#thought about him today and i still want him dead

[mind-intheclouds342]

A new ladder - Reader x Curly

BEFORE I START

Yes, another story of Curly. What can i do? I love him.

THIS IS ALL INSPIRED BY THIS AWESOME ARTIST THAT I FOUND ON TIKTOK

btw the curly of this story will kook like this so you can already imagine him.

The user is ladonb.kokosa

PLEASE GO CHECK THEIR ART ITS WONDERFUL

That being said. Lets get start with

Part 1 - Next

"Cryostasis ended"

"His vital signs are stable"

"Who could it be?"

"Disinfect the wounds"

"There are no more survivors"

"They authorized us to give him the implant."

The man could hear several voices in the distance, he saw silhouettes, shadows, he couldn't distinguish the people around him.

He felt them putting a mask on him to anesthetize him, and everything went dark again.

When he woke up, he saw a woman checking his signs, and he was astonished to recognize her despite some of her physical changes.

She was his fiancée, the woman he was supposed to marry after that trip.

Why did she look like that? She seemed older, but in his sigth, she remained beautiful.

He made some sounds to get her attention, causing her to turn and look at him. She approached and pressed something on his neck.

Curly: "Linda..."

Linda: "...No... Tell me it's not you..."

The woman immediately stepped back, covering her mouth, unable to believe what she was seeing.

She didn't recognize the man laying in that bed in front of her, and she prayed so hard that he wasn't the man she was going to marry, but the fact that he recognized her confirmed her fear.

He could understand the terror on her face, but he didn't know there was something else he didn't know.

She took a deep breath and set her fear aside, sitting next to the man.

Linda: "Curly... If it really is you..." she said, still holding out a small hope that it wasn't him, "You were cryogenically frozen for 20 years... They rescued you because the Tulpar re-entered orbit near Earth before running out of energy, they were able to detect it and bring it back without causing damage, and that's how they found you inside... You have been in the hospital for two weeks today..."

He wanted to laugh as if what he was being told was a bad joke, it couldn't have been that long, right?

But looking closely at her, the small wrinkles now on her face and the few gray hairs she had showed her that she was real.

Linda: "They didn't find any more survivors and... The same press has taken care of paying your medical expenses because they want to hear your story... You have an implant in your neck so you can speak, a voice box, you have to press it if you have difficulties but in a while you won't need to do it anymore... and they did a skin graft... Including some prosthetics..."

She carefully took the prosthetics of his arms and raised them so he could see them, Curly felt like a completely different being.

Linda: "I recommend that you ask for what you want now because... As soon as they find out you're awake... They're going to bombard you with questions and the press will come here, they won't show any mercy."

The man tried to raise the prosthesis and pressed his implant on his neck to be able to speak.

Curly: "What about us?"

Linda: "Oh Curly..." she sighed, "When you didn't come back, I thought the worst... That you were dead... I just keep going with my life... I married someone else, I have two children... There is no longer an 'us'."

Before he could say anything else, a reporter peeked in and made a fuss upon seeing him awake; the place filled up in seconds.

The woman lowered her head and left the room in search of security to throw out the press, but the harassment didn't end there.

Curly chose to give them the answers to the questions they had by scheduling a meeting at the hospital.

Thanks to this, many people started donating things to him, including money to help him reintegrate into society.

But beyond the kindness of people, no one wanted to take care of him and help him, not even the nurses, they said they couldn't spend too much time near him.

Linda took care of him during his stay in the hospital while they fixed up his house that had been left abandoned.

Linda: "I found someone who can take care of you."

She commented while pushing his wheelchair, entering his house, that it looked completely renovated.

Linda: "I don't know if you still remember that I mentioned my younger sister, (Y/n), a couple of times?"

Curly: "The one who lived with your father?"

Linda: "That's right... My mom got full custody of her after a few years, and since then she has been living with her until she became independent shortly after turning 18..." 

Curly: "She was 12 back then..."

Linda: "She recently lost her job, I thought it would be a good opportunity for her. She is very responsible, I promise."

When they arrived in the room, he could see a woman standing and looking at the paintings hanging on the walls.

He had never met his fiancée's sister, but he had heard many stories about her, about how her father unjustly gained custody by labeling their mother as crazy, and since then they had fought to get the girl back.

He had been struck by how incredibly different she was from her sister; you two didn't seem related at all.

Linda: "Good thing you were already here," she mentioned with a smile to catch your attention. 

When you turned to look at them, Curly didn't expect such seriousness from you towards your older sister. 

"...Thank you for the job opportunity, I will do my best to help you," you mentioned, looking at the man, ignoring the woman. 

Linda: "Let me show you where everything is-"

"I've already been getting familiar with the place, it's not necessary, you can go."

Linda: "At least let me tell you which medications you should-"

"You have already sent me a message with clear instructions. I can do this, Lin."

Curly: "You should be more respectful to your older sister."

Upon hearing him speak, you turned to look at him again, without any expression. 

"...Lin"

Linda: "I'll leave, there is no problem. I'm sure you've already memorized everything to the letter. If you have any problem, don't hesitate to call me."

She indicated, she didn't want to make a scene and left without even saying goodbye to either of them. 

"...So you are Curly... It's a pleasure to meet you, I hope we get along well."

You had already made a bad first impression on Curly by treating the love of his life so poorly. 

"Lin left your pill organizer with me, and gave me the schedule for them, it's time for the first pill."

You took a bottle and opened it to take a pill, causing the man to tense up a bit as he remembered moments when he was given his painkillers.

Noticing his nervousness, you tilted your head somewhat confused and went to get something to drink so he could take the pill. 

What a surprise he got when you brought him a cup of chocolate along with the pill. 

"When I was little... I didn't know how to swallow pills, I would choke, so I would bite them... My dad used to give me pills with chocolate milk so I wouldn't have a bad taste in my mouth, don't you like the taste of the pills? These can be very bitter..." 

He thought it was very kind of you to consider that, immediately regretting having judged you without knowing anything about you. 

You helped him take the pills, giving him chocolate to drink slowly, it really helped with the bitter taste. 

Maybe... you weren't so bad.

[bisexualchaosdemon]

Bro, you don't understand, I had no intention of writting this, I had shit to do today, but it has possessed me. Send help!!

When Stuart rescues Nathaniel from certain death, he doesn't hand him over to the feds — He hands Nathaniel over to Ichirou Moriyama.

Ichirou wants a shiny new guard dog to match his shiny new throne. Nathaniel has never had any interest in using his skills like that, but he had forgotten all of his mother's advice. He stayed too long and he grew attached. All Ichirou had to do was threaten the Foxes safety and claim to have already taken one out as a warning to get Nathaniel to fall in line. Hearing that he had gotten Andrew killed was enough to convince Nathaniel to bury the final dregs of his humanity.

The Butcher lived to kill, enjoyed it, took his time, and he became a monster with his own urban legends. But Nathaniel was the opposite. He was quick and clean, because he hated killing. He was not a cautionary tale, he was a ghost. They turn Nathaniel into a personal driver and pilot for Ichirou. The body guard is too obvious, but no one really looks twice at the driver. The only person to ever utter the nickname 'the surgeon' was Ichirou.

Nathaniel had been forced to use knives like a Wesninski was meant to and it took time for him to spill enough blood to earn the trust of the Moriyamas. But when he did, he started to dismantle their empire. He adopted his mother's weapons of choice when carrying out his vengeance, so that Ichirou would not know it was him gunning them down until Nathaniel wanted him to know.

By the time he put a bullet between Ichirou's eyes, over two years had passed. But Neil Josten was dead, and Nathaniel didn't know what to do with himself now that the family he left behind were safe from their largest threat. It's months before he works up the courage to check on his old life, and he starts small. He starts with Jean, because he doesn't think he could survive reading anything about Andrew. But slowly he starts to look in on the Foxes that have already graduated. It's not until he gets to Kevin that he finds Andrew's name mentioned.

He closes the article immediately. He had been avoiding that pain for two years, he didn't know how to address it now. It takes three articles for Nathaniel to realise that Andrew is still being referred to in the present tense. When he finds the same in articles four and five, he finally searches Andrew's name.

There is nothing about his death to be found. It's not possible, but he's still listed on the line-up, right alongside his twin and cousin; Andrew Minyard, number three, starting goalkeeper for the Palmetto State Foxes.

And Nathaniel is on a plane to South Carolina without a second thought, cluching desperately to the torn and bloodied black fabric that Ichirou Moriyama had tossed at his feet when he had refused to pick up their blades all those months ago. He had never intended on letting the Foxes see the monster he had become, but he had to know the truth. He had to see Andrew with his own eyes to believe it.

I want "Neil died in Baltimore" Andrew and "The Moriyamas killed Andrew as a warning" Neil to meet

[ultralightpoe]

Sticky - Bucky Barnes

Authors Note: Yeah the fandom is EATING with this song and that trailer so I figured I might as well feed into my own obsessions. -Ultralight

Song Inspo - Sticky from Tyler The Creator

Word Count: 1851

Warnings: Fighting, reference to smexy times

Requests: OPEN [working on the first round now]

MAIN MASTER LIST

[Thank you for the gif @unearthlydust ]

Enjoy!

It’s the bitter laugh that no one wants to hear, that’s the moment when the realization begins setting in. The chill down his spine, locking in the fear as the cold sweat begins to form, knuckles tightening around his glass of whiskey. 

The room wasn’t cold, with the fire crackling just a few feet away, so there wasn’t really a reason for him to be shivering. But that cold embrace of fear was wrapping Declan Morarie like a blanket. He was a man coming to the realization he was about to die. 

It was Valentina Allegra de Fontaine, sat at the end of the long table she hadn’t been invited to, in a home she hadn’t been welcome in but still sat in nevertheless. In the beginning of Declans career he always wondered how people remembered her full name, but watching the women now he understood. She was completely untouchable. 

“Oh come on now,” She teases, clapping her hands together in excitement as that same bitter laugh passes her lips. “I’m excited for the show.” 

“You think this is funny?” He bites out.

“Well from my seat I think it’s pretty great. I, however, would never want to be the one getting hunted down by Bucky Barnes and his fucking wife.” She chuckles, pulling a piece of lint off her dress. 

“And how….” He has to take a breath in to compose himself, slamming the glass on the table before him. “How did they get to me?”

“You tortured her for years, your very own project….. Well her and 20 others. Honestly it was only a matter of time before they tracked you down.” She explains, standing up and walking herself to the bartop. 

“And you didn’t happen to put my name in their ear?”

“Barnes will be my problem….. On another day.” She nods, pouring herself a shot and turning to him to cheers before downing it. “But today, he’s yours.” 

She slams the glass down until it splatters across the entire floor, her heels crunching into it as she waltzes to grab her coat. “I do apologize old friend, and I am….. Hopeful? Yes, that seems like a decent word, I’m hopeful you will succeed surviving.”

“I will.” He sneers, but even the words fall flat.

“Oh I’m sure you will.” She laughs, her words dripping with sarcasm. “Though I do hear things get a bit sticky when those two decide they want someone dead.”

- 

“Who would have thought that this… hunting down the bad guys of the world could be soooo… hmmm.” You tilt your chin up in a quiet contemplation as your husband frets over your suit. He busies himself with checking all the safety measures you both had designed for the suits when you decided they would be worn again. 

“Tiring.”

“Cathartic,” You hum back, sliding your hands down to snatch onto his own and bring them up so he can stop fretting. “You’re grumpy.”

“I’m not grumpy.”

“You are.” You argue, kissing the knuckles of his metal hand before doing the same to his flesh hand. “You didn’t get much sleep and now you’re tired and grumpy. I don’t like when you do this grumpy.”

“No more with the word grumpy. You have overused it.” He huffs, leaning to kiss your forehead. 

“Fine, ill-tempered.”

“Hardly,”

“Testy.” 

“Not even close.”

“Crotchety.”

“Really? We’re going that far?”

“Hmmmm. Waspish. How about that?”

“I….. will allow it if it means we can just get this over with.” He kisses around your face, using his metal hand to tilt your face for easier access while you fight off a smile and push him back. 

“You know what to do.”

“Straight to business then.” And though he turns his back to you he keeps you close while using the tech pad to monitor the halls of the building you both were about to enter. 

“He doubled up on guards. Someone warned him.” He analyzes, shifting a bit to show you the footage. “Valentina.”

“Hmmm.” You choose not to actually respond, allowing your husband to work through his own anger and suspicion while you watch the guards to begin learning the patterns. 

“You don’t believe me.”

“I believe you.” You defend, passing the tech back. “But I don’t want you getting ahead of yourself. That is a hunt for another day.” 

“You ready?”

“Of course.” And it’s easy, the way you two fall to the plan so naturally, having worked together for years now. He lets you pass by him, his flesh hand catching a strand of your hair as you strut past, casting him one more glance before disappearing to find your entrance. 

Once you are at your mark you place the comm in, tapping it twice to make sure it works as you begin slicing the door with the silent laser. 

“Placed?” Bucky asks after a moment, meaning he had made it to his own mark. 

“You know it.” You mutter, pushing the door open in the small place you had cut before easily sliding in, your feet near silent on the ground as you watch the hall and begin trekking through. 

Moving like a shadow should never have been this easy, and yet it was, all thanks to the man you were here to kill. 

“будь в безопасности.” He mutters in your ear, his voice a soft caress in the first moment you hear steps approaching. ‘Be Safe’, his favorite thing to say since he knew you didn’t need luck. 

“être en sécurité,” You repeat his saying back to him, this time in french just to bother him since he could never speak it fluently. 

And then you finally meet the person walking closer, but before he can even prepare himself you are already sliding across the floor to kick out his legs before you swipe the overly large gun from his hip and knock him out with it, sliding on your knees to face forward with the stolen gun and raise yourself back to your feet. 

Each movement is a simple glide, one in front of the other as you trace the hall for movement. The plan was simple, meet in the middle and make your way up. You just had to shut down all the exits first. 

You started with the elevators, opening the first and shooting the controls until the light within it flickers and marking it useless and moving to the second one. When the doors slide open a guard moves to rush out, and you use his outstretched arm to heft him over your shoulder until you are throwing him to the floor and twisting until you hear a snap. 

“Sorry.” You whisper, kicking him away as you hear Bucky grunt within the comms as he finds his own issues. You mimic the movements you had used on the other elevator before rushing to the front entrance and using their own night time security gates against them. Locking anyone from leaving and keeping anyone from entering. 

And now that you were finished with that you began you started your way to meet your husband. 

It only took 15 minutes and by the time you do find him he’s leaning on the wall like nothing else mattered, tilting his metal hand under the light above him to admire the etching done for your wedding. 

“Fancy meeting you here.” You murmur, your tone seductive as you lean next to him. “What’s a place like this doing in a guy like you? …….Wait, don’t I have that backward?” 

