once they find the second guy's husband that they're still looking for. The suicidal guy has had other 3 husbands but he erased his memory of that because he's bad at dealing with grief.

The suicidal guy's ex (not one of his dead husbands) is the Autobot second-in-command and had a pet mad scientists that made him war crime machines. They ended up invented the concept of having a child, but then the Autobot SIC had the scientist thrown into the torment nexus because he felt bad about doing war crimes and wahted to stop. He didn't actually stop doing war crimes.

Optimus Prime annexes Earth.

A guy invents time travel to save his unrequited crush's life

God is a real person but he's not actually a deity and is currently a therapist whose license was revoked for getting unprofessionally close to his patients. Everyone who knew his license was revoked died so he just kept on practicing.

Optimus Prime pretends to be havig divinely-inspired visions to get out of situations.

Tumblr exists in-universe.

There's a guy named Centurion who was made to think he's Bumblebee because when his ship crashed a scientist brainwashed them into thinking they were classic Transformers characters to see what happens. Thousands of years later he gets involved in human wars and remembers he's not Bumblebee. He develops a self hatred so great he lets a G.I. Joe villian use him for his schemes. Centurion then has his consciousness fused with a human named Mike Power and lives perpetually with the biggest identity crisis of history.

Another guy also had his memories messed with and has lived multiple human lives (he may be Gilgamesh) when he's actually a Transformer secret agent. He's overcoming his own identity crisis through the power of sheer vanity. He also owns the in-universe equivalent of Facebook and Apple.

On at least 3 occasions Transformers used another Transformer's corpse as a vehicle. And on 1 occasion they used a corpse as a replacement limb (the guys alternate mode was a leg)

The Transformers on planet Cybertron at some point forgot that gender is a thing. There are lost colonies from before this so gender is still a thing in those.

One of those cybertronian colonies sends a delegate after millennia of absence and her bodyguard hates the place so much she causes a terrorist attack just as an excuse to go home, people die. The delegate was like "that was bad but we can move past this" and forgives her.

The Decepticons rewired their own soldiers into bombs and dropped them on people.

The Decepticons also rewired Autobots into anti-personnel live mines that would explode when they good too stressed and needed to be handled by people that could defuse them while keeping them calm.

Transformers are allergic to magic.

A guy has a fanzine dedicated to the Autobot Black-ops where he writes fanfiction. It's so popular multiple people are on a mailing list to have it downloaded directly to their brains when a new issue comes out.

A Decepticon's plan to deal with population decline is to make a bunch of organic babies, have them grow up and make more babies and then transplant their souls to Transformers bodies. He got as far as growing one (1) baby. Tbh, you could erase this whole plot and the story wouldn't suffer much.

Starscream who is a backstabbing liar who cares only for himself becomes president. He routinely neglects and endangers the population for his own ends. He was the best leader Cybertron ever had at the time.

[gothcsz]

𝑻𝒉𝒐𝒓𝒐𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒇𝒂𝒓𝒆 / Chapter XVII.

GIF by darksber

PAIRING: Javier Peña x Original Female Character

SUMMARY: Obligatory storm chapter.

WORD COUNT: ~13.4k

RATING: 18+ Explicit topics such as sex, drugs, murder, the occult, religion, cannibalism and other triggering matters will be explored in this body of work. Minors DNI.

CHAPTER SPECIFIC TAGS: the crime plot is slowly but surely progressing, smut, a very wet blowjob, p in v sex, dirty talk bc duh, using panties as a gag, praise praise praise, javi being soft and vulnerable my god, STEVE MURPHY MENTION!!, if there's typos/grammatical errors just pretend that there's not, other things that i'm probably forgetting.

DISCLAIMER/WARNINGS: The Javier Peña referenced in this body of work is solely based off of the character that appears in Netflix’s Narcos and not the actual person. Very canon divergent and I will tweak things as I see fit to compliment the narrative of this story. While efforts have been made to be accurate in terms of canon timeline, a lot of details will be fictionalized.

A/N: i'm just absolutely feral over these two... that is all <3 as always feel free to drop any type of feedback/support on this blog or ao3. i'd really appreciate it <3 [ paloma's piano song ]

♰  read on ao3. ♰

♰  playlist | pinterest | series masterlist ♰

Javier wanders through the quiet aisles of the library, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet as he makes his way towards the now familiar astronomy section.

He pauses occasionally, eyes scanning the titles on the spines of countless books, searching for something that might hold the answers he’s looking for. 

What begun as a mere attempt to impress Paloma had unexpectedly blossomed into a genuine interest. It was during a reading on lunar cycles that a sudden gut feeling prompted him to revisit the case files.

And there, in the minutest of details, he spotted a new pattern.

Each date of the murders fell in perfect alignment with the full moon phase. This illuminated the otherwise randomness of the crimes—one girl per month, precisely when the moon shone its brightest. 

He read over the files at home, searching for any significance the moon held within the context of the original group, but found nothing. This raised a crucial question: Is this the same group resurfacing, or a new player putting his own spin on things? Understanding this pattern isn’t just a matter of detail; it’s essential for deciphering the motive.

The slow progress of the investigation is frustrating, with each discovery taking its sweet fucking time to unfold. But at least this is some kind of development.

“Did you find what you were lookin’ for?” Paloma’s whisper catches his attention, drawing him from his focused search. He glances through the narrow gaps between the shelves and books to find her standing on the other side. Her dazzling brown eyes meet his, a warm smile tugging at her lips.

“Yeah, actually,” he scratches at his jaw, “She’s standin’ on the other side of this thing.” Flirtatious as ever, he’s pleasantly surprised to see her. She hadn’t mentioned working today during their phone call last night.

Then again she might’ve, but after talking her through an orgasm then finishing in his own fist shortly after, Javier was more focused on reeling himself in from how good her pretty little voice sounded while she was whispering pure filth into the receiver. 

Part of her face is hidden, yet he doesn’t miss the entertained expression that dances across her features.

“You wouldn’t happen to have any books on the moon, would you?” He asks, trying not to let his mind drift to the sounds of her moans and pants over the static of the phone.

“I don’t think there are any libraries on the moon,” she banters playfully, “but we can always call the NASA hotline and ask.” Her teasing has him rolling his eyes, yet he can’t hold back a lopsided smile.

“Alright, smart ass, you know what I meant.”

She laughs softly, her amusement barely contained as she tries not to disturb the other patrons. “Yeah, we got a couple. They’re on this side, though.”

He licks his lips slowly, narrowing his gaze. “Really? Because I see a few right here.” He pulls out two books that had caught his eye before she arrived, holding them up for her to see.

“Yeah, but there are better ones over here.” Paloma’s voice is inviting as she slowly starts to move down the aisle, her presence a tempting distraction, and he follows like a desperate puppy.

They reach the end of the row, and now her eyes narrow teasingly, silently urging him to make the first move.

Which he does, obviously.

Rounding the tall shelf, he wraps his arm around her waist, pulling her close. The warmth of his body against hers is very welcomed, and she looks up at him with bright eyes that are swimming in excitement.

“You’re very lucky there ain’t no cameras back here,” Paloma breathes out in a hushed tone. He presses her back against the flat end of the wooden surface, gazing down at her.

She bites her lip and his eyes lock onto the movement, bringing his thumb up to gently pull the flesh from between her teeth. “Lucky me,” he murmurs, dipping his head to place a tender kiss on her cheek.

She pouts. “Really? Just on the cheek?”

“You make it so hard to be normal about this.” Javi leans in to kiss her properly, her lips warm and soft, tasting faintly of the coffee she had earlier.

His forearm rests against the shelf, towering over her, hip jutting out slightly. In his other hand, he easily holds the two books.

The sound of their kiss breaking has her blushing, hoping no one was nearby to hear it. Thank God this area of the library is usually a dead zone.

Her eyes fall to the items he’s holding. “Still keepin’ up with this shtick?” she jests, unable to help herself from doing so. Her laughter tapers off quickly when he shoots her a hardened look.

“Sorry,” she manages between snickers. “That was rude. M’glad you’re actually enjoyin’ it.”

“This shtick helped me notice a pattern. It’s why I’m here, actually. Looking for more information before I reach out to the professor at UCLA again.”

Paloma reaches out to play with the golden star pinned to his chest, her fingers tracing its edges as she listens intently. “What’s the pattern?” she looks up at him with genuine curiosity.

He explains, and she is truly awestruck at how intricate it all really is. It’s the same feeling she got after watching the press conference. “When’s the next full moon?”

“In two days.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“I don’t know,” he admits with a sigh, “Maybe enforcing a curfew. Make sure everyone is safe and at home. That won’t be very difficult to do considering the storm that’s headed this way.”

When it rains, it pours. The last time their little town had seen any type of precipitation was the day of Nina’s funeral, and that seems like it was forever ago. Now, they’re being warned of some pretty strong winds and potential flooding.

“Then maybe nothin’ll happen,” she suggests, her voice hopeful.

“I sure fucking hope so,” Javi’s eyes drift to the nearest window where he sees the gray clouds gathering in the distance.

He’s frowning, lost in thought, and she reaches out to get him to look at her again. “No need to get all frowny. Save all that for the town hall later tonight.”

Javier exhales sharply through his nose, rolling his shoulders, his attention back on her. “You excited to see your future husband?”

She knows he’s talking about the mayor, yet she can’t help the way her heart flutters at the idea of that being him. She shakes those delusions away as his brown eyes hold an expectant stare.

“Y’know I could say yes ‘n use this as an opportunity to piss you off, but I’m bein’ good today—so I’m as excited to see him as you are to have to be up there with him.”

“You’re bein’ good today?” He cocks his head to the side, staring down at her with a roguish smile. “And you wouldn’t get very far with trying to piss me off. I know that asshole has nothing on me.”

“I’m always good, Javi,” she purrs, though her tone suggests otherwise. Her eyes darken slightly as she hooks her fingers onto his duty belt, pulling him closer.

His knee moves between her thighs, and she silently curses the fact that she wore jeans to work today. “You might think that, but we dunno know for sure… still gotta try him out myself. See if it really compares.”

The arm that was resting against the shelf comes down, and he wraps his fingers around her throat, holding her with a tantalizing pressure that gets her wet and throbbing.

A gentle moan sneaks past her lips. “You wanna ‘try him out,’ be my guest, nena. I don’t give a fuck.”

“Really, ‘cause it feels like you do,” she quips, her fingers grazing the growing bulge between them.

Javier’s grip on her throat tightens ever so slightly, his eyes narrowing with a possessive intensity. “Cálmate,” he murmurs, his voice a low growl.

“Make me.”

They’re jolted back to reality when a bang echoes from nearby, the sharp sound enough to have him loosen his hold and pull back from her. “Like I said, you make it real fucking hard to be normal about this. ‘I’m always good, Javi’ my ass,” he mocks her with a wry smile.

She giggles, a mischievous gleam in her eyes, as she bites down on her thumb. The sight of him flustered only entertains her further. “M’sorry… can’t help but poke the bear.”

Their moment is further interrupted by the abrupt static of his walkie-talkie coming to life. An officer’s voice garbles through, requesting his assistance with a disturbance at the grocery store.

“Be right there,” Javier responds flatly, his mood shifting as he hands her the books he plucked out. “Weather’s got people acting like fucking idiots. I’ll come back for these later.”

“Don’t sweat it,” she reassures him, clutching them to her chest. “I’ll bring ‘em tonight. Give ‘em to you after the meetin’.”  She’s visibly bummed that their time together is cut short, but remains optimistic about seeing him again. Soon, hopefully. Maybe on another date.

“Thank you, baby. I’ll see you then.” Javier leans in for a departing kiss, this one softer and sweeter. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of him calling her baby or any of the other terms of endearment that he has for her.

He adds a gentle nuzzle of his nose against hers before pulling away and making his exit, leaving her feeling all lovestruck against the bookshelf.

He knew the meeting was going to be a shit show. After putting out all relevant information through the press conference, the department has never been busier. Phones ringing left and right with false accusations, bullshit information, and the occasional prank call.

Partially expected but annoying nevertheless. No progress, aside from his own little lunar revelation, has been made.

So it makes sense that the people of Seminary are currently acting out in the stands of the high school’s gym. An unorthodox place to meet, but the rain had exposed leaks in the government building’s weathered roof so they had to improvise and move it here.

Javier leans against the fold out table that is placed right in the middle of the basketball court, arms crossed, watching Jonah Abbott deflect every question thrown his way, answering with something completely unrelated. Typical politician.

