#then I diverged and the story is something else now

[cj-marj]

I have run out of Sung Jinwoo/Woo Jinchul fics to consume. :(

[ginnsbaker]

All Of Your Pieces (1 - Honey! I shrunk the kids! 18+)

Summary: Wanda accidentally shrinks your kids while trying out a spell that would benefit both of you in the bedroom; Jimmy and Darcy attempt to find out more about the Hex, particularly when they discover a remarkable detail about you. Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x Female Reader Chapter word count: 3k+ | Tags: Smut, Campy Humor, Language

A/N: I've been working on this series since late August and have finally figured out what to do with it, enough to share it with you all. The story will be told in three parts: Westview (The Missing Town), Pre-Westview, and Post-Westview. This follows some events in WandaVision, but it's very canon-divergent. It's going to be different from my other works (I've never written humor before and I'm quite insecure about that), as this one is very plot-driven but at the same time, still very much Wanda x Reader (especially in parts 2 and 3). Updates will be every Wednesday. Chapters will be 2.5–3.5k words long, except for the ending chapters of each part, which are twice as long. So, without further ado… More author's notes here.

Series Masterlist | Main Masterlist

-

“Honey! I shrunk the kids!” 

Wanda bursts into the basement, apron billowing out like a cape. Except, there's no draft down here; that apron shouldn't be moving like that at all. But then again, considering your wife’s claim, maybe the laws of physics are taking a day off.

You glance up from the miniature model home you’re meticulously working on, unsure if you heard her right. Did she really just say that? 

“You what?”

Wanda, flushed and a little breathless, skids to a stop in front of you. “Okay, so I was experimenting with a new spell, one that was supposed to…” She bites her lip, hesitating, her face glowing a deeper shade of red. “...it was supposed to do something else, but it backfired and... well, it’s not important right now!”

“Jesus, Wanda.”

Your poor, beautiful, occasionally clumsy wife stands there, teetering between a freak-out and a fit of giggles. 

“It was an accident! I didn't mean to!” Wanda shrieks, causing the room to tremble from her panic.

Wanda's powers have always been a wildcard. You can child-proof the entire house in a day, but that definitely doesn't cover child-proofing Wanda herself—especially not when your kids are involved. Luckily, the boys have inherited some special abilities of their own, which leaves you as the sole non-superpowered member of the household. With that in mind, you know better than to panic. Getting worked up alongside her would only escalate things, and you’re not exactly keen on being shrunk next.

“Okay…where are they now?” you ask as calmly as you can manage.

Wanda takes a deep breath and leads you to the living room. You trail her in silence, clutching at composure. It can’t be that bad, right? The distant sound of playful music trickling through the house almost makes it seem like everything’s fine. You hadn’t really noticed it before, but now that you think about it, it’s like your brain has learned to associate that kind of tune with situations that somehow always end in collective sighs of relief.

Sighs, giggles, and applause—sounds that don't belong to Wanda or the boys.

Where are they coming from?

Before your mind can completely sink into the oddities of your life here in Westview, Wanda halts in the middle of the living room. Your eyes dart around, searching for Billy and Tommy, but they’re nowhere to be seen.

“Where?”

“Right there,” Wanda points toward the coffee table, her finger trembling slightly.

You squint in the direction she’s pointing. Next to the TV remote, two tiny figures wave up at you—your sons, each about the size of your thumb.

“Oh my god, they’re tiny!” you gasp, covering your mouth with your hand. You expected them to be at least half their normal size—a size they might grow out of eventually.

“Shhhh, Y/N!” Wanda hisses, pressing her index finger to her lips. “The neighbors might hear you.”

Neighbors. Which usually means just Agnes from next door. There’s literally several meters of spaces between your houses, but somehow, she always manages to hear things she shouldn’t and pries like she’s in some perfectly timed routine.

Wanda kneels by the coffee table, her eyes soft. “I told them to stay right there until we sorted this out.”

The twins start making noises, sounding like tiny bells, though still hard to make out. You pull out a magnifying glass from your back pocket—has that been there the whole time?—making sure your sons are okay. As soon as the lenses zoom in on their faces, you're relieved to see them laughing uproariously, seemingly unbothered by their predicament.

“They seem... happy?” you say, lowering the magnifying glass.

“They think it's hilarious,” Wanda grumbles, her lips curling into a pout.

“So,” you sigh, pushing yourself to your feet. “Any ideas on how to fix this?”  You're tempted to suggest just letting it run its course, waiting for the spell to fizzle out, but you know Wanda wouldn’t go for that. She's fiercely protective of the twins, and you can't blame her—it’s all her handiwork, after all.

Then you hear it—a hiccup. Another follows, and then another, each one a little louder than the last.

Before you know it, Wanda's a sobbing mess.

You cup her face in your hands. “Hey, hey...it’s okay,” you murmur, gently brushing away a tear with your thumb.

Wanda’s breath hitches as she looks at you, her eyes brimming with worry. “What if I can’t fix it?”

“We will,” you promise, looking into her eyes.

A collective ‘awww’ rings in your ears, pulling you out of the moment. What the hell—where did that come from? You've had this creepy feeling of being watched lately, and it's only getting worse.

Wanda brings you back to focus when she nuzzles into your palm. “Oh, Y/N, I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You give her a small, lopsided grin and plant a kiss on her forehead. “Good thing you’ll never have to find out.” Something passes over her eyes as soon as you say it, but it vanishes in a split-second, replaced by a moment of inspiration.

“Wait,” she bursts out, stepping away from your embrace. “I think I have an idea.”

She heads straight for the fridge, and you trail after her, holding your breath.

“I’ve been trying to reverse it, but my magic isn’t cooperating. It’s like... it’s tangled,” Wanda mutters, yanking things out of the fridge.

You scowl, arms crossed, watching her. “Tangled? What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. The more I try to fix it, the worse it gets. Like it has a life of its own,” she says. she says. After a few more seconds of rummaging, Wanda finally grabs a tetra pack of chocolate milk—the twins' favorite.

“I’m hoping this will do the trick,” she says, giving the carton a shake.

You cock your head, clueless on what’s going on. “Honey, what’s going on?”

Wanda mumbles, barely glancing up as she vigorously shakes the carton. “Just doing what it says—’Shake well before serving.’”

You roll your eyes, muttering, “This woman...”. Then louder, you ask, “I mean, what’s the chocolate got to do with our tiny children?”

Wanda stops mid-shake, a look of realization dawning on her face. “Oh, right,” she slaps her forehead. “You can’t read minds. I keep forgetting,” she chuckles, setting down the carton with a sheepish grin.

There it is again—a chorus of laughter from somewhere far off. Your mouth twitches at the sound—it’s really starting to get on your nerves. You make a mental note to bring it up with Wanda later.

Wanda gathers herself, then pitches her plan. “Instead of directly casting a spell on the twins, I think it’s safer to enchant this chocolate milk.” She picks up the carton again, giving it a final shake. “The idea is to infuse the milk with a spell that will gradually restore them to their normal sizes.”

You nod, beginning to understand what she’s trying to do. “Sounds less risky than zapping them with more magic head on.”

“Exactly,” she agrees, her eyes lighting up with excitement. You’d swear she’s getting a kick out of this macabre parenting hack—kids and all. The background tune keeps playing, like a promise that the universe won’t let things turn to shit. You’re wondering if maybe Wanda hears it too.

“This way, the magic is diluted and can adjust more naturally with their systems. It’s like... sneaking the cure into their bodies,” she says, snapping her fingers, red swirls of magic emanating from them to the carton of milk.

“I'm so proud of you, baby,” you say, leaning in for a quick kiss which she happily accepts. “For finding a fix, I mean. The whole shrinking our kids thing? Still not great.”

–

“What kind of spell do you think Wanda was going for?” Darcy asks, her eyes fixed on the credits rolling across the screen before it fades to black. She’s really gotten into Wanda’s little show, a welcome distraction from the freezing depths of hell that is New Jersey in November. Though exciting things are finally happening to her, the timing couldn't be worse. 

“No clue,” Jimmy mutters, his attention glued to the laptop in front of him. It’s been two days since Quantico sent him to look into the bizarre case of a missing town—a phenomenon almost unheard of in the 21st century. Upon arriving, they discovered that the town in question, Westview, was enveloped by some sort of anomaly—or a Hex, as Darcy has started calling it, referring to the hexagonal shape of the barrier encasing the town. 

Around the same time as the discovery, S.W.O.R.D. agent Monica Rambeau was quite literally sucked into the anomaly by accident. The only breakthrough has been Darcy Lewis’ detection of the signals, providing them with a window into the mysterious shroud, even helping them identify some of the show's characters as actual residents of the town.

But overall, they're still desperately trying to piece together why this is happening and how to stop it.

Darcy peeks over at the data on Jimmy’s screen. “Find anything new?”

Jimmy sighs in frustration. “No, not really. Everything we dig up just adds more questions instead of answers.”

“Like what, for instance?”

Instead of answering directly, he slides a thick file across the table toward her. “See for yourself.”

Darcy catches the file and starts flipping through it. Murmuring, she says, “So, Google finally returned search results?” The stack of papers is downright daunting. Jimmy’s right—any mountain of information would raise more questions than answers.

“No, not Google,” Jimmy corrects her. “Stark's highly confidential database did. The woman Wanda's married to in Westview? She’s not in any public records. Turns out her records were wiped clean two years ago.”

Darcy looks up, puzzled. “Why would Stark's company have this?”

“Just read, Darcy. It’s all in there,” he says, turning his full attention back to his research.

Darcy frowns slightly and begins scanning through the pages more attentively. It takes her a few minutes to piece together the information she's reading, with her mind going in different directions and still burning with curiosity about the spell Wanda botched.

Finally, she reads aloud, somewhat incredulously, “Subject was recognized as S.H.I.E.L.D.'s youngest marksmanship prodigy prior to recruitment by Stark Industries following the dissolution of S.H.I.E.L.D.. Subsequently provided tactical support on multiple classified operations in conjunction with the Avengers initiative.”

She sets the file down thoughtfully. “Kinda reminds me a bit of Romanoff or Barton. Total badass. I hadn’t pegged Maximoff for that crowd.”

“What crowd did you have Wanda filed under?” Jimmy asks, just out of curiosity.

Darcy’s gaze drifts off, a dreamy smirk on her lips. “Honestly? I always pictured her—or anyone for that matter—swooning over someone more…mythical hammer than tactical espionage.”

Jimmy snorts to himself at Darcy's whimsical take and says, “Of course, you’d say that. Thor's everyone's type.”

“He’s yours too?”

“Yeah, why not,” Jimmy shrugs, his tone more reluctant than sarcastic, which only amuses Darcy more.

“So,” Darcy begins, “Wanda's settled down in New Jersey, married to a woman? I mean, good for her. They all deserve a break. Maybe even an early retirement.”

Jimmy lets out a long, tired sigh, like he's just about done with everything. Darcy notices and raises an eyebrow. “What now?”

He barely glances up. “Like I said, everything’s in there. Just keep reading.”

Darcy groans but goes back to the file, flipping through the pages again. She’s about to make a snarky comment when something catches her attention—something that has her eyes practically popping out of their sockets.

“It… it says here Y/N’s dead.”

“That’s right,” Jimmy responds without missing a beat.

“Not snapped five years ago. Dead-dead.”

“Yep.”

Darcy stares at the page, disbelief all over her face. “That can’t be right, can it?”

Jimmy finally swivels his chair to face her, looking as tired as he sounds. “That’s what I’ve been trying to wrap my head around for hours. If aliens and superheroes are real, maybe bringing someone back from the dead to star in a sitcom isn’t so far-fetched, right?”

–

You carefully pull the blankets up over Billy, smoothing his hair and whispering a soft good night. Tommy’s already half-asleep, but you make sure to tuck him in just as snugly, brushing a kiss on his forehead. Wanda stands in the doorway, watching you, her heart swelling in her chest. You were so clueless when she first had the twins, but now, being a mother just seems to come naturally to you. 

And you pulled it off in a week, while the twins stretched into six-year-olds just as fast.

“Honey,” you call softly, noticing the way she’s lost in thought. “Aren’t you going to say good night to our boys?”

Wanda steps into the room, giving each of the boys their good night kiss. You pucker your lips, silently asking for your turn, and she playfully swats your arm, whispering, “Not here, baby.”

You pout, giving her your best puppy-dog eyes, which only makes her smile. Without warning, you grab her hand and hurriedly pull her out of the boys' room, making a beeline for your bedroom. Wanda’s laughter fills the hallway, and just as you reach the door, you suddenly sweep her off the ground, lifting her into your arms.

Wanda lets out a shriek, her laughter infectious, and you can’t help but grin, even as you let her thump onto the mattress—a sloppy, graceless drop. You follow her onto the bed, rolling onto your stomach to peer down at her, still sporting that stupid smile.

“So, about that kiss you owe me,” you whisper, hovering closer, teasing her with your proximity.

Wanda nods distractedly. “I think I can manage that,” she murmurs, and then her lips are on yours.

It starts simple and sweet. Though soon, her tongue is gently nudging your lips apart, and it quickly becomes anything but. Her hands slip down to your back, pulling you close until her heartbeat hammering against yours. You break away, lips trailing down to her neck, exploring every dip and hollow, your tongue darting out to taste her skin. When you hit that spot just behind her ear, the one that always drives her wild, she gasps.

“Don't start something you can’t finish,” she warns, her voice already thick with want.

“Who says I won't?” you shoot back with a wolfish grin.

You both fall into a familiar routine, as easy to slip into as the back of your hand. There’s no hurry, just the two of you moving languidly—whispering against skin, giggles turning into sighs and breathy moans. Sometimes, being with Wanda feels like a desperate need, as if not having her completely would literally be the end of you. But it’s moments like these that are your favorite—the ones where you’re barely even trying, yet she still comes apart at your touch, at the mere feeling of your fingers on her. 

Eventually, you both settle down, a contented sigh escaping you as you curl up against Wanda, your skin slightly damp with the effort of your love. You like this, being the little spoon, hiding your face in her neck like you’re hiding from the world, though you vaguely recall a time when it was usually her in your arms. 

As you’re staggering on the edge of sleep, Wanda’s fingers gently massage your scalp, her lips dropping soft, pensive kisses on your forehead. You're almost out, but one last question keeps you from drifting off entirely.

“Wanda, that spell earlier that shrunk the boys—what was that about?” you mumble, your words slurring into the dream nipping at your consciousness.

Wanda’s laughter rumbles through her chest, nudging you slightly from your drowsy state.

“Come on, tell me,” you coax, giving her side a playful pinch to keep her talking.

“It’s embarrassing,” she mumbles, her face turning a delightful shade of pink again that spreads down her neck and chest. Her coy reaction wakes you up some more. As a twisted kind of payback, you run your tongue rough over her nipple, snatching a sharp gasp from her. Moving up, you hold her flushed cheek, making sure she’s looking right at you. Your thigh presses between hers, and it doesn’t take long before she’s wet and ready again.

“Are you going to tell me, or do you plan on sleeping with a wet pussy tonight?” you whisper, brushing your lips against the corner of her mouth. Under different circumstances, Wanda would scold you for your crudeness, but right now, she's too worked up to care. Your dirty mouth has always been one of the most irritating yet irresistible things about you. Even having kids hasn’t changed that.

“I was trying to... enchant your...” she starts, but then your hand tightens on her butt, spurring her subtle grinding movements. By this time, she’s practically dripping onto the sheets, her thoughts scattering as the tightening sensation below her stomach builds.

“My what?” you push, smirking as you watch her fumble for words. You hoist her leg, resting it on your shoulder, laying her wide open. You slide two fingers inside her, fucking her slowly while your thumb brutally circles her clit. As she hesitates to answer, you hook in another finger, drawing a sharp cry of pleasure from Wanda. Your gaze stays locked on your wife, a part of you as surprised as she might be at your boldness tonight.

All day, she’s haunted every corner of your mind, fantasizing about stealing a quick, desperate moment while the twins are asleep or at Agnes’s. But there’s been something—an unnameable restraint—holding you back from indulging those wicked impulses. It isn’t until the boys are asleep, the house quiet, that those invisible chains start to loosen. That’s when you can finally allow yourself to desire Wanda the way you really want to. The way you’ve always been meant to.

“Your... clit,” Wanda finally spits out, seeing you've drifted off, stuck in your head. “I thought I could make it... well, longer. Like a...” She chokes on the words, too embarrassed to finish.

“Like a cock?” you throw out crudely, looking down at her impishly.

Wanda nods, mortified but also a little defiant. “Wanted you to fuck me with it,” she mumbles, finding her backbone now that the secret's in the open.

“I am fucking you,” you whisper hotly right into her ear. “But if you want it like that, all you have to do is say the word.”

Wanda clenches around you at the thought of doing it like that in the near future, her breath hitching. “Please,” she mewls, the word dripping with need. 

“Good girl,” you growl, cranking up the pace as you drive your fingers harder inside her, making her gasp and arch towards you. “You can come.”

With a choked whimper, Wanda surrenders, her body seizing as her orgasm washes over her. She soaks your wrist, the clear fluid trickling down onto the sheets, but you don't stop, pushing through every pulse of her release until she's quaking, utterly wrecked beneath you. You patiently wait until her spasms subside before slowly pulling your fingers away.

Wanda's hand shoots out, stopping your movements. “Stay,” she implores, sounding like she's on the verge of tears. You're momentarily startled by her reaction, concerned something might be wrong. Swiftly, you slide your fingers back where they belong, nestled deep inside her.

“Okay, baby, I’m not going anywhere,” you murmur, pushing back the damp strands of hair sticking to her forehead with your free hand. Exhaustion begins to cloud your senses as you sink down beside Wanda, still keeping your hand where she wants it. 

“I'm sorry for needing you so much,” Wanda murmurs, her voice shaky with tears you can't see, your cheek pressed against the pillow beside hers.

“Don't be,” you mumble, half-lost to sleep as she clings to you more tightly. “I’m here.”

“You love me,” she says, a hint of wonder, of fear.

You nod, lips brushing the nape of her neck. “And you love me,” you murmur back, your eyes slipping shut. “I'm not going anywhere, Wanda.”

“For now,” she whispers to herself, once your breathing evens out in sleep.

Tears betray her then, and she clamps a hand over her mouth to keep quiet. But just before her sobs fully break free, she flicks a finger, a thin red wisp of magic ensuring you stay deep in sleep.

With you unaware, Wanda surrenders to her grief.

[chewingcyanide]

𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐃 𝐁𝐄𝐒𝐓 | 𝐣. 𝐡𝐮𝐠𝐡𝐞𝐬

₊⊹ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘 — secretly pining over someone is never fun—even less so when they’re your childhood best friend, and dating someone else.

₊⊹ 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 —all the angst, jealousy, thoughts of inferiority, cursing, big sadness from reader over here, not proofread i got better things to do

₊⊹ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒 — jack hughes x fem!reader

₊⊹ 𝐀𝐔𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐑'𝐒 𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐄 — my valentine’s day jhughes special (albeit a day late ☹️), as promised! sorry it took me so long. couldn’t figure out how to end it. this is unapologetically self-indulgent. also not a wip, but i HAD to do it to em. i’m sorry if your name is brooke or bianca. i love you. promise. maybe we’ll make a part two, if yall like it enough!

₊⊹ 𝐓𝐀𝐆𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 — @dancerbailey3, @bellstwd, @kashee-h, @crazycat-ladys-blog, @brucewaynegfreal, @love4dlr, @jackhughesily, @leavethemonsteralive, @loveforaugust, @43hughes, @nathandoe, @choppedlamphandscowboy, @bunting58, @angelayse, @ru-kru, @sleepretreat, @nonsensical-nonsence, @maih23 (if your name is white, i couldn’t tag you!)

𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐄𝐑𝐀𝐋 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

Everyone knows the saying you never know what you have until you lose it. Truth was, you knew exactly what you had—you’d just never imagined you’d lose it.

You never imagined you’d lose him.

A shared childhood and mothers’ who found friendship with each other had brought you and Jack Hughes together, kept you glued even as skin stretched and futures diverged—where he’d gone on to be a star hockey player, you’d quietly came into adulthood, trekking through the difficulties of college.

In your younger years, Jack had always been there. Life of the party, a mirrorball everyone gravitated to for its decadent shine—you, contrastingly, felt like a sore thumb at parties, attending them only to see the smile on Jack’s face. Differing personalities and life routes aside, Jack was your person. The first person you called whenever you were sad, or happy, or bored. The one who knew all of your test scores first, who took hours long flights just to visit you during breaks in the season.

Distance nor time had left a lasting mark on your friendship, kept together by constant phone calls and texts. Whilst you remained imbedded in the hustle of Toronto, Jack was trapped in New Jersey—a gap that you closed every summer, when mutual desire to see one another (as well as his brothers) brought you and him to Michigan for a few months.

From childhood, to high school, to now—it had always been you two. Jokes passed in the years, swirling around with assumptions of the two of you ending up together, finally realizing it after years of proclaimed friendship. For Jack, it’d never been romantic. Loving and caring, a relationship he’d never trade for the world, but the intimacy ended there. Memories of him outwardly flirting with girls in front of you at bars or parties flashed in your mind any time you figured maybe; he’d never given any indicator that you were or would ever be more to him than his best friend.

For you? It was an embarrassingly different story.

College had stolen much of your time—left none for a love life. But truthfully, that didn’t much phase you.

Hookups, flings, boyfriends—all of them paled in comparison to Jack. A childhood crush perpetuated by maturation without loss of contact, Jack had just… always been there. Always a best friend, never a lover; the hanging axe of rejection was too dire a outcome for you to ever consider telling him. Killing a friendship you’d grown with would kill you. And maybe he felt the same way, maybe the kisses he reserved for the crown of your head and the guiding hand he kept on the small of your back meant something, but you couldn’t continue existing if they didn’t.

So, a dutiful friend, you kept quiet, spared the connection and suffered in unrequited love.

And it hadn’t really changed until Jack had gotten a girlfriend. In all your years of knowing him, he’d had a few—though they rarely lasted more than a handful of months, and a selfish and bitter part of you liked that. Sometimes they overstepped, viewed themselves above you in the ranking of Jack’s life; he made painfully clear they never would be.

And it felt good, to be that cherished. But then you remembered he didn’t actually love you and it felt a whole lot less impactful.

Not Brooke.

Brooke, a box-dye blonde with a less-than-stellar reaction to your friendship with her boyfriend, was unarguably beautiful—unapproachably so, someone you’d picture whenever thinking of the girl Jack would end up with. You knew it would never be you, but you hated that it was her, hated that it was finally cemented, the coffin wheeled out.

A friendship you’d cherished for years had been weathered down by the abrasive actions of his girlfriend. It left a bitter taste in your mouth; Jack never seemed privy to Brooke’s nonverbal dislike of you, and you never made comment of it. If Jack was happy, what did it matter? If you said anything, all you’d appear to be was a child throwing a tantrum, the attention torn from them. You refused to jeopardize Jack’s happiness, even if it meant shredding your own.

Brooke tolerated you; that was the best word you could think of. There was surely no excess of love, but you didn’t think she flat out despised you, either. Passive aggressive to the point of just being aggressive, snide looks whenever she didn’t think you could see, intentionally separating you from Jack whenever the two of you were talking—it all made you hate being around her, and by extension, him.

So when he’d invited you to dinner with him—and some of his teammates, a monthly ritual at his house—the knee jerk reaction had been to decline, lie, run while you were still free from the piercing glare of Brooke; because you knew she’d be there, clung to his side, as if you had any intention of taking him away.

… Well, you’d did have the intention. Never the will, so then again maybe she was right to hate you. Feelings you’d never act on, words you’d never say—none of it mattered. She had him. Not you. Never you.

You should’ve said no.

Pouting eyes and pleading lips caved you. As soon as you’d agreed, you’d regretted it—knew in your bones it would only serve to wedge the knife in your heart deeper, solidify the loss of a what you thought would be a lifelong partnership. Your platonic soulmate, twin flame pinched out by hateful fingers.

Getting ready for the dinner felt like preparing for a cage fight, where all night you’d have do endure blow after blow—them kissing, them touching, him loving her in a way you wished he’d love you.

Night blanketed the sky by the time you’d arrived to Jack’s home, shadows slipping by the window, shapes of people telling you that you were likely late—the stone in your stomach had slowed you monumentally. The torture was self-inflicted, you knew. There would be no pity when your heart finally gave out.

She did this to herself, they’d say. Hearts can only endure so much before they break.

Voices coalesced into one as you pushed open the door, welcomed by the familiar atmosphere of friendship and loud laughter. You’d completely forgotten to text Jack that you’d gotten here—and for some reason, as you crossed the threshold into the gaping space of his living room, you felt like an outsider. Sudden eyes landed on you like bullets, and all you saw was Jack—his side taken dutifully by Brooke, always beautiful, striking in a way you didn’t think you’d ever been.

Looking at her, it made sense why she was the one Jack chose. Why you hadn’t been. A best friend. Childhood acquaintance. Faded t-shirt he’d strung along for too many years, even as the design weathered away and the fabric weakened. He’d gotten a shiny new one, the novelty still in tact, yet he hadn’t let you go.

Some part of you, deep in the caves of your wounded heart, wished Brooke would ban him from your presence. Maybe then your hurt would lessen. You knew you’d never be able to let go on your own.

Jack’s eyes caught you, stood awkwardly in the mouth of the hallway. He attempted to stand, only for Brooke to tug him down by his t-shirt—the shirt you’d bought him for his birthday last year, impressed with two hearts holding hands. She said something to him, something low and hissed between clenched teeth. Before you could see his reaction, Nico was invading your space, arms winding around you.

“There she is!” he announced, the ground leaving your feet as he lifted you playfully. “We were waiting on you to eat. Sure do like to take your time.”

Residual bitterness faded at Nico’s words—Jack may have been your best friend, but years of being attached to him introduced you to his teammates; they were always kind, if a little overbearing. A big brother that toed the line of overprotective and well-wishing.

Grateful for the attention distractor, you allowed your shoulders to relax and lungs to decompress. The first cut at seeing Jack, still happily in love with Brooke, was already dealt; you just needed to get through the dinner, and not look like a hostage while doing so.

“Yeah, yeah,” you laughed, shoving Nico’s shoulder as he brought you towards where the others were gathered in the living room. “Make fun of me for driving like a grandma all you want, at least I’m safe.”

Not looking at Jack took more self control than you’d care to admit. Blurring in your peripheral, a mess of colors stacked atop one another, you knew if you glanced—saw the claim Brooke was staking for all to see—it would only make you want to leave. So you didn’t.

Luke was next to greet you, offering a pity-imbued smile. Despite never mentioning your affections for his older brother, you knew he knew; saw it in the way he would look at you, the frowns offered. In times when Brooke inadvertently talked you down, it was Luke who told her off, put balm on the wound.

A side hug and a soft smile—you barely were able to muster one yourself. “How have classes been?”

You graced Luke with an exasperated groan. “Terrible, thanks for reminding me. Economics is kicking my ass.”

Luke sat. You remained standing. A loose thread peeking from your sweatshirt seemed far more intriguing than eyes you were trying desperately not to meet.

“Tough luck,” remarked Luke, conversations reviving after the novelty of your arrival wore off. You recognized a couple of faces around you—Dawson, Jesper, Alexander, and John. Faces you’d become acquainted with in your years of being Jack’s friend.

The title felt a bitter reminder of your ceiling, never surpassing Jack’s best friend. Loved and cherished, a desired presence, just not how you wanted. Who were you to complain? It was better to be his friend than nothing at all; to have a little piece of him, proof that at one point, you’d mattered enough to get it.

You just weren’t sure if you did anymore.

Where once Jack’s name was a regular occurrence, flashing on your phone screen—texts, calls, FaceTimes, they all faded once Brooke came into his life. Movie nights on his couch, reruns of old films that you could quote down to the last line, stopped. You knew Jack cared enough to extend invites, but at this point, you figured it was more out of pity and shame than actual want of your company.

Beggars really couldn’t be choosers.

Eventually, everyone made their way into the dining room. Chairs lined a large wooden table, one chosen and haphazardly assembled by you and Jack when he’d first bought this house. Scratches imbedded in the finish sent flashes of dropped hammers and clumsy feet into your mind, memories that felt too far to touch.

Mind far afield, you sat down—somewhere between Luke and Nico, far enough from Jack to be inconspicuous but close enough to feel the sharp burn of his eyes. It was petty, you knew, to have still not greeted him. Not that Brooke would’ve likely even let you. A sadistic part of you wanted him to feel even a modicum of the agony that rattled you whenever you were forced to watch him and Brooke, wanted to wonder and question why you were so cold.

Then again, maybe he didn’t care.

Body detached from your mind, the last thing you expected was to be spoken to—least of all by Brooke. But there her grating voice was, verging on overuse, but you knew that was just how she talked. Chafing and annoying and awful—

“Still no boyfriend?” A venomous smile curled her lips; friendly to the untrained eye. You knew better.

Your fingers twitched. The food in front of you spoiled, appetite evaporated. Of course she asked that—both a jab and a reassurance; if you had a boyfriend, her relationship with Jack would be safe. Not that it wasn’t, regardless.

You wished you could scream at her, leap across the table and force her to hear your words: you’d never have Jack. Want him, yes. Spend years pining over a boy who looked to you like the sister he never had, absolutely. But actually have him, feel his love in every touch and kiss? No. That wasn’t on the cards for you; you’d folded long ago.

“Nope,” you drawled. The pressure of Jack’s stare caved you—you caught his eyes, eyebrows creased, the wrinkle of his forehead that made itself prominent whenever he was annoyed.

What did he possibly have to be annoyed about?

Catching Luke’s gaze only irked you further, alit the urge to push out of your chair and flee Jack’s home. Pity swelled in his eyes, the beginnings of a frown quirking down his lips. You didn’t want pity; didn’t want to feel like the entire world was in on some inside joke you’d never understand. Everyone saw it, your love for Jack. Saw the lovestruck comedy that was your life—girl loves boy, boy isn’t even aware of it, hilarity ensues.

Everyone but Jack. And honestly, that was for the best.

You didn’t think you’d be able to handle the frown when he found out. Jack Hughes, always kind, never malignant, searching for a way to politely turn down his best friend without taking an axe to the connection. Really, there would be no bloodless way to let it die—so you lived in moments between, where nothing felt impactful or important or real.

When Jack was without Brooke, you could almost imagine he was your Jack—the one who turned down every girl so that he’d be free to go to prom with you, the one who got banned from a restaurant for life for pouring a drink over your cheating ex-boyfriend’s head. The Jack who always protected you, always cared, even when all of his friends couldn’t understand it.

That Jack who currently hand his arm around the back of Brooke’s chair, shoulders touching—a casual thing, something you’d done with countless strangers, yet it felt impactful enough to make bile swim in your throat.

“Probably for the best,” Luke interjected after the conversation—if it even was that—between you and Brooke came to an awkward stalemate. “Guys are dicks.”

A tension somehow always existed whenever you were in a room with Brooke. One you never wanted, never fed into. Like a shadow, the morning mist, it hung thick as smog. Choking you, nearly forcing you from the room.

“You’re a guy,” you laughed weakly, offering Luke a pointed look.

“No one at college, then?” Nico piped up. You felt bad for not looking at him, but he was too close to Jack and Brooke—you didn’t want to see them.

Cozy, warm in a way you thought only you’d ever be with Jack. Familiar, united. Their relationship didn’t seem as superficial as his past ones had, woven together under the pretense of good sex and no real connection. Watching Jack love his new, perfect girlfriend made you physically ill; and maybe that was dramatic, maybe it made you a backwards person with failing morals—you couldn’t care anymore.

Years of hiding your love, months of watching his own be poured into a girl that wanted you out of his life—it wore you down to your bones, dangerously close to burning to ash.

“Most of them are… strange, to say the least,” you responded with a wince. And that was true; your major seemed to just attract men whose one quality was making women uncomfortable. “Plus, having a boyfriend would just distract me. Finals are coming up and I’m already worried about how I’m going to do on them.”

Luke scoffed. “Hookups exist.”

A wince followed Luke’s words. Eyes fell to where Jessica was rubbing her hand—Jack apologized, albeit half-heartedly. Confusion overcame you; had he squeezed her hand too tightly?

In the past, you’d had boyfriends. Not that they lasted very long. Somehow, there was always something wrong with them—something only Jack could see; he’d endlessly nitpick, nag, explain why your newest boyfriend wasn’t good enough for you.

They were too old, too uptight, not nice enough. Always something. And without fail, Jack was right—scarcely did they make it past the first date before some measly excuse fell from their lips. But maybe it wasn’t them; maybe it was you. So, with an aching heart refusing to connect with any other but Jack’s, you gave up. Delved headfirst into college work and stayed below the waves, even as they began to drown you.

All you offered in response to Luke was a shrug.

Conversation picked up then, thankfully fell away from you. Limelight sufficiently dimmed, you allowed yourself to watch Jack; a habit you’d never quite shaken, even in the embarrassing moments when he caught your peering gaze.

You weren’t sure exactly when you’d fallen in love with Jack—just that you had, and now you couldn’t touch the bottom of him. Water filled your lungs, suffocated you, but if drowning meant being near him, you’d happily do it. Dying in his platonic embrace seemed better than dying all alone.

Ruffled brown hair, the sort of charm that every boy-next-door seemed to possess, and clear blue eyes that shone every emotion like a transparent window to his soul—all of it made Jack Jack, the boy you loved, would admire even in moments he didn’t think he deserved reverence.

You’d seen it all: the self-deprecation after his failure of a rookie year, dwindling confidence, tears imbued with hurt and disappointment, frustration of someone who knew they were better. It was you who’d been by his side, proved an anchor to a person you couldn’t live without.

Yet he’d still chosen Brooke.

For most people, that would be the last step off the cliff, boneless body breaking against the canyon. Not you—so full of hope and dreams, undeterred by every sign the universe gave you. You weren’t his only, but at least you were one.

Jack’s lips parted into a smile, one you could tell was real—his kissed Brooke’s temple, pinched her on the side. An intimate moment in a crowded room. You felt almost as if you were trespassing, a stranger watching two people in love. Part of you didn’t even associate that boy as Jack, because you couldn’t understand how he could love someone so averse to you, so… mean. But then again, it wasn’t about you.

It was about him. Accommodations had been made for years—leaving parties early because you were uncomfortable, blowing off his guy friends to comfort you after a bad date, scrapping his wants and his plans because of something to do with you.

He was probably sick of it. Sick of you, dictating what he could and couldn’t do. Who he could and couldn’t date. Because who cared if Brooke hated you; Jack loved her, despite it all. And that was what made dread swirl into a storm in your heart, ribs nearly cracking under the rate it was thundering at.

Abruptly, you stood. Felt the chair nearly topple. Eyes came to you—Jack’s friends. Yours, yes, but Jack’s foremost. You were just intruding, butting into a life that no longer fit you. Time had passed, the wishful minds of children grown into adulthood. He didn’t owe you anything anymore, especially when all you were was a storm cloud over his parade.

Just as soon as you had, Jack stood, concern clear in his gaze. “What’s wrong?”

Your tongue felt like lead. “Nothing—nothing, sorry. I’m—I need to use the restroom.”

You didn’t wait much longer before leaving the room.

Air felt scarce, lungs punctured and deflating quicker than you could patch the holes. Clumsily, you pushed open the door to the bathroom, steadied your shaking hands on the edge of the sink. Looking at yourself, reflection marred by the onset of tears, all you could do was compare—compare to Brooke, to every girl Jack had ever wanted, ever liked, ever loved.

Was it their features, doughy lips that worshipped him in a way you didn’t? Was it their bodies, womanly and free in a way you didn’t like to be? Or was it deeper, were their souls crafted from the same light, in a way you’d always thought your own had been with Jack’s?

Idiot, fool, dreamer—you were all of it. Like a lap dog, bird in its teeth, you always returned, remained dutifully at Jack’s side for the moment he might open the screen door and finally let you in.