“Keep looking at me like that and I’m sure we’ll find a lot of things backwards.”

“Oh,” You blink, staring at him. “I honestly can’t tell if that was sexual or a threat.”

“Then why can I practically hear your heart beating through your chest?”

“I never said I wouldn’t like it as either.” You huff, turning on your toes and signaling him to follow you. “You’re very beguiling.”

“Another big word. Should I be worried?”

“You got me the dictionary. Which I was slightly offended by.” You huff, twisting your body up the stairs as you see a figure in the corner of your vision, working with grace to pull him down and over the railing. “Stop flirting with me Barnes.”

“You stop flirting with me, Barnes.” He snaps back, making sure that guard stays down before using his gun and following you as back up. “Almost there.”

“Noted.” You murmur, shooting the tech pad to enter the door from the stairwell. The second the door swings open there are guards swarming you both, but it is lightwork when you both work together. 

The man that went to punch you met Bucky's metal fist before he could even make contact, the knife that almost hits Bucky’s mid section is easily lost the second you kick the wrist holding it. Like a bloody tango, every motion has a repercussion. 

“Любовь [love],” You huff, spinning to take out two men while facing Bucky. He reads your idea the second you make eye contact, allowing you to use his thigh as a stepping stool and throw one leg over his shoulder. 

He shoots the men in front of you both as he makes his way down the hall, you taking out the men coming up to flank you. 

By the time you reach the double doors holding the enemy within,  you swing off his shoulder with ease before an unknown figure rushes you both. 

You are thrown back, back meeting the floor as you slide while Bucky is thrown into the wall. 

“What the…..” He starts. 

“Fuck.” You finish, upon seeing who just hit you both. 

He was tall, with red eyes and a sneer on his face, yet another over drugged super soldier. 

Bucky is the first to regain himself, standing quickly and pushing himself into the soldier to knock the weight off and send him down. Only he pushes back, both men stuck in the hold, so you launch up. 

Your hands hit your husbands shoulders and you vault over him to lock your thighs around the neck of the soldier and twisting your body to send him flying back with you. 

Unlike you, however, he doesn’t manage to catch himself and falls on his back. Bucky is there, foot on his neck as you pull the gun and finish him off before moving to kick in the door and find Declan Morarie.

He doesn’t say anything, merely turning to the door with a bottle in hand as he staggers for balance. 

“Fuck.” 

“Fuck.” Bucky mocks, giving you a look before you both rush at him. 

-

“I think you need to go to bed.” You huff, watching your husband pull out the paperwork the second you both got home, after dropping your duffel bags by the doors. “No work.”

“I need to review her bills, she’s hiding something in plain sight-” His conspiracy theories about Valentina were interrupted by you slipping your shirt off and throwing it at him. 

“A hunt for another day then.” He amends, following you into the bedroom as quickly as he can.

[silentscrying]

🏀 buzzer beater | chapter ELEVEN.

nba!gojo x manager!reader

summary: you thought you'd gotten rid of arrogant NBA star satoru gojo when he left the curses after your first year in basketball management. but when your contract is up three years later, you find yourself working with him once again as the manager for the sorcerers. as you navigate playoff season alongside long-time friend ieiri shoko and the sorcerers' insufferable star player, you start to realize his sudden departure from the curses may not have been what it seemed, and maybe gojo isn't exactly the person (or player) you thought he was, either.

warnings: language, slight unwanted advances, mahito in general, fangirl todo. || sfw. 5.3k words.

THE NEXT DAY, the Curses take the series against the Foxes. It’s official: the Sorcerers-Curses rivalry will come to a head in the NBA championships, starting on Friday in San Diego.

The team went harder than ever at practice today, not only drilling but talking strategy and getting into the nitty-gritty of the psychological impact of the rivalry. Yaga knows Mei Mei and the Curses don’t go easy, or fair. They’re ready.

As you pull out the keys to your apartment, you frown at the package on your welcome mat, a weird cylindrical shape with no return address. After you make it to the kitchen, you open it and find a rolled-up sheet of glossy paper. What?

You spread it out on your countertop and see an official signed poster of Satoru, in full uniform, palming a basketball in one hand with a huge smirk on his face. With the photo’s professional editing, his eyes look even more blue than usual, and you may or may not stare at them a second too long.

“Jesus fuck,” you say.

As if on cue, your phone buzzes.

six: did you get my gift?? you: is this for target practice? how sweet six: :( you: baby six: oh it’s like that😏 you: that was an insult

When your phone goes off again after you’ve relegated the rolled-up poster to an end table, you assume it’s Satoru responding. But instead, you find a text from Geto.

suguru geto: Thought about my offer at all?

Great. He waited until the Curses made the championships and just thought he’d try again? You screenshot the text and send it to Satoru.

you: what if i turn on read receipts just for this

six: HAHAHAHA

You won’t, because you’re still planning on taking Geto by surprise on Friday when he realizes you and Satoru are actually together. Your phone rings, and your brow furrows as you realize you don’t recognize the number or the area code.

“Sorcerers management,” you greet, and a high-pitched voice comes through the speaker.

“Hi there! This is Takada with the Reggie Star Show.” You hesitate for a moment. Reggie’s show is kind of a huge deal, and Takada has become something of a personality herself, although you’ve always found her a bit over the top.

“Uh, how can I help you?” you ask finally.

“So! Reggie would love to invite Satoru Gojo onto the show before the NBA championships.” You stand stock-still in your kitchen.

What the fuck, you mouth silently to yourself. It’s not like Reggie never has athletes on the show. But only Satoru?

“Not the rest of the team?” you clarify, and Takada laughs, a high, kind of shrill sound that has you holding your phone a bit away from your ear.

“Well, you see, we’re hoping to promote the series a bit by pulling the centers from both teams! Mr. Geto has already agreed, so we’d love to interview him and Mr. Gojo together.”

Oh, Jesus.

You are 100% certain this is Mei Mei’s doing. You instinctively want to reject her now, but this isn’t really your call.

“Let me run this by Gojo and the coaches, and I can get back to you, Takada,” you say, hoping that tides her over for now.

“No problem. Thank you!” she chirps, and the line goes dead. You groan, staring at the ceiling. This is not worth the hassle. You swipe to Satoru’s contact and call him.

He picks up on the first ring.

“Miss me already?” he drawls, and you roll your eyes.

“Asshole. So, guess who just called me?”

“If you say Suguru I’m flying to San Diego early and cornering him in an alley.”

You laugh. “Okay, Jesus. No. Uh, the Reggie Star Show?”

“What?” Satoru screeches.

“They have Geto coming on before championships,” you sigh, “and they want you too. To ‘promote the series’ or whatever. Drama on screen.”

“Mei Mei’s idea?”

“That’s what I was thinking.”

“I don’t really think I have time, considering… it’s championships and we’re training every day? Yaga would be pissed, probably. Not much of a publicity guy.”

Something in your chest loosens at his words. Truthfully, you really don’t want him to go, to be in a situation where he and Geto can only verbally spar through a guise of political politeness.

“Also, I just… don’t want to?” he says. You grin.

“Good. I was hoping.”

“Aw, don’t want me to launch my television career?” You sink onto your couch as he keeps talking. “That could be a great return on investment for you, you know. You have my autograph now.”

“Shut up. And don’t tell Nobara about this. She’d be so mad at you.”

“Scaryyy,” he says, and he’s not joking. “Come over for dinner?” The change in topic has you smiling as you kick your feet up on the coffee table. “Miki and Gumi are coming. And Yuji.”

“And the dogs?”

“Am I not enough for you?” he scoffs, and you grin.

“Not even close.”

“Yes, the dogs, you heathen.”

“Wouldn’t miss it!” you say innocently, and hang up on him.

—

Tsumiki meets you at Satoru’s door with a massive grin on her face and immediately pulls you into a hug.

“Hi!” she says excitedly, ushering you inside.

“Hey, Tsumiki,” you smile, and then there’s a rapid pitter-patter of the dogs rounding the corner into the entryway, and you fall into a pile of fur and kisses. “Hi, buddies! Hi!” Shiro shoves her nose into your face and Kuro plops himself down in your lap right as Satoru rounds the corner.

“Stealing my girlfriend,” he whines.

“Dumbass,” you say, and let him help you up. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and you blush against your will.

“C’mon. Pasta’s ready.” You follow Satoru into the kitchen and find Yuji and Megumi putting plates on the small table. You raise a brow.

“Whose cooking?”

“Whose do you think?” Tsumiki asks.

“I helped!” Yuji insists, pointing to the oven. “I’m making garlic bread!”

Tsumiki pats him on the shoulder and says, “Yes, Yuji, you did a great job.”

You fire off a quick message to Yaga to confirm that it’s okay to reject Takada’s offer, and he responds within two minutes, Please do.

You step out to make the call, and when you come back into the kitchen, Yuji and Tsumiki are giggling at something.

“What are you two on about?” you ask, and Tsumiki, still snickering, hands you her phone. It’s open to a tweet of a grainy computer screenshot, and it says SOMEONE LOOK AT ME THE WAY SATORU GOJO LOOKS AT THE SORCERERS MANAGER PLS PLSPLS

That’s not even the part that gets you. First of all, it’s not from the most recent game—it’s from before you were together. You’re wearing the Limitless shirt.

Second, Kasumi retweeted it.

“Jesus,” you say, and Satoru appears at your shoulder.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.” You swat at him without looking and then pull out your phone to text Kasumi. “I need to tell her before she finds out somewhere else.”

As if on cue, your phone lights up with her name. Your first thought is that she somehow already knows and is FaceTiming you to scream at you. You swipe and her face materializes in front of you, a massive grin on her face and—has she been crying?

“Kasumi! Are you okay?”

“Yes!” she practically screams. And then she holds up her hand, and you stare for a long moment before realizing she’s wearing a ring.

“Holy shit!” you screech. “Kasumi!” The grin splits across your face, and she’s laugh-crying on the other end of the phone, and then she abruptly freezes.

And you realize Satoru’s very much visible in the frame behind you.

“Alley-oop,” she says. “You motherf—Alley. Is that—”

You can see the tips of your ears going pink in the camera in the corner of the screen. “Surprise?”

“To you, maybe!” she laughs. “Holy shit. Holy shit! This is the best day of my life.”

Muta appears beside Kasumi, squinting at the screen. “Tell me it’s because we’re getting married and not because she and Gojo finally banged.” Megumi wrinkles his nose at the other end of the table.

“Kokichi,” Kasumi scolds, but Satoru cracks up behind you and you can’t help but follow suit.

“Congrats, you guys,” you say. “I’m so happy for you. Does Akari know?”

“She’s next on the list,” Kasumi grins.

“We’ll let you go, then,” you say, and take a moment to just appreciate how fucking happy your friend looks. Her blue hair is a mess and her eyes are rimmed red, but she’s glowing. This has been a long time coming. You couldn’t be happier for her, honestly.

When she hangs up, Satoru grins and says, “Aw, basketball romance.” Then he looks pointedly at Yuji and Megumi.

“I suddenly feel like a fifth wheel,” Tsumiki announces. Then she looks at Shiro and Kuro, curled up together on the couch. “Seventh wheel?”

You plop into the chair next to Tsumiki and wrap your arm around her. “Nah, Satoru’s seventh wheeling. I’m here for you.”

She grins, and Satoru falls to his knees and dramatically fakes his own death. The dogs leap off the couch to investigate, and soon he’s laughing as Shiro slobbers all over him while Kuro decides to lay across his legs.

In truth, you don’t remember the last time you felt this content. It’s a nice feeling, warm.

And then a smell hits you, like something burning, and you furrow your brows and turn toward the kitchen. “Is something—”

“Oh my god!” Yuji screeches, practically falling out of his chair and bolting for the kitchen. “The garlic bread!”

—

The results of turning down the Reggie Star offer have, quite possibly, the funniest results of all time.

You’re curled up on Satoru’s couch two days later with your feet on his lap and Tsumiki on your other side, Megumi and Yuji sprawled with the dogs on the floor. On the TV, Todo walks on stage to a cheering studio audience and locks eyes with Takada, and you honestly wouldn’t be surprised if he just passed out right now.

“Simp,” Satoru says. You look at him incredulously. “Okay, hey, I did not say I wasn’t also.” He plants a kiss on your temple and Megumi pretends to gag.

You swear Todo literally has physical stars in his eyes when he looks at her. He shakes her hand with both of his and does a weird half-bow and says, “It’s such an honor, Ms. Ta—“

“Oh, please,” Takada giggles. “Just call me Takada.” Todo goes red again, stammering out a response.

“This is the most painful thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Megumi says. He’s only watching this because Yuji wants to.

“Mr. Aoi Todo,” Reggie Star says grandly, throwing an arm around him like they’re already best buds. “Take a seat, take a seat. Thanks again for joining us on such short notice!”

Todo takes his place on the couch while Reggie and Takada sit in opposing armchairs, the background flashing the Reggie Star Show logo as the theme music peters out. Reggie grills Todo with questions about the Samurai-Sorcerers series, playing against Yuji after playing with him in college, all the connections the team has with half of the championship bracket. And throughout, Todo just can’t tear his gaze away from Takada.

By the time it’s over you’re nearly falling off the couch, laughing yourself halfway to tears.

“Guys, it’s cute! He has a crush!” Yuji exclaims, and you all laugh harder. Tsumiki collapses into you, her hair spreading out over the fabric of the shirt you’re wearing—one of Satoru’s, blue and black and smelling like him.

After the commercial break, which consisted of an actually absurd amount of Takada promoting various useless products, Todo is nowhere to be found. Geto sits on the couch in his place with a press-worthy smile and a crisp, navy blue suit.

“And here we’ve got the starting center of one of the two NBA teams gunning for the championship title, Mr. Suguru Geto,” Reggie introduces, and the studio audience whoops and cheers as Geto waves them off, smiling modestly. You kind of want to slap him.

“Now, let’s not beat around the bush here, Suguru—you’re going up against the Sorcerers the day after tomorrow, and that means you’re coming face to face with your old teammate, Satoru ‘Six-Eyes’ Gojo.” Reggie looks pointedly out at the crowd, like they’re in on some big secret, and turns back to Geto. “How do you feel about this match-up, two starting centers with a lengthy history on the court with stakes this high?”

Geto sighs and leans forward a bit in his seat, one elbow on the armrest. “Well, Reggie, Satoru and I go back a long time.” You wrinkle your nose at the sound of his first name in Geto’s mouth. You feel weirdly defensive about it. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but we went to high school together and then college, so we’ve been playing basketball together since our early teens.”

Takada chimes in, “That’s quite the bond, going through the most formative parts of your careers together!” You can’t take her seriously, because in your head she’s still winking at the camera and waxing poetic about the merits of some new Japanese skincare line.