He rubs at his temples, craving a cigarette. His eyes scan the crowd until he sees Paloma sitting on the far left side, their gazes meeting and her mouth curving into a small smile which has him feeling a little less miserable about being here.

That is until the crowd starts to get riled up again, being very vocal about their gripes with the murders, as if officials haven’t been working tirelessly to figure things out.

The girl in the hospital remains unconscious and unidentified—who knows when she’ll wake up.

Another dead end just as they thought they were gaining some traction. Their knowledge of the occult only takes them so far.

Fear and anger envelop the room with an oppressive weight, voices escalating, each question sharper and more accusatory than the one before as frustration boils over.

“How can we expect y’all to keep us safe if more dead girls are bein’ found left and right?!” a man shouts, pointing his crooked finger at the three of them.

“This is what happens when we stray from the Lord ‘n quit instillin’ His will onto our children!” an elderly woman with an actual Bible clutched to her chest cries out.

“Maybe s’best if we took matters into our own hands ‘n found this son of a bitch ourselves!” another voice yells, and murmurs of agreement ripple through the crowd.

His jaw tightens. He’s well aware that the deep-seated religious beliefs of this town run strong; and the murders, with their disturbing satanic imagery, have only heightened the community’s fears and suspicions. 

“Folks, I understand your frustration,” Jonah starts and this gets an eye roll out of Javi who plays it off by looking down at his boots, “We’re doin’ everythin’ in our power to find who’s responsible for these heinous crimes. But takin’ the law into your own hands is not. the. answer. It’ll only lead to more chaos and possibly more innocent people gettin’ hurt.”

“The law ain’t doin’ nothin’ but sittin’ back ‘n lettin’ it happen!”

Comments and questions fly at them from all directions, with smaller arguments erupting on either side of the gym. Javier and Romeo exchange a knowing look, silently expressing their shared annoyance.

The sheriff steps up, taking control to regain the order that the incompetent mayor had lost.

“What’s important right now is that we all get prepared for the bad weather that’s hittin’ us pretty bad these next couple of days. S’already startin’ to pick up outside now,” Romeo announces, his deep voice cutting through the chaos.

Quiet murmurs fill the space, the faint sound of rain hitting the roof almost amplified now that it has been pointed out.

“Most of the town is gonna be shuttin’ down tomorrow at midday, so I suggest gettin’ your essentials and supplies tonight or in the mornin’ before you’re shit out of luck,” he continues, his tone brooking no room for nonsense.

His crassness serves its purpose, smothering most of the arguments from before. He motions for his right hand man to continue, and Javier clears his throat, straightening his posture and pushing himself off the table.

“We will be upping patrols and enforcing a curfew after the storm passes through,” His voice reverberates through the room, steady and authoritative. “The anonymous tip line is still running in case anyone sees or hears anything out of the ordinary.”

Javier scans the crowd, making eye contact with as many people as he can, trying to convey his sincerity and determination.

“We understand that these are frightenin’ times,” The sheriff interjects. “We’re dealin’ with somethin’ unprecedented, ‘n it’s natural to feel scared or frustrated. ‘Specially when they’re bastardizin’ the word of God. But we need to stand together, support one another, and trust that we are doin’ everythin’ in our power to bring this person to justice.”

The room is silent now, the only sound is the soft patter of rain and the distant rumble of thunder.

Javier notices Paloma again, her eyes fixed on him like he’s the only person in the world, and he almost stumbles over his words as he continues with the more procedural part of the announcement.

“We’re also working closely with weather experts to monitor the storm. We’ll keep you updated with any new information as it comes in. In the meantime, stay vigilant, look out for your neighbors, and follow the curfew to ensure everyone’s safety.”

The townspeople nod, their faces a mix of concern and reluctant acceptance. He knows that words alone won’t be enough to quell their fears, but he hopes that this assembly has at least provided some clarity and direction.

After a few more closing remarks, the meeting ends, and Abbott wastes no time approaching him and the sheriff. “That was great work, gentlemen. Lost ‘em for a second there, but you two wrangled ‘em back under control. S’why I got the best of the best…” his words are slick, and Javier can see right through the man’s bullshit, “that will hopefully bring an end to all this madness soon, right?”

Abbott doesn’t care about the town’s safety—he just wants the murders solved so the media attention goes away. The newfound scrutiny is clearly bothering him.

Apparently there is such thing as bad press.

“We’re workin’ as hard as we can,” Romeo replies curtly, his voice tight with barely restrained irritation.

Javier quickly bows out to ‘prevent any dispute from breaking out in the parking lot’ but really, it’s because he knows he won’t be able to hold his tongue against the arrogant mayor if he’s around him any longer.

He positions himself by the large exit double doors as the crowd files out. Javi nods to those he recognizes from the bar or his frequent patrols in town. The weight of their expectations adds to the already heavy burden on his shoulders.

Just another part of the fucking job.

When the last person exits, he chains the doors closed and jogs over to his truck.

The rain falls gently, wetting his hair and sending droplets running down the roughened texture of his bomber jacket.

“Here are your books, space cowboy.” Paloma’s voice catches him by surprise. She seems to appear out of thin air, a colorful umbrella shielding her from the rain.

“Gracias, palomita,” he takes them from her and puts them in the cab of his truck.

“Tough crowd,” she remarks, looking around as more cars pull out, leaving the lot empty.

“They’re just scared. Fear makes people act out like that.”

“You handled it well. Unlike others…” Her tone carries a hint of amusement, eyeing his wet appearance and how the raindrops fall from the curve of his nose and the cut of his cheekbones. So dreamy.

He chuckles dryly, “Tell me about it.”

Just as the conversation begins to drift into flirtatious territory, Romeo’s car pulls up beside them with the window rolled down.

Javier is glad he resisted the urge to step forward and kiss her in the rain, though he knows she would have liked that.

Her father? Probably not so much.

“Finally got Abbott to stop runnin’ his mouth. S’like talkin’ to a spoiled brat,” he complains, clearly frustrated.

Paloma finds this interesting, especially given how he used to advocate for her to give Jonah a shot and go out on one date with him.

It never happened, and now her father’s irritation is almost a satisfying twist.

“You campin’ out in that dogshit trailer of yours?” Romeo asks Javier, shifting the conversation.

“Don’t have much of a choice.”

“You’re better off stayin’ with us.”

The comment throws him off but he doesn’t convey it, gaze flickering over to Paloma, who has an encouraging look already in her eyes.

Accept the fucking invite! It’s a dangerous, dangerous game, but one he’s foolish enough to be tempted to play.

“You sure?” Javi asks, a subtle trace of hesitation in his voice.

“Positive. Got more than enough room. Beats bein’ hunkered down with just this one,” Romeo jokes, glancing at his daughter.

“Jeez, daddy, thanks,” she playfully shakes her head, a smile tugging at her lips as she rounds the car and gets into the passenger seat, closing and shaking off her wet umbrella.

“Alright,” he concedes and she’s over the freaking moon, “Thanks. I appreciate it. See you all tomorrow.”

Romeo nods in acknowledgement and Paloma winks at him behind her father’s back.

She is kneeling over her plants when Javier shows up the following day. The rain from last night and this morning has finally let up, and she’s using this pocket of dryness to put row covers over her garden to shield it from the severe weather.

“I’ve always admired a girl who likes to get her hands dirty,” he says from behind her with a cocky grin. She turns to face him, mud covering her overalls and caking her rain boots.

“How original,” she replies, wiping sweat off her forehead with the back of her gloved hand, smearing some dirt there in the process. “So damn humid, feels like the devil’s ballsack out today.”

Javi chuckles and steps closer, affectionately wiping the dirt from her forehead. “You have a way with words, sweetheart. Where’s your dad?”

“Went to get a few last-minute things ‘fore town closed up.”

“So I can kiss you without having to look over my shoulder?”

“Dunno if you wanna do all that when I’m dirtied up like this.”

“I think you wear the mud real nice,” he murmurs, pulling her to him. He places a wet kiss on her lips, which she reciprocates without hesitation, her tongue breaching his mouth.

“Guess I’m not too dirty for you after all,” she whispers when they part, a flirtatious simper ghosting over her mouth.

“Never that, preciosa. Do I need to remind you how dirty you were over the phone the other night?” he raises a brow, voice dropping to a low timbre that sends a thrill up her spine.

“You might, actually…” Her pulse quickens, a flush creeping up her neck as she recalls their late-night conversation.

It was the first time she’d ever done anything like that, and while she felt a bit embarrassed at the start, Javier’s soothing, erotic guidance had turned it into something fucking incredible. Everything he does is fucking incredible.

He hums appreciatively, “Wouldn’t mind that,” his fingers brush a stray strand of hair away from her face.

He leans in again, capturing her lips in another kiss. His hands slide down to her hips, tracing the exposed skin along the side openings of her overalls, squeezing gently.

Paloma could really die a happy woman in his arms. 

Javier groans softly, the sound vibrating against her mouth, making her knees weak. “I should help you finish covering these plants before the storm hits,” his tone makes it clear he’s struggling to pull himself away from her. “Before your dad gets home.” He clarifies. 

“Yeah, you probably should,” she agrees, but not without placing a sweet peck to his chin.

As if she needed his help, but hey, when a man is willing; why not unload some of the labor onto him? 

She hands him a row cover, her fingers lingering on his as they exchange the material. “Can’t have ya standin’ around lookin’ all pretty while I do all the hard work.” She beams.

“We certainly can’t have that,” there’s a grin on his face as he moves to help her finish the task.

Javier’s hands are deft and strong as he secures the covers, getting dirtied up and looking straight up manly. It has her clit tingling with arousal, imagining his fingers inside of her again and how fucking amazing they felt when she rode them in the bed of his truck. 

Between his uniformed presence and country boy charm—this man is going to be the death of her.

His eyes never stray far from her, drinking in every detail of her mud-splattered appearance as she moves between planter boxes.

She catches him looking each time, sending a wink his way and his tongue pokes against his cheek bashfully.

He can’t help it, Paloma is just so beautiful.

A piece of wood, obscured by the mud, has Javier tripping over it, his feet betraying him as he loses balance on the slick, muddy ground.

Her hands fly up to cover her mouth in shock, eyes wide as she watches him go down, mud splattering everywhere.

She almost bursts into laughter but catches herself, the worry for him outweighing the amusement.

“Oh my goodness gracious, are you okay?!” she rushes towards him and discards her gloves.

Javier lies on his back, the cold, wet mud oozing through his shirt and coating his skin. He looks up at her, squinting one eye close. “Yeah, I’m fine,” he grunts, despite the faint ache he feels at his lower back.

Sitting up, he extends his hand towards her to get him back on his feet.

As soon as their hands touch, he seizes the moment. With a mischievous grin, he yanks her down with him.

She gasps, a startled shriek escaping her lips as she tumbles into the thick, squelchy mud beside him. 

“I knew you were goin’ to do that!” she exclaims with exasperation and laughter.

“And yet you still tried to help me up anyway,” he retorts with a playful smirk.

With a flick of her wrist, she sends a handful of mud flying at him. It lands squarely on his cheek, sliding down in a comical, slow-motion descent until it plops into a heap on his lap.

“Oops,” she says with a feigned innocence.

In mere moments, they’re both engulfed in a muddy, joyful chaos. They spring to their feet and Javier begins to chase her around the garden, both of them taking turns flinging mud at each other.

They’re so engrossed in their antics that they don’t notice Romeo’s return.

The sight of them through the large bay window in the kitchen catches him off guard. He furrows his brows, puzzled and slightly amused by the raucous scene.

“Y’all look like a pair ‘a pigs runnin’ around like this.” her father’s voice rings out, dripping with bemusement as he descends the back porch steps.

His sturdy boots thud against the wooden planks when he approaches, gaze sweeping over them, taking in the sight of their disheveled, mud-coated figures.

“Javi slipped tryin’ to help me put the covers on and it was the funniest thing ever,” Paloma explains, her voice a little too high-pitched as she fails to clean herself up completely, wiping at her muddy cheeks, only managing to spread it further.

“Well, I reckon that’s one way to make a mess of things,” Romeo drawls, his gaze fixed on Javier with a pointed, almost accusatory edge.

Javier, caked in mud and feeling every bit like an overgrown teenager caught in trouble, manages a self-deprecating laugh. “Guess I’m not as graceful as I thought.”

He knows he needs to have the awkward conversation sooner rather than later. He has to tell Romeo about his relationship with Paloma and face whatever fallout comes with it.

She insists that her father will eventually come around, but it’s the immediate, explosive reaction that he dreads. He has to brace himself for the storm of anger and disappointment that is sure to erupt.