Brooke had every right to hate you. Perceptive in a way Jack wasn’t, she saw what everyone else did—the lovesick eyes, foolish faith chaining you to him, an unrealized desire that would never be acted on. Had you been in Brooke’s place, you would’ve hated yourself as well.

Water poured from the faucet, gathered in your cupped palms. Attempting to desecrate any evidence of tears, you gently splashed the water in your face—went to dry it when you heard the sound of the front door creaking open.

“Oh, thank God you’re here, Bee.”

Cold crept up your spine. Eavesdropping was wrong—you knew that, yet still found yourself leaning against the bathroom door to catch Brooke’s words.

“What’s going on?” came the response, likely the voice of Bianca, Brooke’s best friend. You’d met her once at a game (met was a loose word; she’d given you a snide look and taken to ignoring you the entire time).

Brooke’s voice lowered to the point where you were forced to strain to hear her speak. “You know Jack’s little pet?”

A lapse. Your heart seized, taken by some concoction of shame and surprise.

“No.”

“Yes!” responded Brooke. “She’s fucking everywhere. I asked Jack not to invite her tonight, and lo and behold—”

“Wait, I thought you talked to Jack?”

“I did.” Vexation laced every letter. “I told him it made me uncomfortable how close they were, how she was always around, blah blah. He got defensive, but he said he’d talk to her.”

“Clearly not,” Bianca muttered. “Look, I wouldn’t worry about it. They’re childhood friends, yeah? He probably feels like he has to stay her friend, or something. I mean, Jack’s a good guy, he wouldn’t intentionally hurt anyone; if he dropped her, he’d look like a douche. I’m sure she’ll get the hint eventually.”

Footsteps began, voices fading along with them. “I fucking hope. It’s honestly pathetic.”

Blood roared in your ears, drowned out the sound of your beating heart—if it was even beating anymore. Something bitter and hot invaded your airways, lashed like whips against your flesh. It was no secret Brooke disliked you, disliked the closeness of you and Jack, but to hear it, the vicious way it fell from her lips—it made your gut twist and constrict, pushing bile towards your throat.

Pathetic. They thought you were pathetic, hopelessly waiting, like a dead plant praying for flowers that would never come. Lovelorn, seeking affection that only came by way of friendship and never more; they were right, and it became evident with a strike of lightning to your body.

Is that truly how Jack felt? Was he waiting for you to give up, so to spare you the hurt of being let down? Had you become baggage? Chained to him, the memory of childhood the only thing keeping you relevant, when times were less impactful and his life didn’t center around being a professional athlete. The stain of youth, remaining only for its joyful memory; that’s all you were now—a memory.

Just like your love, it seemed everyone saw Jack’s hints but you. Rose-colored lenses blurred everything but what you wished to see; of course you missed them, ignored them so your narrative remained intact.

God, you were an idiot. A fucking idiot.

Head pounding, the squeeze of an oncoming migraine rattling your brain, you opened the bathroom door. Felt like a trapped bird all the way back to the table—you just had to get through dinner, only an hour or two, so as to not raise any suspicion, and then you could fade from Jack’s life.

Not that he’d notice. He hadn’t even spoken to you tonight, though no fault of his own; Brooke kept her claws deep, and it was clear he didn’t want to risk an argument. Not that you could blame him—she was his girlfriend. Her. Not you. He didn’t owe you anything.

Conversations filled your ears, ostracized you—every time you had opened your mouth before, it had felt wrong, the scratch on a vinyl everyone skipped over. You saw him first—noticeably tense, chair a bit further away from Brooke that it had been earlier. Tensed forehead, hands balled on the table; you longed to ask what was wrong, as you were used to doing. But you imagined talking to him, and it somehow felt wrong, a peasant addressing a king.

Then, your eyes fell to your seat.

No longer empty, occupied now by Bianca, who was talking casually with Brooke, as if her actions hadn’t changed your entire perception of the situation. There were no more seats. No more room. The metaphor wasn’t lost on you, hit with the same sting of antiseptic on a wound—there wasn’t any more room for you at the table, just as there was no room for you in Jack’s life.

Maybe this was always meant to happen. Childhood didn’t remain forever, and it seemed, neither was your friendship. You’d always wondered why Jack had chosen you, someone so dissimilar to himself and his friends. Eventually, you made peace with it. His friendship was a balm to everything negative. Now… here you were again, more ostracized than ever.

What were you supposed to do? The long haul wasn’t meant to have an end.

Everyone was looking at you now. Stage fright, you lost your speech, thousands of eyes from a crowd looking at you, spotlight centered on your face, and you couldn’t, couldn’t, couldn’t—

Blue eyes found you, stood stonily at the entrance of the dining room. Jack’s eyebrows knitted, confused as to why you were still stood. When he saw Bianca, his lip curled. Frustration sparked, bemusement painted over. Once more that protective streak flared, something you were so used to—it had once felt the greatest trophy, proof that the Jack Hughes cared enough to stand up for you. It felt a sore consolation now, a reminder that, as always, you’d be the meek girl from his childhood he was forced to drag along, defend, shield from his new life that he fit into perfectly, that you spilled out from.

“Get up.”

Then, the attention went to him.

Brooke glanced at her boyfriend, annoyance flashing on her face. Their conversation paused. “What?”

Jack nodded towards Bianca. “She took her seat,” he explained in a clipped voice. “Get up.”

Brooke rolled her eyes. “Jack, it’s not a big—”

“It is,” he interrupted. Tension sparked in the air like a misfired firework. “She needs to sit and Bianca took her place, so—”

“It’s fine!” The words spilled out before you could second guess them. They came out raw and pained and everything you didn’t want to appear as; pity pooled from everyone, that sort of second-hand pity you saw on strangers faces when you’d lose your footing and fall.

It was too much. Pins dug into your skin, all of a sudden too tight. You needed to leave. Now, before your bones crumbled and heart gave out and finally everything burst.

“I—um, I should probably get going, anyway,” you said, nodding as if trying to be convincing. “With finals comin’ up I should get in as much studying as I can.”

Determination was something you’d always admired about Jack; it only irked you now. He stood, shrugged off Brooke’s outstretched hand and came to stand before you, and God—it was a disservice to not admire him, even as annoyance creased his eyes and drew inwards his lips. Beauty, in such a raw form, it startled you. Growing up, he’d always been the center of everyones attention. The hockey prodigy, the first overall draft pick, the franchise player for the Devils.

You? You’d been nothing special. Yet he’d still chosen you. And here he was, apparently doing it again—but why? Why when he had a beautiful girlfriend and a perfect life and fun friends did he always come back, when clearly you were no more than a burden?

You tried not to seem spiteful. You did. But it was so hard to hide your wounds and ignore their pain. He may not have seen them, but they were unfortunately still there. And it seemed they always would be.

“You can’t,” he said, searched your gaze—he’d always been able to see straight through you, with such simplicity it frightened you. You tried to shuttered your expression, hide your pain. It wasn’t a conversation you wanted to have. “Dinner’s just started—”

“Really, J, it’s fine.” Heat bored into your face where you knew Brooke was staring, daring you to express any deeper connection with Jack past the sheltered friendliness you were currently forcing.

You weren’t going to budge. Jack saw that, and so he sighed and glanced out the window. “I’ll drive you home.”

Oh, God. Nothing was ever easy. Pushing and pushing and pushing until you weren’t sure you even wanted to get up anymore, to even try. Every time you did, right back down you went, encapsulated by everything Jack.

Freedom felt a forgotten thing. You couldn’t remember a time when you didn’t love Jack, when he wasn’t at the forefront of your mind, main star of the play.

And honestly, you were tired. Tired of wishing for something that would never happen. Tired of being viewed as the shackle around Jack’s wrist. Just tired.

“No need,” you muttered noncommittally, saw the way Jack’s face twisted with concern and confusion and everything you didn’t want to see. “It’s your dinner, J. With my grandma driving, I’ll get home safe.”

The attempt at a joke didn’t land. Smile didn’t even begin to twitch his lips. “It’s dark outside,” he stated, an obvious fact that held no weight for anyone but you and him. “I always drive you when it’s dark.”

That was true enough; your inability to see properly at night meant Jack became your chauffeur, not that he ever complained—even still, it was another thing he did for you, time sacrificed to accommodate you. Prepared to leave his own dinner, his own girlfriend, just to make sure you didn’t have to do something you were uncomfortable with. Conceptually, it was sweet, a sort of gesture that would’ve normally made your heart soar. Now? It made you feel like a burden, an incapable little girl still hiding in the shadow of her protector, afraid of the sting of daylight.

No more.

“I’m going to be fine,” you reassured. Jack didn’t appear convinced—he never was satisfied when it came to you, to your safety, unless he was directly involved. “Stay and have fun.”

“What if—”

“Let her go, babe.”

Brooke’s voice proved the nail in the coffin; a part of you heard the undertone of excitement shot through her words, the possibility of your leave alleviating any annoyance your presence had brought. Without you, Jack’s attention would be fully on her. Without you, he wouldn’t have to concern himself on whether you were having fun and if you were okay.

You. You. You.

You’d considered yourself Jack’s anchor, the grounding of his mind—unfortunately, you’d forgotten an anchor also keeps a thing in place, forcing inactivity.

Let her go.

It rang like a death knell, struck sharp as a poisoned dart, invisible but so unmistakably fatal.

Gathering what remained of your dignity, you grabbed your purse off of your—Bianca’s—chair, caught the commiseration shining in Luke’s eyes like a tarnished trophy. It only stung, reminded you that you needed pity.

Before you could flee the room like a scolded dog, Jack caught your wrist. Heat bloomed, a fever rushing to your head—his simple touch made you sick with want and need and something deeper that would never be realized or fostered. Something you had to let die.

“Text me when you’re home,” he said softly. Fingers gently squeezed your wrist. Where once you’d feel comforted, you just felt trapped. “Please.”

Not trusting your words, all you did was nod.

Honestly, you’d expected some dark cloud to cover you when finally you decided to move on. A procession of funeral goers flocking like crows, unable to understand why you’d abandoned a years-long friendship over something insignificant. Over words spewed from hateful lips.

But it wasn’t what you’d overheard. Deeper, a more sharp knowledge that even if Jack loved you, held you closer than anyone in his circle of friends, he’d never want you in the way you desired. And for a while, that was okay. Because he existed separate of everything—and then came Brooke, and it all crumbled.

You could handle him not loving you. You couldn’t, however, handle him loving someone else so openly.

Street lights blurred behind tears, a mess of streaky lights like a watercolor canvas. Flashes of nights when Jack would drive you home, insisting on taking the wheel so that you didn’t have to toe out of your comfort zone, they haunted you like a inescapable film reel on repeat in your mind. Memories fogged by lost youth, angry words from Jack’s lips as he’d stand up for you—never a party person, denounced for draining the fun. Jack never let those insults slip lip before he was barking at whoever said it.

A responsibility. A burden. The lines had become blurred in recent years.

The latter seemed more fitting.

Through a barrier of tears, you were able to send Jack a text as your car rolled to a stop in the parking lot.

me

at my dorm

j :)

ok good. u ok? u seemed off @ dinner

Fingers hovered over your screen. Make movements to draft a text. Nothing seemed sufficient.

You let the text stale. Sit stagnant on your phone. Jack would likely worry, eventually call—you just wanted to fall into a void and never return. Not after the mess you’d made of dinner.

The mess you’d made of your life.

Making a ghost of yourself was far more difficult than you’d thought it would be.

Incessantly, Jack had texted you, called you—you didn’t answer any of them. Silence felt a balm to your shame. Selfish, you knew, to just ghost Jack without offering any explanation, but nothing would be sufficient, not without souring the connection you were hoping would die without pain.

Cowardice, craven, pathetic—you knew you were all of it. To you, you were giving Jack a chance to pull back, to fizzle the friendship of his own accord. Maybe then it would’ve stung less, if the desire of its end was reciprocated, mutual. As it were, it was not.

Even with your withdrawal, Jack still tried. Shot texts, called and punctuated them with voicemails, sent you TikToks and Snaps and everything he would normally do if everything was fine; but it wasn’t. And you knew he knew, could sense the urgency in his attempts at communication.

You felt dirty, filthy with shame and guilt.

Despite your best efforts, you didn’t appear as unaffected as you hoped. While your insides were shredding themselves, you tried valiantly to paint over your visage with the normal happy-go-lucky smile you always wore. Most people, if they noticed, didn’t comment on it.

Unfortunately, Kaylen did notice.

Since your freshman year of college, Kaylen had been your roommate—low maintenance, intelligent to the point of making you stupid without even trying. As such, she was far more perceptive than you gave her credit for.

There’d been times you confided in her about your feeling for Jack, sought out advice that never seemed good enough. Because no one but yourself could fix the valley that had split between Jack and you. You could seek outward help all you wanted, but nothing would change unless you did something—and, really, you weren’t sure that was even a good idea anymore.

Two days of moping resulted in Kaylen’s intervention.

“Get up.”

Sunlight bled through your shut eyes, forced a wince. Hands rolled you onto your back, the somewhat stiff mattress of your bed providing a measly cushion. Sleep intruded on, your hands extended, attempted to push away the figure you knew what trying to rile you.

“Go away,” you grunted, throat thickened by sleep and other terrible emotions.

“No,” Kaylen hissed. When finally you opened your eyes, her squinted expression invaded your vision. “Look, I’ve let you be miserable for two days, but it’s getting ridiculous. What the hell happened with you and loverboy?”

A jolt nearly paused your heart mid-beat. Thinking about Jack stung in a way you didn’t like to admit, mainly due to the fact that it was painfully embarrassing that he had such a control over you.

“Don’t call him that,” you muttered, bit your tongue to stop anything else from spilling out.

Kaylen’s eyebrows quirked. “So it is about him?”

Nails scraped your lungs. “No—yes—fuck,” you moaned, sitting up and balancing your forehead on bent knees. “It’s… all fucked up, K. I don’t know what to do.”

A sigh left her lips. You felt the bed dip as she climbed beside you. “I can help if you tell me.”

And so you did, started at the beginning of dinner to the end, as you left like a dog defeating in a cage match, heart crying blood. Comforting circles were rubbed into your thigh, but all they did was remind you how Jack used to trace shapes onto your leg, or arm, or back—how he touched you, just to know you were there, with him. He said it placated him.

It was shameful, how bile teased your throat even imagining it.

Rationally, you knew everything was your doing. Loving Jack, torturing yourself by being in his presence whilst he focused his attention on his girlfriend. Expecting any semblance of affection or intimacy even as another held his heart, branded her name over your own. It was always going to happen—knowing that didn’t make it hurt any less.

When finally you finished, the conclusion of your mournful, self-pitying tale followed by the sting of unwanted tears, Kaylen’s thoughtful silence waned. Her lips pursed, fingers twitching. You expected her to berate you; what had you expected, stupid girl? He has a girlfriend!

Instead, Kaylen hugged you. “Shit, babe, I’m sorry,” she murmured, pulled back with that pitiful smile you’d seen one too many times—one you’d be fine with if you never saw again. “He cares about you—”

“Not how I care about him, though,” you finished, and Kaylen gave a weak nod.

“I mean, if you told him what Brooke and her little bitch of a friend said, I’m sure he’d leave her. He’s done more for less.” That much was true. Regardless of whose lips it came from, Jack didn’t tolerate disrespect towards you—cut long time friends off for assuming they had any authority to speak poorly of you.

And you knew—knew with the same certainty that you knew your own name—that Jack would break up with Brooke if he knew how she’d spoken of you.

That should’ve made you giddy. Bursted bright light in your chest at the prospect of having Jack to yourself once more. Instead, it made you feel heavy, sand packed into your bones. Who were you to invade his happiness? If he’d chosen Brooke, so be it.

Sure, she’d disparaged you, but Jack’s life wasn’t yours to dictate anymore. If he wanted Brooke, he’d have her, until he decided to leave—not because you decided for him.

“It doesn’t matter anymore.” Eyelids heavy, the residue of late-night tears remaining on the skin, you felt the fight leave you. Kaylen frowned. “I just want it all to be over.”

She didn’t look convinced. “Seriously? You’re giving up on an eight year friendship because of something some dickface said about you? I thought Jack meant more to you than that.”

Kaylen’s words stung. Made you defensive, because she was right—you were giving up and you did care about Jack, but the pain had become too much. “It’s not—it’s harder to explain than that. He’s outgrown me, K. Everyone can see it but him. I’m an obligation, a burden, and yeah, maybe he loves me as a friend and maybe he wants me around, but his friends never have—his fucking girlfriend doesn’t. And at this point, I just want it to end, I want him to be happy without the conditions of making me happy.”

Silence followed. Contemplation showed clear on Kaylen’s face. You could tell, even without her words, that she didn’t agree—but, she didn’t comment on that. Rather, she placed a hand on your leg and squeezed.

Just like Jack always did.

“It’s your life, babe,” she conceded. “And if you want to do this, I’m not going to stop you—but you have to be content with it.” She gestured to you, the nest of blankets and red-rimmed eyes. “Because this? This isn’t happiness over a good choice. You’re miserable without him, and it’s been barely two days. Think about what you’re doing before it’s irreversible.”

With that, Kaylen got up and went to her own bed, and neither of you made comment of it for the rest of the day.

Her words came again and again like a fractured turntable. Of course you were miserable—Jack had been a constant in your life for eight years, consistently preserving your peace, including you when you’d never felt more like an outsider. Happiness was synonymous with Jack, his smile, his presence, him.

Did you regret your decision? Yes, and no. You regretted the way you’d gone about it. The petty silence, ignoring a person who’d made your younger years bearable. Your friendship deserved a better death than that, a reason rather than just… fading from existence, as if it never mattered in the first place.

That wasn’t the message you wanted conveyed, and so with fingers unsteadied by aftershocks, you texted Jack.

You weren’t sure how you’d explain, if you could tiptoe around the actual reason. Maybe you couldn’t, and maybe that was okay.

me

i’m so sorry for everything. i’ll explain in person. can we meet up?

Your response came half a second later. As if he were waiting. That selfish part of you prayed he had been.

j :)

ofc. my place tn?

me

yeah. that’s good. brooke won’t be upset?

Asking after her made you want to puke, but you knew it was necessary—she didn’t like Jack even breathing near you, having an entire sit down conversation with him was certainly out of the question.

Thrice, the little text bubble appeared and disappeared on your phone screen. You could sense the apprehension without any background knowledge.

j :)

not a problem. we broke up.

It was shameful, the backwards type of pleasure that brought you.

Maybe you were a terrible person. A terrible friend. You tried to reason that it wasn’t wrong to love someone, to wish they were yours.

me

shit j. i’m sorry

j :)

i’m not. i’ll see u tn. 7:30 work? have dinner w the guys.

me

yeah, that’s fine. see you soon, j.

j :)

be safe. i’ll text you when i’m home.

The hard part wasn’t even over, and your heart was already breaking in two.

Sweat beaded at your palms, the cold claws of apprehension raking down your spine. Countless times you’d been stood here, facing the lifeless beige of Jack’s apartment door. This time, however, you stood here knowing it was the last time. A silent farewell to familiarity, the ties finally cut. Jack would fight, you would cry, and maybe he’d be able to change your mind—it seemed such an unlikely outcome that it calcified every inhale in your throat.

Shaking hands rapped the wooden door, where behind would come the execution of a friendship you’d held like a crutch for years upon years. Your childhood had died, and maybe it would’ve been better had it been left there as well, so as to spare you this heart-rending pain.

Even still, you wouldn’t have traded those years for the world—everything they taught you, through pain and happiness. It made you who you were, brought you to his doorstep with melancholy eyes and a failing heart.

Footsteps echoed on the other side of the door, urgent in a way that picked up your heart rate. The next moments you imagined with brutal clarity—Jack’s hopeful gaze, blue in a way no one else’s ever had been, the soft slope of his nose you teased him for, scrunched whenever he was particularly concerned. How he’d usher you in, hear your words, plead for a moment to explain, and then admit his love for you.

That was how you dreamt it. Unsurprisingly, it was not how it went.

Instead of the door opening to reveal the man you’d love for a lifetime, the squealing hinges were followed by a face that nearly knocked you backwards. Previous indifference smeared into flat-out disdain as Brooke’s eyes caught your figure, engulfed in one of Jack’s faded hoodies and likely disheveled in a way she’d never experienced herself.

Arrows punctured your lungs, sole your breath and defaulted your barely beating heart. Brooke was here. At Jack’s apartment. After they’d supposedly broken up. Had he lied? Was he tricking you, making you the fool? He never would, you knew that, but your wounded mind spun falsities to perpetuate your pain, as if punishment for trusting him in the first place.

“What do you want?” Brooke grunted, leant against the doorframe. Lips twitched into a smirk, the smile of the victorious.

You’d never considered yourself a violent person, but the urge to punch her in the teeth itched your fists. “Is Jack here?”

Her face fell. Something dark flashed in her face—she hesitated a moment, tossed a look over her shoulder. “Yes.”

The curt response was better than nothing, you supposed. “Right, well, can you tell—”

Brooke ran a hand through her hair. Adjusted the clasp of her necklace. “We were kind of in the middle of something. Come back later?”

The axe struck down.

Gravel filled your throat. Suffocated you. If Brooke knew the affect of her words, for once it didn’t show on her face. Years of life had taught you many things, drug you through agonies you wouldn’t relive for anything, yet somehow, this was the worst pain.

To be betrayed, trust snapped by a single action, it stung. Wormed venom in your veins and contaminated your bloodstream, poisoning your heart. Realistically, Jack hadn’t actually done anything wrong. He was allowed to hook up with other girls, to love them—he had, for years.

That wasn’t the issue.

No, it was the fact that he’d set a time, invited you over, and somehow forgot? Or had he set it all up, just to rub it in your face, get his lick-back for your prolonged silence towards him? Either way, it hurt, hurt like a bitch.

Made stone, all you did for a moment was blink at Brooke before a voice called from the background, “Who is it?”

Jack.

Fright found you then, broke away your shell of stone. You couldn’t let him see you, the dog wishing once more to come in from the cold. If he’d planned it, and saw you, he knew he’d won. If he hadn’t planned it, then he realized that—irrecoverably—he fucked up. Both choices felt like a criminal trial you didn’t want any part of.

“I—um—have a good night,” you rushed out, feet stumbling over themselves as you practically ran away from Jack’s door.

So much for closure.

So much for being broken up.

Maybe this was your sign. The one you needed to finally pull away.

Because Jack Hughes didn’t love you. Not past platonic soulmates—a relationship stained with past memories, ones that made both of you incapable of letting go, even as you outgrew it.

You were done being second best. Done trying to squeeze into a place you didn’t fit anymore.

If Brooke was Jack’s choice, so be it. You didn’t want any part of it anymore.

[elexuscal]

the longer i stay in fandom, the longer i think a huge amount of bad takes and discourse come from an... abundance of identifying with a character

to be clear, i don't think it's bad to identify with a character. far from it! i think that's part of what makes fiction so powerful.

and it's only logical people often attach to a blorbo because they're just like me, for real. a person will see some element of themselves-- their race, their gender, their sexuality, their hobbies, their family life, their specific flavour of neurodivergence-- and something just resonates. it gives them a way to explore and name this important part of themselves, a part they maybe didn't even know existed before it.

and everything is well and good until some split between them and the character shows up

because of course, no character, except an explicit self-insert written by yourself, will ever be a perfect 1:1 for your own experiences. so sooner or later-- maybe in canon, maybe in a fanwork-- your blorbo diverges from your lived experience in a huge way.

I think this is why shipping culture in particular gets so toxic. While it is by no means the only way to indulge with shipping, a significant portion is 'if i was in that character's shoes, i would choose X'. the fight becomes for your own self-identity.

but this gets expanded in other ways. a character who is revealed to be black when the majority of the fandom had just assumed they were white. or revealed to be queer, or maybe the 'wrong' flavour of queer. or fuck, even some more innocuous part of their backstory, one that's nonetheless so meaningful for SOMEONE, but now it feels like the story is saying, fuck you, we're doing something else

i don't know. i just feel acknowledging this perceived-attack-on-identity helps me understand why people react it what seems to be such outsized way to canon and fanworks alike.

at the same time, i think it's a really important thing to check in yourself.

it's nice, to see a character who you identify with. who resonates with for being like you. but it's also nice to acknowledge and appreciate the way characters are not like you at All. how great it is to get insight into this totally different lived experience. and to muse on how wonderful that recognition might be for someone who does have that background.

[stu-dyingstudent]

Sakura Haruno fic recs: romance-centric

I, like many others, definitely enjoy a a good romance every so often. All of these recs are going to have the romantic development of the characters as the forefront of the story, so just because the fic includes a ship doesn't mean it will go on the list. That means, many of them might feel more on the slice of life side of the spectrum, but that's not the case for all!!

There is going to be a mix of ships here so if you're interested in one in specific then use the search feature!

Started: 2024.08.28

Last Updated: 2024.09.28

note: feel free to check out my master list which has a bunch of Sakura Haruno fic recs (all organized)!

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To Build a Home - RedPowder || ao3 || E || kakasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Sakura and Kakashi are assigned a mission that will change the path of their lives forever.

Kakashi and Sakura are forced to marry on orders from the village and I know that description sounds dumb, but trust me when I say this fic is gold. I've always had a hard time with kakasaku fics because I feel the whole teacher/student thing gets swept under the rug too easily, but that's not the case here. Their past relationship from team 7 is a glaring shadow over their marriage and the guilt over the whole situation weighs heavy on Kakashi. This mission isn't easy for either of them and it takes a lot of pull and tug to ensure things don't completely blow up. To Build a Home is probably one of my favorite takes on this ship as the portrayal feels realistic and the character feel accurate to themselves. Just give it a go!

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Approaching Sun - ANerdInAllHerGlory || ffn || T || sasusaku || blank period || ongoing

After 2 years, Sasuke returns to the village where friends anxiously await him. Still troubled by the mysteries of Kaguya and his personal guilt, Sasuke is split between friends and his journey. Troubled by rising casualties and international dependence on her abilities, Sakura is torn between her love for Sasuke and her duty to her village.

Approaching Sun is probably one of the most realistic depictions of Sasuke and Sakura's relationship that I have read. This takes place during the blank period and references the novels, so it feels like an actual possibility of what went down. As much as I love them, I have a hard time believing that their relationship was smooth sailing and so I think this is an interesting take.

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The Fool - thekatthatbarks || ao3 || T || shikasaku || blank period || complete

Ino kicked at a pebble on the ground, her arms folded across her chest. “How long?” Shikamaru sighed and pulled the cigarette away from his lips. “The war." It was a lie somewhat. He’d liked her since they were kids but had simply ignored the budding crush expecting it to fade over time. It hadn’t and by the time the war came around, he accepted he would always carry it despite his increasing efforts to drop it. He’d tried drowning it in the river, burning it in a fire, covering it up with something else. But it was all to no avail. It stuck with him, always apart of him. “Have you ever told anyone? Chouji? Her?” "No."

I actually really like Shikamaru and Sakura as a pairing (or just working together in general); however, I haven't read much of them. The Fool was a great post-war read where with some meddling (curtesy of Ino) we get to watch the progression of their relationship into something more than friends.

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Nightmare in Red - Sariasprincy || ao3 || M || itasaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Haruno Sakura used to think the eyes were the windows to the soul, but after witnessing the horrors of the Sharingan firsthand, she's convinced they are the doors. It was pure chance that led Sakura to the discovery of the disease eating through Uchiha Itachi's lungs and now that she's aware, she knows she cannot just turn a blind eye. But how is she to treat the very man who tortured her while at the same time keep her nightmares from consuming her? That she doesn't know, but she knows she has to try, even if it nearly kills her in the end.

Itachi unintentionally captures Sakura in his mangekyou after being rolled into the hospital for her to heal. While Sakura tries to work through the impacts of the genjutsu she continues to work with him in an effort to cure him of the disease infecting his body. I actually really liked how the whole thing played out. Itachi's sickness was sort of a mystery in the original series and so I found it rather interesting to see what was done in regards to it. Anyway, I love their interactions and Shisui is (like always) a great character as well.

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Blind - ObsidianSickle || ffn || sasusaku || T || canon divergent || complete

It was almost time, Orochimaru was going to take his body as a vessel. He hated being used...he refused to be used. With that thought, he took the kunai in his hand and slashed across his eyes.

I won't lie, Sakura is pretty weak in Blind and the whole thing is super cheesy, but it's still an enjoyable read.

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Ghosts - ElegiesforShiva || ffn || sausaku || M || blank period || incomplete

In love and loss, it often comes back to family, and Team 7 had always been fated, hadn't they? Deny it as she may, Sakura finds her heart strung to them with an uncanny reverence and the weight of their ghosts. Sakura-centric. Heavy, heavy angst. Slow burn Sasusaku. Canon pairings. Lots of friendship feels. Eventual (consensual) lemon.

Ghosts is a pretty dark read where basically everyone is suffering. Sasuke and Sakura in specific have an especially hard time coping with their individual struggles yet they find comfort in each other. Check TWs before going in

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Home is Where the Heart is - DeepPoeticGirl || ffn || sasusaku || T || blank period || complete

And with every moment together, they get just a little closer, a little more comfortable with each other. Fall a little more in love. Post-war. Pre-epilogue.

This fic is actually adorable! Taking place during the black period we get to see how Sasuke and Sakura's relationship slowly progresses. If you've always wondered what their travels were like then definitely check this one out.

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In Times of Peace - SouthSideStory || ffn || sasusaku || M || blank period || canon divergent || complete

The war is over, and like Konoha, Team 7 has rebuilt itself from the ground up. Everything has changed, but Sasuke and Sakura remain much the same. Eleven years, she thinks, is a long time to be in love.

Sakura and Sasuke have like a secret relationship going on. Also, Sakura as a jonin sensei is so good!! I really wish that someone from the original cast actually went down that route, but whatever.

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Labyrinthine - FM_White || ao3 || itasaku || M || canon divergence || complete

ItaSaku (Post Uchiha Massacre) AU: Some things are destined to be. It just takes a couple of tries to get there.ItaSaku. Light KakaSaku.

I actually really liked how this was done as team 7 is still a family, Sasuke didn't lose his mind, Itachi picked a much more respectable path imo, and the characters are all adults.

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Only a Crush by Gingersoup || ao3 || kakasaku || M || canon divergent || complete

It was supposed to be an easy, fun night out. She never intended to wake up in her sensei's bed, half-naked and with no memory of what happened the night before! As she tries to unravel the mystery of that night, something sinister is growing beyond the walls of the Leaf Village... and what was only a crush spirals wildly out of control.

Sakura is unwillingly thrust into the world of illegal drugs, trafficking, and sex all while coming to terms with her new feelings regarding her former sensei. I typically don't like kakasaku, but I think this work is done tastefully well. The characters are both adults and the immorality of the relationship is not ignored, so be prepared for a lot of "we can't," "this is wrong," etc.. Anyway, Sakura is an absolute powerhouse and I thoroughly enjoyed the relationship between all of the different characters and villages!

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Dreaming's End - thepiedsniper || ao3 || T || kakasaku || canon divergence || complete

Sakura didn't avoid the Infinite Tsukuyomi with the others, and all the events that happened afterward were simply the product of her dream-state. When Sakura finally wakes up from years spent in her personal "paradise," she must to learn how to start again. Kakashi is there to help her. ~*~ (TWs for genjutsu-related unreality)

Basically, imagine the entirety of Boruto was Sakura's dream in Infinite Tsukuyomi. When Sakura manages to breakout during the war she's left to deal with serious ramifications of the life she just lived. She finds herself constantly questioning what's real and Kakashi tries to help her through it.

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Mamihlapinatapai - FM_White || ao3 || E || itasaku || canon divergence || ongoing

Mamihlapinatapai・Yagan. (n.) a look shared by two people, each wishing that the other would initiate something they both desire, but which neither wants to begin In which Sakura tries her hardest to raise one hell of a rambunctious baby by herself, Sasuke is searching for something unknown, and Itachi is the uncle.

In another life where Itachi doesn't end up dying and instead tries his best to help Sakura raise his niece in Sasuke's absence. It's my head canon that everyone came together to help with Sarada just like they did for Kuranai, and so Mamihlapinatapi satisfies that thought for me. I like how Sasuke was criticized in this since as much as I understand the necessity of what he's doing, I also find it completely unfair to his wife and daughter. Itachi and Sakura form a great bond and it's all very domestic and just super fluffy all around, which I love.

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Louder than Words - SouthSideStory || ao3 || T || sasusaku || non-massacre AU || complete

Sakura hasn’t uttered a single word since the day her family died, but Sasuke is determined to hear her, one way or another. (No Uchiha massacre AU.)

Sakura gets taken in by the Uchiha family after Fugaku finds her on a mission. She's been mute ever since, but that doesn't stop her and Sasuke from forming a close bond.

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Snake Bound - shefalls || ao3 || E || sasusaku || canon divergence || complete

"You... took me with you." "That's what I said." "To Orochimaru. You took me with you, to Orochimaru." Sasuke nodded curtly and shoved the medical kit a little more insistently into her hands. Sakura accepted, and prayed to every known god that Orochimaru would ignore her existence. She should've known the gods don't listen. Now only on AO3. Sequel up.

What if Sasuke took Sakura with him like she asked? Snake Bound explores that idea and it's honestly a very uncomfortable read. Their relationship is based off of the isolation and dependency their new situation puts them in. All they really have is each other and the new bond that brings is not a healthy one.

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Armour-Sleeved Single Hit - thatdamnuchiha || ao3 || T || madasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

Sasuke always told Sakura she was weak. Even after she trained with Tsunade for years he only had eyes for Naruto whom he considered strong. She would forever be invisible to him no matter how many mountains she toppled.Being a member of Team Seven despite Sasuke’s refusal to acknowledge her meant she got herself into her fair share of sticky situations. Getting stuck a hundred odd years in the past had to take the cake though.But she was just a weak little girl and compared to the shinobi of old she’d be ridiculously pathetic. Sasuke had said she was weak to him – a modern day shinobi who hadn’t been forced into battle after battle like they did in the Warring Clans Era. Obviously she’d be nothing more than a spec of dirt in the eyes of the Founders.

Sakura manages to find herself in founding-era Konoha! While trying to prove that medical ninja are capable fighters she unknowingly gains the affection of Madara Uchiha. After all, the Uchiha find beauty in strength. Super cute read!

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Always You - alex-halcyon || ffn || T || kakasaku || age swap AU || complete

[AU. Age-swap] Kakashi x Sakura. From academy days to the third shinobi war and beyond, Kakashi and Sakura grow up and fall in love.

Basically, Sakura takes Rin's place on the old team 7. The progression between the character is quite interesting as it definitely isn't smooth sailing for Kakashi and Sakura. However, even through everything they find themselves drifting towards each other. Pretty cute imo.

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interim - stannide || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke lives with Sakura in the weeks after the war.

Interim is such a wholesome read where Sasuke and Sakura rekindle their former relationship. Super fluffy

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Hit Me With Your Best Shot - Tozette || ao3 || T || sasusaku || blank period || one-shot complete

Sasuke is actually eighteen the first time he looks at Sakura and realises abruptly that he wants her.

I think we all know by now that Sasuke has always been attracted to strength, power, so why not when it comes to romance? Essentially, one day on a mission, Sasuke discovers he has a strength kink. Watching him continuously get flustered throughout the fic because of his admiration towards Sakura's strength is so entertaining. Really fun read

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the problem with how time works - MurderMittens || ao3 || E || kakasaku || generation swap AU || complete

"I don't remember you being this uncomfortable when Kakashi was nine and had a crush on you," Ino pointed out neutrally. "You thought it was flattering before." She moved to pour more wine into their glasses as Sakura exhaled sharply out of her nostrils. "Obviously! It was fucking cute when he was a kid! But now he's..." she trailed off, gesticulating feebly. Ino, taking pity on her, finished the sentence: "Now he's a stone cold hottie who looks and sounds like he'd murder the ever-loving shit out of your vagina."

Sakura and Kakashi's generations swap place and boy is it entertaining. With Naruto as his sensei, of course Kakashi has met Sakura. Now that she's back in the village after years, Kakashi decides to try his best to win her over.