Reggie nods, encouraging Geto to go on. “I’ve gotta say, I am looking forward to seeing him again. He’s a hard man to get ahold of these days. It’ll be good to see him, albeit on opposite sides of the court.”

“No, it will not,” Satoru says with a false cheer in his voice, pointing a finger gun at the TV.

“And how do you think your odds are looking for this series?”

“Well,” Geto laughs, “the Sorcerers are talented, I’ll give them that. Clearly, they’ve made it this far. But I will say that the Curses are first seed with home court advantage.” He shrugs. “So do with that what you will.”

Takada glances at Reggie, as if asking permission for something, and he nods. “If I’m not mistaken, Mr. Geto, there’s another familiar face on the other side of things as well, a former manager of the Curses.”

Geto nods, a wide smile crossing his face, and you feel Satoru tense up beside you. “Oh, we miss her a lot, yes. She’s great at what she does. I keep telling her she should make her way back to San Diego if she feels so inclined.” He laughs, like this is some great ongoing joke.

“Oh, so you two still speak regularly, then?” Reggie asks, intrigued. Your jaw clenches, and Satoru’s hand encloses yours before it can become a fist.

“I just recently paid her a visit out east.” Oh my god. Oh my god.

“That fucker,” Satoru growls. Your phone buzzes with a message from Ieiri.

my wife: this little man bun bitch

my wife: what if i commit murder. what then

You’re seething, and even Tsumiki is frowning, the lines creasing her face, turning the corners of her mouth down. Paid you a visit? As if you’re friends and he came to catch up with you over coffee, not dropped in on your street in the dark to harass you about a job you don’t want?

“Well, sounds like it’ll be quite the reunion,” Reggie is saying by the time the smoke clears out of your ears enough for you to hear again.

Tsumiki reaches across you to ruffle Satoru’s hair. “He’s just trying to get under your skin. Don’t let him.”

You shoot a quick message back to Ieiri.

you: tbh i’d pay a lot of money to see y’all in a cage match

Reggie and Takada shift to broader questions about the series and you tune out most of the remainder of the segment, irritated when Geto answers one too many questions with Satoru’s name, subtly suggesting that the Sorcerers have none of the grit and discipline the Curses do.

“They’re a fun bunch,” he says at one point. “Like a barrel of monkeys. They just have a good time.” The tone is all fake, smoothed-out public relations, and it makes your blood boil. You know what he’s really implying, that it’s an insult. That the Sorcerers spend all their time hanging off hoops instead of drilling themselves into the ground. You know it’s not true. You’ve watched them work their asses off all year.

“God forbid we know how to have fun,” Satoru snorts, and you feel the tension easing from your shoulders just at the sound of his voice.

“You don’t,” you say teasingly, flipping yourself around on the couch so your head lands in his lap. “That’s entirely Kento.”

Satoru gasps and looks down at you. “You take that back. Nanami is the most unfun—“

“Not a word,” Tsumiki says helpfully.

“Everyone in this house hates me! Slander under my own roof!” He digs his fingers into your sides and starts tickling you, and you squirm out of his grasp and onto the ground, but he follows you. Soon it’s a mess of Shiro and Kuro frantically pouncing on both of you as you squeal for Satoru to let you go, and Tsumiki is definitely filming this whole thing, and it’s all so incredibly domestic and unserious and right that your heart swells in your chest.

Fuck Geto. He can’t get to you here, and he can’t take you away from the team you love.

—

Being in San Diego again is strange. The facilities are familiar, the gyms, the locker rooms, but you’re walking them a different person than you left them, experiencing the same setting in a new context that makes you feel like you’re living in one prolonged moment of déjà vu.

Nobara walks alongside you, bouncing between social media notifications and ranting about the way Geto made the Sorcerers sound on national television last night. Ieiri’s setting up in the training room down the hall, and Yaga’s pulled the guys into the locker room for a quick meeting before they launch into their last practice before the next day’s match.

You keep thinking about Yaga pulling you aside this morning, murmuring a quick warning in your ear. “If you see Mei Mei, no you don’t. Not worth the time. Just slip away.”

So far there’s been no sign of the other manager, and you’re glad for it.

Nobara’s phone starts ringing and she nods at you and peels off, pressing it to her ear and slipping deeper into the building. You lean against the wall, checking your own phone, making sure you don’t have any missed calls or emails.

The side doors open loudly, metal scraping across the floor, and you look up.

Fuck.

It seems Mei Mei doesn’t do her own damn dirty work.

“Oh, hello!” Mahito crows, making his way over to you. You didn’t like him when you worked for the Curses and you don’t like him now, his leering grin too wide for his face, hair tied into three sections behind his back. Him, you know—but you haven’t yet met the man beside him, a lanky, tall guy with oddly wide eyes and a long blond ponytail weirdly off-center on his head.

Of course, you know who he is. You’ve done your research, you’ve seen the roster. Haruta Shigemo.

“I hoped you’d be here.” Mahito comes to a stop in front of you as you push off the wall, crossing your arms.

“Mahito.” Your voice is cold, flat.

He frowns, an exaggerated, off-putting gesture. “Thought it’d be a happier reunion,” he says. He holds his arms out toward Shigemo with a flourish. “I’d like you to meet Haruta. He, ah, was something of a replacement for your Six-Eyes.”

Shigemo stares at you, unblinking, a small, close-lipped smile sending a shiver down your spine. You’re suddenly aware of how close these two men are to you, that your back is to the wall, that you’re alone in the hallway.

“Look, I really have a lot to get done—”

“Oh, we don’t mean to bother you!” Mahito laughs, high-pitched and manic. “We just wanted to welcome you back home, you know. Make sure you settled in to the old stomping grounds.” He leans in, breath smelling like some odd combination of fruity gum and stale crackers. You shudder involuntarily. “I hope you don’t take it too hard when they lose,” he whispers, too close to your face. “Should you need an out, remember we’re in your corner.”

Shigemo holds a hand up as you’re about to retort, tilting his head and studying you. “If he’s not your type,” he giggles, nodding at Mahito, “I’ve got some time on my hands tonight.”

Your face flushes deep red with anger, fists going white-knuckled at your side. “I do not need—”

“Excuse me,” says a cool, familiar voice, and the tension in your muscles goes slack as Kento comes to stand directly between you and your newfound nuisances. “I believe we’ve already taken care of any business that needed tending to before the match tomorrow, yes? Is there anything else I can help you with? We’re just about to kick off practice, and I’m afraid our time is limited.”

Mahito steps back, holding his arms up in false surrender. “Nanami! Hello!” He grins widely. “We’re representatives, of a sort. Just making sure the bunch of you are settled in.” Shigemo nods and looks Kento up and down, calculating.

“We are just fine,” he says flatly, nudging you with a hand behind his back. You nod at the two Curses players and storm down the hallway toward the gym, heart racing in your chest. Behind you, you hear Kento still talking. “Do tell Mei Mei her… thoughtfulness is noted.”

In the gym, the guys are warming up, and your eyes immediately lock on Megumi, angrily slamming an innocent basketball against the wall, over and over. Yuji dribbles between his knees without looking at his ball, watching Megumi intently.

You don’t see Satoru, and for a moment you’re worried, feeling a little off-balance, until you feel hands on your shoulders, spinning you around. “Well, hello,” he says, and you laugh, dropping your head into his chest.

“Fuck is up with Megumi?” you ask, nodding toward him, and Satoru frowns. You notice now the tension in him, the slight anger in his eyes, an energy like impatience and frustration all around his edges.

“Suguru was fucking with him. Saying shit about Tsumiki. I was dealing with him.” He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, considering as he looks over your shoulder at Yuji drawing Megumi back onto the court. “He’s such a dick.”

Kento walks in then, making his way straight over to you. “You okay?” he asks, and Satoru’s brows knit together.

“What? Why wouldn’t she—” He turns to you. “Why wouldn’t you be okay? What happened?”

“Mahito,” you say. “Shigemo, too. Fucking pricks.”

Satoru breathes in sharply, his grip on your shoulder tightening protectively. “If they put their fucking hands on you—”

“Toru,” you say, the nickname slipping out without your permission. It seems to calm him down a little, makes him look at you steadily. “Kento got them out of the way. And they won’t do anything to me. They’re just doing Mei Mei’s bidding, same as Geto, probably.” You grab his hands in yours, nodding at Kento to say you’ll be okay. He inclines his head and walks away, gathering the rest of the team in the center of the gym.

“They want to get under your skin. Don’t let them."

Your voice is steady and calm, coated with a reassurance you don’t feel. Your nerves are still on high alert, Mahito’s breathing down your neck, Shigemo’s unsettling scrutiny lingering in your mind. But you know they’re not after you. You’re a conduit for them, a way to fuck with Satoru. And you will not let them.

“Don’t let them,” he echoes, sighing, pulling you in, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

“Remember, flagrantly disgusting display of public affection. Imagine their faces.”

He laughs, loud and bright, and something warm blooms in you at the sound. “God, you’re the best.”

“I know.” You pull back and shove him in the direction of the team. “Now go practice so I can watch you kick their asses.”

He grins at you, does a little half-bow, snapping back into his untouchable, unbothered self. “Anything for you.”

—

There's really no reason for you to have the clipboard in your hands. Every note you’ve taken is committed to memory. You know both team’s rosters inside and out, know every detail of the schedule, what a win or a loss means for the schedule, score projections, all of it. But you need something to do with your hands, so you hold onto it, clicking and unclicking your pen, scribbling in the margins of old brackets, trying to contain all your nervous energy into a manageable space.

And you’re not the only one overflowing with energy. The stadium is alive. The lights are bright, the crowd raucous, the massive hanging scoreboard broadcasting CHAMPIONSHIP SHOWDOWN SPONSORED BY KFC. You don’t think you could eat right now even if someone shoved a bucket of fried chicken into your hands.

“That’s just mean,” Satoru mutters under his breath, gazing up at the advertisement.

“What?”

He shakes his head. “Nothin’.”

He glances down at you and then across the court, where Geto has been tracking the two of you with searching eyes. Mei Mei hides behind a clipboard as well, though you notice her eyes flickering back and forth, studying Satoru, you, Yaga. You pointedly avoid looking at Mahito and Shigemo. Pricks.

The NBA championship series. Sorcerers versus Curses. It all comes to a head here, an endless rivalry for a championship title.

“So, I’m thinking now or never,” Satoru says, a mischievous smile tugging at his lips. When you realize what he means, it takes everything in you not to glance across the court at Geto. A smirk spreads across your face, and you grab Satoru’s jersey and pull him toward you.

“Good luck,” you say, and then you kiss him, hard and long and intentional, and you know Geto sees you.

“I think,” Satoru says, pulling back a little breathlessly, “we should do that every game.” He grins and you swat him away, making your way over to Ieiri and Nobara in the far corner, and you can’t wipe the smile from your own face. On the way there you chance a look across the court. Geto isn’t looking at you, but he’s looking at Satoru, talking lowly out of the corner of his mouth to Mei Mei.

Point for me, you think.

“You’re actually nauseating,” Nobara says when you reach her. You know she’s not serious. She knew the plan. She loved the plan.

“I’m making a point,” you say anyway. She follows your tilted head toward Geto and Mei Mei, and you watch the slow, shit-eating grin spread across her face.

“Oh, so worth it,” she murmurs.

You tug the headset on and listen to the unfamiliar announcers, wishing it was Zenin and Panda in your ears but settling for the new, faceless voices instead. They’re not the same guys who usually commentated on the home court when you worked for the Curses, and you’re oddly glad about it, that there’s not another reminder of the loaded history here right in your ears.

“Charles Bernard here with Rika Orimoto,” the new voice says, “ready to watch this long-time rivalry play out in real time.”

When she speaks up, Rika’s voice is bright and younger than you expected, animated where Bernard is entirely deadpan. Interesting partnership.

As the starters take their positions, you’re surprised to see that Satoru’s not the one taking the tip-off.

Kento is. And in front of him, eye-to-eye with a sardonic smile, is Mahito.

Ah, shit.

The ref’s expression is flat and unaffected, but his eyes dart between the two shooting guards as they face off in the center of the court. You wish you could hear what they’re saying.

“An unusual choice for both teams here as we kick off this final series,” Bernard says. “Neither of our centers taking the tip-off today.”

Kento shows no emotion as the ref lets go of the ball, and Mahito leaps, but he’s not fast enough.

“Number thirty-seven Kento Nanami swipes the tip-off without hesitation!” Rika announces. “Back to number six, the Sorcerers' Satoru Gojo, and a fantastic pass up to Fushiguro.”

The Curses' hulking point guard, Jogo, is right up in Megumi’s face with a massive hand reaching out to block, but Yuji grabs the rebound and pounds it through the hoop in seconds.

“And the Sorcerers take the lead just sixteen seconds in,” Bernard says. You look over at Ieiri and Nobara, grinning, and then back to where Mei Mei stands with a stony expression across the court.

You feel good about this.

Back and forth, back and forth. Ino is giving Jogo a run for his money, using his speed to dart around the massive point guard before he even sees what’s coming. In his breakaways Yuji keeps finding himself pitted against Mahito, and it seems like it’s always a fifty-fifty whether the block is successful.

“Some subs as we enter the second quarter. On San Diego's side we have Haruta Shigemo on for Fumihiko Takaba.”

“Yuta Okkotsu on for the Sorcerers!” Rika says, a little too excitedly, before she catches herself and calms down.

“Someone has a fangirl,” Nobara snorts beside you, holding just one side of the headset to her ear.

You can’t tear your eyes away from Satoru and Geto as they go up and down the court, always on each other’s heels, breathing hard. It’s personal, and everyone can see it. If they’re saying anything you can’t make it out.

Both teams are going all-out right now, and the fans feel it too. Megumi’s guarding Naoya Zenin like a shadow, something in the air around them tense and constant. You don’t see Yuji’s uncle but you can certainly hear him, somewhere behind you on the visitors’ side, screaming, “HELL YEAH! SHOW THEM WHAT A WIN REALLY MEANS! THESE FUCKERS WOULDN’T KNOW FIRE IF IT LIT UNDER THEIR ASSES!”

You give it two minutes before he’s kicked out.

Inumaki goes on, then Hakari, and at some point the Curses swap Jogo out for Dagon, and it’s go, go, go. You can barely catch your own breath by the half, the game wrapping around you like you’re the one playing it, and Satoru’s drenched in sweat as the team files back to the locker room. He reaches out and pinches you in the side and you stick your tongue out at him, like the mature adult you are.

“Gross,” Nobara says.

The rest of the game goes by in a similar blur of shots and blocks and heated matchups, Toge nailing a few free throws, Takaba coming back on and managing to slip past Megumi only once. The scoreboard never reads more than a six-point deficit.

You almost don’t hear the buzzer when it’s finally over, players skidding to a stop on the court, their heads turned up toward the scoreboard.