It won’t happen today nor tomorrow—not when he’s been offered shelter under his roof that Javi had stupidly agreed to, just to be near his fucking daughter.

What’s romance without a little risk?

“Well shit, if you wanna rinse off, I’d give it about…” Romeo glances up at the sky, his eyes calculating the darkening clouds. “Ten minutes ‘fore it starts raining again. Or you can use the hose,” he adds, gesturing towards the garden hose coiled beside the shed. 

“M’not gonna get caught in the storm. Don’t wanna get shocked up. We’ll use the hose.” Paloma replies.

“Right,” he grunts, rubbing his jaw. He waves his hand in a dismissive gesture. “I gotta finish puttin’ everythin’ away inside. Sure I can trust y’all out here?”

What a loaded fucking question.

“We’ll be fine, daddy. S’just a little mud.”

“I’ll try not to slip again,” Javier adds with a dry laugh, hoping he didn’t just make himself look like a clumsy idiot in front of the older man.

The sheriff snorts and gives a curt nod. “Alright then, you do that. Don’t need y’all trackin’ muck into the house.” He mutters, turning on his heel and heading back inside. 

Javier watches him go, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he turns to Paloma. “Skatin’ on thin ice,” he says, beginning to walk towards the shed and trying to get some of the wet dirt off him.

Paloma’s smile fades slightly, a hint of frustration edging her words. “Wouldn’t be if someone––”

“Okay,” he cuts her off gently, already knowing where that conversation is headed. “Let’s rinse off before he comes back out here and kicks my ass.”

She huffs out a laugh, “Fine. Glad you knew where I was goin’ with that.”

Javier reaches for the hose, adjusting the nozzle to a gentle spray, then aims it at her soiled overalls. The cool water hits the fabric, making the mud dissolve into dark, swirling rivulets. As the grime starts to wash away, he moves methodically, making sure to hit every spot.

Paloma watches him, her heart warming at his careful attention. The water cascades down her clothes, revealing glimpses of her soft curves beneath the mess.

When he’s done, she takes the hose from him with a mischievous grin. “Mi turno.”

As she works, she decides to be bold by reaching out to touch him. Her fingers brush against his skin and Javier’s throat bobs, meeting her eyes with a wary look then glancing over her shoulder to make sure Romeo wasn’t watching them from the house.

“Thin. Ice.” He repeats.

“Live a little,” she counters with a playful lilt.

She leans in closer, her wet body brushing against his as she continues to rinse. The proximity feels like a charged exchange of impulsiveness since they both can’t seem to keep their hands off each other, even with the looming threat of her father’s presence just inside. 

When she finishes, Paloma sets the hose down, her fingers lingering longer than necessary, his shirt clinging to his torso, accentuating the lines of his muscles, luring her in.

She looks up at him. “All clean.”

“You want him to kill me.”

“No, this is just fun… ‘n I love seein’ you squirm like a lil worm.”

He licks across the bottom row of his teeth, “You keep fuckin’ around like this, nena, and I’ll have no choice but to put you in your place.” She wants him to squirm, fine, but he’ll make sure to return that energy tenth fold.

“That a promise?”

“You really want to see how far you can push me, huh?”

“Un poco.” She pinches her thumb and pointer finger together, mocking him and he scoffs.

“Gettin’ in over your head babygirl. Now’s not the time to do this, not when I can’t bend you over and fuck you stupid. Then you wouldn’t have a choice but to shut up and be compliant.”

Oh fuck, his words go straight to her pussy and her heart skips a beat. “Who says you can’t do that?”

Javier groans. Nope, not doing this right now. “You’re baiting me like a fuckin’ fish and I’m not gettin’ hooked. Inside. Go.”

She smirks like she’s just won the fucking lottery, stomping back towards the house with her chin held high.

If anyone is in over their heads here it’s him, accepting Romeo’s invitation to stay knowing Paloma is his greatest temptation.

The rest of the afternoon unfolds with a sense of normalcy, despite the tempest raging outside. The sky has grown dark, pierced by occasional flashes of lightning that illuminate the living room. Thunder rumbles intermittently, its low growl resonating through the house, while the wind howls and the rain pelts against the windows, creating a rhythmic drumming sound that is soothing yet insistent.

Inside, the atmosphere is comforting. After showering off their mess from the mud, they settle into the warmth of the house.

Paloma busies herself in the kitchen, preparing an early dinner just in case the power goes out. 

They used to have a back up generator, but it crapped out on them last year and her father, ever the forgetful one, never got around to replacing it.

Javier and Romeo are engrossed in a tense card game at the dining table, their competitive banter punctuated by the clinking of chips and the shuffling of cards.

They sneak glances at each other every so often, their eyes conveying what they can’t say aloud.

Lingering touches become their secret language—his fingers brushing her arm when he scoots past her to grab another beer from the fridge, her body pressing subtly against his as she reaches over to grab something from the table.

If there was ever a time to show restraint, it’s now. She treats this as a game, trying to get him to break in front of her father, to force him into a confrontation.

Her eyes sparkle with mischief, daring him to give in. He meets her gaze with a steady determination, silently promising that he won’t let her win so easily.

Eventually the three of them migrate to the living room. Romeo, having suggested an old movie to pass the time, is sprawled out on the couch, his snores becoming a steady background noise.

The movie plays on the screen, its dialogue a distant murmur amidst the storm. It’s a miracle the power hasn’t gone out yet.

Paloma uses this brief respite to seize a moment alone with Javier.

Quietly beckoning him down the hall, she leads him to the family dining room where a grand piano sits in the corner. It was a gift from the church, given to her on her tenth birthday.

After flicking on the lamp, she settles onto the bench, her fingers poised above the keys with a delicate grace.

She begins to play, her touch tentative at first, then gradually more confident as the familiar notes fill the room.

Javier leans against the door frame, mesmerized by the scene before him. He watches her intently, captivated by the subtle expressions that flit across her face as she listens to each note, her eyes closed in concentration.

He breaks the spell with a gentle question, “How long have you been playing?”

She glances over at him, her expression wistful. “Ever since I could, really. Momma wasted no time in teachin’ me.” Her voice carries a touch of nostalgia, a subtle sadness that she hopes goes unnoticed.

She’s relieved when Javier doesn’t press further. Instead, he simply nods, his understanding evident in his gaze.

“Come sit,” Paloma invites, her voice honeyed like it always is. She shifts slightly on the bench, patting the empty space beside her.

Javier moves to join her, their shoulders brushing. He’s too damn broad to be sitting on this small ass seat.

He does feels a flutter of excitement at hearing her like this. It’s different from her shows at the bar, more intimate and personal, reminding him of that time in the shed when he was fixing her car and she played her guitar.

The memory of her song about Nina, which she hasn’t brought up since that day, lingers in his mind.

“It ain’t anythin’ new, just an old song I wrote after George,” she begins, and a small, sad smile touches her lips. He wants to kiss it away. “It’s my favorite to play on the piano. You can really feel the heartbreak.”

“Your heartbreak?” he asks, the question slipping out before he can catch it. He bites the inside of his lip, worried that he’s overstepped somehow.

“Mhm,” she doesn’t mind, opening the folder that rests against the music desk and pulling out her short-hand sheet music. “Took me so long to finish it. I was stuck on this bench for what felt like an eternity before I got it done.”

He doesn’t know what to say and she doesn’t expect him to be necessarily chatty. They’re taking turns showing their vulnerability, sharing a little at a time at a pace that seems to be benefiting them both and their relationship.

The room is filled with the soft, melodic strains of the piano as she starts again, blending with the patter of rain and rumbling of the thunder. Her voice joins shortly after, and the entire time Javier can’t keep his eyes off her. 

Beneath the warmth of his admiration, Paloma feels oh so exposed. She’s never played this for anyone before, and the only reason she’s doing it now is because she wants him to understand why it’s so important to her that he doesn’t love her in secret. That he doesn’t string her along.

She’s already been through that heartbreak before, and it left her with this nasty, harrowing feeling that didn’t go away for years. Now, considering everything they’ve been through, she knows she won’t be able to recover if things go awry again.

And he listens—Javi listens to each word that falls from her lips, her voice soft to compliment their surroundings.

She’s got real talent; he’s known that from the dozens of times he’s been at her shows, hell it was evident at the fair. But here, with just her voice and the piano, weaving a story that is both haunting and beautiful; she’s opened herself up to him, letting him glimpse her pain.

She doesn’t do it in a verbal confrontation; she does it in her own way, and the message comes across just the same.

Sure, Javier might not be good with words, but he doesn’t need them to let her in. He just needs to lower his guard and not hide from her or any of his past grievances.

He’s never met anyone who makes him self-reflect as much as she does.

As the final notes fade into the quiet, the sounds of the weather seamlessly take their place. Paloma’s fingers linger on the keys as she turns to look at him, “What’d ya think?”

Javier reaches out, stroking her cheek affectionately. “Increíble, cariño. Can’t imagine how hard it was for you to go through that.” he replies, words laden with sincerity.

A small yet genuine smile paints itself on her face and she shrugs lightly, “It was tough, but I’m a tough girl. Got through it eventually…” she trails off, attention flickering to the keys before meeting his brown eyes again, “And I know I’m bein’ kinda anal about you tellin’ my daddy ‘n stuff but there’s reasonin’ behind it. I wanted you to know that reason. You make me feel all these...things. Things I’ve felt before. Things I’ve lost. I don’t want that to happen again.”

“And it won’t.” He reassures her, tone hushed as to not wake her father.

The lights flicker suddenly and they both look towards the lamp before he’s getting her to look at him again.

“Paloma, those things you feel. I feel them too and I don’t want to fuck ‘em up either. Te quiero a ti (I want you), mi corazón, te necesito (I need you). Like fuckin’ air. It’s ridiculous how spun you’ve got me.”

Paloma’s heart swells at his words, the rawness of them, and she doesn’t give a fuck if her dad was to walk in in this very moment; she lurches forward to kiss him, holding his jaw tenderly.

The power finally gives out, accompanied with a deafening crash of lightning, plunging the room into darkness. The storm outside intensifies, its ferocity underscored by the unrelenting roar of thunder.

They pull back abruptly, but he’s still close enough to brush his nose against the soft skin of her cheek. He needs her so bad.

Paloma’s eyes flutter close at the feel of his warm breath caressing her, a polarizing energy drawing them together and she almost crawls onto his lap.

She hears her father’s voice calling for her and she wishes she hadn’t. Wishes he wasn’t around at all so she could take Javier right here on the fucking piano.

She moves off the bench, flustered completely, shouting down the hall, “We’re gettin’ the lanterns outta the closet to set ‘em up.”

Javier clears his throat, following her down the shadowy hallway until they’re at the closet, watching her rummage through it.

The dim light from the lightning intermittently illuminates her figure, making her movements more sensual than they should be.

When his vision becomes clouded by lust, it’s hard for him to focus on anything that isn’t his subject of affection. That currently being her.

His gaze lingers on her bent over figure, her leggings hugging her curves just right, shirt riding up to expose a slither of skin at her lower back. “No candles?”

“Not safe in a storm like this,” she replies, pulling out a taped up cardboard box. “Don’t want the house goin’ up in flames if the gas lines get hit.”

Turning to look over her shoulder, she smirks when she sees that he’s distracted. “Hey handsome, my eyes are up here.”

“And while your eyes are definitely worth admiring, I’m more intrigued by this ass you got, baby.” He can’t help but deliver a slight spank.

A flush creeps up her cheeks and she gasps his name softly, “Just go put these out by the kitchen and living room, please.”

“Si, jefa.” His grin widens, clearly enjoying her reaction, as he takes the box and heads toward the main rooms, leaving her to handle upstairs.

When Paloma rejoins them in the kitchen, she finds Javier and her father standing by the window, their faces illuminated by the flickering light of the lanterns. They peer out into the storm, watching the rain lash against the windowpane.

“It’s been a while since we’ve had one of these,” she comments.

Romeo, with a small scowl, shakes his head. “Leave it to everyone in town to think this is the work of the devil.”

She snorts at the remark, recognizing the truth in it. A weather anomaly in their small town is enough to stir up wild tales and superstitions. That atop of all the rising tensions and well…

“Yeah, one odd storm, and it’s suddenly the apocalypse,” Javier quips.

She moves to set the table. “I guess now’s as good a time as any to have dinner. In case the end times really are amongst us.”

They sit around the table, their conversation punctuated by the occasional rumble of thunder. As they finish their meal and clean up, her father clears his throat and stretches, glancing out at the downpour with a tired sigh. “I’m turnin’ in for the night,” he announces. 