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on still water - summersirius || ao3 || T || shisaku || canon divergence || complete

and sometimes, there are days without rain. —shisui/sakura

I'm actually devastated that the author decided to not pursue the plot line after about chapter 15 (it was so good too), but On Still Water is great nonetheless. Some really cute Shisui x Sakura moments

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never let 'em know your next move - MirrorImage003 || ao3 || T || itasaku || non-massacre AU || one-shot complete

six times itachi is surprised by sakura, and the one time he's surprised by his mother.

Sort of drabble style moments between Itachi and Sakura and it's honestly adorable.

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Hatsukoi - sparklyfaerie || ao3 || sasusaku || gen || non-massacre AU || complete

Sasuke leans away as the girl turns to him, and his mother doesn't need to be any closer to guess as to the expression on his face. The girl's body language changes in an instant, and Mikoto recognizes the posture of a little girl in love. It's kind of adorable.

Probably one of the cutest sasusaku fics I have read as Hatsukoi follows them from genin to marriage! It's told in multiple perspectives and it's full of tooth rotting fluff. You get to watch the slow progression of their relationship over time and how they grow even closer in Naruto's absence. Definitely read is you want something light!

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(oh, you'll probably go to heaven) please don't hang your head & cry - SafelyCapricious || ao3 || T || itasaku || time travel AU || one-shot complete

There’s no such thing as a good death. But Sakura faces her death without any regrets. Her dying is keeping her precious people safe — and that’s all she can ask for. So she dies with a smile, taking thousands of enemies with her. She wakes up and falls off the branch she’s laying on.

More of a pre-ship than anything actually romantic, so maybe this isn't the best for this list lmao.

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Send me some recs if you have any to share! I'm generally fine with any ship as long as the story is good :)

[solar-wing]

⚣ Heroes of You and Me 💧

⚣🌊 A/N → The way you people get series and 20k+ fics out of me needs to be studied. How was a request SUPPOSED to be a one-shot, turn into a whole multi-part fic. Maybe I didn't feel like cramming over 20k words into one fic again. (and look how that went). But lemme me tell you something, cause I warned yall how I feel about writing for IRL characters. If Sky's actor who's name I won't specify for fear of his pr team getting a ping from this and showing it to him ever posts a reaction of him reading THIS or ANY fanfiction, this and ME will disappear off the face of the earth. I am not above going into hiding and living off the land. anyways, enjoy! MUAH 😘 WARNINGS: Slight Canon Divergence | Emotional Angst | Growing Curiosity and Feelings | Slow-Burn (fuck yall cause I hate slow burns but also still love you) | Jealousy |

⚣🌊 Summary → Magic, monsters, and bad decisions—The new fairies just wanted a peaceful first day considering how much everything had changed for them recently, but now they're dodging Burned Ones, losing magical rings, and trying not to die. Welcome to the Otherworld. What else could go wrong? Wait...don't ask that.

⚣🌊 Words → 26.6K

REBLOGS & replies are greatly appreciated, please! 💛

⚣ ENJOY 🌊

Sky made his way through the steel gates that led him into the courtyard of Alfea College, the late morning sun casting warm rays across the stone pathways. The campus was alive with the hustle of move-in day, the energy palpable as students reunited, chatted, and navigated their way to their respective dorms. Sky slung his duffel bag over his shoulder, taking a moment to breathe in the familiar scent of fresh-cut grass and the distant hum of chatter.

As he surveyed the scene, a familiar sense of unease settled in his chest—a mix of unresolved tensions from last year and the pressure of the responsibilities awaiting him this year. He pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the task at hand: getting through another year at Alfea.

‘Another year’, he thought, his gaze sweeping over the bustling scene before him. Despite the familiar surroundings, there was a tight knot of tension in his chest, a lingering unease that he couldn’t quite shake. It could be the anticipation of his new role as a squad captain, which Silva had been kind enough to only inform him about a couple of weeks before the start of the school year. Whatever it was, he pushed it to the back of his mind and focused on the task at hand.

As he walked though the courtyard though, Sky couldn’t help but notice the contrasting scenes around him. All the smiling faces of friends reuniting after a whole three months apart, animatedly talking to each other about their vacations and showing pictures and funny videos on their phones. Then, there were those who weren’t talking to anyone, but taking every moment they could to take a ‘aesthetic’ photo so they could update their Insta stories. That was his generation for you.

Just as Sky started making his way toward the Specialist hall, a few familiar voices called out to him.

"Sky! There he is, our fearless leader!" Timmy’s voice rang out, pulling Sky from his thoughts. He turned to see a group of his old friends waving him over, their faces lit up with excitement.

Sky couldn’t help but smile as he approached them, his unease momentarily lifting. "Hey, guys," he greeted, offering a firm handshake to each of them. "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, man," Brandon said, grinning widely. "We were just saying how we were wondering when you’d show up. Thought maybe you’d decided to bail on us."

Sky chuckled, shaking his head. "Bail? You know me better than that. Just taking my time this morning."

While they were catching up, Sky’s attention was momentarily drawn away from the conversation as his eyes scanned the courtyard. It was instinctual, almost reflexive—years of training had taught him to be aware of his surroundings at all times. But what caught his eye this time wasn’t a potential threat; it was another student, possibly a Specialist judging by their build, looking very lost.

Without thinking, Sky patted Brandon on the shoulder, interrupting their conversation. "Hold on a sec," he said, his focus shifting entirely to the struggling student.

He started to make his way toward the guy, acting on an impulse of empathy and something else he couldn’t name. He remembered his first day at Alfea, the mix of excitement and nervousness, and how a small gesture of help could make all the difference. As he approached, he was about to call out when he saw someone else reach the guy first—Sam Harvey, an Earth fairy and one of Professor Harvey’s kids.

“Hey, you must be Y/N. I’m Sam,” the Earth fairy greeted with a warm smile, holding his hand out for introduction.

“Nice to meet you, and yep, that’s me. I’m guessing you're the one Headmistress Dowling assigned to show me around?”

As Sky slowed his approach, the realization that his assumption was wrong—that the guy was indeed not a Specialist but a fairy—stopped him in his tracks. He couldn’t quite place why he felt a twinge of disappointment, but it was clear Sam had things under control. Just as he was about to turn back to his friends, something else caught his eye—a flash of ginger hair, standing in the middle of the courtyard with her bags. She also looked lost, her gaze scanning the courtyard as if she was waiting for someone.

When no one seemed to come, she grabbed her bags and started walking toward the Specialist Hall.

Sky hesitated for a moment, torn between going back to his friends and helping the girl who looked like she was struggling. The decision came easily enough—his natural instinct to help others always overrode everything else. He quickly started toward the girl, his strides purposeful but not hurried.

As he approached her, Sky noticed the way she was carrying herself—there was a certain determination in her step, but it was undercut by the uncertainty in her eyes as she glanced around. She didn’t seem to notice him at first, too focused on trying to figure out her way.

He didn’t quite know how to stop her and offer his help, so he just went with the first thing that came to mind.

“Wow, you are so lost,” he said, falling into step next to her.

Observational.

“I’m impressed with your confidence in the face of complete ignorance.”

Tactful…maybe?

“The issue is, you’re overcommitted. I mean, you’re essentially running.”

Yeah, there’s no word for this one. Maybe an ice cream truck will fall from the sky and save him. His only hope at this point.

“And now that I’m here, you can’t give me the satisfaction of turning around—”

Of course, throughout this entire questionable interaction, the specialist failed to notice her brows furrowing and the even more tense aura of her body language. Men…

“I don’t need help,” she interjected, saving everyone from witnessing a train wreck. A true hero, this girl is. “But thanks.”

“I don’t remember offering it,” he said with a slightly amused breath. “So presumptuous, you must be a fairy.”

“I am a fairy,” she responded, reluctantly continuing the dialogue while still trying to find where she was supposed to go.

As their conversation continued, neither noticed the approaching figure from behind or the eyes watching them from a distance. As Sky was pointing to the fairy hall, Riven, another Specialist and old friend of Sky’s, walked up to his friend from behind, surprising him.

“Quit perving on the first years,” Riven said with his usual condescending tone.

Sky, used to his friend's antics, wasn’t phased by it but did turn to acknowledge him.

“Riv, just give me one second. Yeah?”

“Why? You gonna chase her?” Riven asked, leaning to the side to look past him.

Sky turned his head to see that indeed, the girl had taken off, heading right for the fairy hall. He let out a disappointed sigh, though it wasn’t as bad as the one he felt earlier, which he was still confused about.

“Nope,” he replied before his friend tackled him with a hug. The two boys laughed and caught up while meeting up with the other Specialists and making their way over to the training grounds by the pond.

Sky and Riven made their way to the training grounds by the pond, the sounds of their laughter fading as they approached the more serious atmosphere of the Specialist area. The training grounds were a familiar sight, with well-worn paths leading to various stations where students practiced everything from hand-to-hand combat to more specialized weapons training.

As they entered the area, Silva, the head of the Specialists, was already there, barking orders at a group of first-year students who were fumbling through a basic drill. His sharp eyes caught sight of Sky and Riven, and he gave a nod of acknowledgment before turning his attention back to the recruits.

“Looks like the newbies are getting a warm welcome,” Riven commented, his tone laced with sarcasm as he watched a particularly nervous student nearly drop his weapon.

“Silva’s always had a way of making sure everyone knows what’s expected,” Sky replied, his gaze shifting to the group. “We were all in their shoes once.”

“Yeah, but some of us didn’t look like we were about to wet ourselves,” Riven shot back with a smirk.

Sky chuckled, but his focus was already shifting. He had a responsibility to these students now, not just as a fellow Specialist but as their squad captain. The weight of it settled more heavily on his shoulders with each passing moment, but he knew better than to let it show.

“Let’s get warmed up,” Sky suggested, nodding towards the sparring rings where a few other upperclassmen were already engaged in drills.

Riven raised an eyebrow, clearly catching on to Sky’s shift in tone. “You’re all business today, aren’t you?”

“Just focused,” Sky replied, his voice steady. “It’s going to be a long year.”

Riven shrugged, though he didn’t argue. “Alright, let’s see if you’ve still got it, Captain.”

Did anyone else catch that foreshadowing? Why did that feel like foreshadowing? Uh uh, nope. Take it back, take it back right now!

As Silva continued to give introductory speeches and expectations to the first-years, the rest of the returning Specialists were all warming up, getting back into rhythm after what felt like a long summer. The familiar sounds of weapons clashing, feet shuffling against the ground, and the occasional grunt of effort filled the air, creating a symphony of discipline and focus.

Sky took a deep breath, letting the energy of the training grounds settle over him. This was where he thrived—in the midst of the action, surrounded by the familiar rhythm of drills and the unspoken camaraderie among his fellow Specialists. The weight of his new role as squad captain was still there, but it felt more manageable now, woven into the fabric of his responsibilities.

Riven, on the other hand, seemed content to stretch out the pre-drill banter for as long as possible. He gave Sky a sidelong glance, a smirk playing at the corner of his lips. “So, Captain, any big plans for how you’re going to whip these new recruits into shape?”

Sky rolled his eyes, but there was a hint of a smile tugging at his lips. “You know Silva’s got that covered. I’m just here to make sure they don’t trip over their own feet too much.”

“Good luck with that,” Riven quipped, his tone light, though his eyes flicked over to the first-years with a more serious glint. “Looks like we’ve got a few who might need a miracle to make it through the first week.”

While they continued sparring with each other, Riven found moments to keep teasing Sky—not only about his new role but also about the ginger-haired girl he caught him with in the courtyard. A joke about Sky being smitten after one chat, and another about how gingers are amazing shags.

Classy, Riven. Classy.

But, of course, Sky, ever the romantic, couldn’t help but feel there was something about her. Yet, his mind couldn’t seem to stay away from the fairy he had been approaching before Sam stepped in.

After their last spar ended with Sky knocking Riven on his butt, they decided to call it. Well, more like Riven decided to skip the rest of the session to go have a smoke in the woods, asking Sky to distract his ‘aggro father figure’ so he didn’t get caught—and thus expelled.

Again, very classy, Riven. Please note the extreme sarcasm.

Though he hadn’t planned to, Sky ended up doing exactly as Riven asked when Silva pulled him into an impromptu spar, using him as an example of what first-years could become, legacy admissions or not, if they showed up and did the work. But then, one of the students had to chuckle, and now they were all getting a vivid story about how Silva lost his father to a Burned One when he was only ten years old.

No one could imagine what it was like for a 10-year-old boy to watch the light and life drain from his father’s body—then to be the one to put their parent down, knowing it was either them or you. A few of the students bowed their heads, trying not to appear affected or ‘weak’ on their first day. But it was understandable why they would be.

Burned Ones had been part of the Otherworld for as long as anyone could remember. They were creatures with humanoid figures that moved faster than a car and were just as ruthless as wild animals. Their charred and blackened appearances looked as if they had just walked out of a raging fire, somehow still alive, but burnt to a crisp, with cracks that glowed like embers, revealing the fiery torment that raged within them. Their limbs were long and skeletal, their fingers ending in claws sharp enough to tear through flesh and bone. But it was their faces that truly terrified—hollowed, with sunken eyes that glowed with a sickly, menacing light, and mouths filled with jagged teeth, ever ready to rend and consume.

The Burned Ones were more than just monsters—they were the stuff of nightmares, their very existence etched into the collective fear of society. Some said they were the remnants of an ancient curse, while others believed they were born from dark magic, a spell that left them behind as twisted remnants of the souls consumed by it. Their appearance haunted the minds of those who dared to venture too close to the shadowed places they roamed.

In every village, town, and city across the realms, the story of the Burned Ones had been passed down through generations. It was a tale told with hushed voices around campfires, a warning to the young and old alike. The Burned Ones were said to be the vengeful spirits of those who had fallen to the darkest depths of magic, their bodies scorched and twisted by the flames of their own corruption. They were symbols of dark times, death, and destruction—a reminder of the consequences of straying too far into the forbidden realms of the magical world. Parents would tell their children to behave, to stay within the bounds of what was known and safe, lest they suffer the same fate as those who became like the ones they feared.

As Silva so beautifully (or questionably and concerningly) put it to Dane, the first-year Specialist who dared chuckle, “Be thankful you’ve never seen a Burned One. But if you do, pray that it kills you, so the ones you love will not have to.”

The other first-years all looked a bit put off—nervous, terrified, or finding something far off to focus on instead. It was clear Silva’s story had shaken them. Dane, who had initially met Silva's gaze with unflinching defiance, now held a stance that communicated fear despite his best efforts to hide it.

Was it a bit extreme? Maybe. But it was also unnecessary.

No one has seen a Burned One in years. Yeah, they’ve got the protective barrier, but if the last sighting was more than a decade ago, then what’s all the fuss about?

Just as Silva finished his tale, a scream echoed from the forest, cutting through the tension like a knife. Riven.

It’s always fucking Riven…

The tension from the training grounds lingered in the air, following Sky as he headed back toward his dorm in the Specialists' Hall with his friend, who was a bit more shaken up than he’d liked to admit, yet still trying to act as if he was fine. Whatever he saw was enough to spark a wildfire of rumors, spreading to every corner of Alfea, and it wasn’t long before the news traveled to the heart of the school—the Headmistress’s office.

Y/N stood outside Headmistress Farah Dowling’s office, the cool stone walls of Alfea surrounding him like a protective barrier. He took a deep breath, steeling himself for the meeting ahead. His thoughts were a whirlwind, full of the uncertainties that had plagued him since the decision to come to this school, and even before that.

The office door creaked open as Y/N hesitated, a warm voice beckoning him inside.

“Come in, Y/N,” the Headmistress called, her tone gentle yet authoritative.

Y/N stepped into the office, taking in the room’s comforting atmosphere. Shelves lined with ancient tomes and magical artifacts adorned the walls, while the large stained glass window behind Farah’s desk let in the soft, natural light of the morning sun. Farah herself sat behind her desk, her expression calm, yet her eyes held a depth that made Y/N feel as though she could see straight through to the core of him.

“Please, have a seat,” she offered, gesturing to the chair across from her.

Y/N nodded, moving to sit down, his movements slightly stiff from nerves. As he got settled in the seat, waiting for the Headmistress to begin, the weight of everything hit him hard. He thought about Sam, his new roommate and mentor, and how, despite his helpfulness, Y/N still felt like a fish out of water. Sam had been kind and welcoming, showing him around and making sure he didn’t get lost, but there was still an overwhelming sense of unfamiliarity.

His thoughts drifted to the other students he’d seen around campus—their easy smiles, their confident strides. They all seemed to belong here, like they’d been doing this their whole lives. Y/N, on the other hand, felt like he was constantly on the verge of tripping over his own feet. What if they found out he didn’t belong here? What if they discovered he was just an outsider pretending to be something he wasn’t?

He remembered walking past the training grounds, seeing a few students already practicing. Their movements were fluid, confident, like they were born with swords in their hands. Strangely enough, it reminded him of home for a moment, but then, he remembered these guys were using swords, not guns, and once again, he felt out of place. He could control water, sure, but combat? Strategy? He’d only ever learned those things from his dad, and even then, they were more about survival than thriving in a place like this.

But he was here now, and there was no turning back. He had to make this work. He had to prove—to himself more than anyone—that he could belong here, that he could make something of himself at Alfea.

The silence stretched for a moment as the Headmistress sorted through files before finally speaking, breaking the deafening quiet.

“How was your trip? Painless, I hope?” she asked.

Y/N went to respond, though his words seemed to get caught in his mouth, thinking back to the ‘convenient’ location Miss Dowling had instructed for him and his father to travel to. Close enough to where they resided, but far enough to hide from any prying eyes.

Y/N forced a smile, though it felt hollow. “It was... fine,” he replied, his voice betraying the turmoil just beneath the surface. The journey to Alfea had been anything but painless—not in the physical sense, but in the emotional weight it carried. The memory of his father standing in the middle of the clearing while he traveled through the magical gateway Miss Dowling had set up for him lingered in his mind. The man who had raised him, taught him everything he knew, and kept him and his secrets safe, had watched him leave. It felt a little too surreal and heart-aching for Y/N’s taste.

It was like the feeling of being left behind, only this time around, he was the one leaving and not the one being left. And he wasn’t sure he knew how to cope with that.

Of course, his dad, tough as nails, didn’t shed any tears, but it was still clear as day how hard it was on him too, seeing Y/N step through that gateway, giving him a soldier’s salute as a final goodbye before the doorway closed behind him.

As much as Y/N wanted to be here—needed to be here—the thought of leaving his father behind gnawed at him. His dad had been his anchor, his rock, and now he was an unknown number of miles away, alone. Y/N’s chest tightened with the familiar pang of guilt, the same guilt that had clung to him since the day he’d agreed to come to Alfea.

He remembered the look in his father’s eyes as they said their goodbyes—a mixture of pride, worry, and something else that Y/N couldn’t quite place. It was as if his father knew this was the right thing to do, but it didn’t make it any easier for either of them. The memory of his dad’s last words echoed in his mind: “You’ve got this, kid. I’ll be here when you come home.”

Got what, though? Y/N didn’t even know what he was supposed to be ready for. All he knew was that he had to learn control—real control—over his powers before they controlled him. He could still remember the floodwater rushing through the halls, the panic in his father’s eyes as he tried to contain the situation. And the fear—Y/N’s own fear that he could have hurt someone, that he could have hurt his dad.

Yeah, so much for painless.

Y/N took a deep breath, forcing a more convincing smile onto his face as he looked up at Farah. “It was definitely an experience,” he said, trying to infuse some lightness into his voice. “The, uh, magical gateway was a nice touch. Makes traveling feel a bit more... grand.”

Farah smiled gently, but Y/N could see the understanding in her eyes. She wasn’t fooled by his attempt at humor, and it made him feel a strange mix of comfort and vulnerability.

“I’m glad the journey went smoothly,” Farah replied, her tone warm but measured. “I know leaving home is never easy, especially under such... unusual circumstances.”

Y/N nodded, his smile fading slightly as he looked down at his hands, which were clenched in his lap. “Yeah, it’s been... a lot,” he admitted, his voice quieter now. “I’ve never been away from home or at least my dad like this. And with everything that happened, it’s hard not to feel...”

“Out of place?” Farah offered gently.

Y/N looked up at her, surprised by how easily she seemed to understand. He nodded slowly. “Yeah. Like I’m in over my head.”

Farah leaned forward slightly, her gaze steady and reassuring. “It’s perfectly normal to feel that way, Y/N. Alfea is a place of learning, but it’s also a place of growth. You’re not expected to have all the answers right now, or to have everything figured out. That’s why you’re here—to learn, to grow, and to discover your own path.”

Y/N swallowed hard, her words hitting closer to home than he expected. He wanted to believe her, wanted to feel like he could find his place here. But the weight of his powers, the fear of what he could do if he lost control again, was a constant shadow hanging over him.

“I just don’t want to let anyone down,” he confessed, the words slipping out before he could stop them.

Farah’s expression softened even more, and she reached out, resting her hand lightly on his. “You won’t, Y/N. I can see the strength in you, even if you can’t see it yourself yet. It’s okay to be afraid, but don’t let that fear hold you back. You’re here because you have potential, and we’re going to help you reach it and refine it.”

Y/N felt a lump form in his throat, and he nodded, unable to find the words to respond. Farah’s kindness, her unwavering belief in him, was something he wasn’t used to. It made him want to try, to push through the fear and doubt, if only to prove her right.

“Thank you, Headmistress,” he managed to say, his voice thick with emotion.

Farah gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go. “You’re welcome, Y/N. You can think of Alfea as your new home. You have people here who want to help you, who want to see you succeed. Don’t be afraid to lean on them when you need to.”

Another moment of silence passed between them, with Y/N rubbing his hands up and down his legs to stir his nerves.

“I trust Sam has been treating you well, yes?” Farah asked.

Y/N hesitated for a moment, then nodded again. “Yeah, he’s been great. Really helpful, showing me around and making sure I don’t get lost.”

Farah smiled at that, a hint of amusement in her eyes. “I’m glad to hear that. Sam is one of our most dependable students. He’s Professor Harvery’s son who you’ll meet when taking your potions, botany, and natural magics courses. I figured he’d be a good fit to help you adjust.”

Y/N offered a small smile in return. “He’s definitely made things easier. It’s just... a lot to take in, you know?”

“I can imagine,” Farah replied, her expression softening. “It’s a big change, but you’re handling it well. And remember, you have people like Sam—and me—here to support you.”

Y/N nodded, feeling a bit of the tension in his chest ease. “Thanks, Headmistress. That means a lot.”

Farah gave him an encouraging smile before leaning back in her chair. “Now, let’s talk about what you can expect this year.”

Y/N straightened up slightly, eager to shift the conversation toward something more concrete. “Yeah, I’ve been wondering about classes and... well, everything really. I want to make sure I’m prepared.”

Farah nodded, understanding the unspoken concerns in his words. “Of course. Your schedule has been tailored to help you develop your skills while also giving you a solid foundation in the broader aspects of magical education. You’ll start with the basics, learning how to use your magic slowly, but safely in a controlled environment. And, to reiterate as I did with the student I had right before you, when I say slowly, I do mean it. Magic can be dangerous and I don’t want you to cause yourself any harm in trying to prove something. But, I do believe you’ll find the subjects we have laid out for you not only challenging but also rewarding.”

Y/N listened intently, absorbing the information. He appreciated the Headmistress’s approach—firm but understanding. It was clear that she valued safety and caution, which was something Y/N could respect, especially given his own fears about his powers.

Farah continued, “You’ve already demonstrated a remarkable degree of mastery for someone your age. That’s not something we see often, especially with powers as complex as yours.”

Y/N blinked in surprise, not expecting the compliment. “Thank you. My dad... he’s been a big help. He helped me learn how to control my powers enough from a young age to hide them for obvious reasons,” Y/N nervously laughed, but Farah’s warm smile kept him at ease. “He used a lot of techniques he learned from the military. Breathing exercises, disciplinary lessons, staying calm under pressure... it’s all pretty much drilled into me. No pun intended.”

Farah’s eyes softened with understanding. “Your father sounds like a wise man. It’s clear he’s done an excellent job helping you harness your abilities. Water fairies like yourself often have been known to struggle with control, given the fluid and ever-changing nature of water itself. But you’ve managed to find a balance.”

Y/N looked down at his hands, which had finally unclenched. The memories of his father’s training sessions flashed through his mind—hours spent practicing, focusing, and learning to control the water that flowed through him like second nature. “He just wanted to make sure I didn’t put anyone... or myself at risk.”

“And he succeeded,” Farah smiled warmly, a sense of reassurance in her gaze. “You’ll also have regular meetings with me to discuss your progress and address any concerns. And you can always reach out if you need help with anything.”

Y/N was about to respond when the door to the office burst open, startling both of them. A Specialist student, out of breath and with a look of urgency on his face, stood in the doorway. Farah immediately tensed, her calm demeanor shifting to one of alertness.

“Headmistress, I’m sorry to interrupt, but there’s been an incident in the forest,” the student panted. “ Professor Silva asked me to inform you immediately.”

Farah’s eyes narrowed slightly, her mind clearly processing the information quickly. She rose from her seat, her authority evident in the way she carried herself.

“What happened?” she asked, her voice steady but laced with concern.

“I’m not sure, but Mr. Silva said it was urgent and asked for you and Professor Harvey to come quickly. In the forest near the training grounds.”

Farah’s expression grew more serious as she turned to Y/N. “Y/N, we’ll have to continue this conversation later. For now, I need you to stay in the main building and avoid the forest. I’ll have Sam meet you to help you get settled into your dorm.”

Y/N stood up as Farah did, the tension in the room palpable. He felt a strange mix of anxiety and curiosity at the mention of the incident in the forest, but he knew better than to pry.

“Yes, Headmistress,” Y/N replied, his voice steady despite the unease settling in his chest, his discipline from living on a military base immediately kicking in as a response to the headmistress’s authoritative tone.

Farah nodded, offering him a reassuring smile despite the urgency in her eyes. “Good. I’m sure everything will be fine, but it’s best to be cautious. Stay close to the main building and try to relax for the rest of the day.”

Well, that was a bit ironic considering she looked anything but relaxed herself.

As she grabbed her coat from the stand near the door, Y/N couldn’t help but notice the subtle shift in her demeanor. Gone was the gentle, nurturing headmistress; in her place stood a leader, focused and ready to handle whatever was waiting in the forest. The transformation was striking, and for a moment, Y/N felt a mix of admiration and a touch of intimidation. It was a reminder that, beneath the warmth, Farah Dowling was a woman who commanded respect and authority in a world that demanded both.

Y/N nodded, offering a small, appreciative smile. “I will. Thank you, Headmistress.”

Farah gave him one last nod before slipping out of the office, her coat billowing slightly as she moved with purpose down the corridor. The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Y/N alone in the quiet office.

As Farah left the room, Y/N lingered for a moment, feeling the weight of the conversation settle over him. The urgency of the situation in the forest hung in the air, but there was something else, too—a sense of unease that he couldn’t quite shake. He knew he had to follow the headmistress’s instructions, but the curiosity gnawed at him. What could be so urgent that it pulled her away from their meeting?

Y/N let out a slow breath, reminding himself that it wasn’t his place to get involved, not yet anyway. He was still the new kid here, barely even unpacked, and already there was so much to take in. His thoughts flicked back to Sam, who had been nothing but helpful since his arrival. Maybe if he found Sam, he could get some guidance on what to do next, or at the very least, some company to distract him from the whirlwind of emotions he was feeling.

He glanced at the door, knowing he should probably try to find his way back to his dorm. But without Sam around to guide him, it felt like navigating a maze. He couldn’t remember the exact turns they’d taken earlier, and the thought of wandering aimlessly through the hallways didn’t exactly appeal to him.

After a brief moment of indecision, Y/N decided it might be worth exploring a bit. If he could find his way back to the dorm on his own, it would be a small victory—proof that he was capable of figuring things out here, even without someone holding his hand.

“Alright,” he muttered to himself, stepping out into the hallway. “Time to see if I can actually find my way around this place.”

He took a deep breath and started down the corridor, hoping he’d get lucky and run into someone familiar—or at the very least, a sign pointing him in the right direction.

“Who actually saw the Shepherd’s body?” Terra, an Earth Fairy and Sam’s sister, asked as she held her beverage, talking with two of her freshly acquainted suitemates, Aisha and Musa. Her usual bright tone was tinged with unease, the curiosity and morbid speculation threading through the conversation like a dark undercurrent. “Maybe he was just old. People get old, die. We all die.”

“That old-age decapitation really sneaks up on you,” Musa quipped, a dry laugh escaping her as they lingered near the snack table at the orientation party. The lively atmosphere clashed with the darker topic swirling around the room, the buzz of gossip overshadowing the usual excitement of the new school year.

The air felt thick with rumors. The discovery of the Shepherd’s body, mutilated and left in the forest just outside the magical barrier, had set the school abuzz. Headmistress Dowling had tried to keep things under wraps, hoping to prevent a panic, but apparently, she didn’t hope hard enough. The news had spread faster than wildfire, twisting through the student body and growing more sinister with each retelling.

“Happened to my nan right in the middle of Bingo,” Aisha added with a grin, clutching a churro stick as she joined the dark humor. “Just... thwop, thwop, thwop. Down the table.” She mimed a head rolling off, her satirical tone not helping much to veil the subtle tension beneath still.

Musa laughed, a sharp burst of sound that cut through the unease for the earth fairy, though she remained quiet. As they continued their conversation, it was in this moment that Y/N strolled into the party. He glanced around, taking in the lively scene, but the undercurrent of tension still being unmistakable. He wasn’t immune to the rumors either; whispers about the dead Shepherd had reached him not long after he left his meeting with the Headmistress.

As his eyes scanned the room, he spotted Sam standing on the other side of the room closer to another beverage table, chatting with a few other students. Y/N weaved through the crowd, nodding to a few faces he recognized from his earlier tour around campus, but feeling that familiar sense of being an outsider in a crowd where everyone else seemed to belong.

“Y/N!” Sam called out as soon as he spotted him, waving him over. “There you are! Glad you made it.”

Y/N offered a small smile, grateful for the warmth in Sam’s greeting, even if the unease from the ongoing gossip lingered in his mind.

“Yeah,” Y/N responded with a small smile, though his thoughts were elsewhere. “Got a bit lost coming from the Headmistress’ office but I made it. I was gonna go back to the dorm but I’d figured I’d check it out.”

"Good call. Everyone's here tonight." Sam gestured around at the buzzing party, cups in hand, snacks being passed, though there was still a murmur beneath it all—a sense of unease they couldn’t quite shake off.

Just then, Terra approached, her expression somewhere between cheerful and overwhelmed, as if she didn’t know where to go. Which, was a bit weird considering both her and Sam practically grew up around Alfea. Her warm demeanor returned quickly, though, as she saw her brother standing with Y/N. Sam immediately gestured toward her as she approached.

"Y/N, meet my sister, Terra. Terra, this is Y/N, my new roommate.”

Y/N extended his hand with a polite smile. “Hey. Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you too!” Terra responded brightly, shaking his hand with enthusiasm. “Sam’s told me a bit about you. I hope he hasn’t scared you off yet.”

Y/N chuckled lightly. “Nah, not yet. He’s been a good guide.”

“Good,” Terra said, still holding onto a friendly smile. “I know Alfea can be a bit overwhelming at first. Especially with... you know, everything going on.”

There was an unspoken understanding between them—everyone knew what she was referring to. Y/N gave a slight nod, sensing the weight of what had happened in the forest still hanging over the party. Even though Terra was trying to keep things light, he could tell she wasn’t as carefree as she appeared.

“Everything alright, Terra?” Sam asked sensing his sister’s somewhat tense and despondent mood.

Terra looked a little caught off guard at the question, trying to keep her cheerful demeanor up, but both Sam and Y/N could see through it.

“Oh, I’m good. Just a little early roommate drama, but nothing to worry about. Joys of having five girls in one space.”

Sam raised a brow, a knowing smile playing at his lips. “You mean to tell me you’ve already started trouble? And here I was thinking it’d take at least a week before you drove someone mad.”

Y/N noticed how Terra tensed at the jab. On the surface, it was harmless, the kind of playful sibling banter Y/N had seen between others plenty of times. But something about the way Terra’s smile faltered—how her fingers tightened just a bit around the rim of her glass—hinted at a deeper insecurity. He couldn’t quite place it, but it was as if she was trying too hard to brush it off. Maybe it was the pressure of being likable, of wanting to fit in with her new roommates, that made her so self-conscious.

From what Y/N could tell, Terra seemed like the type who wanted to go out of her way to please everyone around her. That kind of eagerness could easily come across as overbearing to the wrong people. He had seen it before—people who bent over backward to make others happy but ended up standing on shaky ground themselves. Maybe her need to fit in made her more vulnerable to criticism or, worse, outright rejection.

He could see Sam pick up on the shift as well, though his smile remained teasing. "Isn’t Stella in your suite?" Sam asked suddenly, his tone seemingly casual but loaded with implication. Y/N didn’t miss the way Terra’s face fell for just a second—too brief to be obvious to anyone who wasn’t looking for it. The name "Stella" alone seemed to strike a deeper chord.

Y/N's curiosity piqued. He hadn’t met everyone at the school yet, and the way Terra reacted made him wonder who exactly this Stella was. He could sense there was something more to the question, something beneath the surface that Terra wasn’t saying.

“Stella?” Y/N asked, tilting his head slightly. “Who’s that?”

Terra hesitated, glancing between Y/N and Sam before finally answering. “Stella’s... well, she’s the Crown Princess of Solaria. You know, the realm that Alfea’s in.”

Y/N’s brows raised at that. “A princess? Seriously?”

Terra nodded, forcing a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Yeah, seriously. She’s... well, she’s royalty, so she’s got that whole ‘above-it-all’ vibe, I guess. She’s in my suite with Aisha, Musa, and Bloom.”

Y/N could sense there was more she wasn’t saying—maybe something about the way Stella acted, or the dynamic between the roommates. Still, he didn’t press. “Sounds intense,” he said instead, trying to keep things light.

“You could say that.” Terra let out a soft laugh, though it sounded a little forced. Her eyes flickered for a moment, as if debating whether to continue. “She’s kind of... used to getting her way, I guess.” Terra hesitated, her gaze briefly shifting to the side before she added, “And then, there’s her history with Sky…”

As soon as the words left her mouth, Terra’s expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly as if she realized she’d said too much. She bit her lip, clearly regretting bringing it up, and quickly glanced at Y/N, gauging his reaction.

Y/N blinked, intrigued by the new information. He didn’t know who Sky was, but judging by the way Terra said it, it seemed like a complicated situation. “Sky?”

“Yeah, Sky’s a Specialist,” Sam chimed in, filling the gap. “Top of the class, actually. He’s… well, kind of Alfea’s golden boy. Everyone looks up to him.” Sam’s expression shifted slightly, as if even he had mixed feelings about the guy.

Y/N nodded slowly, processing the new information. A princess and the top Specialist—there was definitely more to unpack there, but he decided to leave it for another time. Instead, he turned back to Terra, offering her a small, encouraging smile. “Well, it seems like you’re holding your own, right? Can’t be easy.”

Terra seemed to relax a little at that, her smile becoming a bit more genuine. “Thank you, I appreciate that. It’s just... new, you know?”

“Oh yeah,” Y/N said with a chuckle, thinking about his own recent arrival. “I definitely know a thing or two about being new.”

Terra’s mood seemed to lift at that, her smile growing a little brighter. Sam, noticing the shift in his sister’s demeanor, seemed pleased to see her returning to her usual cheerful self.

“Well, since you are new, and I’m positive Sam didn’t show you nearly enough of Alfea for you to know your way around,” Terra began, her voice taking on a teasing lilt, “why don’t I give you a proper tour? We can explore a bit more of the party. There’s so much you haven’t seen yet.”

Sam shot her a mock-offended look. “Hey! I think I did a pretty decent job as a tour guide, thank you very much.”