“Holy shit,” Ieiri breathes beside you. “We won. We actually fucking won.”

You rip off the headset, the grin overtaking you, relief and pride flooding your veins like a drug, and the rest of the team floods the court in celebration. They beat a first seed team on their home court.

Satoru catches your eye over the mass of people and smiles, and you wave back.

And this is only the beginning.

directory. || prev.

jjk taglist open: just send me a message!

@shutuppeter @mikikkoo @reactwithjan @theclassbookworm @lilactaro

[chuusheartattck]

HAUNTED

Chapter 4: Missing

Despite how anxious you felt, you weren’t about to be late on your third day of class. Groaning, you slowly make your way out of bed. You weren’t sure why you signed up for nine am classes but here you were.

Lumine was still asleep since she didn’t have class today. What a lucky bitch.

You quickly got ready, packed your bag and made your way out of the dorms. The cool autumn air stung your face as you exited the warm building.

You were tired from staying up late. You weren’t sure why Charlotte hasn’t answered her texts. Has something happened to her? She would’ve at least updated you. Right?

You checked your phone again and still no notification from her. She must’ve forgotten to text you back. Right?

After what seemed like forever, you made it on time for your first class. Scara had already gotten there before you.

You sat down at the available seat next to him.

He slowly looked at you, “Do I know you?” His eyes moving up and down at you.

“Shut the fuck up,” You gently pushed his head in response. “Anyways, hypothetically, what if your friend went somewhere she wasn’t supposed to be and stopped replying to your texts?”

Scara gave you a confused expression. You ended up explaining everything for 10 minutes including showing him the texts between you and Charlotte.

He sat in silence for a moment before responding, “I think your friend is stupid.”

“Aren’t you at least a little bit worried?”

“Ever heard of curiosity killing the cat? I’m not saying she’s dead but she clearly wasn’t careful enough. She must’ve gotten expelled or something and can’t reach her phone.”

“I guess you’re right. I don’t know I’m just worried for her.”

“You met her a few days ago. You don’t know her. She’s probably fine.”

The professor was already starting class. You turned away from Scara and tried paying attention. You kept thinking about everything Charlotte has told you up to this point. You wondered if your professor knew something you didn’t.

After a dreadful two hour long lecture, class was dismissed. You barely remembered what it was about since you were preoccupied with your own thoughts. Periodically you would check to see if Charlotte was at least active. Scara had to confiscate your phone for a while.

As you two were packing up, you took your phone and checked it again. Still nothing.

“Did she ghost me or something?” You muttered under your breath.

“Y/n stop. You sound like you’re in a situationship,” Scara grumbled in annoyance.

The two of you made your way out of class, “Honestly you’re right, maybe I am being dramatic,” You were about to say more when something caught your attention.

A group of students were hanging up posters. The posters were of someone familiar. You were speed walking towards the crowd with Scara trying to catch up behind you.

On the wall you saw a black and white poster with the words “Have you seen me?” in giant bold letters. Below it, was a picture of Charlotte.

This can’t be real.

You grabbed the attention of a nearby student, “Is she actually missing?”

“We think so,” The student began. “She didn’t show up to class today and hasn’t been answering her phone. We sent someone to go to her dorm but she wasn’t there and her belongings were still in place. We even asked her roommate and they said they didn’t see her come back last night.”

“Did she tell anyone where she was going?” You questioned.

The student shook her head, “No, her roommate doesn’t know either. Charlotte has been secretive lately,” She handed you the poster. “If you know anything please contact the number below. We tried getting help from the police but they’re not willing to do anything. This is all too strange.”

The student walked away, leaving you and Scara speechless.

You stared at the floor in silence. You weren’t sure how to process the fact that someone you know is missing and possibly dead. You didn’t want to think Charlotte was dead but every bad possible outcome started flooding your brain.

You started to regret not going with her. Maybe if you went with here this wouldn’t have happened. It was terrible to blame yourself, but you couldn’t help it. You were the last person she talked to.

“Sorry,” Scara’s voice interrupted your thoughts.

You took a deep breath trying to recollect yourself, “Thanks. We have a bit before our next class so I’m going back to my dorm. You can come if you want.” You couldn’t look him in the eyes. You were afraid you were going to start crying.

You weren’t sure if you were allowed to. You knew it wasn’t your fault but you still felt like you could’ve done something.

The two of you began walking to your dorm. It was a silent walk, he wasn’t good with comforting people. It’s not like you were in the mood to start a conversation anyways.

He was typing on his phone a lot which you assumed was him warning Lumine you guys were coming.

Everything felt odd.

What happened to Charlotte? Where is her phone? Did she get kidnapped?

You were too lost in your thoughts and didn’t seem to notice the three figures ahead of you.

Scara managed to pull you before you crashed into them, “I know you’re sad but pay attention- wait Aether?” Scara looked passed you.

Aether, Cyno, and Xiangling were standing awkwardly in front of you. It wasn’t like you to completely ignore them.

“Y/n are you good?” Cyno waved his hand in front of you.

“Yeah I’m fine! Just something crazy happened so I’m a little shocked is all,” You tried waving off his concerns. Nobody bought it but they weren’t about to pry.

“Where were you guys going?” Xiangling asked.

“Back to Y/n’s dorm,” Scara replied curtly.

Aether and Cyno raised their eyebrows, “Lumine is there too!” You interrupted. “If you aren’t busy then you should come. I have something I need to tell you guys anyways.”

Cyno began to talk, “Is it important? We were going to go get Chipotle and-” Aether smacked his arm and pointed at the poster you were holding. Cyno’s face turned white when he realized his mistake, “But Chipotle can wait!”

You rolled your eyes and the five of you began walking again. The four of them were talking amongst themselves while you were in your thoughts again.

You were trying to theorize on what happened to her. You didn’t know her for a long time but you still chatted and made a connection with her. You kept glancing over at the poster and saw her face staring back at you.

You wish it was just a terrible dream.

All of you finally arrived at your dorm. When you opened the door, you were greeted with the rest of your friend group waiting for you.

You stood in the doorway for a second, confused on how and why they’re there. The room isn’t that big either so it was impressive to see all twelve of you fit inside.

“Um..hi?” You managed to say while closing the door behind you.

“I didn’t know they were coming either. Apparently Xiangling texted them to come meet here for an emergency,” Lumine looked at the girl next to you. “I don’t know how she managed to convince them to ditch their classes.”

“Is that what you wanted to talk about?” Navia pointed to the missing person poster in your hands.

You nodded and sat down on your bed which Heizou and Kazuha were occupying.

You began to recount everything from last night and up until now. It took a while but you were able to finish without bursting into tears.

Yanfei was the first one to speak, “What do you want to do about this?”

You laid back on your bed, staring at the ceiling, “I’m not sure. What can I do? Nothing right? If Charlotte’s journalism friends couldn’t get the police to do anything then what can I do? It’s not like I can look for her myself.”

“Not by yourself but with a group of others perhaps,” Heizou chimed in. “I mean fuck, if she was trying to expose the school and went missing in the middle of it…”

Yanfei sighed before replying, “I get what you’re saying but we don’t know this girl. If we try to find out what happened to her then what if something similar happens to us?”

“I agree with Yanfei, she went missing trying to find out what happened to this other person that went missing,” Aether began to talk. “But I also see where Heizou is coming from. It seems way too much of a coincidence that Charlotte vanished while investigating the school.”

“Aether you cannot be serious about this,” Lumine deadpanned. “I feel bad for what happened to her but we aren’t detectives. This isn’t some mystery crime show, this is real life. There’s real life consequences.”

“Also what if Y/n now has a target on them? They were texting Charlotte through everything. Whoever or whatever took her must’ve saw the texts,” Scara added.

Everyone was arguing amongst themselves. Some of them were on board with finding out what happened and some were trying to be rational about this.

You sat up and talked over them, “I don’t need your guy’s help if you don’t want to do this,” They all stared at you blankly. “Listen, I understand you don’t know this girl so you don’t have to argue whether we should do something or not. I’d feel even worse if something happened to you guys because of me. I’m fine with trying to investigate alone, even if it’s stupid.”

Everyone tried arguing back with you, “All of you shush! I’m not saying I’m going to do this like how she did it. I’m not sure why I want to in the first place. I just feel like I have to do something. Even if we weren’t close she was still someone I was getting acquainted with.”

It was quiet for a moment before Hu Tao broke the silence, “I mean they can’t take all twelve of us right?”

“What friend would I be if I let someone do this by themselves?” Navia muttered looking at you.

Everyone hesitantly agreed to help you in someway.

You were shocked to say the least, “You guys don’t have to do this. It was a crazy idea anyways I should just let someone else handle it-“

You couldn’t finish the sentence before Kazuha interrupted you, “You say that but eventually you’ll end up doing it on your own anyways. It’s not something you can easily forget or ignore.”

“I still think it’s a dumb idea but how do we start?” Xiao asked.

“Well I’m glad you asked!” Heizou got up from your bed and towards the whiteboard on the wall. He took a marker and started to write down his thoughts. “Since she was last seen in the library I suggest we start there. Now before any of you say anything, I know it might be dangerous considering she was last seen there. However, it’s not like it’s taped off. Anyone can still go in there.”

“Yeah but what if it’s closed off?” Yanfei got up and took the marker from Heizou. She crossed off ‘check secret library room.’

Heizou snatched the marker back, “I considered that too but it’s a room. They might make it harder to find but they’re not going to completely close it off. It’ll still serve a purpose.” It was clear he was in his element. “Back to what Scara said about the school now targeting Y/n. I highly doubt it. Charlotte most likely has a password to her phone so it’s not easy for someone to get into it unless they hire someone to do it. Usually that takes a few days to process and in the meantime, her friends already filed a missing person report. If they stated that she didn’t tell anyone where she was going then they have no purpose going through it.”

“She took pictures on the camera she always brings. They probably destroyed or confiscated that. They wouldn’t think she took pictures on her phone,” You added. “If the police aren’t willing to help then they’re probably connected to the school. Sounds fucked up but it’s possible.”

“Library it is,” Yanfei mumbled and sat back down on the floor. “I still don’t think all of us should go inside the room. Half of us should stay outside and be on the look out for anything.”

Everyone nodded in agreement. It was still risky to go to the library again but what else was there to do?

“I have pepper spray if anything does happen,” Hu Tao chimed in.

“I can attest it does work. She sprayed me once on accident and I saw my life flash before my eyes,” Cyno winced recalling the memory.

You all agreed to go during the weekend when nobody has any classes. You’ll meet up back at the dorm and go together for safety reasons.

It made you hopeful that your friends are there to support you. It was still dangerous but there’s more of you compared to you going by yourself.

One by one everyone started to leave and it was time for you and Scara’s next class. This time you felt like you could breathe for a second. You were still anxious but you were one step closer to finally understanding what the hell is going on with this university.

Masterlist II Previous II Next

A/N: Its been a while since i last updated 😭😭 Sorry about that! I got a bit unmotivated to continue and i got a job so it made it harder for me to sit down and write but i’m back now! I forgot how much i enjoyed writing this series lol The actual romance will begin next chapter dw

Synopsis: Friends start their first year at Teyvat University. The school that is known for its paranormal activity. The group doesn’t truly believe the rumors until they start to experience how frightening the school can be. What happens when the friend group investigates the truth of the hauntings?

Taglist: @morgyyyyyyy @state-of-grac3 @trulyylee @jellichuu @practicoi @yuminako @eyshamuun @kuniz-darlingg @heartsforni-ki @lalalaloveallmydays @animeobsessed56 @samyayaya @lloovvv @adepticiaoo @cherrysnows @miisamores @strayharmony943 @xionri @kazumiku @bethleeham @sukisprettyface @jayzioxx @kaikaidenkai @js-a-silly-little-guy @jiminscarmex @i-am-me-and-you @crimxeorcremeexistspeacefully @brideofbriar @floweringanna @miy-svz @vitanye

[splendsay]

COD FF // Callsign: Sunshine // Ch. 42: Amongst the Gray

listen idk what about this chapter was so fucking hard for me to write but alas

here we are

I do hope u enjoy regardless of how much I struggled to shit it out

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Callsign: Sunshine // Chapter 42: Amongst the Gray

Rating: 18+ !!MDNI!! Chapters: 42/? WC: 112,264 Pairing(s): TF141 x F!Reader (You) Chapter Warnings: Explicit language Chapter Excerpt (🚨spoilers!!🚨):

This room is very gray. 

It's really just -- it's so gray. The walls are the wood of long-dead trees, the color and the life siphoned out of them by the cruel and unyielding passage of time. The floor isn't much better. Hard-packed dirt. Ancient. Untouched by the sun. 

There are no windows. And the singular lamp in the center of the long, wooden worktable does little to illuminate the space.

Every corner of this room feels bereft. Dull. Still. 

It's the servant's quarters. That big, open room in the basement where Gaz shot the zombie's brain out.

You haven't set a foot in here since then. Since...all of it. The zombie. Laswell. You're not sure why Cap picked this room instead of the kitchen. You suppose it doesn't matter.

You should probably give her a name, you think. The zombie. For as often as she crosses your mind. 

You mentally admonish yourself for not thinking of it sooner and comb your mental list. The one you'd started over a decade ago, back when you were still practically a girl. When you thought a baby was something you wanted. Or could even have. 

Sarai. Bijou. Marise. 

None of them quite fit. 

You'll keep this in the back of your mind, though. You'll think of something. 

She deserves a name. 

Cap, bless his heart, has been droning on and on about the game plan for Boston and today's team assignments for the last fifteen minutes -- and you've heard almost none of it. 

Your legs are crossed uncomfortably beneath you, clenched together so hard you're losing a little feeling in your right butt cheek. You can't help it, though. You're trying to hold in place the ragged, long-forgotten washcloth Farah managed to find for you when you'd come crying to her door minutes before today's call-time. 

You'd awoken that morning to the sight of blood. Covering your hands. Stark against poor Simon's white sheets. 

A wave of panic had crashed through you -- only to be swiftly followed by a familiar twinge in your lower back. 

You'd shifted the covers back. Huffed a disbelieving laugh and simply -- stared. At the sticky shade of currant coating the skin of your inner thighs.

Simon had startled hard at the sound, hands immediately finding your waist, tugging you into his body protectively. 

"Si, it's okay," you'd assured him. "I'm okay."

He had blinked down at you, eyes snagging around your legs. "What--oh. Oh."

You'd spent the next several minutes convincing him that you were, in fact, okay, and allowing him to carry you to the bathroom for another shower. He'd taken his time with you again -- tender and reverent and utterly devoted to you. You're not entirely certain he's real sometimes. But he is. Every time you pinch yourself to be sure, he swats at you like a protective mother hen. 

"What the hell're you doing?"

"Just...checking."

When you'd insisted upon returning to his room that you would do his laundry for him, he'd furrowed his pretty blonde brow in argument.