Paloma and Javier exchange glances, her drying off plates next to her dad and him leaning against the kitchen island, trying not to show how eager they are to be left alone.

“Me too. Probably gonna read a bit before bed. Javier, we’ve set up my old playroom for you to stay in.” His lips twitch at the use of his full first name, and he looks at them both, rubbing his lips together.

“I appreciate you letting me bunker down here.”

“Not a problem. Wouldn’t be surprised if we saw your tin can blowin’ across the yard.” Romeo jokes, drying his hands off then leaning over to pinch at his daughter’s nose affectionately, like he always does. She scrunches her face up in response.

“Night y’all. Javier help yourself to anything.”

He bites back a smirk, the first response to cross his mind being like your daughter? Like the smug bastard that he is. Instead, he gives him a curt nod. “Thank you, goodnight.”

“Night daddy.”

There’s a charged silence as Romeo saunters down the hall, and it’s not until they hear his bedroom door click close that he rounds the counter and walks up behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of her neck.

“Help myself to anything I want. Hm…” he whispers hotly into her ear, one hand moving up to grope her breast, the other toying with the band of her leggings.

She exhales shakily, letting her head fall back against his shoulder and closing her eyes as she enjoys his touch on her body, the way she can feel his erection poking against her ass. “What happened to you not gettin’ hooked?”

He sees the small smirk on her face and he squeezes his grip on her tit, nibbling along her neck. She shudders.

“Shut up.”

Javier spins her around, caging her between him and the counter, dark eyes boring into hers. He goes in for a proper kiss but she stops him, pointer finger pressing against his pursed lips.

He growls her name out and it’s almost drowned out by the wave of thunder that rolls by.

“Meet me in my room in an hour.” She whispers, dropping her hand and spreading her palm against the center of his chest, pushing him back so she’s able to slip away from him.

“Always a tease,” he grumbles, adjusting himself in his sweatpants.

“Promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Paloma walks backwards, blowing him a kiss before disappearing upstairs.

Javier stands on the other side of her door, exactly an hour later as instructed. He rasps his knuckles softly against the wood, and the door opens immediately.

“Hi.”

“Hey.”

They share a moment of silence, exchanging a lustful stare before she opens the door wider for him to come in.

“This is a bad idea, bebita. Your dad is just downstairs.” Though the statement dies on his tongue as his eyes rake over her body.

She’s wearing his red checkered flannel, the one he had let her wear the night of the Fourth of July. She hasn’t got anything on under it aside from the only thong she owns, since she isn’t privy to them.

Usually, she would just forgo underwear altogether instead of wearing the uncomfortable scrap of fabric.

But it’s serving its purpose right now.

The flannel doesn’t smell like him anymore since she’d washed it, but she still liked how soft it felt against her skin.

Plus, she knew he wouldn’t be able to resist once he saw her in it.

“Then we’ll have to be quiet.” Her voice drops to a whisper, walking him back until he’s sat at the edge of her bed, Paloma standing between his spread legs and her hands cupping his face.

He swallows hard, his large hands automatically finding her hips, sliding under the flannel to feel the warmth of her skin. “You look incredible.”

Paloma leans in, her lips ghosting over his. “I wore it just for you.”

Javier’s heart races as he feels the heat emanating from her body. He gently tugs her closer, exploring the curve of her waist, the soft swell of her hips, then grabbing her ass. “You’re killing me, princesa.”

She loves hearing that coming from him.

“You gonna be able to stay quiet? Last time we had to be, I had to shut you up myself.” His touch shifts to the back of her thighs, fingers caressing the soft skin there, eyes focused on her and how she reacts to him.

Two lanterns bathe her room in warm light, casting a glow that aids her in her quest to seduce him.

“I think I can manage this time.” She ducks her head to kiss him, not hungrily or passionately, but slowly, savoring the taste of mint that lingers on his tongue.

His lips travel from her mouth to her jawline, and down the sensitive skin of her neck.

“Javi?”

“¿Si, muñeca?”

“I need your help with something.”

“What’s that, baby?”

“Need you to talk me through sucking your dick.”

He pulls back abruptly, blinking rapidly as he processes her words. “What?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” she juts her lower lip out, “I’ve… well I’ve never done it before and I really, really really want to do it with you.” She sounds desperate but she doesn’t care.

Paloma’s been fantasizing about it for a while now, the desire to do it only growing the more intimate they got. Her mind has been filled with images of him, his reactions, and the way he might look at her with that smoldering gaze of his.

The thought of pleasing him, of having his taste and scent overwhelm her, has her buzzing with a heady mix of excitement and nervousness.

“I’m having a hard time believing that. You’ve got perfect fuckin’ lips,” soft, plump, just begging to have a cock between them.

She giggles, feeling his fingers toying with the thin strap of her thong. “Thank you. I’d like to put ‘em to use if you don’t mind.”

He blows out a breath, trying to keep his composure. “How inexperienced are we talking here?” Javier’s cock is already twitching, knowing that no one has breached this part of her and that he’s the one who gets to do it is making him delirious.

“I know what it is. Given a hand job before but never had one down my throat,” she admits, her cheeks flushed.

He grunts at her wording. “I’ve seen a few dirty flicks where the girl’s done it. I think m’capable, but I wanna know what you like. How you want me to take it.”

“You can’t say things like that and expect me to keep my shit together.”

Another giggle escapes her lips as she slowly moves to her knees, the plush rug cushioning her descent. Her dainty hands come to rest on his muscular thighs, fingers gently kneading the fabric of his gray sweatpants.

He looks irresistibly sexy in his casual attire, a simple t-shirt and sweatpants that do nothing to hide the raw masculinity that has her already dripping wet, eagerly awaiting his instructions.

The look she gives him—those eyes, brimming with lust—makes him wish he had a video camera to capture this moment.

He wants to immortalize the way her lips part slightly, how her breath quickens, the way her hands tremble with enthusiasm.

He wants to be able to replay it over and over again, to remember how she looks up at him from beneath her lashes, her gaze filled with an intensity that sends a jolt of arousal straight to his cock.

“Unbutton the shirt. Wanna see those pretty tits of yours, sweetheart.” 

Her thighs clench, fingers flying to the buttons of the flannel, deftly popping them open to reveal her chest, a shiver skipping over her exposed skin and perking her nipples.

Javier’s eyes darken with hunger as he licks his lips slowly, savoring the sight before him.

He brings his hand up, cupping her left breast, his thumb brushing over her skin in teasing strokes. His calloused touch sends a ripple of pleasure through her, responding with ragged breaths.

Just as she starts to lean into his hand, he pulls away, leaving her yearning for more.

“Now touch me, princesa. Feel how hard you got me.”

This is how she dies, she thinks, with Javier Peña talking her through her first blowjob. Their little erotic phone call had been one experience, and now he is bestowing another one upon her. In the same week.

Maybe she’s already dead.

Her palm glides up and down his length, tracing the hardening outline over the soft fabric of his sweatpants. The sight of her full tits and pebbled nipples enough to get him fully hard.

Paloma leans in, gently lifting the hem of his tee out of the way. She places a delicate kiss just above his waistband, her lips brushing against the warm skin of his lower abdomen and her nose scrunching as the dark trail of hair tickles her.

Her hand continues its rhythmic motion, eliciting a slow, deep exhale from him— unspoken encouragement to keep going.

“So big,” she murmurs, “don’t know how I’m goin’ to fit it all in my mouth.” Her tongue darts out, teasingly licking around his belly button, causing his stomach to tighten in anticipation.

“Don’t worry, muñeca,” he coos, “We’ll make it fit.”

With starry eyes, she hooks her fingers into the waistband of his bottoms, slowly dragging them down. He lifts his hips to help her, the fabric sliding off and pooling around his ankles.

His cock springs free, resting heavily against his pelvis.

Her eyes widen, mouth watering.

She’s felt his impressive size, but seeing it so closely in the flesh sends thudding pressure to her clit, blood rushing with a desperate need to please him.

He’s thick and perfectly sized with an enticing curve that has her tongue moving involuntarily in her mouth. The skin is a shade lighter than the rest of him, currently flushed a deep, heated red, the smooth head throbbing and glistening with precum dripping from the slit.

“Damn, Javi,” she purrs, a content hum vibrating through her chest. “Every part of you is handsome.” It makes her heart race, and she can feel heat licking at her labia, eager to show him just how much she aches for him.

He exhales through his nose, stroking her hair and gently urging her forward. “Give it a kiss, bebita.”

“Where?”

“Donde tú quieras.”

She sucks her teeth, contemplating how she wants to do this. The soft lighting of the room and the flashes of silver from the lightning outside accentuate every ridge and curve of his cock—making it look so yummy.

Javi can feel her warm breath fanning over him, then the blissful wetness of her plump lips as she presses them against the blazing skin of his base. Her tongue follows, tracing the path of a thick vein with deliberate slowness.

He curses under his breath, biting down on his tongue to stifle any involuntary noises, but fuck, it feels good.

Her tongue traces the protruding vein all the way to the top, circling around the head, mimicking what she’s seen in the pornos. More precum leaks from his slit, and she laps at it thirstily, welcoming the peculiar flavor. The salty tang mingles with the taste of his skin, driving her fucking crazy.

“It doesn’t look like I have to teach you much, chiquita, you’re doing an amazing fuckin’ job so far.” Javier praises, continuing to stroke her hair with a satisfied, wolfish grin playing at his lips.

“Really?” She seeks his approval like a drowning woman seeking air.

“Of course. Always so good for me.” His dark eyes gleam with ardor, “Now get it wet, baby, so it can slip in your mouth easily.”

Obedient as ever and fueled by his praise, her tongue moves with sinful precision, eyes fluttering close as she focuses on licking every inch, using her lips to press open mouthed kisses all over.

More saliva gathers in her mouth, and she deliberately lets a thick, glistening strand fall from her lips, dribbling over the sensitive tip and trailing slowly down the full length of him.

Paloma’s hand comes up, fingers wrapping around his dick with a teasing grip. Her movements are slow, pumping him gently.

“Your nails look so sexy wrapped around my cock like this baby holy fuck,” Javier can’t help but compliment as she squeezes him, clenching his jaw. “That’s right, así mero princesa, shit.” He grunts, the hand that had been tenderly stroking her hair now tangles into her long, silken strands, fingers gripping and gently tugging, a primal response to her actions.

He mentioned a long time ago how much he loved it when a woman had a fresh manicure, and Paloma, ever wanting to get his attention, has not missed a single appointment with her manicurist since.

“Got ‘em done just for you,” she coos, winking up at him and leaning forward to purse her lips, slapping his fat head against them.

“Gettin’ yourself all done up for me? Mi muñequita so eager to please. Go ahead and put me in your mouth. Wanna see those pretty lips around my cock.”

She can feel her slick dampening her panties, wanting nothing more than to make him feel good. Show up any other woman he’s ever taken to bed.

Holding him steady at the base, she parts her lips and slowly envelops his cock in her hot mouth.

The heavy, pulsing weight of him pressing down on her tongue amplifies her craving for more. His slick, warm flesh, generously coated in her spit, has him sliding effortlessly into her mouth.

Javier brings his fist up to bite into it, letting out a choked groan.

The weather continues its tyranny outdoors and he’s fucking grateful that it’s loud enough to cover the sounds of pleasure she’s pulling from him. “Take it slow, baby, open your jaw a little more.”

She listens, lowering her chin and taking him deeper into her mouth. The blunt tip grazes the back of her throat, causing her to gag and she pulls back, struggling to catch her breath.

The feeling is overwhelming, yet exhilarating.

“¿Todo bien, nena?” he asks in a low, gravelly murmur, eyelids heavy as he watches her.

The fingers previously tangled in her hair now brush away the few stray strands that have fallen forward behind her ear.

She responds with a breathy hum of affirmation, determined to push him further down her throat. But her eagerness causes her to overestimate her capacity, resulting in a sputtering mess as she chokes and coughs, droplets of her saliva splattering over him.

“Baby, it’s okay,” he soothes, his thumb gently swiping at the spit on her lower lip. “Take it easy. S’not a race.” The tender gesture only heightens her arousal.

“I jus’ wanna make you feel good, Javi,” she replies, voice hoarse from the strain of her attempt at deep throating.

“Trust me, you’re doing just fine. Here, let me help.” His hand moves to the nape of her neck, carefully guiding her closer. 

He slowly breaches her mouth with his cock again, slipping in and out in a gentle rhythm. He helps her find a steady pace, his care and control transforming the act into more of an intimate experience.