Terra raised an eyebrow, her expression dripping with playful skepticism. She turned to Y/N, clearly setting up her next move. “How many times have you gotten lost already?”

“Twice,” Y/N admitted, flashing a sheepish grin. Sam immediately threw his hands up in exaggerated frustration, his face contorting into a look of mock betrayal.

“See?” Terra smirked triumphantly, turning back to Sam before looking at Y/N. “I rest my case.”

Y/N chuckled, shooting an apologetic glance toward his roommate. “Sorry, Sam.”

Sam clutched at his chest as if wounded, putting on a show of hurt. “Go on then, leave me behind. Abandon your proper tour guide. I’ll just be here… wallowing.”

Terra shook her head, clearly amused, as she gently tugged Y/N along. “You’ll be fine, drama queen.”

Y/N gave Sam an apologetic wave, mouthing ‘Sorry’ again as they moved further into the crowd, Sam waving him off with a faux-injured expression that quickly turned into a playful grin.

Sam watched as Terra tugged Y/N further into the crowd. “Just don’t let her talk your ear off about plants,” Sam called after them. “I’ve heard it all before.”

“Oh, shut up!” Terra threw back at her brother, laughing now.

Across the party, Sky stood casually by a pillar, his eyes scanning the crowd of new and returning students as they mingled and introduced themselves to one another. Though his posture was relaxed, his mind was far from idle—people-watching was something of a habit at these events, and tonight was no exception.

Yet, despite the throng of lively faces, his gaze kept drifting back to a familiar figure: the new arrival he’d seen earlier. He couldn’t quite place why, but something about this fairy had captured his attention. As he watched them walk off with Terra, a flicker of curiosity tugged at him.

Before Sky could think too much about it, a voice snapped him out of his quiet observation.

“This is a lot of people,” came the familiar voice of the red-haired fairy he had tried to assist earlier.

Sky’s head snapped around, his gaze falling on the fairy who’s name he learned to be Bloom. A smile pulled at his lips as she approached, chuckling softly.

“What? You don’t have parties in California?” Sky played along, pretending not to remember their earlier conversation. There was something playful in the way he said it, but his focus remained split—part of his mind still on the new fairy and his curious departure with Terra.

“Oh, he remembers!” Bloom quipped back, her own smile matching his as she tugged her jacket a little closer.

“Oh, impressed?” Sky chuckled, his tone light as he tried to push thoughts of Y/N out of his head, if only for a moment. He offered Bloom a soft smile, though there was an undeniable flicker of distraction in his eyes.

For a brief moment, there was a comfortable silence between them, the hum of the party surrounding them like background noise. But Sky’s attention was tugged back to Bloom as she gestured to the crowd.

“Where can I go that’s the opposite… of this?” Bloom asked, her voice lowering as her gaze flicked toward the noisy party. “What’s outside?”

Sky blinked, her question catching him off guard. “What, beyond the Barrier?” he asked, incredulity creeping into his tone. His mind raced slightly, trying to figure out if she was serious.

“Mm-hmm,” Bloom responded with a nod, her curiosity clearly piqued.

Sky couldn’t help but smirk. “Well, depending on rumors, wolves, bears… or something much scarier.”

He expected that to be enough to dissuade her, but Bloom didn’t even flinch.

“But no people?” she asked, cutting straight to the point. Her gaze flicked back to him, searching for an answer.

Sky hesitated, his posture stiffening slightly as the weight of his concern settled over him. “Um…” He didn’t really want to let her go out there alone, especially with the tension in the air since the discovery in the forest. Was it his place to offer?

“Perfect, thanks,” Bloom nodded quickly, turning to leave without a second thought.

“Wait,” Sky blurted out, stepping forward and stopping her without actually touching her. “At the risk of, um... mansplaining, it is dangerous outside right now. You probably shouldn’t go alone.”

Bloom’s eyes narrowed slightly, her lips curving into a smirk as she threw back, “Are you offering to escort me?”

Sky’s smile turned slightly sheepish. He hadn’t meant it as an invitation, not really. But as she said it, the words hung in the air between them, and he couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt that this interaction had gone in a direction he hadn’t anticipated.

“Is that what this is? It’s not the worst pickup line,” Bloom scoffed, her chuckle half-masked by something deeper, though her amusement was clear.

“It wasn’t a line,” Sky said, raising a brow, his voice casual but firm. “Trust me?”

Bloom’s expression softened, though she wasn’t quite ready to let her guard down. “Hm. I just met you, but maybe one day I will.”

They locked eyes for a brief moment, a quiet pause settling between them. Sky’s gaze lingered on Bloom, but in the back of his mind, an unspoken curiosity remained—one that drew him back to the quiet stranger who had caught his attention earlier that day. Why his attention and focus kept seeming to rush back to this stranger who he hadn’t even properly met was a bit perplexing but nothing he felt he needed to dissect.

But even if he wanted to, he couldn’t dwell on it any further, as another familiar voice broke through the moment.

“Hey, Sky. Can we talk?” Stella’s voice was light, but there was an edge to it, something demanding his attention.

Sky tore his gaze away from Bloom, his expression shifting as he turned to face Stella. His shoulders stiffened slightly, a hint of frustration creeping in. He glanced back at Bloom, only to see her taking the opportunity to slip away.

Bloom didn’t waste a second, skedaddling into the crowd, leaving Sky standing there with a faint sense of disappointment—and maybe even a little agitation. He sighed, watching her disappear from sight as Stella stepped closer. And while his attention should’ve been fully on Stella by now, part of him still lingered elsewhere, in thoughts of Y/N.

With a slight exasperated breath, he stepped over to face the Princess of Solaria, taking the orange beverage she held out for him in silence with no reaction, though he didn’t drink it, rather opting to wait for her to speak. He could already feel the tension that always seemed to follow their interactions.

"I haven't seen you all day," Stella commented, her tone light but with an underlying edge, something Sky recognized all too well.

“Summer, Stella. All summer,” Sky replied, his voice carrying an exasperated note as he let out a breath. His expression reflected the weariness of someone who had dealt with this dynamic for far too long.

Stella tilted her head, a carefully controlled smile playing on her lips. “You know that girl you were talking to? Bloom? Yeah, she’s my suitemate.” Her words were laced with a mixture of casual observation and thinly veiled warning, though she tried to play it cool.

Sky’s brow furrowed slightly as he met her gaze. “So, what does that mean, Stel? That I can’t talk to her?” He knew where this conversation was heading, but he wasn’t interested in playing along.

“I didn’t say that,” Stella quickly retorted, her voice deceptively sweet, though Sky could feel the tension building beneath her words.

He stared at her for a beat, then sighed, pushing the conversation to the point. “What are you saying, specifically?” His tone sharpened, a touch of sarcasm creeping in. “I’d hate to make you upset. I know what happens when you get upset.”

Their exchange was attracting a few curious glances from the nearby students, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by either of them. Sky’s gaze flicked toward the onlookers briefly before returning to Stella.

Stella’s smile wavered just for a second, a flash of something like vulnerability crossing her features before she masked it. “I’m sure you’ll do the right thing,” she said, her voice steady but tight.

Sky held her gaze for a moment longer, then handed back the glass without taking a sip. “I always do,” he replied, slipping one hand into his brown leather jacket before turning to walk off, the weight of the interaction already tiring him.

Stella took the glass back begrudgingly, her grip tightening around it as she noticed the eyes of the crowd still lingering on them. She shot them a sharp look, raising her chin in defiance.

"Enjoy the show?" she snapped, her words laced with irritation before she stormed off, leaving the onlookers to exchange glances in her wake.

But as Stella strode away, her focus on Bloom was more than a little misdirected. Sure, she noticed the subtle sparks between Sky and the new girl, and that definitely stung. But, in reality, Bloom wasn’t the one who posed the real threat to her carefully constructed world—not yet, at least. Though bunking just beyond the wall, the redhead was only the start of Stella's concerns.

Because, whether she realized it or not, and whether Sky did either, there was another fairy lingering quietly in the background. One who was already starting to occupy space in the blonde Specialist’s mind, even if no one had caught on just yet. And for now, that particular fairy was flying completely under Stella's radar.

The sun was gradually sinking toward the horizon, its warm light fading as the moon began to ascend into the night sky. Terra had managed to show Y/N far more of the school than Sam had, and with each new landmark or shortcut, Y/N felt his anxiety ease a little more. Navigating the sprawling grounds of Alfea didn’t seem as daunting now, and the prospect of finding his classes in the morning felt less like a challenge and more like something he could manage.

He appreciated Terra's extensive tour. While Sam’s earth magic allowed him to phase through walls and take unconventional routes, the paths he’d shown Y/N earlier hadn’t exactly been practical for someone without those abilities. But Terra's guidance had been a lifesaver, giving Y/N the confidence he needed to feel a little more at ease in this new environment. And it didn’t hurt that he could now say he had another friend beyond just his roommate.

As they made their way back towards the main area where the orientation party was still in full swing, Y/N felt a quiet sense of accomplishment. He’d spent the day getting to know the school and making connections—small victories that meant a lot after such a whirlwind arrival.

When they reached the party, Y/N paused, looking back toward the lively crowd. “I think I’m going to step outside for a bit,” he said, turning to Terra with a small smile. “I need to call my dad, let him know I’m okay and made it through without any major disasters.”

Terra nodded, understanding. “Yeah, sure! It was good getting to hang out with you, hopefully we’ll have classes together. Maybe Sam and I’ll make an earth fairy out of you yet Or at least I can, Sam’s not that reliable..” She grinned, her teasing light-hearted.

Y/N chuckled. “Well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Still got to master my own magic first.” With a wave, he stepped away from the party, grateful for a moment of quiet outside.

As he walked off, Terra’s gaze shifted across the canteen, catching sight of Riven. The cocky Specialist was in the middle of harassing what looked like a freshman. Her smile faded, irritation flashing in her eyes. “Great,” she muttered to herself, moving towards the scene, ready to intervene.

Y/N stepped out into the quiet evening, the crisp night air brushing against his skin as he moved away from the hum of the party. The noise, the whispers, and the pressing weight of new expectations faded into the background, replaced by the stillness of the night. Above him, the stars were beginning to dot the inky sky, and the moon hung like a soft lantern, casting a gentle glow across the grounds.

Under the soft glow of the moon, Y/N felt a quiet sense of peace settle over him, a kind of stillness that seemed to resonate deep within his core. The world around him grew quieter, and yet, at the same time, he felt more alive, more in tune with everything—especially the water that flowed in the nearby river. The moon's silver light washed over the landscape, but it also seemed to wash over him, sharpening his senses, making him more aware of the subtle hum of magic pulsing through his veins.

There was always something about the moon that brought him a heightened sense of awareness. Its gentle, luminous presence had a way of amplifying his connection to water, as if the tides within him swelled and receded in perfect harmony with the celestial body above. The longer he stood under its glow, the more he could feel his magic stir, stronger and more defined, like a calm current just waiting to be guided.

It was during these moments that Y/N felt most like himself—connected, powerful, but also grounded. The pull of the moon acted like an anchor, steadying him in ways that the chaotic energy of the day never could. There was an unspoken bond between him and the water, one that felt even more profound when the moon was present, as though its light illuminated not only the world around him but also the depths of his own potential.

Now, sitting on the bench near the edge of the courtyard, Y/N felt that same pull from the moon overhead. The familiar hum of his magic stirred within him, quieter now but still present, like the tide waiting to rise. He glanced up at the bright object, a small, wistful smile tugging at his lips. It reminded him of home, of those nights by the lake, and of the man who had always stood by his side.

A soft pang of longing settled in his chest, and he pulled out his phone. After a few taps, he called his dad.

The phone rang a few times before his dad’s gruff but warm voice answered, “Y/N, about time you called. Thought I was gonna have to send a whole squad in after you.”

Y/N chuckled softly, leaning back on the bench. “Sorry, Dad. It’s been crazy since I got here and it’s a lot to take in. Alfea is huge. You wouldn’t believe the day I’ve had.”

His dad’s voice softened with a note of humor. “Let me guess—got lost, tried to play it cool, but couldn’t figure out which building was which?”

Y/N laughed. “Twice. Sam’s shortcuts aren’t exactly... beginner-friendly. Luckily, his sister Terra gave me a proper tour.”

His dad hummed, the sound low and steady, a quiet comfort even from miles away. "Good. I’m glad you’re finding your way," he said, his voice warm but soon shifting to the no-nonsense tone Y/N had grown up with. "Did Miss Dowling go over the curriculum with you? What’s it gonna be like for drills and practices?” His tone sharpened, slipping into that familiar edge of military discipline, a reminder that beneath the caring father was a man who had spent years in service, accustomed to strict routines and rigid expectations.

Y/N leaned back on the bench, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His dad’s voice always carried that familiar weight, even in casual conversations—like there was an invisible checklist in his mind, keeping everything measured and focused. "Yeah, we went over it. The curriculum's solid," Y/N replied, trying to keep things light, though he knew his dad would pick apart every detail. "It’s a lot of basics at first—control exercises, learning how to use magic slowly and safely, all that. They’re big on precision and making sure no one gets ahead of themselves too fast. Miss Dowling made it pretty clear that we’re gonna be challenged, but nothing I can’t handle." He paused for a second, remembering something she’d mentioned in passing about her own military background. “Honestly, I think you’d get along with her. She’s definitely no-nonsense—reminds me of you."

He paused, running his hand through his hair, still feeling the weight of the headmistress’s words from earlier. "I’ll have regular check-ins with her too—y’know, to keep track of how I’m doing. She’s real big on making sure we don’t try to prove something and end up hurting ourselves. So, yeah, lots of discipline, lots of control. But it sounds like I’ll be able to figure it out." His tone was casual, but beneath the surface, he knew it was going to be intense—and his dad would expect nothing less than him excelling at it.

“As they should be,” his dad said, though his tone was a bit lighter than usual. “It’s your first day, but don’t get too comfortable. I’m sure you’ve got a leg up on thosen other slackers with what I’ve already taught you, so make sure you’re putting it to good use. Don’t just go through the motions because it’s new. Take it seriously from the start.”

Y/N nodded, feeling that familiar tug of expectation settle in. “Yeah, I know, Dad. I’m not slacking. Miss Dowling’s big on safety and control, and trust me, she’s not about to let anyone take it easy. She’s got this whole ‘slow but steady’ approach with magic, so I’m sure I’ll get plenty of practice.” He chuckled softly, then added, “Seriously, I think you and Dowling would get along great. She’s got a military background too, so she’s all about discipline.”

His dad hummed approvingly on the other end. “Good. Sounds like you’re in the right hands then. Just make sure you keep your focus and set the tone early. That’s how you get ahead.” Even though it wasn’t a drill-sergeant tone, the message was clear: the groundwork Y/N laid now would shape the rest of his time at Alfea.

Y/N smiled softly, the weight of those words familiar but not suffocating—not yet, anyway. His dad had always pushed him, but there was pride behind it. And while the pressure was always there, it felt less about being perfect and more about becoming something better than he was the day before.

Y/N leaned back on the bench, the cool night air grounding him as he listened to the comforting sound of his dad’s voice on the other end. He glanced up at the moon, its light reflecting off the nearby river. "Actually, I’ve already seen some pretty cool stuff here, magic-wise. My roommate, Sam—he’s an Earth fairy, and get this—he can literally walk through solid objects. Like, I’m talking full-on phase through walls, no big deal." He chuckled, the memory of Sam casually disappearing through their dorm room wall earlier still fresh. "And then there’s the girls who use magic to take selfies. I mean, honestly, not as surprising as you’d think, but still, the Otherworld is wild. It’s different here... and kind of the same, in weird ways."

There was a pause, and Y/N could almost hear his dad raising an eyebrow on the other end. "Sounds like you’re adjusting," his dad remarked, amusement slipping into his tone. "Learning any new tricks yourself? Besides dodging magical selfies, I mean."

Y/N grinned, though the question struck a deeper chord than he wanted to admit. "Not yet," he said, his tone light but laced with something heavier beneath it. "They’re big on control here—real slow and steady. Apparently, it’s all about mastering the basics, making sure we don’t accidentally blow up half the school or anything." He let out a small chuckle, but the humor in his voice felt forced, more like a shield than anything else. "Which, you know... kinda makes sense, considering... well, let’s just say that’s the main reason I’m even here."

There was a beat of silence. Y/N’s words hung in the air, his attempt at joking about it doing little to cover the weight of what he’d left unsaid. The memory of that one night—the water flooding in, his dad’s panic—flashed through his mind like a vivid dream he couldn’t fully wake up from. But instead of letting the pain sink in, he threw up his usual defense—a half-smile, a shrug, and a quick change of subject.

His dad was quiet for a moment, the weight of that shared memory hanging heavy between them. "You’ve come a long way since then, Y/N," he said, his voice softer, more careful. "But I get it. Even when you were a kid, you had this way of diving headfirst into chaos and somehow, just barely, pulling yourself out of it. And yeah, it probably felt easier back then, knowing I was always there to catch you if things went south. That safety net, right? But you're stronger now. You’ve learned to handle it on your own. You don’t need me right next to you to pull you back. You’ve got this under control."

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in his throat. He didn’t want to admit how much he missed the reassurance of having his dad right beside him. "Yeah, I guess. It just feels different now. Like, what if I mess up, and there’s no one around to stop it? What if I hurt someone?" His voice wavered slightly, betraying the insecurities that had been bubbling under the surface since he arrived at Alfea.

"Hey," his dad interrupted, that firm yet comforting tone snapping Y/N out of his spiral. "I know it's new, and it’s scary being out there on your own, but you’ve got this. You’ve got the discipline, the training—you’ve always been able to pull yourself together, no matter what. And even if I’m not there physically, I’m always with you. I’m in your head, telling you to keep your feet grounded, your mind sharp. You’ve got more in you than you think."

Y/N smiled softly, his heart swelling with gratitude. "Thanks, Dad. I just... it’s good to hear you say that." There was a long pause, the sound of crickets filling the space between them as the moon continued to rise higher in the sky.

"Good. Now, just to check, you’re not letting any boys distract you from all that hard work, are you?" His dad’s tone took on a teasing edge, a small chuckle filtering through the phone.

Y/N snorted, rolling his eyes even though no one could see him. "Dad, seriously?"

"I mean it! I’ve got to make sure no one’s catching your eye and pulling you off your game. Any eye candy running around there?"

Y/N couldn’t help but laugh at his dad’s playful concern. "The only boy I’ve heard about that’s worth looking at is this Sky guy. Apparently, he’s the golden boy around here, but from what I’ve heard, that’s a mess I definitely don’t want to get involved in."

"Oh really? Sounds like someone’s been doing their homework." His dad’s voice was light, but Y/N could hear the smirk in it. "So, Sky, huh? What’s the deal there?"

Y/N shrugged, his tone casual. "I dunno, something about his ex-girlfriend, drama, whatever. Definitely not something I’m about to jump into on day one." He chuckled, leaning back again as he looked up at the stars. "Besides, I’ve got enough to deal with just figuring out where all my classes are."

"Smart man," his dad replied with a chuckle, but there was a familiar edge to his tone. "Keep your head on straight. Boys can wait until you're the top water fairy in that school, right? And just so we’re clear," his voice dropped an octave, that serious military dad tone slipping through the humor, "if any of those boys give you trouble... well, you know where to find me. I don’t care how far Alfea is."

Y/N smirked, knowing his dad was half-joking—emphasis on half. "Yeah, I’m not about to test that."

"Still can’t believe my son’s a fairy,” his dad muttered, the teasing tone unmistakable.

“Careful, old man,” Y/N shot back with a grin. “Talk like that, and you’ll end up cancelled.”

A loud scoff echoed through the phone. “Cancelled? Please. Your generation’s full of a bunch of soft pussies. Ain’t no-one canceling me.”

As time passed, their conversation flowed easily, with Y/N filling his dad in on his new dorm, mentioning Terra’s bubbly personality, Sam’s easygoing nature, and a few of the other students he’d come across. His dad listened patiently, offering his usual dry comments or a chuckle here and there. But mostly, he let Y/N ramble on, giving him the space to talk through everything that had been building up inside. It was comforting, like a piece of home grounding him in the unfamiliar world of Alfea.

Y/N leaned back, glancing up at the sky again. The moon had climbed even higher, casting a cool glow that bathed the courtyard in silvery light. The gentle rustle of leaves in the breeze and the distant trickle of the river were the only sounds that filled the space around him now, making the night feel even more serene. It was almost too peaceful, in contrast to the emotions still swirling in his chest.

“I should probably let you go,” Y/N finally said, the reluctance clear in his voice. “I don’t want to keep you up.”

His dad’s tone softened, that rare moment of vulnerability slipping through. “You’re not keeping me up, kid. I’m glad we got to talk. And remember, if anything goes sideways or you need anything, I’m just a call away. You’re not in this alone.”

Y/N swallowed the lump forming in his throat, grateful for the reassurance but wishing he didn’t feel so far away. “Thanks, Dad. I’ll be alright... I miss you though.”

“I miss you too, Y/N. But you’re doing great. You’re where you need to be. Keep your head straight, and don’t let anything distract you from that.”

Y/N smiled softly, the familiar comfort of his dad’s words settling over him like a blanket. “I won’t. Talk to you soon?”

“Always.”

“Cool, love you dad.”

“Love you to, kid.”

With that, they said their goodbyes, Y/N holding onto the phone for a moment longer after the call ended, as if keeping the connection alive just a little longer. The night seemed quieter now, and despite the warmth in his chest from the conversation, there was still a restlessness lingering under his skin.

As Y/N stood up, slipping his phone into his pocket, his attention was drawn to movement in the distance. Two girls were making their way back from the forest toward the school—one with bright ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, the other with braids tied up and still in athletic swimwear. He recognized them from earlier in the day. Their voices were raised, the sharp tone of their argument carrying faintly on the wind, though the exact words were lost to him. Still, the tension between them was palpable, enough to make Y/N pause for a moment, curiosity and some small concern bubbling up inside him.

He watched them for a brief moment, before letting out a sigh, deciding he didn’t even want to know what that was about. Whatever was going on between them, it wasn’t his place. Not tonight. He had enough to process without diving into someone else’s problems.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair as the weight of the day settled over him. There was still too much swirling around in his mind, and the emotional pull from talking to his dad hadn’t fully left him. Needing more space to clear his thoughts, he let his magic guide him. The familiar tug in his chest pointed him toward the nearby river, the soft hum of the water beckoning him with its soothing energy.

Y/N took one last glance at the retreating figures before turning in the opposite direction, heading toward the river’s edge. The water called to him, and tonight, he needed that quiet connection more than anything.

“No, you shouldn’t have been out there.”

Bloom’s words, sharp and filled with frustration, echoed as she and Aisha ascended one of the stairways in Alfea’s grand halls. Bloom turned, her body tense, facing Aisha who looked back with an incredulous expression.

“Is that American for ‘sorry I almost set you on fire’?” Aisha shot back, her voice edged with sarcasm. Her arms crossed over her chest as she took a step closer, challenging Bloom's deflection. “You were a runaway train with no idea what you were doing.”

“Which is why I was out there alone—trying to figure it out.” Bloom's tone held the weight of exhaustion as she stormed up the stairs, not wanting to hear another lecture. Her steps were quick and purposeful, as if she could walk away from the guilt building in her chest. Aisha followed closely behind, her eyes narrowing.

“Brilliant idea.” Aisha muttered, her voice dripping with sarcasm, though there was an undercurrent of concern she didn’t bother to hide.

Bloom stopped abruptly, turning toward Aisha with a tired expression. She waved her arms out, a gesture of frustration and defeat. “I’m not like the rest of you. I didn’t grow up here. I don’t have fairy parents. I’ve done magic once in my life and it was...” she trailed off, unable to even finish the thought. Her words hung in the air, weighted with emotion.

Aisha, unfazed, raised an eyebrow. “What? Terrible? I’m shocked. I flooded my entire secondary school after I failed a math test. Taps, sprinklers, toilets... Have you ever waded through human poo? I have. Not pleasant. Sometimes being a fairy means you have to deal with shit.”

The hallway they stood in felt quieter now as Bloom sighed and sat on one of the benches nearby. The weight of her confession bore down on her, and her shoulders slumped slightly. Her voice came out quieter this time, less defensive. “So my... mom and I don’t really get along.” There was a small, almost bitter chuckle that followed. “I know. It’s a shocker. I’m not... exactly the ideal daughter for her. She’d love a cheerleader, and I’m whatever the opposite of a cheerleader is.”

Aisha stayed quiet, sensing there was more Bloom wanted to say. And after a moment of silence, Bloom’s eyes darkened with a memory she wished she could forget. She leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, her hands clasped tightly together as if holding herself together. She described a vivid memory of her mother instructing her father to remove her bedroom door after a heated argument. The punishment had felt unfair, extreme even, and the anger had built up inside Bloom, festering. 

“That night, I… couldn’t sleep. Every time I closed my eyes, the rage just kept building. Then it happened.”

Aisha leaned in, listening intently as Bloom continued. She spoke of the first time she’d tapped into her magic, unknowingly igniting a fire that blazed a trail from her room to her parents' bedroom. “It was almost like the fire had a life of its own... I don’t remember how long I let it burn. I just remember their screams.”

Her voice cracked as she described the scene—the sight of her parents huddled in the corner of their bedroom, her father desperately trying to shield her mother from the flames that engulfed the room. “My mom...was covered in third-degree burns…’cause of me. Every night after that, I… I snuck out. I was so scared I’d hurt them again that I slept in this creepy-ass warehouse near my house. Until Miss Dowling found me.” There was a bitter chuckle mixed with a sniffle, her hands wiping away the tears that had gathered in the corners of her eyes.

Aisha, who had been silent up until now, finally spoke, her voice softer than before. “All right. Fire story beats shit story. You win.”

A faint smile broke through Bloom’s pained expression, but it didn’t reach her eyes. She looked down at her hands, the weight of her past still pressing on her shoulders. Aisha stood and walked toward the ledge that overlooked the canteen below, her expression thoughtful, as though piecing together Bloom’s story in her mind.

“And your parents had no idea it was you?” Aisha’s voice was steady, but there was a hint of disbelief.

Bloom shook her head slowly, the disbelief mirrored in her own voice. “I don’t know how distant my fairy ancestors are, but... the most mystical thing my parents believe in is knocking on wood.”

Aisha was quiet for a moment, her mind turning over the pieces of the puzzle before her. “It’s just... odd,” she began cautiously. “You drew on a great deal of magic without even trying. It’s hard to believe you’re from a dormant bloodline. Is there any chance you’re adopted?”

Bloom chuckled softly, shaking her head. “No. No, I... No, I’ve heard the story of my birth a million times. ‘Miracle baby.’ I had a heart defect in the womb, but a day after I was born, it was gone.”

Aisha’s expression shifted, her eyes widening slightly, her voice dropping to a whisper. “Oh God. You... You’re a changeling.”

“What’s that?” Bloom asked, her confusion deepening. “Aisha, what’s a changeling?”

Aisha slowly sat down next to her, the weight of her words sinking in. “A changeling is a fairy baby that’s switched with a human one at birth.”

“Wait, what?” Bloom's voice cracked slightly, her confusion turning into shock.

“It’s barbaric,” Aisha said quietly. “It barely happens anymore.”

“That’s not possible.” Bloom was adamant, shaking her head.

“You’re clearly very powerful, Bloom,” Aisha pointed out. “You have to be pure-blooded.”

Bloom slowly rose out of her seat, her voice following suit. “I would know if my parents weren’t my parents, Aisha. Why would you even say that?”

“I’m just trying to help,” Aisha replied, her tone cautious, but her intent sincere.

“Well, you’re not.” She stormed off, her footsteps echoing in the hallway as she passed Musa, who had just arrived.

As she passed, Musa approached them, her eyes flicking between the two. “What the hell did you tell her?” she asked, eyeing Aisha with confusion.

“The truth,” Aisha said standing as well as she slowly approached the mind fairy, still staring after Bloom. “Because someone’s been lying to her.”

The dim glow of the evening light filtered through the stained glass windows of Headmistress Dowling's office, casting long, soft shadows across the room. She sat at her desk, a steaming cup of tea in her hands, its gentle aroma filling the quiet space. Her gaze was distant, her thoughts clearly elsewhere as she took a slow, deliberate sip. The warmth of the tea was comforting, but even that couldn't ease the weight pressing on her mind.

After a moment, Dowling set the cup down gently on its saucer, the faint clink barely audible. Her eyes flicked toward the door across the room, sensing a disturbance, though none had entered. With a subtle movement of her hand, the door silently swung shut, closing the space off to the world beyond.

She exhaled quietly, her expression unreadable, before turning her attention to the far side of the room. The ornate bookshelf that lined the wall appeared ordinary to any unsuspecting observer, but as her hand raised slightly, the wood seemed to shift, the books trembling momentarily as the shelf retracted into the wall, revealing a hidden passageway behind it.

Without hesitation, Dowling rose from her chair and moved toward the secret entrance, her steps soundless on the floor. The passage yawned open, dark and shadowed, as she stepped inside, her figure disappearing from view. The bookshelf slid back into place seamlessly, leaving the office as still and untouched as it had been moments before, save for the faint swirl of steam rising from the now-abandoned cup of tea.

The sun disappeared below the horizon, taking its golden, orange, and pinkish-purple hues with it. The moon now sat comfortably in the night sky, casting long shadows across Alfea’s combat arena. The air was thick with the scent of fresh grass and the distant hum of students winding down from their day. In this quiet, secluded part of the academy grounds, only the steady, rhythmic sound of breathing could be heard—evidence of someone deep in training.

Sky had needed to clear his head. After the party and that tense conversation with Stella, he'd come out to the training grounds to blow off some steam. He hadn’t planned on being out here so late, but training was what he knew best—what gave him clarity when everything else felt chaotic.

As Alfea’s newest Specialist Squad Leader and the son of Andreas, Sky was no stranger to pressure. Even in his second year, the expectations placed on him by Silva, his peers, and the legacy of his father were enough to weigh down even the strongest. And now, the added worry of a possible Burned One sighting made the stress all the more suffocating.

He moved with practiced precision through the drills, each strike and parry sharper than the last. But no matter how many times he tried to lose himself in the rhythm, his thoughts circled back to the burdens he carried. The responsibilities of leadership, the looming threat of the Burned Ones, and the unresolved tension with Stella—everything felt heavy, like a weight pressing down on him.

And then there was that fairy.

Sky couldn’t quite put his finger on it, but something about them kept gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. Maybe it was the way they moved—calm and controlled, but with a kind of unrefined intensity that suggested more power than they even realized. Or maybe it was the way they carried themselves, like they were used to keeping people at arm’s length, though not out of arrogance—more like they were afraid of letting anyone get too close.

It was different from anyone else he’d met. And that look...like they were holding back something deep, something that pulled Sky in even when he should’ve been focused on other things. He’d seen that intensity in their eyes—focused, yet almost searching for something or someone, like a puzzle they were trying to piece together, but couldn’t quite crack.

It was enough to make him pause, to make him wonder if he was reading too much into it. But every time the thought crept in, it wouldn’t leave.

He shook his head, trying to push the feeling away. There was too much going on, too much at stake, to get distracted. But still… his mind kept drifting back, wondering what it was about them that made it so hard to just look away.

Sky paused, sheathing his sword as he took a moment to breathe. His chest rose and fell with the effort, but even the burn in his muscles did little to quiet the storm inside. He sat down on the edge of the raised platform, staring out at the open field, hoping the stillness would help center him.

That’s when he heard it—the faint sound of splashing water, barely distinguishable from the natural hum of the nearby river. It wasn’t much, just enough to make him pause. He stood up, scanning the area, listening intently. The sound of rushing water grew more distinct, and along with it, a faint rustle of leaves. Sky’s instincts kicked in, and his focus sharpened.

Curiosity got the better of him, and Sky followed the sound, moving quietly through the trees that bordered the field. As he approached the riverbank, he noticed muddied footprints cutting through the overgrowth, disappearing into the forest. Someone had been here recently.

He crouched down, inspecting the footprints. They were fresh, still damp, meaning whoever made them hadn’t passed by long before he arrived. A trail led toward the river where the shimmering Barrier of Alfea’s protective force field could be seen in the distance.

Sky knew he should probably report this to Silva or even Headmistress Dowling. It wasn’t a good idea for anyone to be out here alone, especially this close to the Barrier after what had happened in the forest. But something made him hesitate—whether it was a need to prove himself or just an unconscious draw to see what lay ahead, Sky couldn’t say. But whatever it was, he decided to follow the trail himself.

He stepped into the thickening trees, the sounds of the forest growing louder around him—rustling leaves, the distant chirping of insects, and the constant, rhythmic flow of water. The further he went, the more the noise seemed to focus on the river. And as he reached the treeline, stepping into the clearing by the water’s edge, his eyes widened at the sight before him.

Standing near the river was the same water fairy from earlier. Sky recognized him immediately—the way he moved was unmistakable. The fairy’s back was to him, seemingly unaware of Sky’s presence as he practiced his magic, manipulating the water with a grace and precision that was mesmerizing to watch.

Sky’s first instinct was to turn back. They were still within the Barrier, and it wasn’t uncommon for students to seek solitude near the river to practice. Privacy was something Sky valued too, and he understood the need to escape the buzz of Alfea life. But something about the way the water fairy moved held him in place.

There was a seamless blend of power and precision in the way he controlled the water, sending it twisting and spiraling through the air. The fluid motions were almost hypnotic, each arc of water bending and shifting under the fairy’s control before solidifying into sharp, crystalline shapes. A spear, a shield, and then, just as quickly, back to water again.

Sky had always found water magic fascinating, but watching this guy work was something else entirely. There was no hesitation, no faltering. Every movement was deliberate, calculated, with the water responding as if it were an extension of his body. It was clear that he wasn’t just practicing; he was refining combat techniques in a way that was both deadly and beautiful.

Sky found himself captivated, his eyes following every motion, every subtle shift in the fairy’s form. There was a discipline to his movements, a quiet intensity that spoke of years of training. He couldn’t help but admire the control and focus it must have taken to reach this level of mastery. And yet, as much as he was drawn to the magic, he found his attention shifting to the fairy himself.

The water fairy was lean, his athletic frame moving with a dancer-like precision. Sky’s gaze lingered on the way his muscles flexed beneath his shirt, the fabric clinging to him as he commanded the water. There was a calmness in the way he stood, a poise that made every movement seem effortless, deliberate.

Sky shook his head slightly, forcing himself to focus. He wasn’t sure why he felt so drawn to this guy—someone he didn’t even know. But the sense of ease and quiet confidence the fairy exuded was hard to ignore.

As he was about to turn back, his boot caught a branch, the snap of wood echoing through the clearing. Sky winced as the sound broke the stillness, and the fairy immediately turned to face him, his cerulean glowing eyes narrowing with a mix of surprise and wariness.

Four ice weapons materialized in the air, hovering around the fairy in a defensive stance, ready to strike at a moment’s notice. The blue glow of his magic shimmered in the moonlight, casting an ethereal glow around him.

Sky froze, his hand instinctively moving toward the hilt of his sword, but something stopped him. Despite the threat of the ice weapons, there was no malice in the fairy’s gaze. Sky felt an odd sense of trust, like the fairy wouldn’t actually harm him.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” the fairy said, his voice calm and composed. With a flick of his wrist, the ice weapons dissolved back into water, falling harmlessly into the river. “I wasn’t expecting anyone else to be out here.”

Sky let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his body relaxing slightly as the immediate threat dissipated. He managed a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s my fault,” he replied, his voice steadying. “I didn’t mean to intrude. I was just… curious.”

The fairy’s expression softened, though his eyes still held a hint of wariness. “Curious?” he echoed, his tone inviting Sky to explain.

“Yeah, I just—” Sky gestured toward the path he had taken. “I saw footprints leading here and wanted to make sure no one was in trouble, being so close to the Barrier and all. You’re new, right? First year at Alfea?”