"I know how to get blood out of linens, Ace," he'd said, practically rolling his eyes. And, given that you had little rebuttal against this truth, that had been the end of it. 

"Sunshine?"

The sound of your name on Cap's lips snaps you back to reality. You jolt in your seat and grimace at the cascade of ugly sensations that follow. Fucking periods.

"Y-yep?"

Cap frowns at you. "You're with Soap."

Your eyes find his directly across the table from you, wide and blue and happy to see you. Your own crinkle in return. He toes your shin playfully in greeting and you have to resist the urge to react with a similar gesture, lest you shift your rag out of place. 

"Alright," Cap goes on, clapping his hands together. "Begone with the lot of you. We'll reassess tomorrow, map out a plan for hauling shit out of here. Pick-up is in three days."

The room stirs as people rise to their feet. Scuffs of shoes. Grouchy morning grumblings. You glance to your right to find Simon staring daggers at the Captain. 

"What is it?" you ask. 

He looks down at you, gaze immediately softening. "Nothin'," he mutters. "Just sorry to be stuck with Cap all day instead of with you two."

You giggle and waggle your eyebrows at Soap, who grins. You give Simon's knee a conciliatory squeeze.

"We'll come find ye for supper?" Soap suggests.

Simon smiles at his friend, his mask stretching with the movement. 

"Alright. Just try not to get into any trouble without me."

Soap snorts. "Wouldn't dream of it, L.t."

Simon shakes his head. "Nah, be careful with this one." He jerks a thumb in your direction.

"Hey!" 

..................................................................... Links to: Spotify Playlist Full Fic

[luxcuriousao3]

Dove: A Zombie Ghost Story (Chapter Four)

Summary: “I wonder what color your eyes were…��� Ghost wanted to tell her they were brown like hers, but darker. Hers were the type that shone golden in the light, like nutty chocolate and a perfectly brewed cuppa. His were the color of pitch, of the damp, overturned earth of a fresh grave. Fitting, for a man like him. For a monster like him. Word Count: 3176 Warnings: still no smut, triple asterisk denotes a POV change as usual Notes: Happy birthday @kaya-nets ! Here is a surprise midweek update as a little gift, and a thank you for being the first person on tumblr to leave feedback on Dove! It is greatly appreciated, especially since I had a hard today. I hope you had a great birthday! AO3, Masterlist

“It’s nice to meet you, Simon.”

Ghost was sure no word had ever sounded so beautiful. To hear someone calling him by his name again, after all this time, was… he had no words to describe it. If he were religious, he might’ve called it a come-to-God moment. But his dog tags said No Preference for a reason, and that reason was that Ghost had stopped believing in a higher power a long time ago.

As he looked at his little dove, holding his tags and giving him the sweetest smile he’d ever seen, he thought that maybe he’d finally found one he’d happily worship.

He groaned softly, trying to say hello back, and then gestured at her, cocking his head to the side in question.

“What is it?” She asked. He pointed at his dog tags again, then at her once more. Her brows furrowed in confusion, and he grunted, like that would help her understand what he was asking. Maybe it did, or maybe she just remembered how first meetings were typically supposed to go, because her brows went up this time and her pink lips parted, a rosy blush darkening her cheeks. “Oh! Oh, my name, of course. I’m Lelia Par—Addams. Lelia Addams.”

Ghost caught the slip, and the mix of panic and sadness that flashed through her eyes at it. He couldn’t exactly press even if he wanted to, but he didn’t. He had no desire to see his dove upset.

He tried to say her name, despite knowing it was useless. But it was just so pretty. Lelia. A beautiful name for a beautiful girl.

That was one of Johnny’s favorite chat up lines, Simon’s voice in his head said distantly, sounding both exasperated and wistful. Ghost ignored it. He didn't know who Johnny was and no amount of trying to force his ruined mind to cough up the memory of him would work. But staying in his dove’s presence, might. She was the reason he’d remembered the name at all.

“Thank you for saving me, by the way,” Lelia said a moment later, handing him his dog tags back. She still looked faintly embarrassed. “Both times… I— I would be dead without you. I suppose not all soldiers are bad…”

Ghost knew that if she were aware of all he’d done, both before and after he’d turned, she wouldn’t think so highly of him. Nonetheless, he would very much have liked to find whichever soldiers made Lelia decide she was better off out here on her own, instead of back on a base, safe and warm and fed. He thought about the way her eyes had looked broken and glassy as she’d spoken about the place she’d come from, and how she’d insisted she’d rather be ripped apart than go back, not a trace of exaggeration in her voice. Whatever had happened to her there must have been hellish.

Ghost wanted to move forward to comfort her, but he’d seen the way she’d gagged and grimaced when he got close to retrieve his tags, slipping them over his head once more. He knew that he smelled something awful, that he always would no matter what he did, but he would at least try to clean himself, for her sake. She couldn’t afford to lose the little food she’d eaten.

There was a stream not far from here, he’d been near it yesterday before he’d decided to investigate all the noise. And he was fast, faster than he had been when he was human. He could be there and back in half an hour, tops.

Lelia, on the other hand, barely looked like she could make it to the front door.

He was incredibly reluctant to let her out of his sight for any length of time. Even just going around to the back of the cabin to dispose of the body earlier had made him twitchy. And if it was just a matter of his smell, he’d wait until tomorrow, when she was rested enough to make the trip with him. But it wasn’t. He could see just how dehydrated she was—chapped lips, dry skin, a constant tremor in her hands… she needed clean drinking water, now. And if he could get some from the stream for her to boil, she would be set.

He would have barricaded the door for extra protection, but it opened outwards rather than in. Shoddy installation job if he’d ever seen one. So instead, he pointed at her, and then at the bedroom. He awkwardly put his hands under his ear and then closed his eyes, pretending to sleep. He bumped his broken jaw as he did, and his teeth clacked against each other loudly.

He heard a little giggle, soft and high pitched. He opened his cloudy eyes to see his dove watching him, a pretty smile on her cherubic face. Her laugh was beautiful, pure and sweet. It was the most wonderful sound he’d ever heard. The sunken skin around his eyes crinkled a little bit, the only evidence of his smile.

“Fine, fine, I’ll go take a nap,” Lelia said, still giggling, as she headed for the bedroom. She disappeared inside, the door closing behind her. He waited until he heard her heartbeat slow and her breaths grow steady, and then he quietly moved the couch in front of it, blocking her in. He didn't want to risk her waking up, finding him gone, and getting herself killed while looking for him. If she decided to look for him. She might not—just because she asked his name and gave him a sweet smile didn’t mean she cared about him, the undead soldier who’d inserted himself into her life and wouldn’t leave her alone. That was alright, though. Ghost was so starved for human interaction that he’d take whatever he could get. And hearing his name from her lips was more than he’d ever expected.

Even if it was less than what he wanted.

With his dove secure, he left the cabin, making sure he didn't hear anyone nearby. There were a few infected a ways away, but if she stayed put—which he’d made sure she would—they wouldn't smell her. He was more worried about other people, but he couldn’t smell or hear anyone within range, so he felt comfortable enough to leave. Barely. He grabbed the large, rusted pail he’d noticed behind the cabin where he’d dumped the other zombie’s body, and then he was off.

-*-

When Ghost saw his reflection in the stream, he understood why Lelia had been so terrified to wake up and see his face first thing.

He’d known he looked bad, he wasn't an idiot. Just because his eyes were clouded didn't mean his vision was. He could see how disgusting the other zombies looked, and he figured he looked much the same.

None of that had prepared him for actually seeing himself.

Blood and gore covered every inch of him, bits of flesh stuck between his teeth and blackened gums—his teeth, which were permanently bared in a snarl, because his lips had rotted away.

That was the most horrifying part, he thought. Not the grey, sunken skin, the milky eyes, or all the gore and viscera. It was that his lips were gone, and he couldn’t kiss his dove even if she’d let him.

You’re disgusting.

The words echoed in his head, and he knew it wasn’t just about his visage. He shouldn't have been thinking about his dove like that. It wasn't as bad as his earlier thoughts, but just about. He was dead. A nasty, rotting corpse that happened to be able to walk around. There was something wrong with him to even be contemplating doing more than hugging Lelia. That was bad enough. She’d never want him to touch her in any way, she’d shown him that earlier when she’d kicked him while he was trying to check her for bites.

But maybe she would let him get a little closer, at least, if he didn't smell so bloody horrid.

It was that possibility that had him methodically strip out of his ragged tactical gear. He washed each piece in the knee-deep stream, even his mask and his boots. He laid them out on the bank to dry, moved a little further upstream, and then repeated the process with his body, dumping bucket after bucket full of water over every part of him.

The amount of congealed black blood and pieces of flesh that came off was concerning. He just hoped that none of the latter was his own.

Finally, he was done, and he stepped out of the stream and redressed in his still damp gear. Moving upstream for a third time, unwilling to contaminate his dove’s drinking water, he filled the bucket once more and began his trek back to the cabin, moving briskly but carefully so as not to spill.

Lelia was still asleep by the time he returned, and so he put the bucket down on the kitchen table, moved the couch away from her door, and then set about starting a fire. There was a small stack of roughly chopped logs next to the old, wood burning stove, and he placed a few inside. He searched through some of the drawers and found a book of matches, letting out a triumphant grunt, unable to believe his luck.

Except of course, things couldn’t be that easy.

Ghost’s fingers were far too stiff and clumsy to light a match. Fine motor skills were difficult for him, his muscles permanently locked in rigor mortis. Even piling up the logs in the stove had been difficult, as had carrying the bucket. He’d had to wrap his arms around it and hold it to his chest because his fingers wouldn't quite bend enough to grasp it by the handle.

After finally getting one of the matches to light, only to immediately drop it on the floor and burn a mark into the wood, Ghost gave up. He would just have to let Lelia do this part.

He moved the bucket onto the stovetop before quietly walking over to the bedroom. He reached out for the door knob and hesitated for a long moment, before letting his hand drop as he turned back around. She’d closed it for a reason, and he didn't need to see her to know she was alright. Her heartbeat and breathing were loud enough. So instead, he resumed his position as her zombified guard dog, and barricaded her door with his body while she slept, standing between her and anything that could bring her harm.

***

This time, when Lelia woke up, she knew exactly where she was.

The tiny bed in the cabin smelled of dust and old mothballs, but it was still far more comfortable than either a tree hollow or the bed she'd shared with Andrew back on the military base. She let herself luxuriate in it for a moment, exhaustion still pulling heavily at her no matter how long she had slept. Finally, she got up, walking over to the door and opening it—only to startle when she found Simon standing directly outside.

“Oh!” She gasped, hand clutching her chest, right over her racing heart. Then, she registered the lack of blood and gore on his face—which looked far less decayed now that it was clean—and the lack of a stomach churning odor wafting over her. He still smelled of death, but it wasn't nearly as bad as it had been before. “You’re— you’re clean!”

Simon groaned quietly. He was staring at her, as if waiting for something. She blinked several times, and then spoke again. 

“Did you— did you do that for me?”

She knew she hadn’t hid her reaction to his stench well enough. She felt a bit bad, but she also couldn’t help but be relieved he'd noticed and decided to do something about it.

Simon jerked his head up and down in a nod, jaw wobbling. He shifted back and forth a little bit, then tilted his head to the side and let out a questioning grunt, milky eyes downcast. He almost seemed… nervous? Shy? Or like he was looking for her approval. She couldn't quite tell. But the thought was endearing, and she smiled at him.

“Thank you,” she said earnestly. “This is much better, really. I appreciate it.”

Despite the fact that he couldn't really make any expression, Lelia got the distinct impression that he was pleased with her answer.

Simon shuffled back, and then stiffly gestured for her to follow him. She did so, curious, and she found she could remain quite close to him without being overwhelmed by the urge to vomit. She still left a meter or so between them, as was proper. She doubted he wanted her crowding his space, after all.

He led her over to the kitchenette, and then gestured to a bucket on top of the stove. She peered inside it, and found that it was full of water. She brightened considerably, licking her dry lips.

“Can I drink this?” She asked, already reaching for the bucket. She was so thirsty, she’d even drink orange juice, right now. And she hated orange juice.

But Simon grunted, reaching out and stopping her hand with his own. His glove was slightly damp, and she blinked, frowning as she looked at him again.

“You’re wet,” she said, finally noticing that his gear was dripping a little bit. He grunted, ignoring her, and then gestured at a matchbook next to the stove. She stared at it in confusion, not knowing what he wanted her to do, before turning her attention back to the trail of water he was leaving in his wake. “You shouldn't walk around in wet clothes. You’ll catch a cold—”

Lelia paused, looked at Simon’s already dead self, and blushed.

“Well. Maybe you won’t, but still. You’re getting water everywhere. You should take them off to let them dry,” she continued, trying to recover. Simon gave her what she thought might have been an amused look, if the little crinkles around his sunken, milky white eyes meant anything. Though it was entirely possible she was just imagining it. “There’s a closet in the bedroom. I’m sure I can find you something to wear while you wait.”

Eager to escape after her blunder, she retreated to do just that. She heard Simon let out a grumble that sounded suspiciously like an exasperated sigh, but she didn't let that stop her. She let out her own noise of victory when she found a set of flannel pajamas that looked like they would fit her zombie.

When she returned to the kitchen, Simon was in the process of removing his gear. Lelia watched as he struggled with zips and buckles—he was making progress, but very slowly—and took a step closer to him.

“Do you need help?” She asked innocently, never one to just stand idly by.

***

Simon froze, damnable buckle falling from his stiff fingers. It had taken him ages to get all this off and back on again at the stream, but he’d managed. He would manage again… but his little dove was offering to help. To stand close to him, to touch him, or at least his clothes… he knew he should have said no, that she was just being kind and didn’t actually want to get anywhere near him—but she sounded so sincere, and he was so fucking desperate. So he groaned quietly, almost ashamed, as he jerked his head in a nod, letting his hands drop back to his sides.

Lelia set the clothes she’d found for him on the arm of the couch and then approached, starting with removing his helmet. She was so small, she couldn’t reach even when she stood on her toes, and he had to crouch down a little bit, knees creaking.

“You’re blonde,” she said, surprised. He looked down at her. She was close enough that he couldn’t smell anything but her, and it was intoxicating. But not nearly as intoxicating as the feel of her body heat, so near yet so far. He sniffed discreetly, once again trying to place the floral scent on her skin. “I don’t know why, but I didn’t expect that. I wonder what color your eyes were…”

Ghost wanted to tell her they were brown like hers, but darker. Hers were the type that shone golden in the light, like nutty chocolate and a perfectly brewed cuppa. His were the color of pitch, of the damp, overturned earth of a fresh grave. Fitting, for a man like him. For a monster like him.