“Atta girl, just like that. Tan hermosa,” he murmurs, admiring the view of her flushed face. “Think you can handle it all on your own now?”

She responds with a soft nod, the subtle move has her teeth just barely grazing his throbbing cock and it makes him shudder, jaw going slack.

More confident and her jaw worked open more, Paloma hollows her cheeks and blows him with keenness.

Her hands join in, one cradling his balls while the other wraps around his dick, stroking him in time with her mouth.

She looks up at him through her wet lashes, a loving glint twinkling in her eyes.

Javier curses under his breath, head lolling back and eyes fluttering close as her mouth and tongue work together to tread the fine fucking line of his orgasm. 

She takes him deeper, her swollen lips stretching around his cock while her jaw aches from accommodating him.

He gathers her hair into a loose ponytail with his fist, hips starting to move in tandem with her mouth. “Just like that, palomita.”

She’s got the hang of it now, able to take him all in, nose brushing against the tuft of hair at his base that’s damp with the saliva from her ministrations. 

The storm rages outside, but here, in this moment, all he can focus on is the exquisite torment of her mouth tightening the coil at the base of his spine.

Paloma stills, swallowing around his length and he praises her in a hushed whisper.

Javi gently strokes her cheek with his fingertips, his touch tender and reassuring, the contrast of his soft caress with the way she’s got him down her throat making her heart do jumping jacks.

She struggles to breathe but she doesn’t really give a fuck. The intense thrill of his reactions has her losing herself completely, thighs tensing together.

Her thong, now drenched with her own excited mess, sticks to her pussy; reminding her of how hot and bothered she is from just blowing him.

Between her tight throat, swirling tongue, and pretty gags, Javier has to pull her off of him before he spills his load down her throat.

Gasping for air, her eyes are glazed with tears of both pleasure and strain.

She looks up at him again with an expression so intoxicating—he nearly paints her face at the sight. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Nada, cariño. I’d just like to fuck your pussy and not come down your throat tonight.” Some other time, for sure.

“I take it as I did a good job?”

“Best I’ve ever had.”

Paloma’s lips curl into a triumphant smirk, brown eyes glowing with satisfaction at his praise. She licks her lips, savoring the lingering taste of him as she leans in, pressing a final kiss on the sensitive tip of his cock with the electrifying touch of her lips.

Slowly, she rises from her knees, her movements fluid and deliberately sensual. She trails heated, open-mouthed kisses up his torso, each touch igniting a feverish path on his skin.

As she moves, she pulls his shirt up along with her, her soft breasts brushing against his firm stomach.

He reacts quickly, shedding the shirt and tossing it aside.

Their lips finally meet in a fervent kiss. It’s messy and passionate—they’re drunk off each other.

“How do you want me?” Paloma asks in a sultry whisper.

“Face down, ass up,” he grunts, pushing the flannel off her shoulders, eager to feel more of her bare skin beneath his touch.

She positions herself on the bed, her face nuzzling against the soft mountain of pillows, arms stretched out in front of her.

The recently fixed headboard offers a silent promise; no noise will give them away, and they won’t have to worry about getting caught.

That’s the last thing they need.

Whether they’re able to keep quiet themselves is an entirely different thing.

Javier, now fully nude, strokes his cock slowly, savoring the sight before him. Her plump ass is on full display, tantalizingly framed by the thin, barely-there panties.

He grunts with satisfaction, his gaze hungrily devouring the view of her pretty pussy, ready for him to take.

As he closes the distance between them, he kneads her ass cheeks firmly, the smoothness of her skin and the way she molds to his touch triggering a searing lust in him. 

Every fantasy he’d ever had about her in this position is now a vivid, thrilling reality. He’s intent on taking full advantage of this, to make her his in every sense. 

“Don’t know if I can trust you to stay quiet,” he murmurs as he slowly pulls down her underwear, a string of her slick sticking to it, making the sight so fucking erotic.

Paloma can’t help but sway her hips, enticing him further, as she lays bare on the mattress. “I will be, honey, I promise.” She turns her head to try and get a better look at him, cheek resting on the cushion.

“Can’t take that risk. Not tonight.” The bed dips when he positions himself behind her, and his broad frame bends over hers, chest to her back, wet cock brushing up against the skin of her ass. “Abre,” he commands lowly into her ear and she whimpers, parting her lips.

Her eyes go wide with surprise and her pulsating sex drools when he shoves her damp, ruined panties into her mouth. The fabric is cool against her tongue, tinged with her own tangy scent, and she can taste the remnants of her arousal.

Her moan is swallowed by the material, muffled and contained, amplifying the sensation of helpless pleasure that floods her senses.

“Calladita te ves más bonita (you look prettier with your mouth shut),” he taunts, placing a kiss to her cheek, bristling mustache dragging at her shoulder, until he straightens up and takes his cock into his hand again, slowly rubbing it along her slit and spreading their mess all over her cunt.

Paloma clenches around nothing in anticipation, arching her back and spreading her knees a little more to give him the perfect angle to rut into her. 

He sinks into her pussy slowly, growling expletives under his breath at how fucking amazing she feels positioned like this. Her tight, wet heat wrapping around him as he splits her open on his girth. “Sucking me in so well, amor, just like that fucking mouth of yours.”

Every sound of ecstasy gets lost on the now wet cloth as drool pools from her lips, brain absolutely melting once he’s balls deep inside of her, the weight of them pressed up against her clit.

All she can think and feel is him. He doesn’t give her a moment to adjust, pulling out until only his fat head is inside before roughly snapping his hips against hers.

The pace he sets is deliciously brutal, tears sting at her eyes as he presses up against that spot inside her that makes more juices drip out of her pussy and slather all over his dick.

Javier is completely entranced, watching as her cunt stretches open for him each time he rolls his hips, spitting his cock out, covered in her creamy arousal.

He spreads her cheeks to get the best view possible, biting his lip harshly and digging his fingertips into her skin.

The thunderstorm doesn’t let up, perfectly masking the filthy sounds of their fucking. “Feels fucking amazing baby, shit, can feel you clenching around me. Love being gagged, don’t you?” He can’t help himself, moving his hands so one hand tangles itself in her long hair, pulling at it so she’s on all fours now while the other grabs onto her hip.

Like a doll, she lets him move her however the hell he wants. Her arms tremble as she holds herself up, her scalp burning from his firm grip, each tug cascading waves of blissful electricity all over, starting at her toes.

Sex with Javier is unlike anything she’s ever experienced—raw, fiery, and profoundly exhilarating.

As he moves, her body dances to his rhythm, each motion perfectly synchronized with his. The soft flesh of her ass jiggles enticingly with each thrust, the twin dimples at the base of her spine deepening and winking at him.

Beads of sweat glisten on her golden skin, trailing seductively down the arch of her spine. He leans closer, his tongue darting out to lap at a single drop of perspiration, savoring the salty sweetness.

Paloma keens, bringing one hand back to dig her nails into his wrist as he fucks her like those stars in the dirty flicks.

Javier moves quickly, pinning both of her wrists at the base of her spine, her face falling flat on the pillows and further making it hard for her to breathe. She loves it, loves the way he’s manhandling her.

His balls tighten, as does the grip on her wrists.

He’s right at the edge of his precipice. But he can’t let go just yet—not without getting her off first. “So proud of you for taking this cock so well, muñeca. C’mon, baby, come all over it. I can feel how close you are. She’s grippin’ me so tight. Doesn’t want me to leave.”

Paloma squeezes her eyes shut, concentrating on the relentless way he fucks into her. Her walls convulse around his shaft, each stroke lighting up every nerve in her body.

He’s filling her to the brim, burying every bit of his soul and essence into her pussy.

It’s a raw and intimate exchange, a way he opens up and surrenders himself to her.

She sings, he fucks. He’s finding a healthier way to fuck his feelings into his woman without the devastating angst.

Unlike before, where passion was tangled with pain and regret, he now seeks a more fulfilling release.

Javier finds solace in their sex.

A stark white flash of lightning illuminates the room, casting fleeting shadows over their intertwined bodies, followed by the familiar, rolling rumble of thunder. The storm outside mirrors the tempestuous passion in her bedroom.

Thank-fucking-God her daddy was a heavy sleeper.

He yanks her up, pressing his chest flush against her back and trapping her wrists between them, the heat of their bodies melding them together.

One arm snakes around to grab her bouncing tit, his fingers kneading the soft flesh, while his other slips down to her clit, alternating between softly pinching and rubbing circles against the sticky, sensitive flesh.

“When I pull the panties out your mouth, I want you to moan my name. You understand?” he whispers hotly into her ear. At first, she’s too lost in the pleasure he’s bringing her to fully grasp his words, mind clouded with nothing but Javier Peña.

He delivers a particularly harsh thrust, making her gasp and snapping her eyes open––bringing her back to the present.

Repeating himself in a throaty and commanding voice, she nods faintly, understanding now, her body quivering.

After a few more intensely euphoric moments, another strike splits the sky. Javier hastily removes the gag from her mouth, his fingers brushing her lips. “Give it to me, Paloma,” He grits through his teeth.

And she does. The crack of the lightning and the storm’s thunder roar loudly, shaking the house, her primal cry of bliss drowned out by the heavy noise.

“Javi!” her jaw falls open, walls contracting tightly around his dick, milking him as her climax crashes into her.

The sensation is so much, she nearly blacks out, her vision swimming in a haze of pleasure. Paloma’s body tenses, and that’s all it takes for him to follow suit.

Javier tightens his grip on her, his fingers pulling at her nipple as his own orgasm hits.

His cock twitches, releasing his hot seed deep inside her, filling her up completely. He grunts against her neck, his breath ragged, teeth finding and sinking into her damp skin.

He kisses her sloppily, leaving a trail of wetness from his tongue as he marks her, claiming her in their shared moment of fucking paradise.

They stay like that for a few moments, bodies entwined, hearts pounding in sync, as they come down from their respective highs.

“M’never, ever, ever gonna get tired of that,” she pants out with a satisfied grin, tilting her head to pepper kisses along the side of his head as his lips continue to press against her neck.

“You and me both, princesa.” Their lips meet in a lazy kiss, both of them smiling into it. His hold on her loosens, now cradling her affectionately, and she melts into his embrace.

“Lay with me, Javi, please?” she whispers, running the tip of her nose along his cheek, giggling softly as his mustache tickles her skin.

He nods, momentarily forgetting where they were and the implications of what would unravel if the man downstairs decided to come up and check on them. “Okay.”

They untangle and she isn’t bothered by the way their mixed release seeps out of her, smearing all over her folds. She’ll shower it off in the morning.

They move beneath the sheets of her bed, settling against her pillows and the many stuffed animals she owns. “Damn, how many of these shits do you have?” Javier asks, holding a tattered bunny in his hand that she takes from him and tenderly caresses.

“Hey, don’t be rude. Mr. Bubbles was my very first best friend and a very important member of the family.”

Javier snorts, and she shoots him a playful glare, carefully placing her beloved plush on her bedside table. He shuffles as she leans against the headboard, his head resting on her stomach while her fingers play in his hair.

The rhythmic pattering of the rain is comforting now, the warm lights in her bedroom embracing this moment with a soft glow.

It’s quiet for a few moments, his lips placing tender kisses all over her soft skin. When he reaches the scar on her hip, he can’t help but bring his curious fingers up to gently trace it, the question hanging on the tip of his tongue.

“How’d you get this?”

Paloma takes a deep breath, her fingers still entertaining themselves in his curls. “I got it when I was thirteen,” she begins softly, “I used to love climbin’ this big tree we had in our backyard. I’d always go as high as I could, ‘n once I reached the top, I swore I could see the whole world from up there. It was beautiful, you know? The view, the feelin’ of being so free and above everythin’.”

She pauses, a small smile tugging at her lips as she remembers the exhilaration of those childhood climbs. “But one day, I saw somethin’ out in the distance—a shadowed figure. It made me feel… uneasy. I’d dreamt of somethin’ like it before, so seein’ it in person… it instilled this fear into me. Felt like a bad omen.”

Paloma shivers slightly at the recollection, and Javier’s hold tightens around her in silent support. “Somehow, I lost my footin’. Slipped off the branch and tumbled down the tree. The fall was chaotic as hell. One of the sharp branches nicked me and cut up my side. It was real deep, felt like I was gonna die.”

It was a miracle she didn’t break a bone or snap her neck. “I smacked the ground hard, it knocked the wind right outta me. I remember jus’ layin’ there, unable to breathe, and seein’ the blood. It was everywhere. The pain was so intense, and it took almost ten minutes of pure agony ‘fore I could use my lungs again. I started screamin’ like a banshee and my parents rushed out, absolutely frantic.”