The fairy’s expression softened, a nervous smile tugging at his lips. “Yeah, first year—first day, actually. It’s been a lot to take in, especially with all the rumors about that body found in the forest. I mean, it was probably just a random animal attack, right? But people seem really on edge, even with the Barrier in place.” He glanced at the river, his tone shifting. “I just needed a break—get some peace and quiet. The river seemed like a safe spot. Calm, secure, no distractions. A chance to relax and clear my head.”

Sky nodded, understanding the logic. "Makes sense," he agreed, though there was still a flicker of concern behind his casual tone. "But, you know, being out here alone... it’s not exactly safe."

The fairy’s brow furrowed slightly, picking up on the shift in Sky’s demeanor. "What do you mean? It’s probably just a wild animal, right?"

Sky hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You really don’t know what everyone’s been saying? About the possibility of it being a Burned One?”

Y/N’s confusion deepened, his brow tightening. “A Burned One? No, I’ve... never heard of that.”

Sky’s surprise was evident as he raised an eyebrow. “Wait, you don’t know what Burned Ones are? Aren’t you from the Otherworld?”

Y/N chuckled softly, the sound almost masking the guarded edge in his tone. "No, not at all. I’m from Hawaii."

Sky blinked, processing the unexpected answer. "Hawaii? You’re from the First World?"

“Yeah,” Y/N replied, his grin more cautious now, though still carrying a trace of humor. “I’m guessing not a lot of people from around here know what or where that is. You’d be surprised, but Sam and Terra actually knew about it. Figured most people here wouldn’t, though, considering how secretive everything’s supposed to be.”

Sky’s smile widened at that. “Hawaii, huh?” His mind immediately drew a parallel to earlier that day, when Bloom had told him she was from California. Another First Worlder. He hadn’t realized how many non-magical realm students Alfea attracted, but it was starting to make him wonder how many more were out there, hidden in plain sight.

“Yep,” Y/N confirmed with a nod, though his gaze briefly flickered away, as if there was more he wasn’t ready to dive into. “I’ve known I was magical since I was a kid—my dad helped me figure out how to control it. But, honestly? I had no idea a place like this even existed. When Miss Dowling first told me about it, I thought she was punking me. I was half expecting to end up in some knock-off Hogwarts amusement park, not... well, here.” He chuckled lightly, the humor genuine, but there was a thread of unease woven beneath the words. “Coming here’s been... a pretty big leap.”

Sky could sense that Y/N was holding something back, like there was a part of his story he wasn’t ready to share. But he didn’t press. Instead, he matched Y/N’s energy with an easy chuckle of his own. “Yeah, I can imagine the culture shock. Seems like we’re getting more and more First Worlders these days.”

Y/N’s smile faltered for a brief second, his guard still up, though he quickly recovered. “Yeah... something like that.”

There was an unspoken tension between them—Y/N was giving Sky pieces of his story, but not the whole picture. And Sky, for all his curiosity, could tell that pushing too hard wasn’t the way to go. Not yet.

The fairy gave a slight shrug, his lips twitching into a small, guarded smile. “Anyway, I’ve got enough of a handle on my magic to be able to take care of myself," he replied, his voice steady, though still carrying that subtle edge of uncertainty, like he wasn’t quite convinced. "And from what I’ve heard, that Barrier is supposed to be impenetrable, right? Should be more than enough to keep us safe. I’m not too worried."

Sky raised an eyebrow, his expression somewhere between playful and cautious. “Supposed to be, yeah,” he echoed, the tone light but carrying a hint of skepticism. “But you know, the rumors swirling around aren’t exactly about stray animals. Burned Ones aren’t your average woodland creatures.”

Y/N’s brow furrowed, his expression caught somewhere between confusion and curiosity. “Still don’t really know what those are, but... sure,” he admitted with a shrug, trying to play it off casually, though a hint of unease lingered in his voice.

Sky couldn’t help but smile at the fairy’s self-assuredness. There was something infectious about the way he spoke, a quiet confidence that made it hard to look away. The specialist shifted his stance slightly, crossing his arms over his chest, trying to maintain an air of casualness. His own expression softened as he took in the guy in front of him—something about him drew Sky in, even if he couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“Still,” Sky added, a hint of playfulness creeping into his tone, “it never hurts to have someone around who knows what to expect and knows their way around combat. You know, just in case that Barrier isn’t as foolproof as they say.”

The fairy raised an eyebrow, a playful glint in his eyes. “Confident, aren’t we?” he quipped, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “Let me guess... Specialist, right?”

Sky chuckled, feeling more at ease as the energy between them started to feel less tense and more comfortable, even natural. It felt as if they were simply falling into a rhythm that neither had expected but both were enjoying.

“You got me,” Sky admitted with a grin, feeling a warmth spread through him that had nothing to do with the fading sunlight. “I guess I can’t help but be a little protective.”

“And what makes you think I need protection?” Y/N asked, his eyes narrowing slightly in playful challenge. Then, he paused for a second, as if piecing together the puzzle. His gaze flicked over Sky—blond hair, confident stance, and the slight swagger that came with his title. “Hmm,” Y/N tilted his head, a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. “I’m gonna go out on a limb here and guess you’re the golden boy I’ve been hearing so much about. Sky, right?”

Sky blinked, surprised but intrigued. He hadn’t expected to be recognized, especially out here, and he certainly hadn’t anticipated Y/N’s keen observation. “That’s right,” he said, a hint of curiosity in his voice. “What exactly have you been hearing about me?”

Y/N shrugged, his smirk widening just a bit. “Oh, you know, just that you’re Alfea’s newest squad leader, the one everyone seems to look up to. Plus, it’s hard not to notice when your name’s on just about everyone’s lips today.”

Sky chuckled again, though there was a trace of modesty in his response. “Well, I guess my reputation precedes me,” he said with a grin, but his expression turned a bit more serious as he added, “But you might want to rethink the whole ‘no protection needed’ thing. This place has its dangers, even with a Barrier.”

Sky watched the fairy carefully, his curiosity growing with each passing second. There was something about the way Y/N spoke, a quiet confidence, but also a guardedness, that intrigued him. He hadn’t expected the conversation to take this turn, but it wasn’t unwelcome. In fact, Sky found himself wanting to know more.

“Maybe,” Y/N said with a casual shrug, though his voice carried a darker edge. “It’s not like I’ve been wandering around without a clue. When it comes to magic… let’s just say I’m probably more of a threat to others—and myself—than anything out here could be to me.” His eyes flickered briefly, a subtle tension beneath the surface. “I can handle myself, and I’m definitely not looking for trouble.”

Sky tilted his head, a playful smirk tugging at his lips, but the flicker of curiosity in his eyes gave away that he’d picked up on the deeper meaning behind Y/N’s words. “Maybe you’re not looking for trouble,” he said, his tone casual yet pointed, “but that doesn’t mean trouble’s not out there looking for you.”

Y/N huffed softly, amusement flickering in his eyes as he narrowed them in a playful challenge. “And what makes you think I’m the type that needs rescuing?”

Sky’s grin widened, leaning into the teasing banter. “I don’t know… maybe it’s just my hero complex kicking in.”

Y/N let out a light laugh, the sound easy and carefree, a contrast to the tension that had been hanging between them earlier. “Hero complex, huh?” he teased back, his smirk growing. “And here I was told you Specialists were all about strategy and precision.”

Sky chuckled lightly at Y/N's retort, their easy banter creating a surprising warmth between them. But as the playful atmosphere settled, a silence followed. They exchanged a few lingering glances—curious from Sky, and slightly more guarded from Y/N. There was something in the fairy’s expression, a subtle nervousness, that made Sky feel as though Y/N wasn’t used to being watched so intently.

After a moment, Sky cleared his throat, breaking the quiet. “It’s getting late, and we’ve got classes in the morning. Probably best we both head back to the dorms.”

Y/N gave a slight nod, though he couldn’t resist another jab. “You’re really serious about that hero complex, huh?”

Sky grinned, unable to stop himself from playing along. “You’d be surprised how serious I am about it.”

The tension between them dissolved into a more comfortable camaraderie as Sky offered a small gesture toward the direction of the dorms. “Come on, I’ll walk with you.”

They began their walk back through the forest, the sounds of the river fading behind them, replaced by the quiet rustle of leaves and the distant hum of Alfea. Sky and Y/N moved in step with each other, their conversation light, touching on the campus, the upcoming classes, and the expectations looming over them both. There was a natural flow to their interaction that felt almost... easy.

When they reached the Fairy Hall, Sky hesitated for a moment before flashing Y/N a genuine smile. “Well, here you are. Fairy Hall, safe and sound.”

Y/N chuckled softly, rolling his eyes at Sky’s mock-seriousness. “Guess you weren’t kidding about that hero complex.”

With a final grin, Sky offered a casual wave before turning to head toward the Specialist Hall. “See you around, first-year.”

Y/N watched him disappear into the distance before turning to make his way inside. But as he took a step forward, something caught his eye—a figure slipping out from the shadows near the edge of the courtyard. He paused, narrowing his gaze, trying to make out the person’s features.

It was a girl, the same one he saw earlier walking back with that swimmer looking girl towards the school when they were seemingly arguing. She was still wearing the same clothes, her ginger hair pulled into a ponytail, and she was walking away from the halls, heading toward the forest. 

She wasn’t far enough yet that Y/N couldn’t spot the nervous twitch in her hands, like she was fidgeting with something. As she stepped into the moonlight, something golden caught his eye—small, shiny, like some type of jewelry that was faintly glowing with a trace of magic.

Y/N felt a twinge of unease. He didn’t know why, but something about the way she moved, the way her fingers fidgeted with the golden object, tugged at his instincts. He stood there for a moment, battling in his mind with what to do.

Clearly, she wasn’t heading for the dorms. Something in Y/N’s gut twisted, a nagging instinct that screamed at him to follow her, while his brain—not to be outdone—was urging him to run straight to Miss Dowling and let her handle it. There was the smart choice, and then there was… well, the choice Y/N usually made.

Naturally, he didn’t choose smart.

With a quiet huff, he slipped after her, his footsteps light as he shadowed her path towards the trees. His curiosity—and maybe a touch of concern—grew with every step. She was heading toward the Barrier. Toward the forest. And for reasons he couldn’t fully explain, that only made the gnawing feeling in his gut tighten. Quickening his pace, he stayed far enough back to not alert her, but close enough to see what she was up to. Because apparently, tonight, he was committed to bad decisions.

Aisha and Musa entered the Winx suite, their footsteps quiet as the tension between them grew. Stella was sprawled on the couch, taking selfies, the glow from her magical light casting her face in soft, flattering shadows.

"She's blanking my texts," Aisha said, her frustration laced with a hint of worry.

Musa’s eyes narrowed, her voice sharp with sarcasm as she glanced at Stella. "Strange. I wonder if it's because she poured her heart out to you and you called her a freak?"

Her comment hung in the air, heavy with accusation, but Stella remained unmoved, still engrossed in her phone. Aisha’s lips tightened as she tried to keep her cool.

"Have you seen Bloom?" Aisha asked, directing her question to Stella.

"Not recently," Stella replied dismissively, barely sparing Aisha a glance as she focused on her screen.

Musa wasn’t convinced. Her gaze intensified, the light in her irises turning a faint purple glow as her expression darkened with suspicion. Stella, sensing Musa’s scrutiny, snapped her fingers, dispelling the magical light she had been using for her selfies. She finally looked up, defensive and annoyed.

"Yes?" Stella’s voice held a challenging edge.

"Your face looks so calm, yet you're racked with guilt," Musa said, her eyes never leaving Stella.

"You're a mind fairy," Aisha added, her voice taking on a sharper tone.

Before the tension could deepen, Terra stepped into the room, oblivious to the building atmosphere. She glanced between them, catching the subtle hostility in the air.

"A mind fairy? What's your connection? Memory, thoughts—" Terra started, her curiosity piqued.

"Not a great time," Musa interrupted, cutting her off.

Terra frowned, sensing something off. "Is everything OK?"

Stella’s fingers danced across her phone, ignoring the mounting tension.

"Not really," Aisha said, her frustration seeping through. "I'm looking for Bloom. For some reason, Stella's feeling guilty about it."

At that, Stella’s eyes flicked up, her annoyance flashing before she masked it with indifference. She rolled her eyes, her voice dripping with sarcasm.

"Could everyone save the drama for drama club?" Stella quipped.

Terra wasn’t having it. "Wasn't she talking to Sky?" she asked, her tone firm.

"And?" Stella replied, a coy smile tugging at her lips.

"And I know what happened to the last person who was 'talking to Sky.' I was here last year, remember," Terra said, her voice rising slightly, as if placing air quotes around the words.

Stella scoffed in response, turning back to her phone with a petulant smile, clearly dismissing the concern.

"Stella, where's Bloom?" Terra’s expression hardened, her tone leaving no room for games.

Stella glanced up through her lashes, realizing she had no way out. There was no escaping the questions now. Sighing, she dropped her phone into her lap, her face reflecting both guilt and defiance.

"She was feeling homesick, so I did a nice thing and I lent her my ring so that she could go back to the First World," Stella admitted, though her tone carried an air of justification, as if she hadn’t done anything wrong.

As they spoke, deep in the forest, far beyond the Barrier protecting Alfea, Bloom hurried through the dense trees, her steps quick and purposeful. The moonlight barely filtered through the canopy, casting a ghostly pallor over the cemetery ahead of her. The air was thick with moisture, the weight of the night pressing down on her as she neared an ancient mausoleum covered in vines and decay.

"Doesn't it only work outside the Barrier?" Terra asked, concern clear in her voice.

"Yes, and there's a gateway in the old cemetery," Stella replied, still acting as if this was all completely normal.

Bloom paused before the weathered stone structure, glancing over her shoulder to ensure she was alone. Behind her, Y/N kept his distance, careful not to be noticed. His instincts were on high alert, something in his gut screaming that whatever she was about to do, he needed to be there.

With a shaky breath, Bloom reached out and pressed her hand—Stella’s ring shimmering in the moonlight—against the cold stone of the mausoleum’s door. A soft glow pulsed from the ring, spreading out like liquid gold until it covered the entire surface. The door creaked open with a slow groan, revealing the darkness inside. Y/N held his breath, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched her disappear inside.

"That's deep in the forest, Stella," Terra pressed, her voice taking on a more serious, worried tone. “You know what’s out there, right?”

Inside the mausoleum, Bloom found herself stepping into what looked like an old, abandoned warehouse—the same one where she’d hidden before Miss Dowling had discovered her. The air was thick with dust, carrying the stale scent of decay and neglect. Every corner felt eerily still, the kind of quiet that pressed down on you, almost suffocating in its heaviness. She glanced around briefly, memories flickering at the edges of her mind, before making her way to the main door. When she stepped outside, the familiar warmth of the California air washed over her, a stark contrast to the cold atmosphere inside.

Unnoticed, Y/N slipped into the warehouse behind her. His eyes swept over the unfamiliar space, the faint tension in the air alerting him to how far they’d ventured. It wasn’t until he followed her through the main door and felt the warm breeze on his skin that he realized, with a sharp pang of surprise, that they weren’t in the Otherworld anymore. This was somewhere else entirely.

Judging by the scenery—the dry hills, the faint scent of salt in the air—Y/N guessed they were somewhere on the West Coast. Probably California. But he didn’t have time to play detective because, despite growing up with a military dad who drilled him in endurance, Bloom was already a good half-mile down the road. He huffed, picking up his pace with a ragged breath escaping from at his lips. Seriously, how was she outpacing him like this?

As Y/N rushed to catch up with her, his mind raced just as fast as his legs. This clearly wasn’t just a casual stroll—she had a destination, and whatever it was, it must have been important with the way she was moving.

Back at the Winx suite, the tension in the air thickened. Just as Terra was about to ask Stella another question, a knock sounded on the door, sharp and urgent. Terra called out, “Come in!” The door creaked open, revealing Sam standing there, looking unusually anxious. His eyes darted around the room, his usual calm demeanor noticeably shaken. 

“Terra, have you seen Y/N?” Sam asked, his voice tinged with worry. “He hasn’t come back to our dorm, and I’ve been looking for him everywhere.”

Terra frowned, exchanging concerned glances with Aisha and Musa. “No, I haven’t seen him since the party,” she said slowly. “He said he was going outside to call his dad.”

Sam’s jaw clenched, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration. “He’s not answering his phone either. I’ve checked every spot I showed him today and even more but I can’t find him anywhere. He’s just... gone.”

Musa, who had been quietly observing the exchange, tilted her head slightly, her sharp gaze flicking to Sam. For a brief moment, something flickered in her expression—interest, curiosity—but the weight of the situation kept her silent.

“I’m sorry, but who is Y/N?” Aisha interjected, her brow furrowing in confusion.

Sam glanced at her, then sighed, running a hand through his dark-brown hair again. “Y/N’s a first-year fairy, from the First World. Miss Dowling assigned me to mentor and guide him since he’s still getting used to everything here and we’re rooming together. He’s from the First World, Hawaii I think, and he said he’s known about his magic for awhile, but the Otherworld is completely new and—well, kind of a shock for him. But he’s smart. Quick learner.”

Before Sam could continue, Terra spoke up, her tone reflecting her growing concern, “The last time I saw him was at the party. He never came back though. I thought maybe he just needed some air, but if he hasn’t come back, I don’t know where he might have gone.”

Aisha nodded, absorbing the information while Terra’s frown deepened. “So, we’ve got a homesick Bloom who’s probably wandering around somewhere in the First World, hopefully not setting things on fire, and a first-year fairy also from the First World who’s gone missing as well? Perfect.”

Terra’s concern deepened. “I don’t believe Y/N would just go off somewhere without telling someone.”

Stella, who had also been silent as she sat in her guilt, put down her phone again, raising an eyebrow. “Missing? You sure he didn’t just... take a walk to be alone or something?”

Sam shook his head, clearly unsettled. “He’d at least tell me where he was going if he was. I’m telling you, something’s wrong. But, what’s this about your suitemate missing somewhere in the FIrst World to?”

Aisha and Musa exchanged a brief, uneasy glance before Aisha cleared her throat. “It’s... kind of a long story,” she started, her gaze flicking toward Stella, her words slow and deliberate. “But Bloom was feeling homesick. I think she wanted to go home to see her parents.”

Sam frowned, crossing his arms as he took in the information, but it was clear he wasn’t getting the full picture. “And how exactly did she manage to do that? Isn’t the Barrier supposed to prevent anyone from leaving like that?”

Musa’s eyes landed on Stella, her expression unyielding. “She had a little help,” she said pointedly, causing Stella to shift uncomfortably on the couch.

Sam’s eyes darkened, clearly picking up on the accusatory tone in the room. “Help from who?” he asked, his voice growing more intense.

Aisha sighed, still clearly upset but staying as calm as possible. “Stella lent Bloom her gateway ring, so she could go back to the First World.”

Sam’s expression hardened, his jaw clenched. “She’s beyond the Barrier? Alone?” His voice was laced with disbelief, mixed with a rising tide of anger. His eyes darted between the girls before settling back on Stella. “Do you even realize how dangerous that is?”

Stella opened her mouth to respond but closed it again, not entirely sure what to say in her defense. Her face reflected a mix of guilt and frustration, but Sam wasn’t waiting for an answer. He was already pacing, his thoughts spiraling.

Aisha, seeing the worry etched on Sam’s face, quickly put together the pieces. “Wait,” she said, her voice becoming more thoughtful. “Bloom and Y/N… they’re both from the First World, right?”

Sam stopped mid-pace, his eyes snapping toward Aisha. “Yeah, they are. Why?”

“It just seems like more than a coincidence, don’t you think?” Aisha said, her brows furrowing. “They’re both from the First World, both entirely new to the Otherworld, both personally assigned mentors by Miss Dowling... and now they’re both missing.”

Musa leaned against the wall, her arms crossed as she considered Aisha’s words. “You’re right. It feels off. Too much of a coincidence for my taste.”

Sam’s concern deepened, his frustration palpable as he clenched his fists at his sides. “And now they’re both out there, somewhere, probably with no idea of the danger they’re walking into.”

Stella, clearly uncomfortable with the weight of the situation she had unintentionally caused, looked down at her hands, the guilt catching up to her. She wasn’t used to feeling this much responsibility, and it was starting to weigh on her more than she let on.

Aisha continued, her voice growing more urgent as she pieced it together. “Could it be possible Y/N might’ve followed Bloom, especially if he noticed something was off? They could both be in the First World right now, but neither of them have a way to get back.”

Sam nodded, his expression tight with concern. “It’s definitely possible,” he said, the tension in his voice unmistakable. “Y/N gives off that selfless, 'help others first' vibe. He’s the type of guy who’d follow someone if he thought they were in trouble, even if he didn’t know them well. I mean, we’ve only spent one day together, but I could already tell—given what’s he’s shared with me about where he grew up and his dad. If he thought Bloom was in trouble, no way he’d just let her go off alone.”

Aisha nodded firmly. “Then, we need to get ahead of this before it gets worse. We’ll have to tell Miss Dowling, let her know what’s going on. They’re not just two students wandering off—they’re basically fresh prey for whatever is out there beyond the Barrier.”

Sam, his frustration now mixing with fear, glared at Stella. “You had better hope nothing happens to them. This is more than just playing with magic.”

Stella, for once, had nothing to say. She looked away, her face stiff with the realization of what she had set into motion.

Y/N hurried to catch up to Bloom, his steps light but determined. His breath was shallow as he finally spotted her, standing at the corner of a white picket fence, her figure bathed in the soft glow of streetlights. She was motionless, her gaze fixed through a large dining room window. Y/N followed her line of sight, his heart clenching when he saw a couple inside—a man and a woman seated at the dinner table. He didn’t need to guess who they were. He already knew: her parents.

She was talking to them, but not directly. Instead, she held her phone close to her ear, her voice trembling as she spoke.

"Um... What if I... What if I... like, made a mistake?" Bloom's voice was faint, just above a whisper, but Y/N could hear the weight of her words as if they carried the burden of years of doubt.

Even though the phone wasn't on speaker, the soft, distant voices of her parents carried to Y/N's ears. The words were unclear at times, but the emotions behind them—concern, love, reassurance—were unmistakable.

"You're too special for here," her mother’s voice, faint but firm, echoed through the phone. "It's not who you are."

"What if you don't know who I am?" Bloom's voice cracked, her vulnerability clear in the way she clutched the phone tighter, her other hand trembling by her side.

Y/N, from his place of hiding, felt his own chest tighten. He knew this feeling. The uncertainty. The loneliness of being misunderstood by the people who were supposed to know you best. He wanted to look away, to stop intruding on this private moment, but something rooted him to the spot. Everything she said mirrored his own struggles with his father—always trying to live up to expectations, always feeling like he had to hide parts of himself.

Inside the house, Bloom’s mother rubbed her arms absentmindedly, and Y/N caught a glimpse of red marks, faint but unmistakable, like burns. He put two and two together, watching as Bloom’s expression faltered—guilt flooding her features. Whatever had happened, Y/N could feel the heaviness of it through his magic, and he knew, somehow, that it had been her doing.

"No, you're right. Alfea's where I belong now," Bloom said, her voice barely holding it together.

"Bloom, listen to me," her mother continued, her tone softer now. "Whatever you're going through, I know it sucks, but I also know you can handle it. I always knew your path wouldn't be like everyone else's."

Y/N’s breath hitched as Bloom let out a teary chuckle, fighting to keep herself together.

"Not like mine or your father's. That's hard. But at the end of it, I can't wait to see who you become."

Her father's voice chimed in then, warm and supportive. "We love you, Bloom."

Through sniffles and quiet sobs, Bloom replied, "I love you too."

The call ended, leaving a hollow silence in the air. Bloom stood there, her shoulders trembling as soft sobs escaped her. Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. He knew this moment wasn’t for him, wasn’t meant for anyone else. Slowly, he took a step back, ready to retreat and give her the privacy she so desperately needed. But as he turned, his foot made a faint sound against the gravel, and Bloom whipped around, her tear-streaked face locking onto him.

The call ended, leaving a hollow silence in the air. Bloom stood there, her shoulders trembling as soft sobs escaped her. Y/N’s heart clenched painfully. He knew this moment wasn’t for him, wasn’t meant for anyone else. Slowly, he stepped back, retreating into the shadows. The weight of her sorrow hung heavy in the air, pulling at him, but he knew she needed this moment alone. He needed to give her space, just like he had craved so many times himself.

He moved quietly, making sure his steps were soundless against the gravel. His pulse echoed in his ears as he carefully distanced himself from the corner of the fence, slipping further into the darkness of the street. With every step he took away from Bloom, the cool night air seemed to grow thicker, almost pressing down on him with the weight of everything he had just witnessed.

But still, he kept moving, his eyes never leaving her until the distance between them was enough to cloak him in the safety of anonymity. He let out a quiet breath, turning back towards the direction of the warehouse. His mind raced with thoughts and emotions, unsure of what exactly he had just seen but knowing, deep down, that it resonated with him in ways he wasn’t quite ready to acknowledge.

Y/N made his way back to the warehouse, the chill of the night air doing little to calm the whirlwind of thoughts running through his mind. His feet felt heavy, as though they carried the weight of everything he had just witnessed. Bloom’s words still echoed in his head, the vulnerability in her voice striking a chord deep within him. It was a moment he hadn’t expected to stumble upon, and it left him feeling raw, exposed in a way he hadn’t anticipated.

As he reached the entrance of the warehouse, the shadows inside seemed deeper than before, the quiet of the space pressing in on him. Y/N took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair as he glanced around, trying to piece together what his next move would be. The golden shimmer from Stella’s ring earlier had disappeared, and now the doorway to the Otherworld was sealed shut.

"Great," he muttered under his breath, glancing at the door. "No way back. Now what?"

The silence of the warehouse felt oppressive, like it was swallowing him whole. He walked deeper into the space, his eyes scanning the empty room as he tried to figure out how Bloom had opened the passage in the first place. His fingers absentmindedly traced the edge of the doorframe where the gateway had once shimmered. There had to be something, some way to open it again.

But nothing happened. No golden light. No subtle hum of magic.

Y/N cursed under his breath, frustration bubbling to the surface. He felt stuck—both literally and figuratively. Trapped between two worlds and unsure of where he really belonged in either of them. He pressed his back against the wall, sliding down until he was sitting on the cold, hard floor. His head fell back against the brick, his eyes closing as he let out a long, tired sigh.

Y/N didn’t have time to rest, though. Just as he settled down, trying to figure out how to get back to the Otherworld, he heard the unmistakable sound of footsteps. His eyes snapped open, heart pounding. Oh, shit. Was it Bloom? Or worse… someone from this world who wasn’t supposed to know about magic?

The door creaked open, and in walked Bloom, her expression a wild mix of confusion, suspicion, and the look of someone who was two bad decisions away from a breakdown as she immediately spotted him considering he was sitting in the most obvious space.

Y/N froze, like a deer caught in headlights, his mind going into full panic mode. Oh double shit.

"Who the hell are you?" she asked, her voice sharp but laced with exhaustion, as if she didn’t have the energy to be fully angry yet.

Y/N pushed himself to his feet, his hands raised in a gesture of peace. "I can explain," he started, though he wasn’t entirely sure how he was going to explain any of this. He knew how it looked—him lurking around in the shadows after following her all the way from Alfea.

Her eyes locked onto him like laser beams, the glare making him feel as though he’d just been caught red-handed stealing cookies from a grandma’s cookie jar.

"Who the hell are you?" Bloom demanded, her voice sharp but tired, like she just didn’t have the energy to deal with whatever circus this was about to become.

Y/N scrambled to his feet, hands shooting up in the universal gesture of ‘Please don’t murder me.’ "I can explain!" he blurted, though let’s be real—he had no explanation. None. He looked around frantically, as if the walls might suddenly provide some magical excuse for why he was creeping around like a weirdo.

Bloom crossed her arms, her eyebrow raised to the ceiling as she stepped closer, inspecting him like he was some deranged squirrel that had wandered into her personal space. "You’ve got about ten seconds before I call the cops," she warned, her patience thinner than a thread holding up a bad decision.

“Uh, uh... okay!” Y/N stammered, trying not to look like the world’s worst stalker. “So, funny story, really—uh, you see, I, um...” He took a deep breath, his eyes darting around the room as his brain short-circuited. “...I’m not a serial killer!”

Bloom’s arms tightened, not amused in the slightest.

“No, wait! That came out wrong,” Y/N flailed, realizing how insane he must’ve sounded. “Look, I’m a student at Alfea—like, for real! I swear! First-year! Magic! Totally not creepy!” He motioned wildly to his face like that somehow made him look more trustworthy. “I just... saw you leave and thought you might need help? Maybe?”

Bloom’s glare didn’t waver. "So your bright idea was to follow me... to another world... in the middle of the night... alone?"

Y/N blinked, taking a step back. “Okay, in hindsight I can see how that may not have been the most reasonable decision on my part. But I swear, I had good intentions!”

Bloom rolled her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose like she was done with life. “Wow, congratulations. You’re not a serial killer. Gold star for you.”

Y/N took a deep breath, his posture softening as he realized his flailing explanations weren’t getting him anywhere. Time to try another approach. Something less chaotic and maybe a little more… honest.

“Look,” he said, dropping his hands and glancing away, his voice quieter now, more serious. “I know how this looks. Trust me, I get it. But I’m not here to cause trouble. I just—” He hesitated, searching for the right words, something that wouldn’t make him sound like an idiot or, worse, a stalker. “I overheard a little bit of what you were going through... back there with your parents.”

Bloom’s defensive stance didn’t drop, but her eyes flickered with surprise. He pressed on, knowing he had to tread carefully.

“I didn’t mean to listen,” he continued, his tone softer. “I really didn’t. I just... well, I could relate to what you were saying.” He swallowed, feeling that familiar knot in his stomach tighten. “I’ve gone through something similar with my dad.”

Bloom’s expression shifted slightly, a tiny crack in her hard exterior, though she still didn’t move. Y/N took it as a sign to keep going.

“I think we’ve got more in common than you realize,” Y/N began, his voice softer now, stepping forward just a little. “You and me… We’ve both grown up with this, haven’t we? Magic.” He paused, studying her face as she absorbed his words. “The only difference is, I’ve known about mine since I was a kid. I’m guessing you just discovered yours.”

Bloom’s eyes flickered, but she didn’t respond, her guard still up.

“In all that time,” Y/N continued, “I’ve made a lot of mistakes. More than I can count, honestly. And I’m guessing you’ve made some too, right? It’s kind of impossible not to, with magic like this.” He looked down briefly, running a hand through his hair, remembering the weight of his own guilt. “I saw the burns on your mom’s arms,” he said gently. “And, trust me, I get it. That guilt? That feeling like everything you touch breaks, or worse? I’ve been there.”

Bloom’s expression wavered, something flickering in her eyes as she listened.

“I’ve screwed up a lot, uh... Bloom, right?” Y/N said, his voice carrying a mix of vulnerability and regret. “I froze an entire military base, in Hawaii of all places. You can imagine how easy it was trying to explain that to people. I  even almost drowned my dad, who acts like he’s fine, but I can still see him get tense when I’m near large sources of water. I’ve hurt people. People I care about. And it makes you feel like... like you’re dangerous. Like you can’t trust yourself anymore.”

Bloom’s posture softened, her arms loosening as she shifted her weight. For a moment, her expression flickered between exhaustion and curiosity, like she wasn’t sure whether to keep her guard up or let it drop.

“You almost drowned your dad?” she asked quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier edge. There was a strange mix of disbelief and understanding in her tone, like she was processing the idea of someone else living through a situation so close to her own.

Y/N let out a breath, relieved that she hadn’t immediately told him to get lost. “Yeah. I mean, it was an accident, obviously. But... that doesn’t really make it any easier, you know? The people who care about you say they’re fine, but deep down, you can see the way they look at you differently. Like they’re afraid.”

Bloom’s eyes flickered with recognition, and for the first time since their strange, chaotic encounter, she looked at him like he might actually understand what she was going through. She hugged her arms closer to her body, glancing toward the back of the warehouse.

After a beat of silence, she nodded toward one of the side rooms. "Come on. I’ve got a room set up through there. It’s probably better to stay here for now then risk walking back throught the forest. We can figure out the rest in the morning."

Y/N nodded, grateful for the chance before following her, the two of them moving toward the backroms with the grimy windows, likely spaces utlitzed as office rooms in the warehouse. The room was sparse—an old mattress, a few blankets, and some personal belongings scattered around. It wasn’t much, but it was clear this had been her sanctuary for a while, a place to escape from everything.

Bloom sat down on the edge of the mattress, letting out a long sigh. Y/N hovered near the doorway, still a little unsure of where he stood in all this, but feeling that at least the immediate threat of being kicked out had passed.

The room was quiet, the kind of stillness that made Y/N’s skin prickle with unease. He watched as Bloom settled on the edge of the mattress, her hands resting limply in her lap. She hadn’t fully relaxed, though. Her shoulders were still tense, her eyes darting around the sparse space as if she were expecting something—maybe trouble, maybe just more bad news. Y/N shifted uncomfortably, staying near the doorway as if keeping his distance would somehow make this situation less awkward.

For a few long moments, neither of them spoke. The tension hung in the air like a thick fog, both of them sitting with their own thoughts. The silence wasn’t necessarily hostile, but it wasn’t comfortable either. It was like they were both waiting for the other to make a move, to break whatever this strange, shared moment had become.

Bloom kept her eyes downcast, staring at the floor in front of her. Y/N wasn’t sure if she was processing everything or just trying to avoid any more conversation, but he figured it was best to give her some space. His mind was racing with everything they had both just confessed. He wasn’t sure what to say next, afraid to say the wrong thing and make it worse.

After what felt like an eternity, Bloom finally broke the silence, her voice low but not as sharp as before. “So... how’d you end up in the Otherworld?” she asked, glancing up at him, her expression curious but guarded.

Y/N blinked, a little caught off guard by the sudden question. He stepped further into the room, leaning against the wall as he thought about how to answer. “It’s kind of a long story,” he said with a dry chuckle, trying to ease the tension.

Bloom raised an eyebrow, giving him a look that clearly said, I’ve got time.

He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’ve known I was magical since I was a kid,” he began, his voice quieter now, more reflective. “My dad—he’s not magical, but we found out about my powers early on and he helped me keep them a secret. Tried to help me learn how to control them. But... well, things didn’t always go smoothly.”

Y/N chuckled bitterly, his gaze dropping to his hands as if the weight of his memories pressed down on him. “I did well for the most part, but... there were always these little moments when I lost it,” he started, his voice softening, laden with regret. “We pretty much figured out early on that my magic was influenced by my emotions, but we didn’t realize how much—how intense it could get.”

He paused, taking a shaky breath, the memories clearly weighing on him. His fingers twitched as he remembered that day. “One day, I found out my dad was getting deployed overseas for something really dangerous. And I just... I lost it. I mean, what’s a 16-year-old kid with magic he barely knows how to control supposed to do? Stop the government from sending his dad into a war zone?" Y/N’s voice cracked slightly, the bitterness in his tone deepening. "I couldn’t calm down. No matter how hard I tried, the anger and frustration just kept building, and I couldn’t control it. Next thing anybody knew, every pipe, faucet, and drain on the base started spitting out more water than they probably even held.” He swallowed hard, his shoulders slumping as he relived the chaos he had caused.

Across from him, Bloom remained silent, her expression softening with empathy. She knew all too well the feeling of emotions spiraling out of control, of your magic becoming something terrifying when you needed it to stop the most.

Y/N’s eyes were distant, as if he was back in that room, reliving every moment. “That wasn’t even the worst of it,” he continued, his voice thick with emotion. “When my dad realized what was happening, he tried to calm me down, like he always did. But I was so upset—at the situation, at myself for what I was doing—that I couldn’t get a grip on anything, least of all my magic.” His voice wavered slightly, a tremble beneath his words.

Bloom’s heart clenched as she listened, knowing that feeling of panic, that moment when everything slips through your fingers no matter how much you want it to stop. She watched him closely, seeing the guilt etched into every line of his face.