She moved on to unbuckling his vest, and then unzipping his jacket once he’d gotten the bulky gear out of the way. Underneath was a plain black t-shirt, the least destroyed item of clothing he had on, but also the foulest smelling. Her delicate little nose wrinkled slightly, and he would have found it adorable if he weren't so embarrassed. He reeked, still, and she smelt so delicious he began to drool again. He reached up to wipe it away, but his dove beat him to it, using the sleeve of the jacket he’d just discarded. She seemed entirely unphased, rather than repulsed like he thought she’d be, just giving him a smile before stepping back.

“No buttons on that,” she said as an explanation. He didn’t dare mention the buttons on his combat trousers, once again disgusted by his own thoughts. He pulled his t-shirt off after a second of hesitation, knowing the grisly sight that lay beneath. Grey, translucent, thinning skin smattered with deep gashes in several places that would never heal. They were accompanied by faded tattoos and dozens of scars, including a patchwork of rough, burnt flesh over his bicep and left shoulder, going all the way down to his hip. He reached quickly for the dry shirt, but Lelia stopped him.

“Your gloves,” she said, staring at his torso with a look on her face that he couldn’t quite read. It wasn't positive, though, he could tell that much. She tore her gaze away a second later, gently grabbing one of his hands and pulling it closer to her as she undid the velcro strap at his wrist. She slipped her fingers beneath the wrist of his glove, and he felt her skin directly against his own for the very first time.

He groaned, resisting the urge to grab her hand and keep it where it was. He couldn’t feel the softness of her skin, his own senses too numb for that, but the heat of it practically scorched him in the most pleasant way. It sank all the way down to his frozen bones, and when it slipped away as she pulled his glove off, it was agony.

She repeated the process with his other glove, and his bare hands twitched as he fought not to clutch onto hers and not let go. Finally, he regained control of himself, grabbing the flannel pajama shirt and pulling it on. It was a couple sizes too small, clinging to him like a second skin and stopping an inch or so above the waistband of his combat trousers, but it would do for now, even if he felt ridiculous.

“You’re shivering,” his dove said, frowning. “I’ll fetch you a blanket.”

She turned around and headed back into the bedroom, and he took the chance to shuck off his trousers. It was almost as if the warmth of her touch had reinvigorated his hands, or perhaps it was just luck, because he managed to get the button on the third try, and the zip on the second. He stepped into the too-small flannels just as she was returning with the quilt he’d given her earlier. He tried to avoid taking it—though he felt cold, he knew it was all in his mind—as he didn't want to contaminate it with the smell of death. But Lelia was stubborn, and she just wrapped the blanket around his shoulders for him, so he looked like he was wearing a flowery, quilted cape.

“There,” she said with a pleased smile, before bending down to pick up his gear and head over to the door. He followed her, a silent, massive, undead shadow, unwilling to let her go outside without him. He stood guard as she hung the clothes over the half-rotted wooden banister of the tiny porch, and when she came back in, he grunted to get her attention again before leading her back to the kitchenette. He tapped the matchbook, then pointed at the pile of firewood in the metal belly of the stove.

“You want me to start a fire?” She asked nervously, and he nodded, pointing at the logs again. She paled. “I don't know… I’ve never done that before. What if I burn myself?”

Ghost didn't like the thought of her getting hurt any more than she did, but they didn’t have a choice. She needed drinkable water, and right now, boiling what was in the bucket was the only way she was going to get that. So he fumbled for the book of matches and then pressed it into her hands—and if he let out another pleased groan when her warm skin touched his again, he hoped she misread it as encouragement.

His dove looked afraid, but she notched her chin and accepted the matches, clearly trying to put on a brave face. He let himself wonder at the fact that she had never used matches before. What kind of world had she lived in, prior to the end of it? Based on her nice clothes, posh accent, and utter lack of survival instincts, he imagined it was something privileged, something sheltered. He would’ve scoffed at the thought if he were still alive—pretty little rich girl with a pretty, perfect life. Had the dead not risen, she likely would have never known pain or fear or struggle. It would’ve angered him back then; the injustice of it all. The jealousy. Now, he just felt sad. She deserved a life like that. Not this hell on earth. She was woefully unprepared for her new reality—and she had suffered for it. The men she had had to rely on to keep her safe had put that haunted look in her eyes that spoke of a pain familiar to him, if unnamable. It bothered him that he couldn’t remember. That he couldn’t kill each and every person that had ever contributed to her suffering. But there was nothing he could do about that, now. All he could do was keep her safe, keep her alive. And maybe even make her laugh again.

It took a few tries, and several broken matches, but Lelia finally managed to get one lit without immediately dropping it in fear. She tossed it into the stove, and while Ghost would have advised her to hold it to the corner of one of the logs, first, it did the trick, and the fire caught. He gave her a groan of approval, and admired the way her face lit up with pride, a rosiness dusting her cheeks as she grinned. She was always beautiful, but when she smiled, she looked like an angel. Something far too good and far too pure for this hellish plane and all the monsters that lived on it, both alive and dead.

Together, they watched the water boil. It was about as exciting as watching paint dry, and took only slightly less time due to the old fashioned stove and small flame. He didn't mind, though, as his dove eventually began to fill the silence with mindless chatter, telling him about the meals her private chef—oh, so she’d been rich rich—used to make for her. Ghost was informed very seriously that Román was the best cook in the world and could have had his own restaurant, but he liked hearing Lelia’s in-depth analysis of his meals too much to leave. Ghost thought it was adorable that she believed that that’s why the chef had stayed, rather than the money he was making. Then again, Ghost had stayed because of her too, so maybe there was some truth to her words after all.

When the water was sufficiently clean, he grabbed the bucket and moved it off the stove so it could cool down. Curiously, he didn't feel any heat from it, despite knowing it had to be hot enough to burn. It only made him crave his dove’s touch even more, the only source of warmth in his cold, undead life.

He searched through the cupboards again as they waited, looking for some sort of cup. He found a single dusty mug with a large chip near the rim. It was no crystal champagne flute, like she was clearly used to, but it would do. He handed it over, and Lelia made a face but thanked him nonetheless. She unbuttoned her pink tweed jacket and untucked a section of her still clean white blouse underneath, using it to wipe out the mug. He stared.

Look away, Simon’s voice in his head ordered. Ghost reluctantly obeyed. You’re a vile creature. You don’t get to look at her like that.

Even if Ghost was alive, he'd probably think the same thing. He’d been old and monstrous then. He was dead and monstrous now. He'd never lived a life in which he would deserve a sweet thing like her. But he still wanted, in this life and the last.

So when Lelia smiled at him after drinking her fill of the purified water, lips still wet and shiny, he tried to ignore the phantom sensation of his undead heart pounding in his chest.

[witchezandwonderz]

The Dragon's Empress- Part Two

Pairing: Aegon Targaryen x Female Reader

Word Count: 2096

Part one of this story is on my masterlist- go check it out pls x

Tagged (never done this before so tagging ppl who reblogged, let me know if you want me to remove your tag): @silentwhisper666 @loxbbg @slytherin-bissqueen @groundzerosuki @rosey1981

As the council meeting concluded, Y/N stayed seated while others filed out. When the room emptied, Aegon turned to her, raising an eyebrow. “So quiet today, my queen. I thought your sharp mind might have dulled after last night’s… events,” he teased, a grin on his lips.

Y/N looked up at him, wearing a small smile. “My utmost apologies, my King, I was pondering,” she replied, leaning closer as she spoke. Aegon hummed in response, encouraging her to elaborate.

“I feel as though I know how to overcome this problem, but I’m not sure if you will appreciate my plan,” she admitted, her eyes fixed on the table in front of her. Aegon, confused by her words, leant forward to touch her hand so that she would look at him once again. He did not like seeing his wife in a state of apprehension.

“Why don’t you tell me of your plan, and I can be the decider of whether it is appreciated or not,” Aegon stated, attempting a reassuring smile, though it looked far from genuine—kindness was still unfamiliar territory for him. Regardless, Y/N knew his intentions were good, and this encouraged her to speak further.

“This uprising among the people, these rumours—they’re born from fear and resentment, not mere rebellion. A show of force will only serve to drive them deeper into it,” she spoke with passion. Aegon listened carefully, taking a moment to truly process her words.

After pondering, he let out a small laugh. “I must be misinterpreting your meaning, my love; it sounds as though you wish me to negotiate with those who wish for my death,” he laughed, taking a big swig of his wine. Y/N did not return the laugh. “Not negotiate, husband—listen to them. Listen to their thoughts and feelings.”

Aegon’s smile disappeared, and he let out a quiet, “Oh, I see.”

“You needn’t make a decision now. Think about it, and if you wish to hear my thoughts further, then come and find me,” Y/N spoke softly but firmly. She stood gracefully, moved closer to Aegon, gently pushed a lock of his blonde hair from his face, and planted a kiss upon his forehead before turning and walking out, leaving him to sit and ponder her suggestion.

Aegon thought for a while. If there was anything that terrified him, it was vulnerability. Approaching those who wished him dead would leave him in the most vulnerable position he could imagine—surrounded by those who likely supported his half-sister, Rhaenyra. Initially, he felt slightly betrayed that his wife would suggest something so dangerous. But as he thought further, he began to consider its potential benefits. After what felt like hours, he decided to find Y/N so she could explain her idea in more detail.

Aegon searched most of the grounds for Y/N, but could not find her. The outside air was freezing cold, so he hesitated to check there. Finally, he begrudgingly pulled on more layers and ventured into the cold.

What was she doing to him, he thought. He had never gone out of his way to find someone before—he had never cared enough to do so.

Aegon wandered in the darkness with Criston Cole at his side, as always. Soon, he spotted Y/N in the distance, seated in front of a tree. His brows furrowed. Why would she sit in the cold when she could be warm in their chambers?

“Remain here, Cole,” he instructed. The Kingsguard nodded and stayed in place as Aegon approached Y/N.

She hadn’t noticed him; she was too engrossed in her own thoughts. Unbeknownst to the King, Y/N did this every night. She would dismiss her guard, sit under the tree, close her eyes, and get lost in daydreams.

Despite how peaceful she appeared, Aegon couldn’t help feeling anger toward her lack of defence. What if someone found her alone and harmed her? His heart wrenched at the thought.

“What are you doing?” he questioned, standing directly above her. Y/N’s eyes fluttered open, and she jumped slightly at his voice. Realising it was Aegon, she sighed in relief.

“Thank the gods it’s you; you gave me a fright!” she said, propping herself up on her elbows. Aegon tutted as he sat beside her.

“I thought someone of your intelligence would know not to sit out here, isolated,” he stated. Y/N looked at him with confusion, prompting him to continue. “You’re vulnerable here—no guards, no defence.” She smiled at his words, which wasn’t the reaction he expected. He had hoped for more of a “sorry, it won’t happen again.”

Unexpectedly, Y/N leaned forward, grabbed his collar, and pulled him toward her, crashing her lips onto his.

“You care about me,” she stated, breathless. Aegon laughed. “Of course I care about you?” His words came out more as a question than a statement.

“I thought about what you said, and I’ve decided I want to hear your plan in full. But,” he paused, looking at her, “I’m uncomfortable surrounding myself with rebels.”

“Rebels only when they’re left voiceless, my love,” Y/N said. “Show them a king willing to walk among his people, one who has confidence in his rule and strength enough to show understanding, not fear.”

Aegon felt a surge of resistance rise in him. Every instinct screamed against such vulnerability. But there was wisdom in Y/N’s words that he couldn’t ignore. She suggested something he’d never considered—a ruler’s strength wasn’t merely in intimidating his enemies, but also in reassuring his people.

After a long pause, Aegon sighed and nodded. “If this is your counsel, then I will hear it.”

Y/N nodded, pleased. She hadn’t expected him to seriously consider her suggestion. Yet she couldn’t shake a flicker of fear; she knew how much risk this entailed. If it went wrong, she would have many questions to answer, and her mother-in-law would eagerly seek revenge.

The next day, Aegon and Y/N left the Red Keep, accompanied by their guards. They had considered only taking Criston but deemed it too risky.

“Relax, my King. These people can smell fear,” Y/N whispered as they walked through the city. The bustling citizens paused to watch the couple stroll by, some with looks of apprehension, others smiling and waving. Aegon held Y/N’s hand tightly, and she squeezed his to reassure him.

“Good morrow,” Y/N smiled, bowing slightly to a group of people who had gathered nearby. To Aegon’s surprise, she walked closer to them. He tried to slow her down without drawing attention, but Y/N used all her strength to pull him along. Once close, she shook the hands of each person, looking at Aegon expectantly until he followed suit. The group, initially frowning, now wore broad smiles.

As they engaged in conversations, word of the king’s visit spread, filling the air with voices and questions. Some spoke with bitterness, others with worry, but all found Aegon’s ear.

For the first time, Aegon saw these people—his people—as voices rather than subjects. Voices with opinions that mattered, for they spoke about their own livelihoods. He had been so caught up in his family feuds that he’d forgotten not everyone cared about his family; many simply wanted a ruler who made decisions for them.

He knew his morals were flawed, and he wasn’t the kindest king Westeros had seen, but his wife was. That was power in itself.

They returned to the Red Keep an hour later, exhausted but purposeful. Aegon, particularly, was in high spirits, pleased with how the interaction had gone. Unfortunately, his council did not share his enthusiasm.

Alicent and Otto—mother and grandfather—greeted them with displeasure.

“How dare you take my son to be scrutinised by those people!” Alicent spat, her eyes like daggers on Y/N.

Aegon wanted to speak, but knew he’d be silenced by both women.

“Scrutinised? This was perhaps the best decision he’s made,” Y/N replied calmly, though her anger was evident.

“You stupid girl,” Otto muttered.

“Pardon?” Aegon said, moving closer to him.

“This should not have happened,” Otto muttered again.

“How dare you call my wife—your Queen—such insolent names. I should have you hanged for treason. My wife has been a better Hand than you ever were. Do better,” Aegon stated. He turned to his mother, raising a finger. “One week, Mother. In one week, you’ll hear the people’s thoughts, and I guarantee they’re in my favour.”

Aegon’s brother, Aemond, entered the room. Y/N hadn’t interacted much with him—she found him strange, intimidating, and untrustworthy.

He muttered something unintelligible, then swept out. Judging by everyone’s expressions, no one else understood him either.

“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go and fuck my beautiful, intelligent, and loyal wife,” Aegon declared, grabbing Y/N’s hand and whisking her away.

[weirdgirlraging]

[subtlehaz]

what if Eddie is just rolling up to the jewelry store bc he needs his St. Christopher medallion fixed/ cleaned or he’s buying something for abuela and just happens to spot engagement rings and we get panic attack 2.0 and when he’s out of it he sees Shannon’s ghost?

anyway we’re getting single eddie gay eddie end of s7 trust

[xxxemilyg1996]

Happy dead dad day!