The tip of his nose grazes the mark, his lips following suit, showering it with tender kisses. Her skin prickles with goosebumps as her fingertips gently scratch at his scalp.

“They rushed me into town to see Dr. Hughes. She stitched me up and told me I was lucky it wasn’t worse. Daddy and a few of his lumberjack buddies cut the tree down the next day. I was so sad.”

“Bet you didn’t climb more trees after that.” He smirks up at her and she snorts softly.

“I did, I was jus’ more careful.”

Javier’s affections trail upward from her stomach to her sternum, then to her neck, and she sighs happily.

The feel of his body between her legs, flaccid cock pressed up against her sore pussy, cradled in her arms, is a high she’s going to spend the rest of her life chasing.

They kiss and kiss until her lips are blue and his lungs beg for oxygen, exchanging tender touches.

His hand finds its familiar place around her neck but doesn’t apply any real pressure, thumb gently brushing against the column of her throat.

She revels in the feel of him.

Her dainty hands roam over his muscular back, broad shoulders, and toned triceps, exploring every inch they can reach. Each touch feels like a declaration of their mutual addiction.

The way they fit together, both physically and emotionally, is intoxicating.

She can feel his love in every movement, every kiss, and every gentle brush of his thumb.

This is their sanctuary, a moment where they can express their deepest emotions without fear.

“I could stay here all night.”

“Why limit yourself to all night? Why not forever?”

He groans out in satisfaction, nipping at her chin, needing his lips on some part of her at all times.

“As much as I’d love to pretend like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. I have to go back across the hall.”

“You don’t have to do anythin’. Said it was a bad idea to mess ‘round while my daddy’s downstairs but that didn’t stop you from fuckin’ me.”

She can’t even take the expression he flashes her seriously, not with his hair sticking up in odd places and that fucked out glaze over his brown eyes.

“Just leave early in the morning. Or at least wait until I fall asleep.” And out of spite, she’s tempted to stay up all night just to keep him in her bed.

“Fine. Until you fall asleep.” He kisses her on the lips, moving from between her legs until he’s settled behind her, scooping her into his arms. Her head rests on his chest, one leg hitched over his, and her palm sprawled against his stomach.

He trails his fingers up and down the length of her spine, the other hand stroking the thigh draped over his hip. He nuzzles his nose against the crown of her hair and inhales deeply.

Her scent is not only an aphrodisiac but also incredibly calming.

She feels the accelerated pounding of his heart and before she can ask what’s wrong, his tongue loosens.

“I had this partner in Colombia. Steve Murphy. The most American American you’ll ever meet.” A small smile forms on his face as he reminisces, “Didn’t speak a lick of Spanish but still managed to help me get shit done. We went through the fuckin’ trenches together down there and I put him through the wringer so many goddamn times. I was such an asshole.”

“Was?” She can’t help but quip, kissing up on his chest. Javier slaps at her thigh.

She can tell he holds fondness for this man and she wonders why he’s just now bringing him up. Regardless, she enjoys hearing about his time in the DEA, despite how dark it can get.

He was a completely different man with baggage she can’t even begin to fathom.

“We found a baby girl in her house one day. Her mother and the rest of her family had been shot up by some of Escobar’s men. They were about to kill her when we showed up.”

The conversation takes a turn, and Paloma lifts her head to meet his gaze, but he looks relatively calm as he goes on with the story.

“We chased those bastards all over the neighborhood. Right as I got the upper hand on one, a kid no older than ten cornered me with a fucking pistol.” Her eyes widen, and she brings her fingers up to touch his cheek.

“‘Course I wasn’t going to shoot a fucking kid. They both ran off. Murphy and his wife, Connie, ended up adopting the girl. Olivia, they named her.”

“Olivia’s a beautiful name.”

“She’s precious.”

The context of his past has jaded such a good man, molding him into a cynic over the years. No wonder he struggles to be vulnerable.

His eyes, though calm, reveal a depth of pain and reflection, the memories of those days etched into his soul.

“I think they’d like you.” He turns his head to kiss her palm, nuzzling against it as she cradles his face.

“Well maybe I’ll get to meet ‘em one day. Your pops, too.”

“Oh I know he’d love you. Just knowing how you tend to the house and yard is gonna have him wanting to steal you from me.” Javier playfully nips at her fingertips, those golden flecks she loves to see in his eyes returning.

“If he’s anything like you, then you’re in trouble, cowboy.” 

She’s tickled by the hairs of his mustache and accidentally lets a loud laugh slip, causing him to grip her jaw gently as he shushes her. “Shhh, baby…” His thumb is at her bottom lip, “Gonna get us caught.”

“Tell that to your ‘stache, sir. S’always ticklin’ me.” Paloma bites down on his thumb playfully and he lean in to kiss her for the millionth time.

They indulge in more pillow talk until eventually she’s just humming in response, half asleep, her body going limp against his and her breath leveling out.

Exhaustion tugs at him, the weather lulling him into an almost serene state. Watching her sleep in his arms, her already soft features look even more angelic.

Her long lashes rest delicately against her cheeks, and the rise and fall of her chest is hypnotic, reminding him that she’s real and here for him.

Javier doesn’t want to leave even though he knows he must. He doesn’t want to rob himself of this moment—of how, for the first time in a long time, he’s able to cradle something in his hands and not break it.

Her presence is a soothing balm to the wounds of his past, and he wants to savor every second of this newfound peace.

But as he holds her, the rhythmic patter of rain against the window and the rumble of thunder weave a lullaby that’s impossible to resist. His resolve falters and his eyelids grow heavy.

He takes in the scent of her hair, the warmth of her body pressed against his, and the feeling of absolute contentment that she brings.

It’s a sensation he convinced himself he wasn’t worthy of experiencing, so having it now fills him with a profound sense of gratitude.

Despite his best efforts to stay awake and to tell himself to get up, he eventually succumbs to the exhaustion, his head resting gently on hers. His arms tighten around her protectively, even in sleep, as if to ensure she remains safe and close.

The storm rages on outside, never letting up despite the tranquil note in which their night ends.

[mylovelies-docx]

Sorry, I Love You - Part 7

Heyooooooooooo. I'm back and there are no longer any parts backlogged - I'mma have to get to work on finishing this series lol

Plot: You and Bucky have a good thing going - best of friends that also have more than a little chemistry between the sheets. Everything is fine until you develop feelings for the man who doesn't want a relationship. What will happen when Bucky finds out?

C/W: Meeting new people, feels

Word Count: 1,900

Tag List: NOW CLOSED! If you'd like to keep up with this story, please follow my blog and turn on notifications! ❤️ you :)

[Prologue][Part 1][Part 2][Part 3][Part 4][Part 5][Part 6]

The sunset blazes through the kitchen window, bathing you and Bucky in soft golden light. The focus you had not even five minutes ago is a distant memory when faced with the view in front of you. Bucky looks so fine sitting across from you with the light shadowing one side of his face and illuminating his shorter hair. 

You still can’t get over the fact that Bucky actually cut it – you’d mentioned a haircut on more than one occasion, but he’d always brushed it off and said it wasn’t his style anymore. You disagreed then and you absolutely disagree now. His long hair was gorgeous in its own right, but nothing compares to the uninhibited view of his face now. His hair is mussed in spiky clumps where Bucky has run his fingers through it in frustration, but you can’t help but think how good it looks even like this.

You’re pretending to type something on your laptop, ensuring Bucky thinks that you’re actually working and not staring at him like the love-struck idiot you are. Every once in a while you’ll catch his eyes flickering up to meet yours, so all you can do is act like you’re thinking about something really hard and you’d just so happened to have blanked out on him. 

It’s been quiet between the two of you for the last 30 minutes – the vigor and excitement for planning ratcheting down once you got into the gritty details. That’s why you’re not expecting the thump, thump, thump that echoes down the hallway from the front door. Bucky’s head jerks up and he looks at you with a quirked eyebrow, asking silently if you knew someone was coming over. You shake your head and rise from the table. 

Stepping under the kitchen archway and into the living room, you pad across the carpet and into the entry hall. “Just a moment!” you yell out to the stranger behind the door. Without looking, you slide the dagger hidden inside the entryway table into your hand and approach the door. Rising slightly onto your tiptoes, you peer through the peephole in the door.

A couple stands on your front porch, the view fishbowling to where it appears their middles are huge but their heads and feet are the size of golfballs. You look over your shoulder at Bucky, who stands behind the living room wall with gun ready. You laugh silently and mouth the Greten’s at him. He puffs his cheeks out when he exhales and drops his gun, tucking it into the waistband at the small of his back. You slip your own knife up and into your sleeve.

Opening the door with a reserved but polite smile on your face, you greet the nextdoor neighbors. “Oh, hello! I wasn’t expecting company.”

The tall woman before you blushes slightly and dips her head. “Apologies. We were just wanting to stop by and introduce ourselves. We wanted to wait a day and allow you the time to settle in. I’m Tessa and this is my husband Christopher, we live right over there in the blue house.” Tessa points to the home directly beside yours with several windows boarded over and paint peeling off in some spots.

You smile brightly at the pair and introduce yourself before yelling behind you, “James, we have guests!” Turning back to the couple, you step aside and usher them in. “Come, come! It’s freezing out there.”

Christopher tries to decline, but you won’t hear of it. You and Bucky had already decided to meet and befriend this couple, so them showing up works out well. Their dossiers noted that they were a well-off family that knew everyone and everything going on within the community, but you can’t help but note the discrepancies you find between the surveillance photos taken a year ago and the people in front of you now. 

Christopher’s thinning hair and exposed scalp are covered by a thin toboggan that can’t be effective in this weather, and you see that Tessa’s dress is threadbare with nearly half a dozen patches when she takes off her overcoat. Regardless of the state of their clothing, Tessa offers you the small bowl she’d been holding in her hands.

“It’s my grandmother’s recipe. Everyone says it’s the best they’ve ever had!” She smiles proudly at this statement and you can’t help but grin back.

“Well, I’m excited to try them!”

Bucky walks into the living room, acting as if he hadn’t been behind the wall with a gun only moments ago. You escort Christopher and Tessa further inside and close the door behind them. Bucky walks up and shakes Christopher’s hand and introduces himself. 

“I am so sorry,” you begin, “but I haven’t started on dinner yet. I can whip something up real fast, though!”

“No, no, dear,” Tessa declines. “We didn’t mean to intrude – only wanted to introduce ourselves and then get out of your hair.”

“Nonsense,” you say. “The more the merrier.” You pat Bucky on the shoulder as you walk by him and into the kitchen. “Tessa and I will be in here. I’ll let you guys know when the food is ready.”

Bucky nods and holds his hand out to the couch, offering Christopher a seat. Bucky takes the armchair across from him (which has a loaded gun stuffed between the arm and seat cushion). With your hands full, you look at Tessa and nod your head towards the kitchen.

She starts to shuffle across the living room carpet towards you, her hands clasped in front of her. “We really didn’t mean to intrude on you and your husband. We just –”

You let out a hearty guffaw to mask your displeasure in correcting her and shake your head. “He’s my brother,” you explain to them. 

She stops where she’s at, standing behind the sofa next to Christopher. They share a look with each other before Christopher turns to Bucky. “Brother?” he asks.

You and Bucky look at each other with small grins. There’s no way you could ever pass for blood-relatives.

“He’s adopted,” you say.

“Oh, well in that case,” Tessa says as she continues her walk towards you and the kitchen, “I have a son about your age…”

***

Dinner was a simple affair, but the Greten’s seemed to enjoy it immensely. Barely any food remains on the shared plates in front of you, your guests having taken second and third helpings. You’re glad to see that they enjoyed the meal.

The conversations were very surface level ‘getting to know you’ topics, which is always the most tedious part of meeting new people. But laying the foundation for your life in order to establish your cover sometimes: like now, when you and Bucky can relax into an easy ‘sibling’ rivalry and rib on each other. It keeps everything lighthearted and doesn’t allow you think on how this would have played out differently as ‘husband and wife’.

The couple are in their 50s and have lived in this town their whole lives, so if there’s anything you and Bucky need to find out then they’re probably the ones to help with that. They have 5 children ranging in ages from 28 to 13, all living at home with the exception of the eldest son that Tessa is dying for you to meet.

You laugh merrily as you follow the Gretens back to the front door.

“You both must come,” Tessa is saying as she pulls on her coat. “Most everyone in town is going to be there and they need to meet you.”