Y/N’s gaze flickered to Bloom’s for just a second before he looked away again, his voice quieter now. “The room we were in filled up with water faster than either of us could react. It didn’t affect me—my magic just doesn’t, I guess—but it affected him.” His breath hitched, and he swallowed hard. “He couldn’t breathe, couldn’t get out. I was drowning my dad, and I couldn’t stop.”

For a moment, the silence between them was palpable, the weight of Y/N’s words hanging heavy in the air. Bloom could feel the knot forming in her own chest, the suffocating pressure of guilt that Y/N clearly carried with him. She had felt it herself, every time she thought of her mom’s burns, every time she thought of what her fire had done.

“I got a grip—barely—and stopped the water before it was too late,” Y/N continued, his voice strained. “But after that... things between me and my dad were never the same. It wasn’t his fault, really. He didn’t blame me, but I could see it in his eyes—he didn’t trust me anymore. And honestly? I didn’t trust myself.”

Y/N ran a hand through his hair, letting out a shaky breath as he leaned back against the wall. “That’s when Miss Dowling showed up. My dad knew I couldn’t stay at the base—it was too risky. People were paranoid, on edge, waiting for something else to go wrong. I mean, the base in Hawaii nearly froze over like it had been hit by a winter storm straight out of Michigan. One more slip-up, one more incident, and people would start connecting the dots. If they figured out I was the one behind it all… my life would've been turned completely upside down.” He let out a small, humorless laugh, glancing up to meet Bloom’s gaze. “I didn’t exactly fit into the normal world. And it wasn’t like I had a guidebook for being... whatever this is. Alfea became my only choice.”

His voice trailed off, leaving the room in a thick, heavy silence. For a moment, neither of them spoke, both lost in their own thoughts.

Bloom shifted slightly, her arms wrapped around her knees as she looked at him with understanding in her eyes. “I know what that’s like,” she said quietly, her voice soft but steady. “Hurting people you care about because you can’t control it. That guilt... it doesn’t really go away, does it?”

Y/N’s eyes met hers, and for the first time, he saw that she wasn’t just listening—she understood. Truly. It was like she could feel every ounce of his pain because she had carried it herself.

Bloom’s gaze softened further, her voice carrying a fragile weight. “My mom... those burns... I didn’t mean to hurt her, but I did. And I can’t ever take that back.” She swallowed, her voice wavering just slightly. “It’s not just the guilt—it’s the fear. That constant feeling like you might hurt someone again if you’re not careful.”

Y/N nodded, the weight of Bloom's confession settling between them like a thick, shared burden. He could feel the truth of her words, the way they echoed his own experience. It wasn't just about losing control—it was the fact that, unlike everyone else around them, they didn’t grow up in a world that understood magic. The other students at Alfea, as reckless as some of them were, had grown up with people who knew what magic was, people who could teach them how to control it, guide them, and, more importantly, who could understand and forgive their mistakes because they had made those same mistakes themselves. They had families who knew the risks, mentors who had lived through it all, seen the dangers firsthand. The Otherworld wasn’t new or strange to them—it was home.

But for Bloom and Y/N, it was different. Magic had blindsided their lives. Y/N’s dad didn’t know what to do when his son froze an entire base or nearly drowned him. He barely understood the power his son carried, and once he saw just a fraction of it, the fear in his eyes was enough to change everything between them. It wasn’t the kind of fear that came from misunderstanding—it was the fear of seeing something dangerous in someone you love and realizing you have no idea how to protect them or yourself from it. The same fear that Y/N could see in Bloom's eyes when she talked about her mom’s burns. That kind of shift in perspective cut deeper than any physical wound, because it wasn’t just about fear—it was about losing the trust of the people who mattered most, and knowing that no matter what you did, that trust might never come back.

Y/N shifted slightly, the silence between them heavy but not uncomfortable. He glanced over at Bloom, her eyes downcast as she wrapped her arms tighter around her knees. She looked smaller than before, like the weight of her own story had pressed her into herself. His gaze softened, and after a moment, he broke the silence.

“So... what about you?” Y/N asked quietly, his voice low and steady. “I think I put together bits and pieces, but... what’s your story?”

Bloom glanced up at him, her eyes searching his for a second as if weighing whether or not to trust him. She sighed, running a hand through her fiery hair, the tension in her shoulders easing slightly, though her guard wasn’t completely down.

“There's not much to tell,” Bloom began, her voice softer now, a little less guarded. “I grew up in California. Suburbs, you know? My parents are... well, they’re great. Normal. Loving. But they don’t know anything about magic. I didn’t even know until a few months ago.”

Y/N listened quietly, noticing the way her voice wavered just a bit. He didn’t push her—he knew better than anyone how hard it was to relive those moments. Bloom’s eyes remained fixed on the floor, like she was trying to make sense of her own words before speaking them aloud.

Bloom shifted slightly on the mattress, her fingers fidgeting with a stray thread from the blanket. "It started with a fight," she continued, her voice soft but steady. "My mom and I... we don’t really see eye to eye. She’s always been the type who had this image of what her perfect daughter should be—cheerleader, top of her class, the whole thing. And I’m just... not that." Bloom gave a small, bitter laugh, shaking her head as if she couldn’t believe it herself.

Y/N stayed silent, sensing there was more to the story.

"One night, things got really bad between us. I was furious, and I couldn’t calm down." She paused, her hands tightening around the edge of the blanket. "And that’s when it happened. The fire... it just started. It was like everything I was feeling inside was too much, and it just—"

She broke off, swallowing hard, her eyes glossing over with unshed tears. "I didn’t mean to... but the fire spread to their room. My mom... she got burned, really badly." Bloom’s voice trembled with guilt, and she quickly wiped at her eyes, trying to push the tears away. "I could hear them screaming. I wanted to stop it, but I didn’t know how."

The weight of her words hung in the air, thick with the shared understanding between them. Y/N’s heart ached in his chest as he watched her struggle with the memory. He knew that kind of guilt—the kind that stuck with you, that didn’t go away no matter how much time passed.

"They don’t even know it was me," Bloom whispered, her voice barely audible now. "They don’t know what I am... what I did." She finally looked up at Y/N, her eyes filled with a pain that mirrored his own. "I slept in this warehouse for weeks after that. I was terrified I’d hurt them again, that I couldn’t control it. I’d sneak out at night and stay here until... Miss Dowling found me."

Y/N’s brow furrowed as he listened, his heart heavy with the weight of her words. He knew exactly what she meant—the fear, the uncertainty, the crushing realization that no matter how hard you tried, your magic always seemed to have a mind of its own.

“I get it,” he said, his voice sincere. “It’s terrifying. Not knowing when or how it’ll come out again... but also knowing it’s there, waiting.”

Bloom nodded, her gaze distant, lost in thought. “It’s why I came back here tonight. I thought maybe seeing my parents... maybe being here again would help me figure it out. But I don’t belong here anymore, and I don’t know if I ever did.”

Y/N, still leaning against the wall, raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “Wait, how did you even get here? I mean... it’s not like there’s a direct flight between the Otherworld and California.”

Bloom blinked, coming back to the moment. “Oh, right... Stella,” she said, her tone holding a hint of reluctance. “She gave me her gateway ring. It opens a portal back to the First World.”

Y/N’s eyes widened slightly. “Wait—she just handed it over?”

“Well, not exactly,” Bloom muttered, rubbing the back of her neck. “It was more like I was desperate, and Stella... she understood that. So, yeah, she lent it to me. Honestly, I think it was more of a ‘get out of her hair’ type of thing.” She shrugged, but Y/N could hear the gratitude in her voice, buried beneath the layers of frustration.

Y/N let out a low whistle, shaking his head. “A gateway ring... That explains a lot.” He glanced at her, studying her face for a moment before speaking again. “But you don’t think you belong here? You really think that?”

Bloom hesitated, her gaze falling to her hands. “I don’t know where I belong,” she admitted, her voice soft, almost fragile. “I thought this place... home... would give me some answers, but it’s just made me realize how far away from normal my life has gotten.”

Y/N opened his mouth to respond, but something caught his attention. A faint noise, barely perceptible, coming from outside. It was a soft rustling sound, like leaves being disturbed in the distance, but in the stillness of the warehouse, it felt louder than it should’ve been.

He paused, his body tensing slightly as his eyes darted toward the window. “Did you hear that?”

Bloom furrowed her brow, glancing in the same direction but not seeming overly concerned. “What? I didn’t hear anything.”

Y/N hesitated, his instincts on high alert for a moment before he forced himself to relax. “Never mind. Probably just the wind.”

Y/N had barely relaxed when he noticed something unsettling. It was faint at first, a shadow that didn’t quite belong. His eyes flickered to the wall, where an unfamiliar silhouette moved, just beyond the confines of the room. It wasn’t his, nor was it Bloom’s, and there was no way it could be coming from anything else in the sparsely furnished space.

He straightened up slowly, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. As the shadow shifted again, Y/N felt his heart rate spike, his body instinctively tensing.

Bloom, still sitting on the edge of the mattress, noticed his change in demeanor. She turned, her eyebrows furrowing. “What’s wrong?”

Y/N didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he slowly rose from his sitting position on the floor, standing up on his legs at a snail’s space while looking through  the grimy window above and behind Bloom, peering out into the open space of the warehouse. His breath caught in his throat.

“Y/N?” Bloom asked, more urgently this time, standing up from the mattress herself. She followed his gaze, turning  closer to the window to see through it’s blinds what had petrified him in fear.. The moment her eyes locked onto the scene outside, a gasp escaped her lips.

In the dim light of the warehouse, just a few feet from them, stood a creature that seemed like it had crawled out of their worst nightmares. It was tall and emaciated, with skin that looked like charred, cracked stone. Its long, skeletal limbs hung loosely at its sides, while its head twitched unnervingly, eyes glowing with an ominous red light. The faint shimmer of molten cracks ran down its entire body, giving off the impression that it was a living, breathing furnace that had cooled too soon. The creature’s entire form seemed to absorb the surrounding shadows, blending in with the darkened warehouse as if it were part of the gloom itself.

Its head snapped toward them with a disturbing speed the moment Bloom locked eyes on it, the glowing embers of its gaze fixating on them like a predator that had just spotted its prey.

"Shit!" Y/N cursed, stumbling backward, his heart hammering in his chest as the creature’s burning eyes seemed to pierce straight through the window. Bloom let out a panicked gasp, jumping back in fright, her hands shaking as she stumbled into Y/N.

As she scrambled, her suddenly sweaty hands lost grip of something—Stella’s ring. In the shock of the moment, her grip faltered, and before she knew it, the ring slipped from her grasp, clattering loudly as it fell through one of the metal grates on the floor.

Both of them froze for a moment, eyes wide, as they watched the ring disappear through the grate with a soft metallic clink.

Y/N blinked, staring at the grate in disbelief. "Seriously?" he muttered, his voice laced with sarcastic exasperation. "Of all the times to drop the only thing that can get us out of here."

Bloom looked mortified, her eyes darting between Y/N and the grate. "I didn’t mean to!" she hissed, her voice barely above a whisper as she frantically glanced back toward the window.

The creature was still standing in the open warehouse, its eerie eyes locked on their hiding spot, its head tilting slightly as if trying to pinpoint their exact location.

Y/N shot Bloom a pointed look before his gaze turned back towards the monster on the other side of the wall. "And this is exactly why you people never survive in horror films."

Sky pushed the door to his dorm room open with a weary sigh, his whole body dripping wet from the shower. The towel wrapped around his waist clung to his hips, while droplets of water slid down his skin and into the messy strands of his blonde hair. His muscles ached from the day's training, but his mind raced with a different kind of exhaustion—one tied to the growing web of tension he couldn't quite shake.

As he stepped inside, his eyes widened in surprise. There, sitting on his bed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp, was Stella. She leaned casually on the edge of the mattress, her long legs crossed, and her blonde waves tumbled over her shoulders. The subtle shimmer of her top sparkled in the dim light, catching his attention for a fleeting moment. Her expression, though playful on the surface, had a hint of something more—vulnerability, uncertainty. She watched him, her head slightly tilted, her lips parted as if she had been waiting for him to speak first.

Sky let out a frustrated sigh, his hand brushing through his damp hair. He made his way to the dresser, pulling open a drawer to grab some dry clothes.

"You can't be in here, Stel," he muttered, keeping his back to her as he fished for a his trousers. "If Silva finds out..."

Before he could finish the thought, he felt her presence behind him, warm and close. Stella rose from the bed, stepping softly until her body was pressed against his back. Her hand ghosted over his bare skin, making his muscles tense at the unexpected touch. She leaned into him, her voice a soft whisper against his ear.

"I'll leave before the sun comes up," she murmured, her lips brushing against his shoulder in a delicate kiss. Her fingers traced down the length of his arm, drawing shivers in their wake.

Sky’s jaw clenched as he stepped away from her, turning to face her with a mix of frustration and weariness. "You can't pull this shit, Stel... You broke up with me."

Stella's once-confident demeanor crumbled at his words. She stepped back slightly, her arms dropping to her sides. The glimmer in her eyes dimmed as she looked at him, now appearing smaller, more fragile.

"No, I know," she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Sky shook his head, exasperation creeping into his tone. "I didn't hear from you all summer, and then I say two words to a first year?"

"I said I know, OK?" Stella cut in, her voice trembling now, her mask of indifference shattered. "I'm sorry."

Her eyes met his, filled with regret, and Sky’s chest tightened. He wasn’t sure if it was anger, confusion, or something more complicated swirling inside of him, but he couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just another one of her games.

"What are you doing here?" His voice softened, searching her face for answers.

Stella hesitated, her gaze falling to the floor before she spoke, her voice barely above a whisper. "I got jealous."

Sky’s brows furrowed in disbelief, and before he could respond, she spoke again, quicker this time, as though she was anticipating his reaction.

"Yeah, I know I'm not allowed to, but I did. And I did something really stupid." Her voice cracked slightly as she spoke. "Now they all think I'm a monster."

Sky’s expression softened at that, and for a moment, his heart ached for her. "Oh, Stel..." he started, but she cut him off.

"No, please," she pleaded, her eyes glistening with desperation. "I can't sleep in there, Sky. In a room where everybody hates me." She swallowed hard, her voice trembling with vulnerability. "Please. Tonight, can I just stay with you? Next to someone who doesn't... hate me."

The room was silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air between them. Sky’s gaze softened, and his shoulders dropped as the tension drained from his posture. He could see it now—the cracks in her usually perfect facade, the fear hiding behind her bravado.

"You're better than you think you are, Stella," he said quietly, his voice steady but gentle. "Other people can't see that if you don't."

Bloom and Y/N hit the ground hard, their backs pressed up against the cold concrete wall as their breaths came out in panicked, shallow gasps. The creature's distorted growls echoed throughout the warehouse, sending a chill down Bloom's spine. Her chest heaved, panic clear in her eyes as she whispered in a strained voice, barely able to control her fear.

“What the hell is that thing?” she hissed in a frantic whisper, her hands clutching the edge of the broken concrete behind her.

Y/N's heart was pounding so fast he thought it might burst from his chest. His eyes stayed locked on the ground, too terrified to look up in case the creature’s gaze might catch him through the darkened corners. “I don’t know,” he muttered, his voice shaky, “but it had to have followed us... from the gateway. Guess I wasn’t the only one doing the following tonight.”

They both held their breath, the silence of the warehouse stretching out unbearably. Seconds dragged on like hours, and for a moment, it felt like the creature had moved on. The air around them was thick with tension, each heartbeat deafening in the quiet space.

Then, the silence shattered. Glass exploded above their heads, spraying shards everywhere as the monster’s twisted, clawed hand burst through the window with a snarl. Its guttural growl reverberated through the space as its fingers clawed wildly, searching for flesh.

Bloom screamed, her body instinctively jerking away from the reaching claws. “Shit, shit, shit!” Y/N cursed, scrambling to his feet as they dodged the creature’s grasp, scrambling across the floor. He tried to summon his magic, but his fingers trembled too much. His mind was a chaotic mess, panic overriding any focus he had.

He clenched his fists, his jaw tight as he whispered through gritted teeth, “The one time I need you to flare up and lose control and nothing? Magic is such an ironic, cold-hearted bitch.”

Bloom grabbed his arm, yanking him toward a narrow corridor where a metal gate led into the crawl spaces under the warehouse. “This way!” she shouted, pulling him along as the monster roared behind them, trying to break through the window and wall  as they descended into the tight space. Bloom softly shutting the floor gate in hopes of not letting alerting it to their location.

Her hopes and prayers were not answered.

Their breaths were ragged as they crawled, the clanging sound of the monster’s claws against the metal grate sending vibrations through their bones. The confined space felt suffocating, but it was their only escape. The pipes lining the walls hissed with steam, their warmth contrasting sharply with the cold terror clinging to their skin.

Then Bloom spotted it—Stella’s ring. It glinted just a few feet ahead, on the other side of another metal gate. "There it is!" she cried out, her voice filled with desperation.

She crawled toward the gate, her fingers reaching through a small hole to grasp the ring. But it was just out of reach, her fingertips barely grazing the surface. “Come on, come on,” she whispered to herself, stretching as far as her arm would allow, her voice growing more frantic. “Please, please, please…”

Suddenly, a deafening roar filled the space as the monster crashed through the opposite end, barreling toward them. Its grotesque form moved faster than Bloom had anticipated. Her heart jumped into her throat, panic flooding her senses.

“It’s too late!” Y/N shouted, his hand grabbing her arm, yanking her back just as the creature's claws swiped toward where she had been. The monster's hand snatched the ring from the ground, and with a viscious snarl, it clutched it tightly in its grotesque fist.

Y/N’s mind raced, searching for any sliver of magic he could control. His fingers twitched, and he focused on the hissing steam escaping from the pipes. With a burst of adrenaline, he manipulated the steam, using it to form a scorching barrier that erupted between them and the monster. The creature shrieked in agony as the steam obscured its vision, giving them precious seconds to escape.

“Go, go, go!” Bloom urged, pulling Y/N forward as they crawled through the narrow path, their bodies barely fitting through the tight spaces.

They burst through another gate, kicking it open just as the creature roared behind them, its footsteps growing fainter as they ran back into the main space of the warehouse. Both of them were out of breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline coursing through them. They made a break for it, desperate to get away.

As they ran, they nearly crashed into Miss Dowling, who stood waiting for them at the entrance. Her calm, composed presence was a stark contrast to their frantic energy. "Don't stop now," she commanded, her voice steady but firm.

She pointed toward the door where they had entered from the Otherworld. The gateway shimmered open again, casting a faint golden light.

Bloom and Y/N didn’t need to be told twice. They sprinted for the door, their lungs burning as they crossed the threshold. Miss Dowling stayed behind, and with a wave of her hand, she sealed the portal behind them, cutting off the terrifying sight of the monster charging down the stairs after them while she dealt with it.

Once they were back in the First World, both Bloom and Y/N collapsed onto the grass outside the mausoleum, their chests heaving as they tried to catch their breath. Their hearts pounded so loudly it was hard to hear anything else. For a moment, they lay there in stunned silence, the cool night air hitting their sweat-covered skin.

“Are you guys OK?” A sudden voice startled them both, causing Bloom to gasp and Y/N to let out a yelp. They looked up to see Aisha, Musa, Terra, and Sam standing in front of them, their faces etched with concern.

"Yeah," Bloom gasped, trying to compose herself. "Yeah, yeah, I think so."

Y/N, still catching his breath, shot them a bewildered look. “Speak for yourself. I’m over here still trying not to piss my pants. What the hell was that thing?”

Terra frowned thoughtfully, her voice calm but grim. “I’m pretty sure it’s called a Burned One.”

Y/N’s eyes widened in shock, the pieces of his earlier conversation with Sky falling into place. “That’s a Burned One?” he exclaimed, incredulous. “What the fuck? No wonder everyone here is shitting their pants.”

Despite the tension in the air, the others couldn’t help but laugh at Y/N’s outburst, even Bloom managing a small smile.

“I like him,” Musa said with a grin, nudging Terra lightly.

Sam stepped forward, pulling Y/N into a tight hug. “Your first day and you’ve already gone and probably gotten me banned from the mentor roster for life. Don’t do that again.”

Y/N winced, patting his friend on the back. “Sorry, man. I just saw her walking alone and didn’t want something to happen to her out here by herself.” He glanced around warily. “Now I see why everyone’s so freaked about going beyond the Barrier.”

A tense silence followed until Bloom’s eyes widened with a sudden, dawning realization. Her stomach dropped, and her breath caught in her throat. "Wait... where’s Stella?"

The others exchanged confused glances, not understanding the urgency in her voice. Aisha tilted her head, her brows furrowing in confusion.

"She’s at school. Why?" Aisha asked, clearly not following Bloom’s line of thinking.

Y/N, still catching his breath, turned to look at Bloom. His expression shifted from confusion to grim understanding, his face paling as the pieces started falling into place. The heavy weight of what had just transpired settled between them, thick and suffocating.

Bloom’s eyes were wide, a sinking feeling gnawing at her insides as the memory flashed before her—the twisted monster, its grotesque hand swiping at her hand in the crawlspace before Y/N pulled her back. This was not going to be easy to explain to the Princess in the morning.

"That thing just took her ring."

To be continued...

☀️ | Prince Sky Masterlist | ☀️

☀️ | Masterlists | ☀️

[noxturnalnymph]

Devotion 🖤 Masterlist

Series Summary: When is it enough? When is it too much? When does Devotion become Obsession?

I. Stronger Together CH 1 CH 2 CH 3

II. Predator or Prey? CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

III. Path to the Future CH 9 CH 10 CH 11 CH 12

Epilogue Some Summer Sunday

Series Warnings: 18+ MDNI, canon-typical violence/death, death of clickers, guns, blood/injury, references to previous SAs (not described), Reader has low self worth & trauma, this group/cult is not feminist - women aren’t treated as equals, Joel has sexual relationships with other characters (not described in detail), possessiveness, manipulation, stalking/spying on, Joel gets mean, DubCon Oral, Joel gets abusive (verbally, mentally, physically (he hits, throws, and bites), thoughts of self-harm and suicide, talk of periods & pregnancy, unprotected PiV, oral sex (m & f receiving), come eating, DIRTY TALK, brief reference to breeding kink and creampie kink (but reader does NOT get pregnant in this story).

A/N: OBVIOUSLY this is canon-divergent, but it is post-outbreak. The events of outbreak day have not changed (sorry Sarah). Reader does have a developed background that plays heavily in her character arc, so in that sense she is very much an OC. Reader has a nickname and some minor physical descriptions.

LAYOUT OF JOEL'S HOUSE

AO3 LINK

MOODBOARD BY @strang3lov3 MOODBOARD BY @beefrobeefcal

*🖤*NOTES ABOUT THE CULT & JOEL BELOW*🖤*

ABOUT THE CULT

The Cult's Core Ideology

Build up a community (and supplies) to return to a thriving society that can keep people safe & find a cure.

The Cult Operates by its 3 Tenants:

How Joel does it (what he "preaches")

I. Build Trust (We are Stronger Together)

Makes people feel beautiful, important, HEARD

Shares the wealth (food, shelter, women)

Seeks Power & Control to get others to help him

II. Us vs Them (The Predator Vs The Prey)

FEDRA is the enemy, do not trust them

Assimilate or Destroy all other people/groups

Attack them before they attack you

III. Gather & Prepare (Create a Path to the Future)

You can never have enough, always take take take take

The community you create now will determine future society (fair, honest, hardworking)

Once you are well-prepared and rebuild, you can work on finding a cure

🖤

Notes about Joel and the Cult:

He and Tess began this community together in 2010 after they met Bill and Frank and they felt that the QZ was becoming too dangerous and unstable. They settled in a small, remote town in the mountains of Vermont. Tess helps him "run" the community but she has a submissive role. (Their dynamic here is different from canon.) Tess has his respect probably more than anyone else does but she is not looked upon like an equal by anyone in the community.

Timeline/Ages:

This takes place in the fall of 2012, so It’s been 9 years since outbreak day. Joel is 45, my HC for Reader is Early 30's (Tess is 39/40). Reader's exact age isn't given, but she was in her early 20's on outbreak day and I wanted her to have experienced a fair taste of an adult life before the world ended. I didn't want to write the reader as inexperienced or with too large of an age-gap, although I think 11-14 years is still pretty significant. She has a history that plays a significant role in her personality (wary, untrusting). She has been hurt/abused by men - both those that took advantage of her when she was young, as well as by those that she trusted/loved. There are very few physical descriptions but she is very much an OC. Note that her age is not something that's explicitly mentioned because I did want to keep it inclusive. I hope everyone who wants to read this can use their imagination to fit themselves into the story in a meaningful way.🖤

[briebysabs]

I’ve been deliberating for a couple days now and have decided to discuss in-depth about Kim Dokja and the tendencies of putting his life on the line. For most of the novel, I was split on whether I should view KDJ as a self-sacrificial bastard or a suicidal character. And by the end, I’ve reached the conclusion that he is both.

Before I elaborate further, it should be noted that while we all meme about KDJ’s dying count, he actually isn’t that careless with his life. What I mean is he sacrifices himself usually as a last resort, plans A to F didn’t work and it’s the only option left to hope for kimcom’s safety-ditch effort. Usually. We’ll circle back to that when we bring up OD. But his sacrifices are always done as granting his companions salvation, utterly blind to how they feel about it. But to understand his constant need to do this you have to first start with where he learned how to love. Lee Sookyoung’s love was sacrificial, she’d take the brunt of her husband’s rage to shield KDJ, she’d take on blame for his death and be incarcerated for years so Kim Dokja won’t discover the truth. All of this, in my opinion, unbeknownst to KDJ, imprinted onto him this interpretation of love. As nobody else until the scenarios began had loved him (Yes HSY technically but he doesn’t know that). Which gives the irony that multiple characters KDJ resent in the story such as Kim Namwoon, his mother, the constellations are ultimately revealed to be reflections of himself.

Another component to his self-sacrificing is “Kim Dokja the reader”. I’m not going to dive deep into how orv interweaves dissociation and escapism into its narrative, I’ll do that some other day. But KDJ views himself as the reader, an outsider, the sole member in the audience watching the story unfold before him. Yes he grants commentary, the players notice and acknowledge his existence, but he isn’t part of the play. So if he decides to step out of the auditorium for a while, if he decides to leave a bookmark where he left off and close the book, nothing should change. The story will continue in his absence, the characters cannot possibly miss him because Kim Dokja was not a character. He was not part of their world so even if he’s gone, the ending will still happen. And that is something I want to stress here.

KDJ says “he wants to see a certain story’s epilogue”. Specific choice of words, “see”. He doesn’t say he’ll be part of it,that he’ll be with them, or any close variation of those phrases.

This is where I want to diverge to talk about KDJ's suicidality. You can say “Ok then, KDJ has a clear goal in mind to reach the ending he desires. Yes he may feel the need to step out of the story every now and then, but he does so reluctantly. So obviously, he doesn’t want to die.” And you wouldn’t be wrong really but that simplifies it to an overwhelming degree. That’s how I initially thought of it until I realized how complicated it actually is. Because most people who deal with suicidal thoughts aren’t searching for death but rather feel there’s no other choice. It often isn’t as clear cut as 1863 YJH who, anyone that read this arc will say with certainty that he was suicidal. Yes KDJ isn’t chanting in his mind over and over that he wants to die but why does he want to live? To see the proper ending of a web novel that stopped him from attempting again to begin with. Over the course of orv he finds people he loves and who love him back deeply. People he longs to live for but despite that because of the disconnect between them, his self-loathing, accompanied with what I said before, believing he has no other way out of these threatening situations. Yeah it’s to save his companions but in the end Kim Dokja still feels the need to die. Even if you do not see KDJ as a suicidal character, it is undeniable that so much revolving him, the impact it has on those who care for him, and the visceral descriptions used to convey their thoughts, is a direct metaphor for that.

Or in a few cases, straight up what’s going on and now we arrive at what I think was the final straw for Kim Dokja. Meeting the Oldest Dream. For me, this is THE scene of orv. The biggest twist and what finally irreparably broke KDJ. Prior to this, Kim Dokja had become the “Enemy of the story” but it was unlike his previous dances with death. This time he truly had no intention of dying, he wants to be a part of the ending with his companions, he understands now that his sacrifices do hurt them. That according to him “I, someone of no redeeming quality, could be loved by the others.” That he is a character and that just maybe, he does deserve to live happily ever after with them. And then Kim Dokja meets a 15-year old boy with the same face as his, doodling in a notebook his ideas for Ways of Survival and a notification tells him to ‘Please end the Oldest Dream’. All of that progress is shattered in an instant.

KDJ tries to excuse himself by recalling his promise to SP to kill OD but we all know if that was any other kid, he would not have tried to kill them. He would’ve hesitated much more, he’d look for a loophole, he would’ve tried talking which is his biggest strength for every corner he gets into. Killing them would not be the first option but now it is. Because this isn’t an instance of sacrifice anymore, KDJ is sick of himself. OD is a presence that confirms KDJ’s worst fears. That he’s meant to be weak and pitiful and alone, that he was always an outsider, that he unintentionally causes pain and misfortune to people he loves, that everyone would be perfectly fine and better even without him. And Kim Dokja is the physical manifestation of them: a monster. And there’s only one way to get rid of this monster.

The chain of events from him swinging his sword at OD, trying to stab himself with the blade only for YJH to stop it desperately with his hand, everyone restraining and begging him to stop, KDJ crying and screaming for SP + the other Outer Gods to kill OD. Everyone else is forgiving him and KDJ is only thinking of getting a blade.

This is Kim Dokja’s relapse. It’s real, it’s harrowing, and he never recovers from it. He reaches the conclusion that he has to be alone, it’s his atonement, it's what he deserves. So he splits himself 49-51. I interpreted this when I first read it as presenting 49% of what you believe people want to see. More real than a facade but it’s not the true you. The true, fucked up version of who you are is trapped in a prison of your making, trapped in a darkness you feel you don’t deserve to escape. Which is why it’s so powerful that KimCom went after that 51%. They didn’t want just their version of KDJ, they wanted everything KDJ is including the larger side of him that he wishes didn’t exist. But the plan fails, they managed to turn that full stop into a comma but they couldn’t save KDJ. Because you can’t drag someone out of that train, out of that mentality, you can’t force someone to love themself. All you can do is reach out to any corner, every worldline you can and let them know you’ll always love them. That you’ll always love every aspect of their story and hope that perhaps one day, they’ll accept your hand and believe it.

[ID: Omniscient Reader's Viewpoint art by Blackbox: first of Kim DOkja smiling, seen through a space in a bookshelf, and second of astronaut Yoo Joonghyuk floating upside down as letters float around him. End ID]

[theotherpacman]

got s1 is really a very faithful adaptation of agot, with only minor divergences. sometimes I really love the little details in the book that the show doesn't have room for, but sometimes I like the decisions the show made differently.

things I appreciate about the book:

the fact that jon is 14 makes his naivete regarding the wall hit so much harder. he's just a little boy and he's willing to sign his whole life away bc he believes he can be a part of something noble... neither his father nor his uncle nor anyone else tells him that to take the black is a grim sentence steeped in shame

ned hearing that bran's direwolf saved his life and being like "holy shit I killed one of them... what the fuck did I do"

sandor just whole ass traumadumping on 11-year-old sansa completely unprompted and then when he realizes he's just made himself vulnerable for literally no reason he goes "if you tell anyone about this I'll fucking kill you"

mormont thinks jon will be disappointed that bran is now a cripple but jon is so ecstatic bran's alive that he picks up tyrion lannister and spins him around (tyrion is startled by this) and then proceeds to cheerfully make friends with a guy who hates his guts bc jon kicked his absolute ass in training

tyrion and bronn starting to become friends on the way to the vale <3

THAT SINGER BITCH i love him

"whatever you may believe of me, lady stark, I promise you this -- I never bet against my family" screaming crying throwing up

jon going to maester aemon and convincing him to let sam take his vows!!!! using the metaphor of the maester's chain to make his point about how just bc sam is different that doesn't mean he's useless!!!!!!!

TYRION FIGHTING IN THE BATTLE AGAINST ROBB'S MEN!!!!! THE SHOW DID HIM SO FUCKING DIRTY i get that they didn't have as big a budget back then but come on man ToT

"when the sun rises in the west and sets in the east. when the seas go dry and the mountains blow in the wind like leaves. when your womb quickens again, and you bear a living child. then he will return, and not before." LET THE BARRENNESS BE PART OF THE CURSE why did they cut that

when tywin says "because you are my son" tyrion fucking Hates him for that bc he knows that if jaime were he tywin wouldn't spare him a second glance, he's only Tywin's Son now that jaime is prisoner and might die at the hands of the starks

things I appreciate about the show:

arya shooting a bullseye from behind bran. queen

jaime being a dick to everyone all the time for no reason. just going around starting shit. also that scene outside robert's bedroom where he talks to jory. jaime in general

ROS!!!!! MY GIRL ROS MY ABSOLUTE QUEEN ROS

"she's our guest." "she's our prisoner." "do you find the two to be mutually exclusive in your experience, my lord?" lmaooooo get his ass maester luwin

"sometimes possession,,,,, is an abstract concept"

THE DRINKING GAME!!!! first of all it gives us more insight into shae as a person who is so different from tyrion's established worldviews, secondly tyrion is always going around saying offensive shit and he thinks nothing of it bc a) people say offensive shit to him all the time and that's one of the ways he deals with it and b) he's usually right BUT when he makes all those assumptions about shae he's totally wrong and she stands up for herself, but my favorite part of that scene is that tyrion is hesitant to share this traumatic story from his past but he's just made bronn and shae confront their traumas so now he has to share too. and I think that's beautiful

all of varys and petyr's bitchy conversations when they're alone in the throne room

this only covers the first book/season I might make more of these as I keep reading

[torawro]

WHEN BLADES CLASH, SO DO HEARTS. ( r. z. )

roronoa zoro & bounty hunter!reader.

cw ━━ ! minors, ageless and blank blogs DO NOT INTERACT. reader is portrayed as a black woman who is on the thicker / curvier side but you do not have to imagine it that way ! you are free to imagine the reader how you wish. canon divergent au (lowkey implied post-timeskip -> zoro is still a bounty hunter and never became a pirate). bc it's canon divergent, zoro will have both eyes (i know, i know). mentions and descriptions of alcohol consumption. canon-typical violence (i.e., mentions of weapons). light(ish) descriptions of blood & injuries. so much [sexual] tension between reader and zoro that it's palpable. contains sexually explicit content including smut (descriptions of it from an omniscient pov). gets kinda poetic at the end but y’all already knew that was coming. somewhat proofread.

word count ━━ ! 4.8k

notes ━━ ! my first published one piece fic on my blog . . . you'd think the first one would be about law since my current theme revolves around him but alas, this swordsman was prominent in my mind…i did lose motivation at some point but i still pushed through. this fic was originally something i drafted up to serve as the prologue for a much longer fic i'm writing (no hints, sorry < 3). and i thought writing this purely for contextual purposes would help with that longer story, but in the process it just turned into something else all on its own skskkskks so this is a modified version of that blurb. obvs this is also my first time officially writing for zoro so i’m a little nervous and to be honest, i’m not sure if i even like how this turned out…..regardless, i hope i portrayed him well enough (pls be gentle with me) >< also wanna dedicate this fic to naj, a mutual of mine who became a friend, but unfortunately deactivated her blog some time ago. she's been helping me with this drabble and the longer story i plan to write and i really appreciate her. reblogs + commentary are GREATLY appreciated ♡!!!

SHAKING OFF THE GRAVELLY SAND that haphazardly clung to the fabric of your pants, with little effort and practiced precision, you swiftly returned a large metal rod back into a black carrying bag before swinging the straps over your right shoulder. Rolling your arms to relieve some of the tension that resided in them proved to be a little painful, leading you to conclude that you most likely pulled a muscle somewhere when fighting the unknown men who had just attacked you. 

Said men were now lying unconscious on the ground, hardly breathing and within an inch of their lives. 