[barkingangelbaby]

venting so much i ran out of tags lmao

[breval]

*

[tonycries]

Unmistakably Yours - G.S.

Synopsis. In which the strongest bends space and time - literally - after coming back from deatḣ, to do what he’s always wanted to do - you.

Pairing. Gojo Satoru x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, best friends to lovers, Satoru goes a little (very) INSANE, oral (fem receiving), fíngering, manga spoilers, use of jujutsu powers, unprotected, créampie, spitting, overstim, féral Satoru, heinous things, happy ending, pet names, swearing.

Word count. 4.5k

A/N. Yeahhh that poll was cooking up something devious heheh. Gege give me back my man.

Gojo Satoru was going to kill someone.

He was going to kill someone and it didn’t matter who. It didn’t matter how. It didn’t even matter if he had to haul his broken body - scarred and barely-healed - out of this stiff infirmary bed, because the great Gojo Satoru awoke and the world shook.

Because you weren’t here.

“Ah. The oh-so deadest one, I see you’re awake.” Satoru flinches at the sharp, exhausted drawl from his left. 

Slowly, he blinks away the haze in his aching eyes, desperately trying to adjust to the cold room. Shoko’s voice was too loud. The lights too bright. His waiting arms too empty - where were you? 

With a low hiss, Satoru’s body is moving before his mind, sitting up like a man possessed. Goosebumps prickle his skin as the thin blanket falls off his shoulders. Temples throbbing because the world was spinning and spinning and you-

“Calm down, Satoru.” Shoko sounds almost panicked now - as much as she could, anyway. Uselessly trying to push him back onto the mattress. “I don’t care if you’re the ‘strongest’. Sukuna did a number on you and you have to rest-”

“Where is she?”

---

It was the final nail on your coffin - that slight, steady rumble beneath your feet. So fleeting that you’d written it off as your weary brain, too goddamn tired from today. Heaving out a sigh, you rub your eyes in frustration, so fucking alone in this too-large penthouse. 

Fingers jittery, you rifle through your best friend’s closet for his box of blindfolds, because you knew he’d be complaining about the sensory overload at the infirmary if- when he woke up. Though, you think that was more an excuse for Shoko to send your wrecked self away than anything. 

Grabbing a few more than necessary, your heart lurches as you eye that dusty framed photo by his bedside. A much younger Satoru, Suguru, Shoko, and you - probably the last time any of you smiled so carelessly. 

One dead and the other just on the cusp of it.

He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’ll be okay. He’s the strongest, right?

Swallowing heavily, you try to put your mind to something - anything - other than the memory of that battlefield and the blood. So much blood. Everywhere. 

God, you should’ve stayed. What if Satoru-

That was when you felt it. 

The tight, uncomfortable feeling of atoms standing at attention all around you. The air was so stagnant and heavy that it was almost hard to breathe. 

You don’t know how you realize what it is - but you don’t get the chance to wonder about it either. Because the thought has barely even crossed your mind before everything else is thrown at the window at those two words. 

Hoarse, and whispered, voice ever-so-slightly cracking at the end. One you recognized, one you knew you always would.

“My love?”

Satoru.

It was a miracle that you didn’t get whiplash from how fast you whirled around to face the doorway - and it was an even bigger miracle that you didn’t trip at how your legs were carrying you to that tall, familiar flash of white hair without a second thought. 

Hell, you don’t think you’ve ever run this fast in your life, and it still wasn’t quick enough when Satoru engulfed you in his arms. Letting out a soft sigh as he hugs you tight enough that it hurt, like he never wanted to let go. 

All familiar warmth and a rapid heartbeat that matched your own. 

A shiver runs down your spine at that scent of the infirmary, tinged with something so dangerously metallic, miles away from the usual hints of pine and candy. But you only pull Satoru closer - not even realizing the tears staining his snug t-shirt, nails digging into his sculpted back. 

“S-Satoru?” you murmur wetly, as if you still couldn’t believe it - even when you were in his strong arms. 

It killed you to pull away, and Satoru wasn’t any better, pulling you firmly to his heated body with a guttural grunt as soon as you showed any signs of shifting away. Grip almost bruising, fingers tight on your hips. But you didn’t mind, why would you? 

Because the strongest was nothing under your will - he always was. And it’s only once you break the embrace just a fraction of an inch that you confirm that this actually was Satoru - your Satoru. 

“You’re here.” you breathe out unsteadily, not knowing where to look first - his heaving chest, as if he’d run all the way here, or those faint scars along his exposed skin. Jagged, running down his pale skin like he was too impatient - too distracted - to let them heal properly. Satoru’s face was scarily blank, pretty lips set in a tight grimace like every second you weren’t locked in his arms killed him. 

He doesn’t answer - like he didn’t know himself. Nervously, you raise your eyes to meet his and-

Oh, Satoru, he was here. Alive.

Looking like he was ready to make sure that no one else was.

You just wondered where they’d pile all the casualties. Too many to bury at Jujutsu High if those tiny blue flickers of lightning at the corners of Satoru’s eyes were anything to go by. 

Gaze hooded, pupils blown, he didn’t look at you with that usual warmth. No, he looked at you like a man that had crawled back from death just to rip you apart. And you had half the mind to wonder whether this was some special grade curse that had just come disguised as your best friend. 

“Are you okay?” you try again, raising a hand to cup his cheek. “Toru?”

Oh, you might as well have just signed your own will, because no sooner are the words out of your mouth before Satoru’s jolting. Like the mere sound of that stupid little nickname from high school was enough to shock him to his very core. 

Electrify him just enough to finally look at you like it was the first time. Like he was seeing you after a thousand years. “My love.”

There it was again, that quiet, strained little mantra. 

Followed very closely by the deafening slam! of the door behind him, so hard that you spy one of the hinges rattling off. Startled, you look over Satoru’s broad shoulders just to catch a glimpse of the single, large handprint charred into the wood, slight steam wafting from his hand.

Shit. He’s lost it.

Almost like the strongest has forgotten his restraint - or didn’t care about it either way. Heated, you wondered what this boded for you. 

Will you be lucky number one on his kill list? You wonder, as Satoru presses his mouth right above your pulse. Racing. Dangerous. Feeling the rapid thump! thump! thump! under his lips.

Breathing you in, dragging his nose up, up, up- He mutters into your skin, “Y’can kill me if you don’t want this.” Will you go down - if there’s anyone left to remember, that is - as the casualty that surely and officially signaled the honored one’s descent into madness? Only the second best friend he had to kill?

Or, Satoru pulls away slowly from his little haven, breath ghosting your lips as he gasps out a shaky, “No God can take me away without doing this.” Will it be something else entirely?

And then he’s kissing you - and you’re kissing him. 

Because fuck, how could you not? This is Satoru, and this is all you’ve ever wanted since those late night convenience store runs in high school, hand-in-hand and teleporting away from a furious Yaga.

The same Satoru that had cockily winked at you goodbye before facing Sukuna - leaving you crying with nothing to hold onto but those cold, cold hands and wishes that you’d have just fucking kissed him before. Maybe even put aside your pride to just tell him.

But none of that mattered now, because Satoru was so desperate - drinking you in like you were the last breath of air on Earth. Like it hurt more to part with your lips than it was to be cleaved in half.

Such a mess of teeth and saliva, and you were addicted. Drunk off his sweet taste - like candy, almost, and those cheap mochi he always got from downtown - and the electricity pricking at you each time your skin grazed against his.

It almost hurt - but it hurt so good.

Gasping, you pull away for air - impossible with the way Satoru was like a madman, kissing your swollen lips again and again and-

“Toru!” you squeal, muffled through his lips. “Aren’t you-” His mouth drops into a soft oh! at the delicate strings of saliva snapping in the non-existent space between you two. Surging forward like he couldn’t help himself. “Battlefield- mmpf- now?”

With a pained grunt, Satoru finally halts, just a hair’s breadth from your lips. And if you were in any better state of mind, maybe you’d have noticed the brief flicker of blue lightning all over his body. The way the lights flicker. 

“Special curtain.” he pants against your open mouth, a muscled thigh shoving between your weakening legs. “Time barely passes in here.”

You don’t know what your head is reeling more from his words or his hands - hands that kill - caressing you like a lover everywhere. Unable to decide between your hips, to your ass, to your pretty pretty face. Kiss-bitten lips uttering, “Everyone’s waiting for you.”

“So?” Satoru lets out a humorless laugh. About an octave higher than usual, like he was at the end of his rope now. Eyes hazy and glowing, looking as if it took everything in him to not just tear off that uniform and take you right now. 

“But-”

“Shut up and let me ruin you, my love.”

Your back is hitting the mattress before you can even start to wonder what the fuck is happening. One second standing at the doorway and the other all sprawled out on Satoru’s bed.

Besides yourself, you blurt out, trying to make sense of the situation to both of you two. “Did- did you just teleport us?”

“Don’t know.” he answers. And Satoru sounded like he genuinely didn’t know, as bewildered as you were. Powers acting before him - way, way before he can think - as he fists your shirt in his hands. “Don’t care.”

And you half wondered whether Satoru was even aware of what he was doing as he pulls, down, down down. 

Rip!

It tears through the air - both the sound, and the way he’s just pulling your shirt to shreds. All depravity and no repentance as Satoru throws it behind God-knows-where. Buttons hitting the floor at a maddening little rhythm to which he was slowly losing his sanity. 

He was kissing you like he was angry - taking it out on your poor clothes. Because before you know it, he’s pulling your bra off. Fingers searing on your skin, skirt just tatters on the floor. 

“Waited too long.” he groans, leaving wet, open-mouthed kisses down your neck. “Always wanted to do this.” And once he started, it was like Satoru just couldn’t stop, rambling into the valley of your breasts, “Ever since I first saw you and oh-”

That was it - only one look at your panties, all flimsy and drenched - and you’re back to wondering what Satoru’s kill count would be. You shudder as his eyes widen, letting out a strangled gasp from some deep, primal part of himself. Voice so broken and starved as he muses, “-can’t believe I waited this long.”

Shit. You weren’t making it out alive.

Immediately, Satoru’s dropping further down the mattress, easily pushing your knees up all the way till they were at your breasts. 

And it was so unfair. 

Unhair how he was still fully clothed, while you were spread so shamefully. Unfair how he was sliding his underneath your panties up and down, grazing your swollen folds. Up and down, up and down up and- Pooling your sweet sweet juices on his fingertips before pulling, marveling at how sinfully soaked they were. 

And it was like something snapped - maybe his whatever restraint he had left, probably you by the end of this. Because just a split-second later, Satoru’s tearing right through your panties. Not even taking a second to breathe before burying his pretty face into your dripping cunt. 

Unfair how you were liking it so dangerously. Being so used. 

And Satoru knows - he thinks, with whatever rationality he has left intact - that he wants to admire your pretty lil’ cunt. To finally drink in what he’s been dreaming about for years all these lonely nights. But, no, that’s for later - for a different Satoru, one that didn’t feel like he was going to fucking die if he didn’t taste you right now. 

“Ah! Hngh- T-Toru-” you arch into his hot tongue, as he licks erratically up your folds, long, sloppy movements of his tongue all the way from your base to your swollen clit. Lapping at your juices like he couldn’t stop.

“Tha’s right.” words muffled into your cunt. Throwing your legs over his sculpted shoulders. “Gimme more, use me. Use me- fuck fuck fuck- yeah.”

He sounded as delirious as you were already, flinching with each word spat into your sensitive cunt. Drunk off your pussy and so messy, like he was well and fully intent on ruining you. 

And it’s all you can do to sob so needily as he swirls his tongue around your sensitive clit. Seemingly unable to decide between sucking on it harshly and dipping into your sloppy hole. In and out. Wanting everything. Anything. 

“Fuck. S’too deep. Sh-shit.”

“Oh yeah?” he’s grinning, a cruel, cold little grin. You can feel it as he rolls his tongue against your clit over and over. “S’not deep enough.”

You pathetically try to close your legs around his head in shock, as the tips of his long fingers spread open your pussy further, teasing your entrance. 

But who were you against the strongest? The one that got everything handed to him on a silver platter since birth? Except you - until now, that is.

Because Satoru’s swatting thighs back open like it was a mere inconvenience, and feel your cunt clench in- fear? Anticipation? as you realize how gently he was throwing you around like a ragdoll, in comparison to that door from earlier. 

“No.” he sounds absolutely wrecked, babbling around your throbbing clit. “Need this- need you.”

And then he’s plunging knuckle-deep in your plushy pussy, so greedily that your slick is trailing down his wrist. Drinking in your pretty gasps of his name as he roams for that one spot he knows will have you seeing stars - only the best for his girl, right? The only thing on his mind right now, like a predator starved.

You can only tug on his hair and buck wildly underneath him, inching Satoru closer to where he was desperately searching for. Close - so close. 

“Toru-” you moan, like a prayer. 

But it wasn’t fast enough. 

Not for Satoru, at least.

Even through the haze in your eyes, you could make out that brief flash of electric blue in-between your legs, eyes widening as ah-

That cheat. 

You wondered if he even knew he was using his powers right now. Or whether Satoru was too far gone at this point. Way too smug with the way he hits that one spot. Hard. 

Ah, you quiver as something so dark sparks in his eyes. Looking like a man starved, that had finally come across his favorite meal. Moving with frightening accuracy as he pumps his fingers in and out, hitting it each and every time. 

“Shit, ngh-” you let out a shrill moan, “It’s too good. You’re so fucking-” 

One hand was so messy toying with your dripping entrance - the other digging into your hips. Dragging your sloppy pussy senselessly all over his mouth. 

Hard enough that you were sure it’d leave marks for tomorrow. If you even made it that long, that is, if the tiny shocks of electricity at his fingertips told you anything. 

Desperate. Violent, even.

So it only makes sense that your orgasm was the same. “Fuck- m’cumming m’cumming, fuck fuck fuck-” You’re shaking as you cum, crying out Satoru’s name and delirious little moans that you’d otherwise be embarrassed of. 

And he doesn’t stop. Not when you’re blinking your vision back. Not when you’re shying away from his tongue, the stars behind your eyes too much with each flick of his tongue. 

“S’too much- too- fuck, sensitive, Toru.” you whine, big fat tears clinging to your lashes. 

Ah, there it was again. Just when Satoru was beginning to think that he might just be veering into a state of mind that could be considered sane - you have to call him that goddamn nickname again. And it’s only driving him wild. 

Well, he muses, fumbling with the hem of his t-shirt, it’s really on you then. 

You let out a fucked-out little whine as Satoru finally takes his shirt off, revealing such milky, toned skin. All sharp curves and dips like he was sculpted so meticulously, going down, down, down and- Your breath hitches at the large, pink scar standing out of his torso, so uneven and fresh that you feel a fresh wave of tears - different ones, this time. 