Christopher slides the thin toboggan out of his pocket and places it on his head. “You both are going to be a hit: it’s been so long since anyone new has come around.”

Bucky stands next to you and puts his arm on your head, leaning on you as if you were short enough to be leaned on. You scrunch your face and slide out from under him, elbowing him in the side as you do it. “We wouldn’t miss it,” Bucky replies.

“Great!” Tessa claps her hand and ushers Christopher out the door. “Saturday at 9pm. Don’t forget!”

“We won’t,” you agree.

After a quick goodbye, you close and lock the door.

“They were nice…” you begin.

“But…?” Bucky continues.

“But…something isn’t adding up.”

Bucky hums his agreement. 

You both stand at the door, contemplating what could have happened to this sweet couple since the intel was gathered, but without the people in question there to ask (and it being much too rude to ask) there isn’t much point.

You walk away to begin cleaning the kitchen. Tessa offered to help, but you wouldn’t hear of it – after her stories of how hard she’s worked to take care of her family and this community, you couldn’t dream of accepting. Bucky follows you into the kitchen and removes the plates from the table. You work in silence, the camaraderie from dinner fading away into something else. Not uncomfortable, but nowhere near as companionable as the silence used to be in the beginning of the year.

You and Bucky used to lay in the quiet dark after sex. Clothes on the floor, sheets rumpled, hair messy. There wasn’t much that needed to be said that couldn’t wait until after you’d caught your breaths. But the peace that arrived after the frantic activities led to you falling asleep in his arms on more than one occasion.

But you were always alone come morning.

The clack of plates stacking on top of each other rouses you from your thoughts. You’d been mindlessly scrubbing dishes while Bucky dried, but you realize that your hands have been floating in the soapy water with nothing to do. You quickly pull the plug and watch the liquid form a tight spiral over the drain. The glug, glug, glug precedes Bucky as he clears his throat.

“You wanna…” You look up at him as he says this and see him nod his head in the direction of the living room. “Uh. Wanna watch a movie?” His arm scratches nervously at the back of his neck and you can tell he’s uncomfortable. Why would he ask?

“No,” you say. “No, I think I’m gonna go to bed. Tomorrow’s the first day at the facility, ya know?” You give him a brittle smile as you say this. Stepping forward, you make sure not to brush against Bucky as you slide past him and out towards your bedroom. You hear him release a heavy sigh behind you, probably glad that you didn’t take him up on the offer.

He may have only mentioned watching a movie together to be polite, but a couch and a dark room with Bucky hadn’t ended platonically the last several times it’s happened. The memories will probably prevent movie nights together for as long as you still have feelings for him.

Which will mostly likely be for the rest of your life.

@jackiehollanderr @rabbitrabbit12321 @12345sebby @blackwood-bodecker-housewife @lauraashley93 @themorningsunshine @happinessinthebeing @nash-dara @calwitch @stany0url0calwh0res111 @pono-pura-vida @learisa @introverbatim @kentokaze @marvelogic @kaz11283

Part 8

[rustyr3dhe4d]

growing pains - ls2

*super disclaimer!!! this is actually a plot line i came up with for an actual logan sergeant fanfic but decided to scrap. that being said, i already came up with the character. anywho, this might be shit so enjoy anyways! also, i know i used songs that were written by other people but pretend that they aren't for the plot*

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

summary: after red bull let you go and you joined williams for your second year on the grid, instead of keeping quiet about what really happened, you write a bomb-ass album about it.

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

liked by logansargeant, williamsracing, and 997,325 others

dcasey29 growing pains. OUT NOW!

a piece of me to you. thank for the love, d<3

View all 4,731 comments

user3 oh i know that this shit is gonna be good

logansargeant forever and always proud of you🩷

↳ dcasey29 forever and always thankful for you🩷

user81 THE TALENT?!?!

user55 logans comment😢

williamsracing this will be on repeat in the garage💙💙 proud of you dylan!

↳ dcasey29 💙💙💙

lilymhe you are my favorite popstar🩷

↳ dcasey29 love you my lily 🩷

↳alex_albon hey, that's my gf. besides that, so proud of you dyls!

liked by dcasey29 and lilymhe

user44 red bull right now: 💀

user63 PLEASE, THE DISSES AT RED BULL-

user16 WHAT'S 4+4?!?

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

dylan's pov

i stare at all of the comments on twitter and instagram regarding the recent drop of my album. some are nice and some are not. "stop it. your album that you made is amazing." logan reassures me as he sits down.

"i know, i'm just scared on how christian is going to react." i turn off my phone and set it on the coffee table.

after my rookie season with red bull, christian let me go after refusing to take on the name as "red bulls slut-around-rookie." there was many more PR stunts i had to do, many of them pertaining to my love and sex life.

shortly after i cleaned out my drivers room, the red bull racing account on instagram announced my departure and was welcoming sergio perez with open arms. also later that night, james vowles the team principal of williams racing, called me with an offer for a seat due to alex being out for the season due to a shoulder injury in the post-season.

"let him react. his reaction will only prove you were right in what you wrote about him in your songs." logan places his hand on mine, giving it a tight squeeze.

on my first day at HQ, me and logan hit it off instantly. of course, our main thing in common was that we were both the only americans on the grid. after spending some time together, we ended up developing feelings for one another. we started dating a few months ago and people know, but we still keep a lot of things about our relationship private.

i move my head to rest on his shoulder, which he places a kiss on my head in response. sadly the comfortable silence between the two of us was cut short by my phone vibrating.

we both sit up and read the name on the phone.

christian horner (Red Bull TP)

we both share a wide eyed look before my hand reaches out to grab my phone.

"shit." i whisper, before hesitantly pressing the green answer button.

＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚　　 ˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊

[kimsmuse]

yunho, your bestfriend is definitely NOT yandere ♡ !!

1535 words. gender neutral!reader. warnings for perverse behaviour, manipulation, character death (sorry, dino) typical yandere kidnapping, obsession, mentions of blood.

this is more of just like warming up for me before i move into more intense plots so i apologise if it feels kinda disappointing :/ requests r open btw :D come talk to me <3

jeong yunho is not a yandere, at least that’s what he convinces himself. he just has a soft corner for you, his best friend, and that’s normal, right?

nobody could ever imagine your best friend, yunho, the one who stays eerily silent throughout the day, sitting by your side as he works on his notes, nobody even knew why he was your friend in the first place. but nobody could have imagined him being in love with you. maybe the other way around, because of the way you smiled at him, constantly were on his side, encouraged him to get out more and more but never the other way around.

let's go a spy a little on jeong yunho, shall we? because i don’t believe him one bit.

yandere!yunho who swears that he isn't in love with you, you're just another of his friends that he admires very deeply, but again, whenever he drops by your house, he finds some or the other excuse to sneak around your room, looking around as if inspecting it to know if somebody's been there but thankfully, so far he can't find he signs for an interference and steal your panties, only once or twice a month. It’s not very weird, is it?

he finds that the smell you wear is the only thing that can calm him down when he's feeling way too anxious, whether its a work issue, a final paper. you can take his mind off anything, there’s nothing bigger for him than you, but he’s so afraid to admit it. so there’s a pillow in his room sprayed with the perfume you wear and he hides it whenever he goes out, because who knows when he'd be bringing you home and he doesn't wanna creep you out. especially when there’s nothing to be scared about at all, he would never hurt you at all.

yandere!yunho who is convinced that the only reason he sees red when he sees you laugh at something mingi said is because he’s scared you'll find him a better friend tham yunho, and abandon him. there’s zero romantic feelings involved.

oh and don't get him started about the times you accidentally touch him at all. he'd write books and essays and poems on those instances because it wasn't an exaggeration when so many poets described things happening equal to the world stopping, because his does, whenever you touch his shoulder, or even at the slightest contact of your skin with his. he hates the feeling, but his denial hasn’t stopped it from happening, so he finds himself looking at you, standing in your doorway as you choose an outfit for the next day, inform you that he’s leaving because he honestly has no idea what he would do if he had to spend the night with you, he doesn’t think he has much control left, not anymore, when all you could seem to do was whine and yearn for a lover, he was right there, goddamnit.

you might think yandere!yunho is a loser, but he’s got a game with others, solid game, there’s nobody who’s ever said no to him but in front of you, he keeps on losing control of himself, losing himself. it is a blow to his self esteem that he can never even bring up the topic of his feelings, not even a bit. get a grip, yunho!

why do you make him feel this way? and why do you never feel bad for him?

at some point yunho is convinced that you're just pretending to not know anything about his plight, when you're actually clueless about it.

like how come you've never noticed the way he looks at you (because literally everybody else has, thank god they mistake it as unrequited love)

in his eyes, you’re knowingly making him lose control, edging him to the point that he just has to snap. but if you think that’s going to happen, you’re mistaken!

but all it takes for yandere!yunho to snap is this, “it feels like mr. choi constantly has a stick up his ass,” a comment by your friend, dino, (thank god mingi was sick today and couldn’t attend class) and he’s briefly sidetracked when you laugh so contagiously, his insides warm up. god, you’re so cute. but the joke wasn’t that funny, or are you that easy to please? he feels a distaste in his mouth. control, control, control, he’s always been The Calm one so why was his temper betraying him now, when he needed to control it the most? he shakes his head. just this once let him go. He makes it through the day without killing anybody. a real achievement for him.

the way dino glances at him so demeaningly has his anger threatening to spill out like an overflowing jar, but he grits his teeth, he wasn’t 17 anymore, it won’t be a juvenile case anymore.

on the other hand, you’re completely oblivious to your best friend’s feelings, no matter what he has deluded himself into thinking. and you’re into dino, the guy is funny, talented, and super cute! so when he has taken a sudden interest in cracking up jokes for you, you happily grin at him.

when you get home that evening from grocery shopping, you have a text from dino, “are you free tonight?”

and that is enough to send you giggling to pick out some clothes that don’t seem like you’ve put in an effort but still look good enough.

“my place, 8. it’s a date ;)”

uh, but, did no one teach you to sense that something is fishy when some guy you’ve been just talking to for a few days invites you over out of the blue? watch some true crime or something please.

regardless of that, you do go up to his place, just to find no answer when you knock, but when you call him, his phone is inside, so you slightly push the door, and it’s open…

another lesson is to never go into a stranger’s home on your own, you might just find your bestfriend standing over him, covered in his blood, entranced by looking at him as if he’s being hypnotized.

when you make it out in the dark, it’s too late to step out, the door creaking open would create a noise and you’re not even sure how your legs would even budge.

jeong yunho is NOT a yandere, and he made it through the entire DAY not killing anyone but the night was a different story. he was paying mr. dino a little visit when he saw his phone, his whole group chat plan of making a sextape, of making it viral and then your chat, your emojis… oh god, why do you have to be so innocent?

or were you trying to test yunho? In which case, when he wipes his face and a little blood sticks there, he thinks he’s passed.

when he looks up at you, his face is only illuminated by the streetlight coming in from the gaps of the curtains, his face glinting in the sinister light.

and you step back as he moves near you.

“are you afraid of me?” his voice makes you jump, it’s the same voice he used to say “bye, take care, see you,” just hours ago to you. “are you really? when i’m the one who loves you the most?”

“babe, look, whatever i did, i did it for you. Do you know what would have happened if i wasn’t there? something much, much worse to you, and i can’t let anything happen to you, not while i can take care of it, okay?” you nod, “and if i let him go, he would have done the same thing to someone else, and you don’t want that do you?

you shake your head.

yandere!yunho, who, under the pretext of giving you a glass of water to “calm down, ” drugs you into a deep sleep and in his defense the pill was so visible that you should have noticed! what if it was someone else? what if yunho wasn’t around to protect you! yunho, who then takes you away to some place, where that is, you would never know, was it your city? was it the south part? the view outside the window was unfamiliar to you.

yandere!yunho who is so, so, so sad whenever you bring up that he has “trapped” you here because in his eyes, this was the perfect life! after all he had done for you, the least you could do was lie a little? you didn’t even have to move a finger, everything was at your disposal, then why weren't you happy?

freedom wasn’t that important.

he doesn’t give up though, he has hope, that once you will actually look into his eyes when he's talking to you and voluntarily, without spite in your eyes for him.

he believes that you will love him, once you've realized the extent of things he's done for you and the heights he’s willing to go to.

and he promises to do whatever it takes to protect you. always and forever.