You didn’t kill them ━no, of course not ━ that would be a fruitless endeavor. Besides, you were well aware that your energy would be well-spent elsewhere, like searching for the next poor soul that had a bounty looming over their head. You were like a hunting dog, the scent of your next target set in front of you by the wanted posters littered around in each city or island you traveled to. Much like how the grim reaper awaited in the shadow of someone who stood inches away from the gates of death, you too would bide your time until the right moment to strike.

You took pride in the fact that the glint of your weapon would be the last thing that reflected in the eyes of your target.

The end result of your fight, if you could even call it that, was as chilling as the evening breeze that was brought forth by the wading waves of the ocean. You have made your mark on the flesh of these men, reopening some old wounds and creating new ones that would certainly scar forever. On levels of the skin and of the spirit.

With a heavy sigh, you adjusted your bag again as you walked towards the cluster of little lights nestled beyond the trees, within them existed this main island’s largest town. Your facial muscles didn’t so much as twitch as the pointed heel of your boots dug into the skin of your unconscious assailants— thinking nothing of their drowsy, muffled grunts of pain or the stark contrast between stepping over doughy bodies versus stepping on the hard earth.

The waxing crescent moon only slightly illuminated the dirt road as you made your way to the populated village, occasionally swatting away a fly or two. Soon enough, the mouth of the semi-dense woods opened up to reveal a wide gravel road. Across the opening was a bridge that stood over a flowing stream, and beyond that was the town. It was a cluster of buildings of varying heights lined up neatly street by street.

Lamps hung on every corner, street pole and ledge that would allow it, bathing all that rested under them in a pale yellow glow. It was quite pretty at night if you were being honest; and judging by its looks and atmosphere, you were sure that they’d have a nice inn around somewhere.

But first, a drink. And some food, you added as an afterthought, but mostly a drink. Your body could use a bit of external help to unwind after spending the last few days at sea.

It didn’t take you all that long to find out where the town’s bar was located, and you wasted no time ascending the steps that led to the double swinging doors. The clacking of your boots against the wooden floors upon entering the establishment were more or less drowned out by the chatter of the rugged-looking individuals who more or less made themselves at home.

And yet, despite the dozens of conversations that bounced off the walls of the tavern, the stares of everyone whose line of vision you crossed seemed to be louder. Much louder than any fit of raucous laughter or profane shout that surrounded you.

Your ears were even able to pluck out a few conversations. Hushed inquiries of familiarity, musings of what could possibly be in that bag dangling on your back, how the pants you wore emphasized the fat of your ass just right━ all things you let roll off your back and pretended not to hear. 

If it weren’t for your more reserved nature, you would have slashed that the throat of the man who made that salacious comment the moment it left his dried lips.

You took a random seat at the bar, not really paying attention to who sat on either side of you. Placing the cowboy-style hat you wore next to you and your belongings at your feet, you patiently awaited for the bartender to make her way down to where you sat. 

As you waited, you crossed your legs, one fleshy thigh over the other, absentmindedly twirling one of the bulky silver rings that encased your middle finger as you wondered what drink you were in the mood for today.

It wasn’t until several moments later, when your body and mind stilled enough, that you’d take notice.

Something felt . . . weird. ‘Off’ was probably a better word for the strange weight that suspended itself over your muscles. Whatever it was, whatever feeling or presence you sensed, it had your fingers twitching towards your bag laying idly against the table. And it only continued to linger in the air as the minutes dragged by.

The sound of the barkeep’s voice pulled you back into the plane of reality and away from the realm of your overactive mind. “What’ll ya be having tonight, honey?” She was an older woman, probably around the age of fifty but looked much younger, had deeply tanned skin, and peppered black and white hair that was pulled into a bun and rested at the base of her neck. 

“Hmmm . . . whatever your best cocktail is, I’ll just have that.” 

With a nod and an amused smile at you allowing her to have free reign, the barkeep turned around, set a shaker aside, and got to work preparing a drink of her choice to serve to you.

Then, something flashed in your peripheral vision.

It was so fleeting that you could have easily dismissed it as nothing had you not been on somewhat high alert already. It flickered in the reflection of the metal canisters that sat along the back wall of the bar. And whatever it was managed to startle you enough to jump start the pulse in your chest into a panicked overdrive so fierce that you heard it in your ears.

The frantic beating of your heart  never showed on your face, however━ your expression remained neutral. It needed to be for a woman in your line of work. Perhaps especially because you were a woman in your line of work.

Without any warning or indication, the cold sensation of polished steel licked and nipped at the warmth residing in your neck. The sharpened end of a blade rested on the jugular of your throat, pressed firmly enough that if you moved forward even a little bit, a stain from your blood would surely blossom on the katana.

“You…” a deep male voice spoke, sounding rough and rugged all around its edges. The rest of the pub seemed to fall silent at the man’s utterance of that one word, rather than his blatant display of threatening you with a sword. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes were the only thing that moved. Slowly, with a frosty gleam underlining your gaze, your eyes landed on the sword’s master, his name immediately flashing in your mind. His reputation as a bounty hunter sent a chill down the spines of both marines and pirates alike. Residents all over the four seas feared his name, and his name alone could cause people to question if the threads of their lives would be severed by the piercing edge of his sword.

“Roronoa Zoro….” Your tone was leveled and held an air of disinterest as you talked. You spoke as if you were tasting the very syllables of his name, taking the time to roll each combination of letters against your tongue. They tumbled from your lips with a smoothness you weren’t entirely opposed to━ it was almost pleasant, if you were being honest with yourself.

A practice you didn't normally engage in.

Upon identifying the swordsman aloud, a short wave of hushed gasps from the customers surrounding you filled the air. With speeds that almost seemed abnormal, the long metal pole resting in your black bag suddenly ended up in your grasp, one end of it hovering several inches away from Roronoa's neck; such speeds even caught the mint-haired swordsman off guard. “Getting a drink, of course. Isn’t it obvious?”

Before he could even part his lips to reply, the piercing shing! of steely iron being brandished cut through the thick tension that settled in between you. A long and heavily curved blade abruptly emerged from the blackened rod in your right hand, and oh so conveniently arced around Roronoa's neck, momentarily silencing him. 

The weapon you carried was a scythe, one with a retractable blade meant to disarm your opponent’s perception and therefore hinder their judgment. A scythe that was reminiscent of the tool Death used to carry out his grisly duties of executing souls and dragging them to hell.

In this position with the scythe’s blade practically wrapped around his throat, if need be you could swiftly behead him, or at least mutilate him; judging by how quickly he unsheathed his katana, his reflexes were pretty sharp. Still, the potential ease of killing Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro— in addition to the mild bewilderment reflecting in his eyes and the patrons’ silent gasps once they pieced together who you were— caused your lips to tick upwards, but your countenance remained otherwise stoic.

“And I’m assuming you’re here for the same reason. That, or you just couldn’t get enough of me during our last battle, and you tracked me down for more.”

Your previously dry tone had somehow morphed into one with an airy lilt, followed by a quiet chuckle that bubbled in your chest when you saw Roronoa's brows twitch and deepen with ire at your subtly teasing words.

You were referring to the last time you saw the swordsman on some obscure island that took root in the Grand Line; an island whose name currently escaped your memory. With you being a bounty hunter as well, your job was the only reason why your paths have crossed so often, and why you have come to know Roronoa on a more personal level such as this. Each time your gazes clashed, it would always result in an inevitable battle, which indirectly fanned the flames of an unspoken competition between the two of you.

If his current expression was anything to go by, this bar may very well be your next battlefield. “You lost that fight, remember?” He emphasized his point by digging the sharp edge of his blade a little further into your neck, the increased pressure causing your eyebrow to all but twitch, “Or did I hit you too hard last time we fought, and now you’re suffering from long-term memory loss?”

The edges of an insufferable smirk curled at Roronoa's lips— one that conveyed his confidence in his abilities and matched the glint in his eyes that began to grow hungry for a brawl. And now, the corners of your own lips broke into a small, amused smile— or perhaps it would be more accurately referred to as a sneer— and you responded by mirroring his earlier movements.

Pressing the sharp end of your scythe into the back of his neck, the blade was met with the resistance of the corded muscle residing there, and your gaze eagerly drank in the brief glimmer of pain that was but a ripple across his arrogant expression.

“I didn’t lose that fight. It was a draw, at best. Seems like you must not remember the excessive blood loss on your end. But anyhow, tell me something pirate hunter…” You uncrossed your legs to stand up and took one step closer towards Roronoa, careful not to let his sword further nick your skin even though it was already dangerously close to you, “How many bounties have you collected since we last saw each other? Three? Two? One?”

Your voice descended further into a teasing whisper, and Roronoa's indignation only grew with each number you hurled at him.

The samurai didn’t take your tone lightly, and perceived your step forward as something of a  challenge, one that his nerves and heart and bones pleasantly vibrated to the sound of. So he too took a step forward, away from the piercing curve of your scythe that hung behind him like a shadow.

Roronoa was a little taller than you were, so meeting his gaze meant angling your neck upwards whilst he simultaneously moved his face an inch closer to yours.  “You think you’re hot shit, huh? Try five, sweetheart.”

Your nostrils flared involuntarily at his bold claim, and something . . . something warm prickled underneath your skin at his referral to you as sweetheart. For some reason, that word━ especially coming from his lips━ was a bit harder to ignore compared to other comments about you from this bar's patrons. And what they said was far more conflicting than a simple term of endearment; even if the 'endearment' in question was so obviously meant to be condescending.

“Is that right? You think you're such a badass, don't you?"

"That's 'cause I am."

Roronoa's mocking sneer was punctuated with a step forward into your space this time; any closer and the front of your clothes might graze each other. The swordsman pushed the boundaries once more by adding a little more force onto the grip of his katana, enough to finally break the bonds of your umber tinted skin.

A barely decipherable noise of amusement and veneration rumbled in his chest when your blood dripped on the length of his sword, but your reaction was nothing more than an involuntary clench in your facial muscles.

"Yeah?" You questioned him with a glare and a tilt of your head in the direction of his blade that uncomfortably sat at the opening of your skin. The tightness in your voice was meant to goad him, but it also contained the sparks of a challenge━ and of something else you didn't want to identify━ that ignited in the pit of your stomach with an increasing amount of fervor.

"Yeah." His voice descended a little lower into a place that killed the next sentence on the tip of your tongue.

Your eyes then narrowed as you held Roronoa's taupe gaze, his overconfident words floated in the silent air between you like a speck of smoldering ash, ready to burst into something more intense and fierce the moment it touched the ground.

Then you shifted your cold gaze elsewhere, opting to let it lazily roam around the room. Everyone was staring at the both of you with uneasy expressions and anxious stares. You could tell that even at the slightest movement from either you or the swordsman would cause the panic bubbling beneath their skin to flood forth in waves.

If there was one thing about you, you preferred to be to discreet. It made your job a whole lot easier, and more enjoyable in the long run.

A hummed vibrated behind your plump lips and your glare returned to his. "Let's take this outside, swordsman. I'd hate to ruin this nice lady's establishment with scuff marks and your blood."

Roronoa huffed a scoff, the amused smirk from before uncurled into something more animalistic. "That's funny. But sure, I'm down. When I defeat you and spill your blood on the ground, it'll make perfect fertilizer for those little plants I saw outside."

You huffed at his cocky attitude and accompanied it with a roll of your eyes. Your stare pierced him for a moment longer before you rescinding it, along with your scythe that was still outstretched towards him. The mint haired swordsman followed suit after another beat or so.

"That's about as likely as a fish growing legs and walking on land." Your voice was thick with sarcasm as you fished out a cotton pouch from your bag; it was small in size, but heavy with Berry. As you slipped out a couple of bills to pay for the drink that sat idly forgotten at your seat, another hand forcefully placed several bills down on the counter.

That hand belonged to Roronoa. You had to force yourself from letting your irises linger too long, or else you'd start thinking about how rugged, calloused, and veiny it looked.

With a newfound general annoyance at both him and yourself, you proceeded to present the bills to the bartender, who looked as if she was one muscle twitch away from ducking under the table behind the counter. You offered something similar to a sympathetic smile to assuage whatever she was feeling.

"Don't bother." Roronoa called out.

When you turned around to greet his voice, he was sheathing the sword that he previously drawn and made his way to the entrance of the pub.

"What are you talking about?" As you inquired, the swordsman still allowed his back to face you, hardly pausing to properly address you.

"I said, don't bother." he repeated in a stern tone, as if that was going to elucidate exactly what he meant, "Now come on. I'm itching to cut you down so I can go lay down."

And without adding anything further, Roronoa eventually exited the bar and disappeared behind the doors.

You were starting to lose count of how many times you narrowed your eyes at the green-haired man, but your stare━ both equal parts vexed and confused━ rested on the doors he had just walked through as if glaring at them long or hard enough would summon him again.

With a sigh, you turned back to the thin stack of Berry he left on the table, eyeing it suspiciously. You weren't sure what he ordered or how much of it, but it look like quite a bit of money he'd just randomly tossed next to you.

Was he insinuating . . . . that he paid for both of your drinks? Could this be what he meant when he told you not to bother, because he already covered it? Such a gratuitous act of kindness, something seemingly so simple caused that weird fluttering to bounce against the walls of your stomach again.

Picking up your bag, you continued to poke and dissect his actions in an attempt find meaning in them as you tipped the barkeep, once more ignoring the stares of nearly every person in that building as you left.

The moment your heeled boots dug themselves into the ground, your peripheral vision was bombarded with something being swung in your direction at high speeds. Before you could even process what it was, you instinctively leapt out of the way, your neck jerking backwards to further avoid the object.

A grunt filled your ears, already knowing the origin of the sound. "Nice reflexes."

You exhaled an exasperated breath of air, turning your gaze to meet that of the mint-haired swordsman who had begun to unsheathe a second sword out of the three scabbards hanging from his hip.

"Can I at least breathe first? Set my stuff down perhaps?" You asked wryly, almost unimpressed, but you didn't waste any time removing the straps of your bag to set it down on a nearby barrel, still cursing the pirate hunter under your breath all the same.

"Didn't know you were that eager to eat dirt." The familiar hiss of your scythe's blade erecting from the rod sent a pleasurable chill up your arms. You held your weapon tightly at your side, your grasp around its length tightening ever still when Roronoa began to square his stance. Even when you were several feet away from him, you could still clearly see the crease in his brows becoming more prominent; he began to resemble some kind of beast.

But that glimmer in his eyes held no real fire in them━ at least not the one that would lead to anger; one could even say it was one of wild excitement. The swordsman already knew his thirst for a worthwhile fight would be sufficiently quenched once more.

"Shut up." With a grunt, Roronoa pushed off the balls of his feet to launch himself into a powerful sprint towards you. It was clear he wanted to close as much distance between the two of you as quickly as possible. His movements were reminiscent of his brief display of swordplay earlier in the bar, where he was one swipe away from slitting your throat.

He was fast, but the gritty and often dangerous nature of your job honed your reflexes to be faster.

Your spine bended as you briskly leaned backwards to dodge the double swipe of Roronoa's katanas. The sound of the sharp blades cutting through the very air around you. With it only inches away from your nose, it was enough to replace the blood pumping through your veins with pure adrenaline.

Using the momentum from your quick dodge, you allowed your back to curve into a bridge and kicked upwards into a backflip to move out of the way━ the corners of your lips twitched into a satisfied grin when you felt your foot collide with his jaw and chin.

Once you were upright again, you wasted no time lunging forward in a sprint, you body much lower to the ground than Roronoa's was. Your plan was to slash his legs to throw him off balance, but that plan quickly evaporated like smoke due to his quick recovery and immediate realization of what you were doing.

"Tch." Your tongue clicked against the roof of your mouth in annoyance when the swordsman was able to leap in the air in time to avoid your attack. He was high enough that you had to crane your neck to see. With that much height, the next blow was sure to be one with quite a bit of force behind it.

"Two-Swords Style, Nigiri...." The swordsman's orotund voice descended far from where he was suspended in midair, and you braced yourself for his next attack, "....Tower Climb Return!"

The following clash of piercing steel against metallic iron was deafening, swallowing up any other noise that reverberated around you. The sheer impact of Roronoa's attack created a thin ring of dust that encircled both your figures and violently buzzed against the pole of your scythe.

You gritted your teeth to remain footed into the ground, but the force was too much, and that shit-eating grin nearly unfurling at his lips was too annoying. It shook the steadiness in your legs and caused you to tumble back by several yards. By steeling your thighs and calves you willed yourself not to fall, huffing with effort and frustration.

It hadn't even been that long since you've last fought Roronoa, could he really have made noticeable improvements in a short amount of time?

Regardless of the answer, you weren't about to allow him the chance to prove himself.

The both of you then darted at each other again, your motions a bit more cutthroat this time, and a newborn determination to strike down the pirate hunter further fed the burning adrenaline that coursed through your body.

Reaching your arm backwards, you performed a horizontal slash that Roronoa parried almost instantly. With effortless control and graceful dexterity, you reached both arms behind your back and twirled your scythe between your fingers, shifting the weapon from one hand to the other, and attempted to cut him again.

He blocked that attack as well, the tip of the blade just inches away from his left eye. You saw something moving fast in your peripheral vision, and immediately jumped backwards to avoid the katana that was about to release your intestines from the confines of your stomach.

It was always a pain fighting Roronoa because he wielded multiple swords at once, which means battles with him were more drawn out than they needed to be.

You lunged at him once more, and began to administer a barrage of horizontal, vertical and diagonal slashes in rapid succession. Your constant switching from one hand to the other, in addition to its length and the impressive control you exerted over your limbs, you were able to create a variety of fluid, long and short-range attack patterns, barely allowing Roronoa enough time to parry.

The moss-haired swordsman was keeping up with the relentless flurry of your attacks quite well━ for a short while at least. Roronoa lost himself in his own inner monologue of searching for an opening wide enough to immobilize you, and before long, a red cut blossomed on his semi-exposed chest, the injury lazily drooling blood.

The amount of cuts both deep and shallow began to increase, tearing his skin asunder under the weight of your blows. Your scythe repeatedly made contact with the elongated ha of his katana as well as his tanned flesh, but it wasn't enough to deter him completely.

It should have been though, but the many encounters you've had with Roronoa reminded you that he was no ordinary man.

Within that bombardment of the numerous slices and projectile slashes of your scythe Roronoa had found a millisecond of respite, and used that brief pause to leap backwards and put some distance in between you two.

You weren't able to hear the aching cry from the muscles in your arms until after you halted your attack, but the adrenaline flickering in your gaze still raced around your irises unceasingly. Roronoa's own gaze was hard and unyielding, glistening with something you couldn't discern from where you stood. But even so, your body somehow knew to feel like malleable putty under his stare; it's as if it was instinctual.

And again your blades clashed against one another, a steady rhythm rose from the cacophony of noises that were generated from your battle with the swordsman. Your laborious breaths became synchronized with each other, heavy and full of effort. The thin splatters of blood became homogeneous with each other as the both of you took turns cracking each other's skin open. Your limbs moved about and against his in a deft fashion and every nerve in your body reacted to his.

So much so, you didn't even realize when it happened.

Your duel with Roronoa had been in the forefront of your mind entirely that you hadn't actively processed the moment when your ragged breaths turned to breathy pants. Nor did you realize the moment it was no longer a scythe and katanas clashing, but wet lips and warm extremities instead. That same glint that shimmered in your eyes all evening never faded even then; it still twinkled through the murky mist of lust that clouded yours and Roronoa's vision.

Whenever your eyes collided with that of Pirate Hunter Roronoa Zoro, an inescapable battle would always ensue━ it was tried and true, and it felt more like a promise. It was also true, although not externally expressed, that your fight with the mint-haired man was one that neither of you even wanted to evade.

With each brawl you learned something new about Roronoa, and you were repeatedly met with the reality and veracity of his skills, his reputation full-force. And when your brawl eventually led to the languid but hungry removal of each other's clothes, you learned more about Zoro, and the emotions hiding underneath his taut and rugged body. This learning curve was both all-consuming and tenderhearted, and you couldn't help but shiver at the fact you were the only one who could witness it.

And what good is a fight if he didn't learn from and about his opponent as well? Each new thing he unearthed about you was an incentive to further indulge your soft and fleshy curves, and observe how they seamlessly molded with firm, corded muscle. Completely unexpected, Zoro had become utterly fascinated with the warmth that resided under your icy, expressionless glare.

And when Zoro peeled back a new layer, when his lips hovered over an uncharted area of your skin━ hot, breathy, filled with groans of expletives intertwined with your name━ when the grip of his calloused fingers and his heavy cock simultaneously dug deeper into you, one leg dangling haphazardly off his shoulder, when your bodies meshed just like that, you moaned━ you knew you didn't want to stop fighting with him.

Again and again and again with each thrust, each roll of his hips, each sightless grope of your body, you knew you would gladly continue participating in this unspoken competition. You'd proudly don cuts and bruises if it meant you and you alone could have Roronoa Zoro like this. You'd keep at it with enthusiasm if it meant that your hearts would always collide so wholly with each other, not being able to tell where his ended and yours began.

( # ) @icy-spicy @godjo @tetzoro @triangularz @pookiesatoru

[tsukimefuku]

The man who played with fire

After some drinks by yourself and getting frustrated with someone, you stupidly knock on Higuruma's door to test a theory.

To vibe: Misery - Maroon 5

Tags: +18 (!!!), WITH PLOT (there is always a plot), Jujutsu Kaisen, SMUT, f!reader, Higuruma x reader, some alcohol consumption,  he's so in love, she's so clueless, reader is being kind of an asshole, oral sex, cunt-locking, penetration, light f!top x m!bottom dynamic, involves some love-triangle classic shenanigans.

WC: 3.4K

Hey, this is actually my first smut piece! Hope you guys enjoy my filth. This is part of my "Jujutsu Partners Canon Divergence AU", a sequence of short stories and random drabbles for a Nanami x f!reader x Higuruma fanfic I'll eventually write (eventually). This is preceded specially by "Kindness and Sunflowers", link here. To see the ever-growing list of one-shots, please visit my masterlist :)  

Disclaimer: they’re NOT written and posted in chronological order of events. To see where this story fits in the timeline, please check the masterlist mentioned above.

Fair warning: I like writing characters being humanely assholes and clueless idiots. Be warned. 

"I can't believe this," you muttered to yourself. You were drinking alone at the bar, and the darkness served to hide your blushed-by-fury face. After what you called The Event, Nanami asked to talk, only to end up lecturing you about the shortcomings of a jujutsu sorcerer's life. As if you didn't know, given all the losses you had experienced over the years, precisely due to Tengen's established Jujutsu Society. "He can't be serious, lecturing me about this shit." Still talking to yourself, like a crazy person, you tried to let your anger go down with five cold pints of beer. It was definitely not working.

Your phone rang, and Nanami's name lit up on your screen, much to your annoyance. You immediately refused the call and flipped the phone down on the table, feeling all your rage bubbling up from the darkest depths of hell. You needed a release, any kind of release — an exorcism, most likely.

Or, you could try something else.

Peering around the bar, you started looking for someone that you could consider even remotely interesting — but no one, nothing, nada. Given this was a Tuesday night, there were only you and some monotonous people scattered around the murky lighting, encompassed by the noise of a few clicking glasses. 

That was when your phone started to rumble to the sound of some text messages, and you grabbed it ready to pitch the phone across the vicinity, believing it was Nanami again. But, much to your surprise, it was actually Higuruma texting you. You were so angry that you had completely forgotten to talk to him today.

He was basically asking how you were, given that you hadn't texted back since yesterday, and you were both chatting on a daily basis for weeks by this point.

That was when you had a greatly horrible (or horribly great?) idea. After all, how could a decision made under the influence, at night, while angry at someone you knew you had feelings for, be bad? This is fine.

"Are you busy right now?" You sent him, feeling the beer breeze warmly through your nostrils every time you exhaled. You have a crush on him, but that's it, this is fine. And oh, you did. Ever since you dropped him off in his apartment the night he was freed from Jujutsu High's headquarters, you knew that there was definitely something stirring up — at least from your end. Higuruma was drunk, he didn't make a move, and could just have been kind of clingy, to be honest, so you decided to let it go for the time being. Every time you got a little too excited to meet or talk to him recently, you reminded yourself very sternly you weren't a schoolgirl.

But you wouldn't let it go today, because today, you really wanted to know.

"Nothing, really. I just got home." Higuruma promptly answered.

"Can I come over?" You texted back, and locked your screen right after, instantly anxious and eager at the same time. What the fuck is wrong with me? What am I thinking? What am I doing? This can't be a good ide-

"Of course, I'd be delighted." He replied. "And then you could actually see the sunflower is doing very well, in spite of me."

You left the money on the counter and ran off, shushing your thoughts out loud.

***

This was a terrible idea, but I think I can just hang out for an hour, make small talk and then leave, you started to negotiate mentally with yourself right after the three knocks on the door gave some sanity back to your brain. 

However, after Higuruma opened the door and cocked his head to lean it against the door frame, you knew you were completely doomed. He had the top of his white shirt unbuttoned, his tie was hanging loosely around his neck, and his sleeves were rolled up enough for you to see his beautifully defined forearms. His hair had the perfect messy-I-just-got-home look to it, and you instantly wanted to drive your hands through his pitch black locks. 

Oh shit, you thought to yourself, feeling something stir up in your body — and it surely wasn't anger.

It must have been a moment, because he started to look a little puzzled. "Hey, come in." Higuruma said, as if he was repeating himself. Did you not hear him the first time he invited you in? 

"Of course. Thank you." You replied, looking down and hushing yourself inside his apartment. You could feel your face burning, and imagined how much of an idiot you were being right now for ever believing this could go anything but wrong.

"Are you okay? You seem out of sorts." He pointed out, closing the door behind him. "Can I get you anything? I got some beer from the convenience store, and there might be water somewhere in the kitchen."

"I'm fine, I just ran here to get some cardio." You clumsily replied, sitting on the couch. "I came from the bar, actually. Already drank some beers. No need."

Higuruma huffed out a soft chuckle, still a little confused, but now intent on prying. "You're not helping your case. You mean to say that you, a jujutsu sorcerer that exercises heavily, decided to get some cardio done while walking under the influence, from a bar, at night, to meet me?"

"Yes. That's what I meant. Quit prying." You responded, not knowing what the hell else you could say. Tell him that you came rushing just so you wouldn't have the time for second guessing on having s- no, you wouldn't do that.

"Hm." He hummed to himself, grabbing a can and sitting beside you, bouncing the sofa slightly. "I mean, I'm always happy to have you come over, but the only time you came here was to bring me drunk from a bender. And to get me flowers."

"Get you a sunflower, because yours had died." You corrected.

"Precisely, a sunflower." Higuruma replied, taking a sip from his beer. "So, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I just wanted to see you." You said, earnestly. And deep down, it was true, if only half of it.

Higuruma immediately seemed content, even if he only had a small smile to show for it on his face. "Oh."

You were both silent for a moment.

"I never got to repay you for your kindness that day." He said, out of the blue, taking you by surprise.

"It was nothing." You said, shrugging. "I just got you home and gave you a flower."

"Oh, if I remember correctly…" He began.

"Do you remember anything?" You asked, mockingly.

He looked at you, slightly grinning, and continued. "You had to blow up my lock to bust us in. In some places, that would be considered a felony."

"You're saying I could get arrested for busting into a home while I'm with the man that lives there?"

"You also used explosives and damaged the door, let's not forget that." Higuruma said in a mix of playful and matter-of-factly.

"I couldn't ask, because you were completely wasted! Just getting your address was a pain in the ass."

He chuckled. "Was it?"

"Yes, it was." You replied, more relaxed, thanks to coming back to your old banter. This came for the both of you so naturally that you barely realized Higuruma had rested his arm on the sofa right behind you, leaning closer. "Higuruma, why did you drink so much that night?"

That question surprised him, as you could deduct from his eyes widening lightly. He put his beer can on the coffee table and ran his fingers through his hair, inhaling deeply. "I don't know. I guess-" he stuttered for a moment. "I guess I was just nervous to be out again, finally and properly going for a drink with..." his last word lingered on the air, as he unconsciously looked at your eyes, and then your lips, "with you all."

"Do you remember what you said when we got here?" You asked, shamelessly staring at his lips too.

"I believe I said, 'you are too kind'." Higuruma leaned over even further, and you felt his entire body go rigid for a second as you drifted closer to him, heat crawling all over your skin, putting your forehead to his. After some seconds, he rested the palm of his hand over your knee, and from how needy you felt for that man at that particular moment, even such a small thing was enough to make you trip over to the other side.

You immediately crushed your lips to his, putting your hands behind his head. You kissed him eagerly, letting out an extremely faint moan as you drove your fingers over his hair — he tasted like beer, his worn off cologne from the day was completely intoxicating, and you found yourself nearly lunging at the man like a starved animal. Realizing what just happened, you pulled back, starting to apologize, eyes wide and face completely flustered. "Higuruma, I'm so sor-"

Your apologies were cut short with his own lips now clashing into yours in a passionate kiss, as he pushed you under his weight to lay on the couch, his fingers interlocking in your hair strands from the back of your head. His hips effortlessly slid in between your legs as your hands made their way to brush his shoulders, and you let out another moan against his lips, this time much louder, thanks to the dry pressure of his now bulging pants against your clothed core. Higuruma groaned satisfied in response, tracing the outline of your mouth with the tip of his tongue. Your mind was becoming hazy, and he parted from your lips for a moment to gaze at your face. His eyes were locked on you, studying every feature and investigating for any sign of discomfort or second thoughts.

You caught up on that and made your way inside his slightly open mouth with your own tongue, intertwining it with his in between gasps and huffs. Now you separated just enough to breathlessly say, "Bed. Now."

You gasped against his mouth, before holding yourself throwing your arms behind his neck and locking your legs on his waist, grinding on him. He moaned loudly at this stimulation, before smiling sheepishly and putting both of his hands on the back of your thighs for support, knowing full well you meant for him to carry the both of you into the bedroom.

"Yes, ma'am." He replied, propping the both up and then lifting from the couch. Higuruma pressed open-mouthed kisses all around the nape of your neck, as he walked towards a dark room, parting his hands from you just to switch the light on. "I want to see you," he said, breathing heavily against your skin, as he threw you on the bed, climbing on top, one hand to each side of your head as he stared at you with a lustful look in his eyes. You instantly pulled his loosened tie to kiss him again, and he lost balance, basically falling with his body over yours. You whimpered at the feeling of having his now full-blown clothed erection grinding against your core, and involuntarily opened your legs to accommodate his hips over yours.

Higuruma started to take off his tie and shirt, and you followed suit, removing your top and bra. He basked on the sight of you, and cupped both of your breasts in his hands. His digits felt rough, and frictioned just the right amount against you, as he squeezed both of them, satisfied and reverent. His hands started traveling down your figure, contouring every curve, hill, and valley of your body, reaching the edge of your pants. "May I?" He asked, his face lightly blushed as he awaited your response. You nodded, and he promptly unzipped you, pulling your pants and panties down, the slight stimulation from the fabric sliding over your legs being enough to make you mewl with satisfaction. Every nerve in you was incandescent with absolute hunger for him.

You opened your legs, and he could see you were already completely wet from arousal. Letting out an audible satisfied moan, Higuruma began tracing your belly with his mouth, planting long kisses as he went down, leaving a trail of heat wherever his lips touched. As he got near your core, he kissed one last time one of your thighs, and sniffed on your folds. You smelled sinfully sweet, and he made no effort to hold back his eyes fluttering shut with pure bliss. "Could I, please?"

This was his prayer, the bed was his altar and he was determined to worship you.

Without a word, you simply grabbed the top of his hair and drove his mouth in between your legs, whimpering and mewling as his tongue started to rub against your clit. His chin would grind forward on your entrance whenever he changed the angle, and you involuntarily pushed yourself down when that happened. He noticed it, and slid his tongue inside you, eliciting a loud moan in response, with your walls clenching around it. He groaned back in appreciation, and his husky, low voice reverberated throughout your entire being. You arched your back, beginning to feel that familiar heat and fire pooling on your lower stomach.

"H-Higuruma... I-" You sighed, in between mewls and moans.

He immediately stopped and brought his face up to look at you. You let out a complaint sound, glaring at him to ask why he stopped.

"My dear, I'm literally with my face in between your legs, eating you out." He said, unfazed by your annoyance. "We're way past last names. Call me Hiromi."

Incredulous, you let out a mixture of a chuckle and a scoff, having the top inside of you wiggling its way out to the surface. You grabbed his hair strongly, and he cinched his eyebrows, cock twitching inside his pants, as the corner of his lips formed an open-mouthed smile. His eyes were softly resting on you, and he wouldn't mind if your naked, flushed body was the last thing he saw before he died.

"Shut up." You said, grinding your pussy against his mouth, and locking his head to your core with your legs tightly holding around him. Higuruma proceeded more eager than before, lapping at your clit relentlessly with his tongue, alternating with sucks that were having you seeing stars. He was absolutely pussy drunk with the heavenly taste of you and had, at this moment, relinquished any control, as he let you face fuck him chasing your release.

The heat came back again, and you closed your eyes, sinking the back of your head on a pillow. Waves were starting to form, and your orgasm hit you like the crashing water against the shore. You began to tremble and vibrate, coming hard in his mouth, and Higuruma feverishly drank you up, completely hypnotized with how amazing you tasted and felt, falling apart under his ministrations. 

Letting you finish riding your high, licking gently on your overstimulated core, he waited until you were barely moving before removing his own pants and climbing his way back on top of you. As he got close enough to your face, you looked at him, completely flustered and debauched, resting the palm of your hand on his cheek. "Higuruma, I want you inside of me." His tongue, albeit magnificent, just wasn't enough, and you could feel the same anticipation and neediness coiling in your stomach again, as the tip of his cock rested on your entrance.

He looked at you and grunted, displeased. "Hiromi." Higuruma reached to the bedside table and pulled a condom. The movement had him rubbing his throbbing length, already leaking with pre-cum, right against you, forcing him to let out a strained groan.

You gasped at the sensation and chuckled at his annoyance right after, suddenly locking his hips in between your legs, rolling you both so that you would be on top of him. "We'll see, if you ask nicely." You replied, locking him in between your arms, hovering. Higuruma's eyes instantly softened, and his cheeks took a pinkish-red tint. "You're bossy." He said, turning his head towards your wrist and planting a chaste kiss on it, lingering with his lips for a moment on your skin. "I like it."

You smiled, more pleased than you'd like to admit it, because the both of you fit so well it was astonishing. You never thought it would be happening like this, and for a moment, it felt so right you wished you could be here forever. But nothing that good ever lasts long enough.

Grabbing the condom from him with one hand, you motioned the other to grab his neglected cock. As your fingers grasped around his length, Higuruma let out a satisfied and urgent moan, slowly arching himself under your touch. The sight of him completely pliable to your will had you fluttering, as you began to rub your hands up and down, pumping his girth to pleasure him. Higuruma plastered his palms over the plush of your thighs, and groaned your last name, holding out on some kind of desperation. 

"'Way past last names', huh?" You scoffed, playfully, starting to slide the condom over his cock before he could hit you with any witty comeback. After, you positioned yourself above him, holding his length against your entrance, and started to slowly descend over it, feeling it thrust in you to the brim, stretching your walls as he bottomed out. You both let out a gasp, now connected, and you waited a moment to adapt and take all of him in.

"Come here." You said, pulling on his shoulder for him to sit up, so that you could feel and touch every inch of him. He obliged, and sat up, immediately driving his mouth to kiss your neck insistently, brushing the tip of his tongue on the edge of your jaw. Higuruma began to rock his hips, and you did the same, each in the opposite direction, so that his cock would slide in and out of your pussy easily.

You moaned against his scalp, and he held his hands to the small of your waist, leaning you backwards to suck on your breasts. The moment his mouth latched onto one breast, he rolled your other nipple between his fingers, eliciting loud moans and mewls from you. You had your head dangling back, as he began to thrust into you quicker and harder. He slid the hand previously on your waist to the back of your neck, and pulled you in for a kiss, taunting your mouth with his tongue. You opened it, and both your tongues intertwined, as he, now, chased his own release, panting and groaning into your lips. You weren't so far off, feeling the familiar coil tightening in your abdomen, yearning for release.