You take a steadying breath, eyes unmoving from the injury. “Satoru-”

“No.” Satoru’s tone is firm, so different from the metallic tinkling of his belt. He was moving now, shifting in between your legs to kiss those tears away. “Need this. Need you. Need you need you need you so bad-”

“But your…” you trail off. The words catch in your throat as he finally unbuckles his belt, pulling down his pants just enough that his throbbing cock springs out, hitting his sculpted abdomen. Red, and so so angry, soaked in precum. 

He was so…massive. Now, you expected your best friend to have a big dick, but this was ridiculous. He was so intimidatingly long, thick enough that you could feel the slick beading out of your sloppy hole already.

Yeah, you definitely weren’t making it out alive. 

Satoru sees it too, of course, because his cock twitches furiously. A low hiss leaving those pretty pink lips before he’s spitting on your quivering cunt. Once. Twice. 

And you know that if this shameless bastard could use six eyes to find your g-spot, then he could’ve done the same for this. But, no, he lets some of it miss, splattering against your inner thigh, smearing all over as Satoru thumbs in his saliva with your slick. 

God, he was treating you like some object. Wordlessly throwing your legs over his shoulders, dragging his weeping tip down your swollen folds. So fucking filthy. 

And then you feel like you’re been split apart - because Gojo Satoru was unforgiving. As was his aching cock. He’s barely even pressing through the first ring of muscle, and you already feel like he’s pushing all the way into your lungs. 

“T-Toru.” you yelp, glancing down at the way your pussy was stretched so lewdly around his thick cock. Quivering as he keeps pushing and pushing and- no mercy. Absolutely none at all. “Can feel you so deep inside ngh- I don’t think I can…” 

“No no no no no-” he’s panting into your open mouth. Fucking into your heavenly cunt in mindless, shallow little thrusts just to squeeze deeper inside. “Need this. Want this. Always did. God, fuck fuck fuck, you can do it-”

“But-”

God, Satoru can’t help but kiss you - to shut those cute lil’ whines up more than anything, he’s sure he’ll cum right there and right now if he didn’t. 

Because Satoru wasn’t any better. Body bowing into yours, eyes rolling to the back of his head, mouth falling into a delirious oh! as he finally bottoms out. Balls smacking your ass too hard, your pussy too tight, you too beautiful underneath him. 

Blindly, he reaches for the headboard - white-knuckling it so hard that it’s a wonder it doesn’t break. 

It does - and later you’ll find a pile of splinters behind the bed. It’s just that neither of you notice. Too high off the feeling of Satoru’s cock pushing inside you. You’re clawing at his back now, gasping for air. Letting him fold you in half to filthily lick away the tears pooling at your cheeks. 

“Shit- y’got this, my love. You gotta- ah- Breathe-” he can’t even speak properly, sharp tongue so heavy. Eyes glowing with such insanity as he rocks his hips harder into yours.

He was right - you needed to breathe. To finally wrap your head around the fact that this was Satoru - your best friend - the same one that binge-watches sappy rom-coms with you after every breakup. Every. Single. One. Somehow, you wouldn’t have it any other way. 

Both of you were barely-lucid at this point. And he was out of control now.

Funny, how in all his dreams when you were screaming his name - Satoru was always suave, methodical, playing with your pretty pussy like a fine instrument. Right now, he was anything but. Sloppy - like he didn’t have enough time, never would, even in this room where time slowed.

“Don’t you run away.” he grunts at the way you’re so adorably torn between running away from his cock and bucking for more more more- “Waited twelve fucking years for this. N’ m’gonna take it.”

You almost sob at the pressure as he laces his fingers on top of your head to slide you impossibly deeper. Down, down, down. “S’too good, Toru. Wan’ more-”

“More.” Satoru breathes, more to himself than anything. Eyes widening almost comically, a fucked-out smile spreading all over his face. “Y’want more even when you’re filled to-” He traces an invisible line halfway down your tummy. “Here?”

“Yes.” you gasp as he reaches down to toy with your throbbing clit, drawing tight, frenzied little circles. Balls smacking your ass so painfully, thumb pressing down right where his tip was hitting your cervix - as if he used six eyes to see. “Always wanted more. Always have, Toru.”

And you swear you could see something physically snap inside Satoru. Because his eyes glaze over, grin dropping instantly from his face. 

If you weren’t so cockdrunk maybe you’d have caught the way the bedroom lights flicker, the one down the hallway bursting. 

“Always, huh?” he’s muttering, grip on your body tightening like a vice. “Wanted more like me?” Rocking into you so sloppily, cock twitching so painfully as he speeds up. Fingers just as desperate - as depraved as his hips.

And this time, he doesn’t even have to use six eyes to find that one spot. Knowing your body well enough to hit it over and over until you were sobbing. “More more more more- fuckin’ take it then.”

At this point you didn’t know whether Satoru was always this ruthless in bed or you’d just broken him. It felt so good that it was almost scary. And your delirious mind wandered into the thought that maybe the bed would break - and your bones to follow. 

Well, they would have if Satoru hadn’t been using reversed cursed technique. But you didn’t need to know that just yet. 

“Satoru-” you squeal as he only gets more erratic.  “I’m…”

“Close?” Satoru’s grunting, smacking his lips against your own.

It’s laughable, really, that muffled question - because Satoru knew you were close. Losing his fucking mind, actually, at how you were squeezing so hard around him. Balls squeezing so painfully right now, but he wanted you to cum first - needed you to cum first.

“Yeah, so close. Wan’ cum- Ah! Please-”

“Then cum. Fucking cum, wan’ed this so bad.” he’s babbling deliriously. Little sparks of lightning visible even to your glassy eyes, fingers humming with a dangerous little energy that stimulated you so good. “Yeah, yeah yeah yeah fucking cum, wanna hngh-”

And then you are. So sudden and hard that you don’t even realize it at first. Just that you’re seeing stars behind your eyes, blood roaring in your ears. Rocking your hips into Satoru’s like such a slut. 

Oh, if heaven was really then the part of Satoru that can still form coherent thoughts thinks this just might be it. 

Because only the sight of you creaming all around his swollen cock and he’s cumming and cumming so hard that it hurts. Thick, hot ropes of cum that he can’t seem to stop. Doesn’t want to stop, and God he thinks he could cum until you beg and beg and beg it’s too much. Until you’re yelling for-

“Mercy!” you moan, head spinning with how fucking overfilled your pussy was. “Please, Toru-”

Satoru lets out a slight gasp, “Mercy?” Chuckling so cruelly at your dazed nod, “No mercy, my love. None at all.”

And God, it was so fucking hard to look at him too - eyes half-lidded and miles away, flushed and looking like he was anywhere but laid out on a hospital bed just a few minutes ago. In fact, Satoru looked like he was in heaven on Earth as he only milked his painfully hard cock on your snug pussy.

Pretty. Always so fucking pretty. 

And he kept whispering that, over and over in your ear as you both ride out your highs. Oh how he loved you.

Your eyes fly open, and Satoru knew he’d said that out loud. Shit. But, well, with the way you were immediately pulling him to collapse into your arms, he thinks he really doesn’t mind.

“Love you, love you. Love you so much. Always did, always wanted to love you- to fuck you.” You barely even notice him marking down your neck, sharp canines digging into the flesh like he wanted to break something. Hard enough that you distinctly wondered whether he was out for blood. “To ruin you.”

It was oozing out of you, both Satoru’s cum - dribbling down your legs in thick globs, pooling on the overpriced sheets below - and his power. Jolts of electricity running down all the way from your poor, abused cunt to your hazy mind. 

“So do it.” The air was crackling - crackling with intensity and the smell of jujutsu. It was in your veins, in your words as you whisper, “Ruin me. You’re the- ngh- only- one f’me, Toru. Always was.”

The lights go out. All of them - all across Tokyo, in fact. Shining so bright that it was blinding, until they burst. The last thing you see are his eyes - electrified with blue lightning, burning into your brain. 

And then it’s black. 

---

“I’ll be back before ya know it, my love.” he whispers against your forehead, cooing at the way you stir sleepily. “Gotta pest to take care of.”

Taking down that curtain wasn’t the hard part, the hard part was actually fucking regaining his senses enough to do so. 

And now, all cleaned up and fucked to sleep on his bed, you were looking so unbearably delectable that it made some part of Satoru just want to stay behind this curtain. To forget the waiting sorcerers on the battlefield. Saving the world be damned.

Well, no matter, Satoru had time. He was the strongest, right? After all, how could he give you the world if there was no world to give?

“N’ when I’m back, m’gonna kiss ya to death till you go out with me. Till everyone knows you’re unmistakably mine.”

A/N. GET IT - that unmistakable bit from the panel? 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[muppetebbtide]

trojan war tumblr simulator

🌊 is-the-sea-wine-dark-today

YOU BET IT IS

#the wine dark sea!!!!!!!!!!!! #wine dark sea #wine dark sea posting

108 notes

✌🏻 ajax2electricboogaloo follow

why is achilles the only demigod who's Like That? like he's my boy but u don't see memnon or aeneas or sarpedon acting like him on the reg. why is he so maladjusted? like specifically? I saw his mother once and was so terrified by the sight of a goddess I flung myself to the ground and hid my face in the dirt til she left but I still don't think that accounts for it idk

🏘️ nobody1020

it's blonde man syndrome hope this helps

340 notes

⚔️ sonoftydeus

opening my askbox so that we can discuss strategies on taking troy!

3 notes

anonymous asked: we should all go home :)

⚔️ sonoftydeus answered:

FUCK OFF AGAMEMNON I WANT REAL SUGGESTIONS

50 notes

nobody1020 asked: do u like..... horses

⚔️ sonoftydeus answered:

odysseus do I even wanna know where this is going

45 notes

⌛ isthetrojanwaroveryet?

year 9, day 234: still no....

#all our admins keep DYING

500 notes

‼️ trojan-confessions follow

I think my wife might be sending me anon hate :/ keep getting asks like 'hope u die on the battlefield tomorrow silly slag' and 'menelaus should have curbstomped you' and in her big tapestry of warriors she made me look stupid

🐴 horsetaminghector follow

lmaooo is this paris??

🔮 cryinglikecassandra follow

kinda think helen should send MORE anon hate idk

600 notes

❓ myrmidons-confessions

I was the one who wrote the achilles/agamemnon 100k slowburn enemies to lovers rpf and put it on the group chat but now patroclus is calling me 'agachilles boy' and laughing about it and asking if I can proofread his mock bardic epic where all his dogs are heroes and killing people, so I fear I've made a mistake. I also can't look achilles in the eye anymore... but honestly I've never seen proof he can read so I might be safe

❓ myrmidons-confessions

5000 notes

👑 kingofmycenae

👍🏻 ajaxthegreat

achilles is DEAD and ur posting CRAB RAVE?????

🏘️ nobody1020

I think that's why he's posting it ngl

300 notes

😹 deiphobus42069

imagine being the achaeans and your best warrior gets killed by PARIS, after everyone else had awesome deaths at the hands of sarpedon or hector or memnon... like that's literally so embarassing I just know achilles is fucking fuming down in hades rn. I bet the achaeans are gonna put around that paris was guided by apollo, or that paris happened to hit his only weak spot..... anything 2 try and make it less cringe.... lol lol we're popping the biggest bottles tonight. hope helen's there

🐆 leopardskiniscool

???????????????

#I mean. yeah. but also. #deiphobus wtf I thought we were chill

240 notes

#hope everyone can be normal about the outcome!!! :)

340 notes

🧑🏻 randotrojansoldier-deactivated-8578543

so excited to go back onto the field of battle tomorrow! sure hope I don't encounter any of the big-name heroes

🗣️ homer follow

I hope you don't too! I'm sure you'll do great!

🐎 antilochussss

not the direct address????

✌🏻 ajax2electricboogaloo

direct address got him :(

3000 notes

💂🏻 trojanguardtales follow

fuck my job so much I hope that this wooden horse tribute to the gods turns out to have some guys inside or something just so I can DO something rather than standing here like a twat with my spear

💂🏻 trojanguardtales follow

by ares this can't be happening

345 notes

⚔️ sonoftydeus reblogged menelauskingofsparta

do NOT order achilles from shein!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

#oh yeah #I was stuck with temu achilles in the trojan horse for six hours #and by hour two agamemnon had suggested killing and eating him #and odysseus was threatening to 'send him to meet his father' #and it's not even like there's any kleos in killing priam!!! #anti neoptolemus #neoptolemus defenders dni #vent tags

100 notes

[eau-duresistance]

My favourite things about the whole OceanGate disaster, in no particular order

That the vessel was originally named Cyclops II but the CEO renamed it to Titan, so it’s even BETTER than the Titanic

He also called it indestructible

The guy piloting the vessel is an ex-naval captain who has been on several titanic manned trips. But the guy is 77 rn

The billionaire from Pakistan is apparently friends with King Charles. You’d think for someone who’s besties with a guy whose job was literally being born, he’d care more about protecting his bloodline. Instead, he brought his 19 year old with him

Meanwhile, the stepson of one of the other billionaires (I think the British one named Hamish) went to a Blink 182 concert. When questioned about this, he basically went “my family would want me to go to the concert”. Today, minutes after posting about asking for thoughts and prayers, he @‘ed an OF model on Twitter, asking her to sit on his face

Bc it’s part of the safety demo & music track list for the trip, there is a VERY good chance that if there’s still some power left in the sub, it’s playing an instrumental of My Heart Will Go On on loop

Also, the vessel is a submersible bc it doesn’t meet literally any of the safety regulations to be called a submarine. Which the CEO knew, because he’s blatantly said that safety regulations get in the way of progress

The CEO once stated that he thought the future of humanity was not in space, but in the ocean when the surface becomes uninhabitable

Apparently the controller he’s using has REAL bad reviews because the connection always fails

These idiots paid $250k EACH but they had to pack their own lunch. Not even a damn charcuterie board

The pilot’s seat is on the toilet. So whenever someone needs to go, the pilot needs to move

There’s 1 window looking out. That’s it

It’s about the size of a minivan

The sub uses texts (but only to the CEO’s phone) to communicate, as well as StarLink, but they can only access that if they surface

The door literally cannot be opened from inside

There is a decent chance that at least 1 person has been cannibalized (my bet was the pilot since he’s not rich, but bc of the banging sounds, he’s probs not dead, so it may be the CEO)

They’re supposed to run out of oxygen tomorrow (22/06/23) at 7 am est, but tbh, the CO2 scrubber system will probs fail before that

The toilet is a plastic bag

This is only the 3rd time in 3 years the vessel has gone to the Titanic. Every other time, there’s an issue and they gotta turn back within like 4 hours

A lot of major news networks are trying to remain positive, but it’s a HILARIOUS comparison when you go to social media and every single person is like “yeah that shit is built like a cardboard boat, they’re fucked”

The company’s name is literally called OceanGate