[nightlyrequiem]

The Other Side of Paradise

8) To Bond

Cross posted from AO3

Ch.1, Ch.2, Ch.3, Ch.4, Ch.5, Ch.6, Ch.7, Ch.8, Ch.9, Ch.10, Ch.11

You try to make the best of your life working at a small bakery in a city with rising cartel violence. One slower day, a man starts harassing your coworker. Despite the obvious threat, you stand up to him anyway. Unbeknownst to you, Valeria just so happened to be there to witness it.

A/N- All chapters containing smut will be labeled mature. The fic is fully written with the whole thing on AO3 but chapters on Tumblr will be posted one a day.

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Angst, Dual POV, Happy Ending, Plot with Porn, Graphic Violence, Inappropriate Use of a Knife, Masturbation, WLW

'What are we?' That's the newest question burning through your mind. You have to stop yourself from blurting it out when she visits you occasionally at work. You have to stop yourself from texting the question whenever you pick up the phone. Lest you come off as needy and desperate. The budding romance between you two is still new and delicate and you'd hate to scare her off by springing a question like that on her. If you pretend to be chill and relaxed and let things progress naturally then everything will happen like it should.

That being said, you take extra care to make yourself look nice. More than usual. You go about your workday with a little more energy. Just the chance that Valeria will come in to visit you is enough to make you feel giddy. To give you a renewed sense of purpose. You wash dishes and pack up baked goods with a small smile. Whether or not anyone notices your slightly more upbeat energy, they don't comment on it. Although you almost wish someone would ask you about it. You'd love to gush about your feelings to another person. To talk endlessly about Valeria. It's all you can think about. She's all you can think about.

You wipe down the tables and keep an ear out for the sound of the door opening. At one point, it did, and you turned with a smile only to see some guy. Your disappointment was immeasurable, and you were glad he already knew what he wanted so he'd leave faster. The door opens again, and you look, trying not to be too excited in case it isn't who you're hoping for. It is, and you smile. Resisting the urge to drop the rag and bound over to her like a puppy. Instead, Valeria walks over to you and leans against the wall. Immediately you can tell she's had a rough week. There are slight dark circles under her eyes and just a general aura of exhaustion radiating off of her.

You set the rag down and turn to face her fully.

"I'm glad to see you." You say softly. Hoping to provide at least the smallest amount of comfort. Valeria runs a hand through her shiny black hair.

"Yeah." She replies. "It's nice to be here." You plant your palms on the table and hoist yourself up so you're sitting on it. You'll have to wipe it down again later, but you don't mind.

"Especially near closing." You reply.

"Mhm, it's always so quiet." She murmurs. Her hand reaches out for yours and she casually interlaces your fingers with hers. Your heart acts like it's the most exciting thing to have happened to you.

"I know, I used to come here after school to do homework." You reminisce. You did more eating and reading than actual work, but the details aren't important. You still passed after all.

"I'd seen you a few times, actually." Valeria says quietly. Turning her head to look at you. "My friends used to make fun of you for being by yourself.

You blink. Not entirely sure how to respond to that information.

"Oh. Well... did you ever... participate in that?" You ask awkwardly. Valeria stares at you silently for a few seconds before replying.

"No." You aren't sure how true that is but that was back in high school. She's clearly changed if she's willing to be here with you right now. You're holding hands. Why let that ruin a good thing? Forgive and forget, right?

"How has your day been?" You ask. Switching topics. You're starting to really like the casual small talk with her. It feels domestic.

"Long." She sighs.

You give her hand a slight squeeze.

"How about we go for a walk after I finish cleaning up?" You suggest.

"Doesn't your shift end at ten?" She asks. Furrowing her brows. You just shrug after getting off the table.

"It's only an hour, I'm sure Mateo won't be too mad." You remark. Grabbing the rag to re-wipe the table. Valeria watches you work. You can feel her gaze on the side of your face. It makes you feel a little self-conscious.

"A walk would be nice." She finally says. "We should go down to the creek." Valeria doesn't have to specify which creek. Everyone who grew up in Las Almas knows which creek. It's where children held mock wars and swam. It's where teenagers made it to fourth base and partied. Well, some teenagers anyway. You didn't know enough people to get invited to parties.

You finish up with closing duties and lock down the bakery. You and Valeria decide to walk towards the stretch of woods housing the creek instead of driving. The bakery isn't that far and the whole point of this outing is to walk. To your surprise, your hands stay connected while you two traverse the nearly empty streets. It helps reassure you that your feelings aren't just one sided, as if making out and heavy petting didn't make it clear enough. You make it to the woods and walk along the path in comfortable silence. You forgot about the bug population and have to keep slapping at your own limbs to fend off against hungry mosquitos.

You and Valeria arrive at the creek and sit down in the soft grass beneath a large oak tree. It's dark and a little cool out so you lean against Valeria for warmth. She wraps an arm around your shoulder and holds you. You feel content. You feel happy.

"I used to come down to catch frogs and salamanders." You murmur. You weren't ever successful. Not even with a net.

"I used to play hide and seek; I had this big group of friends when I was ten." Valeria replies. She turns her head to look at you. "I was an excellent hider, always the last to be caught."

"But you were caught eventually, or did you have to come out once everyone gave up looking for you?" Valeria smiles. You catch the glint of her white teeth as she speaks.

"The kids I played with didn't know how to give up." She says. "I was always good at hiding but I couldn't stay hidden forever."

You smile, amused.

"I used to love playing hide and seek, I didn't have many people to play with though and that number dropped significantly once I reached high school."

"I would've played with you." Valeria murmurs. You rest you head on her shoulder.

"No, you wouldn't have." She scoffs but doesn't rebuke your comment. You both know you're right.

"If I were less afraid over what people would've thought of me then I would have." You pause. A little caught off guard by the admission. Valeria never struck you as the type of woman to care what others thought. She was always confident, an a little mean if you're being honest.

You stare off at the glittering water.

"You worried over what people thought of you?" You ask.

"I was a teenage girl, of course I cared." She replies quietly. "I always cared. I always worried I wasn't good enough, not pretty enough, not feminine enough." She admits. She sounds uncomfortable. Valeria straightens up a bit. Her tone hardening. "I'm more than enough now though." You're still surprised over her revelation. Hearing that the woman you've always been a little envious of was probably just as insecure as you had come as a shock.

She doesn't speak again, and you don't ask. You just enjoy her company while you two look out at a shared childhood hotspot. After a while she removes her arm from your shoulder and stands up.

"We should go." She says. You wouldn't mind staying for a little while longer but if she's not staying you don't want to. Being out in the dark woods on your own isn't ideal. You stand up and follow her back to the path. She doesn't hold your hand this time.

[fallloverfic]

TGCF donghua Season 2, Episode 3 thoughts

Screaming through my tears of happiness. Spoilers under the cut (also book/story spoilers, for folks just coming in from the donghua).

We may only get him for a minute or two BUT I LOVE ALL THE PRECIOUS SECONDS OF YIN YU, MY BELOVED T-T The second he started talking I had to pause to scream adlkjaldaj

I also love how obvious this is. It's a nice way to set up for the audience "yeah, something's fishy here and it's not just He Xuan". I'm just imagining Hua Cheng like taking Yin Yu's bandages off and unrolling his sleeve to properly set the scene for Xie Lian to see the shackle alkdjalj Cause it'd be funny. Yin Yu, tiredly, "Yes, Hua Chengzu, whatever you want, Hua Chengzu..."

They are so cute. I love them so much.

I imagine a bajillion people have said this but this is very funny as a comparison to Beast giving Beauty the library in Disney's Beauty and the Beast. Hua Cheng knows what makes his gege happy: a fully stocked armory. Xie Lian's pose is so adorable T-T "I really do" indeeeed. Their back and forth kills me T-T

E-ming, babyyyy T-T gets some sparklies cause it's so happpp cause Xie Lian is noticing it :3333

ALSO E-MING'S CHIRPING???? IT'S SO CUTE????? THE CUTEST THING IN THE WORLD????

Xie Lian leaning over to pet Hua Cheng's weapon while Hua Cheng is wearing it ends me. Just ends me. Bless them all.

Spider-man Xie Lian was hilarious aldkjalj You think "oh he's not being good at this whole sneaky thing isn't he, Yin Yu is probably like "how long do I pretend I can't tell he's like 10 steps behind me"" and then WOOP SPIDER-XIE LIAN alkdjaldkja

Spider-Lian, Spider-Lian, does whatever a scrap collector god can...

I also love the parallel stuff with Lang Ying and Hua Cheng, setting up for Hua Cheng to later impersonate him. I know part of it is just twigging Xie Lian's memory of Hong-Hong-er, but the first time it happens (with Lang Ying's silhouette after dropping the bandages fading into Hua Cheng's face in the present), I think it's a clear set-up for the later plot of Hua Cheng pretending to be him.

Also Ruoye and Xie Lian being badass: I am always here for it.

Qi Rong getting a second of reference. I'm so excited to see how he's handled, terrible man that he is, love him.

Wind Master was also really funny, "I never want to go on patrols with you ever again!" aldkjaldja He's so mad aldkjaldaj

Wonderful episode. I cried. I screamed (no literally I had to pause and make myself be quiet alkdjaldja). E-Ming's chirping T-T Yin Yu T-T Hualian. So adorable.

Other episode thoughts for season 2 (didn't start till episode 3):

S02E03 (you are here)

S02E04

S02E05

S02E06

S02E07

S02E08

S02E09

S02E10

S02E11

S02E12

[clandestine-j]

the literal 911 leaker on reddit has already confirmed that buck and tommy are not endgame. They literally said and I quote "No. He's a chess piece that got moved from Eddie to Buck. A catalyst for either of their queerness. I'm saving you time." when someone asked them if buck and tommy are gonna be endgame

This leaker has also gotten everything they posted right as well. They were the ones that first broke the news months before it happened that Buck was gonna be bisexual, so they clearly know many people in production including writers. Since we know S8 is beign written and they posted this today.

so sounds like buck and tommy isn't going to last which i guess is fine but once tommy leaves i'm not watching anymroe. I have no reason to doubt this leaker everything they've posted has come true.

They posted Natalia not coming back, Buck being bi, Marisol being bones, Chris leaving for a time period, Gerrard coming back, like nothing they have said has been false. So now I'm bracing myself and just gonna enjoy Buck and Tommy while we still have them.

Hmm, I don't know much about the -1-1 leaker. I'm on the subreddit for it but I guess I didn't dig deep enough.

I think I could believe that, if this was coming out after they filmed and got scripts. They're still on break right? Like, the info they got, was info after the script had been settled. I've chatted with some friends and they feel like, everything the leaker 'leaked' could've been figured out pretty easily. That's their view. Another view, they just feel like the leaker is saying this to get us Tommy fans to stop talking about and enjoying him.

But also, I don't need Buck and Tommy to be endgame? Would I enjoy, hell yeah!

But my personal issue has never been Buck and Tommy being endgame. Unlike most, I didn't hate all of Buck's previous love interest. I liked Abby for what she was needed for, I didn't enjoy Taylor fully but I get it wasn't all bad. I did enjoy Ali and was sad she had such a short run. And I thought, Natalia could've been cool but they wasted her.

I won't ever stop watching the show because the ship is over but I also don't shame for moving on! If you're not vibing with what you're watching, then do you and don't be feel bad about.

But back to the point, my issue never was Buck and Tommy not being end game.

It was the buddie or bust fans not allowing us to ENJOY the ship. It was the buddie or bust fans, accusing us of being fake buddie fans because we DARED to enjoy another Buck ship. It was buddie or bust fans shitting on Tommy in his tag and calling him a plot device. It was the buddie or bust fans, CONSTANTLY shoving buddie down our throats with a fanon ship while shitting on a canon one. My issue was was the ao3 tags being tagged as Buck/Tommy just so they can dump have him dumed and be with Eddie. My issue was buddie or bust fans getting upset that people didn't include queer Eddie while they shitted on a canon GAY man. My issue was buddie or bust fans pretending as if Buck wasn't a sexually, kinky guy because it's with Tommy now but will write the kinkiest fanfics. My issue was them treating Tommy like this predator or acting like a gay man can't have friends without trying to get with him, while he knows said man is straight and has a girlfriend.

That's why I'm so defensive over Buck and Tommy, because they'll cry and run love interest off until the cows come home for buddie but get upset when WE want to enjoy a relationship.

Maybe Buck and Tommy don't last but nothing shows that they're gonna drop him 3 episodes into season 8. I just want to enjoy it. That's it.

So, don't worry yourself too much. We don't know what will happen but we CAN demand, that we're allowed to enjoy Buck and Tommy without them freaking out because people dared to enjoy a relationship.