"Higu-"

"Hiromi, please. P-please... Please..." He implored and begged, kissing desperately your jawline. You lowered your gaze and met his eyes softer and more tender than you had ever seen, so urgently pleading for you to let him in, give him this inch of intimacy, and that was the moment you caved. You pressed your forehead against his, and started to cry out his name. "Hiromi... H-Hiromi..."

Letting out moans and groans in between the squelching from your juices, he pulled you impossibly close, eyes piercing and locked onto yours. This was the moment you felt more naked, bare and vulnerable the entire night, and the coil that had formed in your belly snapped, sending waves of pure pleasure from the tip of your head to your toes. Feeling your gummy walls clenching all around him, Higuruma also hit his orgasm intensely, thrusting into you fervently to ride off his high. He stopped slowly, ready to crumble underneath you at any moment.

"Hiromi-" You said, brushing your lips against his cheek, then under his ear. "Hiromi, Hiromi, Hi-ro-mi. Happy? Just for tonight, though."

Higuruma chuckled soulfully, realizing how much he absolutely loved the sound of his name on your tongue, purred through your whispered voice, reverberating on his flushed, sensitive skin. It made his body quiver and tremble with pure satisfaction. 

It was right there, at that moment, with his heart fluttering while you leaned back to gaze at him, stroking his hair strands between your fingers with a gentle smile, that he realized just how fucked he actually was.

Sighing softly and smiling back, Higuruma pushed his lips against yours. He knew that by playing with fire, he was bound to get burned, eventually — and burned he was.

[catalinemorosetheblog]

On Divergent Universe and Aventio

Okay, so I know that pretty much everyone has noticed the Aventio bits in the Divergent Universe video that was released a few days ago, but I wanted to take a moment to point something out in the famous question 2 section at the end.

So, as most probably already know, this is what I'm talking about. Aventurine puts up a sign that says "Find Ratio", when asked who the Trailblazer could team up with. This in of itself confirms Aventurine see Ratio as an ally, but what happens before it is just as important.

This is where Owlbert first puts forwards the question. Now, nothing particularly special happens in the prior one. Everyone gives pretty standard answers for their specific characterizations, Screwllum's is the only one that's helpful, and Ratio and Aventurine give their typical responses pretty quickly.

That changes however for the second question.

Aventurine does not answer immediately, unlike everyone else, including Ratio. Which means he had to think about his response.

Further evidence of this comes from Aventurine's pose when the question was first asked.

He's doing a thinking pose (also sort of mirror Ratio lol), and he doesn't do this for the other question (so it isn't some sort of default animation). And given that his responses to question 1 and 3 both related to money/bribes, he did not put this same level of thought into them.

It's also pretty easy to miss due to Sparkle transforming and everything, but if you look carefully...

He looks at Ratio, or in the very least glances in his direction, possibly to look at his sign. However, it also exists the possibility that Ratio was the first person he thought of when thinking of a good teammate.

And then a moment later...

Ratio glances back, which leads Aventurine to put up his own sign.

Now, Ratio staring back could mean many things. It could be that he started staring at Aventurine because Aventurine was staring at him. It could be that Ratio noticed that Aventurine hadn't answered yet, and was urging him to do so. Or, dare I say it, he saw Aventurine hadn't answered yet, and was concerned about him. Ultimately, there is no way to determine the true reason, given that none of the G&A guests talk.

But it is extremely telling that Aventurine, who could have just tied it back into money again, was the only guest who gave a specific person to team up with. And it was Ratio, not one of his IPC coworkers, not a member of the Astral Express, but Ratio. Someone who, at some point, Aventurine believed that Ratio would not understand his methods so much so that he forced him to point a gun at his chest, as seen in the infamous Final Victory Lightcone:

(Please note that, in the short video for this lightcone, Ratio tries to pull the gun away from Aventurine, but Aventurine pulls it back).

And assuming that Aventurine was reading Ratio's sign card, there exists another possibility.

As seen above, Ratio responds with the phrase "Walk Your Own Path". This is in line with pretty much everything known about Ratio. His main motivation is to "cure" foolishness. He wants people to overcome their problems. He's a teacher, a strict one, both metaphorically and literally. His role in the interlude quest before Penacony was to both push the Trailblazer to figure out what was going on with the researcher's disappearances and step in if things went south. It's also why one of the reason he gives Aventurine that note in the main story (that, and that they were likely being watched by the Family) instead of telling him directly. Every interaction, voice lines, and the fact that Ratio does not wear his plaster head in any scene he appears in with Aventurine, implies that he does not see him as foolish. He knows Aventurine is capable. Hell, in the most final Penacony main story mission, he says Aventurine is his responsibility or something along those lines (unprompted, mind you).

But it also relates towards Aventurine's backstory. Aventurine, for all his good luck, has had one sucky life. But he also has fought tooth and nail to survive, through gambles and wagers and money and being quite literally sold away to live. In that sense, his life also has never been his own. But I think he managed to regain some hope by the end of Cats Among Pigeons, and of course, Ratio's note, which told him to live (in a Ratio way).

So imagine: Aventurine sees Ratio's response in the video, thinks about what he would do, what he would do following his own path...and says to find Ratio.

Now, it could true that I am pulling at threads here, but there is evidence of trust. In one way or another, these two emotionally constipated too smart for their own good dumdums care about each other and show it in the most convoluted ways imaginable. And for the that reason, I think that these two mentioning each unprompted on multiple occasional, this video included, is very telling. They're important to each other. They went from shaky allies to two people who will bring up the other in conversations. Hell, I already made a post about the cake cats, and how in Divergent Universe, what this video was explaining, gambling got added, which could have only been done by Ratio, because let's face it, Screwllum would not.

Essentially:

These b*tches gay.

Bonus:

Their reactions to Sparkle's shenanigans.

[semiweirdshipper]

Slashers as fathers. (Story idea).

What would ya'll say to an actual fanfic with the slasher fathers? I have an idea in mind that I think would be very sweet, and it's plotted in such a way that puts Hannibal, Freddy, Michael and Bo all in the story together. Let's see if I can lay it out for ya...

Child reader: Non-binary foster child under the age of ten.

Hannibal: Official adoptive father.

Freddy: Janitor/substitute teacher at child reader's school, and a friend of Hannibal.

Michael: Works for the city, and is a friend of Hannibal.

Bo/Vincent/Lester: Friendly gas station and church fellas, and friends with the child reader.

Albert Wesker: Police officer who saved the child reader and is good friends with them.

Summary: Child reader was put up for adoption after being rescued from an abusive environment. Hannibal adopts them and carefully tries to guide them through their trauma and ptsd triggers. Both make many friends along the way. Lots of platonic love, healing, friendship and comfort. When the real parent tries to reclaim the child reader, the fight is on and everyone will work together to keep them from having to go back to that abusive environment.

As always: The slashers are written in canon-divergence and are portrayed as good guys.

Personally, I love writing the slashers as fathers. It gives me a type of comfort that I just can't create anywhere else. And, with all the violent, emotional, angsty stories I'm working on right now, I feel like this could be an anchor for me, give me something more positive to work on (I say that and yet watch it be my most traumatizing story to boot *snorts*).

I just wanted to know if anyone would be interested is all. Thank you for your time. I hope you all have a lovely day <3

[wood-white-writer]

"Didn't mean to make your heart Blue" || [3/...]

- OPLA!Buggy x F!Reader

"And I am the idiot with the painted face, in the corner taking up space. But when he walks in, I am loved."

— Mitski, "Me and My Husband"

Pairing: Buggy the Clown (Live action) x F!Reader

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6

Summary: You were an apprentice of Gol D. Roger’s crew in your youth, long before his eventual demise. Along with the Red-Haired Shanks and Buggy, you were a formidable trio; the embodiment of a new generation of pirates yet to come. But times changed, and so did you and your friends. Years have passed since you last saw Buggy following the dispute that you thought ended your friendship. When you finally reunite with the blue-haired menace you once considered your closest friend, it’s under less than “friendly” circumstances.

Warnings: Canon typical violence, LA!Verse, Buggy is a lonely asshole, flashbacks, semi-canon divergence, Reader is strong AF,

A/N: I forgot to mention this before, but I guess this technically does hold some spoilers from the manga/anime. Keep in mind, I've not seen/read either piece, so it's merely used to give their stories some background.

Taglist: @kurinhimenezu, @carpinchootaku (If you want to be tagged for this story, just send me a message or comment :))

Fuck, fuck, fuck, where the fuck are you?

After some time of searching, Buggy finds you sitting by the docks, your feet gently swaying with the waves, almost free of any earthbound weight. He’d join you if he could, but he’s not brave enough to get too close to the waters yet.

However, he’s content enough to just watch you from a safe distance. The sky is free of clouds and the moon is full, which illuminates your shape like a bright lantern in the night.

Beautiful, that's what he thinks you are. In fact, that's what he's been thinking for a while now, not that he's ever told you that to your face. He wonders when he stopped looking at you like something more than a friend. 

Maybe it was when he caught you smiling at him after you'd successfully managed to steal a bottle of fine rum from the local bar, and you both ended up getting blackout drunk on the ship deck?

Maybe it was when he saw you win a round of arm-wrestling against one of your other crewmates, despite being significantly younger than the opponent.

Maybe it was when you beat a guy black and blue for making fun of his nose in public, with both him and Shanks cheering you on from a safe distance? 

It doesn’t matter when it was. What matters is that, for a while, he has found it difficult to take his eyes off you. Even if it’s just a peek, it usually takes him a while to force his attention on something else.

The rest of the crew are on the Oro Jackson, celebrating their recent endeavors, yet here you are, celebrating on your own. He finds it odd; you’re usually happy to participate in any celebrations with the crew, but you’ve decided to be here instead. It was your absence on deck that prompted Buggy to go looking for you.

The wind picks up and he can feel goosebumps spread across his skin like wildfire. He shivers and tugs his jacket tighter around himself, and that’s when he notices that you’re not wearing any additional clothing to stave off the cold in the night.

He finally calls out to you, a little throaty for reasons he refuses to disclose aloud. “You’re gonna get a cold like that, dumbass! You wanna get pneumonia and die or something?”

You subsequently turn around to face him, and his breath gets caught in his throat. Your sharp eyes, when caught in the moonlight, sparkle like a thousand treasures — compiled of gold, diamonds, and millions and millions of berries — holed up in two caves.

Smiling in the way that makes his pulse quicken, you proceed to wave your feet in the water. A few drops land on your arms, sparkling in the air before landing on the skin of your arms. “I don’t think so? If we get to the South Pole, maybe there’s a higher risk?”

He frowns and crosses his arms over his chest. “The North Pole is colder!”

“Ah, well,” you snicker. “In that case, then I’m not likely to get pneumonia unless we’re there.”

“You can still get cold! What are you, a moron?” 

For someone who can’t keep his eyes off you for extended periods, that doesn’t keep him from being rather crass in terms of vocabulary with you. That’s alright. You’ve never been one to appreciate honeyed words if your frequent bickering with both him and Shanks says something.

With another swing of your legs, you reestablish contact with with wooden platform and make your way over to him. That’s when he finally realises that you haven’t brought your shoes with you, but you don’t seem bothered by it. “By the way, what’re you doing here, Buggy?“

He considers telling you a simple lie that won’t clash with what he knows to be the truth. He was coincidentally going for a walk, he needed some air, he was purposefully looking for you…

“Noticed you weren’t on the ship,” he finally settles on with a hmph. “Had to make sure you hadn’t accidentally up and drowned or something. You’re a shitty swimmer,”

“Not as shitty as you,” you counter and blow him a raspberry. 

He’s about to tell you to fuck off or something when, again, he finds himself pausing. 

You’re smiling at him, so softly, and it feels so warm that the wind no longer has any effect on him. He can feel his cheeks scorch up and his heart is pounding so hard that it feels on the verge of breaking his ribs.

He hastily looks away and coughs a couple of times, trying to maintain what little dignity he has left.

“Are you alright?” You ask with faux concern. “Did you just catch pneumonia or something?”

“S-Screw you!”

You laugh, and it’s like music to his ears. Your laughs are usually raspy and hardly appropriate, but he finds that it’s the prettiest sound in the world. Your smile, your laugh, they are so warm that he hopes that you’ll never stop making them.

Out of the blue, you wrap an arm around his shoulder and begin tugging him on the path to the ship. “Come on, before they leave us behind.”

“Y-Yeah, let’s.” He doesn’t move to tug your arm away, and no power on this earth will make him.

------

Now that he's closer to the kid, Buggy realizes the stupidity of asking if he was yours. The two of you are nothing alike, but the truly defining factor lies in your eyes. Rubber Boy's eyes are too bright, too round. Whereas yours are knives ready to strike, his' are simple spoons.

He begrudgingly has to hand it to the kid; he's a fearless one. Even stretching his limbs beyond human capabilities does not diminish his spirit. Buggy doesn't know whether to applaud or reject the determination the boy has.

"I want you to think of this, like an artistic exercise," he explains. "Because pain leads to art, and art reveals truth."

He can't hear any commotion from the backrooms where he keeps you contained. Truth be told, he never expected it to keep you for long, only detain you for a limited amount of time. If he wants to both get the map and keep his life in one go, he is going to have to try and get it without necessarily ruining the kid too much.

Still, it doesn't keep him from testing the lines. He tries to pry the answers out with a needle, but no matter what he does, the kid remains infuriatingly mute. 

So, he decides to dig a little deeper.

"Now, what makes a boy want to grow up to be King of the Pirates? Who are you trying to impress?" He tilts his head with inquisitiveness. "A lost love?"

On cue, he can vaguely make out a gnarling sound coming from the back rooms. The sound of chains rattling, which he perceives as you probably moving in the enclosure. He thinks about sending someone to check on you and find out what you're up to, but he does not want the number of supporting casts to reduce.

"An absent parent?" He continues, ignoring the noises as he closes in on the boy. "Or was it someone that you worshipped? A false idol."

Try as he might, the boy fails to feign any indifference to him. A master of performance himself, Buggy knows when he's hit his target "That's it."

He yanks the dumb straw hat off his head, and the boy's protests against it further dig a nail into the coffin. "Give me back my hat!"

"I used to know a pirate that wore a hat just like this." Buggy's grip on the feeble thing drastically tightens as memories of the past resurface. "Red-Haired Shanks."

"You knew Shanks?"

"Ginger? Three scars, left eye?" Of course, how could he not know of the bastard? "We served together on a pirate crew when we were about your age. In fact," he glances at the boy from over his shoulder. "Your friend, Cross-Hairs over there, was with us at the time."

The kid blinks in confusion, clearly not aware of this little piece of information. "I knew she served with Shanks, but she never mentioned you."

In all honesty, it doesn't surprise him, yet he still perceives this as a slight against him from your side. The underlying hypocriticism in that doesn't evade his notice, but he elects not to address it. 

Buggy can feel the straws under his digits lightly crack beneath the pressure of his grip. "She did, but before then, it was the three of us. For a time, I even thought we were friends." His nail pierces a hole through the inside of the hat. "Until they betrayed me, like all the others. He wanted to keep me out of the spotlight! He wanted to keep my star from shining too brightly!"

"They wouldn't do that," Rubber Boy is quick to protest, rather vehemently too as if Buggy just insulted his entire lineage. "You don't know her, and you don't know Shanks. Don't talk about them that way."

"I bet I know her far better than you do, Rubber Boy." He smirks and raises a knowing eyebrow at the kid. "Does she still snatch specifically red apples off vendors when you're in town? Does she still tend to store her knives in her boots when she thinks no one's looking?"

The kid doesn't have to answer. His silence is all the confirmation he needs, and it makes him feel victorious in some sense. 

"Let me ask you something else, then. How'd the famous Captain of the Cross-Haired Pirates get stuck with a simple-minded nobody like you? What did you do that was so special that she decided to stick around until now?" 

The damn brat doesn't answer.

He presses on. "Apparently, she made a promise to someone, and though I have a sneaking suspicion as to whom, I don't want to jump the gun." He grasps harshly at the kid's face, no longer smiling. "You know, and if you tell me, I might be convinced to lessen the restraints."

The damn brat still doesn't fucking answer, and it vexes him greatly. Even so, if there's one thing he's learned, it's that the kid's silence can be substituted for an answer.

So, he finally asks the billion-berry question: 

"Was it Shanks?"

Rubber Boy does not answer. He doesn't fucking answer, and Buggy's patience snaps like a twig.

You would be willing to go through all of this trouble, to keep the kid safe and help him achieve his dream, just because you made a silly promise to what was once your mutual friend. You would give up your career as one of the most successful pirates in the modern age, just for that?

Just for him?

Deep down, he feels something carve at him. Carve at the boyish version of him he left behind the same day he left you. Would you have been just as loyal to him as you were to Shanks, if only he stayed?

He does not voice these thoughts aloud. Instead, he can't help but beam, because everything he's theorized up until this point has just been verified. It aches, and it hurts, and it cuts, but even so, he can only smile down at the boy.

"Stretch him until he breaks." 

------

Although you hear a commotion coming from the stage room, and despite the urge you have to just break out and be done with this all, you deliberately remain in your cage. One leg pulled up to your chin whereas the other one rests uncomfortably on the stale ground boards, you do nothing more than let your temper simmer down.

Honestly, what a mess.

You made one thing perfectly clear to Shanks the day you agreed to disband your crew and keep watch on the boy. It had not even been a week after he returned to the docks of Fooshia Village, one arm short and the boy by his side.

------

"I am not his parent. I will not be held responsible for the mistakes he makes when he decided to leave land. I will only keep him alive until I decide he can do that himself; after he's earned his first bounty. After that, I'm off."

"And what will you do after?" he had asked, genuinely curious.

You didn't answer, because you didn't know.

"Look after the lad for me, will you? Help him achieve his dream." He had taken your shoulder under his warm remaining hand and said:

"Maybe one day, you'll find your own."

------

If you'd known that Luffy's dream would one day lead you back to him, you would've been more reluctant to make that promise. At the time, you had little interest in picking up the shattered pieces of your childhood dream, yet it seems that now it has decided to search you out instead.

Or rather, he has.

Your head hurts.

This is not the time for heartfelt reunions if there ever was one. Buggy has only one goal in mind, and that is to get his hands on that damn map. Harming Luffy will serve as a means to an end in achieving that, which happens to clash with your goal. You're not Luffy's parent, you tell yourself, but you're willing to extend the promise to Shanks just this once.

And so, after some careful deliberation, you make your escape. 

You hit the metal once, and it bends significantly. Then twice, and on the third strikes, they bend and crack, finally granting you access to direct contact with the ground. It's never felt so relieving to be earthbound, and you even go as far as to tap your feet a few times to enrich that feeling.

Having most likely heard the noise, two troupe members march through the curtains to see what's going on. The first one barely has the time to register your escape before you lunge. 

You're quick to subdue them, knocking the first one out with an easy choke-hold whereas the other mysteriously ends up with half his body stuck in what remains of your previous confinement. His ass hangs out in a rather humiliating position, but the point is, he's out of the way. 

The adrenaline is the one part of piracy you've missed. The surge of energy that flows through your veins, feeling the air brush your face as you make your move, the warmth in your heart that substitutes any pain or hurt you've ever felt if only for a moment.

You relish it.

You happen to find your weapons in the room, hidden in some crates. Your knives and your pistol, are both unscathed and fully functional, but you know that you'll end up relying on your hands for this. After all, it's personal, and personal matters are handled in a personal way. 

When you're certain the two troupe members are of no concern to you, you exit the back rooms and find yourself in the opening between the audience rows shortly after. The lights have been killed and there's an ominous silence stretching in the atmosphere.

You look up at the terrified audience, and though you're almost in clear view of them, none dares stray away from the view up ahead. 

Said view in question being of Luffy halfway submerged by seawater in a tank, already struggling to keep himself afloat. 

Fuck this. Fuck him.

You don't even stop to coordinate your next move as, as you would've done under ordinary circumstances. No, the moment you spot Buggy standing there, trying to reason with the kid with the promise of belonging and having a place on his crew, you lunge for the kill.

------

All Buggy sees just as you make your move is a flash of sharp eyes that seem to glow in the dim room. There's no word upon your entrance, no sound, not a single warning at all. A shriek resonates through the air, shattering the silence that had unknowingly settled over them, and it's his own. 

The air gets knocked out of his lungs as you shove your fist straight into his stomach. Ordinarily, that specific portion of his would've just straight up dislodged itself from his body, but it doesn't this time. He remains intact, a contradiction to what you had threatened to do, and he falls back several good feet on his back like a kicked dog.

A raspy groan is all the noise he manages to get out, heaving his chest in search of the air that was stolen from him. He throws one arm to the ground and gets his upper body up. 

When he finally manages to somewhat stabilize his line of sight, all he sees as the world remains blurred around him is you standing over him with a dangerous glimmer in your eyes. One he's already familiar with.

This is not his old friend or his old flame crew member. This is Cross-Hairs, the feared captain of the vicious Cross-Haired Pirates. The Beast of the East. The one whose aim never misses, and if it does, she'll hunt her target down to the ends of the earth.

And now, he's officially become your target. No longer a passive one at that, but the only one your eyes are set on. He doesn't know if he's content or unnerved by this.

There are no palpable emotions on your face, but he can read your eyes well enough to know that you're angry. No, angry doesn't even begin to cover it; you're absolutely, positively, completely pissed. 

"What?" He forces out, still aching from the punch to his abdomen. "Going to make good on your promise? Going to finally kill me after all this time? If so, then just get on with it!"

You don't answer, and he hates it even more than he would've had you responded. A part of him wants you to kill him; wants you to show that you care enough about him to just fucking do it.

No, instead, all you give him is a glare. That same glare that's never left your face since he first laid his eyes on you. You turn your full attention to the tank and, with one simple hit, you break the glass to try and free Rubber Boy. You free him, without even a moment to hesitate, and it feels so much more painful than if you’d just ended him on the spot.

He wants to scream. Buggy wants to scream until his lungs give in. Scream at your inability to fully look at him. Scream at your apparent concern for a boy who is no more a pirate than he is a banker. 

Scream, because even after all this time, you still refuse to choose him.

Never him.

[queerprayers]

holding your gay lover ash wednesday afternoon is like. the myth of the ancient martyr wouldn't understand us but I'd die for love too, I would. and I will, we all will.

I'll take my pink eyeshadow off in a couple hours, to be replaced with a smeared cross, a bigger love, a love I'll die into. I'll wash it off when I get home so I won't break out (and so it won't get on my pillow) and it'll still be there when I look in the mirror out of the corner of my eye.

either life or death will separate my butch and I—whether God leads us diverging ways or Sister Death claims us one by one first, I only get this for now.

but God asks us to live for now, to love for however long we get to, and to remember the whole way how fragile it all is. I don't pretend to know the why, but I hope I never forget the way my hand is warmer in another's.

I understand the rib story now, y'know? not in a way that triumphs over the love for my sister or my friend or my grandfather, but in a side ache that means we're slowly becoming made out of each other. I would be complete without it (I have been all along)—and also: the more people I love, the more faces God lives in.

I don't presume to know how love exists after death, but I hope—I know—we all return to the same dust. till death do us part, to become something else that can love easier and forever.

[visceravalentines]

a different kind of hang-up

Randy's mom calls while they're in the middle of something, again. Benson tries his best to get Randy off the phone.

2.6k words. canon divergence, boys on the run. established relationship. blowjobs. smoking. Benson being a menace lol he can't handle not being the center of Randy's attention. read on ao3 here if that's more your speed.

Benson just can't keep his hands off him, even when his mom calls.

The phone rings for so long, so long, before Randy can get to it. The second it starts up Benson recognizes the ringtone and tightens his grip on Randy's hips, sags on top of him with his full weight. He pushes his tongue into his mouth with intentional fervor because he likes fucking around with fire and Mrs. Bradley is a five-alarm inferno.

Randy makes a panicked sound and tries to wriggle free to no avail. He taps Benson's chest, but Benson takes the hint and throws it away unopened, snags Randy’s wrist and pins it to the bed.

Randy twists his arm out of his grip and gives him a shove, leans his head away. "Benson–please–I gotta get this." He makes a grab for the phone on the nightstand.

"You really don't," Benson murmurs, taking hold of his jaw with one big hand and pulling his lips back into range.

Randy lets out a frustrated grunt that gets lost in Benson's mouth and shoves him again, harder, with both hands and a knee for good measure. Benson relents, topples lazily to the side and gives him this goofy, satisfied smirk that makes Randy’s stomach do a flip and he just can't deal with that right now.

"You're gonna get me in trouble," he complains as he sits up and snatches the phone.

"Aw." Benson stretches like a cat, folds his arms behind his head, all ribs and armpit hair and lean lines of muscle. "Now wouldn't that be a shame."

"Hi Mom," Randy says, hoping he sounds perfectly even-keeled and normal and not like he's been rolling around with another man in a motel bed. He remembers his erection at that moment, the worst possible moment, and blushes so hard he can feel the blood trading places. He grabs a pillow and shoves it over his lap like she can see through the phone.

"Randy, I don't like this." His mom starts every conversation like this these days. 

Randy bites back a sigh. "I know, Mom."

"This isn't a normal thing. Friends don't ask friends to help them move across the country last-minute without a plan."

They've been through this so many times he's lost count. At least his story gets more solid every time he repeats it. "I told you, Brian doesn't have a support system. I'm just trying to do a good deed." Brian is Benson, because Benson can't be Benson, because Benson is wanted for murder. 

Randy feels the mattress shift behind him and stiffens when calloused fingers brush against his skin. His mother's list of grievances fades in his ears as Benson worries at the waistband of his jeans. 

"Randy," Benson sing-songs softly at his hip. "Tell her you're in the middle of something."

Randy waves him away, tries to ignore the scratch of his beard and his lips on his skin and tune back into the conversation at hand. "You’re a kind and responsible boy, honey, people will take advantage of that." 

"I understand, Mom, but I'm–"

He feels the pinch of teeth on his waist, jerks and bites back a yelp. 

His mother is alarmed. "Randy? Are you okay? What happened?"

Randy scoots down the bed away from Benson, shoots him a dirty look. Benson rolls onto his back, runs a hand through his hair and flashes Randy an upside-down grin. 

"I'm fine, Mom. Stubbed my toe."

"Sorry," Benson says innocently. "You look fucking delicious, what do you want me to do about it?"

"Are you walking around barefoot? I raised you better than that, Randy. Where are you even walking, aren't you still driving?"

"Yeah, we just–we stopped to grab some food and…stretch our legs a little bit." 

Benson sits up suddenly and Randy flinches in anticipatory distress before he even speaks. "We can stretch something else if you want," Benson offers with a wiggle of his eyebrows.

Randy grits his teeth and ignores him, picks frantically at the seam of the pillow in his lap. 

"I bet you're eating like absolute garbage. All that fast food isn't good for your long-term health, you know. God knows you had plenty of that at–well. God knows you've had plenty of that." 

She clears her throat, recovers from the near-miss of mentioning the incident. The new incident. She’s had years of practice at sidestepping the elephant in the room, but nobody’s perfect, and this is a much bigger elephant. Randy has to admit that it's convenient, not having to dodge questions because they aren't being asked. 

"Where are you now?" she says by way of a subject change.

Benson crawls across the mattress on his knees and winds his arms around Randy’s waist, leans heavy against his back and sets his chin on his shoulder. He smells like sweat and nicotine. Randy grips the pillow like a lifeline. 

"We're, um…well, I think we're–"

He knows where they are. He knows exactly where they are. Eighteen miles outside of Glasgow, Kentucky. He knows where they're supposed to be, too, according to the fake route he mapped to sate his mother's anxious curiosity. He just can't quite remember what he told her last time, because his brain's still sloshing around in oxytocin and Benson’s kissing his neck, rubbing his chest, thumb catching on his nipple again and again. 

"I-I think we're about 40 miles from Benson," he says loudly, as though the volume adds certainty. 

"Benson?" his mom repeats, sounding alarmed, and Benson chuckles in his ear. 

"Careful," he mutters. 

"Branson!" Randy elbows Benson off of him and stands up, stumbles away from the bed. "I meant Branson. Sorry, I fuc–I messed up." He cringes.

Benson laughs, delighted. "Randy Bradley," he says in a mockery of Mrs. Bradley’s disapproving tone. 

"Randy Bradley," his mom says like an echo. "Watch your language." 

"Sorry. I’m sorry." Randy stalks away, pacing the length of the tiny room, shooting Benson a look of combined irritation and desperation that ultimately reads as pain. "It’s been–I didn’t sleep well last night." 

"You gonna tell her why?" Benson asks slyly.  

Randy flushes red hot, throws the pillow in his direction and misses by a mile. 

Benson winces. "Yikes, babe." 

He flops on his stomach and reaches for the cigarettes and lighter on the nightstand. His back is crosshatched with pink scratches, a familiar set of eight nail marks etched into his love handles. Randy feels a detached sense of something like pride in spite of himself. 

"We gotta work on your aim. Tone up those arms." Benson makes a jerk-off motion to help paint the picture. 

Randy drags a hand across his face. His brain is fraying at the seams. "You can’t smoke in here," he mouths at Benson, who looks him dead in the eye as he lights up and smiles around the cigarette. 

His mother is waxing vitriolic about the dangers of sleep aids. Randy heaves a harried sigh. "No, Mom, that’s–I don’t even know where to get benzos." 

"I do," Benson says helpfully. Randy shakes his head. Benson apparently takes this as an expression of doubt rather than exasperation. "I do," he insists. 

"So how many more days until you get to San Diego, hmm?" his mom says. "You’re not making very good time, honey. Just because you don’t have a job to come back to doesn’t mean you can just roam the countryside like some deadbeat hippie." 

"I know, Mom. It–it’s about the journey." 

"Fuck yeah it is," Benson agrees. 

"Brian’s never been out of Louisiana and neither have I, so we’re…we’re just seeing the sights together." 

"And how long will you be seeing the sights?" 

Randy leans against the wall, knocks his head back against the plaster. "I guess…I don't know. I’ll keep you posted, but…we’re not really on a schedule." 

Benson gets up from the bed and pads over. He invites himself into Randy’s space, boxes him in against the wall, touches his face, touches his ribs. He blows smoke out of the corner of his mouth as he looks him up and down. 

Randy can feel his own heart thudding in his throat, suddenly hyper-aware of his body and its proximity to Benson’s. It’s Pavlovian, almost, the way he draws him in like that. Derails his thought process like a punch to the gut.

"So what, this road trip just goes on forever?" 

"No, Mom." Benson hooks his fingers into Randy’s waistband. Randy meets his gaze, kind of forgets what he was saying. "Just, uh…just until we get to California, and then…and then back again." 

Benson takes another drag and exhales slow, opens his mouth and lets the smoke curl up and out. Randy breathes it in on reflex. His mouth waters. 

"Hang up the phone," Benson murmurs. His dark eyes are on fire. 

"It–I–I’ll be home before you know it," Randy says. 

Benson leans in and sideswipes Randy’s jaw with his chin, worries at his earlobe with teeth and tongue. "Randy." His voice is gravel and satin. The cigarette glows between his fingers in Randy’s periphery. He reaches further into his pants. "Hang up the phone," he whispers. 

"I hate to say it, but I just don’t believe you, Randy," his mom says. Her voice drips with disapproval, cold around a core of genuine concern. He knows she’s biting back so much more that she’d like to say, and he loves her for that. For trying to give him an inch even though he’s taking miles and miles. 

"I promise I’m okay, Mom," he says, tilting his hips towards Benson, who puts the cigarette between his lips and starts unbuttoning Randy’s jeans. "I would tell you if I wasn’t. I just…this is just something I need to do. Something I–I want to do." 

Benson catches his eye, winks at him. "Hang up," he mouths as he sinks to his knees. 

"Randy," his mom sighs. He closes his eyes and can picture her shaking her head. "I just worry about you, sweetheart." 

Benson’s pushing his shirt up and tugging his pants down and dragging his tongue up the ridge of his hip. Randy can feel the heat on his waist from the cherry between his fingers. In another life, that would scare him so bad it'd make him sick, the chance of getting burned. He feels differently about it now. Knows Benson won't hurt him, not without cause. Knows he could take it if he did. There’s something seductive about that, the power of that. The trust.

Of course, Benson’s hand on his ass and spit on his skin count for something too.

"Randy? Are you there?"

"Yeah…yeah. Sorry. I know that, Mom, I know you worry," he says. "And I’m sorry about that." 

It sounds hollow, even to himself, but he means it. He wishes it was different. That he didn’t have to lie. But that’s not an option, not for Benson, and he can’t be without him. They’re a package deal now and he likes it that way. Wants it that way. Wants him.

"Please, baby," Benson mumbles against Randy’s stomach. He sounds as desperate as Randy feels.

He bites his lip, combs his fingers through Benson’s greasy hair. "I gotta go, Mom. I’ll call you at the next stop." 

"Promise me." 

Benson takes one last drag on his cigarette before he holds it up for Randy to take. He blows soft and slow along the length of Randy’s dick, runs his hand down the back of his leg. 

The smoke wafts up to his nose and Randy white-knuckles the phone. He’s so hard he can’t think, can’t possibly wring one more coherent sentence out of his lust-addled brain. "Yeah, I–I promise, Mom. I love you." 

"I love you, honey." 

Randy ends the call and throws the phone in the direction of the bed. He misses again, dimly registers the thunk as it hits the wall. 

"Fuck, Benson," he breathes at the same time Benson says, "Fucking finally," and wraps his mouth around him. Randy groans and slumps against the wall, lets Benson pull his hips closer. He likes being put where he wants him. 

"You're gonna get me in trouble," he says again, bringing the cigarette to his lips. He needs it bad after all that. He thinks he can taste Benson’s spit in the filter and he closes his eyes, lets his brain go blank. 

Benson comes off his cock with a pop and looks up at him. "But I always get you back out, right?" His tongue slides in circles. 

It's miraculous every time he does this, puts his mouth on him like this. Randy's wished for a miracle for a long time. This wasn’t exactly what he had in mind, but who is he to turn it down, with its long lashes and bad language and hands all over him all the time?

"S-so far so good." 

Randy takes another drag, feels the high sweep up and over him. It makes him dizzy, makes him giddy. Erases any guilt about lying to his mother and makes him feel good, better than ever, or maybe that’s the man on his knees in front of him. 

Benson tilts his head, takes him in. "You’re hot when you smoke, by the way." 

Randy chuckles weakly. "Yeah?" He doesn’t do it, not often, usually can’t let go of the voice in his head screaming cancer. But Benson showed him how and he doesn’t cough anymore and in fact, he likes it more every time he tries it. "My mom would lose her mind." 

Benson pulls a wry face. "About the smoking, huh? Just the smoking?"

Randy smiles shyly. "Maybe some other stuff too."

"What can she say, she raised a fucking degenerate. And I, for one, am glad she did." 

With that, Benson decides the conversation is over and puts his mouth to better use. Randy gasps and moans as he takes him slow, inch by inch, hot and wet and relentless. 

He braces himself against the wall. He can barely stand, legs already shaking. Benson’s always telling him he’s easy, and he can’t tell if that’s supposed to be good or bad, but either way, he likes being the way he is. Benson’s fingers dig into the meat of his ass and hit a bruise, sending a sharp thrum of that off-key pleasure straight to his dick. Benson might be right. He might be a degenerate.

He flicks the cigarette butt into the nearby sink and makes it, which is lucky. Maybe his aim isn't that bad after all. Benson has him down his throat to the hilt, which is also lucky. He knows that someday their luck might run out, like gas, like cigarettes, like his mother’s patience, but it sure doesn’t feel like it, not now.

Randy puts his hands on him carefully, the way he showed him, cups his skull and scrunches his hair gently like he's precious, because he is. Benson makes a sound that strikes at his core and he almost loses it right then, but he doesn’t. Not yet. For a second he thinks about miracles, and then he can’t think about much of anything anymore. 

The list of things he can't mention when his mother calls gets a little bit longer.